Chapter Title: 3 - Hate Mail
Characters: Fred Weasley, Hermione Granger
Description: Set during GoF. Fred Weasley waits up late for Hermione Granger to come back to the common room.
Word Count: 1,886
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
The low-burning fire in the nearly abandoned Gryffindor common room sputtered before igniting and quickly consuming the small paper bird. Fred Weasley scowled into the fire, his broad form sprawled inelegantly across the worn, red sofa as his right foot bouncing in agitation. Hardly noticing the brief flare of light, he lazily flicked his wand yet again, sending another conjured paper bird to it's fiery death.
Where could she be? Curfew had been hours ago; the common room nearly emptied not long after. George, Fred's identical twin brother, and Lee, their best mate, had finally called it a night nearly twenty minutes prior, no longer willing to subject themselves to Fred's inexplicably foul mood nor his steadfast refusal to explain what or who it was they were waiting up to see.
In truth, Fred was waiting up for Hermione Granger, his little brother's best mate and his secret confidant - something she was adamant he not tell George. After finding her the year before, lonely and lost, atop the Astronomy Tower, Fred and Hermione had stuck up an unusual friendship. After tearfully confessing herself humiliated at the state he'd found her, Hermione had made Fred swear he wouldn't tell anyone, especially George, about their friendship for fear they'd be forced to admit how it all came about. So now, whenever they were surrounded by their friends and classmates, they acted as mere acquaintances with barely a wave or nod of acknowledgement in the halls. But when they were alone, which was only on occasion, they often pestered one another light-heartedly, bickering playfully and buoying one anothers spirits. Fred had never really confronted Hermione about what happened the night he stumbled upon her standing at the open edge of the tallest tower, but he'd taken it to heart to ensure she never felt that helpless again.
It was this reason he found himself awake and impatiently waiting at one in the bloody morning on a Tuesday no less. That morning, he - along with nearly all the rest of the school - had read the Rita Skeeter article in the Daily Prophet accusing Hermione of stringing along not only Quidditch wonder seeker, Viktor Krum, but the Chosen One himself, Harry Potter. Not long after, Hermione had all but disappeared. The not-so-secret whispers about his favorite fourth year had been rampant, varied, and egregious. Fred had over heard Harry at lunch telling his little sister, Ginny, that Hermione had been sent a curse at breakfast via owl post because of the article, and had spent her morning in the hospital wing. Now, Fred sat up waiting, having just missed her at dinner and needing to confirm for himself that she was indeed alright. Except, the longer he waited, the worse his agitation grew.
Fred was beyond exhausted. He and George has spent the last several nights up far later than was prudent planning and plotting new ways to raise money for their joke shop since that dodgy prat, Ludo Bagman, had cheated them out of their winnings from the Quidditch World Cup. The distinct lack of startup capital, something he and George desperately needed, was, for the first time ever, causing Fred to doubt the likelihood of achieving the only real goal he and George had ever had. With nothing for company but his thoughts, Fred's anger at the situation simmered and flared in his chest only to then meld violently with the cold cramp of worry he felt deep in his stomach for Hermione. He had just decided to go out looking for her when the sound of the portrait hole opening drew his attention.
Peeking up over the back of the sofa, Fred saw nothing as the portrait door seemed to close by itself. Then suddenly, as if conjured out of thin air, Hermione appeared, her normally bushy hair ruffled and tangled in an angry mane around her delicately scowling face. Fred's eyebrows raised in contemplation at her use of Potter's not-quite-secret Invisibility Cloak. He wasn't aware Harry was willing to loan the cloak out to others. Possibilities, targets, and hastily laid plans raced through Fred's conniving mind. Perhaps Harry could be sweet talked into letting him and George use it for some prank or another.
Agitated growling brought his thoughts back to the present. Hermione was awkwardly shoving the translucent material into her bag, her scowl growing as she prattled on to herself in annoyance. He studied her appraisingly, noting no obvious signed of injury, and felt the squirming knot of turmoil from moments before easing.
Smirking for the first time hours, Fred eyed her steadily from his semi-hidden spot on the sofa. "You know," he stated loudly, grinning all the wider when she shrieked and whirled toward him. "When I told you 'you're only young once,' I didn't mean for you to have at Krum Cake and the Boy Wonder."
Hermione stared at him with wide eyed trepidation, panting and pressing a hand to her chest. Then she sagged. Hanging her head and groaning, she shuffling forward. "Not you, too, Fred."
Cocking an orange eyebrow, he pushed himself upright on the sofa, allowing her to slump in the vacated seat. An evil grin spread across his freckled face. He grasped her arm, shaking her lightly.
"So who's the better kisser?" he gushed girlishly, pulling his long legs into his chest and eyeing her exaggeratedly. "My money's on Cookie Krum, seeing how he likely to have the most experience, being older and all." Fred pursed his lips and sighed. "But then I guess you never do know with those strong, silent types."
Pulling her face out of her hands, Hermione branded him a long-suffering glare. "I have not been, nor will I ever be, in a romantic relationship with Harry," she groused. "Honestly, Fred! It would be like you snogging Ginny."
Fred blanched and gagged, leaning away from her is if she were contagious. Mouth set in revulsion, he eyed her scathingly. "That was uncalled for, Granger."
She snorted. "Going to send me hate mail, too, then, Weasley?" she sneered and waved her bandaged hands at him.
All humor drained from him in an instant. The buried embers of his earlier anger blazed suddenly with renewed vigor. Unfolding himself from the couch, he took one bandaged hand gently between his own, the hard scowl on his face belying the tenderness of his actions. "Heard Harry mention this earlier. Undiluted bubotube pus?"
Hermione nodded, worrying at her full, soft, pink lip. Fred watched her mouth intently a moment before blinking and dropping his gaze when he noticed the soft flush that dusted her cheeks. He cleared his throat.
"Nasty stuff. George spilt it on his arm once when we were experimenting in Potions."
Gently extracting her bandaged hand from his, Hermione dropped it to her lap, wincing slightly. "Yes, well, apparently, I'm just a slag who isn't good enough to inhabit the wizarding world, let alone be involved with Viktor or Harry." Her head was down, her expression bitter. The anger in Fred's chest seared even as invisible bands constricted.
"Hey," he said, reaching out and clucking her under the chin. "You don't actually believe that bollocks, do you?"
Hermione's eyes widened indignantly. "Of course not!" she screeched.
Fred frowned at her, unconvinced. "Then why've you been hiding all day?" he accused.
Surprise flitted across her face before she quickly schooled her features. "I've not been hiding," she defended without conviction.
"Then where've you been all bloody night?" he griped, rolling his eyes. "Curfew was hours ago." A thought struck him then and Fred suddenly straightened. He turned to her stiffly, sharp hazel eyes narrowed, and scrutinized her avidly.
"You haven't been with Krum all this time, have you?" The accusation sounded harsh even to his own ears and Fred cringed.
Her face pinched, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "You sound just like Ron," she admonished. "As if it were any of your business, Fred Weasley - "
"Gideon," Fred blurted, cutting off her rant.
She was silent for several long seconds. "What?"
"Gideon. My middle name is Gideon."
Hermione blinked at him in confusion before narrowing her eyes. "What does that have to do with anything?"
A large hand massaged across his forehead. Fred huffed a humorless laugh. "Well, seeing how I'm being an enormous prat, I thought you might like to curse my name properly."
"You want me to curse you?" she asked slowly, as if speaking to a small child.
Fred really did laugh this time. "Not particularly. I'd much rather you forgave me and let me off without so much as a warning," he confessed, smirking. He gaze grew sincere. "But after what's happened to you today and what I just said, seems you've earned the right."
Her jaw worked soundlessly for a moment before she sighed. Hermione dropped her chin to her chest and shook her head in exasperation. Fred was relieved to see the corners of her lips curled up in a bemused smile.
"I don't want to curse you, Fred," she said finally, her voice betraying her fatigue.
Running hand through his shaggy hair, Fred grimaced. "Sorry I was a prat, Granger." He snorted, shaking his head at himself. "Bloody hell, woman. The whole reason I stayed up late was to make sure you were okay."
His stomach rolled in a decidedly pleasant way when her cheeks lit up as red as his hair.
"You didn't have to do that, Fred," she whispered, picking awkwardly at her bandaged fingers.
Fred flushed then, too. "Yeah, well - "
"But I'm glad you did," she cut in; her rich, chocolate eyes pinned his intently.
Warm tendrils of satisfaction curled invitingly through his chest. Fred found himself unwittingly preening under her praise before silently berating himself. He cleared his throat gruffly.
"Any time, Granger."
A wide smile lit her face and Fred was struck with just how pretty she looked. He blinked in surprise.
Hermione stood then, stretching her arms up over her head and yawning.
"So, Gideon?" she asked, eyeing him speculatively.
Stretching and twisting to relieve the ache that had settled in his back from the long wait, Fred snorted in amusement. "Yup, and George's is Fabian. Named after mum's twin brothers."
"Right," she murmured, bending to pick up her bag. Hermione stepped forward and hugged him then. He stiffened slightly in her arms before relaxing into her embrace, his long arms wrapping securely around her waist. Fred gasped when he felt her lips brush upon his cheek. Dropping her arms, she pulled back to consider him sternly.
"You know I'll be owling your mum for confirmation before using either of those names?" she asked, shaking a disapproving finger at him.
Fred smiled softly before reaching out and brushing a finger across her cheek. "Night, Granger," he said, nodding.
"Goodnight, Fred," she whispered. Fred watched as she turned and slowly ascended the stairs to the girls dormitory. He rasped a tired hand over the meager stubble of his chin before shaking himself out of his stupor. Casting one last glance toward the girl's staircase, Fred touched his cheek where she'd kissed him and frowned. It shouldn't mean anything, he told himself. It didn't mean anything. Reassured, Fred trudged up his own set of stairs and off to bed.