A/N: From this point in the story, I'm not moving backwards. The story starts to move forward through their fifth year as they visit places that remind them of times they spent together... just so no one is confused.
oOoOoOoOo
Fred was late, but Hermione was not bothered. In fact, he was more than fifteen minutes late, which should have been a sure sign this was all for a laugh, a stunt to get her wand wound in a hilariously tight knot. Hell, Fred was probably up in the Commons room at this very moment telling the rousing story to the entire House, leading then in a good laugh at her expense. But, as she drew the bottle to her lips and sipped at the light turquoise liquid, Hermione just could not conjure the anger to care.
Although, if he was not showing up, it was a perfectly good waste of the Hellebore she had used the brew the Draught of Peace. If she was angry about anything, it was the fact that her brilliant scheme to outfox Fred at his own game would not come to brilliant fruition. More than anything, she wanted to be able to climb up on his Cleansweep, and endure the tumultuous ride she was sure he had planned with a smile on her face, so that she could waltz into the Gryffindor dorm bragging about her fantastic ride as Fred sulked in behind her.
In her disappointment, she reached for the bottle and sipped again. A euphoric sensation washed over her, leaving her feeling a stone lighter, and her eyes fluttering a bit.
The real disappointment came from from the fact that for once she might not be seen as the enemy of fun that most people imagined her to be. She loved to have fun, sought it out in fact. There were just so many more important things she felt she had to concentrate on. Maybe, if she managed to enjoy a ride on Fred's broom , she might be able to cast off this boring, goody-goody persona she had been pegged with from the first day on the Hogwarts train. She might be a stickler for the rules, but what Muggle-born wouldn't be in her place? Pure-bloods did not have to walk to same line to be accepted that she did, and even half-bloods were never held to same standards she had been. From the moment she had stepped into Hogwarts hallowed halls, she dreaded making a misstep, that she was being judged differently, and that they were just waiting for the mud-blood to mess up. She had to prove she belonged here, which meant that rules needed to be followed, and sadly, fun had to wait until her homework was finished.
The rim of the bottle found its way to her lips again, and as she exhaled, so went another stone, another worry, another negative thought.
Negative thoughts like she needed to be more careful. Draughts of Peace were dangerous if used in correctly. The reminder needled her in the back of her pragmatic, responsible mind, but the contented relief that washed over her with each sip pushed it further back, telling her she worried too much. Have another sip dear, it'll all go away.
When Fred's hand landed on her shoulder, she didn't even flinch.
"Sorry I was late," he shrugged. "Nicking my broom proved harder than I first conceived. But, nothing is impossible with a little Weasley ingenuity."
"Were you late? Oh… I hadn't really noticed."
Examining her with squinted eyes, Fred asked, "Are you alright, Hermione? You seem a bit… I dunno, just... off."
"I'm fine, Freddie!" She jumped up from her spot on the opposite side of the lake where she had promised to meet Fred, far from Umbridge's or her goonies prying, watchful eyes.
"You're much more excited about this than I expected," his expression was still painted with disbelief, "I mean, for an acrophobic."
"When did you learn the word for 'fear of heights'?" she asked, flashing him a puzzled smirk.
"When it became important," was his only response. "Well, climb aboard before you come to your senses."
Tossing his broom out, Fred mounted quickly and confidently, as if it were second nature. Hermione envied him for that, and went to reach for her last sip of Peace Draught, but Fred turned back suddenly reaching to her hand.
"You'll want to ride it front since you're inexperienced. I can help you balance."
Something about riding in the front intensified her anxiety for a brief moment before it was washed away under the effects of the draught. Letting the feeling wash away, she took his hand, and he helped her settle onto the broom in front of him. When his hand snaked around her waist, pulling her tight against, pressing her shoulder blades against the firmness of his chest, she shivered from the touch. His free hand enclosed her right side, reaching out to secure his grip on the broom.
Fred must have sensed her discomfort, or pleasure, or both, and he dipped his mouth towards her ear whispering, "Just a safety precaution, Granger." The tickle of his breath on her ear tensed the muscles in her stomach. "Now, close your eyes."
"Fred…"
"Silencio, Granger. For once, I'm the expert here, so if you please, shut your mouth and your eyes."
Hermione did as she was told, albeit, reluctantly. When she felt her feet lift from the ground, she opened one eye, but Fred caught her.
"Not yet, you're going to ruin it" he scolded. "So, you leave me little choice. Obscuro."
At his words, Hermione was plunged into darkness. "Fred!"
"You're not going anywhere, I promise," Fred whispered again, tightening his grip on her waist.
Though the tension was rising inside her chest, each anxious thought was willed away by the draught. She still felt light, as if she fell from the broom she would simply float down like a feather, but she did not want to test the theory. While her vision was obstructed, her other senses filled in the gaps of information her eyes could not perceive. The smell of wet earth was enveloping them, leaving Hermione to assume the Fred was cutting through a portion of the Forbidden Forest. The slight chill of the wind kissing her skin juxtaposed the the warmth of the sun on her cheeks and arms. The once gentle, constant whir of wind past her ears increased in ferocity- her only indicator that they were picking up speed as the climbed.
A strange feeling tingled her skin, like a billion instant pin pricks that bubbled away as fast as they manifested.
"Finite," Fred spoke, and instantly light filled her eyes.
That, and the most breathtaking sight she had ever witnessed. From the ground, it had been a bleary late Sunday afternoon, and she realized the strange sensation had been the ice crystals as they ascended and broke through the low cloud layer. The landscape underneath them now was a vision from one of her fantasy books- an endless carpet of clouds billowing out to a soft, candyfloss horizon. The sun rays hit the cloud tops at scattered angles, creating a kaleidoscope of colors, like an upside down sunset. She realized why Fred had chosen such a time late in the day to meet him.
Despite herself, Hermione was actually enjoying this, allowing herself to let go of everything she needed to be, and for this moment, simply be.
"If you like this, you should see it at night" Fred shouted over the roar of the wind. "More stars than you ever thought possible."
Turning slightly, Hermione peered out her left periphery and caught the expression of pure joy that Fred couldn't hide if he wanted too. The infectiousness of his smile felt intoxicating. Her mind wandered on that sentiment as Fred sent them weaving through a gathering of particularly tall cumulous clouds. At this point, she had known Fred for the better part of five years, and this was the most time she had ever spent with him alone. Yet, in the short span of two days, she had learned more about him than she had in those five years. In the first years, she had just been Ron's friend, but recently she was beginning to feel like an adopted non-ginger member of the family.
Until this year, she hadn't much thought of him as any more than a protective, sometimes obnoxious, older brother. He was changing that perception with every protective squeeze of her waist. Could it have been that all those recent flirtations that she had simply brushed off as cheek, brushed off because he so casually threw them at any passing female, had been more meaningfully directed? If not, why then, of all the girls in Hogwarts, did her bring her to what was obviously his special, solitary place- his escape from the world?
A sudden bout of dizziness hit her before she could reason out the answer, and it turned into full on drowsiness. Fighting the weight dragging down her eyelids, shook her head and exhaled sharply. No such luck. Shapes were losing their definition. The light of the sun was almost blinding, yet the shadows were deepening. What once was a kaleidoscope had become a harsh, contrasting monochromatic landscape of indiscernible shapes.
Her last thought was that Fred had obscured her vision again, but she had barely asked, "Fred, did you…" before she crumpled in his arms.
"Hermione!" Fred shouted, as her shifting weight forced them to list right.
Frantically adjusting, trying to re-correct, Fred succeeded in doing little more than sending them into a downward spin. Her last conscious memory was the feeling of slipping from Fred's grasp, and not even having the compulsion to scream bloody murder.
Then nothing.
oOoOoOoOo
Mind racing, Fred found himself splayed flat across his broom, chest to the wood, limbs dangling, clinging to Hermione's arm in a death grip. Finally correcting their spin out, Fred managed to hoist her back onto the broom. Bracing her with arm around her chest, Hermione's slumped body felt like a rag doll. Limply, her head leaned into his face, pressing her forehead into his cheek. At least he could feel her soft exhales against his neck, and for that he was relieved, but they were shallow at best.
Finding a clearing with a small pocket of trees, Fred dove to make a hasty landing. Once on the ground, he laid Hermione out across a soft patch of moss. What had happened? She had to have taken something! Searching her pockets, he found the nearly empty bottle of the Draught of Peace.
"Oh bloody hell, Granger! What have you done!" Shouting, he tapped her cheek forcefully, trying to rouse her.
Mixed improperly, Fred knew it could cause the imbiber to fall into a deep, irreversible sleep. But, Hermione was too meticulous to incorrectly brew a potion.
"C'mon love, wake up. Wake up!" He jerked her shoulders almost just shy of violent. "Damnit, Hermione, WAKE UP!"
He took a deep breath, falling back sitting back on his haunches- he had to think. Time was not on his side, and he had to react before it was too late. He couldn't take her to Madam Pomfrey- too many questions. There was only one solution a potion whiz like Fred could think of, but she wasn't going to like it.
If he could get to Hogsmeade, he could bring her back through the passage that lead to the Room of Requirement. Hopefully, no one would be practicing. Fred scooped her up, holding her on his lap to secure her better as he raced to Hogsmeade. Part of him was thankful she was unconscious- she'd murder him if she knew how recklessly he was flying. Not like he had much of choice though. Landing behind the Hog's Head, he made the hasty decision to ditch his broom behind a wood pile. He could always come back for it later- he couldn't manage both, and Hermione was the priority.
The Hog's Head was dead as usual, empty even for a dinner rush on a Sunday night, which meant he was able to easily slip into through the back door while the proprietor was out front, minding an empty bar. Managing the door, a painting of a young blond girl who seemed very concerned for Hermione, was a bit of a trick, but he managed somehow. Charging down the corridor as fast as he could, steps pounding, reverberating off the stone and dirt walls, in the dark, with Hermione shifting in his arms was no easy task. After what seemed like a race down a never ending hallway, he burst into the empty, thankfully, Room of Requirement.
This room though did not look like the training space for their DA meetings. The room had morphed into a potions lab, replete with the very ingredients Fred needed. It took his breath away from a second, and he smirked, the wonders of Hogwarts never ceasing. But, he took little time to admire the magic of the Room, because Hermione's breathing was almost undetectable.
Fred on the other hand was breathing fast and hard enough for the both of them, half winded from the sprint, half terrified for her life. Searching for a place to lay her down, Fred spied a cot unfolding next to the brewing table. Laying her gently onto the canvas cloth, he hesitated a moment, brushing her cheek and whispering, "Stay with me, Granger. I expect a full on verbal thrashing from you about this, so you'd better pull through."
Sliding over to the brewing table, Fred's mind was scattered. He combed through the available ingredients, trying to recall the components for Wiggenweld potion from the back of his frantic mind.
"Lionfish spines…lionfish spines…" he grabbed a tall, wide corked bottle full of white and yellow striped quills. "Sala-man-der blood," he held out his words, eyes moving back and forth until he spied dark purple liquid in another corked bottle. "Flobberworm mucus, and, yes, honeywater. Alright, love. Just a few more minutes."
Salamander blood until red, stir until orange. More blood until yellow, stir until green. More blood until turquoise, heat until indigo. Fred's eyes darted to Hermione, her chest wasn't moving anymore. More blood until pink, heat until yellow. Five lionfish, heat until yellow. Five more spines. Add mucus until purple, stir until red. More mucus until orange, stir until yellow. His chest was constricting, he was starting to panic. This was taking too long. Shake until orange again, add honey until turquoise again, heat until pink, last of the salamander blood until bright green.
Wiggenweld potion had to be given in just the right amount- too little, no effect, too much, there could be negative side effects including night terrors anytime the victim slept or incurable insomnia. From everything he had read, there was only way to properly administer the correct amount.
Hermione was definitely going to murder him if she survived.
Dipping his finger into the bright green concoction, Fred smeared it across his lips. They felt a bit chapped- hopefully, she wouldn't notice. She'd be too busy screaming bloody murder and swinging fists. Kneeling down beside her cot, Fred took a deep breath.
"Dear Circe, please let this work."
Leaning in, lifting her head gently, he hovered above her lips. He could hear George in the back of his mind, laughing and tauntingly calling him "Prince Charming".
"Please forgive me for saving your life by not taking mine."
He sighed, closed his eyes, held his breath, and pressed his lips to hers.
A second passed. Then two.
He exhaled in pure elation when he felt her lips move against his. Then, he remembered about the murder and the screaming, and he jumped back and covered his face with is hands.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Fred?" her voice was quizzical and rough from sleep, so he braved her wrath enough to peer out from behind a split in his fingers. "What on earth is going on?"
Pushing herself up, she scanned to room, confusion contorting her face, a dozen questions to ask, the most pressing of which was:
"Was I dreaming, or did you just kiss me?"
"Please, not the face!" He ducked instinctively, covered his head with his arms.
When no bludgeoning occurred, he lifted his head back up to meet her bewildered expression.
"Did we crash? Do you have head trauma or something?"
"Not exactly…"
"What is going on? Where in the hell are we?"
"The room of requirement."
"Really?" Curiosity lit her eyes for a moment as they moved across the room, then back to reality. "Why?"
"Because, you overdosed on Peace Draught… and you kind of fell into a near permanent death sleep... and fell off my broom requiring wicked quick reflexes on my part, pretty astonishing feat actually-"
"What!?"
"Have you ever taken this potion before?"
"I've brewed it-"
"But have you taken it?"
"Not exactly."
"Not everyone can take a Peace Draught, Hermione. Extremely anxious people-" Fred glanced pointedly in her direction, "-have a vulnerability to the Draught of Peace. Once you take it, you start to lose your anxiety, but, if you're a habitually anxious person, the feeling of relief can be sort of addicting, uninhibiting, to have that weight of worry lifted from your mind for the first time probably... ever. It's not uncommon for people to drink more than what is safe. Any longer, and I'm not sure I could not have woken you- you drank almost the entire bottle."
"Are you serious!?" she exclaimed, slumping back on her elbows. "I don't remember anything."
"Another side effect."
"How… how did you…" the pieces started to fit together. Her tongue traced over her lips. "Wiggenweld potion?"
"Yeah…" he sighed, holding the word long. "About that, you see-"
"Fred! Please! You are not to tell anyone about this! Understood?"
"Relax, Granger," he rolled his eyes. "I might be one of Hogwarts most eligible catches, but I don't kiss and tell."
"Kiss?" she huffed indignantly, "I meant about botching a potion!"