Chapter Text
Nothing Has To Change
“Say you were tryna make me laugh, and nothing has to change today” - i love you; Billie Eilish
All she could hear was a high-pitched whine—the aftereffect of being thrown like a rag doll by the castle wall exploding. Hermione pressed a hand against her head, trying to reorient herself as she stumbled to her feet. Every movement caused a grimace, and every grimace coaxed more blood from a gash on the side of her face.
Once fully stood, Hermione searched for the friends who’d been by her side. Harry was a few feet away, brushing dust off of him, and Percy and Ron were kneeling in the rubble of the collapsed wall. Hermione did another quick scan, frustrated.
Where was Fred?
Harry’s hand slipped into hers and he urged, “Let’s go.”
Hermione followed him without another word, heart pounding. She had tried. It required a split second reaction, but she’d really tried. Had it been for nothing?
At first, all she saw was him on the ground, and that was enough to send her into a panic. Hermione wrenched her hand away from Harry and dropped to her knees beside Fred. Fred, covered in blood—Merlin, there was so much blood—and chest rising and falling in short hitches. His eyes were open, but lidded. Hermione wasn’t stupid; she knew a dying light when she saw one.
Beside her, Ron and Percy were panicking, insisting to their brother that he was going to be okay.
That’s not going to heal him, Hermione grumbled in her mind. She placed a hand on Percy’s shoulder and shouted, “I have him! Go get help!” When Percy only stared back, she shouted again, “Get help! Both of you, go!”
Percy jerked his head in a quick nod and grabbed Ron’s shirt, dragging him up and along. They ran for the castle where healers were most likely waiting. Harry readied his wand and stood in front of Hermione and Fred, keeping guard between them and the fight.
“‘Mione?”
Hermione inhaled sharply, trying to hold back the tears that would only worry him more. She responded reassuringly, “I’m here.”
“Good.” Fred smiled. “I think this might be it.”
“Absolutely not.” Hermione pulled out her wand and began working on healing spells, watching in relief as the surface wounds began to close.
“‘Mione…”
She shook her head, rejecting the resigned sigh in his voice. “Fred Weasley, you will not die here.”
His chuckle begat a soft cry of pain. After a controlled breath that seemed just as frustrating, Fred asked, “How many detentions if I do, Miss Prefect?”
The display of humor broke her resolve, and tears rolled down Hermione’s face. Of course, even while on his deathbed, Fred Weasley would take the time to joke, to make a pathetic attempt at comforting her. Hermione thought back on all the jokes and pranks by the twins’ hands that she’d endured at Hogwarts, and she’d endure a hundred more if it just meant Fred would live.
Unthinkingly, she ran her other hand through his hair, unbothered by the blood that stained her skin and distressed simply by how much of it there was. Though the wounds had closed now, he’d still lost quite a bit. Judging by the sickly pale look and deep grimace, there was far more wrong than Hermione was capable of fixing. How much longer were Percy and Ron going to be?
“Before I go,” Fred rasped.
“You’re not!” Hermione argued.
Ignoring her, he continued, “I have to tell you something.” He stopped and amended the words. “I need to tell you something.”
Hermione sucked in a breath. “Then say it.”
Up until that moment, Fred hadn’t been trying too hard to focus, and his eyelids had fluttered a worrying amount. Now, he looked right at her with serious eyes, and the corners of his mouth lifted gently. The pause lingered long enough that Hermione panicked, but it seemed Fred had only needed time to work up courage. When he finally did, Fred told her in deliberate syllables, “I love you, Hermione Granger. I really do.”
There was a snick of someone’s shoe in the dirt as presumably Harry took sudden interest in their conversation. Hermione floundered at the confession. Had he gone mad from the blood loss? No, there was an urgency in Fred’s eyes, and worse, an expectancy of some form of response.
Hermione waged war with herself. She’d just kissed Ron. She’d finally settled her feelings, and if they made it out of this war alive, she was going to have someone’s arms to run into. And now, here was Fred.
Fred, who’d been pining for who knows how long. Fred, who was important, but in the way all of her newfound wizard family was. Fred, who was admittedly handsome and had turned her cheeks pink once or twice when she was younger. Fred, who despite all of that, she’d never considered as anything more than a friend.
Fred, who was dying.
Hermione couldn’t bring herself to disappoint him. She whispered back, “I love you too, Fred.” And through her tears, she tried her very best to mirror his grin.
“That’s good,” he said. Fred raised a hand to rest on her leg. “A bit embarrassing if you didn’t, yeah?”
Hermione huffed a laugh. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t embarrassing at all. It was just sad—all of it was sad.
“Taking their time, aren’t they?” Fred noted. He closed his eyes—or did they fall shut? Hermione couldn’t say since it happened in the blink of her own.
“Fred. Fred!” She pressed two fingers under his jaw, but they shook too hard to get an accurate check of his pulse.
Harry came to stand beside her. Worried, he asked, “Is he…?”
“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted. She lifted her wand again and resumed muttering every healing spell she could think of. She didn’t know if it was working, but no one was going to tell her to stop but a healer. If one ever came.
“There they are!”
The sight of Percy and two of the Hogwarts healing staff, Hermione felt the weight in her chest lift slightly. At the sight of Ron, the weight crashed back down. The guilt must have painted itself on her expression, but it was misinterpreted as ghastly news.
“No!” Ron shouted.
“I don’t know!” Hermione frantically said. “I can’t—! I tried to find a pulse!”
“We need to take him inside,” one of the healers said.
“I’ll help. You three?” Percy nodded at the trio and said firmly, “End this for us.”
Hermione stood back and watched him and the two healers carry away Fred’s limp body. Suddenly, it hit her what she had done, and the guilt wrapped like a noose around her neck. She’d tried to save him with a Shielding Charm that might not have worked. She’d tried to save him with every healing spell she knew and that might not have worked either. And in her effort to provide some sort of comfort, she had tarnished their last interaction.
If he died, Hermione realized sourly, her very last words to Fred Weasley was a lie.
Hermione walked with Ron and Harry into the Great Hall that was now serving as hospital, morgue, and mourning room. A crowd of people irreparably wounded in body or soul. In the middle, an elevated platform had been set up, and that was where they found the Weasleys—all gathered around a body on a bed. Alongside Ron, Hermione hurried closer. Their footsteps alerted Ginny who alerted the others that they’d arrived. The family stepped apart, giving the two room to join the group.
“Mum?” Ron asked weakly.
Mrs. Weasley smiled softly and, with great relief, said, “He’ll live.”
Hermione’s gasp was louder than she’d intended, and the tears brimming drew more attention than she’d wanted. She couldn’t explain herself; she could barely explain it to herself. Was she grateful that Fred lived or was she terrified? Now, her words had real consequences, and they had to be faced. Fred was resting peacefully now, but he would soon wake. When he did, he’d want to know where his beloved was.
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and croaked an explanation. “I’m glad. I cast a Shielding Charm. I didn’t know…” She took a steadying breath. “I didn’t know if it would work.”
“Oh, Hermione.” Mrs. Weasley left her son’s side to hug the girl. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Hermione nodded, unable to say anything further.
“He’s under a sleeping spell now to spare him some of the pain,” Mr. Weasley said to her and Ron. “A few ribs were broken, and both bones in his right forearm. Those can be fixed with potions.”
“There was something else?” Ron asked.
“He got hit by a curse,” Ginny murmured. “There’s internal damage. He’s going to be at Mungo’s for a while.”
“He’s alive,” George muttered. “I think that’s all he’ll care about.”
Hermione’s heart was still thudding in her chest. She’d been hit by that sort of curse before. It was a miracle Fred was alive. She found her voice then and asked, “Will he be staying at the Burrow when he gets out?”
“You’ll all be staying at the Burrow when this is through,” Mrs. Weasley said firmly. “Well, besides Bill and Fleur. The rest of you are never leaving my sight again.”
“Alright, Mum,” Ginny said gently, rolling her eyes.
Hermione smiled sweetly, because what else could she do? She had no other home to go to, so there would be no avoiding Fred. Of course, that all depended on them surviving this battle. She turned to find Harry, but he was gone. Hermione felt sick.
“Are you alright?” Ron murmured.
He had leaned far closer than a friend would have. Hermione took a tiny step away before anyone could notice. If they did, there might have been questions. And for once in her life, Hermione had no answers.
She opted for honesty with Harry and Ron.
After they’d lost so many friends, defeated the Dark Lord, and given the Wizarding World new hope, this problem seemed so ridiculous. She considered keeping it to herself, and handling it quietly when Fred came home. But every time Ron stepped close and Hermione rebuffed, she could see the confusion in his eyes, and she knew it couldn’t be put off.
George and Molly stayed behind with Fred at St. Mungo’s, and the rest of the family went to their respective homes. The atmosphere in the Burrow was quiet and tense, but it was the unspoken agreement that the outcome of the Battle could have been much different. All were simply grateful that there would be no planning of funerals.
In that context, Hermione again felt silly for having the worries she did. Then she glanced at a family picture in the living room and saw Fred with his arm around his twin and laughing. The moment the rest of the house was asleep, Hermione snuck into Ron and Harry’s room and called an emergency meeting.
The moment she spoke her truth, Ron’s face contorted with a mix of emotion. Harry seemed more confused than anything. Hermione ran a nervous hand through her curls and huffed.
“What I was supposed to do?” she whined.
“‘That’s nice. I fancy Ron’, maybe?” the redhead suggested. He dropped his head into his hands and sighed. “Merlin, Hermione…”
“I didn’t realize you’d said it back,” Harry spoke up.
Ron snapped his gaze to their friend. “You heard him?”
Harry shrugged. “I did, but I didn’t hear her say it back, so there wasn’t a point in telling you. Also, not sure if you remember, but I died shortly after. This is the first time I’ve thought of it since.”
“I thought he was dying, Ron,” Hermione stressed. “If I’d known he’d live—that we’d have more time—then I wouldn’t have said it back. I think it’s the same for him.”
She had anticipated more—perhaps anger or disgust. Ron was giving none of that. His brow furrowed as she gave her explanation, eyes downcast and flicking back and forth, like he was trying to sort it all out. It took a moment after she’d finished before he could respond.
“So, when he wakes up, tell him the truth,” Ron said, his tone heavy, almost burdened.
Hermione started to speak, but the words caught in her throat. That was the logical solution. And yet, it didn’t seem the most empathetic one. She couldn’t very well greet a boy who’d narrowly escaped death with an immediate bruise to his ego. It wasn’t right, and she told the two boys as much.
“When he’s better,” Hermione promised. She rested a reassuring hand on Ron’s. “When he’s better, I’ll tell him that it was just something I said in the heat of the moment.”
“What’s better?” Ron asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Home.” Well, that was too vague. Hermione revised, “Full health. Moving around and all of that.”
Ron’s face was still scrunched in displeasure. Hermione couldn’t very well blame him. Years of building their relationship only to have it stolen from under his nose? Well, briefly stolen. Regardless, that would hurt anyone.
“Do you promise?” he asked her.
Hermione nodded. “I promise, Ron.”