Chapter 10: Standing By

The after party was in full swing and Hermione couldn't help but notice just how much effort Molly Weasley had put into the proceedings; there was laughter and merriment everywhere the Gryffindor golden girl looked.

George and Alicia had entrusted their baby daughter to Aunt Muriel, and were waltzing across the floor, humongous smiles plastered on their faces. Percy was smiling for the first time in ages, Hermione noted, as he chatted to his old flame Penelope Clearwater. She grinned to herself, glad she'd ensured that the Ravenclaw had been invited. She'd noticed the pointed looks that the rule abiding Weasley threw in her direction, when he didn't think Hermione was looking. It would be nice to have him off her back. That way she wouldn't feel guilty.

Ron was nuzzling Lavendar's neck from where they sat at one of the booths. It was all that Hermione could do, not to retch. Ron really had no sense of tact, she chuckled to herself. She crossed her fingers, hoping that Molly would come across Ron's behaviour and that he'd receive a classic "talking to". Heaven knows, he needed it, she chuckled to herself.

Charlie was chatting to a pretty blonde, a friend of Fleur's called Audrey, but she didn't seem too interested – unusual, Hermione thought, for there were very few witches who were immune to the charm of the dragon tamer. She followed the blonde's gaze and was surprised to find her eyes alighted on none other than Percy – who was still deep in conversation with Penelope. She made a mental note to introduce the girl, feeling slightly wicked at her idea of fobbing Percy off onto some poor unsuspecting witch.

Arthur Weasley was still trying to serve drinks, a frazzled look on his face as he decanted champagne into flutes. Bill and Fleur were dancing slowly, Fleur's bump creating an awkward distance between them. Nonetheless they were looking into one another's eyes with the same look they'd had on the night of their wedding, Hermione noted fondly. They really were in love.

She was interrupted from her assessment of the guests when Ali slid into the seat next to her.

"Watcha Granger," he grinned, flashing her a glimpse of his white teeth. She smiled back, but not half as animatedly. "Feels like you've been avoiding me, I've barely seen you," he admitted, and Hermione flushed.

"Not at all!" She exclaimed hurriedly, "Just what with being Ginny's maid of honour and all, I've been really busy –"

"It's fine," Ali cut her off. Something which really irked Hermione – people cutting her off mid-flow. "I understand you've got a lot on your plate. Dance with me?"

"Sure," Hermione smiled fondly at the wizard. Any other stage in her life and she'd have been delighted to have his affection. And yet there was only room for one man in the mind of Hermione Granger, and he had red hair and freckles – not black hair and a tanned complexion. It was a bit of a shame, really.

Across the marquee, Fred was sat listening to his girlfriend talk about her amazing shot against the Mad Maccabees the other week for about the billionth time that evening. He was nodding politely, and adding exclamations of amazement where he deemed appropriate, but he wasn't really listening.

His eyes drifted elsewhere in the room, watching with a faint trace of a smile on his face as his eyes fell on Ron, sucking Lavendar's face in a truly revolting manner. Percy was talking to a girl – and if he had of been nearer, Fred would have felt inclined to tease his older brother for actually not repelling a member of the opposite sex, but alas he had to sit and listen to his girlfriend recount the manoeuvres she'd pulled in every Quidditch game she'd ever played. Bill and Fleur were dancing, and Ginny had her head on Harry's shoulder as they waltzed across the dance floor, seeming as if they were in a bubble that consisted of nothing but one another. He wished Angelina looked at him like that.

"So then I ducked to the left and did this amazing spin, still holding the Quaffle, dodged Baldwin and then sent this totally wicked spiralling shot past Polanski," she grinned, finishing her story. Fred nodded politely in acknowledgement, and downed the rest of his flute of champagne, the bubbles going straight to his head.

"D'you want to dance?" Fred asked Angelina half-heartedly. The witch contemplated for a moment and then shook her head. Her flute of champagne remained untouched, and it was all Fred could do not to grab it and force her to drink it – after all, what was the point of weddings if you couldn't get completely smashed?

"I've got training tomorrow, I really ought to be getting off – I've got a bit of practicing to do before the game, and then I need an early night," the witch announced. Fred struggled to contain an eye roll.

"You're not staying with me, tonight?" Fred asked, surprised, for he had assumed that his girlfriend would want to spend time with him. "I've made us supper and everything," he admitted, his tone somewhat dejected.

"You have?" The witch seemed surprised, "Oh well you'll have to eat it yourself. I ought to leave," she said, planting a kiss on Fred's cheek, gathering her things, and standing up to apparate.

"Just like that?"

"What?"

"You're just going to leave me dateless for the evening?" A disgruntled Fred asked, even though he already knew the answer. Once Angelina had decided she was going to do something, she did it, and there was no changing her mind.

"Don't be such a whiney git," Angelina chided, "The evening's nearly over, anyway. I wonder if your Mum will leave me a bit of cake…" she trailed off when she saw Fred's expression.

His eyes were cloudy and angry, and he seemed detached. "Bye then."

And Fred Weasley walked off, leaving his bewildered girlfriend in his wake.

Fred swiped another flute of champagne from the drinks table when his Mum had the attention of his Dad. He downed it quickly, the sour liquid hitting the back of his throat. His eyes swept the dance floor, and as he leant against a nearby table, he scowled.

He appeared to be the only person at this wedding not having fun.

Bill and Fleur were sat at a table, talking as Fleur nursed her swollen ankles. They were deep in conversation, had smiles on their faces, and sparkles in their eyes. They looked happy and very much in love, at that. If only his own relationship was quite as successful, Fred sighed.

Charlie was talking to three girls at once, womaniser that he was. One was raven-haired, like Harry, one brunette and one with silvery locks which meant she had to be in some way related to a veela. Either that or she was a Malfoy, and Fred doubted they'd been to Harry's wedding. He chuckled to himself, as an image of Voldemort wearing dress robes and sobbing into a handkerchief at the sight of Harry proclaiming his love for Ginny popped into his head. His face fell shortly after, as his gaze alighted on another happy couple.

His brother, George, and his wife had barely said a word to him all evening. Whilst Fred and George had once been inseparable, joined at the hip, and didn't go anywhere without the other, it seemed that his and Alicia's roles had been reversed. Fred Weasley had never felt more like a third wheel, or a spare part, in his entire life. Yet another thing to lower his mood, he thought darkly to himself as he watched them fuss over their baby girl.

He cast his eyes around, looking for Percy. He was bound to be sat alone in a corner, drinking more champagne than he probably ought to, and this sight alone would probably make Fred feel better about himself. His eyes widened in shock as he spotted his bespectacled "frère" in a corner with, to his surprise, a girl in his lap. It wasn't Penelope – she was talking to one of the distant family relatives over in the corner of the tent. The girl in question had blonde hair, and although quite plain looking was miles out of his brothers league. They seemed to be chatting and laughing, and Fred watched with a sense of revulsion as Percy pushed a lock of hair out of the girls face. There was a moment's pause, and then Fred felt distinctly awkward as he watched his brother kiss the girl lightly on the lips. He turned away, not wanting to witness it progress to a fully-fledged make out session. Especially when he wasn't going to be getting any himself, either.

Fred was beginning to suspect that there was no way that his evening could get any worse, but that was before he saw Ali and Hermione.

To Hermione's delight, Ali turned out to be one of the best dancing partners she'd ever had. The rhythm was upbeat, and so was the mood, as he swung her this way and that, helping her perform little pirouettes, giggling as they shimmied across the floor in time with one another.

Hermione found herself letting go of her inhibitions – she got her ability to dance from her mother, and thankfully wasn't cumbersome in nature like her father – and laughed vivaciously as she performed spin after spin after spin.

She was breathless and laughing manically when a familiar red head cut in, "Alistair, would you mind?" asked Fred. Hermione noticed he had an unfamiliar glint in his eyes.

Ali, equally as breathless, shook his head, choosing to ignore Fred's use of his full name, as he excused himself and went to rehydrate. Hermione was a hell of a good dancer, and he doubted he'd have been able to catch up with her for much longer, anyway.

Hermione smiled at Fred, and he managed a small half smile. The track had stopped, and a now disentangled Percy was stood over by the record player, saying something to Mr Lovegood, who had agreed to do the music for the wedding. He looked up, caught Hermione's eye and winked. She struggled to keep the emotion off her face, as a slow song began to play, and she realised what Percy had done for her.

Fred, if he was bothered by the change in mood, didn't show it. Instead, he bowed elaborately and proffered his hand to Hermione.

"My dear Hermione, given that my date has deserted me for this evening, would you do me the honour of joining me in this dance?"

"T'would be my honour, my good sir," grinned Hermione, giggling as Fred took her dainty hand in his somewhat larger, manlier hands. Without thinking, Fred placed his other hand on the small of her back, and smiled fondly as Hermione's eyes widened at the familiar gesture.

They glided across the floor, their steps perfectly timed with each others. At some point during the song, Hermione rested her head on Fred's shoulder, and he drew her closer to him.

Barely a hair's breadth apart, Fred could feel Hermione's slow and laboured breath on his neck, his hairs standing up on end as a shiver and familiar sensation ran through him. He felt his stomach churn, and butterflies fluttered from within it. It was a good job Fred wasn't Bill, what with enhanced werewolf hearing, because if he was, then he'd have heard the quickening pace of Hermione's heart, as his fingers traced patterns on her bare skin. Their proximity between them was making Fred aware feelings he didn't even know he possessed, for this Gryffindor bookworm.

"Where's Angelina?" Hermione asked timidly, breaking the surmounting silence between them. She looked up at Fred through mascara framed lashes, her wide brown orbs like a chocolate fountain. The kind of fountain Fred wanted to hurl his self into and get lost in.

He shook himself, for the champagne was clearly going to his head. What on earth was he doing thinking about Hermione in that way? He thought frantically to himself. He swallowed as he recalled a wise expression Bill had once said, "We do things drunk that we don't usually have the courage to do sober."

"She ditched me. Something about Quidditch practice tomorrow, or was it not being able to pull that stick out of her arse for one evening? I forget the details," grinned Fred, weakly. Hermione laughed, sending the reverberations along the length of Fred's body. Her laugh was sweet, innocent even, and in his mind Fred likened it to the noise of a nightingale. Here he was, really going off the bend, he chuckled to himself. His fingers carried on tracing patterns on Hermione's bare back, searing her skin with the warmth of his touch. Subconsciously, he pressed himself closer to the Gryffindor witch, like a moth drawn to flame.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hermione admitted. "I wanted everyone to have a good time at Ginny and Harry's wedding," she sighed, sadly.

"But I am having a good time," Fred smiled softly as his eyes met Hermione's. "I'm dancing with the world's most beautiful witch, you don't get much of a better time than that," he fondly told the witch in his arms, who was looking up at him with wide, unblinking eyes. She wasn't quite sure if Fred knew what he'd just said, or if it was the alcohol talking, all she knew was that she really, really wanted Fred to forget about Angelina and kiss the living daylights out of her.

But of course, this wasn't a movie – if it were, then Fred's girlfriend could easily be tossed aside, with no regard for her feelings. Sadly, this was real life.

Which was why, there was a fleeting moment as Fred and Hermione looked into one another's eyes, a moment of shared understanding and shared emotions.

Which was why, Fred began to dip his head closer to the brunette's, and Hermione found she was inclining upwards on her tiptoes.

Which was why, with an exasperated sigh, Fred's hands slipped from Hermione's back and he ran a hand through his hair.

Which was why, Fred excused his self, claiming he needed to get some air.

Which was why, he left Hermione standing alone on the middle of the dance floor, a singular tear rolling down her cheek.

Which was why, Ali watched from the side-lines their exchange, a look of realisation, disappointment and betrayal flitting across his face.

This was why he stormed across the dance floor to confront the Gryffindor bookworm.

So it definitely wasn't a fairy tale ending like the Disney films Hermione had watched as a kid. Far from it, in fact.

"What was that?" Ali demanded accusingly. Hermione choked back a sob.

"Sorry, what?" She asked.

"What on earth was that about?"

"Oh..." Hermione trailed off, her voice unsteady. For the first time in her life, the Gryffindor bookworm was unable to produce a satisfactory answer.

"Can I ask you a question, Hermione?" Ali's tone softened, not wanting to upset the Gryffindor any further. She nodded meekly, indicating for him to continue.

"Did you even like me or was I just part of some dumb scheme to make Fred jealous?"

Hermione's mouth was agape, and she couldn't help but think she resembled a goldfish at that current moment in time. "What, erm, that's ridiculous!" She exclaimed none too convincingly. Ali raised an eyebrow. "You're an amazing guy – funny, good looking, smart –"

He cut her off for the second time that evening. "But I'm not Fred, am I?" He remarked, pointedly, and Hermione bowed her head. "I really like you Hermione. You're smart, beautiful, mature, goal-orientated and practical… you're everything I've been looking for in a girl since I realised they existed. And yet you convince me you like me, agree to date me, and string me along, making me believe that I've got a chance with you. Then you go and dance with Fred like that right in front of me… did you not think I wouldn't realise?"

Hermione broke down into fully fledged sobs, and Ali looked around awkwardly. Thankfully, there was too much going on, and he didn't think anybody noticed their little exchange.

"I'm sorry," sobbed Hermione, "But I didn't mean to hurt you Ali, I swear," she choked.

"I know you didn't," Ali admitted, rubbing her back until her sobs ceased. "But the fact remains you did. Goodbye Hermione, I think I'm going to go home. I'm not in the mood anymore."

Hermione didn't say anything, instead she watched him leave. He was the second wizard to walk away from her that evening.

Hermione stood alone, managing a smile as Ginny cut the extravagant wedding cake and began handing out slices to the guests. Too preoccupied with the day's events, the bride neglected to notice the saltwater trail down Hermione's cheeks – simply pressing her cake in her hand, and moving on to serve the next person.

Hermione also stood alone as Ginny and Harry mounted their honeymoon broom, which had been adorned with a series of ribbons and banners which read "Just Married", trailing behind them as the newly-weds soared off into the horizon, Molly sobbing into Arthur's suit, as he patted his wife's back consolingly.

One by one, the guests filtered out, taking with them baskets of leftover food – for Molly always went a little over board on occasions such as these – and the Weasley family was left in peace. Deciding the clearing up could wait until tomorrow, everyone retreated to bed.

Hermione rinsed her face, washing her mascara away, brushed her teeth and slipped out of the elegant dress Ginny had brought her, into her pyjamas. She slipped into bed, but try as she might, she couldn't fall asleep. Ginny's room was empty and cold without the redhead's presence, and Hermione found herself crying silent, salty tears into her pillow.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and sniffing loudly. Slipping on a pair of shoes and her dressing gown, she made her way downstairs, careful to jump the trick stair.

She paused in the door way as she recognised the shadowy silhouette of a redhead sat by the hearth. The last person she wanted to see, right now.

Fred was sat right on the floor, on the rug in front of the flickering flames. He was staring into them, a vacant, dazed expression on his face. Hermione tiptoed gingerly over to the sofa and sat down, drawing her dressing gown tighter around her.

"Hey," Hermione began softly. She wasn't sure what it was that made her broach the silence between them, but all she knew was that she didn't want to make things awkward by leaving an unbroken silence between them.

He looked around, surprised that he hadn't heard her announce her presence before. He got to his feet hurriedly, running a hand through his hair, and for a split second, Hermione thought he was going to leg it, and make his getaway for the second time that night. To her relief, he sighed, and sat down on the sofa next to her, fingering the zip of a cushion, nervous.

"Hey," he began, "Look I'm really sorry about what happened earlier. I was drunk, angry with Angie, and confused, and I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry I ran off like that, it wasn't nice to just leave you there. But can we just forget about it?"

Hermione sighed, she knew it had been too good to true. Now she was right back to square one, and she'd lost Ali out of it, as well. "Forget about what?" She grinned wickedly. Fred chuckled.

"That's my girl!" Fred grinned, drawing her to him in a tight hug. She relaxed into his embrace, her head on his shoulder, as his fingers traced familiar patterns along her arm. It was therapeutically soothing, and it wasn't long before Hermione found herself drifting into a very deep, champagne-aided sleep.

It wasn't too long until a drowsy redhead joined her in slumber, one arm protectively wrapped around her waist, the other still stroking her arm. His mouth lolled open, and he snored softly, but not loud enough to wake the brunette sleeping in his arms. Hermione moaned faintly, nuzzling against her firm, but warm pillow, her frizzy mass of hair splayed out across his chest.

There was a crack as a figure apparated in the garden of the burrow. The witch pushed her hair behind her ears and busied herself looking for her purse. She must have left it at the table she was sitting at, she sighed, as she checked every table. Nothing.

She realised Molly must have taken all lost property inside for safe keeping, and with a softly spoken "alohomora" she unlocked the door to the burrow, sleeping inside the familiar abode. She was tired and needed to find her purse soon because her flat keys were inside, so she gingerly tiptoed through the cosy house, searching for her bag.

She picked up the skirt of her gold dress, careful not to let its hefty skirt knock any of the ornaments down as she brushed past the furniture.

She stopped stock still as she reached the living room, for unless her eyes were deceiving her, Fred Weasley was curled up looking rather snug, and very much familiar, with none other than that know-it-all bitch Hermione Granger. Her boyfriend was curled up, fast asleep with his arm around a girl he claimed was "just a friend".

Just a friend, my arse, thought Angelina snidely to herself. Too tired for the imminent argument tonight, and needing to get back to her flat in time for training tomorrow, she snatched up her gold clutch and replaced it with the one she'd taken by accident. She apparated with a crack from the living room, not caring if she woke the sleeping duo up.

Fred had never been a heavy sleeper – unlike, it seemed, his bookworm curled up alongside him – and he awoke with a start. He'd heard a "crack" that sounded like somebody disapparating. He shook his head, it was probably just some dream he'd been having. He reached for his wand, and conjured a blanket, which he draped over himself and the brunette in his arms. He found he slept better with the familiar beat of Hermione's heart pounding in his eardrums, as her light breathing and unruly curls tickled his skin. He drew her tighter in his arms, and then drifted off into slumber once more.

He had no clue about the hurricane that was about to hit him, for if he did, then he likely wouldn't have slept half as well, nor ventured into work the next morning.