Falling Further

"The Book?" Hermione asked, confused at Fred's words, "Oh you mean the journal—"

"Considering you're probably wanting to hide whatever your writing from most of the people in this house, I didn't think you'd want to talk about it downstairs," Fred nodded, scooting closer to her, now at the edge of his bed. "I can't say I understand what's so secretive you have me doing protective spells on a diary, but i won't ask questions."

She rolled her eyes, "Fat chance I believe that."

He smirked, tilting his head, "Well I do have one—you aren't being possessed by a Death Eater are you?"

"Hermione Granger, Death Eater," she laughed a loud to that, "I can honestly say I've never been accused of that before."

"It's not an accusation!" he said, fumbling with his words, 'What I meant—well, You're acting very un-Granger, that's all.'

She thought about these words more than she should have. It was as if the moment froze and she was allow to think what he meant in those four words.

When the war had come to an end and all the bodies had been buried, when the last funeral was held and the last hero entombed at Hogwarts Green, they had started reaching out to the students who had never finished their Hogwarts education. Professor McGonagall approached them before they headed to Australia and personally invited them to return to the school if they so desired. It wasn't a surprise that Ron and Harry didn't accept. For better or for worse, they had grown up that year on a run. Returning to the class room for the sake of the finality a N.E.W.T test would give seemed ludicrous to them. "Why do any of us need to sit through a NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts class? We defeated the Dark Arts. I have a Chocolate Frog Card that says so," Had been Ron's argument. Harry agreed. It didn't make sense to them for any of their year to return when most, if not all, were veterans of the Battle of Hogwarts.

But Hermione had accepted. She had written to Professor McGonagall as they returned from Australia. She wanted to go back. Despite the fact that she had the same experiences as the boys, despite all of the last year had been, she had to go back. She had to finish her education. She was a learner. it was who she was. Professor McGonagall had owled her back asking if she would accept post as Head Girl. She had gotten a letter like that the summer before. She hadn't told anyone. she didn't see the point. She knew she was supposed to go with Harry for Horcruxes, not Hogwarts. This time she sent back a reply. Hesitantly. But it was what was expected. Her teachers had been grooming her for this for years. Now, she was to rise to the occasion.

What had taken her by surprise though was how out of place she felt when she was back at the castle.

Harry and Ron had seen her off at the train station. She remember Ron kissing her goodbye as the steam from the engine clouded them from the cameras of the Daily Prophet. She had shared a compartment with Ginny, Luna, Neville and Dean, all coming back to finish what they had started. Neville showed her his badge, he had been made Head Boy. It had the makings of a good year. On the train, it began to set in that she was going back. With her friends by her side, albeit not Harry or Ron, it didn't seem out of place at all. But once they disembarked, once the throng of students stopped at the carriages, she realized how raw everything still was.

When Hagrid had first introduced Thestrals her fifth year, she hadn't seen them. In their year, it had only been Harry, Neville and Zabini. She had been out cold after Dolonov got to her in the Department of Mysteries, she hadn't seen Sirius go through the veil. She didn't see Snape kill Dumbledore. It was only now, standing on a Platform with the other survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts that she saw the horses of death. The leathery skin stretched over the skeleton, the wings that spanned greater than Buckbeak. She had rode that to London. She had walked towards one of them, slowly reaching out to touch it, to nuzzle it, to prove to her eyes that she saw it.

And she wasn't alone.

Nearly every seventh and sixth year Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were gaping, or reaching out, for the Thestrals. A few of the horses were skidish, they weren't use to this attention. Some of the younger students looked on. One girl, who Hermione would later find out was a first year Muggleborn from Kent, followed a sixth year she had met on the train and tried nuzzling the air, thinking it was perhaps a wizard custom she had not read about and not wanting to be left out. She and Neville had to have the Prefects help get people on the carriage they were starting to get delayed with the Survivors stares. After that, she could hear the whispers from the other carriages, "Can you see them?" "Why can you see them but i can't?" and then the ones who knew what they were, asking in hushed tones only silence could echo, "Who did you see die?" "Who did you lose?"

The Haunting continued as they rode to the castle. From her carriage, she could see the first years crossing the lake, oblivious to Dumbledore's Tomb glowing in the moonlight from it's perch on the island hill. Some may have seen it thru the trees from the lake, but they wouldn't know who it was that was interred there. Not yet. As the carriages drew nearer to the castle, she could see the hilltop nearest the castle where she had spent so many of her days following the peace. They called it the Gaurd's Hill. Where a semi-circle was a dozen or so grave markers. These graves were more obvious, a bonfire beacon was in the center of the circle, light blue flames constantly guarding those who had once stood guard for the circle. She knew every person who was interred in that hill. Not all the victims of the battle had been placed there. Some families wanted their children buried near them. But Fred was on that hill. Or at least he had been.

She had made it thru the sorting all right. Slughorn was now the Deputy Headmaster. McGonagall Headmistress. She had kept Dumbledore's tradition of a few words before the feast. She couldn't help but smile at the first years as they saw their plates fill with food before them. She remembered looking toward Ginny and smiling when a first year tried stuffing a yorkshire pudding in his house only to be knocked off the bench in fright as Nearly-Headless Nick appeared on his plate. But instead of her friends laugh, Ginny clutched her wrist and pointed down the table, where in rather contemporary muggle clothes, two teenage ghosts laughed and welcomed the new additions to the school.

Hermione would learn those were the Student Guards. Those that died in the Battle of Hogwarts, but didn't leave, that chose to linger on in the walls they had died defending. She was relieved Collin and Nigel weren't among them. Her first night at school she had a fit of nightmares. She knew she was keeping Ginny up with them, so she had walked out of the tower and as far up the stairs as she could go, till she was at the last step which served as a perch to the window looking down on the lake, the hill, and the graves below and dissolved into a heap of tears.

It was in that moment she realized just how much had changed, and also how much she had changed. The Hermione Granger who used to sit in this spot, on nights when Lavender and Paravati were being too much, the Hermione Granger who used to study there, the quiet, rule abiding Hermione Granger was gone. She might as well be buried on the Hill. Thinking of the scene now, that Hermione would have gone to Dumbledore when she first woke up in the past. That Hermione would have demanded it. She would have also offered McGonagall to swear an unbreakable vow to keep the course and repeat the years as they should be. That Hermione would have done that and so much more. That Hermione would have done it because was not only expected of her, but accepted rules and guidelines for her to live by.

But she wasn't that Hermione anymore. And she wondered, oh so often those first few months back at school, if there had been more rule breakers, more people that had asked questions and not gone on pretending the Prophet was right and Harry was mad, perhaps then they could've done more that first year Voldemort was back. Perhaps if they had done so, the Battle of Hogwarts would have been so very different and there wouldn't be ghosts in teenage clothing going with their still living friends to classes.

"Granger—"

It wasn't that she had sat by the way side and done nothing. She had been a fighter. She had organized others to fight. But had it been too late? What if people had come to realize earlier? What if Percy could have come around earlier?

"Granger—"

Maybe then she wouldn't feel guilty every time she looked at the hill top or saw the sun catch the lake.

"Hermione," Fred pulled her out of her thoughts, " See, you did it again!" he threw his hands up animatedly, "Here i try and have a conversation to you about your change in behavior and you go ahead and drift off into what ever day dream you were just in—" His eyes suddenly grew wide and he lunged over to George's bed, looking to see if there was something under the pillow, and then, starting to go through the drawers of the desk.

"What are you looking for Fred?" she asked, adjusting back to her surroundings. He's just another ghost, she wanted to tell herself. Another ghost that will haunt you after all of this is done.

"You had this loopy look on your face, I was worried George had left a day dream quill somewhere around here. We ended up marketing them as a candy once the Quill ended up proving stronger day dreams the longer it sat—I was just—"

She feigned a smile and pat his arm, "Nah, don't worry. I wasn't day dreaming about you just them Fred."

She wondered if she was tired or if he really did just go a flush of pink in his ears. The lighting, a voice of reason answered her. "Now the book—I'm not a Death Eater, or being possessed by one. I just need something i can write in, that i know no one else can see."

Fred rolled his eyes, normal again, "Merlin Granger, you're a teenage girl. You can say you're in need of a diary and the people closest to you are snoops."

"Fine, she rested her hand on the desk and cradled her head, looking at him with a smirk similar to his own, "I'm a teenage girl and the people closest to me are snoops."

"I only have one other question," his smirk gone, edged again on the bed, "Why did you write to us rather than make one yourself. You had a piece of paper jinxed for secrecy last year and if I remember it worked pretty damn well."

"I'm still under the trace," Hermione countered, "I'm not off it till the end of next month. Besides," she scratched at the now dry salve around her eye, "You mean to tell me that you and George didn't have a secret way to write down your plans without your mum seeing it?"

A devilish smile pulled at the corner of Fred's mouth, "You're good Granger," he grinned, "You're very good. No more questions. You can have your book when you come to the shop." He took the flowers out of the vase Mrs Weasley had placed and opened the window, casting the water on the gardens before. "Let's wash up that eye of yours and you'll be good as new."

Water started to swirl from the base and Fred reached into his pocket pulling out a maroon handkerchief, offering it to her, " If you rub it in circles it helps break it up more."

It took about five minutes to get all of it off, Fred having caked on more than necessary as she chastised him for giving George a hard time, "You going to apologize to George for being a prat?" she asked dabbing the handkerchief in the vase again.

"Five points from Gryffindor for language," Fred chided, winking at her as he took the handkerchief and got a glob from her eyebrow. "But to answer your question, most likely. Heaven forbid I get in a fight with my brother whose just trying to keep me alive," he said, headed to the door, "Are you staying in here or is it Harry's room?"

"Neither, I'm in with Ginny and Harry's bunking with Ron. Your room's empty," she said following him in step. He opened the door and looked back, "Well come on, best see how the critics deal with Fleurs attempt at tea."

((*))

Harry and Ron had come back stairs by the time Hermione and Fred joined them. Ron stopped his conversation with Harry and turned to his brother, "What are you two doing together?" he asked, inspecting the scene as though he was Mrs Weasley inspecting Fleur's cooking.

"Judging by Hermione's lack of a black eye, I'd go with working some magic," George winked at Hermione. If possible, darts would have flown from Ron's eyes to his brothers, head, "Can I have another cuppa Fleur, you make it just right."

"Oh you are so charmant," Fleur beamed, refilling his cup. "''Erm'ione, I'll make you a fresh batch," she called out, as she poured two more mugs from the cupboard.

George looked up, "I'm charming and she gets a fresh batch? How does that work?"

Fleur threw her a wink and Hermione laughed at George's smirk.

"Is Dad home yet?" Fred asked his brother, looking at the clock, "Obviously Voldemort is still alive, we're all in mortal peril," he continued, "Of course we're still all on the clock so we're all living. That's good eh?"

"What happens if someone dies?" Ginny asked, coming back into the room with Crookshanks in her arms. "Dose their hand disappear?"

"That's not going to happen," Hermione said quickly, "No need to ask about something that's never going to happen." But she knew the answer to that question all too well.

"Quite right," Fred said, looking up at George, and then Hermione, "Been nearly an hour, any word from Dad?"

As though on cue, the door opened. But next to Mr Weasley stood Bill. Fleur nearly dropped the mug she was filling with tea and started with relief "Où étais-tu passe?"

"I got dad's patronus and met him in the Alley," he said, shaking off his boots, Mrs Weasley come in between him and Fleur to help him with his cloak, "Sit down Bill, Arthur" she turned to her husband pecking his cheek, "Who was it?"

"Florean Fortescue," Mr Weasley sighed, tossing his hat on the table as he sat in the head chair, "It looks like he put up a hell of a fight before they took him."

"Florean?" Ginny interjected, "Why would they take him? Surely they can get ice cream for themselves—"

"Ginevera—"

"I went to school with one of their sons, Franklin—the house was empty when Dad and I got there. Tea pot just taken off the kettle, still warm. We're thinking they've fled the country, I know his mum has family abroad," Bill explained, holding Fleur's hand on his shoulder. He glanced at his parents, "He wasn't—he didn't have anything to do with the first Order did he?"

Mr Weasley leaned against the chair, "Not that I know of. Course, neither were we," he looked at Molly, "He was two or so years ahead of us in school, I remember he would help tutor people in History of Magic. Nice bloke. Got an acceptable after studying with him before my O.W.L.s."

"Well, we knew it wasn't being a Historian that killed Florean," Fred said finishing his drink, he waved his wand and Hermione could have sworn she saw him empty part of a flask in this new cup.

Oh, Hermione wanted to interject, that's exactly what it was. He knew—oh he knew about the diadem. When the war was over, Mrs. Fortescue and her sons returned to England and told Shaklebolt that Florean knew about the Elder Wand, the Diadem of Ravenclaw, he knew so much more than a man who made a living off ice cream could have ever known. In academic circles, he would have been sought out after as a leading researcher in ancient magic. Ice cream be damned. He was brilliant and the enemy knew it.

"Boys, your beds are open if you decide to stay the night," Mr Weasley sighed, tapping the table and sending his cup to the sink. "If you're not here in the morning we'll see you in the alley, have to take this lot to get their school things."

"We're still doing that Arthur?" Molly asked, not even fighting her dismay, "after tonight—"

"They only have so many weeks left," Mr. Weasley sighed, "Besides, the car will be here to pick us up at 10. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a wizard in the ministry to operate a car? Let alone one who can navigate in and around London."

"We should head out and see if there was any damage to the shop," George said following his dad's example and sending the tea cup to the sink. "We'll see you in a couple hours." Fred rose to follow his twin, "Night family, " he waved. He looked at her and she would have to admit this was the first time she had gotten a direct good-bye, "Good Nigh Granger," before they disappeared in a sudden pop.

The single hand with two pictures moved from mortal peril to traveling and then slowly back to Mortal Peril. She hoped if she played her cards right that hand would stay the same, and she'd walk into the Burrow and see Fred's picture disappear from the clock as it had before.

AN: So this is the shortest chapter I have in this story thus far. I usually like averaging between 3500-4k; while I think we do need to move on, I thought we also could use some more Fred and Hermione before we did so. Gotta lay down that foundation right?

Also, I went ahead and added in quite a bit of Hermione's seventh year in this chapter. I went ahead and made her Head Girl begrudgingly, because I think McGonagall would have wanted her to be it, but in the end she would have asked someone else to do so, as Hermione had already done quite a bit in her time. Yet at the same time. She's Hermione Granger. Slughorn would have spiked Minerva's tea if she had anything but the highest honors. A lot of this chapter is pure head cannon I've gone by since Book 7 ended.

As always, please feel free to over your opinions. Thank you so much for all the positive feedbacks, follows, favs, etc,. I really appreciate your support as I try my first Fred and Hermione story. :)

Until next week, KH