She went for hours, regaining the sense of her body as she poured everything she had into the movements. Malfoy forced her to break three times even though she hadn't made any mistakes. Mistress McGonagall gave her a sour look at the lack of a serene smile on her face but when Hermione snapped back that she was being murdered in the scene and wouldn't be very serene, the woman just frowned and turned toward another dancer.

Malfoy finally forced her to stop at eight forty-five. They had been practicing at that point for over thirteen hours and her muscles were twitching wildly but she was still not done. Malfoy collapsed on an empty bench, every other student having filtered away hours ago.

"Okay, enough," he sighed.

"Again."

"No! No more agains. No more run throughs, or repeats, or lifts. I'm exhausted and one of us is going to get hurt."

"Fine. I will keep going on my own." She moved toward the stereo intending to run it from the top when Malfoy's hand closed around her wrist.

"Stop it Granger. If you dance yourself to death I will have to train a new partner."

"Fuck off, Malfoy."

"Look I know it's our 'thing' to hiss and snap at each other but don't try to push your problems off on me. I've got enough of my own."

"You don't-"

"You looked like a kid in a candy store with no money out in that hallway. An especially strange fact considering that Weasley seemed to be fucking you with his eyes," Malfoy scowled. "though I cannot imagine the appeal."

"You don't know shit," she scoffed.

"I know The Last Laugh is playing at the Badger's hole tonight."

"You were eavesdropping?!"

"Theo texted me. Apparently he's quite thrilled with his meddling." He stared at her until she looked away and pulled her hand free. "I couldn't care less."

"Since when did you become a lonely old housewife."

"I dance ballet. I was born one." Malfoy stood, pulling on a pair of jeans over his tights with a tightly woven sweater. No sweats and hoodies for him. "Don't mistake it for compassion, Granger. I just need to know if you are going to fall off the deep end before we perform."

"You are a dick Malfoy."

"And you are having problems with one so listen up." he snapped. "Go to the stupid show. When he's done playing drag him in back and screw him against the speakers then be done with it. Ballet has lost worse dancers than you to better men than Twin Weasley."

"His name is Fred," she snapped automatically. Malfoy just raised an eyebrow and shrugged on his jacket.

"Who gives a fuck?"

She bit back her defense. Malfoy didn't care to hear it and it wasn't her place to be defending Fred to anyone. He left the room without another word.

Hermione ran through the routine twice more before considering it a wash. It was too difficult not to imagine a different set of strings, echoing in the room of her too small apartment with notes that were just slightly off but still somehow better.

The clock read 9:10. The Badger's Hole was on the other side of Manhattan. If the trains were running she could get there in twenty minutes and catch the last few songs. She imagined that cracked smile on his face while he played, his finger tripping and slow compared to what they should be because he was too busy thinking about what wasn't to be...

It would hurt, and she would be worse for it. But her presence might make a difference.

Decision made, she threw on her coat and sweats, painfully aware that she was not dressed for going out. Hermione skidded out the door on the dirty slush that was pristine white snow not three days ago. She dove through the subway, barely swiping her card in time to slip onto the train as it pulled away.

Hermione pulled her hair out of its bun, trying to claw it back into a serviceable braid. When she exited at Canal Street, she braved the slick sidewalks for the two blocks it took to get to the Badger's Hole. Despite the weather, people were lined up outside, waiting for admission well after the show had started.

She felt her hope die, as she stared at the group of people. Everyone must just be desperate for some weekend entertainment after being snowed in.

"Hermione?"

Her head snapped to attention as Romilda Vane cooed from near the front of the line. Hermione never liked the contemporary dancer. She had a habit of involving herself in other people's relationships, welcomed or not.

"Oh hey."

"Oooo. Pushed to the back of the line then? Shame."

"I wasn't planning on coming, just got off rehearsal early."

"Early? It's nearly 9:30."

"Yeah, well my friend-" she choked on the word. "Asked me to come watch."

"Wait... as in someone from the band?" Romilda questioned, screwing up her face in doubt.

"Yeah. The guitarist," Hermione snapped defensively. Romilda just laughed.

"Oh yes, the Ballerina and the rockstar. Isn't that hilarious? Could you pick a more doomed-" Hermione was considering ripping the younger dancer's hair out when she was cut off.

"Hold on." The large bouncer glanced down at his paper and frowned, looking at his list and then Hermione. "You the ballerina?"

"I'm a ballerina."

"I got a ballerina on the must let in list." He glanced down at her outfit and smiled. "You look like one."

"She looks like shit," Romilda snapped. The bouncer turned to her with a long suffering grimace on his face.

"My sister used to dance and she would come home exactly like that three nights a week. Sweaty and swearing up a storm...Head on in."

If Hermione were more petty, or less tired she may have flaunted past the fuming brunette. As it was she merely thanked the bouncer and slipped in the warmth of the building. He directed her to a hidden corridor off to the left.

Very suddenly she found herself shoved backstage, watching The Last Laugh cranking out music to a crazed crowd. Hermione could just make out a partially empty booth near the back with a red velvet rope blocking it off. A gaggle of men watched the stage attentively. She couldn't tell if they had found what they were looking for.

All she could focus on was Fred. He and George both played expertly but it was clear to her that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. When he screamed back vocals into the mic they held a bit too much rage and anguish to just be part of the song. She wondered if she should have come at all. As she turned to leave his eyes snapped over to her, freezing her in her tracks.

The song ended and a wide smile broke out on his face. She gave him a shy wave before he had to jump into the next intro. His shoulders relaxed as he started the opening rift, the passion and adrenaline leaking back into him. George seemed to notice the change in his twin, glancing back to meet her with a questioning look. Hermione shook her head, not sure if he would understand the message or not. It was the least she could do. She stayed for the last few songs, sitting on an unused speaker until she felt the show starting to wrap up.

With one last look at the roped table she saw the greedy smiles of men in suits who only saw dollar signs. It was a new game Fred played now, but she was willing to bet that he would win.

She slipped away during the last song, feeling like she hadn't given him enough to make up for what she had taken. He would probably grow to curse the day she followed his music to an abandoned courtyard in the dead of winter. But it was all she had left.

When she descended into the subway Hermione turned off her phone, refusing to look at messages coming through with quiet pings. By the time she fell into bed, her mental exhaustion had far outweighed the physical.

00000000000000000000000

"I said no whip!" Malfoy whined.

"It's not yours. Don't complain."

"You'll spit in mine."

"Just drink it Malfoy. If your hands get any bonier my guts will spill onto the stage tomorrow," she scowled deeply at the blonde across the counter. All around them the thousands of mirrors Tonks had hung up reflected back every shred of sunlight in a bright flare.

"Why are you even working this close to show time? You should be practicing," Malfoy said as he sipped at the cup.

The first good day of March drifted through the open doorway with a flourish, bringing the sounds of the city into their argument.

"Some of us have to work to eat," she said primly.

"Maybe you should eat less and practice more, that way when you inevitably faint from exhaustion you won't kill me when you land on me," he responded.

"You can be sure you'll never find me anywhere close to 'on you' Malfoy."

"As if I would ever lower myself to you. God you hair is so fucking tragic. How on earth did no one ever tell you-"

"I like her hair… Quite a lot actually."

They ended their argument by swiveling their faces simultaneously towards the door. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she eyed the redhead leaning in the frame.

The sun looked warm and inviting against his skin with the promise of spring. His hair had finally given up on propriety completely and was tied back at the base of his neck with strands escaping and tucked behind his ears, gleaming a burnished copper. He was wearing a button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a skinny tie knotted loosely around his neck. Hermione couldn't help the involuntary sigh that escaped her throat and Malfoy sneered at her.

"You are disgusting."

"I don't think your opinion on women is to be trusted, Malfoy. Men maybe, but clearly you couldn't see a perfect girl if she sat in front of you, trying to feed you whipped cream," Fred growled as he sauntered in.

"Oh yes. Gay jokes about the danseur. How creative. You caught me. I have been hiding in the closet this whole time under the convincing ruse of ballet. Pay me no mind as I get to paw at beautiful, barely dressed women all day."

"Fred, that was-" Hermione started to admonish.

"Excepting Granger, of course," Malfoy added with a smirk.

"You've got some nerve, Malfoy," Fred hissed.

"You've got some questionable choices in women, Weasley."

"Do you really want to take it there Malfoy? Keep in mind I have five brothers and wouldn't mind a criminal record."

"Knock it off, the both of you," Hermione huffed, glaring between the men.

Fred was still pissed, his eyes locked on Malfoy like he wanted to wring the blonde's neck. Malfoy for his part, looked merely amused, sipping at what was supposed to be her matcha latte. After a moment gray eyes turned to her, a heavy question that was discomforting with its familiarity.

Whatever he saw on her face, he took as an affirmative. Malfoy sighed dramatically and stalked toward the back of the shop slipping behind the counter.

"I refuse to watch you two make angsty goo-goo eyes at each other like a set of teenagers. Oh Nymphadora!" he yelled.

Tonks shot her head out instantly, the bright blue reflecting in the mirrors throughout the shop.

"Don't call me- Hey you can't be back here!"

Malfoy shouldered through the door, slamming it shut behind him while Hermione grumbled.

"Why do we even have the fucking counter if people can just waltz behind it?"

"Put up an electric fence?" Fred suggested. She turned her glare on him.

"That was out of line."

"So was he," Fred shrugged.

"Yeah but that's our thing. He's rude, I'm a bitch. We dance wonderfully together. It works."

Fred's shoulders tensed for a moment and she suddenly remembered why they were both there. She turned towards the cash register.

"What do you want?"

"You know what I drink, Hermione."

"Chai latte?" she questioned even as she added the vanilla syrup to his cup.

"Your phone stopped working?" Fred asked.

"Nope," she answered tersely.

"I thought not, considering both Ron and Ginny's messages seem to get through but somehow mine and George's don't."

"How strange."

She set about steaming his milk, her anger playing off his, even though she wasn't sure what she was angry about.

"Why in the fuck did you leave?" he asked, his voice carefully even.

"Leave what?"

"Don't do that Hermione. Stupid is a bad look on you."

She slammed down the foamed milk a bit harder than necessary to tap out the bubbles.

"On that lovely note." She tamped down the shot and yanked it into the machine before turning back to the POS while it poured. "$4.50 please."

He smacked a five on the counter and she threw it into the cash register not caring where it landed. She turned to face the machine, only to be foiled when hundreds of mirrors reflected him back at all angles. His face was pulled into a scowl and anger broiled just under his skin. It felt wrong to her.

"You just left. You didn't stop me that day, but then you showed up at the show and I-"

"I had things to do," Hermione interrupted.

"More important things than us?"

"There is no us," she snapped, adding the shot to the to-go cup. "What do you want from me Fred?"

"The fucking truth."

His eyes met hers in the glass and they softened immediately. She looked away, pouring the milk into it without bothering with a design.

"I don't know what to tell you," she said flatly. "I came to your show because I got off of rehearsal early. I left during the very last song to avoid the crowds. I'm sorry if you didn't like that but I had work the next morning."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"I don't," she said.

"You do."

"What do you want me to say?" Hermione questioned, slamming the paper cup on the counter hard enough that the lid popped off.

"I want you to tell me that you missed me!" Fred shouted. "That you came because it was me who asked you! I want you to acknowledge that I am fucking someone to you!"

"You-"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Hermione! I-"

"Don't," she hissed.

Fred fell silent, narrowing his eyes at her. He glanced down, grabbing her hand before she could move it away and spilling his drink all over the counter in a wave of sweet smelling caffeine.

"I fucking love you Hermione and-

"Stop!"

"Whether or not you admit it, I know you love me too."

"I don't!" she shouted, trying to pull her hand away from his grip. "And you don't. That would be ridiculous. You spent a few days locked in a matchbox apartment having sex with me. That's not love."

"Say's who!"

"Logic!" she cried.

"Screw logic. We're artists. We love easily, blindly, and however we fucking please."

"Three day's isn't enough time. It's irrational to think otherwise."

"Yeah, well we aren't like everyone else," Fred pleaded. "We break the bounds, we're different."

"Said every failed couple ever," she hissed, her anger slipping away as she blinked away tears. "We're standing on the edge of disaster and you are trying to make me dance."

"Or we're one leap of faith away from a miracle and I want you to take a fucking chance and jump!"

"It won't work!"

"But what if it does?" His eyes softened and her heart keened, wanting nothing more than to give in.

"But what if it doesn't?"

"Then it will make for good fucking art!"

He panted as he leaned over the counter, coffee splashed on his shirt and his eyes blazing. She stared at him, unable to form words even as she started to calm. For all of his refusal to release it, he still held her hand delicately, just as softly as that very first night. When he spoke, he used the same soft tone that had made her start falling for him that day on the fire escape.

"I just… I'm better with you. I want to fight for this… for us. And you aren't letting me."

"There's nothing for us Fred." She tried to look anywhere else, only to see the fractured reflections all staring back at her.

"Because you won't let there be."

"because there can't be," she corrected.

"Why in the hell not?"

"I already told you-"

"Dance?" His voice was deadly calm. "That's it? Dance and work and nothing else?"

"Nothing else? You say it like there is anything else."

He finally released her hand to drag both of his down his face. She preferred him mad. When he was angry and fighting she could handle it. But all the Weasley tempers were short lived and when they burned out only the words were left behind. Fred continued to stare at the ceiling, fingertips resting on his jaw. She had kissed her way up that jaw multiple times, thinking of nothing but remembering how he tasted. That memory cut through her like a knife now.

"We signed the band."

She blinked trying to suss out the sudden topic change.

"What?"

He looked back at her and his eyes were so hopeful and honest that she could barely choke down a swallow as she cradled her hand against her chest.

"A record deal. We signed the papers today."

"That's… great," she stumbled out the words. "Wonderful! You must be so pro-"

"I can take care of you now."

His voice was like a jackhammer against her heart, throwing it out of rhythm. She had grown used to his calming dulcet baritone wrapping around her until her body relaxed. It called to her and she never wanted to stop hearing it. How much the world could change in three days.

"I don't-"

"You could drop out," he said softly, even as Hermione baulked.

"You cannot ask me to give up-"

"Never," he interrupted with a bit more venom than he probably intended. "I would never ask you to give up dancing any more than you would ask me to give up playing and don't you ever imply that I would."

"Then what would-"

"You could come with us. Start fresh in L.A. You are so fucking talented, Hermione. You could turn the whole city on it's head with just one sweep of your pointe shoes."

"Talent isn't enough-"

"No. You need luck and connections right?" he questioned. "Isn't that jazz dancer you used to hang around with out there now. Someone told me he was pretty high up. Maybe you could-"

"No, Fred," she interrupted, unable to hear anymore. He made too good of a point, too sweet of an offer.

"No what? No to dropping out? Fine you can stay here until you finish school and I can just fly out. We could-"

"No to all of it."

"I-… what?"

The clearly confused look on his face made her feel like she was pulling off his fingernails and then dumping battery acid on his skin for good measure. He genuinely thought she would do it. He had never considered that she would say no. She stared down at the coffee slowly dripping onto the floor.

"I won't do it, Fred... You need to go. You need to be present and work hard to get where you deserve to be. I can't come with you. I can't date you. I can't love you. I have my own path to follow and you need to let me walk it."

"But-"

"Please," she choked out. "This is already soul wrenching as is… I think it would be best if you left."

There was only the sounds of the city filtering through the deceptively nice day. The world spun by around her, people living their lives as if she weren't drowning right in front of them. She had never felt more betrayed by New York in her life.

Hermione wished she had the strength to pull away when his calloused fingers rested against her chin. They made art and played until they bled and knew the ways to make her body sing. Still, they touched her so softly like holding her there was his greatest masterpiece. His voice shook, dripping in torment.

"Could you at least look at me while you rip my heart out?"

She allowed him this, fully aware that tears were spilling from her eyes. His own were misty and his other hand trailed down to run over the last remnants of polish on her nails that she couldn't bear to take off. When his lips moved she had to stare at her own reflection of misery over his shoulder.

"I had to try."

"You wouldn't be you if you didn't," she whispered back watching her own lips barely move.

"Always the hard way with me, right?"

"Right."

"It didn't pan out this time." His voice cracked and she was barely holding it together. "Promise me that you'll come find me if you change your mind?"

"You don't mean-"

"Don't tell me what I mean," he snapped. "This is it for me. I was gone the day I saw you dance the Nutcracker, I just didn't know it yet."

"Fred..."

"Promise me."

She forced herself to look at him and wished that she hadn't. If desolation were a color, it would be the exact shade of Fred Weasley's eyes.

"Alright. I promise."

He smiled sadly, his eyes slowly locking up his emotions until it was almost believable. He pulled her closer for one chaste kiss before breaking away.

"I guess I'll just take what you have to give."

She bit back a sob as she watched him turn towards the door. There was no hesitation and she realized she was going to watch him walk away again. That as much as this hurt now it was for the best, before it all got even worse. The statement was toneless even to her own ears.

Fred didn't look back, he just melded into the sun with the flow of too many people that made up the streets of New York. And just like that, he was gone and she was just another heartbroken girl in a city of millions.

She didn't know how long she stood there, staring at the people walking by. When she finally broke away it was to the sound of Malfoy pulling a stack of napkins in from the dispenser and bending down to sop up the spilled coffee.

"I chose ballet," she told him even as she grabbed a towel to clean off the counter.

"I knew you would."

"How?" she asked, hating that he saw her this way but unable to pretend for him. It felt like someone should be there as everything she was bled out onto the floor.

"Like always calls to like." Malfoy shrugged, giving her a look that was so understanding that she flinched. "If it helps, I made the same choice."