** This is a series of drabbles, ficlets and one-shots following our dear Fred and Hermione from June of 1995 (shortly before the third task of the Triwizard Tournament) to an as-of-yet undetermined point post-war.**
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16 June 1995
It was a Friday night, one of the last of the school year, and Hermione was sitting alone in the common room, legs tucked beneath her and head propped on her knuckles. Ron and Harry were elsewhere, supposedly practicing for the final Triwizard event the following week, and the room was quiet. Her only company was a pair of first years, who were terrifying one another with increasingly absurd stories about their upcoming exams, from second years that seemed to have taken some liberties in their recounting.
Beyond them, those that hadn't studied all term were in the library, desperately trying to catch up, and those that had, or didn't care to, were out socializing and enjoying the bout of warm weather.
To be fair, she didn't count herself a complete recluse. She'd had dinner with Viktor that evening, who had been hinting none too subtly at her possibly visiting him in Bulgaria that summer. It wasn't that Hermione was unhappy with the idea, quite the contrary actually, but she found herself a bit despondent, nonetheless.
Perhaps it was just the time of year; it was always a bizarre experience, the reckoning of leaving her magical life behind to return to her muggle one. Like she'd have to spend the next several months not being entirely herself. Plus, there hadn't been a spring term yet where at least one of her friends didn't nearly die, so she was a bit on edge to boot.
The firelight caught the edge of the badge in front of her, suspended in the air and spinning over the table, and she admitted internally that it was conceivable that her dour disposition was a bit self-inflicted as well.
The portrait suddenly swung open, and Fred, George and Lee bounded in, the latter two hurdling up the stairs in a flurry of pounding feet, clearly hell-bent on retrieving something from their room. In the four years they'd shared a living space, she'd learned better than to ask.
Fred, however, skidded to a halt behind the armchair that was mostly blocking her from view. Breathing hard and a little red in the face, he placed his hands on his hips and looked around the room for a moment. Finally, he turned to face her.
"All right, Hermione?"
She glanced up to meet his gaze and gave a half-hearted smile and a nod, reaching a finger out to nudge the bottom of the badge, which had stopped revolving, and set it spinning again.
Fred glanced toward the stairs, Lee and George still nowhere in sight, and stepped around the chair to perch catty-corner to her, elbows braced on his knees.
"C'mon, out with it," he prodded, noticing that she was obviously distressed about something.
"It's nothing. How are you? I heard you and Angie broke things off."
"We did, I'm fine, and you're trying to change the subject."
"Really, it's nothing," she sighed. He waited expectantly and, within a few seconds, she went on to explain in spite of herself. "Just the end of the year. Exams. The last task. Viktor." She reached out and plucked the badge from the air, running her thumb over its face thoughtfully before frowning. "Plus, I think I should take a hint and declare time of death for spew."
"I think you mean S.P.E.W." Fred corrected solemnly. She huffed a cynical little laugh and tipped her head. "Why though? You've been so… passionate about it all year."
"Yes, well, fat lot of good it's done me. I've amassed exactly four members, the secretary insists on referring to it as spug, which is short for The Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins if you didn't know, and I just discovered yesterday that the only elf I've managed to free with my knitting is Dobby, who, for the record, has been free for a number of years already and has been tasked with cleaning our common room entirely on his own because of me." She rolled her eyes at herself and tossed the badge callously onto the coffee table between them. "You said it yourself; the elves are happy here. I'm wasting my time and making myself look really, very silly while I do it."
Fred, having gone silent, seemed incredibly troubled by the expression of abject defeat on her face.
"Well don't listen to me," he finally said, brows furrowed and shaking his head vehemently. "I'm an enormous prat. The worst, really."
Hermione gave him another weak smile, looking up from the badge in confusion when she noticed him inelegantly contorting himself in the chair and digging in his pocket.
He finally sat straight again, placing the contents of said pocket in a pile on the table and examining it in the firelight. From where Hermione sat, it appeared to amount to a sickle, several knuts, two Droobles wrappers, a button, a small rock, and a bit of lint. He separated the coins and neatly pushed them toward her across the tabletop, redepositing the rest on his person.
Fred then looked up at her and, for a split second, she found herself bewildered by the intensity of his gaze, eyes shining deep blue in the dim lighting. She wasn't accustomed to him wearing a serious expression and her mouth suddenly felt inexplicably dry.
"Five members if you'll extend me a bit of credit on dues," he corrected with a wry smile. Approaching footfalls in the stairwell alerted them to George and Lee's imminent reemergence and he, brushing his hands on his thighs, got up to join them. He paused on his way to the portrait hole and turned back to see her still staring at the money with a thoroughly shocked look on her face. "And Hermione? I'd never call you silly."