Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter series, but I would love to own the Weasley twins. :)

I began the next day with a new resolution to simply pretend Professor Malfoy was nothing more than that. Because, really, he wasn't. He was simply my colleague in helping shape the minds of the future.

Never mind the question as to how he was even remotely fit to be in such a position. Never mind because I was no longer wasting my time thinking on such matters.

Theoretically, my plan was brilliant. Somehow I had sincerely thought it'd be such in reality too. But I had forgotten one small facet while devising my strategy: the kids liked -- no, probably loved -- Professor Malfoy.

I have no idea how he managed to pull it off, but he had. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say he was probably bribing them with sweets and good grades. That would've been enough to get on the good side of any of the younger students. But the communal feelings of love for the blonde ferret didn't simply stop with the young and easily swayed students. I knew that many of the Seventh years, people who'd actually been at Hogwarts previously with him, and knew exactly what he had been and what role he'd played all those years, admired him just as much, if not more, than the younger students. And I just wasn't sure how he'd managed it.

Anyway, like I said, I'd forgotten about the students' unusual love and loyalty to the professor. Apparently I hadn't exuded enough warmth to my students thus far this year. Though, I guess it wouldn't have hurt to learn their names, at the least. I could only suppose Mr.-Congeniality-Malfoy had taken the time to do so. He could be such a suck-up when he wanted to be.

Wait. No. Those trains of thought were not productive. I wasn't going to go there.

Instead, I decided to do something productive with my day, like learn the kids' names.

However, that plan came to an abrupt halt when I'd entered my first class of that day and found Professor Malfoy sitting at one of the desks with a student that looked eerily similar to him. How had I not noticed the resemblance before?

Pushing the question away, I tried to overcome the initial surprise of Malfoy -- damn, Professor Malfoy -- being in my classroom at all.

I coolly asked, "Professor, to what do I owe the honor?"

He, however, wasn't going for the suave approach apparently, since his first response was a snort.

If only he'd stopped there. Oh, how I wish he'd simply stopped there.

Instead, a large grin spread across his face and he replied, "Peer reviews, Professor. Surely the Headmistress informed you I'd be popping in on you today?"

Pursing my lips together and placing my hands on my hips, I processed his claim. I didn't think it was very probable he was there for a peer review on McGonagall's request; especially since she was altogether quite aware of the mutual feelings of distaste we held for each other. (Never mind there were several other new feelings we held for each other.) Did he really think I was so stupid as to not see through him?

Rolling my eyes I responded, "Professor, I highly doubt that's true. The Headmistress hasn't once even mentioned peer reviews. Now, if you would kindly leave, I have a class to teach."

Instead of rising up from the desk, however, he cast me a lazy smile before shooting a pointed look at one of the students in the back of the room.

The same student whose hand promptly rose in the air.

A small bit of panic was beginning to bubble up inside of my stomach. I had to get Malfoy out of this room, and quick.

Sighing internally, I nodded to the same student.

Smiling brightly she questioned, "Oh, Professor Granger, perhaps it would be nice if Prof Mal could stay for a bit?"

Prof Mal? Prof Mal!

I barely had time to digest this before another hand had risen closer to the front and then another across the room.

Turning my head to the student toward the front, I silently hoped he had a question related to Arithmancy. Please, please, please let it be about Arithmancy.

"Yes?" I inquired.

After giving Malfoy -- oh, excuse me, Prof Mal -- a reassuring glance, he faced me, stating, "Prof Mal always says that Potions and Arithmancy overlap, and that to fully appreciate either one, a good witch or wizard needs to recognize how the two work hand-in-hand."

Hand-in-hand, indeed, I scoffed to myself as the boy rattled on. He'd like that, the prat -- Malfoy, I mean, not the student, whatever his name was.

I opened my mouth to reply, but found I had absolutely nothing to counter that argument with. I mean, I couldn't possibly argue that the two fields definitely have more than just a few common characteristics.

Finally Malfoy rose to his feet, speaking to my two students who had just voiced their opinions about his presence, "Shannon, Andrew, you know I'd love to stay, really. But I'm not altogether sure my presence is welcome today."

I watched in incredulity as I saw students turning to whisper to their tablemates, a few openly exclaiming they, in fact, wanted him to stay. I guess, bugger my opinions on the matter, as far as they were concerned.

It was in that instant I knew why I hadn't bothered to learn their names: they were born traitors.

Well, okay, so maybe that was a bit harsh. They're only kids after all. Sometimes it's easy to forget the world isn't all as jaded as I happen to be. But I didn't think they had to be so naïve as to think Prof Mal was a decent guy.

I guess one could say I saw red. And the next thing I knew I was yelling at Malfoy, telling him he could teach my class if he was so intent on being in the room. Because, after all, how hard could it be since the two subjects were just so similar?

After having said my piece, I stalked out of the classroom and headed straight toward my quarters.

Once in my quarters, I flung myself rather dramatically onto my bed. It took a moment or so to steady my erratic breathing; apparently the screams I'd let out once I'd reached my room hadn't helped stabilize anything either.

And then, for seemingly no reason at all, I was reminded of a nightmare I used to have repeatedly once upon a time while Fred and I had been living at Grimmauld Place and the events that had unfolded after waking from the dream one particular night:

Walking through the shadowed Grimmauld Place sometime just after two in the morning, I pause to let my fingers brush across the back of a worn, dark green leather couch. For a moment I think I catch a glimpse of Fred out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn to get a better look, there is nothing there. Furrowing my eyebrows, I set out to find the elusive Fred. He has to be somewhere in the mansion, after all. As I walk up the old stairs, I listen to each of them creak beneath my weight, but somehow the noise doesn't sound as it once had. Now it sounds almost foreboding, a warning for me not to continue my journey up them. However, I dismiss the feeling, chalking it up to a lack of sleep and proper nourishment. Climbing higher and higher, I finally reach the floor I am looking for. It seems someone has taken down the illuminating spells which usually keep this hall well lit, which, yes, is slightly disconcerting. However, I am on a mission to find him.

"Fred?" I call out hesitantly. The shadows dancing on the walls are beginning to make me feel slightly uneasy.

No reply.

I move down the hallway toward his room, thinking perhaps he'll be there. Never mind the fact he's not slept in that room for ages; always, instead, opting for my room with the larger bed and more windows.

I reach his door and move to open the door, but am surprised when I find it locked.

Pulling out my wand, I whisper, "Alohamora." The door swings open, which is slightly odd.

However, I never get to ponder the peculiarity of this since the next thing I notice is a red-headed figure draped haphazardly across the bed.

A small noise escapes my throat as I rush to the bed.

No. Not Fred. Not Fred.

I woke with a start, tears streaming across my face and coming to rest in my hair and pillow. I frantically reached out to his side of the bed, praying he'd be there.

He wasn't.

I pulled my legs toward my chest, trying my best to huddle myself into as small of a ball as I can manage while wholehearted sobs wracked my frame.

A voice somehow finds its way to my ears over my weeping, asking concernedly, "Hermione, what is it, love?"

The sound of him moving toward me became my next focus of attention.

Turning toward him, I took in a shaky breath, barely managing the words, "Fred... it was so horrible. You-you were..." I stopped to swallow back a few of my tears, "you were gone. An-and, I just knew I'd never see you again."

I saw love (and worry) shining through his eyes as he gazed down at me.

He moved to join me once again in my bed, as he did this, I continued,

"I-I just don't know if I can take this."

He wrapped his arms around me as he whispered, "Love, don't do this to yourself. You're stronger than all of this."

I wished I could bury myself beneath his skin and be with him always. We never had been as physically close as I would've liked -- as I needed -- to feel completely safe from the collapsing outside world. In a vain attempt to achieve this feeling, however, I pulled him as close to me as I could manage. Once I can feel his heart beat reverberate through his body, I finally felt myself coming down from my hysteria.

Finally, I replied, "No, you-you're wrong. I used to be stronger than all of this. But not anymore -- not ever again."

His fingers began running through my hair, in an attempt, I knew, to console me, "I know that's not true."

Silence enveloped us, I counted the moments passing by with every heartbeat that resounded through his body.

I knew then that I wouldn't have been able to do anything without him. Maybe once upon a time I would've been able to, back when I wanted nothing more than to be an independent woman of the world, a woman who fought to prove herself in a male-dominated society... or some rubbish like that. I hadn't understood, then, there were things far more important to overcome than "oppression" of one sex over another. However, at that moment in time I had understood that all too well and was more than willing to allow myself to fall into the cliché roll women always seemed to take in classic literature.

I recognized that my past self would've been terribly disappointed in what I had become. Not that that mattered; I wouldn't have understood back then, and for some reason I was grateful for that.

After what seemed like eons, I whispered, "Promise me you'll never leave me."

A quick reply, "Hermione, I wish I--"

Voice cracking, I pleaded, "Promise me, Fred. Promise."

I felt him take in a deep breath and sigh. Finally he responded, "I... I promise, love."

When I opened my eyes to look at him, spotting a tear running down his cheek, illuminated by the moonlight seeping in through the window hangings.

But he didn't stop at just that, he continued, "You know I'll do whatever it takes to always be here for you."

I knew I had asked too much of him.

My past self never would've been like this, never would've done the things I do.

But then again, I'd had Ron then.

And that's where the difference between my selves came in, really.

Loss affects everyone in different ways, at least that's what everyone had told me once the war started. They had told me to keep a lookout for myself, I was supposed to watch myself to make sure I didn't let myself slip away right along with the deceased.

At the time, I hadn't believed them, after all, what did they know? And all I knew was I'd never read anything of the sort in any of my books. Their advice had no credibility.

Until later, that is.

I knew I had lost myself, but somehow I'd found another part of me somewhere deep inside -- another part I never would've discovered without the help of Fred Weasley. I had known I was weak. I had known if I lost Fred I'd lose that newly unearthed part of myself. And I had known I would never be able to recover.

So what if I had been selfish in asking him to promise me he'd always be around? The world had never, ever revolved around me, and all I wanted was just that one simple thing. It truly shouldn't have be too much to ask.

Now, however, I know that it truly had been too much to ask.

Hermione Granger doesn't get the happy ending. She doesn't get the boy of her dreams or the knight in shining armor who had rescued her at the last possible moment. In the end, she doesn't even get herself. She's simply left with a troublemaking ferret and a handful of (fickle) students to teach.

This is your life, Hermione Granger, I thought as I picked at the fringe on the closest throw pillow. This is your life.

It was, I felt, a small wonder I wasn't severely depressed.

But then again, what did I know anyway?

A/N: I feel slightly triumphant I managed to write a bit more than the usual 2000 words.

Steel-Phoenix: Thank you for the complimentary review! I do plan on seeing this fic through to the end, which just might end up being a whole lot sooner than anyone anticipates (but then again, what do I know?). I'll keep a prequel in mind, though it might be sorta tough coming up with some semblance of a timeline what with all the flashbacks worked into the plotline of this fic. Were you hoping for a R/H fic or a F/H one?

BlendedFrog: I'm a huge angst fan as well, which pretty much comes through in absolutely everything I write. I'm glad you enjoy it though :) I didn't really work any of the students in because I'm not a big fan of original characters at all, but I'll see if I can subtlety work a few in for you. - Every angst fic should have a frustrating guy - personally, I love to hate him! Thanks for taking the time to review!

Astrianna Glaze: No, thank you for reviewing! And, yeah, it could pretty much clear up who's running around muggle London. Or does it? ;) Oh, and Harry... I sort of saw him as everyone's rock, despite the fact he's the one with the most responsibility. As for Malfoy, his parents did a job on him (after all, it's easier to blame the parents). See you next time!

Ana: Thank you for continuing reading even when my story got dangerously close to the H/D ship. While Hermione is smart, she's not the same person she was before the war and slips up in the weirdest ways -- mostly while dealing with one Draco Malfoy. Thanks for taking the time to review!

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