Ravenclaw, Head of House, Short, Prompt: "I miss moments like this more than anything.", WC: 2000

AU. In a world where Fremione was a known thing due to the combination of book smarts and hilarious smarts. In a world where Fremione thought they were meant to be together, had promised themselves to each other, and not quite managed to fulfil their promise.

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I ignore the series of sideways glances as I make my solitary way to the restricted section of the National Library. The disapproving looks are not for my destination, but for my unkempt appearance. Those around me must think my dressing atrocious, but it's battle armour for me. For the past few weeks, I have been awaiting the permission to go to the restricted section - for which I now have special dispensation - in my pyjamas, accompanied by endless cups of tea and vodka. Now, I wear my mother's old jeans and a button-down shirt, simply because they were close and comfortable.

Shelves seem to stretch on for days and days, containing everything the imagination could think up. Tomes after tomes of secrets, spells, and other dark magic. Only one of them is the book I am looking for. Nothing else matters.

My ballet flats clack against the wooden flooring of the library. Heart pounding faster as I get closer to the shelf. Three hundred and forty, three hundred and forty one, three hundred and forty two. This is the one. It doesn't look like much. A large book, bound by leather and dragon hide. Purple in colour, the pages yellowed by hundreds of years of use.

The potion I'm looking for is accompanied by a spell, certainly not an easy combination to come by. And most definitely not conventional.

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"You're joking, right?" Malfoy demands, scowling at me from across the counter. "What odd, recreational use do you have for a - oh."

It's as though he's remembered why I might want this particular potion halfway through whatever he was saying. I can see him chewing on his words, thinking over exactly what has been said between us this afternoon.

"Do you have it, or not?" I ask, twisting the promise ring on my finger and determined not to have a panic attack right here in front of the ex-bully. Draco sighs heavily, as if regretting his ability to live and breathe in this instance. "Please, you said that you would help. This will help."

"Hermione, I didn't exactly think I would be helping by... I thought maybe I would cook you dinner, or make you tea several times. Maybe we'd talk about it." He looks down at the parchment between us, mentally checking things off a list for the potion he is currently making. "I really don't think this will help you."

Already the tears are there, threatening to spill over as the panic fills my lungs like water. I'm drowning in it.

"Please," I manage. Just about.

Frustration, pity, conflict, and then, finally, resignation.

"I know this potion, and I know where you can find it. In the restricted section of the National Library - I borrowed it out of interest once. As a Potioneer, I have to recommend that you please don't try this. It's practically untested, and in your... state, the mixology..." he trails off.

"I have to try, Draco."

All he can do is nod.

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After the Wizarding War, the sides of good and bad began to blur again as Death Eaters and innocents merged into one being, some more complex than others. Some who were ardent supporters, others like Draco, who had been coerced. Harry vouched for them, including Malfoy and his mother.

I haven't really been involved with any of it.

My fingers trace the shelf numbers, then the rows, and there it is.

The first thing I feel is excitement, a stark contrast to the many months stuck in incomprehensible grief. Thrill. This is what I have been looking for, and for so long. It's going to help me. I can overcome this horrible, compressing, suffocating feeling in my chest. Not only is the book large and beautiful, I know it's powerful and holds the answer to every one of my problems. I know it can help.

It hardly takes me seven minutes to find the potion, sign out the book, and run in the direction of home. By home, I mean my parents' house, to which they haven't returned yet. That's a matter for another time. When I arrive, Draco is standing on my doorstep, overstepping the boundaries of our budding politeness towards each other. I keep one hand on the book, the other pushing past him to open my front door. He doesn't stop looking - a look that is both disapproving and pitying at the same time.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here, Malfoy?" I ask, allowing him inside the house as well.

"If you're going to fuck with your head, I'm at least going to make sure it doesn't kill you."

"A delightful sentiment." I raise an eyebrow.

"Granger, I am not going to sit idly by while you mix this and make a mess of it - especially in the state you are." It takes me a moment to realise he doesn't mean my seventies jeans and terrible hair. "So, I am going to mix it, then leave. Or at least sit in another room, I haven't decided yet."

"You are not staying."

"I don't think you'll be able to make that decision once you're in the hallucination."

That shuts me up.

Silent, furious, and hating him, we work together to make the potion.

For the following two hours, I hand him ingredients, read out the almost indecipherable text, carefully chop, dice, and cut. Draco doesn't talk to me other than to ask that I pass him the next item, and from this alone, I can see that he is angry with me. I'm angry with him too, but I am also desperate for this to work. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I need him. Candlelight stretches over his concentrating face. Why is he doing this for me?

"Stop staring at me, Granger," he quips. Swallowing thickly and pulling a vial from his robe pocket, he says "It's ready," and fills it very carefully. The liquid comes out a brilliant blue, shimmering and glittering.

"Thank you," I murmur, reaching out. But he pulls the vial away, looking me dead in the eyes.

"This is a one-time thing?" I nod, but think that I could use the potion again another time. "Good. Drink this portion only, nothing more. I'm going to sit in another room and let you... Say goodbye." Words are failing me already, how will I be able to speak when I see him? "When you wake up, I'll be here. I don't know how much time you will get, but I'll be here, regardless."

"I don't need you to -"

"I don't care what you think you need."

With an almost annoyed flick of his wand, the remaining potion in the cauldron vanishes, much to my despair. He takes the book as well, before I can utter my protest, and leaves the room with a clicking shut of the door.

Door closed, vial between my shaking fingers, and Draco just rooms away, I suddenly feel embarrassed. I don't know what he will hear, or what he will see while I'm in the hallucination. Then again, surely he knows... He's seen me wallowing in sorrow for so long, unashamedly crying in the library, downing vodka in public, drifting away and dissociating from reality. Since Harry argued for Draco, he has somehow integrated himself into our lives. Not quite a friend, perhaps, but no longer an enemy. He's just been there.

Working with Aurors, drinking in The Leaky Cauldron, shopping for books with me when I felt more like myself.

But none of that matters right now.

I down the liquid in one.

"Fred?"

My voice is hoarse, as though not having been used for many years instead of a few minutes. I'm completely overcome, shaking, breathing heavily, tears already pouring down my cheeks, staring at where he stands in the middle of the room. Never did I expect it to be so immediate and so real. But he's there, all red hair, cheeky grin, and stupidly looking around as though he's confused.

It's so real.

"Hermione, what the hell am I doing here?" he asks, barking out a laugh. "Isn't this your parents house. And I'm... Oh Merlin. I'm dead!"

"Don't say that, Fred." I move closer, wanting to reach out, to touch him. Halfway there, I remember what I am supposed to be doing. I am supposed to be saying goodbye, not hoping for more time than I can get. He moves towards me, as if commanded by some other force. "I had to see you."

He frowns. "How is this possible?"

"It doesn't matter. I wanted... I needed to say..." Pause. Breathe. I can't do it. I can't say it.

"Oh, no, don't cry," Fred laughs, moving still closer. The way he laughs, it's like the whole idea of being upset is ridiculous in itself and that I should simply stop being so silly. It does the wondrous magic of making me both burst into a smile and sob harder. Throat dry, choking on unspoken words, I cannot move. "Hermione, look at me."

I'm shocked by his sudden closeness, then horrified by the touch I feel on my arm. Feather-light, barely there, Fred's fingers on my arm, squeezing my hand, touching my face and brushing at my streaming eyes. It's not like a ghost, unfathomably cold, but real as it could be. Pressure, warmth, life. Merlin, what have I gotten myself into? I can feel him, smell him, and I can touch him too.

We stand there for what seems like decades, me staring back at him, and him calming my hysterics with a look that seems meant for only me. He isn't joking, and he isn't trying to get a rise out of me, he simply cares. I drink him in, as much of him as I can, hoping to preserve the memory just a little longer. He tells me a joke, I laugh, and then I cry.

"I miss moments like this more than anything," I tell him, sitting underneath the living room window with him after a short while. "You being here, being normal. When there isn't a war going on, and I don't have to think about a million different things. I can just think about you."

"I'm not really here, Hermione."

"I know."

He's fading. My heart races, veins threatening to explode. He's going to disappear, and there are thousands of things I wish I'd been saying to him all this time. How much I love him, how much I miss him, that I want to promise my life to him. I should have said something more meaningful and not even questioned that he might not disappear, because he will. He's disappearing now, and along with him my calm resolve.

"Come on, you knew I wasn't going to stay forever."

The now pale imitation of Fred Weasley squeezes my hand.

"A girl can dream," I utter, watching his eyes slowly lose their colour.

"You can't dream of me forever, Hermione. Life is waiting for you." He pauses, watching his own fingers start to vanish. "You have to grab it by the hairy bollocks and steer the way to success. There are people all around you who love you, and who care so much about you. I'm not everything. I can't be."

I shake my bushy hair, disagreeing vehemently.

"See you, 'Mione," he whispers, placing an evaporating kiss to my cheek. In seconds, his lips are gone, and so is the rest of him. "But not too soon."

"Goodbye."

As promised, Draco is there when I am ripped from the hallucination. Blankets, hot cocoa, and a sad smile I haven't seen on him before. I must look a mess, which explains his pity. Thankfully, he doesn't ask about my tears, or the words I can't be certain that he heard. I don't either.

Frankly, I don't want to know. Because, as hard and horrible and arduous as it is, moving forward is the only good direction right now.

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Thanks for reading! And multiple cookies to the delightful writers and betas that are Alixx and Niamh!