TW: Infidelity, Alcohol / Substance Abuse, Alcoholism, Addiction, Terrible Coping Mechanisms, Moderate Sexual Content (but no smut), Battle Scars, Trauma, Angst, Coarse Language.
CW: Everyone sucks here, especially our main three of this fic.
Take It Out on Me
"You! Complete! Arse! Ronald Weasley!" Hermione Granger shouts, shoving at her supposed boyfriend's shoulders with all of her force. His back hits the wall behind him and his eyes flare with anger.
"That's not a denial," Ron sneers, pushing Hermione back a step with a hand on her collarbone.
Hermione crosses her arms over her chest, knowing full-well that she is only digging her heels deeper into the lie. She knows the truth about Ron, but she also knows the truth about herself– and she isn't about to reveal it to him. He doesn't get to be the angry one today.
"Don't turn this around on me!" Hermione yells, the ends of her hair sparking with magic as her fury mounts. "You're the one who was caught with his hand up Lavender Brown's skirt!"
Ron huffs and narrows his eyes.
"Yeah, and if you think that I don't have a hunch as to where your hands have been, then you're wrong!" Ron spits back, crowding Hermione and glaring down at her. "You've got some nerve, 'Mione."
Hermione scoffs.
"For Merlin's sake, Ron, listen to yourself. Are you shagging her?" she asks, her voice strangely level for that sort of question.
The corner of Ron's lips tip up into a dark smirk.
"I wish. Maybe I'll start. Shall I owl her?"
Hermione stares defiantly up at Ron, refusing to let him win.
"You're a miserable bastard, Ronald. If you want to take her down with you, then be my guest. But you're done taking me down."
Hermione ducks past Ron, heading for the hook on the back of the front door to their flat where her beaded bag is hanging. Ron catches her wrist before she can make it there, tugging her back to him with a hiss.
"Tell him I said hi, Hermione."
"Go on, love. Take it out on me."
Hermione's back collides with the bookshelf beside the floo as she tugs at copper-red hair– hard. Her free hand tears at the buttons on his shirt, scattering them to the floor in a shower of plastic and loose thread. He shrugs the fabric from his shoulders as his lips descend to track along her jaw and neck.
Hermione tips her head to the side to allow him more access as she feels his fingers brush against the sensitive skin of her stomach, aiming for the button and zipper on her denim jeans. The sound of the zipper is loud in her ears, even over her labored breathing.
"Fred," Hermione pants, dragging her nails down his now-bare bicep and chest and leaving bright red welts in her wake.
In response, Fred's teeth nip at Hermione's throat, his large hands already shoving her jeans down over her hips. Hermione responds by letting go of Fred's hair in favor of reaching for his belt, undoing the fastenings on that and his own jeans in near-record time.
Fred pulls back from her, but only for a moment– only long enough to watch as she strips him of his black leather belt and blue jeans. He brings his lips back to hers, barely even wincing as she pulls his bottom lip between her teeth. He tastes like firewhiskey, yet Hermione is the one who feels almost drunk.
Hermione shimmies out of her jeans and yanks her jumper up over her head, tossing it to the floor. Arms around Fred's shoulders, she hitches her right leg up around his hip. As expected, Fred then dips down to grip her thighs, lifting her and wrapping both of her legs around his waist with practiced ease.
As quickly and carefully as he can, Fred blindly carries Hermione through his flat and into his bedroom, dropping her down on his bed with a bounce.
"That's it, love," Fred groans, following Hermione's lead when she pulls him down on top of her. His lips find hers once more, pressing roughly against her before he speaks again. "Show me how much you hate him. Take it out on me."
Hermione sits up straight, her bare back facing where Fred is lounging against his headboard with his comforter draped haphazardly across his lower half. She stands from the bed, walking confidently over toward his dresser and rooting through it until she finds a soft cotton t-shirt to wear. She glances around on the floor for her underwear, trying to remember where the scrap of lace might've landed when they were discarded, but comes up empty.
A quiet laugh diverts Hermione's attention, her gaze flicking up to the red-headed man with her underwear dangling from his fingertips.
"Looking for these?" he chuckles, balling the dark blue lace into his fist and holding it out of Hermione's reach when she grabs for it.
Fred brackets his free arm around Hermione's waist, pulling her back into the bed with him and leaning over her when she lands on her back.
"Are you going to give me back my knickers or am I supposed to go out to the sitting room and gather up the rest of my clothes with a draft?" Hermione asks, raising an eyebrow at him.
Fred smirks, sucking his teeth in mock thought. Hermione isn't daft enough to think that he's actually considering anything. He leans down, brushing his nose against Hermione's jaw, pressing a singular, warm, lingering kiss to her pulse point. After a moment, he pulls back, reaching with the hand still holding her underwear and opens up the drawer on his bedside table, dropping the lace inside and closing it again.
"I think I'll keep those," he whispers against Hermione's lips as his left hand brushes against her thigh where the hem of his t-shirt sits. "Maybe I'll send Ron in here to get something from that drawer at the next family party and let him find them."
Hermione rolls her eyes but decidedly doesn't stop the trajectory of Fred's fingertips.
"You're a terrible brother," she states, pointedly ignoring the way that her knee shifts her legs further open, rather than closed. There are so many things happening right now which should instantly turn her off– and yet. Somehow Fred Weasley always seems to have the exact opposite effect on her.
"And you're a terrible girlfriend. Aren't we a pair?"
Hermione huffs, clamping her legs shut on Fred's hand, effectively ending his advance.
"Oh, well, good job I'm not a girlfriend anymore. Ron and I broke up tonight."
Fred rears back, his eyes widening briefly before he schools his expression. Hermione averts her eyes from him, her legs dangling off the edge of the bed, now cold and covered in goosebumps at the loss of Fred's warmth.
"Mm, that certainly answers some questions that I had earlier," Fred breathes a laugh, relaxing back against the bed beside Hermione.
Hermione furrows her brows, turning her head to face him.
"Such as?"
Fred quirks a daring half-smile.
"You were a little… extra feisty tonight. I'm nearly sure that you drew blood at one point with your nails."
Hermione bites her bottom lip, conflicting feelings warring within her. On one hand, being with Fred tonight had been a great way to let off steam and vent her anger at Ron. On the other hand, she doesn't want to actually hurt him.
"Stop. Sexual injuries are my favorite sort. I want you to scratch me and bite me. I like it. I'm not even going to let you heal them. I'd love to have just one scar on my body that's from something fun."
Silently, Hermione grazes her hand over where Fred's left knee is hidden under the comforter. She can't see it now, but Hermione has seen the scars on Fred's leg plenty of times before. She could probably chart their course from memory if asked.
During the War two years ago, a wall collapsed and a handful of blocks landed on and nearly crushed Fred's left leg and parts of his torso. He almost lost his leg, needing bone regrowth and skin grafts to make up for what was obliterated by the falling rock. He spent almost six months in St. Mungo's recovering and then another six months in physical therapy working to regain function and feeling.
"I should go," Hermione sighs, making absolutely zero effort to actually remove herself from her very recent ex-boyfriend's brother's bed.
Fred scoffs a derisive noise.
"Go where? Back to Ron?" he snipes, crossing his arms over his naked chest. "That's healthy."
Hermione huffs her own indignant snort, rolling onto her side and draping her thigh over his own.
"Oh, sure, because you're the pinnacle of healthy coping mechanisms, Mr. Shagging-His-Brother's-Girlfriend."
Fred reaches forward and grips onto Hermione's thigh, holding her in place with a firm hand.
"Technically, you're not his girlfriend anymore," Fred points out with a laugh. "What happened anyway?"
Hermione sighs. She could ignore the question. After all, she can think of at least ten different ways that she could distract Fred into forgetting that he even asked. Then again, she also knows that he'll find out eventually and that he might as well hear it from her.
"I caught him with Lavender Brown and I doubt very much that she's the first."
Fred barks a surprised laugh, his shoulders shaking with the force of it.
"Oh, that's rich, Ms. Shagging-Your-Boyfriend's-Brother," Fred mimics. In fairness, this is sort of the thing that draws Hermione to Fred. He gives as good as he gets, regardless of the circumstance. "Brown probably isn't the first, you're right, but you've been crawling under my sheets every couple of weeks for months now."
Hermione rolls her eyes. As if she isn't painfully aware of her own hypocrisy as of late.
"It's different. He's always been into her. If he's shagging her, it's because he wants her. I have sex with you when I'm angry and want to get back at him."
Fred shifts beneath her and Hermione would bet money that if she were looking at his face, he'd be returning her eye roll.
"You should probably find some healthier coping mechanisms, Granger," Fred says and Hermione is about ready to get up and leave. This conversation is erring too far on the side of honesty for her liking. Honesty isn't typically part of this arrangement. "Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy being your 'coping mechanism' and am happy to continue to be, but you can just move on. I've been saying since the beginning that Ron is an arse and that you deserve better."
Hermione frowns and sits upright, sitting cross-legged beside Fred, facing him.
"And what constitutes 'better'? You?" Hermione immediately regrets the accusing tone which her voice takes on, but it's too late now.
Fred laughs again, a genuine laugh of amusement which abates some of Hermione's regret.
"Merlin, no. I should be seeing a Mind Healer for the trauma of almost dying and instead, I drink and have sex with you. I'm definitely no better than Ron."
At that, Hermione decides that this conversation has completely overstayed its welcome. She kneels up and swings her right leg over Fred's left, straddling him and leaning down to press her lips to the underside of his jaw.
"Well, I can think of at least one thing that you're better at than Ron," Hermione breathes, running the tips of her fingers down Fred's chest and following the path with her lips.
Fred tips his head back, placing his hands on Hermione's thighs to hold her in place.
"Oh, yeah? And what might that be?"
Hermione meets Fred's gaze with a smirk as she brushes her lips over one of the aforementioned claw marks on his chest. She places her hands over top of his, guiding them up her thighs just slightly, enough to hint at what she wants.
"Take a guess."
Sunday supper at the Burrow the week after Hermione and Ron's breakup is… tense, to say the absolute least. Hermione wasn't even planning on going, but Ginny had insisted. She's convinced that Harry is going to propose any day now and she says that she wants Hermione there when it does happen. The fact that Hermione knows for sure that Harry is planning on proposing soon is what actually makes her attend, in spite of her discomfort.
Ron has been glaring at her from across the room, gripping the neck of the butterbeer bottle in his hand to the point of white-kunckles since she arrived. It grates on her nerves that he is the one acting as if he is angry. She caught him cheating, not the other way around. The fact that she semi-regularly shags his brother is irrelevant, if for no other reason than that he doesn't truly know about it. Supposedly, he has 'a hunch', but he has never actually admitted to her, out loud, that he knows about Fred. Hermione intends to keep it that way.
Unfortunately for Hermione, Fred seems to have other plans. He's drunk, so Hermione knows that some of his leering is due to the excessive amount of firewhiskey sloshing through his veins, but she also knows him well enough to know that that look in his eye isn't just because of the alcohol.
From across the room, Fred watches her. He's leaning against the doorframe which leads from the kitchen into the sitting room with his left hand in his trouser pocket and his right wrapped around a short drinking glass and his eyes are tracking her. His pupils are wide and dark and Hermione can't exactly tell if that's due to arousal or inebriation. Knowing Fred, it's probably both.
Fred catches Hermione's eye sometime after supper, tipping his head back in the direction of the kitchen, indicating to her that he wants her to follow him. He disappears a moment later and Hermione feels torn on whether to meet him or not. Fred may be drunk, but Hermione herself is a little tipsy, too. Historically, alcohol doesn't exactly lend itself to sound decision-making.
In the end, Hermione follows him– because of course she does. She waits for a couple of minutes, so as not to tip anyone off that she's going to meet Fred before she ducks through the kitchen to find him. She passes by the dining table, where she sees Fred's abandoned whiskey glass, unsure of where exactly he might've gone.
Hermione's eyes catch on the slightly ajar door of Molly Weasley's walk-in pantry, which she supposes answers her question.
Hermione opens the pantry door just enough to slip inside herself and closes the door behind her, immediately sensing Fred's presence at her back. In the next moment, he is on her with his right arm coiled around her waist. He drags the tip of his nose against the shell of her ear, his warm breath ghosting over her skin.
"Need you," Fred breathes, twisting to press Hermione against the pantry shelves. She catches herself with her hands on a plank of wood which she thinks holds cans of soup. "Been thinking about you all night. Wanna know why?"
Hermione probably should've known better than to confine herself into a small room with a drunk and horny Fred Weasley, but she also finds that she doesn't mind as much as she probably should. Ron has, quite frankly, been pissing her off tonight and she might love nothing more than to hook up with his brother right under his nose.
Hermione turns to face Fred, entirely unsurprised by the way that his right hand drops to her bum as she does.
It hadn't occurred to Hermione until this moment, but she realizes now that Fred's left hand has been stuffed into his trouser pocket every time that she has seen him since arriving at the Burrow. She finds out why when Fred removes it and she sees a familiar piece of lace tangled around his fingers.
"Can't stop thinking about you," Fred states, his voice gravelly and deep.
Hermione's eyes widen briefly, unsure of what to make of Fred's words this evening.
Fred has never sought Hermione out, not once. Every time that they've been together has been because she went to him.
The first time had been mostly unintentional, Hermione having gone to the joke shop after a fight with Ron and venting to Fred about her frustrations. Ron had hurt her in their argument and she wanted to hurt him, too. To this day, Hermione still isn't sure if Fred had been kidding when he offered himself up as means to that end, but regardless of his intentions, Hermione had ended that night naked on top of Fred's desk in his office with his head between her thighs.
"Five minutes, love. That's all I need. Jus' five minutes," Fred pants, rocking his hips against Hermione as he drops his forehead to her shoulder.
Hermione bites her bottom lip, fisting the front of Fred's t-shirt as she tries to decide what to do. On one hand, she's currently in Molly Weasley's pantry while the rest of the Weasley family is on the other side of the door enjoying their weekly gathering. On the other hand, she's never seen Fred quite this desperate before.
In the end, Hermione makes exactly the decision that she knew she would when she followed him in here to begin with.
"Five minutes."
Five minutes ends up being more like fifteen, but Hermione never finds herself complaining about anything after seeing Fred.
Hermione fixes her skirt as Fred buttons and zips his trousers and tucks his left fist– and her blue lace knickers– back into his pocket. She's almost surprised when he crouches down and picks up Hermione's newly discarded underwear, pink lace this time, and hands them to her. They were on the floor, so she isn't going to put them back on just yet, but she accepts them from him anyway. Before standing back up to his full height, Fred fixes Hermione's half-unzipped boot, his fingers grazing her calf as the zip reaches the top.
"Thanks," Hermione breathes, her chest still heaving as she comes down.
Fred stands, wobbling only slightly as he seems to have sobered a bit in the previous few minutes. His eyes are still glassy and his skin is flushed– though, that might be due to exertion rather than alcohol consumption, too. He seems to be more steady on his feet, at any rate.
"You should go first," Fred says, leaning back against the opposite wall of shelves from where he had had Hermione pressed against not too long ago now.
Hermione looks down at the pair of knickers in her hand, biting her bottom lip and deciding what to do with them. That seems like the smaller question of the two racing through her mind at the minute– what to do with her knickers versus what to do about the man who removed them for her.
Hermione steps back up to Fred, looking up at him for a moment before shifting her gaze to his left hand. She takes hold of his wrist and drags his hand from his pocket, tucking her second pair of underwear into his pocket before replacing his hand.
"Hang onto those for me," Hermione whispers, backing up toward the door. "I don't have any pockets."
Fred's nostrils flare and for a second, he looks as if he's about to drag her back to him and have her against those shelves again, but he doesn't. He nods and closes his eyes for a brief reprieve while Hermione lets herself out of the pantry.
The next time that Hermione sees Fred is over three weeks later during the celebration dinner which Molly throws for Harry and Ginny following their engagement– the party, to which Ronald Weasley brings Lavender Brown as his date.
Hermione tells herself that she isn't jealous because she isn't. She doesn't care what Ron does or with whom. She only cares that he's flaunting it. It's not as if his entire family won't know the implications of Ron bringing a new woman around after only one month of being separated from Hermione. That's a quick turnaround time and is clearly indicative of infidelity.
Hermione is also well aware that she is in no place to judge Ron for his cheating given her arrangement with his brother, but she's not thinking about herself right now. Rather, she is pointedly trying to ignore the self-satisfied grin which Ron keeps sending her way every time that he looks at her.
Whether Hermione is actually looking at him or not, Ron still tries to catch her attention. Currently, he is staring at her with narrowed eyes from the sofa across the room while Lavender is perched across his lap. One of his hands is around her waist, holding her in place and if Hermione had to wager a guess, she would think that the other is between her legs, though Lavender's skirt is obstructing any sort of confirming view– thank Godric. The blonde-haired witch is, however, squirming in Ron's lap, which really confirms all that Hermione needs to know.
Hermione rolls her eyes, making sure that Ron sees it before turning on her heel and heading off toward the Burrow's kitchen. She flushes slightly when she sees the open door of the pantry, remembering her last visit to this home and where it had led her. It's for exactly that reason that Hermione has foregone drinking anything alcoholic this evening. Weaning herself off of Fred Weasley will be much easier when she's not entirely drunk.
Fortunately for Hermione, since her breakup with Ron, she hasn't found many reasons to visit the flat above 93 Diagon Alley. She's grateful for the reprieve. She cares about Fred and she really likes shagging him, but she knows that what they're doing isn't healthy. He must know it too because he hasn't reached out to her either.
"Come on, mate, it's time to go," the voice of George Weasley floats around the corner as Hermione enters the kitchen.
George is standing with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed at his twin. Fred is sitting in one of the dining chairs with a tumbler of amber-colored liquid in the bottom of it– firewhiskey, Hermione assumes.
"'M not ready to go," Fred slurs, his eyes glassy and his cheeks blotchy. "Granger!"
Hermione's eyes widen. Even drunk, she doesn't think that Fred would say anything incriminating, but she's been wrong about things before. It doesn't happen often, but it does happen.
"Is he drunk?" Hermione asks needlessly.
George sighs and tips his head toward her.
"Pissed," George replies. "As usual."
Hermione sighs, unsurprised.
"Oi! 'M not drunk," Fred grumbles, throwing back the remainder of the drink in his glass. "Yet."
Hermione is sure that by the end of this night, her eyes are going to roll to the back of her head. Weasley men can be so infuriating.
"Where's Angelina?" Hermione wonders, turning her head back to George.
George frowns, rubbing at his forehead in frustration.
"She's around here somewhere. I reckon she went to go find Ginny when I started arguing with Fred. I'll be lucky if I'm not sleeping on the sofa tonight."
Hermione bites her bottom lip. She shouldn't. She knows that she shouldn't.
"Go find her. I'll handle him," Hermione says, already reaching for Fred's now empty glass and prying it from his fingers.
"He's not your responsibility, Hermione," George replies, resigned. "Come on, Freddie. Up you get."
Fred staggers as he stands, leaning on George for support, muttering under his breath about not wanting to leave.
"No, but Angelina is yours. It's fine, George, really. I was about to leave anyway."
George's eyes turn down and he appears conflicted for a moment before he nods in assent.
"Tha's good. Let Granger take care of me," Fred laughs, slumping over as George transfers him to Hermione, draping his arm around her shoulders. Hermione wraps her right arm around Fred's torso to keep him upright. "She's real good at taking care of me."
Fred continues to giggle to himself, interspersed with hiccups as his head lulls from side to side.
George's eyes narrow as he looks at Hermione skeptically. As far as Hermione knows, George doesn't know anything about her arrangement with his twin. Silencing charms and strategic timing have seemed to go a long way, but in fairness, Hermione also knows that there isn't much that's private between the Weasley twins. If George does know, he hasn't said anything to Hermione and for that, she is grateful.
"Right, let's go, Fred."
Hermione nods a goodbye to George, who promptly takes off through the house, presumably to apologize to his girlfriend for his distraction as the curly-haired witch hauls the other half of the Weasley twins through the house in the direction of the floo.
Just before Hermione throws down the powder and whisks Fred and herself away to his flat, she catches two things.
First, she sees Mrs. Weasley with downturned eyes and her hands covering her mouth as she looks at Fred. Her disappointment is clear, but that's not what strikes Hermione– it's her sadness. It hasn't occurred to Hermione before, but it's not just her who is watching Fred's spiral. His own mother sees it too. Hermione might be the one that he takes it out on– just as she does him– but she's not the only one who sees that the War crushed something inside of him, too.
And second, she sees Ron. His self-satisfied smirk is wiped from his face, but in its place is a sneer that would put even Draco Malfoy to shame. If he wasn't already sure of who Hermione's man on the side was, he probably is now.
"Drink this."
Hermione holds her hand– and in it, a glass vial– out to the red-headed man slumped over on the sofa in the flat above the Weasley twins' joke shop.
Fred stares up at her with seemingly unseeing eyes and Hermione questions whether she has ever actually seen anyone quite this drunk before. She takes a seat beside Fred and takes his right hand in her free one, placing the vial in his palm.
"Go on. Down the hatch."
Fred grumbles something unintelligible before finally doing as Hermione bids, uncorking the vial and swallowing the Sober-Up which Hermione retrieved from Fred's medicine cabinet.
The potion takes a handful of moments to take effect, but Hermione notices the exact second when it does.
"Better?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at the man to her right.
Fred swears under his breath, tossing the now-empty vial onto the coffee table in front of him. He tips his head to the side, looking at Hermione with narrowed eyes.
Hermione can't quite read his expression. She can distinguish angry Fred and horny Fred from his various other expressions, but truthfully, that's about it. She thinks that she could still pick out playful Fred, too, but it's been too long since she's seen that side of him and she's not entirely sure what it looks like anymore.
"What do you think?" Fred huffs, collapsing back against the back of the sofa and closing his eyes.
Hermione sighs and leans back with him. She's not touching him anymore, but she may as well be for how close she still is.
"Drinking isn't going to solve your problems, Fred," Hermione says, already pegging what his response is going to be based on her own double-standard.
Fred scoffs.
"And fucking me isn't going to solve yours. Doesn't stop either of us from trying to dull the ache."
Hermione frowns. He's not wrong.
"Did you see Ron and Lavender earlier? At least when we got x-rated in my mum's house, we were behind a closed door."
Hermione can't help the laugh that bubbles up out of her chest. That almost sounded like the Fred Weasley that she used to know.
"I'm surprised that you remember that. You were drunk then too," Hermione states, not even trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.
It's not just Fred that she's disappointed in– it's herself, too. She had been drinking that night too and that clearly manifested in some poor decision making, but even before then she knew that her whatever this is with Fred isn't healthy. It's neither of their faults, really, they're both just trying to survive, but that doesn't make what they're doing okay.
"I've never been too drunk to remember shagging you."
Hermione doesn't know what to do with that comment, so instead, she ignores it.
"Your mum would have a coronary if she knew what we got up to in her pantry. I'm just glad that she was in the kitchen for most of Ron's show," Hermione changes the subject, tucking her legs up against herself on the sofa.
"I still have your knickers from that night. You never took them back," Fred's voice is low and conspiring when he speaks. "And I had to spend the rest of that night knowing that you weren't wearing anything under that skirt. That's cruel and unusual punishment, Granger."
Hermione rolls her eyes in spite of the tingle of goosebumps which rise on the back of her neck. This conversation is dipping into dangerous territory. She should leave. Fred is sober now. He can get himself into bed from here. She should leave. She should–
"Yeah? And where are they now?" Hermione asks, mentally thumping herself on the forehead in frustration.
"My end table," Fred responds easily with a shrug. "I doubt that you want them back now, though. They've… ah, helped me out a few times since then. They might be a bit sticky."
Hermione gasps and shoves at Fred's shoulder in surprise. He smirks and chuckles unabashedly, completely unashamed of what he's just admitted to.
"Fred!" Hermione laughs. She shouldn't be laughing. She should be appalled– and yet…
"Listen, you've left me high and dry for weeks. You not fighting with Ron anymore has been terrible for my sex drive."
Hermione twists in her seat, turning to face Fred with her head cocked to the side.
"Weren't you the one who just said that sleeping with you wouldn't solve my problems?" she asks, eyeing him pointedly with her arms crossed over her chest.
Fred licks his lips and turns to face her, leaning into her space a little more than he had been. He's still not touching her, but his proximity is enough to make Hermione's heart rate tick up.
"It's worth a shot though, isn't it?"
Hermione bites her bottom lip as she tries so hard to resist the temptation right in front of her. Fred doesn't make it easy on her, lifting his right hand and tugging her lip from between her teeth with his thumb.
"I saw the way that Ron was staring at you," Fred whispers, brushing Hermione's hair off of her neck on one side and leaning forward to press his lips to where her pulse is beating wildly in her throat. "He was trying to taunt you– trying to make you jealous."
Hermione inhales heavily, her right hand shooting forward to grip onto Fred's knee for balance, otherwise she might topple over from the immediate pleasure of his lips on her skin.
"Did it work?" Fred breathes as he continues to wreak havoc on her neck and nervous system.
Hermione focuses intently on breathing for a moment, tilting her head to the side and finally giving in to the man before her.
"Did it make you angry?"
Hermione can feel Fred's words against her skin and she shifts in her seat, resigning herself to the fact that Fred has won.
"Yes," Hermione replies. It's an answer to two questions– one verbalized and one silent, though arguably more important.
Hermione's right hand slides further up Fred's thigh while her left rises to tangle into his hair, holding his head in place against her neck. He strays a little, trailing down to her exposed collarbone peeking out of her blouse, but she doesn't stop him.
"Yeah? How angry?" Fred asks, starting to work on the buttons on her blouse, following his hands with his lips.
Hermione's fingers curl, digging both into the meat of Fred's thigh and also into his scalp. In return, his teeth catch her skin as he untucks her blouse from her skirt and slides the silky material down her arms.
Fred leans a bit more of his weight forward, tipping Hermione onto her back on the sofa. He kneels above her, his lips continuing their descent down her newly exposed skin. Without much pause, Fred grips his t-shirt from behind his neck and tears it up over his head, dropping it to the floor beside Hermione's top.
"Angry enough to fuck your ex's brother?" Fred asks, his voice rough and deep. "He's probably getting laid tonight. You should too, don't you think?"
Hermione tips her head back against the sofa cushion beneath it. Fred's commentary shouldn't be as arousing to her as it is. Talking about Ron while Fred is touching her should be disgusting to both of them, but it appears that neither of them is under any illusion that this is anything more than it is.
Fred nips at the soft skin on Hermione's stomach as he unzips her skirt and wiggles it down her legs. Hermione tugs at Fred's hair, probably a bit more forcefully than she should, but he responds to it exactly as she expects.
"There she is. Go on, love. Let it out."
Fred reaches down with one hand to unfasten the button and zipper on his own trousers, but doesn't make any attempt to remove them just yet. Hermione flushes at the implication that though he's not trying to undress himself fully, he might need a bit more breathing room.
"I think he knows," Hermione exhales, willing herself to focus on anything except Fred's fingertips on the waistband of her knickers. She has enough mental capacity to promise herself that she will actually leave his flat with her underwear this time. "The way he looked at me when I was bringing you home… He looked so mad."
The corner of Fred's lips turn up into a dark smirk. Hermione should've known that Fred would love that.
"Good."
Hermione tiptoes quietly through Fred's bedroom, grabbing a probably-dirty button-down from the footboard of his bed and wrapping it around herself.
Round one of this evening had been on the living room sofa and the subsequent rounds two and three were moved to Fred's bedroom under the looming concern that George and Angelina could quite literally come through the floo at any moment. As far as Hermione is concerned, enough of the Weasleys have seen her naked and she doesn't need to add another to that list.
Hermione glances back at the sleeping form of Fred Weasley and bites her bottom lip, nearly hard enough to break the skin. Rarely does she ever spend the night with Fred when she sees him. She has once or twice, but she knows that doing that is an even worse idea than shagging him is. Lines between them are already blurred enough and the last thing that she needs is to wake up wrapped around him. That's not what this arrangement is about.
Hermione slips out of Fred's bedroom and closes the door behind her as quietly as she can possibly manage. She doesn't think that Fred would try to make her stay– he never has before– but she also doesn't think that she's in any position to tempt fate tonight.
Despite relocating their persons to Fred's bedroom, neither of them made the effort to gather up their clothing and Hermione can only hope that George and Angelina either didn't see the fabric strewn across the floor or that they didn't recognize Hermione's clothes if they did. Hermione's hope for that is dashed nearly immediately when she steps out into the sitting room from the hallway.
Angelina is notably absent, but George appears to have been waiting up, lounging in an armchair to the left of the sofa with a tumbler of something which looks suspiciously like firewhiskey in his hand.
"Evening, Granger," George says, his voice uncharacteristically cold as he sips from his glass.
Hermione pulls Fred's shirt tighter around herself in an attempt to maintain what little of her modesty is left. The button-down– fortunately– covers all of the essential bits, but it only hits about mid-thigh for Hermione and she can't help but feel rather exposed.
"George," Hermione greets with a sigh, feeling inexplicably caught.
George sets his glass on the coffee table in front of him before leaning his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers in front of himself.
"Y'know, when I handed him off to you to bring him home, this was not what I had in mind," he frowns, clearly disappointed.
Hermione takes a slow step forward and sits down at the edge of the sofa, readying herself for the scolding which she knows is coming.
"I gave him a Sober-Up. Don't talk to me like I took advantage of him," Hermione nearly hisses, taking great offense to George's implication.
George narrows his eyes at Hermione and crosses his arms over his chest.
"I didn't say that," George states, almost harshly. "But he was drunk. He's always drunk. You sobered him up and then gave him another way to turn his brain off."
Hermione averts her gaze from the red-head in front of her. He's not wrong. She knows that. She just doesn't particularly like being called out on it.
"I don't need or want details, but I need to know if this was the only time that this has happened," George asks, wincing slightly. "He's not doing well, Hermione. He needs help and not in the form of alcohol or sex."
Hermione exhales heavily and shakes her head.
"It wasn't the first time. I'm a little messed up too."
George's expression softens and he relaxes back into his chair.
"How long?"
Hermione thinks for a moment. George may have dropped out of Hogwarts, but he can do basic maths. He'll know the truth about how terrible of a person she is if she tells him how long she's been sleeping with Fred.
"A while. Longer than just tonight," Hermione replies, attempting to be as vague as possible by pretending that she isn't absolutely positive of the exact timeline.
George doesn't buy it, raising his eyebrows at her as if to say, 'Right, now give me the real answer.'
"Months. Probably close to six months, but only a handful of times per month. We have sort of… an arrangement," Hermione knows that she shouldn't be talking to George about this. Her relationship with Fred has been completely secret until now– save for Ron's assumptions– and it really isn't her place to expose it.
Fred probably won't take too kindly to being revealed as someone who frequently lets her use him for sex either. Hermione supposes that he's using her, too, but that feels less true based on the fact that she usually goes to him and not the other way around.
Before George can respond, Hermione continues.
"And if you're thinking that I was still with Ron six months ago, you're right. He's been sleeping around for way longer than I have, but that's not an excuse."
George's eyes widen in genuine surprise, as if he has never before considered the possibility of Hermione Granger cheating on her boyfriend with his brother. She supposes that that's fair. She hadn't expected it to happen either.
"I'm… surprised. I had no idea."
Hermione shrugs.
"It wasn't exactly supposed to be public knowledge."
Both Hermione and George are quiet for a moment as Hermione leans forward, still holding Fred's shirt closed as she tries to gather up her clothes without either flashing George or giving him a sneak peek of her knickers, if he hasn't already seen them on the floor.
"If it's any consolation, I really didn't plan on sleeping with him tonight. I was going to leave after he sobered up. He had other ideas. I was… complicit, but for once, I didn't start it."
George laughs lightly, shaking his head.
"I can believe that. I still don't agree with it, but I believe you."
Hermione smiles a half-smile, looking down at the pile of clothing on her lap. She should probably get dressed and head home.
"I know that I'm not in any position to demand anything of you, but he's not going to get any better if he keeps numbing his problems. Can I ask that you stop helping him to ignore his pain?"
Hermione sighs. She really should stop. She's known that for a while– since the very first time, even.
"I don't know everything about what's going on with you, but I'm willing to bet that turning your brain off isn't helping either."
Hermione dips her chin in an abbreviated nod. He's right. She knows that he is.
Hermione stands from the sofa, holding Fred's shirt closed with one hand and her bundle of discarded clothing in the other. She takes a step toward the floo, purposefully not responding to George's request.
"You might want to scourgify that sofa."
Hermione knocks on the front door of the flat above the joke shop, half of her hoping that Fred is the one who answers it and half of her hoping that it's George. If Fred answers, then she knows what's going to happen. If George does, then she'll be embarrassed, but it would stop her from making a really bad decision.
Hermione's heart hammers against her ribcage, the anticipation killing her when she hears a shuffle behind the door. The chain lock clinks against the door before the handle is turned and the wood is pulled back.
With her thumbs tucked into her back pockets on her denim jeans, Hermione looks up at the man in front of her and bites her bottom lip.
"Are you busy?" she asks, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe.
Fred smirks down at her, crowding into her space and resting his forearm against the wood above her head. He shakes his head as his free hand raises to take hold of her hip and tug her a step closer.
Without any further ado, Hermione stands on her toes and catches Fred's lips in a heated kiss which leaves no room for misunderstanding her intentions– not that he would, anyway. It's not like they spend much alone time together for any other reason. They also don't always kiss on the mouth, but it's a good enough place to start, Hermione supposes.
"Where's George?" she breathes as she walks forward, guiding Fred backward into his flat.
Fred's arms circle around Hermione's waist as he pulls her tight against his chest. He kicks the door closed behind them and then nearly immediately backs Hermione up to it.
"Working. He and Lee are closing the shop tonight," Fred responds, his large hands dropping down to Hermione's bum and squeezing. "He's not into threesomes, if that's why you're wondering."
Hermione scoffs, momentarily losing her words when Fred takes her bottom lip between his teeth and holds it hostage for a long second. His fingers dig into the denim-covered flesh of her bum, which Hermione knows is entirely for him, but she doesn't mind the feeling of him touching her in just about any capacity.
"That's not why," Hermione says after regaining control of her mouth, wasting no time and reaching for Fred's trousers, popping open the button and dragging down the zipper. "He doesn't want us doing this anymore– just don't want him walking in."
Fred chuckles, returning the favor and undoing the fastenings on Hermione's own jeans. It perhaps doesn't exactly surprise Hermione that it appears that they'll be doing this here, up against Fred and George's front door, though it hadn't been her intention.
Fred grasps the hem of Hermione's jumper and lifts it up over her head, dropping it onto the floor behind him.
"Now I wish that he would," Fred huffs, seemingly taking his frustration at his brother out on his own clothes as he tears his shirt up over his head and kicks out of his jeans with a swiftness. "He's not the boss of me. I can do whatever– and whoever– I want."
Hermione crosses her arms over her chest, momentarily pausing their undressing as she raises an eyebrow at the man before her. Fred notices her stop immediately, but his eyes flick down to Hermione's half-exposed chest, his eyebrows raising in appreciation before she speaks.
"He just wants us to stop using sex to flee from reality. He's not wrong. It's a terrible coping mechanism," Hermione shrugs, leaning back against the door and trying not to let Fred catch her ogling him, too.
The corner of Fred's lips tilt up devilishly as he leans into her, caging her in with his hands on either side of her head.
"And yet here you are," Fred taunts, raising an eyebrow at her.
Hermione eyes him up and down, now unashamedly checking him out as he stands before her nearly nude apart from his shorts. She reaches forward and hooks her index finger into the waistband of said shorts, dragging Fred closer to her with it.
Hermione looks up at the tall red-head through her lashes, entirely determined to get what she came here for.
"Here I am. Are you going to keep talking and wasting time or are you going to use me?"
Hermione leaves Fred's flat about an hour later feeling satisfied, unwound… and most of all, guilty.
Hermione knows that what she's doing is wrong– she just wishes that something so wrong wouldn't feel so good. It's not even the infidelity that bothers her and isn't that just sick. Technically speaking, Hermione isn't cheating on Ronald because they're not together anymore, but she had been for months, with his own brother. Even still, that's not what bothers her.
What bothers her about her arrangement with Fred is the red-headed man himself. Hermione supposes that she and Fred are friends– with benefits, clearly, but friends nonetheless– and knowing what she knows about him, she worries about his destructive habits, chief of which being sleeping with her in lieu of getting actual help for his trauma. She knows that saying such a thing is the equivalent of the cauldron calling the kettle black, but it's different for Fred.
Fred Weasley has always been a prankster. He's always been funny and light-hearted and joyful, but that all changed after his accident during the War. Hermione fully understands that he had almost died and that that would take a toll on anyone– after all, the same is true of her– but a part of her had always thought that he would bounce back.
It's not as if Hermione and Fred talk about anything especially serious on a regular basis, but she does know him. She's known him for most of her life and has been shagging him for several months now, so she feels confident in her assessment– and that of those close to him– that he's not doing especially well mentally in this season of life… And she wonders how much of that is her fault.
Hermione hadn't intended to start sleeping with him, but regardless of that, she is and there are consequences to that decision that she might not have foreseen. She never intended to hurt Fred or to leave him in a worse state than she found him in, but she thinks that she might've done exactly that without realizing it.
"We need to stop this," Hermione sighs, running her fingers through her matted curls as she lies beside Fred in his bed in his flat above the shop.
Fred rolls to his side and looks down at her, his brow furrowed before he responds.
"If that's what you want."
Hermione bites her bottom lip. She doesn't want to stop, but that's not the point.
"Well, how long do you expect that we can keep this up?" Hermione huffs, eyeing Fred pointedly. "We can't keep substituting sex for therapy and hoping that our problems go away."
Fred exhales heavily but decidedly does not respond. Rather, he throws his comforter off of himself and stands. Hermione averts her eyes from his naked body– probably needlessly considering the reason why he is naked to begin with, but she does it anyway.
Hermione hears a shuffle and then the snap of an elastic band and upon turning her eyes back to him, her suspicion that he is getting dressed is confirmed. Standing at the foot of his bed with his hands on the footboard is a now boxer-brief-clad Fred Weasley.
"It's working for me, but if you want to leave, be my guest," he snarks, eyeing her with a darkness in his eyes that pains her to see.
Hermione sits up, clutching the comforter to her chest.
"It's not working for you. I can see it. You're like a ghost. The only time that I ever see you looking even remotely alive is when I'm digging my nails into your back from underneath you. I don't want to keep being your escape– and I don't want you to be mine anymore, either."
Fred scoffs, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest.
"And what makes you think that I won't just find another escape, if not you?" Fred asks, his voice like acid.
Hermione has never been under any illusion that she was special, just convenient. She believes Fred when he says that he'll just find someone else to vent his trauma into. In the end, she has to remind herself that that's not her responsibility. She can't make a horse drink and all of that.
"Go ahead. I can't stop you, but I won't be responsible for both of us spiraling into destruction anymore."
Fred is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment before he speaks again.
"Fine. I'll see you around then, I guess," Fred says, pointedly not looking at Hermione when he talks. "I'll give you some privacy to get dressed. Don't say goodbye."
Fred reaches down to the floor and hikes his previously discarded jeans up his legs, leaving them open as he finds his t-shirt and tugs that on too. Rather than heading for his bedroom door, though, he goes for the window.
Outside of Fred's bedroom window is a fire escape which he steps out onto after opening the window wide enough. He closes the window behind himself, but even still, Hermione hears the sound of his footsteps descending the stairs outside.
As Hermione maneuvers around Fred's bedroom for the last time, dressing in the clothes which she arrived in, she decides that she can't save everyone. She can, however, save herself. She can stop numbing the pain and treat it instead.
Hermione leaves Fred's flat and apparates directly to St. Mungo's, knowing that in this case, she has to practice what she's preaching. Even if Fred doesn't want to see a Mind Healer, Hermione knows that she should. She can't keep bouncing from toxic relationship to toxic relationship and expecting time to heal her wounds, despite continually creating new wounds daily.
When Hermione leaves the hospital after making her first Mind Healer appointment for later in the week, she feels a bit like this might be what healing actually looks like.
Hi, friends! Happy Friday! (:
Oof. This one's a doozy, am I right?
Housekeeping first! This fic was inspired by the song "Take It Out on Me" by Florida Georgia Line. This song came on while I was painting a few weeks ago and I knew that I wanted to write something for it, but I had to figure out the right dynamic. I considered writing it as a Dasey, as I used to write regularly for Life with Derek, and it would've worked well for their dynamic, but then it occurred to me to write it as a really f*cked up Fremione, and well, here we are.
I am entirely aware that this fic will not be everyone's cup of tea. No hard feelings, I promise, but I just felt so, so inspired and whipped this chapter out in like a day and a half, so I knew that I needed to post it, even if it wouldn't be as well received as some of my other work.
Now, here's the thing. Because I am who I am, I am pretty much incapable of leaving well-enough alone. I also love Fremione, so I didn't want these two's story to end here. There's another two chapters of this fic which I plan to upload, but I'm having a hard time deciding whether to post them as second and third chapters of this fic or to post them separately but notate that they belong to this universe. I'm having difficulty with this decision because this chapter exemplifies the song very well- but the other two chapters don't. They're just a continuation of this story.
So, here's my question. Is it enough that the first chapter sticks well enough to the inspiring song or should I leave this here and upload the companion pieces as a separate work? Help, please. (:
Anyway, I have really enjoyed writing this universe. It's messy and complicated and nobody is perfect, but that's life, isn't it? We all do really awful things sometimes, especially during hard times, and we have to live with those decisions.
In any case, if you've made it this far, you deserve a cookie or something. So, go get yourself one. (:
Thank you, as always, for spending a bit (read: a lot of) your time here with me this week. I am genuinely so, so grateful. Your support means the world to me and it does not go unnoticed.
Please, please, leave a review. I love reviews. They're like candy to me and I re-read them constantly!
See you all again soon! And please let me know which you would rather me do: upload the continuation of this fic in this fic or post them separately but with the disclaimer that they belong to this universe? (: