AN: Typically I'm 4-5k words per chapter. But this had been sitting on the desk top for a while. Good news: I'm on Day Shift! Bad news? That means my insomnia fueled writing sessions have suffered as late. So here you go dear hearts. Be kind.

Falling Close

If ever there was an opportune time to strangle his brother, Fred was pretty sure that this was it.

In fact, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Ron would have a better survival rate here than outside of the infirmary. Fred could say his brother started to struggle to breath and he tried to do muggle rescue compressions or whatever it was he had not paid attention to in Muggle Studies. He just forgot that it was supposed to be above his heart and started punching his neck instead. His father had told him of worse mishaps from the Ministry. Besides, punches to the neck made more sense that sewing a wound close. Innocent Mistake, no court would know the better.

Innocent Mistake—much more innocent than muttering Lavender's name while in an unconscious state in front of Hermione.

Hagrid had joined his siblings and Harry in theorizing who exactly had poisoned Ron.

Fred wouldn't lie, it had been something that had been pressing on his mind for the better part of an hour. He could easily have stuck around for a little while longer and joined them in their conspiracy, but concern for his brother had disappeared. No amount of worry was going to bring Ron out of his present state. Fred's concern had been replaced with alarm for someone else, someone who had just flown out the door.

He had looked at her after Ron said it.

He had been trying to seem distant, focused on his brother more than Hermione when they had first arrived. George knew how he felt about her, but there wasn't any reason to put on a neon sign with little hearts pointing at Hermione for Ginny and Harry's sake. There was a sense of propriety with Ron's poisoning… The git would have thrown a fit if his poisoning was overshadowed by the two of them coming together.

Fred caught George's eye as Hagrid shared his theory. His twin looked at the door Hermione had exited from and seemed to be ever so slightly shaking his head, as though he was trying to advise against Fred's logic. Don't do it Freddie—make it easy for her—Let her fall apart and put herself back together again…It's what Hermione does. Tare down, fall apart, regroup in the library.

But she had done too much already.

After all, she had wiped her parents memories.

He had slowly realized in the crowded Hospital Wing just how alone Hermione was. No one would be waiting for her at Kings Cross. No one would be worrying about her if she was recovering from a poisoned drink. And with Ron's word, it told her she was alone amongst her friends too, alone in her heart.

That's not true Freddie, he thought to himself, She's got you—

But that look in her eye, the speed in her step—it didn't matter what he felt, he knew in that look she never felt more alone.

"I'm going to see if I can knick a plate from the kitchens," Fred said, tucking his hands in his pockets, avoiding George's accusatory glare. "Shall I pick anything up for you lot?"

"Give me a moment and I'll go help—"

"No need, you need to stick around incase mum comes back and starts fretting," Fred brushed off.

He didn't stick around for the comeback his brother was stringing together, he just disappeared through the door and tried, ever so casually, to keep his own heart beat in check, just like she must have done. It didn't do well to dwell on the similarities of their exit from the Hospital Wing. She did it with more grace. She had kept her emotions in check. Fred on the other hand felt as though his screaming emotions couldn't be concealed much longer from the bed side visitors. He tried, to his failing, to drown out the thoughts churning in his head with every step—

There was only one reason Hermione would have ran as quickly as she had out of that room.

She still loved him.

Hermione still loved Ron.

Despite everything she had told Fred, there was still a corner of her heart that was Ron. And who knew, perhaps that corner was really Fred's while the larger part still pined for Ron.

She had let him have a corner and now he was to be put back in it.

With every step he took up the stairs, he tried to box away any romantic inclinations he had for Hermione. Tucking it into a niche he could close with bricks. He had misread her intentions, maybe he had misread his own feelings as well. Maybe he loved her the same way he loved Ginny and the past few months had only been different because he had almost lost her in the Department of Mysteries.

After all, She was that fiery witch who had once socked Malfoy in the face. She was that brave sister who he'd worried about the night Death Eaters threw juggles into the air the night of the Quidditch Cup. She had been a part of his family for nearly six years, it wasn't uncommon to begin to care for stray friends Ron brought home. After all, he thought of Harry as family too—

But like a ghost, the smell of lilacs and honey came back to him, knocking down any defense, any niche he had tried to construct. It was a house of cards, and she was the wind that held it at its mercy.

His feet seemed to be directed on the path he had walked the last time he was in the castle, climbing up higher and higher while his heart plummeted lower and the justifications for the last nine months of feelings crumbled.

Somethings couldn't get put in the box. Namely her eyes. She had very expressive eyes, usually the side glance she'd give when Harry or Ron sprouted out a plan she could find fifty different problems with. Or her laughing eyes when she walked into the shop. Or her soft, brown eyes. The ones that had haunted them in the summer when the looked at George with for boding—he had never figured out what that was about—but when her eyes were gentle and warm when she lowered her defenses and told him what was wrong.

Those eyes she had spilled tears on to his shirt last Christmas—

Those eyes usually came with the faintest of touches, as she opened herself up to being taken in his arms. So she could cry it out. So she could stop for a moment to be Hermione Granger, leader of a Rebellion and be the real, seventeen year old Hermione.

The seventeen year old Hermione whose eyes had captivated him without him realizing it.

The seventeen year old Hermione whose eyes had panicked when Ron said Lavender's name.

Navigating through the castle, his thoughts jumbled as they were, he tried to strip himself down to the memory—what had been the turning point to all of this. But he couldn't find one. It had been a bunch of little things in the beginning.

Some of them, like punching Malfoy and organizing the D.A—moments where she showed how strong she could be—those had been over the years. There wasn't a defining touch, or some catalyst that had made the smell of lilacs and honey to soar from his love potions. There wasn't a glare that had hit his heart or argument that had rearranged his affections. She had always been Hermione Granger and whether either of them knew it or not, she had been calling the shots longer than either of them realized.

And now, he needed to respect that. He needed to box up whatever it was he thought they were becoming and Let Her Be. Even if that meant—

Can you really be ok with her and Ron?

He reached the tower door on the seventh floor and looked around before he opened the door. It was just a guess that she was here, but he had only taken a few steps when could here feet shuffling on the floor above. Fred waited, a few steps down, tucked behind the column. He hadn't thought what exactly to say to her. How he was going to help her.

He could see her from his perch, a few steps from the top of the landing, tucked behind the pillar of the spiral staircase. She had more color on her cheeks but he supposed that may just be from the exodus from the Hospital Wing and he drizzling rain. The storm had subsided from earlier, but the humidity was creeping up now, he could see her curls beginning to return into the frizzy nature he knew so well.

She was talking to herself. Hermione had stopped shuffling against the floor and was leaning now with her back against the wall, a hand tucking a strand of hair back in place. She started muttering again, "It's Ron, it's all Ron—"

He wondered if he could find a tower to run to. Shouldn't have shown her this one Freddie, George seemed to coach in his ear, Should have just let it be and stay in the Hospital Wing. Or found your own ruddy tower.

It's all Ron—He agreed, it was all Ron's fault. It was Ron's fault for not being good enough for her but stealing her affections. For surely leading her on only to crush her the blow that had been Lavender. Maybe, if Fred turned around now, the Hospital Wing could be cleared and he could transform his pillow into a Spider and he could exact phase one of his revenge.

Fred looked up at Hermione again. The way her eyebrows were set, she looked so much older than she was. It looked like she bore a burden behind her eyes, and Fred had the feeling that it had been hers for a while now. It's your burden now too, he told himself. No place to run, but everything to hide. He took a deep breath and looked up towards her.

"It always was Ron growing up," he said emerging from his hiding place, his voice light and joking, as though he was trying extra hard to make sure none of his words had an edge to them. "At least thats what we told Mum."

More color seemed to return to her cheeks and he could see Hermione try and compose herself, standing upright and dismissing the weight beyond her eyes. Her hand shot out of her hair and she looked over with the feigned surprise he had learn to expect from her and her little trio. "Sorry?"

"What you were saying just now—" the words seemed like lead in his mouth now, "It's all Ron—"he shrugged, hoping it would hide the recoiling flinch at his own words. "When we were kids, we'd always tell Mum it was Ron's fault. It worked until we overused it—"

She laughed at his words, leaning against the stonework of the wall again, " You heard me wrong," a genuine smile seeming to pull at her eyes, the spell of sadness dissipating. " Wrong—I was saying it's all wrong."

"You don't have to pretend Hermione, it's just me up here," He said in his strongest yet least convincing brotherly voice. He too now leaning against the wall, looking over at her, trying to put on a feigned air of ease. "No audiences, just the two of us, you can always be honest with me."

Her smile began to droop, "Fred, I'm not pretending." She scrunched her eye brows as though she was trying to figure out a riddle, "What are you—oh." The enlightened Hermione suddenly smacked his arm with the force his mother normally did, the eyebrows now crossed. "You arse you think I left because what Ron said!"

"Well didn't you?" he asked. He hadn't anticipated asking this so fast. He thought he'd defuse the tension with an obscure, faux story from their childhood where he'd over exaggerate some flaw of Ron's and make it foreshadow of a dismal future with him. But instead here they were, leaning against the wall of the castle, directly discussing feelings of all things.

She walked off for a minute, no longer by his side. He couldn't help but notice the chill of her absence.

"I said it was all wrong because—" she paused for a minute. He could see her picking her words out carefully before she used them, weighing each one for effect, or maybe just for him. "Because quite frankly, everything is. Katie last fall, Ron now—it could easily have been Harry and Ron—"

"You're starting to sound like Wood," Fred said, shaking his head, "You starting to believe their picking out Gryffindor Quidditch Players? Should we take Ginny with us when we leave tonight?"

If his goal was to make her smile, he wasn't succeeding. If anything it just seemed to make her frown. "I'm serious Fred—" she sighed, turning from where she stood, now over looking the lake below, "This is all wrong. We shouldn't be having to deal with this—but we are. Ron was poisoned—and—"

This time there was no words that followed her hesitation. You ruddy masochist, he thought of himself, kicking off the wall and walking to her side. He gingerly put an arm around her, finishing her sentence for her, "And if he had died, he'd have died without you telling him you love him, right?"

She turned her head ever so slightly to him, looking over her shoulder. He could see it was slightly shaking. Her humid tossed curls swaying side to side.

"He could have died and I wouldn't have told him that I was sorry," she said simply, "Sorry for being an arse these past few months and not talking to him—not being his friend."

Perhaps it was his hopeful ears, but it sounded to him as though she was putting more emphasis on that last word.

"So you and him—you don't love him?" Fred asked, the last half hour that had weighed on him like a thousand years seeming to slip away like sand in her time turner.

"No," she laughed, shaking her head more obviously. "I think I did once, but that was a long time ago," her eyes trailed to the sky, stars starting to come out of the night's cover.

He paused before turning again, "So all those years of bickering—"

"Because that's the foot work of a solid relationship, being at each others throats?" she fired back, You're pushing it Fred-be careful-

"Well we've been at each others throats," He said, his blood pounding in his head, he turned away from looking at her to looking down at the grounds as though that would make it easier.

"We have. You've called me a pesky know it all," she fired back.

"You threatened to write my mother your fifth year," he challenged.

Her laugh fell flat, "You were testing products on first years, what was I supposed to do? Give you my blessing and nick a nougat myself?"

"Oh, Hermione Granger, Patron Saint of Prefects," he did a mocking bow, "I am just a trouble maker of meager substance, spare me the speech."

"Are all Weasley men arses or just the ones I fancy?" she spat, turning her attention back to the grounds.

She must not have realized what she said. It just bubbled out with her temper, he told himself. But it didn't seem that way. Not really.

"You fancy me?" he asked, his voice softer now. He looked at her, trying to read her face in the torchlight. Standing there with her frizzy hair blowing in the wind, her face startled as though she realized what exactly it was she had just said. Fred never thought she had looked lovelier, maybe it was her words saying she didn't love Ron that were beautiful to him. That she fancied him—or maybe it's another one, maybe she's holding out for Charlie—

Hermione seemed to have sensed that he was watching her. "What are you thinking?" she asked, her eyes locked on his own, her brown, strong, challenging, determined eyes.

A lopsided grin broke over his face for the first time that night. "I'm not…"

He wondered if she knew what he was going to do before he did it. He took the step forward and kissed her. Before she could come up with any witty rebuttle, before she could say anything to change his mind, he silenced her lips with his.

There was no break in the clouds above. There weren't fireworks illuminating the sky. But there was her hand over his own. The one that was cupping her face. She wasn't trying to pry him away. If anything, she was holding him there keeping him close. The hand not a top his own was on his chest, the fingers playing with the tips of his collar her hand against his thundering heart.

She broke it first. A stunned look on her face. But it was pleasantly stunned.

"What are you thinking?" He asked, his heart beating fast, should he apologize? He didn't want to apologize. He wanted to do that again. And then perhaps again. He could be perfectly content standing atop that tower for the rest of his life.

"Fred," she said his name and reached for his hand again, "I'm not."

She kissed him this time and If not in the sky above, Fred felt as though there were fireworks going off in his heart.

((*))

AN: First, some house keeping 200+ Reviews! Its been almost a year since I started and you beautiful readers. Thank you for your words of encouragement. You've kept me sane this year and I adore you all for it. Secondly: Pure Fluff. There's so many different ways I thought about doing this chapter but this is the one that seemed best out of all of them. I hope you liked it. Like I said, updates may become sporadic with work and developing relationships, but we're just getting to the good stuff.

Next Chapter: Hermione's reeling over what she's done and how it will effect everything. If you like the Hermione who looks and questions Pre and Post War life, step right up. Ron and Lavender develop some more... and Fred is Fred. Just wait and see.

Till next time my dear readers,

KH