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!
* * *
“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.
So this is probably a weird prompt but could you do it where Hermione ran away from her parents before 6th year and goes to stay with the twins and falls for Fred or something...? I absolutely adore your stories, I haven't read such good Fremione in a while...
-rosieginsburgmcgeeminkus
This might not be what you were thinking buuuuuut...¯\_(ツ)_/¯
* * *
It was a green tea type of day.
Fred and George had gone to work, the flat was empty, and a breeze was blowing in through the open window. Normally, a buzz of conversation and street noise would have made its way in with the breeze, voices talking about which books they needed, how much the apothecary was asking this term, which cauldron the fourth years needed, whether an ashwinder could be snuck into the school. She would have heard younger siblings complaining loudly that they weren’t leaving for Hogwarts yet or older students complaining about rules. In a typical summer, there would have been couples sitting outside Florean Fortescue’s slurping ice creams and staring gooily into one another’s eyes, talking about how nothing would drag them apart, not even being on different schedules in different houses in different years.
This summer had never had the chance to be normal. It wasn’t every summer that You-Know-Who, no matter how much the Ministry had denied it possible, came back from what many thought was oblivion. It wasn’t every summer that their entire world was throw into chaos and fear that the Death Eaters were around any corner, prepared and willing to blast limbs from bodies. She had seen the black market for amulets and charms, had heard from Arthur more than once about how what the con artists were selling was liable to do much more harm than good, if they did anything.
It wasn’t every summer that Hermione ran away from home, either.
She wasn’t naive. Voldemort was looking for Harry. He’d used Sirius - her throat knotted at the thought of him - and he’d use whoever else he needed to get to Harry. If that meant families - especially Muggle families - it wouldn’t bother him one bit.
So Hermione had left. It had killed her to leave that night. She stood in the doorway to her parents’ room, debating and fighting with herself for nearly twenty minutes while they slept about whether to wake them and say goodbye. Should she leave a note? But any knowledge of where she was going, anything at all, was knowledge that the Death Eaters could get. Better to just go, she had thought. But where could she go? Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t have heard of it - she’d have sent Hermione straight home to let her parents know what was going on. She loved Mrs. Weasley, but she couldn’t do that. It went against everything she had planned so carefully.
Hermione had wanted to do it by wiping their memories: send them to a different continent, change their names, make them forget she had ever existed. That plan couldn’t happen until September and even then, she’d have to wait until Christmas. She couldn’t wait that long.
So she’d gone to Fred and George. She’d never forget the look on Fred’s face when she’d turned up at their door at 3 o’clock in the morning, a bag in her hand and tears streaming down her face. Fred had scooped her right up in a hug, holding her while she’d cried. The twins had brought her inside, sat her on the couch, made her some tea, and had her tell them everything. Fred and rubbed her back while she’d sobbed and hiccuped her way through her tale, telling them all of her fears and concerns and even her hopes for what she’d planned.
“We could do it,” Fred had said quietly while George nodded somberly. Hermione had given them every reason they didn’t have to from not wanting to put them in that position to feeling like it needed to be her, but George stopped her.
“You don’t want to wait for Christmas?”
Hermione shook her head; there was too much happening already.
George nodded. “Then it’s got to be us, doesn’t it?”
They did it. Hermione asked that she at least get to be there, to see them one last time, and Fred and George were true to their word. They brought her along, they let her choose new names, new stories, new lives for her parents. By the time they left her house - Hermione’s bag filled with photos - her parents had it in their minds to move to Australia. She only hoped it would be far enough away.
She hadn’t handled it well. There were days that she knew Fred and George pretended not to notice the tears on his face and she appreciated their discretion. Then there were days that Fred would sit with her, next to the open window, and make her a cup of tea. They would just listen to the increasing quiet on the street and make up life stories for the passerby. They went to Florean’s until he had shuttered his doors.
Now they went to The Leaky Cauldron and sat with their Butterbeer, listening for news and gossip that hid news.
But more than that, Fred - and George - had been a source of sincere comfort. She didn’t have much money to help them with the flat, but they’d refused to take what she’d offered them in terms of currency. Instead of galleons and sickles, Hermione paid her keep by cooking and cleaning and giving her opinions on new merchandise. Fred had called her his lucky galleon on more than one occasion - she just hoped he hadn’t seen her blush.
They made her laugh. They gave her hope. They taught her little bits of random magic they’d picked up while developing their products and amazement with them never ceased. She apologized more than once for the hell she had given them before.
“Nonsense, Hermione,” Fred had said one evening as he took a drink of Butterbeer. “You kept us on our toes.”
And he was keeping her on her toes. She wondered if he knew that she was falling in love with him.
As the weeks progressed, she’d noticed more about Fred Weasley than she had in five years. Hermione loved the glint in his eye and the way it went almost manic when he’d had an idea. She loved his smile and the way the corners of his mouth twitched when he was amused. She loved his freckles, his laugh, his very nature.
She’d felt very self-conscious of herself, but Fred was always there with a cup of tea or butterbeer or a hug. “It’s only because he feels bad for me, really,” she’d told herself more than once. “That’s all.” She’d seen the girls and women who hung around the Weasley brothers and their shop. She didn’t stand a chance.
With August in full-swing and it nearly the prearranged time for her to make her way to The Burrow for the rest of the summer - Mrs. Weasley still didn’t know of the living arrangement - Hermione had decided that it was high time to let it go. Sure, she was hopelessly in love with Fred Weasley, but she couldn’t let a little thing like that get in her way.
Hermione let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh. Who was she kidding?
She sat with her tea, watching the thing crowd of nervous-looking shoppers below and thought about the future. Her O.W.L. results would be coming soon and she would be going back to school. There would be plenty to keep her mind off Fred Weasley’s freckles.
That same tea was flung into the air as she jumped in shock at the sudden weight on her shoulders. A small shriek emitted from her mouth and a crash added to the din as the table she had just upended hit the floor along with some candles, a book, and the saucer for her tea.
Fred laughed, catching Hermione who had started to fall backward and was now clutching at her chest. She was sure her heart was about to jump right out of it.
“You - total - ass, Fred Weasley!” she panted, trying to steady herself while Fred continued to laugh. Hermione had been convinced that a Death Eater had snuck in and was about to end her very existence, but no, it was just the git she imagined naked more than she cared to admit to herself.
“I’m - sorry - Hermione,” Fred panted, still laughing. His cheeks were pink with mirth and Hermione internally slapped herself for imagining pecking them with her lips. “I only wanted to look out the window with you!”
Hermione glared at him while she stood up and pulled her wand from her pocket. She was about to clean up when she remembered - no magic. Fred laughed at the look of frustration and disgust on her face and pulled his own wand from his pocket, waving it at the debris littering the floor. Hermione watched as objects swirled around themselves, coming back together.
Letting out a sigh, Hermione said, “I can’t wait until next month when I can finally feel like a productive member of society.”
Fred shrugged and said, “Maybe.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione crossed her arms in defense while Fred tilted his head and apathy.
“You might feel productive. But believe me, it’s much harder to be motivated to move when you can just wave your wand.”
“You still get out of bed,” she said kicking her toes against the side of his foot lightly.
“Out of pure protest,” he said, setting the mended tea cup back on its saucer, “and because I have other reasons to want to get out of bed.”
Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “Wow, Fred, you’ve really grown wise in your old age. You’re so nostalgic about your shop already.”
“Right, the shop,” Fred said. It was in that moment that seconds felt like ages because before Hermione knew what was happening, Fred’s lips were pressed against hers.
She no longer cared about...well, much of anything.
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.
