Chapter Text
Hermione was covered in blood. Not human blood - for what it was worth - but some thing’s blood. Her four years as a Healer at St. Mungo’s left her confident this blood was not of human origin. Dragon, perhaps, was her first fleeting thought before quickly calculating the cost and ruling out the possibility, given the sheer volume that had geysered from the overlarge pumpkin - of all things - in front of her.
The late October air was crisp. The inviting scent of a roaring fireplace was permeating the light breeze. The smell was just strong enough to momentarily distract her from the tang of copper and the slight trickle of blood she could feel that had somehow gotten past her robes collar, her braid, and was now running unreservedly down her spine. How on earth had it ended up behind her?
Ah. The awning above was in fact dripping with the stuff, that’s how. Hermione huffed and wiped her eyes. The crimson coating her really was shocking by anyone’s standards, and she took a step backwards off the stoop to avoid the persistent drip of blood onto the stone she just vacated.
She weighed her options. Vanishing the mess was certainly appealing, but who was to say the pumpkin wouldn’t erupt again the moment she attempted to knock on the large wooden door in front of her? She summoned her Gryffindor courage, steeled her Healer stomach, bottled up her rage and annoyance at the bloody inconvenience, and chanced her luck by stepping forward and knocking on the door - again.
It immediately swung open the second time. An equally annoyed Ginny greeted her and took in her appearance, seemingly unsurprised by the gore.
“Those arseholes.”
“Good evening to you as well. Any additional booby traps I should be aware of?” Hermione queried, feeling the drip of blood reach her jeans waistline.
“Well, considering they told me the pumpkin was only to surprise Harry as congratulations for his promotion, I’m not sure what to believe anymore. Not sure why I believed them at all, now I think on it. The good news is - well, just come in, you’ll see.”
Before Hermione could dissect this train of thought, Ginny pulled her across the threshold into the warm entryway. The moment she crossed the doorline, she felt a warm tingle start from her head make its way to her toes and out to her fingertips. By the time Ginny closed the door, Hermione was shocked to discover herself as clean as when she left St. Mungo’s 10 minutes ago.
“How on Earth…?”
“Vanishing spell meets scourgify meets evanesco meets protego meets about five other things! Welcome to the party, Herms! Though I’m disappointed to have missed your bloody show.”
“That doesn’t mean what you think it means,” Hermione grumbled beneath her breath as she took in the twin coming down the hall to greet her.
Even before George lost his ear care of the Death Eaters, Hermione had always been able to tell the twins apart.
“Quite the welcome. Dare I ask why I was spewed with an unknown creature’s blood? Dare I ask whether the blood was ethically sourced?” she asked as George wrapped her into a crushing one-armed hug as he took care to avoid spilling his firewhiskey on her.
“Why not! And you may dare to ask, oh beautiful one, but you will be waiting for an answer for quite a while yet,” he responded jovially, releasing her.
“Come on, let’s get you a drink,” Ginny insisted, seizing Hermione and steering her clear of the twin. “Harry’s here, and Ron, and a few others.”
Ginny and Hermione walked down the hallway towards the sound of thumping music and other voices. She was quickly waylaid by George’s other half, who made a beeline to her as soon as she entered the kitchen.
“Hermione, thank MERLIN! Could you be a dear and examine this?”
He thrust his left arm forward. She blinked.
“Okay, WHAT is with all the blood?” she demanded, staring him down.
Fred blinked right back. His hazel eyes, so different from Ron’s bright blue, shone with mischief even in the dimly lit room.
“Healer Granger, aren’t you even a little worried about my ghastly arm? Look at the state of it!” He wailed, entirely unconvincingly.
A few people standing nearby she knew from afar at Hogwarts were side-eyeing Fred, giving him a wide berth as he continued to drip blood onto the floor. They seemed torn; it was quite a bit of blood, but again, this was a Weasley party and some of them were spewed on their own entrances to the flat.
“I’m not worried, because I can tell you’re fine. Your color’s normal and you should be woozy by this point. Now is someone going to tell me where all this blood is coming from or do I need to start making inquiries with the Control of Magical Creatures department?”
“Mum’s the word, Granger Goddess-mine, apologies!” Fred said with a wink. “Butterbeer for the ladies, hmm?” He produced two frosted bottles from behind his back using his uninjured hand, offering them to Hermione and Ginny.
He disappeared among friends she recognized as older students during their school days. Hermione shook her head and turned back to Ginny.
“I don’t know what to make of them, sometimes,” she said.
“Join the club,” Ron interjected.
Hermione grimaced at her friend in solidarity. Ron and Harry, while rookies no longer, were still paying their dues in the Auror program. They worked long nights and were often gone for extensive stretches on stakeouts. With Ginny a rising star on the Holyhead Harpies, their schedules were all aligned well enough that it worked overall.
Hermione saw them for dinners at the Burrow when they were around, and surprisingly enough, often when they were injured in training exercises or on missions.
Really, Hermione thought, the entire wizarding world seemed rather prone to injuries. When studying to be a Healer she never thought she’d recognize so many people weekly in the course of her work. Why did it seem magic was on the harming end as much as it was on the helping end of people’s day to day lives? There had to be someone in the Ministry with whom she could have a word about their public health and safety initiatives, or lack thereof…
“Granger, what are you wearing?” a sharp voice cut into Hermione’s reverie. Her roommate, Pansy, was giving her a disdainful look while eying her post-work attire: practical robes, jeans, and a mane of hair wrestled into a braid that had grown steadily in volume throughout the day.
“Came straight from work, Pans. Don’t start,” Hermione retorted.
“Mmmm, not to sound too much like my not-so-dearly-departed mother, but how in Merlin’s name will you snag a wizard with that level of effort?”
Pansy was flawless as always. Her razor sharp bob swayed lightly as she shook her head in faux disgust.
Ron awkwardly shifted away while Hermione rolled her eyes. Ginny let out a bark of laughter and stepped away as well, presumably to find Harry. This was Pansy’s game. Rile Hermione up enough through indignation or reverse psychology to get her way into dressing her how she wanted. Hermione gave in occasionally. She was human, after all, and enjoyed putting in the effort every now and then.
“No Theo tonight?” Pansy continued.
“Not yet I guess. He said he had an errand to run after we clocked out but he may make an appearance,” Hermione explained. Pansy nodded and drifted away, citing her need for another glass of champagne.
From the other side of the room, a tinkling laugh lilted over the sound of party-goers. Hermione’s eyes followed the noise. She saw Daphne Greengrass, who worked the counter at Flourish & Blott’s nowadays, leaning into Fred’s side.
His hand was still bleeding. Hermione saw George turn the corner and head for a top off of his firewhiskey. She grabbed him and hauled him face to face.
“George. Tell me right now whose blood this is and what the deal is with Fred’s hand. I don’t even see a wound!” she huffed.
George peered at his brother from across the crowd. Fred’s non-bleeding hand was running up Daphne’s arm and she was leaning into his shoulder as they spoke quietly to each other amid the party.
Looking back at Hermione, George saw a brief flash of emotion cross her face while she watched the scene unfold. He couldn’t quite place it, but he had an inkling.
“Alright, alright, hold your hippogriffs. It’s a contained version of sectumsempra. Don’t look at me like that! It isn’t dark magic. We worked it out - I’ll show you the runes, if you must know.”
Hermione’s shock was short lived. Anger - and a stab of concern - took over.
“And the blood? I know it isn’t human!”
George looked over his shoulder before taking a step closer. He lowered his voice and his eyes met hers.
“It isn’t blood, either. An extremely convincing transfiguration of our own creation. Don’t ask me more - I’m not telling you everything we went through and I can see the wheels in your brain turning. We’re piloting it tonight before introducing it in stores hopefully next quarter.”
“Hey now, what’s this?” Fred materialized at George’s side. Hermione leaned around him to see Daphne looking their way, frowning slightly.
“Giving away all our secrets, Gred? I expected better from you. One pretty word from a pretty lady and it all goes to shit. Loose lips sink shits, you know.”
“Ships,” Hermione corrected.
“Chips?” George said, tilting his head.
“Like I said, hips,” Fred crossed his arms looking playfully stern. The blood had finally stopped.
Hermione gave up. She swallowed down the unexpected surge of emotion she’d felt seeing him and Daphne so close and turned to face him.
“I’ll admit. I’m impressed, though I do have about a million questions. First and foremost, how have I never seen you at St. Mungo’s while you’re testing and developing this stuff? Do I even want to know?”
Fred uncrossed his arms and smiled.
“Ha. Easy. We’ve developed our own remedies or mastered Healing spells for most standard burns, bruises, black eyes, hair regrowing emergencies, you name it.”
He was casual about it. This extraordinary show of magic from product ideation, to creation, to Healing - it was all remarkable. He shrugged it off as if it was another Friday evening for him. Maybe it was.
Hermione shifted on her feet. The tingling she felt in her chest as she looked up at Fred was back. It was a pesky sensation - fleeting over the years as she found herself in close proximity to this confident, buoyant, firecracker of a Weasley. Similar to George but miles apart at the same time. He made her catch her breath outright at times with his brilliance, his heart, and his ability to get under her skin.
“And why have you never asked me to weigh in? To consult or double-check what you’ve created?” she deflected. Better to shove the emotions she wasn’t ready to examine quite yet to the side. George was suspiciously silent, watching the exchange.
Fred paused. He took a beat to smile down at her again. Her heart fluttered, unhelpfully.
“Don’t want to trouble you, Granger Goddess-mine! Besides, nothing we can’t handle,” Fred said with a smirk.
She took a steadying breath, feeling her cheeks color slightly.
“Well the blood really is interesting, and very well done. It would fool a non-experienced Healer certainly. Have you thought about selling it to St. Mungo’s or universities as a training tool?” she asked.
Fred paused, his drink halfway to his lips. He looked at George.
“That would be…” he started.
“Yes, but only if…” George jumped in.
“Well yes, but there’s definitely ways to scale if you…”
“Gamp’s Law, remember?”
“Eel spines, duh!”
“Ooh!”
Fred let out a loud whoop. He swept Hermione into his arms and spun her in a tight circle before she even realized what was happening. She was enveloped in his familiar, heady scent; sandalwood, juniper and gunpowder sent a shiver down her spine as she breathed him in deep.
Fred held her close as he set her down gently, his long arms low on her waist, hands splayed tantalizingly…
A loud crash interrupted the party. Harry was standing with a black eye and holding the leaking remnants of a beer stein.
Fred pulled away and Hermione felt the loss of his body heat immediately. Embarrassed to have quite literally been swept up in the moment, she stumbled before righting herself, cursing the butterbeer’s effect on her empty stomach. Surely that was the reason for her off-kilter movements, she thought, ignoring the pang in her chest as Fred crossed to Harry to slap him good-naturedly on the back while Ginny looked torn between laughing and annoyance at the mess covering her shoes.
George was still eyeing Hermione. After a moment he shrugged and took out a small journal with a soft leather cover from his pocket; she watched as he flipped it open and jotted something down with a quill he summoned from thin air.
“Thanks again for the idea, Herms. I’ll make sure we follow up on it,” he said, nodding towards Fred who was now pulling a matching journal from his back jeans pocket from the other side of the room. He nodded at the parchment, looked up to where George and Hermione were still standing together and gave them a salute before turning away.
“Wait a minute, did you just…?” Hermione started.
“Sure did, can’t sneak a thing past you, eh? Brightest witch of our age and all that?” he replied teasingly.
She rolled her eyes as he continued, “nicked another idea off you, really. Inspired by your Dumbledore’s Army coins. Forge and I can take notes and be in constant communication with our progress or with new project theories. Big time saver, for sure.”
“Brilliant,” she breathed, quite pleased with herself and the twins, once again.
“Well anyway, enjoy the party! And stay away from the steins. Another idea we’re not quite over the finish line with. It wasn’t supposed to give him such a shiner; it was supposed to shoot the beer out of his nose when he took a drink. Win some, lose some, I guess.”
George gave her his winningest smile and ducked back into the crowd.
Hermione enjoyed the rest of her evening catching up with friends and being pleased when Theo did in fact arrive. Theirs was an unexpected friendship; years of brushing elbows in the Hogwarts library never turned into anything more until they started Healer training at the same time, post-war. Theo was brilliant, petulant, over the top, rakish, intense and fiercely loyal, depending on the occasion. He pushed her to be a better Healer and she enjoyed his company at the hospital, even if his mood swings could be a bit unpredictable. She had to admit, it was nice to have her own friend, along with Pansy, outside of Harry and the Weasleys.
“Sickle for your thoughts?” he asked, as they opened the door to walk towards the apparition spot.
She side-eyed the seemingly innocuous pumpkin still sitting on the stoop. It appeared willing to let them pass without incident this time.
“Just thinking about all the magic that goes into these Wheezes products. Even if it seems a bit… uncontrolled in the moment,” she answered truthfully.
“Ah yes,” he responded sagely. “The products are what takes up your precious brain space when you think about the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. Not at all the Weasleys themselves. Or even one Weasley in particular…?”
Hermione stiffened slightly. Perhaps, she conceded mentally. Yes, perhaps she nursed a quiet inkling of a faint whisper of a soft spot of the smallest magnitude in her most wistful moments of a certain twin with a brilliant smile and the most soul-searching eyes she’d even encountered - but surely Theo wasn’t aware of this. Even Ginny, as brash and omnipresent in all of Hermione’s interactions with her family didn’t know.
“Yes, Theodore. The products are what stoke my interest,” she summoned her haughtiest, swottiest voice to shut down what he clearly thought he knew. It fell flat, even to her own ears.
“I don’t know about stoking but stroking I know and that man without a doubt would bend you over without hesitation and - ”
She cut him off by hip checking him hard enough he had to catch himself from falling into a bush.
“Don’t Avada the messenger, dearie,” he laughed as she attempted to ignore his insinuations. “He’s down to ride the Granger Express.”
They reached the apparition point. Hermione was trying her best not to smile or appear flustered (or Merlin forbid, hopeful) by Theo’s words.
“The Granger Express is not issuing tickets at the moment. Thanks for the escort, Theo. See you at work,” she said, turning on the spot before he could issue any additional ridiculous statements about Fred’s interest (or non-interest, more like) in her.
With a pop, she was home.
There’s no way he looks at me like that, she thought to herself as she took in her empty living room. Crookshanks was lounging in his cat tree, a soft orange wheel who didn’t so much as wake up when she appeared in thin air in the same room as him after all day apart.
I’m Ron’s ex, to him, even if it was just a fling years ago. A little sister type who’s always been around and always will be. Sure, he flirts, but he flirts with everyone!
Right?
A tapping at her window caught her attention. Perhaps an owl for Pansy? She didn’t get much post after hours. If the hospital needed her urgently, they’d floo.
Crossing the room she opened the window for the beautiful bird. The tawny owl landed on her sill and stuck its left leg out. Hermione unfurled the missive; her heart jumped as she took in the bright purple WWW seal on the letter.
She paused and took a deep breath before opening the note.
A voice in the back of her mind reared to life while she looked down at the letter, running her fingers over the wax.
Maybe he flirts with everyone, but does he owl everyone? Late at night? After just having seen them with no reason to continue their conversation?
She shook her head, clearing the conflicting signals in front of her. Just open it, and see what we’re dealing with. Maybe it’s from George, after all.
Dear H GG-M,
Cheers for the idea about contacting St. Mungo’s to pitch selling our fake blood. A little bird (Georgie) told me you were interested in our journals too. Please find attached to dear Athena your very own!
Yours,
The best-looking, strongest, and smartest too now I think on it, Weasley brother,
Fred
Hermione’s head snapped up to the bird. Athena, she realized, had another small item wrapped around her other leg. She released it, giving the bird a few treats and extra pets before closing the window and turning back to the living room.
In a daze, she made her way to the couch and plopped down onto the worn surface. Pansy hated this couch. Each day Hermione awoke and it was still here she considered it a small miracle.
She cracked the journal cover; soft leather again but this one was a deep navy.
H GG-M,
The journal will vibrate slightly when you receive a message. The text will remain as we write back and forth unless you choose to clear it (“missive managed”).
Thanks again for the tip. Maybe I will consult you more.
-F
Her eyes flew over the page, re-reading the note several times before she truly absorbed the words. As we write back and forth, she realized. He wanted to talk to her. More. Tonight. In the future.
She flicked her wand to boil water for tea, stewing over what to respond and what would feel appropriate given they rarely spoke frequently before. Looking at the clock she realized it was nearing 12:45 am. Would he still be up? The owl essentially just arrived, yes, but perhaps he sent Athena off and went to sleep?
Hermione allowed herself a cleansing exhale before summoning a ballpoint pen and committing to her response.
Dear most superlative Weasley brother (your words, not mine),
I do appreciate the journal, thank you. It makes me happy to see you bring these ideas to life and all you create from just your imagination. Well, and George’s imagination too, I suppose.
Happy to consult as needed to keep your life and limb in tip-top shape.
-Hermione
There. She did it. Time to walk away before she spent the remainder of her time awake fretting over her message and how he may read it.
Before she could even finish the thought, his response came quickly, signaled by the gentle buzz of the journal still in her lap.
Ah, but by calling me the most superlative Weasley they became your words, just as they are mine. I’m happy you’re happy, and I’m happy we agree on how magnificent, marvelous and prodigious I am.
I’d have to be if I wanted to keep up with the Hermione Granger, wouldn’t I?
Hermione gawked at the little book. While shock was her initial reaction, she felt her cheeks flush immediately thereafter. Her kettle started to boil and she quickly silenced it, turning back to the journal.
The butterbeer was long worn off; the late hour and Fred’s unique confidence morphed into the push she needed to return his playfulness with her a version of her own.
You want to keep up with me, then? What if I wanted to end up ahead? Or on top?
She released a shaky breath, surprised at her own escalation, but proud of her bold streak. She was a Gryffindor after all. A minute passed, or perhaps 10 seconds, she wasn’t sure. She started at the page, willing his response to come faster, dread building in her stomach that she had completely misread the situation.
I want whatever you’re willing to give, Hermione.
She blushed harder, impossibly. Really, how much more blood could make its way to her face? If she tried to stand, surely her legs would give out.
I want you to want to give it to me.
Her eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. The more she re-read the message the more she felt a tension building in her lower navel and a hot stab of want course through her. Merlin, this man had her fanning herself with two sentences written in absentia from the opposite end of town. She wouldn’t stand a chance if he actually said these things to her face. Would he, one day? Maybe if the time was right and she knew for a fact…
Without warning, the floo activated from across the room. Hermione emitted a stangled shriek and fell to the floor. The journal went flying; Crookshanks shot out of his tree and hissed in retaliation for the disruption to his precious sleep.
She scrambled up to her knees, hoping against hope that Fred Weasley had not seen her create such a scene. Relief flooded her as the very judgmental, very scowling head of her roommate bobbed in the green flames.
“Really Granger, what the living fuck was that about? You survived a war and are a Healer in high pressure situations. You’re telling me a floo call after midnight - when I know you’re still awake drinking tea - are going to be what makes you crack?”
Hermione took a deep breath, trying and failing to steady her racing heart.
Pansy continued. “Anyway, I’m calling from Longbottom’s. I’m staying here and didn’t want you to worry. Though now I feel like I should be worried about you, for some reason,” she trailed off with a raised brow.
“Fine, fine, all fine here. I’ll be fine,” Hermione assured her while avoiding her eyes.
“Hmm, yes you sound like the most fine person ever, actually,” Pansy retorted.
Staring pointedly at a spot just directly above Pansy’s head, Hermione let out “have a good night!” in what she hoped was a normal voice - one a fine person would use, if they were able.
The fireplace sputtered out as Pansy pulled away. Hermione rose to collect the journal. In the rush of Pansy’s ambush she had blissfully been reprieved of having to formulate a response to Fred. She was grateful, really. The brief interruption had stopped her from letting her lust take full control of the ballpoint and penning back, “yes, yes please. I want to give you everything tonight, please.”
She opened the journal, still unsure what she would write when she saw a third message waiting from Fred.
Missive Managed me, I overstepped.
I don’t want to make you uncomfortable - have a good night, Hermione.
The journal dropped from her hands to the floor as she hung her head. The heat that had been building in her all night flooded away as well. She was left with a sense of dread filling her chest in its wake.
As she crawled into bed searching desperately for the sleep she knew wouldn’t come any time soon, the voice in the back of her head chimed in with a parting thought. A flicker of optimism and curiosity in a sea of unexpected regret.
Well, we know where he stands. Where do we go from here?