A/N: I'm back! I promised this story literal years ago to my For Those About to Rock readers, and it's taken me forever to deliver. In part, it was because this was meant to be a one-shot based on the titular song that involved partying, recklessness, and waking up to strangers in bed. Then my need for clear exposition overtook, and suddenly it went from a single chapter of crack to a legitimately serious, multi-chapter story. It took on a life of it's own, and grew far past what I originally intended, and morphed far from the initial vision. In fact the titular song is almost all that remains of the original story. I do have the original story archived somewhere, and may post it later if anyone is interested in the outlandish party of self-indulgence I had written.
Anyway, this story has been my baby for years now, and I'm finally happy enough with it to share. The final chapters are still under construction, but I can hope for a monthly update until May. Who knows? I might want to rewrite major portions. Anyway, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy.
The original concept for this fic closely followed the story told in Panic! At the Disco's "Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time."Though the original source material is gone, the spirit remains; each chapter is thematically tied to a particular lyric of a song. This chapter's song is "Me and Julio Down By the School Yard" by Paul Simon.
Trigger warnings include: mild descriptions of injury.
Summary: Fred Weasley had never hit anyone before in his life. Why now, and why on earth on behalf of Hermione Granger?
For the rest of his life, Fred would always hold that Malfoy had gotten exactly what he'd deserved.
What Malfoy had called Hermione was completely unforgivable, and Snivellus had let him get away with it; the ferret had pranced back to the Slytherin common rooms while Fred served detention with Filch, with Gryffindor house five hundred points scarcer.
The only justice dealt on Fred's behalf was what the pallid second year had called "a case of malpractice" via Poppy Pomfrey.
Fred had shattered the younger wizard's nose, and cracked the bones in his orbital sockets, but a simple Episkey should have done the trick to restore that aristocratic arch. However, once she'd been told why the assault had been made, Madam Pomfrey had refused to heal the injury magically.
"Listen you soft and dull-eyed fool," Snape had snarled at her, towering over her like a giant, ugly bat. "If that is all the more remedy you are going to offer then I will do it myself."
"Severus, I recognize that you are the Potions Master in this castle, and respect that you are without dispute one of the most intelligent professors in Hogwarts history. However, you have very little medical training, Muggle or magically speaking," she replied calmly, not looking up from her desk. "In fact, I would have to report you for insubordination and endangering the welfare of a child if you attempted to heal Mr. Malfoy." She rose to her feet, finally leveling a steely gaze at the man. "So, with all due respect," she pronounced carefully. "Zip your howling screamer."
Snape wisely chose to remain silent after that.
Pomfrey quickly set to work repairing Draco's nose. Fred, McGonagall, and Snape had all visibly winced at the sickening crack of the Slytherin's nose resetting.
Fred quickly recovered from his disgust, giggling maliciously. A flash of black swooped into his periphery, and he ducked just in time to avoid a smack to the back of the head from Snape.
Once Draco's nose had been braced and bandaged, Snape practically dragged his student out of the Hospital Wing and back to the dungeons.
"That was bloody brilliant," Fred told the nurse in amazement. "I can't believe Malfoy's going to go 'round with black eyes for weeks!"
The MediWitch smiled thinly. "Fair is fair, Mr. Weasley. I cannot refuse magical care to one student and give it to the other."
He glanced quickly at his battered hands. "I don't care. Sore knuckles are worth seeing that ferret so beat up."
"You won't be thanking me after you've served detention."
Fred let out a crestfallen moan, and turned to his Transfiguration professor. "Do I have to go?"
"As much as I agree that Mr. Malfoy should have been serving this detention along with you, I simply cannot go against the orders of another professor," McGonagall declared. "You will meet with Mr. Filch and serve your sentence, Mr. Weasley."
He bowed his head, knowing that disobeying his Head of House would get him in actual trouble. "Yes, ma'am."
McGonagall pursed her lips, knowing exactly why Fred had seen fit to punch Draco. "But," she finally amended, drawing the word out until it caught Fred's attention. "I will return to Gryffindor five hundred of the one thousand points taken by Professor Snape, for defending a younger house member from a vicious insult, even if the counter-strike was a bit…excessive."
She knelt down to look Fred in the eye. "I'm very proud of you, Frederick. What you did was extremely brave, if a bit ill-advised."
"I'll second that sentiment," Madam Pomfrey called from across the ward, smiling down at her stack of paperwork.
Fred couldn't keep himself from blushing. It was not every day that both Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey told you that you had made them proud. "Thank you, Professor. You too, Madam," he mumbled, turning his head to the side in abashment.
Professor McGonagall gently patted his shoulder. "Now, off you go. Before Snape catches wind that I kept you out of detention any longer."
Fred skulked sulkily into Argus Filch's dank and dingy office.
Of course, office was a stretch; there were mold-infected broom closets with more charm and warmth than Filch's keep.
The old man leered gleefully at the redhead as he entered, and gestured to the chains and manacles behind his desk. "You can leave when I can use 'em all as mirrors." Filch caught sight of Fred's hands, and his rotten, yellow grin only grew. "And you can do it without magic."
"Cheers," Fred spat sarcastically, scooping up the familiar pot of metal polish and a rag.
After about an hour, Fred was spending as much time mopping the blood off of the chains as he was removing the grime. It was then that Filch finally spoke again. "What dim trick did you try this time, eh, Weasley?"
Fred snorted, focusing his bubbling anger into polishing an already sparkling bit of chain. "If I'd pulled a prank, at least I would deserve this punishment." He scoffed. "I guess Snape will cheat Slytherin into a House Cup win. Again."
"Professor Snape wouldn't dole out a punishment to a student what didn't deserve it."
Fred snarled, launching the chain at the wall. The sound of steel hitting stone served as the echo of thunder to the lightning in his eyes. "Draco Malfoy deserves to be here polishing chains with me for what he did, but Snape wouldn't dare upset his precious Slytherin godson. I'm only here because I punched that arsehole in the face. Don't you dare tell me he doesn't play favorites."
Filch was genuinely surprised. The Weasley twins were the biggest troublemakers the school had ever seen, second to maybe those moronic Marauders, but they had never been particularly physically vicious. "Punched Malfoy, eh? Never saw you as the violent type."
"Yeah, me either," Fred replied, his nonchalance cut to ribbons as it passed through gritted teeth. "But he called Hermione Granger a 'filthy little Mudblood,' and I guess that didn't sit well with me."
Filch was quiet for a while, and Fred, for his part, was glad the old coot had shut up. It gave him some time to calm down and think.
Why didn't Malfoy's words sit well with him?
Obviously, Fred detested the M-word with his entire being, and would have to come to the aid of any student who'd had the misfortune to be called it.
What confused Fred was his visceral reaction to the whole debacle.
Fistfights were uncommon within the walls of Hogwarts; students were permitted to use magic during their time at school, and almost everyone leapt at the opportunity to use spells to their advantage during duels, no matter how petty.
Fred was no exception. Of the Weasley twins, there was no doubt that he had the far shorter temper. Despite this, he always had preferred jinxes and hexes to fisticuffs; why should he risk physical injuries on his part when a well-placed spell would do the trick, and have far more ghastly results? Except for a few playful tussles with his brothers, he'd never even hit another human being.
Until today, that is, and of all people, on behalf of Hermione Granger.
Sure, he'd always admired the plucky little witch. Privately, he'd never condoned Ron's beastly behavior in his first year, and was always pleased to see that Hermione, despite the obvious hurt Ron caused her, continued to diligently work away to be the best witch she could be. It made him even happier when the two had made up. She could be a know-it-all, sure, but she proved to be an excellent friend and quick thinking. To be perfectly honest, he was jealous of her vast knowledge. She was smarter than some seventh years.
However, that didn't make her particularly special; it wasn't the first time he'd spoken up on behalf of a Muggleborn friend who'd been called a slur.
That was the problem: he'd spoken up, and occasionally hexed the bigot responsible. He had never pulverized someone's face before.
What's different this time, Fred wondered to himself, as he finished the chain and began work on the wrist brace.
He'd acted purely on instinct. A rage he'd never experienced welled up inside of him, and despite his team members desperately trying to hold him back, he'd tackled Malfoy and landed blow after blow onto his face.
He was broken out of his thoughts by Filch speaking once more. "Punching Malfoy. That took guts, Weasley. It was…" He trailed off as if unsure of what to say. "It was…honorable. Didn't think you had it in you. Finish that there manacle and get out."
Fred's eyebrows jumped to his hairline; he'd never been allowed out of a detention early by anyone, least of all Filch, but he wasn't about to argue. As quickly as his aching fingers would allow, he worked the polish into the iron and fled before Filch could change his mind.
As he was making tracks through the castle corridors, his thoughts were captured by Filch's actions. The caretaker had always played nice with the Purebloods, despite not seeming to be Pureblood himself. For that matter, Filch didn't even seem to possess any magical gifts whatsoever. The rumor floating around the school was that Filch was a Squib, and he was just trying to save his own hide from any lingering prejudices. Fred never thought the man would have pity for a Mug -
Oof!
Fred hadn't been paying attention to where he was going, and had run smack into a person carrying a stack of books taller than them.
"Oh, Circe, I'm so…" He paused upon noticing an unmistakable mop of unruly curls, and felt his heart jump into his throat. "Granger! I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention."
"It's fine," she muttered curtly, moving to gather up her books. "No one ever does," she muttered darkly, not intending for Fred to hear.
He did anyway. Instead of commenting, Fred dropped to his knees. "Here. Let me help," he offered, reaching for what looked like a particularly heavy tome. Just as his hand reached the text's spine, Hermione's brushed the cover, and subsequently, Fred's fingers.
The contact caught both the teenage wizard and preteen witch's attention; they both looked to where their hands met.
Fred suddenly felt a rush of heat in his cheeks, and he awkwardly returned Hermione's shy smile as a surge of affection panged through his heart. However, he smiled for just a beat too long; her grin slid off her face, and she glanced side to side uncomfortably.
He subsequently stumbled to his feet, scooping up a stack of books in the hopes of hiding his faux pas.
Hermione, on the other hand, was too preoccupied with his bruised and battered knuckles to really take stock of his gaffe.
"Merlin, Fred! What happened to your hands?"
Snapped back to reality, he looked down confusedly, as though he'd somehow forgotten his own wounds. "My hands? Oh. I…uh…I...Malfoy."
She paused, having resumed stacking the books up, and stared at him incredulously. "Just so we're clear, you punched Draco Malfoy," she asked, slowly coming to her feet.
He nodded. "Yeah."
Her observant eyes took note of just how black-and-blue and swollen Fred's knuckles were. "How many times did you hit him?"
Fred at least had the decency to look abashed as he scratched the back of his neck. "I kind of lost count. At least four before anything broke."
Hermione's eyes were like saucers, and her voice trembled like a leaf in the wind. "You broke his nose?"
He laughed uneasily. "And fractured his sockets," he conceded. He had to admit, the words were far harsher when spoken aloud.
"What could he have possibly done to warrant that?"
Fred cocked his head to the side, his face every inch a question mark. "He called you the M-word," he explained, his tone quizzical, as though this should have been the most apparent thing in the world.
Hermione's eyes went glassy, and her lower lip began quivering.
Fred's heart panged, and in that moment, he would have done anything to keep her from crying.
"Hey, I didn't – " He was cut off by the clatter of old parchment and leather on stone mortar. She leaped over the upended stack, knocked the books Fred was holding out of his grip, and threw her arms around his neck, her tears freely flowing.
After an awkward moment of shock, he timidly rubbed her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "Hush. It's alright."
"Thank you, Fred," she said, her face buried in his neck. "That was very sweet."
He swallowed hard, trying very hard to ignore the warm body and smell of masala chai and old parchment that was suddenly wrapped around him. "You're welcome." Unable to handle her being so close, he gently wrested her arms from around his neck. "I know it's no fancy jinx, but it's the least I could do."
She giggled merrily at the reminder of Ron's failed attempt at hexing Draco.
The sound brought a splitting grin to Fred's face; he loved making people laugh, and no one needed it more right now than Hermione. He gestured behind her to her fallen books. "Are you headed back to the common room? I could carry some of them for you."
She looked back at the toppled stack and winced. This was probably the fifth time that she'd dropped them all. "Actually, I wouldn't mind the help."
Grinning, he scooped up the heavier looking half of the books. He scanned the spines, his face scrunching in confusion at the titles. "I don't remember any of these books from my second year."
Shifting her pile in her arms, Hermione replied coolly, "Oh, it's just some light, supplementary reading."
Fred snorted, hoping to hear the delightful tones of her laughter again. "Light! If you call six stone light!"
He was rewarded by her laughter once more. "I think you're exaggerating! Six stone! I hardly weigh nine stone, soaking wet."
He raised an eyebrow at her, and smirked. He shifted the books in his arms and flicked his wand at her, hitting her with a Feather-Light Charm. Then he wrapped an arm around her middle, lifted her and her books off the ground, and continued walking. "I knew it. These books are far heavier than you."
She wriggled out of his arms, and lightly smacked him in the arm. "Rude," she commented, though her tone was playful. With her own wand, she set herself back to her original weight.
The walked in silence for a time, and Fred read the spines more carefully. His eyes narrowed. "Crispin, Granger, what's your definition of supplementary? Some of these topics won't be covered till fifth or sixth year." He squinted. "Hell, I don't think this one is ever going to be covered."
She pointedly avoided his gaze. "One shouldn't limit one's learning to the confines of a classroom."
Fred shrugged. "Whatever you say, Granger. With your grades, I'm not questioning your study habits. You must be doing something right." It was true that she might spend several hours a day in the library, but whatever she did was working.
Quietly, she asked, "You don't think my near constant studying is strange? That I'm…odd?"
"No?" His reply came out as a question. "I mean, I've never seen anyone as dedicated to their academics as you, so it's a unique characteristic, but it's your passion. And unless it's harmful to yourself or others, there's no reason you shouldn't follow it." He felt a surge of annoyance not unlike that he'd felt with Malfoy earlier. "Why? Do other people think you're odd?"
She couldn't contain a bitter laugh. "They have since I was born. It's nothing I'm not used to. Anyway, by your logic, I need to stop. I don't think I've had more than a meal a day since the term began."
Fred rolled his eyes, feigning irritation, but unable to quell a bit of worry that she wasn't taking care of herself. "Okay, so maybe you need to be a bit more aware of mealtimes, but beyond that, keep doing what you're doing, Granger."
By this point, they'd reached the Gryffindor common room, and Fred gave the password to the Fat Lady, effectively shutting down any response Hermione might've had.
They quietly crept into the room. It was a moot effort; as late as it was, there was hardly anyone left in the common room. In fact, only Ron and Harry remained, and they were curled together snoring on the end of a sofa in the far corner.
Fred followed Hermione to the small table in the middle of the room where they deposited their tomes.
"Thank you, Fred. For carrying my books, as well as…" She trailed off, tapping the end of her nose to convey her meaning.
Fred grinned. "Don't mention it. Have fun studying, but don't stay up too late, okay? I'll see you at breakfast."
Something in his heart moved, and without actually thinking about it, Fred stooped down to press a light kiss to her cheek before disappearing to the boys' dormitories; he would spend the rest of the night awake, furiously trying to sort out his feelings.
Hermione face was crimson, and her hand clapped over the warm spot left on her face. She remained in a sort of daze, completely forgetting the books on the table and the two boys she was supposed to be poring over them with. She was too concerned with the pounding in her heart, and the electricity running through her veins.