1 April 1996

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? RUN!"

Oh God, Umbridge knew. She knew about the D.A. They were all done for.

There was a split second of absolute deafening silence following Harry's command, like the ringing in your ears after an explosion, and then complete chaos ensued. Hermione had been next to Ron and Ginny, but as they rushed the door she lost them in the fray.

"Harry, come on!" she turned to scream, only to see him attempting to talk to Dobby, who was still partaking in various forms of self-harm. All of a sudden someone clipped her shoulder and she sprawled toward the base of the wall beside the door, throwing her hands out just in time to catch herself and feeling the skin of her palms scrape and rip open against the rough stone.

She started to clumsily push herself to her feet when an arm wrapped firmly around her waist and hauled her upright.

"Up you get," Fred said from just beside her ear. His tone was surprisingly calm despite the bedlam. She gripped his hand, wincing a little as her palm stung, and they went tearing after everyone else down the corridor. As they hit the stairwell where the hall branched off, they all began to thin and scatter in different directions.

She still didn't see Ron or Ginny, but Luna and Neville were running together off to the right, and Seamus and Dean were headed up the stairs and back toward the tower along with a handful of other Gryffindors. A couple people ducked into an empty classroom nearby.

"Here," she said, spotting a door a little way down on the left. All she knew was that it wasn't a classroom that was in use — at least, not one she'd ever been in.

Fred grabbed the knob with his free hand and pulled it open, tugging her inside and shutting it quickly behind them. Hermione promptly tripped backward onto her ass, the first in a flight of steps hitting the back of her calf in the dark. Admittedly, she only fell a couple feet onto the stairs.

"Fucking hell," she hissed, being pulled back to standing for the second time in scarcely two minutes.

Fred muttered a silencing charm and a notice-me-not at the door before lighting his wand.

"Are you okay?" he asked. He looked pale and tense as he released her hand to see her palm, and consequently his own, coated in blood.

"Yeah, it's just a scrape. Sorry I bled all over you."

"I think I'll make it," he joked dryly, placing his lit wand between his teeth and looking over both of her hands to check the damage.

"What do you suppose is up there?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the dark spiral staircase.

"Only one way to find out," Fred shrugged, taking his wand back in his hand and leading the way.

They wound around perhaps two flights of stairs before hitting a landing that led to another door. Hermione pushed it open, and they found themselves suddenly outside on a small balcony overlooking the mountains and the northernmost edge of the lake. Being on the highest floor aside from the towers, they were completely secluded and out of sight from any windows.

"Oh," she intoned lamely, glancing around the space. It was maybe eight feet long and five deep; not large at all, with a thick stone balustrade around it.

"Do you think we should wait before going back down?" Fred asked, looking back uncertainly the way they'd come.

Hermione nodded and extracted her own wand from her robes, casting a warming charm around them and then conjuring a jar with her signature bluebell flames crackling inside. It was relatively warm for Scotland in April, but still plenty cold enough at night to see her breath.

"I'm sure Umbridge will have Malfoy and his toadies scouring the halls for a little while," she said, sinking to sit across from the door. Fred joined her, long legs sprawled in front of him.

They were both quiet for a moment, comprehending what had just happened.

"Well, that bloody sucked," Fred finally summed up, letting his head fall back to look up at the stars that were peering out from between the clouds.

Hermione snorted lightly and nodded. "I think Ron and Ginny got away. What about George and Lee?"

"Long gone," Fred assured her. "I doubled back when I saw that MacMillan ponce trample you."

"Thanks for that," she said, smiling weakly. She leaned forward toward the jar and looked at her hands in the pale blue light. The heels of her palms had shallow, jagged scratches across them, covered in a layer of sticky, half-dried blood.

"Here, give me those," Fred instructed, turning sideways and reaching for her hands again. He laid them palm-up on top of his thigh and used his wand to conjure a rag and then wet it. "Did you see Harry get out?"

He very gently began to dab the cloth across the wounds, blotting the blood off little by little.

Hermione shook her head fervently. "No, I didn't… he was behind us." There was a pit in her stomach as she thought back to the image of him trying to get Dobby out instead of running, and she fought back tears as the gravity of the situation started to set in.

"I'm sure he's fine," Fred said in an attempt to soothe her, but his expression was fraught with uncertainty. Some people might prefer shallow placations in times of crisis, but he knew her better than that. He wouldn't lie or say it was going to be okay when all evidence and logic pointed toward the contrary. Hermione bit her lip and jerked her chin back and forth.

"I don't think he is, Fred. He was too far back, trying to make sure Dobby got out. Oh God, he's going to be expelled."

She pulled her hands back, now freshly clean and mostly past the point of bleeding, and let her head fall into them, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Hermione, love, breathe."

She hadn't realised she'd begun hyperventilating. Focusing inward, she made a conscious effort to slow her breaths, trying to match them to Fred's and picturing a balloon in her chest slowly expanding and contracting.

After a few moments she looked up to find Fred watching her carefully. When their eyes met, he gave her a small, affectionate smile, lifting his hand to push her hair off of her face and swiping away an errant tear that had breached the corner of her eye with his thumb.

"Thank you," she said, leaning into the hand still laid on her cheek.

"Don't sweat it," he replied with a shrug. "Comforting one another in the wake of tragedy is sort of our thing."

She released a light, cynical laugh in agreement.

"Who do you think turned us in?" Fred asked, clearly trying to keep her mind off of Harry's fate. She was appreciative of the effort.

"Trust me, you'll know when you see them."

Fred's eyes went a bit wide as he took in her dark expression. He pondered for a moment before realisation dawned.

"The signup sheet?"

"Uh-huh."

Hermione was admittedly a bit vengeful by nature, and at that moment her only regret was not making the penalty for selling them out more severe.

"You really are brilliant, you know that?" Fred said, shaking his head at her with a faraway look.

"Hardly. I just used a little arithmancy and a bit of invisible ink with some runes on the parchment to modify a basic snitch's jinx."

"Wait, you created a new spell?" Fred asked sharply, now gaping at her with unconcealed surprise.

"I mean… yes, sort of, but don't make such a fuss about it."

She turned so her back was against the railing again, letting out a light "oof" when Fred instead pulled her toward him, so her head rested on his shoulder. As she inspected the stars above them and nestled into the crook between his arm and his chest, she noted that were the circumstances not so exceptionally grim, it would be a dreadfully amorous setting.

"You know, if OWLs don't work out, you're more than welcome to join our research and development team."

Hermione laughed lightly. "It would certainly be more interesting than whatever tedious ministry job I'm destined for."

Fred turned to look down on her, a bit awkward given the angle, and quirked an eyebrow.

"You're aware that nobody is making you work at the ministry, correct? You won't be held at wand-point if you elect to do something else."

"I know, I just…" she wiggled a little to face him more directly. "What else am I going to do?"

"Whatever you want," he said seriously, shaking his head a little like it should be obvious. "I've never in my life met someone that could really, truly succeed at quite literally anything they put their mind to."

"You've never seen me try to fly a broom," she quipped self-deprecatingly.

"Granted," he admitted, smiling at her fondly and lifting a hand to cup her jaw. "Look, if you want to wear sensible shoes and push paper from nine to five, you'll have my full, unconditional support. Hell, you'd have that if you decided to drop out and go on a murder spree. But whatever you do, do it because it's what you want to do, Hermione. Not because you don't think you can do anything else."

She smiled back at him, at the casual allusion to them still being together when she finished school, and leaned forward to press her lips to his. The act in itself was practiced by then, warm and familiar, but it still set her heart racing; made her feel like every nerve in her body was alive and humming.

Because Hermione had no doubt that as long as Fred was a part of it, she would never live a life of mediocrity. In fact, she was certain that a life spent with the two of them together would be nothing short of remarkable.

So, she sank into him. Let him pull her against his chest, slipped her tongue between his lips and felt a hand tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck. Then, rather than fall victim to the fear and uncertainty of the evening, they got lost in one another and waited for the storm to pass.