Falling Together

She was sitting on a pew, the hard wood pushing her back to curl forward and her head to slightly bow. Her feet couldn't quite touch the floor but her toes could skim the velvet knee rest out in front of her. It was a warm, sticky Sunday afternoon. Her hair was in weak curls that wouldn't last the rest of the service. She was wearing a blue starched dress that was itchy, but she was wearing little white lace gloves that would offer no relief. She looked up and saw the alter, the children's choir calling to the heavens as the stain glass saints sent their condemning looks at the squirming petitioner below. "Hold still," her Granny Granger whispered between her prayer beads, "Hold still Hermione"—and the scene faded—

It was summer, she was racing the kids from school to the Carnival set around the square, the May Pole decked with ribbons and flower as her mum called in the distance, waving her crown of flowers she had made for her, lilacs and purple ribbons—again it faded, and she was sitting beside Nora watching The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe being preformed at the children's pantomime is Essex, the boy acting as Aslan roaring Spring back to Narnia—but that too began fading again and she was in her first year telling Ron to stop waving his wand before he poked out an eye, quite possibly her own.…

No, she reasoned, this was wrong. She had fallen through time, but not through her childhood. She felt her self lose balance and stumble to the ground while the scene disappeared from eyes.

Her vision sharpened and she could make out her surroundings. She had fallen out of the chair in Dumbledore's office. It was a cold, sleeting Saturday Morning. Harry and Ron had just departed for Hogsmeade and she was sitting in her very first Occlumency lesson with Dumbledore. Or at least, she was trying to sit in the lesson, lately all she seemed capable of doing was falling.

"Brought up in a religious home Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked pouring tea into her cup as to calm her, he had said he'd do as much. This was turning out to be nothing like Snape's lessons with Harry for which she was grateful. She had no desire to have her mind bombarded as Harry had. Dumbledore said he'd just be grazing. Eventually, if needed, he would press like Snape had, but only when the time was ready or warranted.

It was odd, but she enjoyed the memories he had brought up so far. Most of them were old, nearly forgotten. It was as though she was looking at photographs that had been lost in an album. Even the sticky Sunday wasn't too awful. So long as he didn't see her at Quidditch Try outs a few weeks ago confounding McClaggen to help Ron, she was alright. Well, that and not seeing the future. That was to be guarded as well.

"Dad's Catholic, Mum's Anglican," she said, shaking her head, "Brought me up in the Church of Scotland to spite my grandparents I think." She wanted to laugh at this but just drank more of her tea, letting it settle the thoughts that had for so long sat still, "When I would visit my Granny Granger she'd take me to mass—but otherwise nothing overly religious," Dumbledore nodded, relaxing in his chair.

"What we just went through was a safe view of your memories. I looked distinctly for childhood memories, the dormant kind, the ones that don't seem significant and quite possibly have nothing of importance attached. I apologize but I was particular in what time period I wanted to pull up," he explained, "Given the events that you have seen, I'd rather not spoil the future so soon. We can wait till a later lesson for that. By which time I expect you'll be able to defend your mind and cast me out."

She nodded. When she had first come in Dumbledore had said the first lesson was to show and explain. To take it gradual.

"Now, should you ever be at risk, remember that those trying to read your mind are going to be limited by your proximity towards them, as well as eye contact. One or both of those is needed for Occlumency to be successful."

"But Sir," Hermione interrupted, setting down the porcelain cup, "What about Harry? When it came to his Occlumency, it was because you thought Voldemort would read his mind from a far correct?"

The Professor gave a weary smile, "In Harry's case, as seems to be the tradition with him, he was above the rules. I feared the connection between Voldemort and Harry would be strong enough it would have served as a third way to assault him," he shook his head, "I was right in some ways, wrong in others. When you were unconscious at that time in the Department of Mysteries, you may have heard Voldemort did take possession—which he couldn't have done without the relatively small distance as well as their mental connection."

Just another plug in to be grateful you're not a horcrux.

"So I'll just have to worry about one method or the other," She kept thinking of Malfoy Manor. She had tried not to think of it lately or she could feel the ghost of the blade against her skin. To know that would happen again was chilling. To know if she messed up and let Bellatrix read her mind—that was the most chilling thought of all. If they found about they were hunting for four remaining horcruxes, orders be damned, they all would have been executed on the spot. She had no doubt about that.

"Precisely, just be aware of your proximity and eye contact," the Headmaster continued. "We're going to try this again, but this time I want you to try and repress your thoughts. Have you ever conjured a Patronus Miss Granger?"

"Yes, last year," she said thinking of her Otter, feebly floating around her at the Battle of Hogwarts before turning into wisps around Ron's Jack Russell Terrier. She hadn't realized that had been the last time until now. It was strange, she wondered what would have happened if she had that patronus with her the day of the accident—

"A method you can use to shield your mind is very similar to conjuring your patronus" Dumbledore explained. "You will often have an idea what memories are most at risk for being read and meddled with. The better you know your enemy, the better you are at protecting your secrets. This method calls on you to repress them. To push them as far back in your memory as possible by thinking of a happy memory—or a powerful memory—that masks the threatened memories."

"But if I'm trying not to think about the threatened memories, how can they miss what they're looking for?" Hermione asked

"In a way you're masking the scent. Memories are strong, but at days end your mind is yours Miss Granger. And if it knows that it is under attack, it is going to respond to your defense mechanisms."

Why hadn't Snape told Harry this? She wanted to ask, Harry could cast a Patronus at thirteen, had he known this, he probably could have closed of his mind just as well. Bravest man you ever knew, eh? She wanted to tell him but thought better of it. She'd give him an " I told you so " if this ever got sorted out. Spare some future child a fateful name—no, not even Harry's that stupid…

Normally when she cast a Patronus, she thought of when she walked into the Great Hall the morning after the Mountain Troll.

It was ridiculous that that morning was her happiest thought. That morning, Hermione had wanted to stay in bed and miss her morning classes, sneaking in during the afternoon without drawing attention to herself. But something pushed her to get out of her bed. She couldn't remember if it was Lavender or Paravati threatening to stay with her and keep her company, but she got out of bed and got ready, slowly walking into the Great Hall around ten past eight.

Right after the troll, the three of them had walked back to the tower together. She was walking with Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, and his best friend Ron Weasley, the boy-who-laughed-at-everything-except-himself. But she didn't care. She was walking with them and they had faced a troll and survived. She figured it was the exhilarating adrenaline that came with a near death experience that kept her from telling them the various ways they could have meant their deaths. Instead they talked about the troll, about Quidditch, about the feast before the troll arrived in the castle.

But it all seemed to be like a spell. She couldn't believe it had happened when she woke up the next morning. She half expected Harry and Ron to ignore her that morning, just as they had every other morning. She was even prepared for that. What she hadn't been prepared for was Harry, calling out her name and waving her over to where he and Ron sat, a third plate saved next to them.

"We were starting to worry you didn't eat," Harry had said, scooting over and letting her on to the pew.

"But that's ridiculous," Ron said, shoving another piece of toast into his mouth, "Who doesn't eat Breakfast? It's a crime—"

And then they had asked about her night, if she had seen Snape limping that morning. She asked if they had done their homework for McGonagall and Ron moaned, saying he was struggling with the buttons into sugar cubes. She had hesitated, but she said she could help him if he'd like. That time Ron Weasley hadn't mimicked her or pegged her as a know-it-all. Instead, he smiled and said that'd be great.

That morning she had walked into the Great Hall assuming she'd spend it much like the day before, alone and trying to find her place at Hogwarts. She'd end up running out of the hall with Harry and Ron, the three of them having lost track of time talking and laughing at Ron's troll impersonation; Professor Sprout would give them a dirty look and Hermione had to answer three Questions from the Homework to get back the points they had lost for tardiness, but she had gotten more than house points that day, she had gotten her first true friends.

But for some reason, she didn't think that memory would hold up against Bellatrix Lestrange. She would need something stronger to use as a shield, something to hide against.

But you're not a hider. You're Hermione Granger. You don't hide from anyone or anything; She coached herself in her own little pep talk.

"What are you thinking?" a familiar voice sounded in her conscious, Fred—

She whipped her head up and returned her attention to Professor Dumbledore who was sitting there with a smile, "Have a happy thought to try and shield?"

"I—"

There was when she hugged Fred at the train station and she could smell the faint gunpowder smell in his hair, she hugged a body that would soon only know the embrace of the soft ground and green grass of the Guard's Hill—no, not this time. He's not dying this time—

When he rubbed the salve against the bruise on her eye, the two of them talking into the night. His sideways smirks and laughing, living eyes…

Merlin Granger, do you want Dumbledore to know you may be falling—

Falling.

"I have one that might work," Hermione sighed, pushing her tea forwards so not to knock it over if she stumbled as she had last time.

"Concentrate," Dumbledore coaxed, standing up and raising his wand, "and clear your mind. You're good with non-verbals, but you can try verbal if that will work to repel. I'm going to be slightly more aggressive. Try and block it out."

She nodded and tried to keep her mind focused on blocking out Fred—the War—Guard's Hill—

She was playing on the school yard with Nora when she was a little girl, bouncing balls against the wall—the scene was shifting and there was a boy her age she didn't recognize. He had red hair and light hazel eyes. There was a crack and the wall appeared to be falling, but it was no longer a wall of bricks and mortar but snow, rushing down the mountainside. Her mind kept switching from the snow to the boy, each time it did so the boy became older, until she realized who it was, and realized the snow was about to crash down on both her and Fred, in the school yard and on the slopes.

Not this time, not this time—

"Protego!" Hermione bellowed and Dumbledore was knocked off his feet onto the ground.

"Professor!" she exclaimed, getting to her feet and helping him to his own, "Are you alright?"

"Well done Miss Granger," he beamed, dusting off a phoenix feather that had stuck to the wrappings on his bad hand, "Very well done indeed. Here," he waved his wand and a purple wrapped bar appeared on his desk, "Have a chocolate bar. They're good for more than Dementor attacks."

"Are you alright?" she asked again. She couldn't remember how old Dumbledore's obituary said he was, but she knew it was slightly older than his actions would give off. "I'm quite alright Miss Granger," he said as he flicked his wand and a fresh teapot levitated from the fire to his desk. "You keep practicing and there's hope for your secret yet."

The first genuine smile since they had started class spread across her face, "Thank you Professor."

He pulled out his watch and frowned, "I'm afraid it's half past eleven. I have business with at the Ministry Miss Granger, I fear that will have to be all for today. We'll meet again in the next month. I fear between my personal research and Harry's lessons my time isn't as plentiful as I would like."

"It's alright Professor," Hermione said, picking Fred's bag from her feet and heading towards the door, "Have fun at the Ministry."

"Enjoy Hogsmeade, It'll be better than any Ministry Visit," the Headmaster chuckled as she disappeared down the stairwell.

She hadn't thought about going. From the window near the Headmasters office, she could already see some carriages turning back to the castle. The sleet that had come down earlier had slowed down now, and the air was chilled. But there was hot butter beer waiting in the Three Broomsticks if she wanted it. She still had till sunset to wander the village. Harry and Ron were there already, if memory served her right, drinking and talking about Harry's theory Draco was a Death Eater.

If she stayed, she knew all she would do was sit in the Common Room for a few undisturbed hours with her journal. But something called her to the village. She couldn't help but think something important was to happen. Maybe she could go get a new book—they had been quick to fill the battle-shelled bookstores back up with stories about the war. She had lived that, she didn't need to read it—and it would be nice to go and escape, even if it was just for a couple hours—

She draped the bag across her chest and ran down the stairs, looking forward to one quite adventure—only slightly deterring from time—as the bells of Hogwarts chimed noon.

((*))

Fred Weasley's heart broke when he apparated to the first little store at the edge of the village.

He knew he should not be as pleased as the sign on the door said that Ziblimi Zonko was sad to announce that due to the competitive marketing done by two Zonko's inspired jokesters, he had closed shop. He and George had heard rumors about this for a while, but he hadn't wanted them to be true. Not yet. Not until they had offered to buy the store. Instead he stood under the porch, reading the notice of closure and trying to look through the boarded up windows of what used to be his favorite store.

Mum had written that the kids at the school had a Hogsmeade weekend coming up. Making another waist tray filled with pranks, he had set out Vertie and Lee to make some sales and surveys, see what the kids at the school wanted the most. They'd do their homework while he dug around Zonkos. He had even prepared to go Incognito, covering his tell tale red hair with a dark, chestnut dye that would buy him an hour or so of ambiguity. Just to be safe, he had even used an identity deifier amulet, adding a hooked nose and green eyes to seal his secret.

But Zonko's was closed and he didn't get to fool anyone.

Zonko's was a staple to Hogsmeade as much as Honeydukes. He looked down the High Street for a moment and saw that it was standing room only in the Candy Shop with no where else for the third years to go and explore. He supposed some would hike up to the Shrieking Shack, but in this weather he highly doubted it.

It was a small wave of kids that had escaped the school. He wondered how many parents hadn't signed the permission forms this year, not wanting to risk their child's safety for a Saturday away from the castle. The crowd was no where near as large as it had been his sixth year, but it had been more crowded then, with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang adding to the constraints of the castle. He could have sworn they had thrown in an extra Hogsmeade weekend just to give Filtch a chance to clean the parts of the castle most overrun. He could make out how down the street Vertie and Lee were selling from the waist trays, similar to how he had done at Platform 9 3/4, they're bright magenta robes still visible in the falling sleet.

They'd either buy it in town or in the castle, he noted, looking at the scene. If we were to open in town and not out in the elements—

But he didn't want to think of that now. He had enjoyed watching people arrive in Hogsmeade. Ginny, arm in arm with that Dean Thomas fellow. He wasn't afraid of him, he figured Ron slept in the same dormitory and if he needed to be taken care of. Ron could do that much. He'd just act as though he was giving Ginny a hard time. He'd honestly rather see her with Dean then that Terry Boot fellow. He had seen Ron and Harry earlier, but he doubted they had left the Quidditch shoppe yet—except there had been a gaggle of girls following the two like hungry geese—

But he hadn't seen Hermione. He told himself that she had probably looked in the mirror and realized that there were only so many days before she would be sitting for her NEWTs and that she was already wasting time. You can't ever be sure Freddie, he told himself, She'd choose the wit before the laughter any time…

And then there was a carriage that came around the corner. A girl with brown hair jumping out of it and walking towards the front of the carriage. She was muttering and nuzzled the air before patting the vacant air as a seasoned mime before walking way.

She can see Threstals. He thought to himself and he couldn't explain why that froze his insides. He knew Harry could, but he was facing the Dark Lord every year it seemed. Could his brother see them? Had she gained the ability fighting Voldemort or was this a death in her Muggle World? It didn't seem right to ask her, "So Hermione, who have you seen die" to satisfy his curiosity. Instead he wanted to turn to the Fates, point at Hermione and ask "Of all the people in the world, can't you give this one a break? No more bad things. She's had enough of them. Just give this girl a rest—"

He was halfway through his argument with the imaginary Fates when he looked up at her again and saw that she was looking at him with an amused look on her face. He was still disguised, perhaps Hermione has a thing for Brown Hair and big nose, she did fancy Krum that one year.

She was now walking towards him and Fred found himself going through his head trying to come up with what a Bulgarian accent would be like when she called in the distance, "Fred Weasley, what have you done to your hair?"

Any attempt for an accent disappeared, "How did you know it was me?"

Her hand went up to his hair and she tugged at a strand, " Your roots are growing out exponentially," she smirked, and he wondered if she could keep playing with his hair. She pulled her hand back to her side, as though the growing red had burned her. She looked at him a little closer around his neck and shook her head, "Are you advertising your amulets again?"

"If it wasn't for the fading hair, you wouldn't have had the slightest idea would you," Fred asked, trying not to smile as broadly as he wanted to, knowing she could still see him.

"I'd still have had my suspicions," she nodded, looking at his bags, "No one hangs around a boarded up jokeshop like Zonko's without getting on my radar."

"Prefect Prank Radar? It does exist?" he toyed.

She nodded, but gave him a wink, "We're all equipped with one and mine's being going off since I got off that carriage."

It was so natural, the banter between the two of them, he wondered why they had never done it before. Like talking to George, there was a constant, steady cadence. He took a deep breath and looked her way, "What are you thinking?" he asked, hands in his pocket. This had become their question. The staple to their conversations.

"Nothing," she said, laughing despite herself, "Why what are you thinking?"

"I actually have something today," he continued "Would you want to go get a bite to eat? Give that Prefect Radar a well earned rest?"

She looked at him and smiled, "Yeah," she said "I think that would be nice. But do take off that amulet," she insisted, " You look like Viktor Krum trying to be a Weasley," she said with a laugh. "Where do you want to eat?"

Sill standing under the covering of Zonkos, he looked down the high street, "We could go the Hogs Head, but we know the food's rubbish there," he started, she nodded at this, "Don't think we'd have the time to digest it. So really its the Three Brook Sticks or Puddifoots—" did he actually say that? Did he actually say Puddifoots? What was he trying to do sabotage what ever this was with Hermione? And What about Ron? Word gets out that Fred Weasley took Hermione Granger to Madam Puddifoots and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that there would be fists over his mother's fig pudding at Christmas.

You're friends. You and Hermione are Friends. Nothing more. Relax.

Hermione coded her head and looked at him skeptically, "We need to get you to the Three Broomsticks immediately, the sleets messing with your brain," she said, looping one of her arms around his, and he instantly felt a small rush of warmth from his elbow up.

((*))

The Three Broomsticks was always packed on Hogsmeade Weekends, but even more so when the weather was bad.

They ended up finding a small table in the back near the rest rooms and fireplace. It was plenty warmer than it was outside, Rosemerta having put a few extra logs to compensate for the sleet and new falling snow.

"Why didn't you come up into town with Harry and Ron?" he asked once their Butterbeers had arrived. She had her arms resting in the mugs as though she was enjoying the warmth coming from the tanker. "I had morning lessons."

He raise an eyebrow, "You're taking more lessons? Take it from someone who ended their education early Granger, more classes don't always mean good things."

She rolled her eyes, "They're lessons with Dumbledore. That's all."

"Why are you taking classes with him?" he asked intrigued, "Is it Friends of the Chosen One 101?"

She smiled, shaking her head, "No, it's—" the smile faded and was turning to hesitation, "It's complicated."

"You're being trained on how to be the Minister of Magic? Do you need help with a coup d'état?" he tried hoping to make her laugh, or at least smirk. Something other than knit her eyebrows together.

"Oh come on, you can tell me," he tried, and they knit together more, "Or not. You don't need to fret about it."

"Sorry, I was thinking about something else," Hermione said her eyebrows still fixed together, "Ron and I have been arguing again."

He leaned forward and pulled his thumb upwards on her forehead, lifting the crease, "There we go. Now explain to me what Ronnikins did now?"

Hermione tilted her head, "Why do you automatically side with me?" she asked, a smile tugging the corners of her lips, "You don't have to—"

"Oh I know," he chimed in perfectly, "But you see, Ron was the best thing that ever happened to George and I growing up. He was a toddler once George and I started ruining dinners and quite days at home. How did the cat's tale catch fire? Ron did it. How did the dish break—must have been Ron," he smiled at the memory. We knew Mum wasn't going to get cross with her little baby boy, and we weren't going to blame Ginny, so naturally Ron became the scape goat."

"You're lucky you had siblings to pass the blame off too," Hermione said with a wistful smile. "Oh yeah, you are an only child, aren't you?"

She nodded, taking a quick swig of her Butterbeer. "I'd blame things on my imaginary friend, Nora."

He tried to imagine a small Hermione Granger running around doing tricks and pranks. It was like trying to imagine Percy doing the same. "What did you and Nora do?" He asked, mischief echoing in his words.

"When I was little I'd spend summers at My Granny Granger's," she started, "But sometimes she'd have to go to Mass or meetings and I'd play sick so she'd take me to my Aunt Florence for he afternoon."

"Faking sick, now devious," he joked, "Come on Granger, you had to do better than that."

"I'm not done with the story," she started, her cheeks getting a little red as he interrupted her. He wanted to say it was the warmth of the fire mixed with the butterbeer, not that she was actually angry.

"Anyway," she continued, "I think I was seven, and I was bored. Auntie Flo didn't have kids. She was a neat freak, everything always in order. She had these plastic mats that were to protect the carpet, but they had little needles on the bottom so they'd stick. It was towards the end of my summer visit and I just wanted to go home so badly—Nora and I may have flipped some of the mats needle side up, and waited in the parlor for Granny to call and tell Flo she was coming to pick me up."

He tried imagining Hermione the tiny prankster and he could slightly see it, The way she smiled with her eyes, the knitted frown slowly melting away, "You devious little witch, what happened next?"

"The phone rung and Auntie Flo walked on needles," Hermione laughed, "I got in so much trouble for that. I tried blaming it on Nora but that's when Mum and Dad said I had to be a big girl and send Nora away," she said, her laughter now absent. "But it was fun while it lasted."

"Very nice Granger," he said raising his tanker to hers. "To Mischief being Managed," he toasted, and then stopped, and looked at her again. "How's the book going?"

"Brilliantly," she answered, "No one has sneak tattooed on their face yet, so I think my secrets are safe. Shop's going on alright?"

"Without a hitch," he smiled now. He almost told her about the 'Time Line' he was trying to put together with the mini-time turners, but it was still in development. There was something about it that made him want to keep it secret for now. Well, more surprise than secret. "You'll get to see the holiday collection soon enough I promise."

"I look forward to it," she laughed, wrapping her hands around her tanker again.

"Good," he replied. "So shop's good, the book's working- annoying Ron is working— this year's going ok for you?"

She seemed to hesitate and the sad, big, brown eyes seemed to find their way back to her face. As though she was looking at him with a big secret she didn't even want to whisper about, "Hermione, are you alright? You can tell me if something's the matter."

She shook her head, looking at the tanker. "No it's fine, I—It's just been different this year, that's all. It's been different being back—"

"Without the Charming Pranksters to direct your Prefect Prank Hunts against?" he joked trying to crack a smile; it worked. It always worked.

"Something like that," Hermione said warmly.

"Maybe things will settle once the Quidditch season starts again?" he offered, "I just saw Katie go into the W.C, when she gets out, maybe I could ask her about the season and she could give us some spoilers. Maybe George and I could come out and—"

But Hermione's face seemed to turn to stone when he said Katie's name. She tensed up. She looked as though she could have been cursed the change was so immediate. It was as though she had forgotten something dreadfully important at the last minute. "I'll be right back," she said, turning around and walking towards the restrooms.

"Hermione—I said I'd—" she disappeared and his echo of "ask" fall on the hollow table.

She was absent but the lilacs and honey still floated in the air. It was starting to annoy him. Perhaps after they had put the Valentines Day Collection together, he would talk to George about only brewing that damn Amortentia once every month so to spare his senses from becoming so familiar and prone to it. He couldn't have a drink with a mate without thinking that maybe it was supposed to be a date rather than just a drink.

She's Ron's girl, he could hear George in his ear. He better act on it soon or someone else will. What if that someone else was his older brother? How would that go over? Would he replace Percy in the ranks of family betrayal?

It's just Hermione. It's Hermione Granger. Leave her be, his conscious yelled at him just it had the fates. This girl has it hard enough just let her be.

Suddenly a familiar bob of hair came out of the Bathroom. "Katie!" He called, but she couldn't hear him. He waited to see if Hermione would follow, but she was nowhere in sight. He looked at the door where Hermione should emerge, and then the front door where Katie was leaving, Dammit.

He couldn't explain why he felt compiled to go out the door, hoping he could catch Katie and call her inside. Or at least say hello and then go back to the table where Hermione and his' lunches should soon be coming out of Rosemerta's kitchens. They had been waiting a while now. Maybe Rosemerta was loosing her touch.

She had already turned the corner on High Street. Would Hermione have known he'd left but would be back? Maybe she thought he went to the loo to and would be joining her in a second. He didn't need to talk to Katie about a Quidditch schedule, he was friends with Harry, he could even ask Ron—but there was something off with both Katie and Hermione and he figured Katie would be the easier of the two to break.

The sleet was starting to pick up and he strained his eyes as he tried finding Katie in the misty, chilled air. There was a scream, not too far off. It wasn't the normal scream you'd hear in the village, one of fright followed by laughter, a friend pranking another or someone tripping and then coming up with "I'm fine, don't worry about me I'm quite alright." This was a scream of dread. Of pain. The kind that you hoped you'd never end up hearing.

He looked in the direction of the scream and saw that it was close. He ran, He ran to the screamer and saw that it was Katie Bell, his friend Katie, up six or so feet in the air, her arms outstretched. Ron and Harry were close behind him, their arms out stretched like his as though they too had come to help Katie.

She fell to the ground like a puppet cut from strings, and landed in Fred's arms. Harry and Ron stabilizing his shoulders and helping him to his feet in the snow banks.

"Fred!" a voice carried in the wind, "Fred—"

He could register that Harry and Ron were asking Katie's friend Leanne what had gone wrong. He could even pick up words like "Opals" "Package" and "Wouldn't say."

But he also registered the word "bathroom." Katie's eyes were closed and she was still thrashing in his arms.

"Fred" the voice called closer, There was Hermione, the wind tossing her hair to and fro, her cheeks red with cold and from running, She looked at Katie and looked crest fallen.

"Katie," she sighed as she got to his side, "Oh Katie—"

He looked at the girl in front of him, running towards him, and the girl that was shaking in his arms. Hermione, what's going on? He wanted to ask, What the bloody hell is going on?

AN: Bright side: Fred and Hermione where temporarily reunited. Downside: Katie Bell still got cursed.

This is going to be very important for Hermione in the coming chapters, and it's also going to be something Fred keeps in mind throughout the story. Don't worry. All good things...or plot good things.

I'm sorry this chapter is so long, but I wanted to get Dumbledore and Hogsmeade in there. With a little bit of lovie dovie fluff. Next Chapter is going to be another big one for Hermione: Gryffindor's first game of the season and the after party that comes with it. Also, Fred will be in there as well, still processing Katie's 'accident' and wondering what's really in the book Hermione's writing. Thank you for all your love and support guys. You are what keep this story being published :)

Until next week~ KH