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Hermione leaned against the bar, sipping her drink and wondering why she’d even bothered to come. The DA’s second annual Christmas party had been lovely. She’d thoroughly enjoyed seeing everyone, truly, but she should have gone home when the suggestion was made that they move from the quiet atmosphere of the Hog’s Head to a popular new club in Diagon Alley.
The packed club and the constant press of sweaty bodies against hers made Hermione feel grimy and claustrophobic. Glancing down the bar she saw Fred, his head thrown back in laughter, surrounded by the usual pack of vapid, giggling witches. Her stomach roiled uncomfortably as she watched them paw at him, especially the one dressed in a fucking sexy Santa dress that looked suspiciously like lingerie.
For some reason, unhappy as she was, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene as it unfolded. Hermione watched with growing unease as she imagined what they were saying. It had to be something like, ‘ Oh, Freddie, you’re so funny. You’re so handsome .’ Which was all true, of course, but she knew they didn’t really see him, not like she did.
None of those women could see past the facade that he presented to the world, that of a successful, attractive jokester; always happy, always laughing. None of them knew how hard he would concentrate while working on a new concept for the shop, or how he always took the time to make sure that the children who came into WWW left with something that made them happy, even if they didn’t have enough money. But it didn’t matter. She could stand there and torture herself into the wee hours of the morning and nothing would change.
With a sigh, Hermione downed the rest of her drink and left the glass on the bar. She’d been avoiding nights out with their group of friends for months, dreading this exact scenario. It was the same each time they talked her into coming out with the group. Fred would stand there, surrounded by his admirers, until one of them twirled her hair just right and got him alone.
Then she had to watch as he would snog the bitch up against a wall, or in a darkened booth, always wishing that it was her instead. She never stayed long enough to see if he took them home, she didn’t want to know, and Fred never spoke about women or brought them along to gatherings with his family and friends. But it still broke her heart, knowing that he didn’t want her that way, knowing that he saw her only as a good friend or, worse, as a second little sister. Feeling tears prick her eyes, Hermione scanned the crowd to see if any of her friends were nearby.
Not seeing anyone, and failing to notice the way that Ginny watched her from a distance, Hermione gave up and fled. She practically ran from the club and out into Diagon Alley, where she could apparate home.
“No, you promised Fred and George that you would be there. I’m not letting you stay at home alone tonight. Get your arse up.” Ginny stood glaring at her with one hand on her hip as Hermione glared right back at her friend from the comfort of her reading chair.
She had promised, ages ago, but now Hermione didn’t feel like going. For whatever reason, the little scene with Fred and his vapid groupies the previous week had affected her much more than usual. But she also knew that Ginny was unlikely to leave unless she agreed to go to the party.
“Up, now. Let’s go and decide what you’re going to wear.”
Fuck.
An hour later, dressed in her tightest jeans and a lace-edged satin camisole top that she’d bought specifically to wear under a jacket, Hermione followed Ginny through the floo to Fred and George’s flat. Glancing around, she was relieved to see only familiar faces.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Fred never seemed to spend an evening snogging someone that he would have to see again, so it wasn’t very likely that she would be leaving on the verge of tears.
As soon as Fred spotted them, he made his way over and greeted Hermione with a hug that lifted her off her feet.
“Hermione! I’m glad you made it. You’re looking lovely tonight.” He released her, but didn’t step back. Instead, he leaned close and whispered, “Don’t go disappearing on me tonight.”
She stood there staring dumbly at him for a moment as she desperately tried to gather her bearings. On one hand, she wanted to bask in the pleasure of his proximity and how it had felt to have his breath ghost over her ear as he spoke. On the other hand, what the actual fuck was that supposed to mean? When had she ever disappeared on him ? He was always the one slipping away to snog someone senseless.
Before she could come up with a response, a giggle behind her had Hermione turning to see who had arrived. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she watched as Katie approached with a stunning blonde woman that she’d never seen before following close behind.
“Hermione, Fred, this is my cousin Tiffany, she’s visiting from Canada.”
Fuck.
Hermione pasted on a smile and made pleasant noises, offered words of welcome, but couldn’t help but immediately begin to plan her escape. Because this woman, who looked like she’d walked straight off a runway, would certainly be the one that Fred ended up spending his time with this evening.
As soon as it was possible, Hermione excused herself, grabbed a drink, and headed out to the balcony where she could get some fresh air and clear her head. She couldn’t stand there and watch Fred and Tiffany chat each other up. At least, not without making it completely obvious that she had feelings for Fred.
Hermione stood there for a while, staring out into the streets of Diagon Alley as she gathered her thoughts. Fred wasn’t doing anything wrong. He didn’t have feelings for her, and he certainly didn’t know how she felt about him. Empirically, she knew that she shouldn’t let his actions upset her as much as they did. Unfortunately, this was one situation where logic was no help at all, and Hermione was struggling to understand how to cope without it.
The creaking of the balcony door suddenly interrupted her thoughts. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see someone coming out to join her, but no one was there. Spectacular. Was she hearing things now? She didn’t think so. Maybe the door hadn’t latched all the way when she came out and someone had bumped into it from inside. Shrugging it off, she went back to watching people down in the street.
“There you are.” Hermione turned as the sound of Fred’s voice broke the silence. “I thought I told you not to disappear on me tonight,” he said as he winked cheekily and stepped closer to her.
Before she could reply, the tingle of magic washed over her and both she and Fred turned to see what had happened. Immediately, she spotted George and Ginny standing in the doorway grinning at them as George slipped his wand back into his pocket.
“The pair of you can thank us later,” Ginny called as they waved and slipped back inside.
“What?” Hermione began, as Fred groaned and pointed to a spot above their heads.
Hermione looked up and saw the sprig of mistletoe hovering over them. Fuck!
“I’m so sorry, Hermione. This is not how I wanted this to go. George promised me that we wouldn’t use this stuff tonight.”
“What exactly does it do?” Hermione asked warily. She’d been subjected to the variety of magical mistletoe that trapped someone in place until they were kissed, but the magic surrounding them felt different, and, in that particular moment, she was genuinely afraid of what Fred and George might have invented.
“Well, um—” Fred began, looking at his feet as he ran his fingers through his hair. “If we decide that we’d rather not snog — it requires snogging, not just a little kiss — we spend the rest of the evening under a compulsion charm that will make us blurt out those inner thoughts that we have about anyone we see.”
Fuck.
Well, she’d wanted to snog Fred, hadn’t she? And this was her chance. But what would it do to her poor heart to snog him knowing that he had no feelings for her? That it was only his interest in ending the spell driving him? It wasn’t as if she had a choice, though; the alternative was out of the question.
She forced a smile as she looked up into his eyes.
“Well, as much as I would like to have an excuse to tell Ron exactly what I think about his table manners, I don’t think having everyone else knowing my inner thoughts about them is a very entertaining party trick, so I’m up for a snog if you are.”
Fred’s eyes never left hers as she stepped forward. Her heart fluttered wildly as she tried unsuccessfully to tell herself that this wasn’t a big deal. It was just a kiss - she’d had plenty of kisses. But, when his lips finally met hers, she was lost.
Snogging Fred felt completely natural, like they’d done it a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times again. And, far too soon after it had started, he placed one final, gentle kiss to her lips and rested his forehead against hers.
As they stood there, both breathing heavily, Fred reached up and brushed a curl back, tucking it behind her ear as he said, “I didn’t expect this, but I certainly don’t have any complaints. It’s always a pleasure to snog a beautiful woman.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped, and she fought back the tears that immediately filled her eyes. How had she been stupid enough to forget that this was what Fred did? She didn’t fault him for it; he wasn’t hurting anyone intentionally, but now she was left to cope with the pain because she had very real feelings for him. It wasn’t possible for her to spend an evening snogging him at this party without suffering the consequences and it was time to go, now , before she allowed herself to be sucked in any further.
With a voice that shook, Hermione blurted out, “I-I can’t do this. I have to go.” As she stepped away from him she turned on the spot, apparating directly into her flat. Knowing that Fred or maybe Ginny would try to follow her, she immediately put up wards to prevent anyone from flooing or apparating into her flat. She needed time to think and to heal.
As soon as she was done with the wards, she collapsed into her reading chair and allowed herself to cry.
The next morning, Hermione woke late and decided to bury her misery in a new novel. Without bothering to change out of her pyjamas, she made a cosy nest of blankets in her reading chair, steeped a pot of tea, and settled in.
She was a quarter of the way through the book when someone knocked on her door. Sighing, she scrubbed her hands over her face. Maybe if she ignored them, they’d go away. The knocking persisted and Hermione remembered that she hadn’t lifted the wards that she’d put up the night before. It was most likely Ginny, she decided, and her friend was liable to break the door down if Hermione continued to ignore her. Huffing at the interruption, she extracted herself from the blankets and went to answer the door.
Without bothering to check who was there, she flung it open. But it wasn’t Ginny who stood on her doorstep, it was Fred.
Suddenly all too aware of how she must look with eyes still swollen from the previous night’s crying jag, her hair in a disordered braid, and wearing what she’d slept in, Hermione’s hands flew to the wild strands of hair that stuck out around her head. But her hair was the least of her worries. Too late, she remembered what she’d slept in when Fred’s eyes dropped to take in the Weasley jumper that she wore. His Weasley jumper.
Since she had no desire to discuss why she was wearing Fred’s jumper, Hermione decided that the best course of action was to pretend that she didn’t know that he’d seen it. “So, Fred, what brings you by?”
“Oh, we’ll get to that,” Fred said as he stepped easily past her, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “But first,” he winked cheekily, “I would like to know where you obtained that particular jumper.”
Fuck.
“Well, you see, I —” What could she say? Hermione wracked her brain, but nothing came to mind.
“Do you make a habit of nicking clothing, Miss Granger?” Fred’s lips twitched as he teased her good-naturedly, but she could see that he would not be allowing her to get out of answering the question.
Hermione lowered her gaze to the floor, hoping that Fred wouldn’t see her flaming cheeks as she mumbled, “I spilled a potion on my top once when I came to the shop to help George brew while you were still recovering from the war. He told me to go up to the flat and help myself to anything that I’d like to wear.”
Fred laughed. “Was it so difficult to tell me that?”
She shook her head and hesitantly looked up to meet his gleeful eyes. That was a mistake.
“I just have a few other questions.”
She nearly groaned aloud. “Go on, then.”
“That was nearly four years ago. May I ask why you haven’t returned it?” His tone was light and teasing, but she could see that he really wanted to know, and Hermione really didn’t want to tell him, not the full truth at any rate.
“It’s extremely comfortable,” she finally said lamely. Fred nodded in acceptance, but he looked… almost disappointed. That made her wonder what he’d expected her to say.
“Now,” she started again, with false brightness, “What brings you here today?”
“I said, ‘a few other questions.’ That was only one. I have another.”
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t possibly ask the one thing that she hoped he wouldn’t ask. She would die of embarrassment if he did.
“Why my jumper? Why not one belonging to my dear brother? You would have had to walk past his room to get to mine and retrieve this particular Weasley sweater.”
“I… I… I’m not really sure. Like you’ve already pointed out, it was almost four years ago. I don’t remotely remember my reasoning,” she lied.
Fred’s eyebrows rose into his fringe, and she could almost hear him calling her a liar. But to her great relief, he finally let the subject drop. Well, at least for that particular moment. Knowing Fred, he would bring it up again when she least expected it.
“Now, to answer your question. I’m here because I hoped we could go and have lunch and chat.”
He was going to make her talk about what happened the night before, wasn’t he? Fred probably wanted assurances that things wouldn’t get awkward between them. She could understand that, but this wasn’t a conversation that she wanted to have.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly dressed to leave my flat. Could we do it another time? It would take me a while to get ready to go anywhere.”
Fred shook his head and pointed to her reading chair. “That looks like a delightful spot to relax. I’ll just hang out there and enjoy the fairy lights on your tree while you take all the time you need. We’re not going anywhere fancy.”
She could have refused, but she didn’t want to — not really. Opportunities to spend time alone with Fred were not nearly as frequent as she would have wished. So, even though Hermione knew they would likely have a very awkward conversation, she obediently went into her bedroom to get ready.
After closing the door firmly behind her, she moved methodically. She knew that if she allowed herself to stop and think about what was happening, she would likely curl into a ball and refuse to leave her bedroom for the next week. Instead, she set about having the world’s fastest shower before choosing a pair of jeans and a jumper to wear. Since she wanted to look nice, Hermione applied a light dusting of makeup and added some simple silver jewelry before donning a pair of boots and studying her reflection in the full-length mirror behind her door.
After a silent pep talk, and one last glance in the mirror, she left the safety of her bedroom and went to find out what exactly Fred had to say.
A grin spread across his face as she entered her living room. He rose to his feet and picked up the coat that he’d removed and thrown over the back of her chair. “Grab your coat, it’s cold outside.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me where we’re going?” Hermione asked as she pulled on her outerwear.
“Nope. You’ll just have to trust me.” Fred winked as he held out his hand. They stepped onto her balcony, Hermione’s designated apparation point, and Fred turned on the spot.
When they landed, Hermione took in the scene around her. They were in a small clearing surrounded by snow-covered evergreens that were adorned with fairy lights. On the ground was a large plaid blanket that held a picnic basket.
“What’s all this?” Hermione’s heart pounded against her ribs as she took it all in. This was much more romantic than she’d expected. She’d left her flat thinking they were heading to a pub or something to chat, but this looked like it had been set up for a very special date. Was this a date? Surely it wasn’t, she would know if she were on a date. Wouldn’t she?
Fred smiled softly. “This is me doing what I should have done ages ago. You see, it’s been brought to my attention that I’ve been a complete wanker and bollocksed everything up by waiting until my well-meaning, but horribly meddlesome, siblings got involved.”
“What do you mean?”
Gesturing for her to take a seat on the picnic blanket, Fred settled in next to Hermione, waving his wand at a stack of logs arranged in a small fire pit that she hadn’t noticed, before taking her hands in his. “First, I have to tell you that I truly did not plan for the mistletoe incident. That was all George and Ginny. Last night after you left, I found them and, after I calmed down enough to listen to their excuses, it came out that they were under the impression that you fancied me too. They thought they were helping —”
Too. Hermione’s brain seemed to malfunction when she heard that one little word. Was there a chance that Fred fancied her? That wasn’t what he was saying, was it?
“I’m sorry, what?” She put up a hand to stop him. “I feel like I’m totally misunderstanding what you’re saying. Can you explain what you mean when you said that they thought they were helping?”
“I fancy you, Hermione. It’s probably more than that, but given that I hardly ever see you anymore, we’ll leave it at that for now. George found out, so he and Ginny —”
“Enough about George and Ginny, I don’t bloody care what they did. Go back to the part before that again. You fancy me? Me? Really?”
Fred nodded. “I really do, and I’ve been wanting to find a way to tell you. When I saw you after the DA party, I was going to try to talk to you, but I got sidetracked talking to those silly bints that work at the shop next to ours. When I finally got away, you were gone.”
Unable to form words, she just stared at Fred with what she knew must be a dumbfounded expression. “What?” Hermione murmured to herself. She heard what he was saying, but none of it made sense.
Smiling softly, Fred tenderly tucked an errant curl behind her ear before caressing the side of her face. “I like you, Hermione. I want to date you. Is that really so difficult to comprehend?”
“But you - you don’t date. You snog random witches, and we never see them again.”
Fred’s face fell and Hermione realised that maybe she shouldn’t have said that, but it was the truth. It wouldn’t do to get her hopes up if he wasn’t interested in something real.
“I know. I’ve been a complete idiot. You see, I’ve been interested in you for a very long time, and I convinced myself that you’d never be interested in me so I opted for a few misplaced attempts at distraction.” Fred looked down at his lap for a moment before taking a deep breath and raising his head to meet her gaze. “It never worked because no one else compares to you. And if you’ll give me a chance, I’ll show you that I’m all in. I want nothing more than to arrive with you on my arm for Christmas at The Burrow and introduce you to everyone as my girlfriend.”
Hermione’s breath caught as Fred said the words that she’d longed to hear. She swallowed hard before lunging forward and kissing him so enthusiastically that she knocked them both back into the snow.
When they broke apart a few minutes later, Fred asked with a laugh, “Can I assume that you’re saying yes to being my girlfriend?”
“I’m saying yes to everything. I’m all in too.”
