"life is like a game of cards. the hand you are dealt

is determinism; the way you play it is free will"

- Jawaharial Nehru

…0…

One week later…

Huffing out a frustrated breath, Hermione pushed her hair back off her face and stretched her arm out as far as she could manage. Avery, a hopelessly accident prone wizard who reminded her a lot of Seamus in their first years at Hogwarts, had been attempting to demonstrate for her some new spell he claimed to have invented and ending up blowing himself through one of the store room shelves, and her wand somehow ended up on top of another by the front door.

While the only other employee working that day took Avery to St. Mungo's, Hermione was left to mind the shop by herself, which would be much easier after she managed to retrieve her wand.

Her fingers brushed the tip and she grappled for it, pushing herself further towards the edge.

But all she managed to do was knock it in the opposite direction and the bell over the door signaling a customer startled her, making her shriek and her hand slipped, sending her tumbling off the ladder and directly into the arms of an equally surprised Fred Weasley.

"Well this is different," he quipped, looking down into her flushed face.

Harry, Ron, and George standing behind him in the doorway looked on in amusement as a flustered Hermione was set on her feet. She regarded Fred, who was entirely too smug for his own good, before blowing her hair away from her face. "Good catch."

He grinned. "I always thought so."

All four boys chuckled and she rolled her eyes. "Did you come in here just to torment me while I'm working? I do have things to do."

Looking pointedly at the empty shop, Ron looked at her as though she were nuts. "Yeah, you look real busy, Hermione."

"I was trying to get my wand," she pointed to the shelf, explaining about Avery and the spell mishap. With a grin, Harry took out his own wand and got it down for her.

"So what are you all doing here? There's no crisis going on, is there?" She asked it because it sounded like something she would ask. Hermione knew perfectly well why they were there. It was time for Harry and Ron to leave, and she figured they had come to let her know.

And she was right. They told her about the disastrous job interviews all over Diagon Alley and how they'd had to duck the Prophet photographers at every turn.

Whenever they came too close for Hermione's liking, she threatened to curse them. They promptly disappeared after that. Harry and Ron obviously hadn't stumbled onto that strategy yet though.

Then they asked her to come with them.

Hermione looked between them, their hopeful expressions hitting her square in the stomach. She loved these boys. She would do anything in the world for them, and they all knew it. Then she thought of herself at Hogwarts without them, surrounded by people and so lonely knowing they weren't there. There was nothing else in the world she had wanted than to have them with her again, but she'd stayed because it was the right thing to do.

Back then, she would have gone with them if possible. Now… she had lived through it, and come out none the worse for wear. She had been away from them for the better part of a year and then they had all gone about with their lives, still seeing each other but living apart, living their own lives.

If she was really supposed to do things differently, she should go with them. And yet, something inside her told Hermione that it was the wrong thing to do. Whatever tiny fracture had occurred between the two of them when Ron left her and Harry in the tent that night healed while they were gone. They came home better than ever. She couldn't intrude on that.

So she took a deep breath and offered up a small smile. "Maybe next time."

…0…

November

The snow fell in a light powder as Hermione walked towards her building. It had been a long day. Christmas was just a little over six weeks away and it seemed as books were the hot gift item. Normally that would delight her, but she'd had to stay an extra hour and her feet were killing her. Not to mention that she hadn't gotten the chance to finish her lunch and was starving.

"Hermione!"

Turning, she saw Fred making his way through the crowd towards her, a heavy parcel in his hands.

He came to a stop in front of her, white flakes sticking to his hair. "Glad I caught you."

"Fred, where's your coat?" she demanded. He was wearing his magenta robes over his usual clothes, but nothing to guard against the frigid temperature. "Or your gloves? You'll get sick running around in the cold like that."

"Oh, you know what it does to me when you get all bossy." He gave her a cheeky grin that made her face glow scarlet. He raised the box in his hands slightly - just enough to draw her attention to it. "Mum was just in the shop, dropping off her usual load of food. She made me promise to see to it that you got your share tonight."

Hermione peered over the edge of the box, similar to the ones she received on a regular basis, (Molly seemed to think that they were all in danger of starvation out of her sight) spying several covered dishes. Each one was giving off a thick aroma that made her mouth water. She inhaled, wanting nothing more than to tear into it right there on the street.

Fred must have noticed, for when she looked up at him he was looking at her with a smile of bemused indulgence. "Hungry?"

"You have no idea." She made to take the box from him, but he twisted at the waist, angling it out of her reach.

"Mum would have my head if I let you carry this huge thing up to your flat," he told her. "Lead the way."

He followed her up the stairs and she held the door to her flat open for him to carry the box inside. He sat it on the table, groaning a little when he turned back around and rubbing at his lower back. He caught her eye and smiled. "Left my wand at the shop. Otherwise I wouldn't have hauled that monster."

Hermione smiled. "The effort is much appreciated. Thanks, Fred."

"No problem." Reaching over the rim of the cardboard, he peeled the lid off one bowl and popped a small potato in his mouth. "Any time you need a packhorse… call George."

"Ha ha," she replied dryly.

The snow was coming down harder outside, the soft flakes of before giving way to fat, wet dollops that built up quickly on her window ledge. She stared out her dark window, seeing the lights of the surrounding buildings backlighting the fall, making it seem to glow.

Harry and Ron were in Greece. She had gotten an owl from Harry that morning, telling about the beaches and how blue the water looked against the white houses and white sand.

It may not have been the sand, but Hermione thought the white view outside her window was no less beautiful.

Fred came over and stood behind her, peering into the emptying streets of Diagon Alley. "Sickle for your thoughts, Granger."

A small smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. "They're not worth that much." Pulling off her hat and gloves, she set to unbuttoning her coat. "I think I'm going to dive into that box. Care to join me?"

Looking surprised, Fred stared down at her as if he wasn't quite sure who he was seeing before a leering grin broke across his face. "Are you propositioning me?"

A wave of indignation crashed over Hermione, followed by a heavier swell of annoyance. Did he always have to be so flippant about everything? "Are you capable of being serious - even for two seconds?"

Fred's ever present smile slipped. He frowned down at Hermione, the gesture making him look even taller than he was and he already towered over her. A thick tension filled the air around them, and the silence of the room intensified until Hermione could almost swear that she heard it.

And then, just as quickly as it disappeared, his smile was back in place. He was again the same boy who used to live to pull pranks on elderly caretakers and unassuming first years without even thinking about it. "Where's the fun in being serious?"

"Perhaps it would show people that you actually have a little depth," she blurted out before she could stop it.

Again, as Fred's lost its jovial mask, replaced by a stunned expression. And, unless she was mistaken, a tiny flash of hurt flickered in his eyes. His features school, and he sits down on the edge of the sofa arm, and Hermione could all but see the cogs turning, round and round, inside his head. His lips pursed, and his head bobbed down and back up again. "Ouch."

All at once Hermione is overcome by a staggering feeling of guilt that made her hang her head and avert her eyes, trying desperately not to cry. "Fred… I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

He shrugs. "Eh, it's okay." Though he looks the very picture of Weasley twin ease, that signature sparkle in his eye is missing, magnifying her guilt because it is, in fact, her fault. Entirely. A hard, sharp lump lodged in her throat. When she tried to swallow over it the only effects were a painful almost burning sensation and the hot taste of bile behind it.

Eventually Freddie speaks again, just when the awkward silence seemed to manifest into an actual presence, sitting on her sofa and batting its eyes between the two of them like a spectator at Wimbledon, but voice sounds unfamiliar in a way that Hermione doesn't like and is well aware is entirely her fault.

"I better get back to the shop. George tends to get himself into trouble when left to his own devices for too long." His attempt at a breezy tone fell flat, all but landing in a heap on the carpet. "You know how we Wealsey's are."

He started for the door; Hermione caught his wrist of one hand as the other landed on the doorknob. "Fred, I truly am sorry."

She gets a small smile in return. "Don't worry your overstuffed head about it, Hermione." Pulling the door open, he stepped into the hallway and turned back to face her. "It's certainly not the worst thing that's been said to me. In fact, I believe you've said worse to me yourself." He grinned, this time genuine. "Bossiest Prefect I ever saw - especially for a little thing like yourself."

Annoyance twisting her features, Hermione tutted under her breath. "Just so you know, I was planning to ask George as well."

"Sure." Fred gave her a Cheshire cat smile, the glint back in his blue eyes.

The tension gone, Hermione shut the door, forgetting almost at once the harsh words and guilt. Fred had turned the entire situation on his head.

He was good at things like that.

…0…