Warning: No specific warnings for this chapter.
AN: Hello readers, I've got a bit of a chest cold so I'm behind on everything again. Said chest cold also postponed my start date at the new job for a week or two because of training schedules, so I'll actually be back on track fairly quickly. So I'm calling it a wash.
Shout outs to everyone who has commented! Twisted seems to have struck a chord with people rather quickly. I know the subject matter can be trying at times, thanks for sticking with it so far. Thank you especially to ForTheLoveofEmmett for commenting on every chapter, I'm glad you're enjoying it enough to take the time! I want to hug them too, especially George for being on the outside looking in. Eminator, I'm glad the raw feeling is coming across. I can't sit with them for long stretches sometimes because it starts to hurt to write about what they're going through.
For those who may be wondering, the songs I've used thus far are Ex-Girlfriend by No Doubt, Miss the Misery by Halestorm, Life of the Party by All Time Low, and Nightmares by All Time Low. If you're following my other stories you might be seeing a lot of ATL, I've had their album Last Young Renegade playing on repeat for days.
Disclaimer: I do not own or in any way profit from Harry Potter or its related properties.
Nightmares
Hermione came to on the cold tile of her bathroom floor. The side of her face hurt where she was sure she'd collided with the sink on the way down. She pushed herself up into a seated position, leaning against the under sink cabinet. She had not meant to drink that much and she certainly had not meant to trip over her own feet and knock herself out. She vaguely wondered if she should have herself checked for a concussion. If you lost consciousness with a head injury that's what you were supposed to do, wasn't it? She groaned knowing that it was best for her to be examined by a professional and not risk anything more serious. For all she knew, she already had internal bleeding and was dying. She found the thought oddly satisfying, the great Hermione Granger killed by tripping over her feet in a drunken stupor. She laughed darkly at her line of thought and pulled herself further up off the ground onto the toilet. Realising she was a bit unsteady on her feet she wordlessly summoned her wand to her. That had to be a good sign. She could still perform some magic at least, and wordless/wandless magic was not easy. She summoned her Patronus and sent the familiar otter to fetch Fred. She was always vaguely surprised that she could still summon the thing, happy thoughts her not easy these days.
"Granger?" she heard through her floo not long after.
"In the loo. I hit my head, I need help getting to my feet." She called in response. Fred appeared a few seconds later, hand covering his eyes.
"I'm dressed, Fred, you can look." She huffed.
"You said you were in the loo, how was I supposed to know what state of dress you were in? You could have fallen in the shower!" He justified, tips of his ears going pink.
"And you thought I would send a Patronus to get you, but not summon a towel to cover myself?" she laughed slightly at the implication.
"You weren't exactly specific with your summons, 'Mione. I came straight over, didn't really stop to think about it." He huffed.
"Merlin, you're still dressed for bed. What time is it?" She blushed furiously, taking in his bare chest and sweats.
"Just after 4 a.m. What happened?" He kneeled in front of her, resting his hands on her bare knees. She had not realised that she was still in the altogether too skimpy dress she'd worn out that evening. Waking up in one was becoming too familiar an occurrence for her now.
"I fell and hit my head. I think I might have a concussion…" she trailed off.
"Right then, come on." He lifted her easily into his arms, resisting her struggles.
"Fred put me down!" she smacked at his shoulder.
"Not a chance, what if you can't walk? I'm not a healer." He held her tighter as he stepped into the floo and called out St. Mungo's.
The witch at admitting was startled at the sight of them, not at all expecting their odd states of dress.
"How may I help you?" She asked, standing to see if Hermione was conscious in Fred's arms.
"She's hit her head, might be concussed. I think she may have passed out before she called me." He explained quickly. The woman nodded and scurried off through the door behind her, returning a moment later with a wheelchair.
"You can set her down here and I'll take her back to get checked. If you could fill these out and wait in the family lounge just over there?" She indicated with her head, handing Fred a clipboard and taking Hermione back into the patient only area.
Fred was surprised at how many questions he actually could answer on the forms. He hadn't expected to know much besides her full name and birthdate, and even that had surprised him somewhat. He had some idea of her basic medical history from all the times she'd landed herself in the hospital wing during school, even if he didn't know the exact treatments. He listed himself as her emergency contact, knowing that she didn't have any family in the wizarding world. He skipped anything he wasn't sure about, hoping that he'd provided enough information to appease them until she could fill in the blanks herself. He waited impatiently, bouncing his knees and trying to avoid eye contact with the other people waiting for news.
It was fairly empty, which he took to be a good sign. A lack of patients meant she would be seen quickly. His eyes darted around nervously, taking in the appearances of the others waiting. There was an older wizard in the corner flipping through an old copy of the Daily Prophet with a bright pink purse balanced on his knees. His wife's, Fred guessed, and probably not all that serious if he wasn't in the back with her. There were three women huddled by the door speaking in hushed excitement. He guessed they were likely friends of someone who'd gone into labour not long before. The balloons and flowers they held suggesting they expected news of a baby girl any moment now. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, swiveling to watch the empty side of the room. He didn't know why he was so nervous, she'd been well enough to contact him for help it wasn't like she was dying.
"Mr. Weasley?" he looked up to see the same woman from admitting standing in the doorway. She was middle-aged with short brown hair and kind grey eyes. He crossed to her with the clipboard still clutched in his hands.
"Yes?" He tried to keep his tone neutral, not wanting to betray the depth of his concern to a complete stranger.
"She'll be fine. No evidence of internal bleeding or damage. She's got a bit of a black eye and some swelling on the side of her face where it looks like she may have collided with something. Do you know how the accident happened?" The woman was kind, but there was a tone to her voice that made Fred think she was accusing him of something.
"I was home when I got word she was hurt and needed help getting to a healer. I didn't ask her how it happened, I just brought her straight here." He said defensively.
"Do you know if anyone else was with her tonight?" The woman, whose name tag he noticed read 'Doris', continued.
"I'm honestly not sure. She goes out alone sometimes, but so far as I know she's never brought anyone back to her flat. Why? Did someone attack her?" He was getting agitated at the line of questioning. If someone had hurt her...
"We just have to be sure. She says she fell and hit her face on the sink and that she was alone." Her face softened as she saw the distress on his face, reaching out to give his forearm a gentle sympathetic squeeze.
"Can I see her? Is she going to be allowed to go back home?" he asked, brows knit with concern.
"She won't be able to go home unattended, are you able to help keep an eye on her over the next few hours? She's alright to sleep if she nods off, there's no risk of anything at this point. You'll need to make sure she stays off her feet and gets plenty of fluids until she can stand unassisted…"
"Of course. Whatever she needs." Fred cut her off. Doris nodded and led him back to where Hermione was. They hadn't changed her into a hospital gown, but she'd wrapped herself in a blanket to try and better cover herself. She looked embarrassed by the whole situation.
"Right then, what else does she need to do here before I can take her home?" He asked as he rubbed his palms on his sweats.
"If you could just sign here, I believe your boyfriend already filled out all the pertinent information." Doris offered her the clipboard. Fred felt himself blush, but neither of them corrected her assumption. After she'd handed Hermione a list of instructions the woman left with a warning not to apparate until she was feeling better.
"Well, that was quicker than expected." He joked, crossing his arms nervously over his chest. Suddenly keenly aware that he was not appropriately dressed to be out in public.
"Perk of being famous I suppose. I only hope whoever they skipped over to see me so quickly wasn't seriously hurt." She sighed heavily, moving to swing her feet off the bed.
"Hold it right there, love. You aren't supposed to walk or stand unassisted just yet." He reached to take her shoulders, not convinced she could stand on her own.
"Nonsense, I feel fine." She argued, immediately swaying and sitting back down when she tried to get to her feet. He raised an eyebrow in question and crossed his arms over his chest again.
"Fine. If you could be so kind as to help me floo home?" She asked with an edge of bitterness in her tone.
Fred collected her into his arms again and flooed back to his flat.
"Why are we at your flat?" She demanded, irritated by the change in plans.
"You need looking after, but if I'm not here when George rises it'll send him into a panic," Fred explained as he carried her to his room.
"Oh no! You have work in a few hours don't you? I'm so sorry, Fred…" She bit her lip in guilt.
"We don't need to be downstairs until nine, it's barely six. It'll be fine." He soothed.
He gently set her on his bed, pulling the blankets up over her. He crossed to rummage through the chest of drawers, tossing a clean shirt and a pair of boxer shorts onto the bed for her.
"What's that for?" she asked, afraid to touch the clothing.
"If you want to keep your dress on that's fine by me, but I thought these might be more comfortable." He explained, keeping his back to her so she could change. He heard the rustle of the dress falling to the floor and resisted the urge to sneak a peek at her as she changed.
"I'm decent." Her voice was quieter than he expected. When he turned back to her he noticed a light blush had taken up residence on her cheeks.
"They said you have to have plenty of fluids while your head gets back to normal. Water ok? Or do you want something else?" he offered, crossing to the door to head to the kitchen.
"Water is fine," she answered with a tired sigh. He couldn't help but notice how small she looked in his shirt. His heart faltered slightly at the sight, unsure of what to do with the sensation he scurried into the kitchen as quickly as he could.
He returned a few minutes later and set the glass on the nightstand before casting a nox to turn out the lights. As he turned to leave the room he thought he heard her whisper his name.
"Did you just call me?" his hand stilled on the doorknob.
"Will you sit with me for a bit?" she whispered, clutching the water glass between her hands. He nodded and shut the door before crossing back to the bed and sitting next to her. He wasn't entirely surprised when she leaned into him, the position familiar to them now. They'd fallen asleep next to each other on the sofa a few times since that first night, but he hadn't held her again the way he had that night. He'd wanted to, but she'd never asked.
"I came home alone tonight, completely struck out. That's why I got so drunk. I feel so stupid." She whispered. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed lightly in response. She leaned easily into his chest, not seeming to mind his shirtlessness anymore. The tickle of her hair against the skin sent a shiver down his spine.
"I got home and I was just so frustrated with myself. It hadn't occurred to me that the time would come when this wouldn't work anymore. I had a couple drinks by myself and decided I was going to take a shower and just go to bed, but I tripped over my own feet and hit my head on the way down." She sipped slowly at the water after explaining.
"Have you been drinking like that a lot, 'Mione?" he asked cautiously.
"No. Sometimes I'll have a little too much when I'm out, but not like this. I don't usually drink alone. I'm not sure I should try that again." He could hear the embarrassment in her voice.
"That's not a bad plan, really." He agreed.
"I think I'm losing myself." She sighed, handing him the glass to set back on the nightstand.
"What do you mean?" He settled back next to her, moving so she could curl under his arm again.
"I don't know who I am from day to day anymore. It feels like I never fully wake up from the nightmares sometimes. Some days it feels like things are getting back to how they were, and then nights like tonight happen. I would never have drunk like this before." She sounded angry with herself.
"We can't be who we were before, Hermione. War changes everything. All things considered, I'm surprised we're both still here." He admitted.
"Me too." She sighed.
"I know what you mean. About the nightmares, that is. Even when things are going really well it feels like there's a phantom in the corner of the room waiting to pop out. I never thought I'd miss the ghoul at the Burrow, but I do. At least that ghoul actually exists."
"That's what tonight felt like, a nightmare coming to life. I can't believe I did that." She groaned, running a hand over her face in agitation.
"You should have called me." He chastised her gently, leaning his cheek on the top of her head.
"And what? Told you I couldn't get someone to shag me?" she chuckled sleepily.
"Something like that." He breathed. If she heard she didn't respond. After a few minutes, he realised she had fallen asleep.
"Oi! You tosser, knock it off or you'll be late for work!" George bellowed as he launched himself through the bedroom door and onto the bed with a belly flop.
"What the bloody fuck?!" Hermione screamed, flailing out from underneath the blankets. George rolled to the floor in a panic, awkwardly shuffling to his feet.
"Sweet Merlin, Hermione?!" His eyes went wide with shock.
"Get away from me!" She was standing on the mattress, eyes glazed and wand drawn.
"Everybody stand down!" Fred launched himself to his feet, reaching up to take Hermione's wand from her as she crumbled into tears.
"It's okay, love. You're safe, it was just George. It's okay..." He soothed as he climbed back into the bed and pulled her to him.
"Shit, I'm so sorry…" George started, but a pointed look from his twin had him backing out of the room.
"I thought… I didn't… it was just George?" She choked out between sobs.
"Just George." He confirmed, smoothing her hair and rocking her gently.
"I'm so sorry…"
"No need to be sorry. Go back to sleep for a bit, you need to rest. And drink some more water." He leaned her back into the pillows, pulling the blankets back up around her.
"I'm fine, Fred…" she protested, wiping the tears from her face.
"Nope, you're resting today. Healer's orders. Just give a shout if you need anything. And don't you dare try leaving this bed unassisted, I'll not be bringing you back to St. Mungo's so soon." He ordered. She huffed, but relaxed back into the bed, the exhaustion clear on her face.
"I'll bring you some bruise paste for that shiner in a bit. Does it hurt still?" He gingerly ran his fingers over the side of her face.
"A little." She admitted.
"Give me a few minutes to talk to George and I'll fetch something for it, yeah?" He didn't wait for her to answer as he made his way out of the room.
George was sitting nervously on the edge of an armchair, throwing guilty glances back at Fred's bedroom door. He smiled sheepishly at his brother when he joined him in the armchair opposite. They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, neither sure how to begin the conversation.
"I didn't know you had company…" He grimaced, expecting to get chewed out.
"It's not like that. She's got a concussion and someone needed to look after her. It was easier to bring her here than stay at hers." Fred rubbed his hands over his face in frustration.
"How did she get a concussion in the middle of the night?" George sat a little straighter in his chair, intrigued by the possibilities.
"It's not really anyone's business but hers. Point is, she needed help and she asked. They were pretty clear she shouldn't be alone for a bit while she gets her bearings back. She'll need to stay for the day, at least until she can move easily on her own." He explained, meeting his brother's eyes for the first time.
"I know that's who you're with when you disappear. She wouldn't tell me why, but I know that's where you go. You'd tell me if something was going on with you two, right?" The words tumbled from George's mouth before he could stop them. He winced at his own carelessness.
"It's nothing like that. She and I have more in common than I think most people realise. She's somebody I can talk to about...about different things." Fred broke eye contact.
"Things you can't talk about with me, you mean?" George sounded defeated.
"Yes." He admitted, shoulders slumping.
"I know we never used to have secrets, Fred, but if this is what you need right now… Well, then, it's what you need right now. If talking to her helps keep you from… you know." He shrugged, not able to bring himself to say it.
"Thank you." Fred nodded and stood, making his way back to his room again. He stopped and put a hand on George's shoulder and waited for him to look up.
"I know you're worried, but I'm going to be okay. You know that right?" He squeezed his shoulder. George surprised him by putting his own hand on top of his and squeezing back.
"I hope so, Fred." He admitted with a sad smile. Fred removed his hand with a nod and went back to his room.
When he slipped back into the room he couldn't help but hover just beyond the threshold. Hermione was curled tightly around herself in the middle of his bed. He couldn't tell if she was actually asleep again or just pretending to be. He quietly clicked the door closed behind him and crossed to kneel by the side of the bed.
"Hermione?" he called quietly. She didn't stir so he tried again, reaching out to gently tap on her shoulder this time. She squirmed slightly but didn't wake. She was either really good at faking it or she'd actually gone back to sleep. Content that she would be okay for a few hours he rose and dressed for work. He left the door to his room open so he'd hear Hermione if she called. As he made to leave the flat he remembered the bruise paste.
"George?" He called down the stairs into the stockroom.
"Fred?" He popped his head around the doorjamb.
"Toss me a tub of bruise paste, yeah?" He waited a moment before he saw his brother pop back around and toss the small container up the steps.
"Cheers." He nodded in thanks and quickly popped back into his bedroom to leave it for Hermione.
His face softened slightly as he saw she'd pulled one of his pillows to her and was clutching it tightly. Without thinking he crossed the room and planted a kiss on her temple before leaving the paste on the nightstand for her and disappearing back into the flat. He did not see her stir or hear her sudden intake of breath as he headed down to work.