Smoke Signals
The next time Fred saw her break was on a Tuesday.
The sky had barely turned gray when the owl arrived—ragged, streaked with blood, a tiny parchment tied to its leg. It wasn’t even a proper message, just a name, a time, and a location. Grimmauld Place. Emergency meeting. No signature. But they all knew what it meant.
The Order was calling everyone in. Something had gone wrong.
They arrived by Portkey in groups. Fred and George came in with Bill and Arthur, wands already drawn. Hermione arrived ten minutes later with Kingsley and Tonks, hair windblown, her face pale.
The moment she saw Fred across the room, her eyes found his, like they’d been looking for him the whole way there.
“You alright?” he mouthed.
She nodded. He didn’t believe her.
The room buzzed with tension. Chairs scraped. Boots thudded. Everyone smelled like sweat and soot.
“Three dead,” Moody barked once everyone had gathered. “Ambush outside Derby. Death Eaters had it planned. Macmillan, Broderick Bode, and Caradoc Dearborn. We were lucky to get anyone out.”
A heavy silence fell.
Fred felt Hermione freeze beside him. She was gripping the back of the chair so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
“That’s not all,” Kingsley said grimly. “There’s chatter about Hogwarts. They’re planning something. Something big.”
More mutters. A few gasps.
And then, someone asked the question no one wanted to say aloud.
“Was Harry there?”
“No,” Kingsley said quickly. “This wasn’t his mission.”
Fred didn’t miss the way Hermione’s body sank just slightly in relief. But the guilt that followed was written all over her face.
She was relieved it wasn’t him. Even though it meant it was someone else.
When the meeting ended, she didn’t speak to anyone. She left the room with quick, tight steps and disappeared down the hallway.
Fred waited exactly thirty seconds before following.
He found her in the drawing room, standing by the old fireplace, her hand braced against the stone mantel, breathing in shallow, controlled bursts.
“Hermione.”
She didn’t turn around.
“They’re all so young,” she whispered. “They had families. People who loved them.”
Fred took a slow step closer. “So do we.”
“I feel like I’m drowning,” she said, her voice barely audible. “And I keep pretending I’m not. But I am.”
Fred hesitated, then walked over and gently touched her arm. She flinched, then let out a shaky breath and turned to him, eyes wet.
“I didn’t even know Caradoc that well,” she said. “But he helped me once. During training. He covered for me when I messed up a Disillusionment Charm. I told myself I’d thank him properly. And now I won’t. He’s just… gone.”
Fred didn’t say anything. He simply pulled her into a hug.
She didn’t resist.
For a moment, she just stood there, frozen against him. Then her arms came up, tight around his waist, clinging like he was the last solid thing in the world.
Fred held her. Not like a friend. Not like a brother might. But like someone who needed to. Who wanted to.
He didn’t say it would be alright. He didn’t lie.
Instead, he said softly, “You don’t have to be brave with me.”
She made a sound—a half-laugh, half-sob—and buried her face in his chest.
“I don’t know what I’d do if Ron or Harry—”
“I know,” he said, cutting her off gently. “I know.”
The fire crackled beside them, casting long shadows over the walls.
After a long time, when her breathing had evened out and her grip loosened slightly, she stepped back. Her face was blotchy, tear-streaked, and still beautiful in a way Fred didn’t know how to handle.
“Sorry,” she said quietly, wiping her cheek with the sleeve of her jumper. “That was… a lot.”
Fred shook his head. “That was human.”
She looked up at him. “You always know what to say.”
“Only when I stop trying to be funny.”
“You don’t have to stop being funny.”
Fred smiled faintly. “Good. Because I was about to ask if you wanted to hear my impression of Mad-Eye Moody giving a motivational speech.”
Hermione let out a real laugh this time. It was small, but real.
And Fred felt something shift again.
A thread pulling tighter. A spark catching.
She didn’t look away this time. And neither did he.
⸻