Yes this is late. You may have noticed I did post this chapter on schedule but it was due to an error on my own part, an earlier (slightly embarassing) draft. So here is ACTUALLY is - please enjoy.
Hermione knew she should be more scared at the thought of Voldemort returning than she was of failing her exams, after what Harry told her and Ron the night of their detention. She was aware that it was more logical to fear death than failure. It was irrational to feel otherwise. And yet, they seemed on par in her mind. If anything, the exams took precedent because, as horrible as what Harry had told them was, it had felt unreal. In the dead of night around the embers of the Gryffindor fire it was a ghost story. This tale about a monster in the woods, drinking the blood of the innocent was just an epilogue to the books in which Harry featured as the last page, defeating Voldemort – the boy who lived – that held no weight in her real, present life. For Harry she knew it must be different. He had seen the unicorn's corpse. Had talked to Firenze. Saw his own scar every time he looked in the mirror, his history branded onto his forehead, impossible to shake. But Hermione? She had been born into the muggle world. Had grown up in a place where people like Voldemort only existed in stories. Exams, however…
Transfiguration was fine. She managed to turn her mouse into a snuff box on her second try, faster than anyone else, and the two seconds she'd risked looking up into Professor McGonagall's face gave her a glimpse of approval. Maybe even redemption. Quirrell almost gave everybody the answers with how eager he was to prompt them into the right one, and Professor Flitwick was as comforting and cheery as ever at their prospects. When it came to Potions, however, Hermione felt herself begin to panic. The air was full of fumes – from the forgetfulness potions, God he was cruel! – and it was too warm to breathe, never mind think. What if I've done all this, what if I've worked this much, for nothing? She barely remembered the last five minutes, hoping that her instinct had carried her through even as Snape sneered at her cauldron. She left even without saying goodbye to Harry and Ron, desperate to get to a cool bathroom.
"I suppose she thinks she doesn't need to stay to the end," Lavender Brown's voice floated out of the room behind her and she ran faster.
The problem with panic attacks was that after a while they all seemed to meld together, like her whole life had just been one big one. She felt a sense of déjà vu as she looked blearily up at herself in the bathroom mirror. It was Halloween all over again. She'd managed to put the thought that everyone hated her out of her mind for a long time now – focussing on her work – but the pressure of the exam had set every anxious cog and wheel in her brain spinning out of control again. And that comment from Lavender—is this ever going to end? She choked on a gasp, leaning her forehead down on the cool ceramic of the sink.
"Someone in there?" The voice was echoing through the bathroom door – male, presumably, which was why they didn't just come in. "Hello? You alright?" Hermione tried to take deep breaths.
"Fine," She rasped out, sounding anything but. There was a moment's silence.
"Granger?" Two voices, at the same time. Oh no. She screwed up her eyes like a little kid trying to make themselves invisible. She heard an indistinct murmur, urgent.
"No, you tosser, she'll feel cornered if we both-" Urgent murmur.
"Well, that's your problem isn't it – Merlin." A pause. "We not built for this, Freddie."
This was the last thing she needed, perhaps the most painful example of people who hated her. Just go away. You don't care what happens to me anyway, just leave. Please just leave.
"I don't think you're really in a position to be making those kinds of demands," He said quietly, at her side. She must have said it out loud. Great, now she couldn't control her vocal chords as well as her lungs. She felt tears squeezing out from between her tightly shut eyelids and made a sound like a choking whale. This was so tragically embarrassing. Why now? Why him? Her tears were of anger as much as anything else. She felt his arm at her elbow and realised she must have almost fallen, the edges of her vision going dark. With his free hand, he pulled his wand from his back pocket and conjured up a small clear glass.
"Aguamenti. Here. Drink some." He held it up to her mouth and ignored her half-hearted protest, tipping it up. Her mortification increased as she felt some of it run down her chin, falling down under her shirt, shockingly cold against her overly warm skin. "Sorry – hang on." He put the glass down on the rim of the sink and she felt him guide her hand to its edge, making sure she had a good grip on it before walking away. In the mirror, she watched as he grabbed some toilet roll from the stall behind her and returned. She took it from his outstretched hand and dabbed it over her face and neck. The water was cooling her down, she realised. And her breathing was slowing back to an acceptable rate.
As the darkness around her field of view dissipated, she slowly became more aware of her situation, most pressingly, of the boy staring at her in the mirror, his hands still slightly outstretched, like he was getting ready for her to fall into his arms.
"Fred," She said, stupidly, not knowing what else to say.
"Hermione," He replied, in the same tone. She couldn't yet quite place her finger on why it sounded strange.
"This is a girls' bathroom," it was the second thing she managed to process, and the words fell out of her mouth unbidden. He breathed through his nose – some pale shadow of a laugh.
"Yes, I did notice. I know we're not all on your level but I can figure that much out on my own." She couldn't tell if this was malicious or not, mocking sarcasm or a return to the rhythm they'd had – what felt like – a long time ago. Hermione stared at his freckled face in the mirror. She was so exhausted. Her eyes closed as a wave of light headedness passed over her, and it took her less than a second to decide she was done inferring and overthinking. She turned, facing him head on.
"Why did you come in?" He ran a hand through his red hair, stalling.
"You know a keep out sign never prevented us from going anywhere," he said lightly.
"Fred." No. No more of this false familiarity.
"What?" He'd heard it in her voice. "I could hear you were distressed so I came in and helped, why is that such a problem for you?" His body had changed, turned slightly away from her so his look of reproach was sent through the corners of his eyes rather than face on. Like he was scared of her. Good.
"I was under the impression that you couldn't care less if I was in distress or not," She was almost proud to hear her voice sounding nearly normal, mustering up her strength.
"Well, how exactly would you know that Granger? You seem pretty hell bent on not telling me about your distress even when it's for your own good," not so scared, then. He'd been avoiding this though. He was turning more towards her now, arms coming up to cross over his chest. Right. Fine. They could do this. She was strong enough for it. She was.
"Why would I tell you a damn thing about anything, Fred? You disowned me along with everyone else – rats off a sinking ship, all of you!" Hermione's hands balled up at her sides. He scoffed, a sound devoid of humour, and she felt the sudden urge to throw her fists at his face.
"Why would you tell me? Maybe because I asked, Granger – I asked and you lied to my face! And don't you dare tell me we abandoned you, it was you who decided we weren't worth trusting." His voice was echoing off the walls, doubling as though his twin was standing beside him. She hesitated for a moment, processing.
"You stopped talking to me after I lost the House Points, just like everyone else," Her voice dropped a little, and she saw a look of mild confusion pass over his face.
"What?" He said, and his expression turned from confusion to disgust, "What? You think this because of House Points?" The air between them was filled with broken connections, loose ends that wouldn't join up in her head, no matter how she tried to piece them together. When he realised she wasn't going to respond, his hands came up again, this time to rub over his face, groaning.
"Merlin, Hermione… the night you guys got caught – I asked you if things were bad, I asked if we could do anything and you just – brushed me off, like I was nothing."
"I had my reasons for not telling you what we were doing," She said, her tone steely again. That much she was certain of.
"You know, for someone so smart, you are such an idiot," He hissed, and she flinched, hackles raising. "Didn't I already say we didn't need the details? You were sneaking out at night and you had the services of Fred and George fucking Weasley at your disposal and it didn't even cross your mind to maybe ask how it's done?" He was gesticulating wildly now, gesturing to behind him, where she had heard George's voice.
Her eyebrows shooting upwards, she asked "This is about your hurt pride, is it? Wounded that the little first years didn't come running to you for help?" She saw his ears go red and recognised the sign of Weasley anger. Serves you right.
"Pride doesn't have anything to do with it Granger," his voice was weirdly low now, ominous, "we called you family, went out of our way to welcome you in! Do you know what that means to us? And you didn't even give us the courtesy of telling us the truth." Two thoughts collided with each other in her head and the air between them grew thick as she dealt with them. As much as she hated to admit it, he might have had a point. No, she'd never have told him – or anyone – the full story, would never have incriminated Hagrid but… it would have been logical to ask the two most experienced trouble makers we know for help, her reason was saying, reluctantly, they could probably have saved us from meeting Filch. Looking at him now and remembering their conversation, she knew it was true. He might have asked for the full story but he wouldn't have pressed the issue if she'd asked him for help without telling him it. It was the other thought, however, which made its way out of her mouth.
"You went out of your way…" It was quiet but he responded anyway, frowning.
"Yeah, we did. We made a point of making you comfortable. We asked mum about making a jumper-"
"You went out of your way to hurt me." Her voice was louder now. He blanched.
"What?"
"I could have told you," she said flatly, "I might have told you, if I wasn't so… panicked about – well - everything. It's not like you're unaware that I have a problem with that." This last part came out more bitterly than she'd intended as she gestured to the sink in front of her, with the glass he'd conjured still sitting on the rim.
"Yeah, you could have." He agreed, but there wasn't much of a victory in him at her admission; his eyes were hovering on the conjured glass.
"So I made a mistake, hurt your feelings a bit, maybe" She recapped, quietly, waving her hand vaguely toward his chest, "and then… and then you turned your back on me at the lowest point of my life thus far." The imbalance in her words made his eyes widen, and he opened his mouth – maybe to defend himself – but once they had started she couldn't stop them. "I made a bad decision in the heat of the moment. But you? You stewed over my slight, talked about it with George, maybe even Lee and Angie, and made the conscious decision to use our friendship against me. To hurt me. You went out of your way to do that to me, Fred."
"…Hermione… it wasn't like that…" His voice was soft now, maybe even pleading. Perhaps he was realising what they'd done. But she was past that. This wasn't like the fight they'd had in the library. This could not end so well.
"See, I've figured it out, now," She said, almost conversationally, wiping the residual tears from her eyes, the corners of her mouth turning up ruefully.
"What?" He frowned at her, his mouth slightly open.
"I figured out why it sounded so odd earlier when you said my name – it was Hermione, not Granger." He shrugged like he hadn't even thought about it. Which he probably hadn't.
"Maybe we'd have gotten there at some point, Fred, but - you should stick to Granger."
"C'mon, Hermione, we don't need to make this much of a deal about this," He was trying to keep his voice steady but it still came out like a question.
"I'm not angry, Fred," She assured him, and was kind of surprised to find she believed it, "Just… trying to do you the courtesy of telling you the truth." He half-flinched, and she realised she was twisting his words back onto him. Well, there's no going back now. "I don't think it can be how it was after this. It's like George said – outside," He shook his head, almost like a tick, "I wasn't built for this. For getting over this. I'm sorry." And she meant it.
"You're talking with Longbottom again," He said abruptly. Her eyebrows shot up.
"What has Neville got to do with this?" She watched him wet his lips before speaking again.
"You're saying you can't forgive me but you can forgive him? What's the difference? I heard he was being a right prat to you too." Oh good, so you admit you behaved like a prat. She tucked hair behind her ear to give her hands something to do.
"Neville acted the way he did because he was scared and hurt, Fred," Hermione said, the words tasting sour in her mouth. How could he compare the two? "You did what you did out of spite."
He made an indignant choking noise in the back of his throat.
"And how d'you figure that, Granger? You reckon I can't feel hurt? I was angry, I wasn't thinking-"
"Please don't ask me to feel sorry for you, Fred," She snapped, surprising herself and him, "I can't do it, okay? I won't do that for someone who didn't- who made me feel-" She tried to find an appropriate word but for once they failed her, her voice cracking as tears sprang back into her eyes unbidden. It seemed to sober him.
"Hermione, it wasn't like- I didn't know- you can't think I'd purposely- if I knew it was going to end up like…" He gestured to the both of them, his hands encapsulating everything that stood between them, the immovable barriers that they'd created.
"You shouldn't have had to have known," She said, sharply, "if you'd really meant any of what you'd said-" Her voice caught in her throat. Don't cry, Hermione.
"I was just angry, Hermione, it was just a couple days of being angry. After that… I don't know, it was hard to… to know that you didn't trust us." She pressed her lips together, trying to hold in her reply but it came out anyway.
"Well, it looks like I was right not to rely on you." He really did flinch now. She almost expected him to snap something back. For the fight to start all over again. Instead, she watched as he swallowed it back, hard, glaring at the floor until the blood had started to retreat from his cheeks again. Hermione waited, willing herself not to cry.
"So what?" He asked, finally, his voice slightly hoarse, "I'm supposed to pretend that we don't know each other anymore?" He said it like it was impossible, like they hadn't both been doing it for weeks now.
"I'm not asking you to be a stranger," she said, and then forced herself to look him dead in the eye, "I'm telling you we can't… we can't be family." You shouldn't feel guilty about this, she reminded herself, as she watched his mouth open and his eyes stare, wounded, into hers, you don't owe him a thing. When he managed to speak again, it wasn't another denial, but something calm, akin to resignation.
"Right. Yeah. 'Course." She refused to look away first, although she had a feeling he wasn't really seeing her at all, his eyes unfocussed. Then, without warning, he stuck his hand out, looking bizarrely like Percy. It was her turn to stare blankly. "C'mon, Granger, show a guy a little mercy – I don't want to leave feeling like we've killed something." For a second she could see blood on both their hands, in the moment of pain she caught in his eyes - and then it passed. Already, she could feel herself standing on steadier ground.
"Okay," A handshake. I can do that much. She reached out and let him wrap his fingers around her hand. He gave it a firm shake and without looking away, called out:
"Alright, you can emerge from the shadows, now!"
Hermione wasn't even surprised when George stepped into the doorway.
"It's hardly the shadows, mate – you're the one lurking about a girls' toilet preying on the vulnerable. Do I get a handshake, too, Granger?" He made it sound like a tease but she heard the note of uncertainty in his voice. Neither of them could pretend he hadn't been involved in the tensions of the previous weeks. He noticed her hesitating and stepped closer, level with his brother. "I'm sorry too, you know? I should never have let this twat persuade me that we were justified in how we acted."
Fred sent him a sideways look but didn't object to the assessment. His hand was still holding hers. She pried it away gently, and then held it out to George.
"I don't want to be enemies anymore." She said firmly.
"So I heard," and they touched palms briefly.
The anger that had filled the space around them earlier had dissipated, but the awkwardness was by no means gone. Once they'd become clear on where they all stood in terms of their relationship, Hermione began to take in where they stood physically.
"Maybe you should leave the girls' bathroom now," Said George with a nudge to Fred's side, clearly thinking along the same lines as Hermione.
"What?" The latter had been staring absently at the glass that still stood on the edge of the sink, and she frowned as she followed his gaze.
"I said: Shall we stop loitering about in a girls' bathroom, Freddie?" George repeated like he was talking to a senile uncle.
"Do you want to take it with you?" Hermione asked, going to grab the cup from the sink. Fred put out an arm to stop her a fraction of a second too late and knocked it out of her hand. The glass fell to the floor and shattered, shards skidding along the tiled floor around their shoes. Hermione gasped and felt Fred's fingers curl around the sleeve of her school cardigan, pushing her away from the site of impact as he and George stepped back. She was stunned for a second by the sheer suddenness of it, the finality with which it had broken.
"Well, that was dramatic," said George, lightly, pulling his wand from his pocket and vanishing the pieces. Hermione couldn't understand why she felt the heavy weight of loss as the remains of the glass disappeared, and stayed silent while she tackled her emotions.
"And now we really should go." Fred managed to meet her eyes one more time before his twin marched him out of the room.
"See you later then, Granger?" Hermione hated the uncertainty in his voice. She gave him a tight lipped smile and nodded.
"Sure. Later." The corner of his robe whipped around the doorway and Hermione saw nothing more of either of them at all.
So? What did you think? *holds breath*