The Fifth Time

Meals at the Burrow were always a production. Mrs. Weasley would putter around the kitchen for hours beforehand, supervising knives that chopped vegetables and spoons that stirred pots full of soups and stews. A fresh loaf of bread was just finished baking when Fred and Hermione arrived, sniffing the delicious-smelling air. They had barely stepped out of the floo when Mrs. Weasley descended upon them, pulling each of them into a tight hug.

"Lunch will be ready in an hour," she informed them, patting Fred's cheek. "Your brothers and sister are outside playing Quidditch. Go join them." Fred kissed his mother's cheek and exited through the kitchen door.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Hermione asked, watching as he left.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head and smiled a smile that alighted her round face. "No, dear, I've got it all under control. Go join everyone else."

The young witch made her way outside. Above her in the fields Harry and most of the Weasley siblings soared around on broomsticks, yelling to one another and cheering whenever one team scored. She waved to Ginny and pulled a book from her purse. Taking a seat under the apple tree, she cracked open her book to read. A shadow hovered over her, blocking the sunlight that beamed in her eyes. It wasn't until the shadow moved and he sat down beside her that she closed the book.

"Hi Fred," she said without looking up as she read the back cover. "Aren't you going to play?"

"Maybe later. I thought I'd keep you company for a bit," he replied.

The book was open again, but Hermione couldn't focus on the words on the page. Fred sighed intermittently as she tried to concentrate. "How long do you plan on watching me read?" she asked, glancing over at the smiling redhead.

He took on a contemplative look, tapping his index finger against his lips. "Hmm, either until you close it and talk to me, or until the game is over. Whichever one comes first."

With a sigh, Hermione shut the book again and laid it down by her side. She looked pointedly at Fred, waiting for him to speak.

"We kissed."

"We were drunk," she replied dismissively, looking back to the game.

Fred shook his head. "We weren't drunk, you were. But does that really change anything?"

"It doesn't change anything between us," she murmured. "It can't, Fred."

"Why not?" he asked, a small growl in his voice. Hermione turned to look at him with wide eyes. "It's just...I've...I don't know."

She rested her hand on his forearm, glad when he didn't pull it away from her reach. "You can tell me," she replied softly.

"I like you," he admitted sheepishly, reaching over with his right hand to cover her comforting hand. "And I know I shouldn't because of Ron and everything, but I can't help it. I really like you, Hermione."

"But you've never...we've...," she stuttered as she tried to pull away. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "What do we do now?"

Fred shrugged and removed his hand before standing up. He took time to brush the grass and dirt from the seat of his pants before saying, "We do nothing. Apparently the kiss meant nothing to you."

She shot up the second he was done speaking. "It didn't...did mean something to me," she admitted, staring down at her shoes.

"Lunch is ready!"

At once, six broomstick-riders touched down, dropped their brooms, and ran towards the kitchen. Fred stepped around her, leaving Hermione in her place.

"Come on, lunch is served," he said coldly before walking away. Hermione watched, standing still, until Fred was inside before she brushed away a stray tear and began walking.

The magically enlarged kitchen table was filled with pots and plates and serving dishes. Pitchers of butterbeer were circulated, refilling themselves whenever they were drained. Fred was squeezed in between George (on his right) and Charlie (on his left.) Hermione looked around for a place to sit, hoping one would be open near Fred so they could work out their problem. The only available chair was at the far end of the table next to Harry.

Lunch passed by in a blur for Hermione. The little bit of food she helped herself to had been pushed around until the meat and gravy-covered potatoes and vegetables were one mushy lump on her plate.

"Anyone up for another game?" Ginny inquired. George, Angelina, Ron, and Harry followed Ginny to the backyard.

"Hey Fred, we need a sixth," George called back. His brother merely shook his head and stared at Hermione for a brief second. He pushed back his chair and kissed his mother's cheek, thanking her for lunch.

"I'm gonna head out," he told her, loud enough for Hermione to hear. "There's some stuff to get done at the store. Receipts, product testing, that sort of thing."

Mrs. Weasley turned and patted her son's cheek before pulling him into a hug. She let him go and moved on to Hermione. The young witch was on her feet with Molly Weasley tightly hugging her as well. "It was good of you kids to come," she told them happily. "You've no idea how happy it makes me to have all my children with me. I'll see you soon." She smoothed back a curly lock of hair from Hermione's forehead before pressing a kiss to the skin.

"Umm, yeah, thank you for lunch," Hermione murmured. She hadn't realized she too would be leaving, but she followed Fred to the floo. He went first, scowling at her as he disappeared in the green flame. She took her turn next and arrived seconds later in their living room. The room was empty as she stepped out of the fireplace. It was the slamming of a bedroom door that alerted Hermione to Fred's whereabouts. Slowly, she walked down the hall and hesitantly knocked on his door.

After a minute of knocking, Fred sighed heavily and said, "Come in." Hermione pushed open the door just enough to squeeze in before shutting it again. He was reclined on his bed, a pillow over his face. She approached the bed slowly, sitting far enough away so as to not startle him should he remove the pillow.

"I'm sorry, Fred," she said with a small voice.

The pillow came off and he glared at her. "Forget it. Guess this wasn't a date either, huh?" he asked sardonically.

"I wasn't as drunk as I maybe let on that night," she admitted, focused on her intertwined hands. "I wanted to see what it would be like to kiss you, and playing drunk seemed like a good excuse." She rose from the bed and was about to let herself out of the room when she turned back. "And no, Fred, this was definitely not a date."