A/N: Its been forever. I know. You hate me. Let me know though a review! Maybe you'll forgive me after you read this chapter?

"What is going on?" Her strong Scottish burr cut through the anxious murmurings of panicking students who didn't want to be caught at the scene of the crime.

And then Colin Creevey stepped forward. "Well, Professor," he said earnestly. "It happened like this. I was walking by on my way to – "

"Oh, shut up Colin!" Fred groaned. "We really don't need this right now," he said firmly.

"Mr Weasley," McGonagall reprimanded. "Continue, Colin."

"Well, like I said Professor, I was walking my on my way to the library, because I had to return a book, see and – "

"Ahem," McGonagall cleared her throat. "Can anyone else tell me what just happened?"

"It was me," Hermione sobbed, getting up from her place on the ground. She gestured at the unconscious Draco Malfoy. "I did it."

"Miss Granger," McGonagall gasped. "Mr Weasley, I have to help Mr Malfoy. Take Hermione to Dumbledore's office at once."

Fred nodded and led Hermione to Dumbledore's office at a near run. He personally, found the whole debacle disconcerting, and while he liked Hermione, a lot, he wasn't sure that the foundations of their relationship were strong enough to withstand this next test. Really, it had only been a few weeks, and already they were facing larger than life problems.

As Fred impatiently waited for the gargoyle to spin around and open the entrance to Dumbledore's office, Hermione hand snaked around him and held onto his shirt, so she was looking right into his eyes.

"What's happening to me?" She rasped quietly.

Fred couldn't look away, even though he wanted to. "I don't know," He said softly, before averting his gaze and entering the office, shouting, "Professor! Professor! Where are you! It's Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger, sir!"

The wingback leather chair spun, and Dumbledore peered at them over his glasses. "I'm an old man, Frederick." He said wearily. "And I was taking a nap. What can I do for you today?" Then he seemed to notice the state of Hermione, bedraggled and crying. "Oh Merlin. Sit, sit." He urged.

Fred sat in the other chair after he settled Hermione. "She just sort of exploded," Fred said after Dumbledore urged him to explain. "Then she got really calm, and then she … did something to Malfoy, so he was, like, fighting people that weren't there, and being burnt by flames that didn't exist." Fred's voice was haunted as he explained it, his eyes dark and guarded.

After Fred finished talking, Dumbledore stood. "Come, children. We need to go to the Hospital Wing."

After Madam Pomfrey gave Hermione something to make her go to sleep, Dumbledore began to walk away, his face grave. "Professor," Fred gasped, jogging after him.

"Mr Weasley," Dumbledore replied. "What may I help you with?"

"How do I deal with this?" Fred spread his hands helplessly. "I'm a teenage boy who wanted a pretty girl for a girlfriend. And I'm a Weasley twin. It's not like I'm great with the heavy stuff. How do I deal with it? I don't even know if it's all worth it!"

Dumbledore put a hand on Fred's shoulder, his eyes understanding, which was a good sign, because Fred felt like a monster. "Frederick," He said sympathetically. "I understand you. This will be hard and at times it will seem like its not worth it."

"But…?" Fred began.

"Don't stay with her, if you do not love her, Fred." Dumbledore continued. "Go somewhere and think about whether you are with her because she has no one else, or because you love her. When she faces Lord Voldemort, she needs love by her side, not a Weasley twin trying to do something chivalrous."

Fred nodded. "Thanks Professor."

"Is she worth it?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes twinkling.

Fred looked solemn. "I think I'll have to go and work that one out, sir."

Dumbledore clapped him on the back and left briskly. Fred looked around at Hermione's sweet sleeping face, and considered going to sit with her until she woke up.

But then he headed into the corridor. He needed to go somewhere quiet, and lonely, where he could think about what he wanted.

Fred headed out to the Quidditch field, and grabbed his broom from the cupboard where they Gryffindor team kept theirs.

He flew swiftly and high in the air, enjoying the quiet and calm, nothing but the wind in his hair. Did he love Hermione? Did he want to stay with her? Was what he loved about her enough to keep them together? Did he know her well enough to decide if he loved her?

First, Fred thought, he would start with what he loved about her. Fred loved the way her hair looked in the morning before she brushed it. He loved the way she looked in his boxers. Or any of his clothes really. He loved the way she tried to teach him, and get him to do his homework. He loved how committed she was to freeing the house elves. He loved her passion. He loved her anger. He loved the way she threw things at him when he interrupted her late night study sessions. He loved the way they could talk about anything with each other. He loved the way she knew how to make him feel better. He loved the way they teased each other. He loved the way that nothing else seemed to matter as long as she was happy with him.

Fred Weasley thought about all that for a few minutes, and then realised, that, in his mind, that was what made up love. Love is all of that. In their case, anyway. And that was all that mattered.

It didn't matter that Hermione was having issues, sometimes had really bad PMS, and had to defeat Voldemort eventually. As cheesy as it sounded, love conquers all. If they had that, then nothing else mattered.

Fred flew back to the ground as soon as he could and raced up to the castle. George stopped him on the way. Fred barely stopped. "Where are you going?" George asked.

"I'm going to tell the girl that I love that I love her," was Fred's response, and then he was off again.

George whistled. "I really hope he's talking about Hermione," he said to himself as he continued on his way. "Or else she's going to be really pissed."

"I heard that," Fred yelled, panting as he continued running. "Speaking of which, we really need to join a gym or something. I think I'm dying."

George ignored him as he turned the corner. "How is that a speaking of which?" He asked incredulously, rolling his eyes.

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