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The First Time - December 1994.
The noise of the Great Hall faded to a dull roar behind her as Hermione hurried up the staircase and down the hallway. She didn’t know where she was going—not back to the common room, not yet. It was still too early, too many people would be there, and she didn’t care to deal with them seeing her tear-stained face.
She cursed Ron under her breath. Who was he to ruin her night? Fraternising with the enemy, honestly! She’d been having a lovely night with Viktor before he had opened his big mouth and turned the whole thing on its head.
Looking around, she determined she was far enough from the Great Hall that she wouldn’t run into anyone, giving herself enough time to compose herself before she had to show her face again.
She sighed and sat down on a window ledge, removing her shoes and bringing her knees to her chest. She wiped away the tears she hadn’t noticed falling, and rested her head against her knees, looking out the window as the snow fell.
“Stupid Ron,” She muttered to herself.
Lost in her own thoughts - was it sadness? Self-pity? Anger? She wasn’t sure - she didn’t notice the footsteps approaching her until she felt a tap on the top of her head.
“Go away, I don't want to talk right now,” she spat, assuming (or maybe hoping) Ron or Harry had followed after her.
“Ouch, Granger, you sure know how to wound a man.”
She sat up, her eyes widening at the voice.
“Oh.”
I was hoping for ‘Hello Fred, how lovely to see you tonight, you look dashing as usual, how are you?’ But oh, will do as well, I suppose,” Fred Weasley said in response, raising an eyebrow before unceremoniously lifting her legs and plopping himself down on the ledge beside her.
“No, of course, please join me, Fred,” Hermione said dryly, rolling her eyes but shifting aside to give him room.
“Thought you’d never ask!” Fred grinned at her.
“Now, tell me why, Hermione, before I was able to compliment your ravishing beauty tonight, I saw you dashing out of the ball - leaving behind a very confused Victor Krum?”
He exaggerated Viktor’s name, and Hermione fought off the blush creeping up her neck.
Despite his teasing tone, Fred didn’t seem to be making fun of her. As he looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer, she sighed.
“Your git of a brother, that’s why.”
“Percy? What’s he done now?” Fred sighed, shaking his head dramatically.
Hermione huffed a laugh. “No, not Percy. Ron. He decided that by going to the dance with Krum, I was ‘fraternising with the enemy’ and somehow betraying Harry. He said that Krum clearly only asked me to the dance to gather information on Harry or to help him with the next task.”
She hated the way her voice wavered as she spoke, and turned away from Fred to wipe away an errant tear that had spilled down her face.
Fred sighed again, this time in genuine annoyance.
“Thought it might be something like that,” he grimaced.
Fred rubbed his hand over his face before opening his mouth to speak,
“Hermione, you know he’s jealous, right?”
Hermione blanched, whipping her head to look at him.
“Jealous? Of what? Because Viktor is friends with me and not him?”
She seemed genuinely confused by what Fred had said, and he chuckled slightly.
“No, Hermione, not because of that. Though...” he paused and looked at her carefully, “I do think it has something to do with Krum.”
She still seemed confused, and Fred sighed. Again. He wasn’t sure he had ever sighed this much in one interaction. Merlin, talking sense into people, was exhausting.
He decided to change tactics.
“Hermione, you looked beautiful tonight, you know?”
He glanced at her, smirking at the blush that rose to her cheeks.
“Well, you look beautiful every day,” he winked at her “, but tonight especially. I think Angelina was a bit annoyed at my reaction when you walked down the stairs, to be honest.”
Hermione, still slightly pink, wasn’t sure what this had to do with Ron, but Fred seemed to be on a roll, and she knew better than to interrupt a Weasley while they were ranting.
“And Ron...well, Ron grew up as the youngest boy in a family of 7. Hand-me-downs his whole life. He’s never really had anything of his own, you know?” Fred glanced at her, and she nodded, though she wasn’t quite sure where he was going with this.
He continued,
“Now, I’m not saying he’s right—he’s being a proper git about it, actually—but Hermione, you and Harry are the first things that were Ron’s first.” He paused, then added with a grin,
“Also, he just realised his best mate is a proper fit while she’s on the arm of another bloke. Of course, he’s jealous. I would be too.”
He nudged her playfully.
Hermione smiled slightly, then opened her mouth to say something before closing it again, frowning.
Something strange and unfamiliar curled in her chest at Fred’s words.
They sat in silence for a moment, Fred watching her while she frowned in thought.
“Fred?”
“Yes, Hermione?”
“Where’s Angelina?”
Fred blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift in conversation, before snorting. “Somewhere in a broom closet with George, if I had to guess.”
Hermione turned and looked at him, aghast.
Hermione turned to him, aghast.
“But—she… you… Your twin?”
Fred choked out a laugh. “George and her have been dancing around each other for ages. I decided if they weren’t going to do anything about it, I had to.”
Hermione let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Only you would ask your brother’s crush to a dance just to force his hand.”
“I also follow them down corridors,” he shot back, nudging her shoulder.
She felt that strange twisting in her chest again.
Hermione frowned, “Even if what you’re implying is true, which I don’t think it is, mind you! That doesn’t mean that Ron can talk to me how he did.”
“No, it doesn’t, you’re right. I’m not trying to excuse his behaviour, just trying to explain."
He paused.
"I still think he’s being a tosser.”
He leaned down, picked up her shoes, and passed them to her before standing and stretching.
“Come on, let’s get you off to bed.”
Hermione huffed but pulled on her shoes before standing and stretching beside him. They walked back toward the common room, making light small talk about the night.
At one point, their hands brushed, and Hermione felt the wildest urge to reach out and take his, wondering what his reaction would be.
That twisting feeling came back, sharper now.
She must be hungry.
Too soon, they reached the portrait of The Fat Lady.
Hermione opened her mouth to say goodnight, but paused at the look on Fred’s face.
He studied her for a long moment before saying,
“You know, you’re allowed to be selfish, Hermione. To do something for yourself that doesn’t involve Harry and Ron. If you want to date Krum, don’t listen to them.”
She didn’t know what to say. She just nodded.
Fred hesitated.
“Also, I meant what I said. You are beautiful.”
Hermione thought maybe she had forgotten how to breathe at the sincerity in his voice.
Before she could respond, he leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, studied her face quickly and nodded to himself.
Then, almost as if running away, he turned on his heel and strode inside, tossing a hurried goodnight over his shoulder.
Hermione stood in the corridor, feeling as though there were quite a few things she didn’t yet understand.
And somehow, Fred Weasley had turned her night right side up again.
The second time - December 1995
Grimmulad Place was silent around her, the crackling of the flames in the hearth the only noise she had heard for hours. Frankly, she’d re-read the passage of her book about 5 times, but was putting off going to bed. After the turbulence of the past few days, she was enjoying the solitude of the library around her, and she wasn’t ready to pop this bubble just yet.
Unfortunately, Fred Weasley had other plans. He flung open the door and strode into the room, making Hermione jump out of her skin. She felt her peace bubble pop as he flung himself onto the couch beside her.
“Alright, Hermione?”
She looked at him and crinkled her nose, “Well, I was alright before you barged in here, derailing my solitude.”
He didn’t look a bit admonished and instead turned his head to the side slightly, grinning at her.
“Is that what you’ve been doing up here all night? Basking in your solitude?”
She felt her face warm and turned away from him, gesturing vaguely at her book, “I’ve been reading too,” she muttered.
He nodded, seemingly done with his questioning.
“I can leave if you want,” he said, with an air of nonchalance that didn’t quite match the way his body stiffened as he spoke.
Hermione softened and shook her head, “No, it’s okay. I was done reading for the night anyway, and growing a bit bored with my solitude.”
He seemed to relax at her words and grinned.
“Excellent. What shall we do then?”
Hermione laughed and shook her head, “You’re the one that barged in here - shouldn’t you know?”
Fred leans back against the couch dramatically, arms sprawled across the top, looking at her with a glint in his eye.
“Well, I could think of a few things to do,” he says casually.
“We could sit here in silence until one of us dies of boredom... We could re-read that book of yours until we know it by heart, though I suspect you already do,orr—” he pauses, stretching out the word as if he’s savouring it. “We could play a game.”
Hermione raises an eyebrow, sceptical. “A game?”
“Yes, Granger, a game. You do know how to play, don’t you?” He smirks.
She scoffs. “Depends on the game.”
Fred grins, eyes lighting up. “Truth or Dare.”
Hermione gives him a look. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” He feigns offence, placing a hand over his heart. “Afraid I’ll dare you to sneak into Sirisus’ room and nick something of his?”
“That’s exactly why,” she says dryly. “Besides, I know how your dares go, Fred. I’ve seen what you’ve put George through.”
Fred huffs. “Alright, fine. No dares. Just truth, then.”
Hermione eyes him warily, but there’s something in the way he’s looking at her—mischievous, yes, but also… curious. Like he actually wants to know what she’ll say.
“Fine,” she says, closing her book and setting it aside. “But for the record, that makes it no longer truth OR dare, so it’s a different game entirely. And, if you ask something ridiculous, I’m ending it.”
Fred grins, victorious. “Alright, I’ll go first. What’s the worst rule you’ve ever broken?”
Hermione pauses, considering. She exhales sharply through her nose, shaking her head slightly.
“What?” Fred presses.
“I helped steal potion ingredients from Snape’s private stores in our second year.”
Fred nearly chokes on the air. “You did what? ”
Hermione crosses her arms, lips twitching in amusement at his reaction.
“Harry, Ron, and I needed to make Polyjuice Potion. So I… might have brewed it in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.”
Fred stares at her in awe.
“Granger, I’m impressed. You’re lucky you didn’t end up permanently half-cat.”
She scowls. “You knew about that?”
“Oh, everyone knew, Hermione,” Fred says, smirking. “It wasn’t exactly subtle.”
Hermione groans, but Fred just chuckles, delighted. “Alright, your turn,” he says.
Hermione thinks for a moment. “What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told?”
Fred’s smirk falters for a split second—so quick Hermione almost misses it.
Then, he recovers. “Telling Mum I didn’t know who put Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder in Percy’s room last summer.”
Hermione narrows her eyes at him. “That’s not the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”
Fred leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Who says?”
“I do,” she challenges. “You hesitated.”
Fred studies her for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, he shrugs. “Alright. Maybe I did. But we only get one question per turn, Granger. That’s the rule.”
“This game is seeming more and more rigged in your favour, Weasley,” Hermione sighs. “Fine. Your turn.”
Fred hums in thought before his lips curl into a smirk. “Who was your first kiss?”
Hermione sputters. “That’s hardly fair!”
Fred grins. “You set the rules, love. No dares, only truth.”
Hermione glares at him but sighs. “Victor.”
Fred’s smirk twitches. “Krum?”
“Yes, Fred. I didn’t know any other Victors,” she says dryly.
Fred hums, as if weighing this information.
“Alright, Granger. Your turn.”
Hermione studies him, debating. Then, before she can stop herself, she asks:
“Have you ever had a crush on someone you weren’t supposed to?”
Fred stills.
For a fraction of a second, his mask drops. His teasing demeanour wavers, just slightly. He looks at her, studies her really, and Hermione feels her heartbeat in her throat. Then, as quickly as it was there, it’s gone, replaced by an easy grin.
“Now, now, Hermione,” he says, standing up and stretching his arms, “that’s a fascinating question.”
Hermione watches him, that familiar twist in her stomach returning—one she only seemed to feel around Fred,
She wasn’t sure why she had asked the question, but she also wasn’t about to take it back.
Gryffindor bravery and all that.
“But I’m suddenly very tired. Sleep calls, and who am I to not answer? I suppose I’ll have to leave you wondering,” he adds, winking before making his way to the door.
Hermione huffs, standing up and following him. “That’s not how the game works.”
He turns around at her voice, and Hermione is shocked by how little distance is between them. She goes to step back, but something in Fred’s face stops her.
“Guess you should’ve picked dare, then.”
Before Hermione can respond, he reaches out and ruffles her hair, messing it up completely. She lets out an indignant huff, swatting his hand away, but he only chuckles.
“Goodnight, Hermione.”
And with that, he disappears down the hallway, leaving Hermione alone again.
She sighs, attempting to smooth her hair back into place, but the warmth of his touch lingers longer than it should. As she settled into bed that night, her mind kept drifting back to the way his expression had slipped—just for a second.
The game had given her plenty of answers. But somehow, it had left her with even more questions.
The Third Time - August, 1996
As they walked through the door into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, Hermione was struck by the magnitude of the place. It was incredible, she thought, that Fred and George had created something like this, that they were able to keep spreading light amongst all the dark there was in the world.
As she was thinking, she had squeezed through the crowds of people to a large display near the counter and was reading the information on the back of a box bearing a picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl who were standing on the deck of a pirate ship.
“‘ One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens.’ You know,” said Hermione, turning to look at Harry, “that really is extraordinary magic!”
“For that, Hermione,” said a voice behind them, “you can have one for free.”
At the voice, Hermione turned to look, finding a beaming Fred standing before them.
But his smile quickly faded as he looked at Hermione. Did she have something in her teeth? Was her hair out of sorts? She'd taken care to make sure she looked just right this morning.
After shaking Harry’s hand, Fred asked, “What’s happened to your eye, Hermione?”
She had forgotten about the black eye that adorned her features and felt vague relief that Fred's change of expression hadn’t been because of something she had done.
“Your punching telescope,” she said dryly.
Fred looked horrified at this piece of information
“Oh blimey... I forgot about those,” he searched the pockets of his robes for something, but didn’t seem to find it.
“I have ointment for it in the office, here, come with me,” he reached forward and grabbed her hand, dragging her through the crowd of people before she could respond, leaving a bemused Harry behind them.
Fred closed the door to the office behind them, and the noise from the shop suddenly dropped to zero.
Silencing charm.
He really was brilliant.
Absent-mindedly, Hermione realised that Fred was still holding her hand.
Fred seemed to realise the same thing and quickly dropped her hand, turning to the desk and grabbing a tin off it.
“Here we go, that’ll take care of it,” He said, unscrewing the top.
He sat on the edge of the desk and gestured for her to come stand before him, as if… no. Surely not?
“Come on, Hermione, I won’t bite."
"...Unless you ask nicely,” he winked.
Hermione snorted and moved to stand in front of him, studying his features up close.
He seemed to be doing the same.
“Close your eyes, Hermione,” he said softly.
She does as he asked, and suddenly, the air between them felt charged, thick with something unspoken.
She swallowed, trying to ignore the way his fingers, gentle and careful, left a burning trail on her skin.
It wasn’t just the ointment; it was the weight of his presence, and the unexplainable flicker of awareness she felt every time his hand lingered just a second too long.
It was the way her stomach twisted at the sight of him, the feeling that had been settling in her stomach, deeper and deeper since the night of the Yule Ball, all those years ago.
She’s hyper-aware of how close they are; she can feel his soft breath on her cheeks as he leans in to more accurately apply the ointment, and she thinks her heart might burst out of her chest.
She opens her eyes too soon and catches Fred staring at her, his gaze intense, his lips parted as though he’s about to say something.
The air shifts for a moment—suddenly charged with something —something that makes her breath catch in her throat.
His eyes dart around her face, searching.
In turn, she searches his face, tracing his features with her eyes.
His warm brown eyes burn into her own, and she thinks vaguely that they remind her of Mrs Weasley’s hot chocolate, of home.
He draws closer, one of them, she isn't sure who, maybe both, leaning in, slowly, subtly so as not to shatter this something.
Suddenly, the door is flung open and they spring apart as if burnt. The very something she had been trying to preserve, shattering around them.
“Oi, Hermione! There you are. Your bodyguards are looking for you,” George calls, striding into the room, his voice cheerful and completely oblivious to the tension hanging in the air.
In his haste to put distance between them, Fred’s foot caught on the edge of the desk, and before he could do anything about it, he was tumbling backward, landing with a loud thud on the floor.
The tin of ointment flew from his hand and rolled across the floor like a wayward soccer ball.
For a brief moment, Fred lay there stunned before he shot a grin up at Hermione.
“I meant to do that,” he said, dusting himself off like nothing had happened.
She covered her mouth to hide her laugh.
George’s eyes flick from Hermione to Fred, taking in the scene—Hermione at the edge of the desk, and Fred, now behind it, standing almost too casually.
His grin widened, the mischievous spark in his eyes unmistakable.
“Am I interrupting something?” George asked, his tone too casual, though his grin said he knew exactly what he was walking into.
“I mean, really, Fred, if you needed to get her alone, there are easier ways.”
Fred blushes slightly, but responds to George quickly, “Nope. Not interrupting. Just being a good citizen and fixing up the damage our products caused.”
Hermione’s heart skips a beat. She mutters a quick, “Erm, right. Yes. Thanks, Fred,” already moving toward the door, her face burning.
She goes to step past George, but he moves, blocking her path.
“You know,” he says, leaning in, dropping his voice to a stage whisper,
“Most of the time when people need privacy, they lock the door...
Here I was thinking we all learnt locking charms in our first year.”
He draws back, feigning worry as he looks from Fred to Hermione,
“But then again, I’ve heard love does crazy things to the brain.”
Hermione smacks his arm as she pushes past him, her embarrassment making her movements a little too sharp. George cackles behind her, and Fred groans, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated by the interruption.
Hermione doesn’t look back as she steps out of the office, but she can feel the weight of the moment linger, and the image of Fred staring at her still flashes in her mind.
The Fourth Time - August, 1997
Hermione anxiously gripped her beaded bag as she glanced around the tent. It had been a beautiful ceremony, and she couldn't be happier for Bill and Fleur, but still, the impending war had her on edge. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as if the world outside was waiting for something to give. Despite the laughter and music surrounding her, there was an ever-present tension that made it hard to fully enjoy the celebration.
She turned away from the crowd, needing a moment of space, and wandered toward the garden. The soft glow of fairy lights twinkled around the edges of the stone path, casting a calm light over the serene landscape, but it did little to settle the storm of thoughts in her mind.
A figure appeared beside her, and she didn’t need to look to know who it was; part of her hoped he would follow her out here. Fred, looking slightly out of place in his formal attire, leaned against the stone wall beside her, his gaze trained on the dancing couples.
“Quiet out here,” he said softly, glancing at Hermione with that familiar, mischievous grin. “Are you lot leaving soon then?”
Hermione gave him a tight-lipped smile, not surprised that he had figured out that they were leaving; he always had a knack for reading her. “Soon,” she said, the words felt heavy as she spoke them, constricting her throat.
“Right,” Fred said, his grin faltering just slightly. He shifted, standing a little taller as he turned to face her. “And I suppose you’ve got some big, dangerous adventure ahead of you, that Ron and Harry won’t be able to do without you, you bloody brilliant witch.”
Her eyes flickered to his, catching the flicker of something in his expression—something that hadn’t been there before. Her throat grew tighter at his praise.
“Suppose so.”
He was quiet for a moment, his gaze studying her with an intensity she couldn’t quite read. It wasn’t the usual teasing, Fred, the one with the jokes and the wide grin that made everyone feel at ease. This was something else, something she only saw when he looked at her. That night in Grimmuld place, in the office at WWW and again, now. He pushed off the wall and moved closer to her, standing in front of her. She had to crane her neck to look up at him.
“Well,” Fred finally said, looking down at her softly, “when you do go off and save the world—again—remember to take a break, yeah? Don’t let Ron and Harry have all the fun.” He tried to lighten it, but his words had a weight to them.
Hermione nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “I’ll try.”
The quiet between them lingered, heavy and full of things neither of them said. They continued to look at each other, not speaking. Hermione found herself tracing the freckles on his face, committing them to memory, like they were the night sky and she could find the constellations in them.
If it wasn’t for the war, she might have said something more—might have asked him about the thing she didn’t want to think about, the thing that had been building between them for longer than she cared to admit. Instead, she asked, “You’re doing alright here?”
Fred’s grin returned, but it was softer this time. “I’m managing. Weasley twins always land on their feet.”
They both chuckled lightly, but then Fred moved imperceptibly closer to her. Hermione caught the sudden shift in the air—the way it felt like something was about to happen. The way it had felt in the office.
Fred leaned in a fraction closer, his voice quiet and almost serious, “You know, Granger… I think I was right all along about you.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, and she craned her head back further to meet his gaze. He looked different now, his usual playful glint replaced by something more uncertain, more vulnerable. The quiet between them stretched, heavy with unspoken words.
“I think you’re braver than any of us,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m glad I got to know you, even if it was through these secret rendezvous of ours.”
Hermione’s heart thudded in her chest, her hand tightening on the strap of her bag. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, anything, but the words stuck in her throat. And then Fred, perhaps sensing the weight of the moment, stepped back and tried to ease the tension with a light-hearted comment.
“I think Bill’s got the right idea,” Fred said, his tone casual, though his eyes were still searching hers. “Running away with Fleur… sounds like a good plan.”
Hermione let out a soft, almost sad laugh, the sound lingering in the air. “Yeah,” she said, her voice quiet, “it’s the escaping part that seems appealing.”
She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, hadn’t meant to give voice to the feeling she’d been carrying for so long—the desire to escape it all, to run away and find someplace where the weight of the world didn’t press on her chest. But here, standing with Fred, with the possibility of something more than just friendship hanging in the balance, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to leave it all behind. He had always been able to get the truth out of her.
Fred looked at her, his expression softening as he processed her words. For a moment, they were both still, the space between them charged with the unspoken desire to escape—together, if only for a little while.
Before either of them could say anything more, a loud voice broke the spell.
“Oi, Hermione! You’d better hurry up!” George’s voice rang out, and suddenly, the moment unravelled. Fred stepped back, his expression shifting quickly, and Hermione’s heart seemed to crash back into place.
“George,” Fred muttered, his voice rough as he turned to look at his twin. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Making sure Hermione is leaving for her top secret mission with her dignity intact, brother of mine.”
Hermione’s face burned at his words, and she opened her mouth to retort, but George raised a hand to silence her.
“Before you jump down my throat, Hermione, what you may or may not be doing out here is none of my business, and I’m sure your dignity is still fully intact regardless. Really, I’m trying to escape Muriel.”
Hermione huffed but didn’t say anything.
Fred’s lips twitched as he glanced at his brother, though his eyes lingered on Hermione a second too long, the atmosphere between them heavy and unspoken. George’s mischievous grin only made the tension more unbearable.
“Come on,” George called, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing. “You can mope about saving the world tomorrow. Tonight, we dance.”
Hermione and Fred exchanged a glance, the weight of the words they hadn’t said lingering in the air. They both smiled and followed George into the tent. Fred bowed dramatically, offering his hand to Hermione.
But suddenly, the peaceful evening was disrupted by a rush of magic, the shimmering glow of a Patronus materialising in the air ahead of them. The lynx had landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers. Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronus’s mouth opened wide, and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”
“Hermione, you need to go,” Fred said, his tone now serious, his eyes hardening with a deep sense of concern. “Now.”
Hermione’s heart dropped into her stomach. Her eyes darted to the Patronus, and then back at Fred, her breath catching in her throat as the weight of the moment seemed to squeeze every breath from her lungs. She steeled herself and nodded, turning in search of Harry and Ron.
Finding them, she gripped their arms, ready to apparate, but before she disappeared, before the world closed around her, she glanced over her shoulder, locking eyes with Fred one last time. His gaze was intense, his expression conflicted. She could almost hear the unsaid words between them, feel the weight of what had been left behind.
Then, with a soft crack, she was gone.
The One-Time She Sought Him - September 1998.
The September night wrapped around them like a blanket, making everything feel soft and warm, and Hermione grinned as she looked around. Hermione’s birthday dinner had been everything she could have hoped for—a celebration of life after the war, surrounded by friends, laughter, and the comforting presence of people she had come to think of as family. But even with the lightness in the air, there was an unspoken heaviness that Hermione couldn’t shake. She could feel the quiet weight of the last few years, the battles they’d fought, the losses they’d endured. Yes, there was joy and laughter, and light had finally returned to the world, but the darkness clung, in the way, people’s smiles didn’t meet their eyes fully, in Tonk, Remus’ and Percy’s absence, in their scars - both visible and not.
At some point during the evening, she noticed Fred slipping away from the festivities, his eyes darting towards the door. Without thinking, Hermione excused herself from her conversation and followed him out into the cool evening air.
She found him by the garden, leaning against a stone pillar, his eyes trained on the stars above. The soft hum of the party seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of her footsteps as she approached.
“Alright?” she asked, her voice soft.
Fred turned to look at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, his lips curled into a small, lopsided grin. “Just needed a breather,” he replied, though the tension in his voice told her there was more to it than that.
They stood in silence for a beat, neither sure where to begin.
They hadn’t had a chance to talk about everything that had transpired between them before the war; their last conversation had been cut short. Each interaction between them had kept Hermione sane during those months on the run, Fred finding her in her dreams, whispering the words neither had been able to say, offering the comfort only he gave her.
She realised that she was waiting for him to speak, that she was always waiting for him, that somehow, he always found her. Well, Hermione thought, if he can do it, so can I; she’d be brave for both of them.
Before she could change her mind, Hermione spoke, her words feeling like they had been bottled up for far too long. “I don’t know when it happened,” she began, her voice shaky but steady, “but I started looking for you in crowds, looking for you out of everyone, waiting… hoping… that you would seek me out, anticipating what we would talk about, how you’d make me laugh, how maybe I’d make you laugh too – craving the comfort only you seem to be able to give me. These last few years, I felt the most myself when we were alone, having our little ‘rendezvous.’”
Fred’s brow furrowed slightly, but Hermione wasn’t finished.
“You saved me, Fred Weasley, through your constant badgering and need for attention; you kept me grounded,” she let out a watery chuckle and continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought we missed our chance when the wall fell on you… I thought about every conversation we’d ever had, and about how many more I wanted to have. I thought that what we have been dancing around for years would die under that wall with you. I thought I’d never get another chance to tell you how I felt.” She paused, the vulnerability of the moment settling between them.
“But maybe it’s time for us to be selfish, Fred. You told me, years ago, that it was okay to be selfish, to date who I want, and do what I want. Maybe it’s time to finally choose what we want, regardless of the rest of the world.”
She looked at him, finding his eyes burning into hers.
“And what is it you want, Hermione?” He breathed out, stepping closer to her.
“You.”
They reached for each other at the same time, their lips finally meeting in a crescendo of almosts, of unsaid words, all leading up to this moment.
Fred grinned and broke the kiss, pulling away from her.
“Merlin, witch, I was beginning to think that would never happen,” he chuckled, looking down at her.
“Me too.” She said, smiling, “But it did, and I don’t plan on it ever stopping.”
His eyes softened even more as he leaned down towards her, and just before he kissed her again, he muttered, “I’m always gonna find you, Hermione.”