AN: Edited after night shift. Sorry...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRED AND GEORGE! Have an update!

Falling In

The purple double decker arrived on her street the moment she pulled out her wand. She knew it would. She lifted the small suitcase she had packed, one of her father's old briefcases his initials still embossed in gold on the leather, and stepped into the familiar routine.

"Where to love?" the new conductor asked, whipping out her ticket book with one hand and the hole punch in the other.

"Hogsmeade Station," Hermione answered, shifting the weight of the case into her other hand, "Hogwarts front door would be better but—"

"Not likely," The conductor nodded sympathetically, tucking one of the loose black curls under her cap "You're lucky 'Ogsmeade is still part of the route. Ministry's debating next month whether 'r not its safe to allow transport so ne'er the school."

"Right," Hermione said, taking her ticket and dropping her pay into the dish before headed to one of the open seats. The conductor nodded to the driver and they began their zip through the evening air. Hermione was exhausted. All she wanted was to crawl into her room in Gryffindor Tower and sleep there until Ginny came in to tell her the war was over, her brothers had survived and all was well. But that wasn't something she was going to be allowed. Least of all on the Knight Bus.

In Stan Shunpike's absence, the Knight Bus had a new conductor. Black curly hair that tumbled out of her cap and around her shoulders. A thick cockney accent Hermione had only heard when she traveled to London for school shopping. She seemed to take more pride in her appearance than Stan, and had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows as though she was showing with confidence that not all conductors were Death Eaters.

The Conductor walked by again, this time seeing if Hermione needed anything from a toothbrush to a teckle tart. She was just about to return to her post when her eyes narrowed on Hermione, as though she was trying to place her somewhere. "You look familiar, what did you say your name was?"

"Lucie Darnay, just headed back early from the Christmas holidays," she lied, hoping she seemed annoyed enough for the conductor to leave her alone. She gave a sort of approving mhm before she walked away again to check on a first time rider.

Hermione had her alias all set up. It had been simple really. It was stepping into an act she had created the summer before.

But in other ways, in ways relating to her emotions, everything seemed so much harder. It was as though she was sealing her parents and a part of herself in an imaginary tomb. She knew how it could end, that was the only thing that kept her going when she walked out the hotel in Newcastle. The Knight Bus had picked her up then, whisking her down to her home in Essex where she passed out in her bedroom before she was able to take off her shoes.

When daylight came in the morning light, Hermione knew she had only a matter of time before someone would notice her in the house. If not Death Eaters, the neighbors she had grown up around. Yes, she had been forced into advancing the modifications of her parents memories, but that didn't mean her hand was forced in what was to come next.

There was still a week before she was expected back at school. She could easily stay at the Leaky Cauldron, locked up in a room by her own accord, not seeing anyone, not going anywhere—keeping such a low profile the sheets wouldn't notice she was there. It was a practical plan, but she didn't want to be in large, magical or muggle populations. She was still jittery. Hermione had forgotten how the war had played on her nerves. She came off calm but she was on edge. If a family could be tracked down on vacation, she felt it was asking for danger to be sleeping above a pub.

As easily as she could fall into physical danger, she could only imagine the emotional disruption to her psyche should she go through her other option. She could show up on Molly Weasley's door step. Tell them that there had been something urgent at the clinic and her parents had to cut vacation short. Everyone with the exception of Harry would believe what lies she came up about dentistry—and in full honesty, Hermione had noticed the Dursleys had been too relaxing of Harry's dental habits, he'd probably believe her lies as well.

But Molly would know there was something else. That something was the matter.

Somehow, she always knew. And before she knew it, Hermione would be telling her everything. Mrs. Weasley had suspected something had been done to hide the Grangers, but it wasn't until wars end she learned what Hermione had done. Hermione had always assumed it was the muddled hustle of planning a child's funeral that had spared her a lecture. But she couldn't let her know, because Harry might find out. And he didn't need to know this yet.

It needed to look as though Hermione had a normal holiday but had to cut it short rather unexpectedly. No Death Eaters, no modified memories. A casual, traditional, almost boring holiday—of no account or importance.

But Hermione needed to confide in someone who, she hoped would understand, and would be able to give her answers.

She needed to go to Hogwarts.

She needed to speak with Dumbledore

When she had first woken up in the past, when all the snow and debris from the avalanche sent her cascading through the years, it had taken her almost three months to seek help from Dumbledore. As soon as she finished getting her parents affairs in order, it had taken all of three days. She had owled him the evening after she cleaned the house and there was a reply waiting the next morning. She opened it to find an invitation to use the Hogsmeade Station Fireplace at her earliest convenience and to come back to the school.

Whatever hostility she had towards the man the last time they'd spoke she hoped, had or would melt away. She had so many questions and if there were any answers, she could only assume they would come from him. The bus came to a bumping halt.

"'Ogsmeade Station for Lucie Darnay," the conductor called out and, remembering to grab her suitcase, Hermione got off and disappeared into the evening light.

((*))

Hermione had gone thru the events of the attack so many times in her head that by the time Dumbledore asked her to go through them for him, her responses were automatic and contrite.

She lead him through their day at the University. The tour led by a student from Kent. Getting a light lunch at the University Commons. Their shopping on Market Street, the little wood shop where Dad had bought the trinket that became their lifesaving portkey. How they had left the shop and were headed up the street to second hand book store next to the restaurant dad wanted to drop by when they heard the explosion that raddled the street before the Death Eaters raddled them all.

"How many did you see?" Dumbledore asked "Were they in their common clothes or were they in Death Eater Robes?"

"Three," Hermione answered, "Two were at the mouth of the street where the tents had been set up around the German Shop. I don't know where the third one came from, only that he was the one that found my parents and I. They were masked—I didn't see the other two as clearly but the one that came after us was wearing a tarnished silver one—as though it hadn't been worn in a very long time. Or at least, not properly maintained."

Dumbledore sat for a moment, looking at Fawkes as though he expected the bird to give him some answers or guidance. "Tarnished mask, any distinctive clothing?"

"Just black—They had probably been on the street waiting for something," Hermione answered "Maybe they were waiting for us? Do you think that we were the target or it just happened—"

"I think," the weary Professor answered, leaning into his chair and looking down at the Daily Prophet in front of him "Nothing has or ever just happens when its related to one of you three, Miss Granger." He pushed the paper towards her, and Hermione noticed that it was the Prophet the day following the attack. Rather than the Newcastle attack being bolded in the center of the front page spread, it was tucked towards the bottom, a photograph of burning tents sending their smoke up the twilight sky.

"There's not a dark mark—" Hermione started excitedly "No one died?"

"It appears that way. Which in many ways is a good thing," Dumbledore agreed, but looking back at the paper had a sad expression, "But that tells me that they were after someone and they got away."

She scourged the paper looking for some small detail, there was no magical eyewitnesses. The Department of Magical Law Enrofcement arrived on the scene and the Death Eaters were gone. They had to perform memory charms on muggles who had seen the attack. One eye witness, before having their memory revised said they had seen an eeriee blue light from behind a milk truck, causing officials to believe here had been someone of magical abilities on the street. The paper said they were searching for the caster of this spell in hopes to get a better account on the attack, but at the same time were admitting only one witness had reported the light and wasn't convinced there actually was a portkey. Registered Witches and Wizards in the area had been interviewed but no one admitted to being on Market Street that night.

"Last time," Hermione said evenly, glancing at the paper again, "Last Christmas I stayed at Hogwarts. I didn't go home. How could—" her words fell flat, "How could going home for Christmas cause all this? I've meddled with time already—I went Stag to Slughorn's Christmas party, nothing too significant—what have I done to cause this?"

"Did your family encounter anyone on the platform when the train arrived back in London?" Dumbledore probed, " Maybe not interacted, but could anyone have known you were going on Holiday to Newcastle?"

"Dad said that we needed to catch our train," Hermione groaned, her hand fidgeting with her hair, "But who—I don't know who would have followed us. The Death Eater that attacked us in Newcastle had blue eyes—light, clear blue eyes. They looked young—he had a male voice—"

"There were several members of the Order that were stationed on the platform that afternoon. Many of them reported that there were several either suspected Death Eaters or those with sympathy to Voldemort that were on the platform as well. Lupin tailed a few that were following the Creevey family. He ended up driving them home, taking them to another train station during the rush hour, they got lost in the crowd—"

"Why didn't anyone do that for my family?" Hermione asked heatedly, more so than she had anticipated. "I'm glad someone was their for the Creeveys, but what about the Grangers?"

The Headmaster looked at her sympathetically, "It was an oversight. Tonks followed from a distance and saw that you boarded your train safely. Fred Weasley kept a voluntary watch on your neighborhood in Essex that first week of Holidays. Didn't have anything to report out of the ordinary the first few days."

Fred—"Did he see anything after a while?"

Dumbledore pulled out a crimson file and pulled out scrawling notes that she could only suppose were Fred's. "Fred stayed the first few days. When he realized your house was empty he returned to his other duties. Tonks remained stationed in Essex and reported that someone came into the Dental Office asking to set up an appointment with your father for a tooth extraction and the receptionist said it would have to wait till after the New Year as your family was on Holiday in Newcastle. By the time I got her report news of Newcastle came to my desk."

"That's how they knew than," she said crestfallen. Fred tried to keep you safe—he tried to keep tabs—

"Where are your parents now Miss Granger? The Order can go through extreme measures to keep them safe. We know their not back in Essex, they haven't been seen since Newcastle—you give their location and they'll be taken care of from this moment forward."

"I went through my own extreme measures," Hermione replied, "If you found them, they wouldn't know anything about Hermione Granger, Hogwarts or the Order."

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled as the meaning of her words dawned on him, "You modified their memories, didn't you?"

Everything came rushing out after that.

How she had came up with an alias so to hide her parents and take care of their business while they were gone. Lucie Darnay became an imaginary middleman. That was the name she had put on the deed to her parents house, the lawyer that had been hired by the Grangers to sell the Dentist office to her father's partner. Some of that money would go into Lucie Darnay's newly opened bank account that would continue to pay bills on the house, the rest of it was being transferred to the newly renamed Wilkins accounts.

In ways, taking care of these details were easier than they had been before. She had gotten to be very comfortable doing confounding charms, especially at the bank. Her non-verbal spell work had vastly improved since before. When it came to the house, she had cleaned out the fridge the morning after her arrival had done a deep cleaning that entire day and then covered the furniture with white linen, closed the blinds and went through each room casting the same spells she had used all those times they were in the tent. The house had every protection spell, save the Fidelius Charm. There was no forwarding address. No Paper trail that would lead an investigating Death Eater to where her parents had went. There was only a name, Lucie Darnay, represented by the firm of Carton & Stryver, 1793 Old Bailey Street London.

"As for Hermione Granger—I haven't appeared on the school roles since I was eleven. When term ends, I'll buy a plane ticket to New York and make it look like I'm enrolled at Ilvermorny or the Salem Witches Institute. A lot of mugglborns flee this summer, the enemy knows I would never leave Harry or the Order but it might buy us some time," she said once her story was done.

Night had fallen on the grounds, and she could see the fresh flakes coming down from the sky as well, just like the last time she was at the castle. Dumbledore sat there quietly, as though he too was pondering what next to say. "To be brave for so many other's sake," he looked at Fawkes, shaking his head, "Sometimes I wish we had allowed you all to be children rather than the heroes you've become. It is old men who declare the wars and young ones who must fight them," Hermione saw the wrappings on his hand and the purple tips that were withered and maimed.

"It was naive of us to assume we could contain a time stream, that we could keep events on course the way we hoped," Dumbledore continued. "What we can, and must do is keep the fundamental events the same. Harry must search for the Horcruxes. They must be destroyed. Voldemort must be defeated—these are the prime objectives. You must continue on that line and help Harry complete it."

Fawkes cooed in agreement and for a moment Hermione thought she saw a tear in her Professor's eyes as he spoke, "I will complete my own time line, and following those events set to take place in June, I'll go to a far greater rest than I have ever known and wait for you all there. But for you Miss Granger, " Hermione had to look away but she felt his sad gaze upon her, "After what happened in Newcastle, for you fear the road will be harder than it was before."

((*))

Fred brushed the snow from his shoulder as he entered the castle, pulling off his hat with mild annoyance.

This wasn't the first letter he had ferried to McGonagall. He had already come back with three letters from Remus since the castle had emptied for the holidays. Typically he was able to Floo into one of the many fire places in the castle, a few always attached in case of an emergency to the Floo Network. But the students where coming home today and in lieu of how jammed the network was going to become, Remus had advised appparating to Hogsmeade and journeying by carriage to the castle.

He couldn't be too annoyed at Remus. Surely he couldn't know that there was a blizzard up north and that he would walk into the castle bringing half the storm on his back. But Fred was annoyed for other reasons.

He thought he was going to see her today.

He had a hope, deep in the back of his head that perhaps her silence of three weeks had cured him of any feelings he had for her. It was the only prayer that seemed to make any sense. They had gone from almost weekly letters to silence. He had meant to send her the Time Turner, it was in his pocket now—but at this rate she wouldn't get it until the end of term. He never knew where to send it.

She wasn't in Essex, he told himself, perhaps she had gone away for Holiday and the Owls couldn't travel that far? It was a thought. He had stood guard of her house until he realized no one was there, stopping his daily routine of popping in during his lunch break. He wrote a few notes, passed them on to Remus who probably burned them or tutted over the lack of organization. He wondered if she was traveling back to school by Floo from some far off land or if she had arrived at the station, wondering where all her friends where, instantly wondering if they were effected by the Newcastle attack while she had been abroad.

What he wasn't expecting was to see her walking down the main set of stairs, carrying the book he had given her at the start of term in one arm with his purse draped around the other.

"Hermione—what—"

Her eyes grew wide when she saw him, and she nearly ran down the stairs to him. She dropped the book and threw her arms around him, making him rock on the spot.

How are those feelings now Freddie? A little voice he had called George seemed to raddle around in his head. Her hair was tickling his nose, and she was definitely holding on longer than she normally had.

"What are you doing back already?" he asked, pulling apart and looking over her face, trying to find some tell tale sign of a suntan or new freckles from Christmas on the beach. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary.

But when he looked over her a second time, he didn't find any bruises or cuts, but still tell tale signs of distress. Her eyes were not red from crying, but there was signs bags had recently left under them—probably the work of a quick charm or balm from his shop. Her hair was still frizzy and unruly, as though she had chosen not to do any maintenance to it with the halls empty until this evening. But he had seen her hair get this wild before, and it was when she was running an underground defense club and studying her OWLs.

"Hermione," he asked again, trying to add up the sum of her appearance for the whole of her unspoken distress, "Why are you back?"

She looked into the distance behind him to assure they were alone, "Newcastle."

His legs seemed to turn to stone, keeping him on the spot. Newcastle. He hadn't thought she'd be there. He hadn't expected her to be mixed up there. They had never talked about it, that was true, but—Newcastle.

"Fred, I'm fine, don't look so upset—"

The color that drained his face filled his mouth. "Why didn't you let me know? You could have—"

"Owled you?" she finished, again looking in the distance before she uttered, "Fred, you've been a human owl for three weeks now, you know I wouldn't use the post. Not to tell you something like that."

He could feel her willow like fingers wrap around his hand and the stones around his legs seemed to fall apart. "Come on—follow me," she said, pulling him up her to the top of the stairs before she guided them down a hallway to an empty class room.

He watched as she pulled her wand out and sealed the door with a jet of blue and then turned to him. "Call it paranoia, but I'd rather we not have an eavesdroppers. Go ahead—" she let go of her grasp on him, tucking a stray hair and leaning softly against the desk, "Ask away."

"Where were you when they attacked? Please tell me you were at some stuffy muggle art show or playing bridge at some hotel," he sputtered, scenarios of her and the flames wrapping around his head. "Don't tell me you were—"

"On Market Street?" Hermione finished, her smile flickering as she looked down at the stone ground, "We were all on Market Street—they came after my parents and I—you'd be proud I broke the law and made a portkey that got us out of there."

"Bloody Hell," he swore quietly, his body tensing up. This wasn't the first time she'd been the target, nor was the first brush either of them had experienced with Death Eaters, but he could feel a chill running down his spine as he asked, "You know they were after you?"

She shrugged, and he noticed how her arms seemed to hug her torso as though she was trying to keep herself together, even if just subconsciously. " I wasn't sure until I spoke with Dumbeldore, but it sounds like they disappeared shortly after we got away."

He could feel the blood pounding in his head, beating like a drum that could have marked the Granger's execution. "Did you let anyone from the Order know you were going to Newcastle? They—I—could have stood guard—"

She gave him a tragic smile, "And what good would have come from seeing people I love turn into shields for us? We got away. We're alright."

She's anything but alright—"And the Order is guarding your parents now right?"

The smile fell apart. "Fred, I—"

He strode towards her, the blood still pounding, the executioner's drum still raddling around his head. "Hermione—where are your parents?"

Hermione Granger's eyes were not what he would normally characterize as pretty. They were brown and when she were cross they seemed to go darker. George used to comment how Mrs Weasley and Hermione could give them angry, demonicly dark eyes when they had gone too far. But they were lighter now. A honey brown rather than a chocolate brown, hidden behind a shield of tears.

"I—" she looked down as though that would hide her mounting distress. "I need you to swear you won't tell a soul. Can you do that?"

The look of resolution dismissed what tears had welled up. "Not even George?" he asked, eye brown raised. Her lips persed, and she shook her head, "Fine, you can tell George too. But that's it."

He took a spot next to her on the desk, leaning against the curve of it with her. "Deal," he answered "Now, where's your mum and dad?"

"I sent them away," she said clear as day, "Modified their memories and sent them abroad, I—I'll collect them after the war."

"You modif—you did magic on your parents?" he tried not to sound taken aback but he couldn't help it. If he had to perform magic on Molly Weasley, he'd have George take his measurements for the undertaker.

She turned to face him, "Don't you judge me Fed Weasley. The Death Eaters were going to start targeting them. I had already planned to do it this summer—necessity required I move my plans forwards six months."

"So you sent them abroad," his voice was dry, "And they don't—"

"Know they have a daughter?" Hermione asked with a grim smile. It was the kind of smile you had when you were hiding something raw and ugly. Something that clawed from the inside. "Its best this way. If I were to die, they wouldn't know about it. They could live out the rest of their lives happy and content. You can't grieve for a face you can't remember."

Her words lacked the confidence they had when she started. He could see the walls of tears swelling in her eyes. It was almost instinctive. He took her in his arm, letting her cry. The warm tears seeping through his breast pocket.

Her parents are abroad, he seemed to catalog as he stroked her hair. Her parents are abroad, most like in an English speaking country—somewhere safe for expats. They'll be safe from the war. But Hermione—

He knew, in part because he and George had started the campaign when Hermione was petrified their fourth year, that she was stronger than she looked. That the fizzy hair was a sort of helmet that protected her as she went to battle against Slytherins and basilisks alike. But she always had Harry and Ron at her side. No matter how far others would push her, she always had her support group around her.

And now, when she needed them the most, two of the leading members didn't know that she exsisted.

The other two, for reasons he could only begin to guess, would not be privy to until she decided the time was necessary.

She pulled away, "I made a mess on your shirt, here," she drew out her wand and aimed it towards his heart "Tergeo" a warmth rushing to her tear stains before they siphoned into her wand again.

"You're not going to tell Harry or Ron are you?" he asked, watching as she smudged any remaining tears away.

"No, and you can't either," she said ferociously. "Harry would be unbearable—he'd blame himself and do something foolish. And Ron," she laughed, "Ron and I—he couldn't keep a secret like this. Harry and your mum would know before I got to breakfast the next morning. Its only you, Dumbledore and I that know the truth."

Dumbledore, the name jarred him back to the letter that was in his pocket, "I have to make a delivery to the Head Master—that's why I was here to begin with."

"And here I thought it was just to ask how my Christmas Holidays were," she laughed, "How was the Burrow?"

He shrugged, "Quite. Usual Burrow. Death Eaters didn't come set fire to it. We did have to deal with Percy and the Minister crashing Christmas Supper, but he's a prat and the Minister's short."

She gave him a weak smile, "You should go drop off your letter. Besides, the school's going to start getting crowded, people will wonder what your doing here. You can't have your carrier service discovered or they'll come looking for you."

"I live in a florecently painted joke shop Granger, I think they'd be able to find me," he smirked even though she didn't. Jokeshop, her gift! "Hang on, I have something for you, I meant to send it over the Holiday but when I knew you weren't in Essex I didn't know where to send the owl to."

He pulled out the little orange box with purple wrappings. "This doesn't bring your parents back, but I thought it would be a good luck charm," his said as a disclaimer, watching as she slowly opened the box.

Fred didn't know if it was a good thing, her silent reaction. The wide eyes, the sudden intake as she looked at the little gold bracelet with the single time turner. "Do you know what it is?"

"A Time Turner," she said quietly, "I've—read about them."

Her fingers seemed to stroke the golden hourglass, her eyes focusing on something far from them both. "When you came to the shop last summer, the idea stuck with me," he started "Coupled with the fact you woke up thinking it was 1999. I wanted to see if we could come up with a Time Line just for laughs. Apparently the ministry wasn't too fond of the idea, too many accidents could happen, but they didn't destroy the beta so-"

He wasn't too sure of the gift now. He thought perhaps she'd laugh, or kiss his cheek. Now she looked paler than she had when she told him her parents had their memories wiped.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, trying to pull her out of her thoughts.

The words seemed to call her back. She looked down at the bracelet again and smiled, "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

((*))

The castle was full again.

Hermione was on her side, the curtains of her four poster drawn and a sliver of moonlight creeping through an opening.

Her roommates had been asleep for an hour now. She had been trying for the last three, kicking herself that she hadn't restocked on her sleeping pills when she was in Essex.

The bracelet was still on her wrist. An anchor of the present. What had sent her back here. It was only logical that it could send her forward? That's what she had thought. It would be the way to break the spell and bring her home to the safety and serenity of the post war.

But it would also bring her back to marbled graves.

If she were to leave now, if she where to break down the magic of Fred's Time Turner, surely she would be able to find a way home.

But if she were to leave now, she would be going home to a relationship with Ron, and a dead, unknown friendship with Fred.

Dumbledore's words from when she arrived sat in her head. How she should have to face a harder road than she had before. What did that even mean? She hadn't exactly taken the road less traveled last time. She had camped out with two, short fuses for the better part of six months. She had wiped her parents memories. She had broken into the Ministry of Magic. She had been tortured by Bellatrix LeStrange. What, she wanted to ask the ancient watchman, what could be worse then that? His words were the best advertisement for home, for finding away for the time turner to bring her back.

Her questions seemed to create a lullaby that beckoned her to sleep. To sleep and dream of what could come from the time turner. Maybe it could still save them all. Maybe if she had it in the war, things could be different. Maybe it could buy others time.

But maybe, Hermione thought before sleep claimed her, Maybe it could take her to last June when she first landed, so she could warn herself what was to come: her parents, the war, the retribution that comes with messing with time. And perhaps, if the time turner could take her back that far, it could save her from falling in love with Fred Weasley.

AN: I know I had previously said they were would be a Leaky Cauldron scene but (as always) I went through a few rewrites for this chapter. I feel like Hermione's recount was growing choppy, but I was happy for an excuse to bring Fred in this chapter. This is just me, but regardless of if Hermione had waited till summer or not to modify memories, I think she would need to tell someone. She told Ron and Harry after all. This time, the reasonings why she couldn't turn to them (Ron and her strained relationship, Harry and his damn Potter Hero complex...) made it so easy for her to share her story with Fred. And it will prove to be a good thing.

Anyway, I digress...

Hermione has the time turner! And emotions for Fred! Next Chapter She's going to balance those feelings out. Between Apparition Lessons and helping Harry understand Horcruxes, Hermione won't have that much time to spare but she finds that in those quite moments, thoughts of Fred aren't far off. Meanwhile, Fred continues working at the shop and ferrying letters and learning exactly what it is Remus is up to.

March First is coming, and with it, Fred hopes an excuse to see Hermione again. . .

Until next time ~KH