** This is a series of drabbles, ficlets and one-shots following our dear Fred and Hermione from June of 1995 (shortly before the third task of the Triwizard Tournament) to an as-of-yet undetermined point post-war.**

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2 July 1995

It was the evening of the end-of-term feast and Hermione was walking up from the lake after having exchanged valedictions with Viktor. She'd promised to see him off the next day along with everybody else, but he had wanted something a bit more private for their real good-bye.

Viktor had been disappointed when she'd informed him that she wouldn't be visiting him that summer, though more than understanding given the circumstances. She was on the fence about it the week prior when he'd hinted, but had fallen solidly on the side of staying with her friends in the wake of the last task.

And her family… well, that was a whole other issue desperately in need of addressing.

She was rounding the bend by an old beech tree, the sun just beginning to set over the lake, when she spotted a familiar red head settled beneath it. It only took her a second to discern that it was Fred.

"Hey," she said, approaching slowly in case he wasn't interested in company. It had been a long week for everyone, and she knew the twins were friendly with Cedric. He had a piece of parchment propped on his knee in front of him which, from the brief glimpse she got, was covered in varying combinations and designs comprised of three interlocking Ws. Though he didn't look at all put out by her presence, he did hastily tuck it into a folder and out of sight. "Where's George?"

"How do you know that I'm not George?" he posed in a challenging tone, reclining on his hands and tipping his head at the vacant swath of grass beside him.

She only paused for a moment before settling on it, wrapping her arms around her knees and leaving a few inches of space between them.

"Because you're not," she said, elusive but certain. Fred wore a bemused expression but simply shook his head.

"Wish Viktor farewell?" he asked. "I saw him heading back to the ship.

She nodded and plucked a clover from between her feet, twirling it so the leaves blurred together and it looked like a tiny green umbrella.

"He invited me to visit him in Bulgaria this summer, at his parent's estate near Sofia."

"Estate," Fred mouthed slowly, dramatically arching an eyebrow at her and smirking. Hermione rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Are you going to go?"

She thought she detected a trace of sharpness to his voice but pushed the idea away. It was Ron that had an issue with Viktor, after all. She was just projecting.

"No," she shook her head. "After everything last week… I think it's best that I remain here."

They were silent for a moment, listening to the crickets begin to chirp in earnest as the sun continued in its descent.

"So will you be staying with us again this summer?" Fred finally asked, his tone casual but genuinely curious.

"If your mum will have me," she replied, thinking back to the ill-fated issue of Witch Weekly and resulting Easter egg slight. "I have to go home for at least a few weeks first, though."

She was plagued again with the matter of her parents and dropped the clover to grind the heels of her palms into her eye sockets in suppressed frustration.

"Is that a bad thing?" Fred asked uncertainly, clearly not knowing how to interpret her reaction.

"No," she sighed heavily. "Or maybe yes? I'm not sure. I just wish that I could have one year, just one, where I didn't have to come up with an elaborate web of lies about what goes on in my life while I'm away from them."

"You lie to your parents?" he blurted, sounding sincerely surprised. She dropped her hands, eyes a bit red, and looked at him in the dusky light as if he might be daft.

"Did you think that I didn't? Merlin's beard, they'd probably have pulled me out of school after my first year, and definitely after my second. It was all I could do to convince Professor McGonagall not to tell them I'd spent the better part of that spring term petrified in a hospital bed."

Fred appeared deep in thought, if perhaps a little repentant as well.

"Don't feel bad for not thinking about it," she placated quickly. "Harry and Ron never have. Your parents already know everything that goes on, and Harry's guardians don't care, so I don't think it's ever even occurred to them."

"Still…" Fred started, a crease between his brows. "I'm really sorry you have to do that. Lie to them, I mean. It can't be easy."

"It's not," she admitted, realizing with a start that this was something she hadn't ever really talked to anybody about. Feeling a little self-conscious, she kept her gaze fixed on the grass between her feet as she spoke. "I don't want them to be afraid of magic. They're aware there's a dark side to all of it, we even have a class devoted to defending against it for pity's sake, but it's all conceptual for them right now. If they were to see the effects of it, actually understand what it's capable of, know how close I've come to it myself, I think… I think that they would be afraid of it. And if they're afraid of magic, and I'm magic, then it stands to reason…"

Fred just nodded in her periphery, clearly not needing it spelled out.

"Anyway, I have to decide what to tell them – if anything."

They lapsed into silence once more, the sun perhaps halfway set behind the water at that point. She glanced up at the building behind them, seeing several other students making their way inside from the grounds.

"We should probably get back in there, the feast will be starting soon."

Fred, uncharacteristically silent, nodded and got to his feet, folder tucked against one side and the opposite hand extended to help her up. She reached out and grasped it, his warm fingers sliding against her own. The insides of his knuckles had the ghosts of calluses in a few places, likely from years of gripping a broom and a beater's bat and a wand, but all in all she was surprised by how soft they were.

"If there's ever anything I can do to help with your parents, let me know. Okay?"

She blinked in surprised and then nodded. They paused and stood across from one another as the water quietly lapped at the lakeshore, the contact between them lingering a second longer than strictly necessary. He lightly ran the pad of his thumb in a half-circle along the back of her hand before releasing it and she had to consciously stop her eyes from dropping shut. Instead, she let out what she hoped was a silent, albeit unsteady, breath as she followed him up the hill toward The Great Hall.

The whole walk back Hermione mentally grappled with her reaction to that simple, fleeting grip on her hand. Because, in all the months of snogging, she was certain that Viktor had never done anything that made her feel like that.

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A/N: It's a little too spicy for the community guidelines over here, but I do also have a new (unrelated) Fremione one shot that just posted this week on AO3. Same pen name, and the title is "Not Bad at All."

It's around 8k words, post-war, steamy, and just a whole lot of fun.