Part 27

"Come with Dobby, Miss" said Dobby, wrapping his thin, long fingers around Hermione's first and second. She followed him down the dormitory stairs, across the landing, and into a corner of the deserted common room, across from the fire.

"Dobby was in the boys dormitory, doing his nightly cleaning, when Dobby sees something strange, miss. Dobby sees lots of torn up papers, in a mound under one of the beds. So Dobby pick them up and brings them down here, miss, because Dobby thought it was rubbish." Dobby reached into a pocket of his clothing, and held out a stack of pieces of ripped parchment.

"Dobby sees ink on them miss, so Dobby tries to read it, and they all says the same thing."

He said. Leaning over to read the marks on the parchment, Hermione could only make out scribbles.

"Here, miss. Take them" said Dobby, handing her the stack of paper.

Hermione took the pieces of ripped parchment, sat them on her lap, and picked up a few. There, in furious, hastily written form, was her . Hermione looked at the rest. Her name was on each of them, scribbled and nearly illegible. She searched through the rest. They were the same as the first ones. "

Dobby, this was in the boys dormitory?" Hermione asked, turning to look back at the House Elf.

"Yes, mis. That's where Dobby found them".

"Who's bed, Dobby?" asked Hermione, more intent.

Dobby shuffled his feet, and mumbled something inarticulate.

"Dobby. Dobby, who's bed did you find these under?" she asked forcefully.

"Dobby doesn't want to say, miss" said Dobby, not looking at her.

"Dobby. Who's?" she asked again, leveling her gaze.

"The brother Wheezy's! The twin, the one who spilled ink on the floor that Dobby cleaned up while Hermione wrote her Potions essay." Said Dobby quickly.

Part 28

Hermione couldn't think. She could just act. Leaving Dobby alone in the Common Room, she stormed up the stairs to the boys dormitory, in silent passion. She didn't known if she was mad or happy, she just knew that she had to DO something. And right now, that something was finding Fred. Reaching the landing of the dormitory, she went up to the bed right next to George's. There was the lump under the covers, curled up in the Blakey away from the cold wind. Quietly but forcefully, Hermione swept back the covers, to reveal the lump was another blanket. It was bunched up together into the rough forn of a person, but that blanket was the only thing in the bed. There was no Fred. Hermione's passion quickly left her, and she was left, tired, in the middle of the boys dormitory.

"Dang it, Fred" , she whispered. " Where are you?"

Part 29

red held his jacket closer as he hurriedly walked toward the Black Lake, his shoes bending the lightly dewed grass shoots that shimmered in the moonlight. Fred could see his breath in the brisk air as he watched the silver light that danced on the tips of the water, so it seemed as though the lake was breathing. The air was cold and pieced his exposed skin with it's burning touch. It was relieving, the cold. It seemed to suck away all of his loud, distracting thoughts, and soothed his confused mind. He had been up most of the night perched on the edge of his bed with a piece of parchment and a quill, fanatically writing everything he was thinking about. The one thing he was thinking about.

Hermione.

It was strange, how he felt about her. He didn't feel an obsession to always be around her, like he had been with Angela. He just pictured her in his mind, when they cphad walked out of the library together and she had gasped at the snowm when she had been angry about him for shaving Crookshanks, when she had been adorably angry at him in the library...When he thought of Hermione, he just felt happier. The day seemed brighgter, the colors more vibrant, and inside, despite the cold, he felt warm.

"Interesting" Fred thought to himself. "This is different. But good different. "

Fred continued to stay, standing at the edge of the lake, the tip of his shoes barely above the lapping water line, and listened as the water softly hit the bank. It was this sound, the quiet, constant sound of the waves, that stopped Fred from hearing another noise behind him until it was much closer. Turning back, Frerd saw a cloaked figure, huddled against the cold, hair blowing little in the crisp wind,

"Fred?" asked Hermione. "is that you, Fred?"