Commitaphobia

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Harry Potter, and I own nothing.

Summary: Hermione breaks up with her current boyfriend – again. It actually seems to be a bad habit of hers. However, when Fred and she go on a "secret mission," hilarity and romance ensue. Moderate language.

Chapter 8: Dropped Like a Hot Potato

June 23rd – In my room – 10:20 PM

I haven't written in this book in quite a while... there wasn't really much to tell, honestly.

Until now.

I've been bumming around waiting for that dratted letter from the Ministry to come. (It should be here tomorrow!) And I still hadn't really seen Fred at all for the past two days. From other members in the family I'd heard that he and George were busy with the shop.

Once we came down for the same time at breakfast, but he basically ignored me. He stood there talking to George and didn't even sit down to eat. He grabbed a piece of toast, and the two apparated away.

Actually, most everyone has been rather avoiding me. I guess I haven't been in the best of moods lately since I've been waiting for the answer from the Ministry.

So you can probably imagine my surprise when someone came a-knockin' on my door about an hour ago. I opened it up, expecting Mrs. Weasley or maybe Ginny. (Ginny, however, was supposed to be with Harry for most of the night. Whatever they're doing I don't want to think about).

But no. It was neither Mrs. Weasley nor Ginny.

It was probably my least favorite person ever. That's right. Fred.

And what a sight he was. His vibrant hair, normally clean and at least brushed, was sticking up in odd directions, and his freckled skin was now spattered with dirt as well. What concerned me the most, though, was the rapidly swelling black eye he had.

Forgetting all pretenses of hating him, I took his hand and pulled him inside of the room, shutting the door behind him. "Oh my God! What happened to you!"

Fred looked at the floor. "I attempted a solo mission, which I had to abort. It was an unfortunate situation."

"Fred Weasley! What did you do?"

The tips of Fred's ears turned pink as he hung his head. "Can we not talk about this now? I'm an ill man, Hermione! I need care! A foot rub! Some soup!"

"What you need is medication," I muttered as I conjured a bag of frozen peas. "Well, since you're here, why don't you lie down." I made a vague gesture toward my bed, and he flopped on top of the covers.

"The pain might just be too much," Fred said, closing his eyes and using his feet to kick down the comforter of my bed.

"Fred, all you have is a black eye." I pressed the peas firmly onto the swollen bruise, and Fred yelped.

"Ow, Hermione! That hurts!" Fred pushed my hand away and used his arms to cover his face.

"You are such a baby. This is ridiculous. Now let me put this on your eye."

"Are you kidding me! No! Ow, Hermione! Wait, don't pinch me! OW! Fine, put the damn bag on it. See if I care."

I smugly applied the bag to his eye once again. "Sometimes good old fashioned muggle methods work the best."

I believe he said something along the lines of, "Muggle methods my ass," but I couldn't be sure. Now both of his eyes were closed, and he seemed to slowly relax.

He looked so peaceful like that. Until he said, "Hermione, I think you need to tuck me in."

"I will do no such thing."

He opened his one good eye and tried to look hurt. "I'm a dying man, Hermione. My last wishes need be fulfilled for my soul to rest in peace."

Putting my hands on my hip, I tapped my foot. "No."

Fred used the hand that was not holding the peas in place to clutch his shirt where his heart was. "It's ok. I understand. Know that in Heaven, when I look down on you, I will not remember you as the cold-hearted wench that wouldn't tuck me in. I'll remember the happier times when we worked side by side in all our endeavors. Do me one small favor, and tell everyone I love them. Tell George he can have my things. All of them."

I threw my hands in the air. "FINE! I'll tuck you in. Dammit."

Not-so-gently, I reached to unbutton his shirt. The only problem was that as my fingers grazed his skin, I swear I felt sparks fly. Why is he so intense? So I moved as quickly down the buttons as I could, careful not to touch him anymore than I had to. During all of this, Fred lay on the bed with his eyes closed (one forced so by the swelling and the other one enjoying his current situation of using power over me).

When I reached the last button, I instructed, "Arms up," and Fred helped me to pull off the shirt by lifting his back enough for me to pull it around him. I folded it and set it on the bureau.

Ok, don't tell anyone, but that shirt is now IN that bureau. I decided to take it. It's a simple navy blue collared shirt, but it looked nice on him besides the dirt from whatever kind of fight he got in. That, and it smells like him. I still can't quite peg the scent that's so uniquely him, but it's definitely the best smell in the world. I promise.

So, after undressing him, I couldn't help but admire his body for a brief moment. He had a slight farmer's tan, but it wasn't too bad. And, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, he was nicely cut. Not like huge ripples of sinewy muscle or anything, just soft lines of definition. I think I like it better like that.

Before he could catch me staring, though, I took the sheets and placed those over his torso, and lightly tucked them under him. Next, I folded the blanket over him as well.

Fred opened his good eye and looked at me tiredly with a slight smile on his face. He reached up and took the peas off of his eye, handing the bag to me. I threw it away and came back, looking down at him.

"I'm glad you're so good to me," he said, as his eyes fluttered closed. He was asleep.

I squeezed his hand lightly and kissed him on the cheek. I couldn't help it. It's not like he was awake to witness it. But... I don't know if I imagined it or not. As my lips left his skin, a small smile came across his face and then vanished. Like lightning. But my imagination does tend to go wild.

I wonder what happened to him. He must've gotten into a fight of some kind, but he didn't seem too much worse for wear. I mean, if he only came out of it bruised, he must've won the fight, right?

Laying there, he looks so peaceful. It's adorable. People never look as innocent as they do when they're sleeping. It's a fact. I almost can't stand seeing him like that because it makes me think things that I shouldn't be thinking. Such as what it would be like to wake up to him like that every morning.

Why are boys so damn confusing?

The last time I saw him, he was running from me like I had the black plague. Now, he's treating me as if nothing even happened. I don't understand it! Maybe... maybe he just needed time away from me. I was such a bad kisser that he couldn't bear to look at me without laughing. Or – OR – maybe he just needed to forget about my stunning good looks and charm.

Psyche.

Bah! I need to go to sleep. Except... where? Fred's in my bed... Ah, damn.

Hermione Granger

June 24th – In the bathroom – 10:00 AM

I ended up sleeping on the floor. I was going to sleep in Ginny's bed, but I didn't want her to return and have to sleep on the ground. I'd feel bad.

The thing is, though, I didn't wake up on the floor. I woke up in my bed. And I think I know how I got there. I vaguely remember someone with red hair and big, strong arms gently lifting me onto the bed sometime in the early hours of this morning. Then again, I was so sleepy I don't even remember if that was a dream or not. I can never separate dreams from reality at night. It's sort of frustrating.

Fred did leave me a note on my bureau that said, (and I quote), "Hermione – Thanks so much for taking such good care of me last night. Sorry to have imposed. I have to go to the store now, but I'll be back tonight, and I'll tell you what I did find out on that solo mission of mine. You're the best, Fred"

I'll admit it, I had hoped that he would've maybe signed it Love, Fred or Yours and only yours, Fred or maybe even Take me now, Fred, but I would take what I could get. Because he thinks I'm the best (!). How awesome is that?

Oh, the smallest things put me in a good mood.

Hermione Granger

June 24th – Bathroom again – 10:52 AM

Harry says that he thinks something's up with Ron too. I think he knows something that he's not telling though. He acted all fidgety and then changed the subject when I brought it up.

What's he hiding?

June 24th – My room – 2:00 PM

I GOT IN! I GOT INTO THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC INTERNSHIP! I START IN A WEEK!

AHHHHHH!

I don't even know how to describe my excitement! Do you know what this means! It means...

It means no more Fred. Will I have the time for him when I'm there five days a week? I most certainly won't have all the time for the missions...

Ahh! Why didn't I think of this? I've wanted this so bad, but now I'm not so sure... Because, as nice as it would be to work at the Ministry of Magic, I don't want to not be with Fred.

Am I turning into one of those girls? The ones that plan their lives around boys?

NO.

I am not.

I am going to do whatever the hell I want because I am a goddamn professional. That's right. Maybe I won't have as much time with Fred, but that could be a good thing. Because I need time away from him so that I can forget about him and his freak-like attitude of snogging me senseless one minute and then dropping me like a hot potato the next.

Hermione Granger

June 24th – In the den – 11:31 PM

Oh my goodness! Fred just told me what happened yesterday and you won't believe it! He's in the kitchen right now making lemonade for us while we figure out the next step of the plan. I just had to write this down before he –

June 25th – In the (you guessed it) bathroom – 1:00 AM

Fred and I just finished plotting. Sorry about the last entry. He started coming into the room, and I didn't want him to see me writing because he'd know I was writing about him.

Well, to make a long story short. Fred's an idiot. A huuuuge idiot.

He ended up getting home last night around 9:00 PM or so, along with George. Mrs. Weasley made them eat dinner, practically force feeding them.

"Mum, we're really not hungry."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes flashed. "So what, you two get a job and suddenly my food isn't good enough for you?"

"No!" The two said together, exchanging semi-worried glances.

"It's just that – " Fred began, winking at me as he talked. I stood by the counter, as far away from the wrath of Mrs. Weasley as I could get.

"We didn't think – " George continued.

"You'd want us to eat so late at night." Fred finished.

"After all, eating past 7 is a leading cause of obesity in today's society," George went on. "You see there's – "

"Not enough time to burn off the fat before sleeping." Fred grinned at me. Battle won.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to soften. "Well I suppose we can make an exception for this time. But. For the rest of the week I want you two home for dinner." Fred opened his mouth to protest. "Don't forget to put something on that eye of yours. And that's the end of it!" She turned to walk out of the kitchen. War won.

Fred and George looked at each other and sighed. I came to the table and began cleaning up for them, putting their dishes in the sink and scrubbing the table as they talked business. If George was wondering why I was still hovering around them, he didn't say anything.

At 9:30 or so, George gave me a meaningful glance and then looked at Fred, eyebrows raised. "I'm going to bed, mate. See you in the morning."

Fred put his feet up on the table, watching George leave with his eyes. When George was completely up the stairs and we heard the door click, Fred dropped his feet and leaned forward, studying me.

"So you want to hear what happened?" Fred asked, indicating his still swollen eye.

What a stupid question. "Ummm... yes."

Fred looked at his hands before looking up at me. Probably for the first time ever, I think Fred was embarrassed.

"Well, I came up with an idea, after our last..." Fred stumbled here, "mission."

I felt my face burn red as I remembered how our last mission ended.

"But it was a solo mission. And a little risky. So I figured I should just do it alone. No need to – er – bother you."

"Right," I said. I wondered if the image of our far-too-closely pressed bodies was emblazoned in his mind as it was in mine.

"So, here was the original plan: I thought I'd take things from a different angle, you know? See if Ellen knew if anything was up. Because this whole thing is just getting weirder and weirder. I figured I'd just put on a mask (mistake one), follow her 'til she was alone (mistake two), and then approach her and just ask her a few questions (mistake three)."

Fred paused.

"Well? What happened?" I pestered, already seeing the flaws in his plans.

"So, I put on a ski mask."

"You didn't."

"I did."

"Oh no."

"Yeah. I should've known better, but I put on a ski mask so I looked like a crazed stalker, and I put a stealth charm on myself. I then proceeded to follow her for five long hours as she shopped around Diagon Alley. Hermione, you'd have thought she just won the lottery she was so happy. Going into clothing stores and picking out... lacey unmentionables in black. Matching sets."

"Wait," I interrupted, "so what if they're black and matching?"

"Well, it means that... you know. She's going to... you know."

"Oh."

"Right, so, like I was saying, she looked so happy. And then she went into the men's robes department and picked out these incredibly nice burgundy robes. Then she had them gift wrapped. In happy birthday paper." Fred added the last part with a strange emphasis.

"So?" I asked again.

"Hermione, Ron's birthday is in January."

"They could've been for her dad. Or her brother. Or a friend. Or – "

"Hermione," he interrupted, "She bought matching boxers for the robes."

"Oh," I said... again.

"Yeah, so I followed her and her kid sister around for a good, long time. I thought she'd never get tired of shopping. Until she did. By then, it was dusk, and the sun had started to set. She walked through a small alley to get to a fire she could floo with.

"Stupid me, I thought that this was my chance. So I undid my stealth charm and said, 'Ellen, can I speak with you for a moment?'"

"Did you take off the ski mask?"

"No."

"Nice one, Fred. Did she think you were going to attack her?"

"Yes. Before I could get another word out, she had her wand pointed at me, hexing me into oblivion. Whatabitch. Then, to add insult to injury, her kid sister ran up and punched me in the eye – "

"Wait, are you trying to tell me that this," I indicated the Fred's black eye, "is from an eleven-year-old?"

"Ummm... yeah."

I tried to stop myself. I really did. But I couldn't. I started cracking up. I actually don't think I've laughed that hard in a long time. When I first saw the bruise, I had thought Fred had gotten in a fight with a huge guy, 6'5", maybe 6'6", with a name like Slugger. Too bad he had gotten in a fight with an eleven-year-old girl named Becca.

When I pointed this out to him, judging by his sour expression, he was not amused. This made me laugh even harder.

Eventually, he gave in and cracked a slight smile. "Maybe it's a little bit funny," he allowed.

I leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder to steady myself, when I realized that this was almost the exact same position we had been in that night. I stopped laughing quicker than you could say, "Make-out session in your parent's house." I pushed myself as far away from him as I could on the couch. I didn't want Fred to have any reason to stop talking to me again for another three days.

Fred looked at me strangely. For a second I could swear that his eyes held not only confusion but – could it be? – hurt. I don't know. I was imagining it.

He continued talking. "Anyways, after that, I had three legs, strange boils growing on my back, and a black eye. I managed to get rid of the first two when I found my wand, but there was really nothing to do for the eye. So I decided it was time I went to you and told you what had happened. And the new information about Ellen."

I leaned against the arm of the couch to think. How could things have become so complicated when all Fred and I wanted to do was bust Ron. All of the sudden Ellen was cheating too?

Where was this coming from? I needed paper and a quill to brainstorm. I told Fred this, and I could see him desperately wanting to laugh.

"What's so funny about wanting to jot down a few ideas?" I asked, a bit annoyed.

"Nothing! It's just so – classically you, Hermione. I like it." He leaned forward and ruffled my hair before going into the kitchen to get some lemonade and a pad of paper for me.

That's where I wrote in this book the last time, but he came back in before I could finish writing.

He handed me a glass of lemonade and set the rest of the pitcher on the table (without anything under it, leaving a ring of water on his mom's wooden coffee table) along with a plate of cookies.

Looking at the paper in my hand and the quill in my other, I began scribbling down different thoughts and things to consider.

"What're you writing?" Fred asked me, taking my forearm in his hand and gently pulling me over to him so that he could see what was on the paper.

"Ummm..." I said.

Fred had put me in a rather compromising situation. My shoulder was touching his chest, and I was leaning against his arm, which he had around me, holding the edge of the parchment. He had his chin on my shoulder so that he could read what I had written.

"And?" he asked. "What else have you got?"

I tried desperately to come up with something witty, but it was impossible for me to think when I was so close to Fred and he smelled amazing and his beautiful hair was just touching my cheek and it felt so nice.

Ugh. I make myself sick.

"Here," he said, taking the quill from me, but keeping his arm wrapped around me. "I have an idea." And Fred began writing away on the parchment, drawing a line and starting below my previous attempts at cleverness.

He scratched away at the parchment. As he wrote, I felt his arms flexing and relaxing when he moved. It did funny things to my insides. This is going to sound funny, but then and there I decided I'm going to somehow make this boy fall for me. Somehow.

We spent the rest of the night trying to hammer out the plan, me almost in his arms, trying to shift so that he'd perhaps see what scanty bit of cleavage that I have. (It didn't work, by the way.)

I think we've got a plan, though. Sort of. Fred still has the parchment, though, or else I'd paste it in here.

Hermione Granger

June 25th – in my room – Noon

I don't have much time to write, Fred and I are going into the next step of our plan sooner than expected. As in... right now.

This morning, though, I awoke to him standing in my room over me, holding the letter I had gotten from the Ministry. I automatically looked over to Ginny's bed, but she wasn't there. Probably in the shower.

"You didn't tell me you got accepted to the internship!" Fred said, grinning. "That's awesome!"

I grumpily looked at my watch. It was 6:30 in the morning. "Do you know what time it is?" I asked, trying to roll over and go back to sleep.

"Yes, I do, sleepyhead. Get up!" Fred went to the foot of my bed and yanked the covers off of me.

I curled up into a ball and squeezed my eyes shut. I was tired, and Fred knew that it was late before I had gotten to bed.

"Up, up, up!" Fred said, slapping me lightly on my bottom.

I rolled back over and tried to smack him for that, but he leapt easily out of my grasp. I sighed and gave into the fact that I'd be getting up. As I stood, I realized the situation of my dress – or undress.

I barely had on a tanktop and a pair of the shortest shorts I owned. Bloody perfect. So I crossed my arms and glared at him.

Fred backed away, noticing my ominous look. I would've been scared too. I'm sure my hair was sticking up in all directions, and I must've looked half-dead.

Then, against his better judgment, I'm sure, he jumped forward and wrapped me in a big hug, swinging me around. "Congratulations! I know how much you wanted to be in this internship thing" he sang into my hair, twirling.

Why can he always make me smile?

Putting me down, Fred said cheerily, "Come get breakfast when you're done getting dressed!" He left the room, shutting the door as he went.

As I got dressed, I told myself that I chose the shirt with the lowest cut neckline because it was the first thing in my closet and not because I had any desire to impress Fred with my chest size. Or lack there of.

I attempted to comb my hair, gave up, and put it in a ponytail.

When I got downstairs, Harry and Ron exchanged looks at my attire. "What's the occasion?" Harry asked.

I shrugged. "Nothing. Just felt like it."

Fred barely looked up. He could've cared less if I had a brown paper bag over my head.

Mission failed.

Hermione Granger

AN: Ok, so no crazy-good cliffhanger this time, but the next chapter will have more fluff, as I know that's what you guys want. And, also, I reply to all my reviewers, but for some reason some of them are getting sent back to me. It's weird. If you don't get a reply, let me know, and I'll try forwarding it to you again. Sorry again that it's taken so long to update, but it might be like that for a while. Summer's here, but that means I have 5 horses to ride and train a day, and I don't know that I'll have nearly as much time on my hands anymore. I promise you guys this story will get finished. Just expect a few slight delays on updates. It will never be longer than two weeks, though, I promise.