Chapter Text
Thursday, 16 August 2007
"Fred!" Hermione called out into the shadowy night, her voice echoing off the dimly lit houses. Yet, he continued to stride down the street, his long legs carrying him swiftly away from her. "FRED!"
She noticed his broad shoulders tensing at the sound of her voice, but he simply veered sharply to the left, heading down the small hill towards the beach. The night air was thick with the scent of salt and seaweed, and his footsteps kicked up clouds of sand that shimmered in the faint light of the moon. Hermione, with her small legs and bare feet, struggled to keep up, her heart racing.
"Fred, why on earth are you running away?" she shouted, her frustration boiling over. "Why are you angry?" But he didn't stop. "I'm talking to you!" Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation as they moved further away from the house, the sound of waves crashing against the shore drowning out her words. "Stop acting like a child and talk to me! You have no right to be angry!"
Suddenly, he halted and spun around. In an instant, he had closed the gap between them, standing just inches from her face. The moonlight illuminated his sharp jawline and tousled hair, and she could see the fire in his eyes, swirling with emotion.
"No right?" he said quietly, his voice low and heavy with sarcasm. "I have no right to be angry?" Hermione felt the warmth of his breath brush against her skin, mingling with the salty breeze.
"No," she replied defiantly, lifting her chin as if to challenge him. A warm breeze from the sea wrapped around them, causing her bathrobe to flutter against her calves. "It's my skin. It happened to me . Besides, it was years ago." She crossed her arms tightly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart. "You can't expect me to spill all my secrets when we haven't seen each other in ages. So, no , you have no right to be cross with me!"
Fred scoffed, exhaling sharply as he glanced around, as if searching for an audience to witness this. "Merlin, I really thought you'd know me better by now," he said, turning back to her, stepping even closer. She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, feeling the intensity radiating from him. "I'm not angry with you , Hermione. I'm angry at that monster who did this to you."
"Oh," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his words pressing down on her.
" Oh ", he imitated her. "And I stepped outside so I wouldn't lose my temper in front of you. But instead of letting me cool off, you chase after me," he murmured, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "So no, I'm not angry with you; I'm furious about the fact that that wretched madwoman is dead, and I can't even have the satisfaction of putting her down myself!"
"Still..." Hermione began cautiously, her voice soft yet determined. "You can't just walk away without us talking about it."
"Hermione," Fred's voice was dark, almost threatening. She should have been alarmed by the menacing tone, but instead, she felt an odd pull towards it, intrigued by this side of him she rarely saw. "I’m sorry, but please go back to George. Let me cool off, and we'll talk later."
But Hermione stood her ground, unmoved. The sight of Fred, standing before her, chest heaving and face tight with emotion, thrilled her. He looked so raw, so... real. His usual composure was gone, replaced by something electric. "No," she said softly but firmly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Fred's chest rose and fell heavily, and for a moment, he closed his eyes as if to find some control. He took a deep breath and held it. "I can't," he muttered through gritted teeth. "I’m sorry but I cannot talk about all of this right now. So, please, go back. I feel like I'm going to explode."
Hermione hesitated, raising her hand as if to reach for him, but then dropped it. "Tell me what I should do - but I'm not going back," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Fred's eyes opened slowly, dark and intense as they met hers. "Distract me then," he said, his voice rough with desperation. "Or I swear I'll lose my mind."
"Distract you?" Hermione echoed, unsure of what he meant, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Yeah," Fred growled, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Do something, anything. Just stop me from thinking about that madwoma-"
But before he could finish, Hermione acted on impulse. She rose up on her toes and pressed her lips against his, cutting off the words that were still hanging in the air.
His lips were cold, but his body burned with a heat that made her catch her breath. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and felt him slowly begin to melt into her touch. A soft sigh escaped him, almost like the release of all the tension he'd been holding in.
But just as Hermione began to move her lips against his, Fred suddenly pulled back, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly.
"Don't," Fred muttered, his voice strained, as if it took every ounce of strength he had to break the kiss. "If you keep going, I won't be able to hold back this time. Not when I'm this angry. I'm trying to be a gentleman, Hermione. But if you keep on… tempting me, I won't be able to stop."
"Then don't stop," she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.
In an instant, Fred's lips were on hers again, more urgent this time.
His left hand slid around her back, pulling her tightly against him, while his right hand cupped her cheek gently. He used the pad of his thumb to guide her head, tilting it just so, then brushed it slowly over her lower lip, coaxing her mouth open wider. Their tongues met, and the connection sent a shiver down her spine.
Hermione let out a soft moan, the sound vibrating against his chest. Fred responded with a low, rumbling hum as his grip tightened, the heat between them building. His left hand bunched up the fabric of her bathrobe, pulling her closer, until her chest was pressing against him. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling in the ginger strands.
There was no space left between them, their bodies locked together, as Fred's hand moved lower, coming to rest firmly on her arse. The moment his touch landed, Hermione felt a warm surge between her legs. Her knees weakened, and without a word, she gently tugged him down to the ground with her. Fred followed her lead, not a hint of resistance in his movements.
She broke away, gasping for breath, her lips tingling from the intensity of the kiss. Her gaze met Fred's, his dark eyes locked with hers, filled with something fierce and relentless. He didn't look away, not for a second.
And in that moment, Hermione realised just how much they both needed this - their touches, their closeness, all of it.
This was the release they had been holding back for far too long.
When Fred's hand on her bum gave a teasing pinch, Hermione lost all composure. She gently pushed him down onto the sand, his back meeting the ground as she moved to straddle him, her leg planted beside his hip.
She looked down into his dark, smouldering eyes, and she knew if she lowered her hips, she'd find him just as filled with desire as she was.
For a moment, she hesitated. But Fred misread her pause, assuming she was second-guessing what they were about to do. He didn't know the truth - her mind was racing with a question she'd never dare say out loud: How big was he?
"Hermione," Fred murmured, his grip on her back loosening slightly, as if giving her space to change her mind.
But she didn't need words to respond. She silenced him by pressing his shoulders firmly into the sand and covering his lips with hers. Then, her curiosity took control, and she lowered her hips against him. The instant she felt his hardness through the fabric, a jolt of heat shot through her.
Fred let out a sharp gasp, the sound of pleasure escaping him uncontrollably, and Hermione couldn't help but grin as his breathing grew heavier, more laboured.
Her thoughts began to wander. If he feels this good with his clothes on, how would he feel without them? The idea consumed her, every thread of logic slipping away as her hands sought the hem of his shirt, her fingers trembling with urgency.
Fred got the message, and in one swift motion, he detached from her just long enough to tug the fabric over his head. But the moment her eyes fell on his bare torso, her breath caught in her throat.
His entire side was bruised - a dark mix of green, purple, and blue. The sight hit her like a punch to the gut, and she instinctively brought a hand to her mouth in shock.
"Fred… aren't you in pain?" she whispered, her voice trembling with concern.
Fred gently took her hand from her mouth and placed it on his firm stomach. "Shut up, and kiss me," he rumbled, pulling her head down towards him once more. The way he yanked her so suddenly made Hermione lose her bearings, the heat between them intensifying.
With every kiss, every touch, something stirred inside Hermione. A warm, tingling sensation that was building, desperate for release. Without even thinking, her hips began to move, the friction between them absolutely heavenly. What made it all the sweeter, though, was the sound of Fred's low groan right by her ear.
She found that she liked seeing him like this - completely uninhibited, lost in the moment. It gave her confidence, and she straightened up, placing her hands firmly on his chest as she began to move her hips in slow circles. Her eyes never left his face, eager to catch every flicker of pleasure that crossed it. He didn't close his eyes either, his gaze trailing down her body, lips parted as his breathing quickened. Her bikini was barely visible where her bathrobe had fallen open.
"You're beautiful," he whispered.
Fred's eyes lingered on the small knot holding her robe together. He paused for a few seconds, giving her a chance to stop him, to change her mind. But Hermione didn't stop. Instead, she continued to roll her hips against him, agonisingly slow. His patience snapped. His hands found the knot, untying it with ease. Rough fingers slid the fabric aside, then moved up to her shoulders, grazing her skin as he pulled the robe down. With a swift motion, he tossed it carelessly to the side.
Just as she pressed her hips down harder, a little more pressure, a little more intensity, Fred lost all restraint. A growl escaped his lips as he grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her down towards him again, their lips crashing together, raw and unfiltered.
Fred's hands gripped her bum, guiding her movements. Hermione let out a soft moan as he found just the right spot, sending a bolt of pleasure shooting through her body like lightning.
"So beautiful," he murmured again, his voice breathless as they both gasped for air.
"Shut up and kiss me," she shot back, repeating his earlier words. She could feel his grin against her lips as he obliged.
Their bodies were covered in sand, every touch leaving a rough, gritty sensation, but nothing could stop Hermione now. Well, almost nothing - until a loud, annoying voice cut through the moment.
"Oi! Where are you two? Oh, there - AH, for Merlin's sake, are you completely out of your minds? This is a public beach! You hear me? Public !"
Fred groaned, but not from pleasure this time - because, once again, George had ruined the moment.
"Put some bloody clothes on, you disgusting pair," George said, covering his eyes with his hand as he quickly turned around. "Seriously, anyone could see you! Ugh!"
Fred slammed his hand into the sand in frustration. "For fuck’s sake, George!! Are you serious?!"
"Yeah, well, what am I supposed to do when every time I turn around, I find the two of you like this ? It's revolting! Get dressed and come back. There's something important. We've received a letter, and you're going to want to read it."
Hermione sighed, frustrated that George had ruined the mood, and let her head fall onto Fred's shoulder. Fred's hands slipped from her bottom and moved up her back, pulling her into a warm embrace.
"We should head back," Hermione muttered irritably. There was nowhere she wanted to be more than on Fred's lap.
Fred nodded, repeating her words. "Yeah, we should head back." But his hands stayed right where they were, holding her close.
Both of them took a moment, trying to catch their breath, their hearts still pounding. Hermione could still feel his hardness pressed against her, driving her to distraction. "This feels too good," she whispered into his ear, and Fred turned his head sharply, his cock twitching in response to her words.
"I'm trying to get myself under control here," Fred growled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Don't say things like that."
Hermione chuckled softly and turned his face back towards her. "Look at me," she said, and he obeyed. "We'll find another moment when George won't interrupt."
"He'd have to be on another planet for that to happen," Fred grumbled, though the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile.
"You just need to expand the range of your Portable Portkey, and problem solved," Hermione teased with a playful laugh.
Fred laughed too, showing his teeth as he rolled his eyes. "Alright, let's head back. But don't think for a second that this is over."
Hermione felt her cheeks flush. "I hope not."
She could feel Fred's gaze on her as she bent down to retrieve her robe, now covered in sand. When she glanced back at him, he let out a low groan. He was grinning, though one arm covering his eyes while the other discreetly hid his obvious arousal under his swim trunks.
"Bloody hell," Fred muttered, his voice dark.
Hermione smirked as she tied the bathrobe around her waist. She reached out a hand to help him up. "Come on."
Fred took her hand and stood, towering over her again. Hermione had to fight to keep her eyes from drifting down to his swim trunks, and Fred caught her restraint with a knowing look. "Say something about a camera, and I swear I'll lose it," Hermione warned, her tone sharp. Fred chuckled, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head.
He took her hand, leading her back towards the accommodation, where George stood waiting with his foot tapping impatiently. "Dressed? Good. You two are disgusting," George muttered.
"Watch your mouth," Fred shot back.
George rolled his eyes and opened the door, and the three of them collapsed onto the living room couch. George, however, wouldn't stop talking, despite having been told to pipe down at least twenty times already. "You could have been seen! Ever heard of a bed? A room with four walls and, preferably, no windows - soundproof would be ideal - so I don't have to hear it!"
It took a rather murderous look from Fred to finally silence George as he handed Hermione a piece of parchment. "Here," George said curtly.
Hermione took the letter, her heart skipping a beat as she recognised a handwriting she hadn't seen in years.
Dear Hermione,
I hope this letter finds you well and that you're enjoying a restful holiday.
I apologise for the sudden note, but I believe I've come across something that may be of interest to you. I have been informed that your upcoming travels overlap with my own, and I'd very much like to meet over a cup of tea.
If you choose not to respond, I expect our paths will cross in the coming days regardless. You'll find me behind the Giant Storm Petrels during the next few days at midday.
Best regards,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress of Hogwarts
Hermione's eyes scanned the letter, the words slowly sinking in.
"What does she want with you? And what in Merlin's name are Giant Storm Petrels?" Fred asked, frowning.
"Is it a pub?" George chimed in.
"How does she even know where we are or where we're going?" Fred added, his brow furrowed.
Hermione put the letter down on the coffee table in front of her and leaned back, her mind racing. The twins were both staring at her, waiting for answers. She made them wait a little longer - partly because she was still annoyed with George and partly because she needed to piece things together herself.
"I don't know what she wants," Hermione said at last. "But I imagine Bill told her about our plans. The Headmistress always knows what's going on in the wizarding world. And no, it's not a pub."
"Then what are Giant Storm Petrels?" George asked again, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "Do neither of you ever read? Honestly. Giant Storm Petrels are magical creatures that transport day students to Mahoutokoro, the Japanese wizarding school."
Fred and George both groaned. "Do you think Minnie still remembers our farewell present?" George asked with a mischievous grin.
"Oh, she definitely does," Fred replied with a smirk. "And she's probably still mad about it."
"Farewell present?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Aside from the fireworks?"
Fred shook his head. "Trust me, you don't want to know. It doesn't exactly paint us in the best light."
Hermione decided to let that slide for now and focused her thoughts elsewhere. "The school is located at the topmost point of Minami Iwo Jima, a volcanic island in southern Japan. It's miles away from Nara. So why does the Headmistress think we'll cross paths?"
She rummaged through her beaded handbag, pulling out the list of artefact locations Bill had given her months ago.
5th artefact
Japan, Nara
Portkey arrival: unknown
Known information: In the Kasuga-Taisha Shrine
No descendants of the responsible family
"The Kasuga-Taisha Shrine?" Hermione muttered to herself as she read the words aloud. Fred and George leaned in, reading over her shoulder. Just as George was likely about to share one of his brilliant ideas, Hermione slapped her forehead.
"It's the airport!" she exclaimed.
Fred and George looked at her as if she'd gone mad. "What?"
"Bill couldn't have known," Hermione began to explain, "he only had scraps of information about the artefacts. The artefact isn't in the shrine - it's the way to get there." She paused, waiting for the twins to catch on, but they still looked confused. "The shrine is like the Japanese equivalent of King's Cross."
"So the artefact is in the school?" Fred asked, his face slowly lighting up with understanding.
"And we'll probably meet the Headmistress there, where she'll help us. This letter is a clue."
"Barely out of school, and here we are heading back to another one," George groaned.
Fred gave his brother a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Mate, we've been out of school for over ten years."
"Oh Merlin," George muttered dramatically. "We're getting old, brother."
"Right, back on track," Hermione interrupted, steering the conversation towards something useful. "Your dad needs to make us a new Portkey. We'll head to the school by tomorrow midday."
"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" George asked. "International Portkeys in Asia aren't allowed anymore." Hermione's and Fred's heads snapped in his direction. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Ron told me to mention that. Dad's currently negotiating with the Japanese Centre for International Portkey Travel to at least get us one from Japan to Spain. But we're going to have to find another way to get to Japan first."
"You're only telling us this now?" Fred growled, frustration clear in his voice.
"Whoa!" George raised his hands defensively. "When was I supposed to bring it up? First, you two were off on your little excursion, then you got yourself injured, then you stormed off, and after that I nearly walked in on something that'll probably give me nightmares for the rest of my life. No offence, Hermione, you're stunning compared to this one," George thumbed at Fred, whose ears were turning an angry shade of red.
"Alright, alright," Hermione sighed. "So, we need to figure out another way to get to Nara."
"Why don't we head straight to the school?" Fred suggested. "It's in the south, isn't it? Wouldn't that be quicker than taking a detour to Nara?"
Hermione shook her head. "Mahoutokoro can only be reached by the flight of the Storm Petrels. The school stays hidden unless you travel with the birds. It's an ancient tradition."
"Fine, so Nara it is. How do we get there?" Fred asked.
"What about your Portable Portkey?" Hermione suggested.
"We'd have to cobble together a new one, and that could take days to gather all the materials," George said.
"Not to mention," Fred added, "if official Portkeys are banned, ours would be beyond illegal. Plus, we've never made one that's worked beyond a ten-metre jump. That time in the cave in Iceland? Pure luck. I doubt we'd survive a journey that long."
"Right," Hermione sighed again. "What about the Knight Bus?"
"Over my dead body," George shook his head vigorously. "I'm never getting on that bus again. You don't know the horrors that happen there. And it's got just one bathroom." He shuddered with disgust.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Then why don't you come up with a suggestion?"
"How about broomsticks?" George offered, and Fred's eyes lit up with excitement.
"I've still got those from Zurich," Fred grinned.
Hermione's face grew paler with every word they spoke.
She began shaking her head. "No way. Absolutely not."
"Hermione, you really ought to get over your fear of flying," George said, daring to place a hand on her shoulder.
"Oh, says the one who refuses to take the bus because it only has one toilet!" Hermione practically shrieked.
"A filthy, tiny, revolting toilet," George corrected her with a raised finger.
"This is ridiculous," Hermione huffed. "We can't fly on broomsticks for more than twenty hours."
"McGonagall said she'd be there for the next few days. She'll expect us to take a bit of time getting there," Fred chimed in, trying to reassure her.
As the twins began animatedly discussing what flying manoeuvres they could try out on the journey, Hermione realised she'd already lost the argument. They were actually going to travel by broomstick. With a sigh, she crossed her arms, listening to them debate broom techniques and compare moves to the 1894 Quidditch World Cup.
"You can fly with me," Fred suggested when he noticed her silence.
"Oh, you bet I will," Hermione said, raising her eyebrows. "And you can also bet I won't be steering. Not even once." Fred grinned before George dragged him back into their ridiculous broom chat.
That night, it felt like they had stepped back in time, as if they were lounging in the Gryffindor common room again. There was no talk of dreams, no mention of scars, and no smoke. Fred and George could've just come back from Quidditch practice, and Hermione quietly left them to their chatter, heading to bed early while the twins brainstormed a new invention – one that, as usual, Hermione would only partially understand - for now.
Before drifting off, Hermione cast a Muffliato charm on the wall separating the bedroom and living room, just as a loud crash echoed from the other side. She fell into a light sleep once silence returned, only to wake a few hours later when the bedroom door creaked open.
Two shadowy figures tiptoed into the room, whispering. The twins were probably heading to the bathroom to brush their teeth. One of them stubbed their toe and began cursing under their breath, while the other tried, and failed, to stifle laughter. And then, the twins disappeared behind the bathroom door.
When they returned, Hermione heard the door open and shut again, and she assumed Fred and George would share the couch in the living room. But then the mattress dipped beside her.
She knew it was him immediately, and murmured sleepily, "Did you start a fire or something? You smell like smoke."
"Mmm," Fred hummed in agreement. "You'll have to check George's hair in the morning. It's a bit singed at the back. He was so mad." She could hear him chuckling softly.
"Good. He deserves it," she murmured.
He lifted the blanket, slipping underneath. Once he was settled beside her, Hermione instinctively snuggled closer, resting her head on his shoulder as his arm slipped under her neck in a familiar gesture.
Fred buried his nose in her hair and inhaled. "Well, you smell good enough for the both of us."
"You smell good too," Hermione murmured. "Even if it's mostly like fire... but still, it's you."
Fred pulled her closer, and Hermione had to tug the blanket down a bit to stop herself from overheating. She could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her, and it made her smile - it was beating slightly too fast. "Why so nervous?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.
Fred smiled, keeping his voice light. "Well, it's not every day you get to fall asleep next to a beautiful woman."
He said it so casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It took Hermione a moment to process his words. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck. "Who's nervous now?" Fred chuckled, his chest vibrating with soft laughter.
Hermione refused to rise to the bait, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He already knew how handsome he was, far too well for her liking.
Silence settled over them for a brief moment, the kind of quiet that carried weight, and Hermione knew they couldn't avoid the conversation any longer. She sighed, breaking the stillness. "So?"
Fred seemed to understand instantly. Whether it was her tone or the way her body tensed slightly against him, he picked up on it. He pulled her a little closer, his rough fingers drawing soothing circles on her shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Hermione hesitated. "I don't know. It just feels... silly. After all these years, it still bothers me. I've never shown the scar to anyone willingly. I find it... disfiguring."
"Disfiguring?" Fred repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. "Come off it. Do you think I'm any uglier because of this?" She could just about make out his silhouette in the dark as he pointed to the thin silver scar running across his chest, the one she'd healed for him long ago. "Or this one?" He gestured to a faint mark on his elbow. "What about these?" His fingers skimmed over her skin, and she could feel the rough patches of old burns on his hands - wounds he'd shown her before.
"Of course not," she said softly.
"Exactly," Fred replied, as though that settled everything.
"But those scars - they're different. They're proof that you've lived, that you've survived."
"And so is yours, Hermione," Fred said quietly, his voice tender as he held her a little tighter. "You've survived more than most. You might not believe it yet, but that scar... it doesn't change anything about how I see you. Not one bit. I'll prove it to you, every day if I have to. One day, you'll see it's not a mark of shame - it's proof of your strength. You're smarter, stronger, and more beautiful than anything that tried to hurt you. And you're still one of the most brilliant people I've ever known."
"You really don't think it's awful?" Hermione asked, her voice quieter than she had intended. She felt the weight of the conversation pressing down on her. She'd never opened up about this before. With Harry and Ron, who had witnessed the whole thing, she had kept it bottled up, hidden away.
Fred paused too long. "Of course not."
"You don't find it... ugly?"
Fred's tone softened, but his words were clear. "I think it's terrible what Bellatrix did to you. I hate that you had to go through that. But I could never find you ugly, Hermione. Not in a million years."
"So... you're not angry?"
There was a pause before Fred answered, his voice holding a bit of an edge. "Oh, I'm angry. But not at you. I'm furious at Bellatrix... and at my brothers."
"Your brothers?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Plural?"
"Oh, trust me, George is going to get what's coming to him for pushing you to talk about it like that. And Ron - well, that little snitch is in for a rough time when I get back."
"Please," Hermione cut in, a small smile tugging at her lips, "let me handle Ron first. I want to deal with him myself. Besides, it'll make the perfect comeback when he tries to accuse me of having a thing for redheads."
Fred's grin was audible in the darkness. "You're not going to let him off the hook without a hex or two, are you?"
Hermione's smile widened, her eyes glinting mischievously in the shadows. "Oh, believe me," she said wickedly, "I've got more than one lined up."