AN: See Long An at the very end of this.

D: I didn't lie about being held at gunpoint in rio, but I did about when I'd update. xx

Falling Realities

She wasn't thinking.

Not right then, not really.

He kissed her a second time, she a third time. It was half way through the fourth that the wheels in her head seemed to recover and the pleasant fog cleared enough for her brain to reset.

You're kissing Fred, her true self, the one who had survived the war only to be backhanded back in time, the Proper Hermione seemed to be shouting. She could envision her now. This Hermione was going mental, banging her arms against the glass cage. Her fury the only thing to escape her prison inside her head. Stop it right now. Stop it—

But I don't want to, a small voice countered back. Her head was wrapped in the smell of mahogany and gunpowder. Her finger tips seemed to be buzzing with electricity as she played with Fred's hair. Her other hand shocking herself with her grip on his shoulder, pulling her closer to him, not wanting to be moved. Not yet.

Stop it, the insistent, nagging voice continued in her head, like the sound of annoying fly in the ear, you stop this now. He's the wrong brother. You're kissing the wrong brother.

She pressed herself ever closer to him right then, feeling his arm curl protectively around her waist. A smooth sway in the wind that was gently swaying them both a top the tower.

No, she countered, her senses swirling, I'm kissing the right one.

Harry had once told said, in the post war, that kissing Ginny that first time in the Gryffindor Common Room was like basking in the glow of several Sunlit Days. At the time, Hermione had heckled him for being the romantic. It was a playful heckle, but one she couldn't help but smile.

And she was smiling even wider now. If Harry had those sunlit afternoons, Hermione felt like she was in her own perfect, precious, pocket of time. One that she wasn't willing to give up. No matter how much the real her screamed.

But he's the wrong brother—your making a mistake—

No, she tried again, you are.

Hermione pulled away first, her heart beating in defiance to the past. Fred pressed his forehead down to her own. "I knew that was too good to be true," he said, his voice a little husky.

"What do you mean?" she asked alarmed, as though he could have read her mind just then.

"You started thinking," he laughed, kissing her forehead and sitting down in a spot next to her. She sat down too along the stone base. It was cooler down here. Still humid from the rain but cool all the same.

"Oh shut up," she quipped, hitting his arm. He flinched and took that moment to wrap his arm around her shoulders. It didn't take more than a moment for Hermione to lean her head against his shoulder.

"Had I known kissing you was the best way to clear your mind I'd have done it a long time ago," Fred said with a laugh enveloping his voice. She could feel his finger playing with a curl, he turned his gaze to her again, as though he was momentarily hesitant. "I wish I had done that—I've been feeling that way for a while now."

"Yeah?" she asked meeting his eyes. She could feel a smile curling at her lips. The warmth spilling through her chest like a sunbeam.

"Yeah," he answered, a similar, goofy look starting spread across his own face. "I guess we'll just have to make up for lost time and all."

It wasn't the practical Hermione that had beckoned her out of her pleasure, it was this word. Time. Time. It's always bloody time.

"How are we going to make this work?" she asked, breaking his gaze and returning her head to his shoulder. "We've got three months till term ends—"

"Is that what made you start thinking?" Fred asked, his voice sheer jovial, "Hermione, we'll just keep doing what we have been—and I'll find a way to drop in every now and again," he said with a smile. "After all, Dumbledore needs his Owl Post. We'll just learn to coordinate. We've got those Galleons from the DA days, I'll send you word when I'm coming and—could we isolate the connection so the entire DA isn't given heads up to rendezvous at the tower?"

She fought it but a smile spread to her face, "Just promise me you won't deliver singing telegrams like Lockhart."

He raised his eyebrow as though warning, "George has been working on musical Howlers. It'll only take a few modifications and I'd sing much better than old Lockhart."

The thought of a musical expression of love echoing off the walls and shaking dust from the rafters of the Great Hall made her cringe. George—The practical Hermione seemed to break out again, "What are we going to do about your family? Do we tell them?"

He seemed to be weighing this out, "We could—"

"But?"

"Maybe wait till Ron's out of the infirmary?" he offered, " He'll think we're upstaging his brush with death and declaration of love for Lavender?"

"Or we could just wait," she quipped, resting her head on his shoulder. "After all, they might figure it out on their own— Ginny's observant enough—and your mum will know when she see's us at the train station."

"You think we'll give it away there?" Fred asked, an eye brown shooting up, "You supposing we'll be the new Phlegm?"

She spoke before the words cleared her mind. "You think we won't?"

He shrugged, and then after a moments pause he sighed, "She might start getting theories when I start snogging you the moment you step off the train."

She felt her cheeks turn crimson as she tried to burry them in his shirt. "It's getting late, do you think we should leave?"

"Do I think we should—yes. Do I want to," she could feel his lips moving against the top of her head, "No. I really don't want to."

She didn't really know what she wanted to say. She wanted to stay too. She wanted to stay on this tower until the day after the war ended. Just her and a living, breathing Fred. Head still on his shoulder, her hand tracing his finger tips.

"Fred—" Hermione began.

He looked at his watch the small planets revolving, "Hospital Wing closes in twenty minutes. Want me to walk you back there?"

"It's alright, I'll just go back to Gryffindor Tower," she said. He was already up on his feet, his hand already extended to her. She took it again and noticed he pulled her a little too fast, as she rose to her feet and landed against his chest.

"You did that on purpose," she smirked. Keeping a hold of her hand he led her down the stairs, "You'll find out soon enough Hermione, I do everything with a purpose."

((*))

"Will you have enough time to get to the Hospital Wing?" Hermione asked once they reached the tower, "George won't leave without you?"

"Nah, he's smart. He'll say I probably got carried away eating down stairs and wait in the kitchens. Something like that, " Fred assured her, swinging her hand in his as they made their way to the last step, "Standard procedure. If lost, meet in the kitchens."

"Filtch would have your head if he found you in the castle again," Hermione warned, trying to hide a smirk as she met his eyes.

"I'd like to see him try" he answerd looking down at their hands.

The Fat Lady roused from her sleep looked down at Fred, "Oh look, the Prodigal son's returned," she scoffed, "If Argus Filtch comes with his irons and chains I'm still not letting you in."

"A right peach you are, aren't you?" Fred smirked looking at the portrait and then Hermione, "Never get on her bad side."

"I'll keep that in mind," Hermione answered, "But she does have a point. You should head back before you get caught."

Again she looked at him and she didn't quite know what to say. Was this what emotions had done to her? Rendered her speechless?

His eyes were softer. That hint of mischief that was so familiar with a look from him seemed to have melted into warmth. Or perhaps it had always been there and she hadn't noticed. She found herself again, wrapping her arms around him. "Stay safe out there Fred." She muttered in his shoulder, as though a prayer.

He looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair away, "You stay safe in here. We'll be together again soon. Just you wait." He said the last words as his thumb brushed against her cheek.

"You're not going to hide in the Room of Requirement are you?" Hermione asked, half hopeful, half terrified.

He didn't say anything, just smiled as he made his way down the stairs. "Don't give him ideas," the Fat Lady warned, "That's all this castle needs."

"Tapeworm" Hermione said.

"Yes, he is," the Portrait sighed as she opened the door.

She was half way through the door when she heard something from behind her. A scream. As though someone was calling out.

"Fred?" she asked. Her hand tightening on her wand. She tried to turn around and go out the portrait hole when she realized that the hole was gone. It was only a stone wall. She looked in front of her, the scream now becoming clearer. It was a cry. A deep, guttural cry coming from somewhere in front of her.

She wasn't standing in the Gryffindor common room but a hallway, rubble up and down the path. Someone had blown the sidewall connecting it to a larger corridor. It'd look a lot larger she supposed, if it wasn't for the rubble that littered her path, the helmet of a knight still twitching on the floor as his disconnected arm tried to crawl towards it.

There was smoke and ash. She couldn't see clearly. The hallway was dim save for one flickering torch that refused to go out. It filled her with a sense of foreboding. As though it knew far better than what she would find. Where had her sunlit days gone? Where was she—what was going on?

And that scream—it was coming from the end of the hallway, somewhere around the corner on the landing.

Her insides tensed up. Her senses had come back to her and she knew where she was. She was in the hallway. The one above the seventh floor landing. She looked down to her wrist, she was clutching Fred's Bracelet, still safely latched to her arm.

How cruel is it if Time has pulled you back only to watch him die—but surely it wasn't. Surely He wouldn't die this time. Surely she had subconsciously done something that would have lead to his survival. She couldn't think what, but she had to have done something.

An explosion shook the ground. The Battle of Hogwarts was raging around her. Peace hadn't been called yet. Fred could still be alive. She could find him—she could fight with him. Put a shield spell on him. Make rocks rubber. She could do that—she would do that—all she had to do was concentrate and find him.

But the screaming—it was a sob again, and the sob was becoming stronger.

Wand extended out, she made her way to the source. Whoever it was, they were calling attention to themselves. And if Hermione could find it, a Death Eater could silence them almost as swiftly. She would see if they were in immediate danger. If they were she'd help. Otherwise, she'd have to cast off a look of sympathy and see if she could find him.

As Hermione made her way around the corner, the scene before her was more visible than the hallway had been.

At the edge of the landing, there was a figure. They were small, Hermione may even say petit. Their hair was matted in some places, burned in others. It looked as though it had been unkempt for a while and the clothes on the figure seemed loose. Their arms were blackened, and Hermione didn't know if it was from the rubble or if it was from something else. She could see must have once been a white bandage wrapped around their form arm. But it was grey now. Not quite as dark as the rest of their arm.

As she got closer she could see her fingers were black with red at the finger tips.

That's blood—

The figure was crouched down. Hermione could see that they had pulled someone out of the rubble and leaned them into a niche. They were visibly shaking. Her heart stopped when she saw they were cradling the upper torso of the fallen. A limp, redhead bouncing as they shook violently.

Hermione knew this battle. And she knew that who ever that was, they weren't there anymore, not really. They were gone. And there was nothing Madam Pomfrey could do to revive them.

"It's too late for them," Hermione called as she made her way, her voice strong. Cruel, she thought to herself, no need to be blunt.

But no need to give false hope either—she countered. "Come on, we can hold them off from higher ground—they'll probably call a cease fire in a bit, we'll come back then."

At the sound of her voice the cries from the figure ceased. The woman who had been cradling stopped, though keeping a tight grip on the form, still shielding the face. When she turned, Hermione's insides tightened as though they wished they could disappear all together.

She recognized the face now. The uneven singed hair. The dark, grimy fingers. She had forgotten how bad they had gotten that day, digging through rocks to get into the Chamber of Secrets—digging people out— How the tips seemed to be encased in the blood of those she hadn't been able to save.

Hermione Granger looked down at herself and she knew something was indeed wrong.

She tried to balance herself as she fell to her knees. Trying to lift the fallen's shoulder, see their face—make sure it wasn't—

"Fred?"

"Is on his way back from the Chamber of Secrets," her past self explained. She thought she was the past self anyway. She seemed to be the one who knew what was going on.

She also seemed to be looking at her with disgust and self loathing. As though she was the enemy here, not the Death Eaters.

"But he—He didn't go to the Chamber of Secrets, he was on the Grounds with George," she tried to counter, "Ron—"

"This time he went." The other her spat, "but he didn't."

Suddenly the world began to spin and the floor drop from under her feet. She knew which one had been taken. "Ron—"

"You chose the wrong brother," she angrily cried, her voice breaking over the word. "You chose the wrong brother and because of that, Harry's lost his best friend. I lost my Ron."

The Past Hermione tightened her fists in Ron's shirt, as though if she put enough pressure she might be able to bring him back. Hermione could see the grimy tear tracks, the only clean skin on her face.

"I didn't—" Hermione looked from her own face to Ron's. "He was—he said Lavender. Back in the Hospital Wing. He called for Lavender."

This made the crying worse. Hermione tried to touch his face, to find someway to say this wasn't true. But her past self wouldn't allow it. She grabbed him protectively, as though even in Death he was to be kept safe from her.

"Don't touch him—" she barked, Hermione didn't know she could cry this hard. Her own wand was now pointed at her face. "You knew you weren't supposed to mess with time but you didn't listen. You didn't listen and he died. You murdered Ron Weasley—"

"No, I—" Hermione was looking around. She was rooted on the spot. Her own damning words condemning her as Ron's vacant eyes looked on, piercing her like knives.

"You chose the wrong brother. You've murdered Ron Weasley."

"No—I—"

She could hear her name, and suddenly she was shaking, being shaken violently. Soon she wasn't standing but realized that she was lying down on her bed. Paravati looking down at her with uncharacteristic concern. "Hermione" she sternly called, "Hermione it's a dream wake up—"

Her heart was still racing. She looked around her. She was lying safe and sound in her four poster bed. The pinks of morning sunrise being panted outside her window. Paravati was wearing her pajamas and had her hair in its usual night time braid. Hermione looked over to the other bed, where it appeared Lavender was missing.

"It was just a dream, whatever it was it was just a dream," Paravati soothed. She pointed at an empty glass and whispered Agumenti! Looking down and admiring her own handiwork, she passed the glass to Hermione.

"It was just a dream," Hermione repeated to herself. But it seemed so much more then that. It felt like a warning. "Where's Lavender?" Hermione asked, nodding her head to the bed.

Paravati rolled here eyes, " Wanted to get up to the Hospital Wing first chance it opens."

"Hospital—" and then it all came back to her. A reality where Ron was still alive, but still in mortal peril. And was it going to be because of her—

"She was up there when it closed. Got to meet all the Weasleys. Well, except the twins, one of them was missing—but it's not like she doesn't know them."

"Right—I ran into Fred on my way back from the Hospital Last night, he'd been down in the kitchens knicking a meal," she replied absently. Focus on something else. Focus on the water. Not Fred, not Ron. Focus on something that makes sense….

Focus—

None of it made sense. Not at first. Worst of all, she wasn't making any sense in it either.

The timelines had been contaminated. She had done that. She had sworn she wouldn't but she had sworn that she would change it. Time had become as fluid as she was right now. Nothing was the same and she was to blame.

Hermione rose out of bed and reached for one of the water basins the House Elves had placed on the girls vanity. Taking her own wand and conjuring the water, she scooped it in her hands and brought it against her face, letting the cold try and calm her racing mind.

They had kissed on the tower.

He had walked her back to Gryffindor Tower, he and kissed her again. She thought.

But she walked through the portrait hole and went to bed. She remembered skipping up the steps and falling asleep. The dream was just that—a dream. Her brain playing with her after a painful, unexpected day.

Because at the very least her dream was right in one thing—she was off the known path from the past. Everything from here on out was unknown.

Love—and possibly death—included.

((*))

Sun was streaming through the windows to Fred and George's flat.

The rain that had soaked the north hadn't made it to London. It was one of those rare spring mornings in where a lesser man would keep the shop closed and wander through one of the city parks instead.

When George walked out of his bedroom he was surprised to see his brother in the kitchen, a red mixing bowl floating behind his head while a whisk sent batter carelessly across the cabinets. Fred appeared to be oblivious, flipping through a book with while flour added itself to the mix.

"Morning," George said, cautiously taking a mug of tea that was siting on the counter. "Woke up with a baking itch did you?"

"Hm?" Fred asked turning his attention away from the book, "Oh yeah. Starving—woke up and thought scones would be good."

"Because you ate so much in the kitchens last night," George started, looking down at the tea with uncertainty. Fred turned his attention away from his brother and back to the book, "Oh Shut it."

George pulled out a Flask from behind the bread box and shook some Fire whiskey into the cup before continuing on, "No, No I'm not going to shut it. I had to meet Lavender, you got to go galavanting with Granger because we both know you weren't in the kitchens."

George noticed how his brothers shoulders seemed to contract when he had said Hermione's name and he knew he was right, " Go for another midnight stroll of the castle?"

"I wanted to make sure she was alright after Ron proved he was an idiot," Fred said plainly. His brother a good liar—to anyone other than his twin. But George could enjoy it for now. He didn't have the heavy eyes from staying up all night trying to figure out how to relay the news Remus was giving him to the magical population at large. He hadn't fallen asleep with a new defense item blue print sticking to his face.

Instead, he had fallen asleep thinking about a girl. One George was certain he had kissed.

Because Fred always ended up in the kitchen after a good snog.

"And was she? Alright?" George asked before taking a swig of his Fire Tea.

A large wave of batter landed itself across George's face. He wiped it from his eyes only to look down and see a larger blob floating in his tea.

"She's fantastic, thank you," Fred said with an all too innocent smile. "Sorry about that, you didn't want any did you?"

George smirked, "I'm alright. Think I've had enough anyway." He shook some batter from his ear, "And are you two—"

"We're fantastic too," Fred answered and George looked over at his brother, noting the the look of ease on his face.

George found himself hoping that maybe, just maybe, Remus wouldn't drop in today. Or tomorrow. That perhaps an owl would come announcing that Voldemort had suffered a heart attack-tricky with his lack of heart-and died and there wouldn't be a war. Just an endless spring that could tempt the brothers to close the shop for the day and head north, where he'd have his brother's attention until a little Prefect skipped down the steps and into his arms.

But you can't grant wishes from the weather.

"Prophet came today, there was another attack, not far from where Remus said the werewolf colony was last camped," Fred answered looking away from the cookbook. "The pamphlets are working George-they attacked an empty house. Five empty houses."

"The pamphlets worked?" George said again, the hopeful spring dismissed to a back shelf of his brain, "So if pamphlets in a pub work, imagine if we were able to do secret encryptions on packaging- send it out as a marketing campaign-"

"I'm already ahead of you with some designs. The Quibbler had some Whacky-do-whatever glasses in an issue last spring. We could develop something like that, send it out in samples and then find away to distribute mass advertisements with warnings you could read with the glasses. I could ask Hermione, she's handy with encrypting messages remember?" Fred interrupted, "But if we can get information and if people will listen-"

"Than we could save lives," George finished. He looked at the headline Welsh Wolves attack Vacant Hamlet, a scratched up door swinging in the picture covered in batter. He looked at his brother again. "Must have been a really good song to get you developing a plan like this," he started before another wave of batter made it over the edge of the bowl.

((*))

AN:

Alright. Authors Note. Note de Author. Here we go.

First off, Thanks for all the continual love this story has been getting. I check in every week and there's a note, review, follow etc. and its been little rays of sunshine. I hadn't realized it'd been so long since I updated...

Typically you lot get a good round of excuses. I like to think I'm pretty honest in my authors notes (re: Chapter 14). I would love to tell you that i have Chapter 24 all queued up and ready to go but I can't. This story is going to be a little irregular. Hopefully I'll update in a shorter window than last time, and I'm too invested in this story to abandon it. The next few chapters may be a little faster pace, but we're going to finish this. I've been re-reading book 7 and book marking ideas. and connecting themes. We're going to have fun. I just ask that you be patient as I get it all up here. Work is getting better but I need to bring balance to the force/commitments before I bring press updates. I'm also really unsure of this piece. Its been so long since I updated I feel like this is really stiff.

Finally, We're going to pretend like Curse Child never happened. Savvy? Savvy.

But I loved writing the dream sequence. Absolutely loved it.

So as always, please let me know what you thought! Chapter 24 will be more of Fred and George working with Remus on their secret project, Hermione has a meeting with Dumbledore. It's going to be more exciting than it sounds.

Stay save dear readers. To those heading back to uni, take care. To those still in school, you will get through this.

For the rest of us, Raise a Glass to Freedom.~KH