I just read all of your works and just I positively loved them. I may or may not have a benchmark tomorrow, and it may be 3 in the morning, but if you're still taking requests, could you do one where Fred pulls Hermione out from her study corner in the common room after three days but she still smells nice like books. For a bonus, make it three in the morning.
-neutralfangirlshitethenamestaken
Thank you so much!! I hope your benchmark went well!
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“Hermione.”
She didn’t look up from the stack of books and parchment in front of her. She didn’t even pause, not for a moment, in whatever sentence she was adding to the end of her essay. Her quill danced across the parchment that must have already been nearly four feet long, judging by its curl on the other side of the table.
“Hermione.”
Not a nod. Not a glance. She completely ignored him, lost in her own world of books and notes. He tilted his head to read the spines of the books in front of her and shook his head.
Before she could say a word, Fred grabbed the top book she was referencing, slammed it shut, and stuck it under his arm. Hermione’s head whipped up to glare at him. Her hair, large and frizzy from lack of care, made her look like a lion, a particularly dangerous lion when combined with the fury on her face. Fred wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t tear his face from his head.
“Give me my book, Fred,” she demanded, her voice raspy from a lack of use. Dark circles under her eyes made her look as though she’d been hit, and there was a flush to her that was unusual.
“Hermione, it’s been three days. You haven’t left this spot in three days,” Fred said, yanking away from her as she grabbed for the book. “Ginny’s been bringing you meals and Harry and Ron said they’ve only left you alone because they know you’ll make good on your threat to hex them.”
“It’s only a shame you don’t believe me,” Hermione said in a low voice, “that I’ll do the same to you if you don’t give me my book.”
Her eyes flashed and Fred saw nothing but his own death. But that didn’t stop him being more concerned with Hermione’s own wellbeing.
“What are you even killing yourself over?” Fred asked, motioning at the table in front of her. “It’s October, Hermione. You can’t tell me this is all abut O.W.L.s.”
Hermione took a breath to respond, but then the fires in her eyes went out, replaced by watery worry.
“Of course it’s O.W.L.s, Fred,” Hermione said, flinging her arms out wide, ink from the quill still in her hand leaving new freckles across Fred’s face. Hermione didn't even notice. “Why shouldn’t I start studying now? These are some of the most important exams I’ll ever take. My future depends on them!”
Tears started to well in Hermione’s eyes.
“I have to do well,” she said quietly.
“You will,” Fred said, smiling gently at her. “You always do. But killing yourself in October for exams at the end of the year isn’t the way to do it. You won’t even get to sit the exams if you die now.”
She gave him a weak smile and sighed. “You’re right, you know,” Hermione said quietly, not looking at him. “I know you’re right. But what else am I supposed to do?”
Fred bit back any comment he was about to make that included the words, “crazy person,” and said instead, “Breathe. You can still study, but maybe break it up a bit? You’ve barely moved since Wednesday, Hermione. It’s Friday night. You haven’t been at meals. You’ve gone to class, but then you’ve come right back here. You haven’t even docked George and I house points for testing our new stock!”
Hermione nodded and looked up at him. In that moment, Fred saw all of her fears and her dreams in her eyes and it took every bit of self-control he possessed not to kiss her right then.
He couldn’t figure out how, after three days of nothing but class and studying and occasionally shoving bits of food brought to the common room into her mouth, she still only smelled like books.
“Thanks, Fred,” she said quietly, holding back a yawn.
Fred wanted to stay here with her in this moment, just the two of them in the quiet common room with the dregs of a fire.
“Go to bed, Hermione,” he said quietly, nodding toward the stairs. “It’s 3 a.m. and you need to sleep. I’ll clean up your stuff.”
She looked at him for a long moment before nodding once again and standing up from her chair. Before she hurried up the stairs, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek and a small smile.
His eyes followed her toward the girls’ dormitory as warmth spread from the spot on his cheek where her lips had touched.
The thing about growing up with Fred and George, said Ginny thoughtfully, is that you sort of start thinking anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.
“When I was in high school, i used to think that i loved fan fiction because i was making up for some kind of romantic deficit by living vicariously through the characters, but now I’m 23 and have been in a healthy, loving relationship for years, and I still stay up too late reading fanfiction, so probably I’m just trash.”
Thank you so much for your continued support. I seriously can’t tell you how much it means to me.
I want to specifically answer everyone’s requests, but to make sure I get to everyone, I’m going to start combining ones that are really similar. (I have a few Yule Ball ones that are almost the same, for instance.)
That said – don’t be shy about messaging, even just to say hi! I’m trying to get to everyone as I can. If you’re thinking, “But I sent mine foreeeeever ago, you big jerk,” I didn’t delete it. Sometimes there are ones that jump out to me in a moment and are easy to write. Others need a little more time. I don’t like to force them and make them something you’ll hate.
That’s all I’ve got! Thanks for reading, you 1,335 beautiful people.
Thank you for filling my fremione heart! Could you write one about hermione accidentally wearing Fred's shirt or scarf or something and the weasleys and Harry notice
-anon
Hermione could have sworn it was all a dream.
It had felt like a dream. A dusting of snowflakes falling from the sky, soft fairy lights in the trees. Even the habitually grumpy gnomes hadn’t seemed so angry about their lot in life.
She curled up on a bench in the garden, a book in her hands, reading in the quiet night before bed. She had shivered and moved to pull out her wand to conjure some flames, but Fred beat her to the punch, pulling his jumper off in one easy motion. He offered it to her and she had refused at first.
“It’s freezing Fred,” she said, shivering again. “Let me warm both of us up.”
But he refused, still holding out the sweater. With a defeated sigh, Hermione took it and handed him her book in return while she pulled the jumper over her head.
It was warm. Not just because Mrs. Weasley made impeccable jumpers, but because Fred’s body heat still clung to its fibers. A small smile crept across Hermione’s face.
“I knew it,” Fred said, grinning. “You always want the sweater.”
Hermione rolled her eyes before grabbing as much snow from the bench as she could, throwing it at him.
They had carried on like that for a while longer before Hermione could barely keep her eyes open. They went inside, said their goodnights, and went to their own beds.
It felt like a dream, but it couldn’t be – Hermione still wore Fred’s jumper.
Ginny was nowhere to be seen, presumably already at breakfast.
It didn’t take Hermione long to be presentable. A few minutes later she was walking into a very loud kitchen where toast seemed to change hands as quickly as it browned. Eggs scrambled themselves on the stovetop, George wore the tea cozy on his head, and Fred was spearing a sausage with his fork.
“Good morning!” Hermione called, slipping into a seat between Harry and Ron and grabbing the teapot before it could disappear again.
Ron cleared his throat, pointedly trying not to stare at her. George stifled a chuckle. Harry smirked at her.
Hermione buttered the toast she’d been handed, not noticing the reactions around the table.
“How did you sleep, Hermione, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked, her back to the table as she filled a pitcher with water. “Cold night.”
“Very well, Mrs. Weasley, thank you,” Hermione said, pouring a touch of milk into her tea.
“Glad to hear it, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, turning around with a smile. “I did hope it wasn’t too–”
She stopped and stared at Hermione, clearing her throat.
Hermione glanced around, confusion settling in as she noticed the reactions around the table. Fred only smiled sheepishly and nodded toward her.
Looking down, she realized what they were all staring at – the large ‘F’ emblazoned across her chest.
Do you know of a fic where Fred and George find Hermione in a pub "drowning her sorrows". She was in WWW and George overheard her talking to Fleur about how she liked them or something. I can't quite remember but I think it's 5 chapter fic. I opened it in the app and I lost it :(
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