Fred's Favorite Part Of Hermione
1994
He makes his way out of the Great Hall, dress shoes lightly tip-tapping against the stone and echoing into the hall. He loosens his bow tie, casting a quick cooling charm on his face. Gods, it can get hot in that room. He isn’t quite sure how none of the ice sculptures didn’t melt. His jacket, long disappeared with George when he and Alicia Spinnet snuck out of the Hall. His own date, Angelina, having retired from the ball earlier, left Fred with the feeling of needing to get out of the sweaty ballroom. He certainly didn’t need to watch Lee snog with a sweet looking Hufflepuff longer than he already had.
He snorts at the memory and rounds the corner in the direction of the kitchens, pausing when he hears the soft sounds of crying from further ahead. He sees periwinkle shoes sticking out from an alcove, tan legs disappearing behind the cutoff of the wall. He slowly continues forward, hoping it isn’t anything too serious. The legs dip into vibrant ruffles of a dress that he knows. He, along with half the school, had spent ample time entranced by the witch wearing it. He watches Granger kick off the satin shoes and drop her head into her slender hands, a silver bracelet sliding down her arms as she shakes.
Sure, he’s seen her get a little misty in the eyes from frustration and nerves, but he’s never seen her nearly sobbing before. Even when Harry and Ron spent part of last year ignoring her, or even over the summer when the disaster at the World Cup happened. He strides forward and kneels down as he places a hand on her shoulder and one on her knee. He feels her startle, clearly not having heard him approach.
“Alright Granger?”
Her eyes are filled with tears, cutting tracks down her pretty face. She also clearly didn’t apply her makeup with magic, black streaks around her eyes making it evident. Her bottom lip is trembling in effort to keep any more sobs in, reminiscent of last year when they all slept in the Great Hall.
“I-yeah, I’m fine, Fred.”
Her chin crumples as she sucks in another sharp breath, tears spilling once more.
“No you’re not.”
Her eyes flash, the stubbornness briefly reappearing before leaving just as fast. “Your brother is a gigantic prat!” She explodes before even more tears slip down her pink cheeks.
He snorts out a laugh. “Too right you are. I’m assuming we’re talking about Ron and not my devilishly handsome and hilarious twin.”
“Yes.” She snorts in reply. She takes a second to wipe angrily at the black tracks. “He’s been a right prat this year. Treating me as a messenger owl because he couldn’t believe that Harry wouldn’t enter his name into this godforsaken tournament, like he hadn’t just been talking about wanting a normal year for himself for once.” She rants, gesticulating wildly. “Oh, but then! But then he asks me to the ball as a last resort, saying ‘Gee Hermione, you’re a girl. You’d go to the ball with me, right?’ As if no one else could have possibly thought to ask me not last minute and not as a last resort! He couldn’t fathom that anyone else would actually want to take me, least of all someone like Viktor.” Her hair is basically crackling with magic, tampered slightly by whatever spell she used to tame it. “Then he accuses me of fraternizing with the enemy !” She’s practically yelling by this point, and he’s so enraptured he barely has time to duck the wild hand she waves where his head was. “It’s not as if I’m the one that spent my time helping Harry when Ron had his own head lodged so far inside himself that he was basically Nearly Headless Nick.” She finishes with a huff.
He shakes his head with a smile. “Granger, he’s always been an idiot.” She frowns at him, obviously conflicted with the deep loyalty she feels, even when mad, and in confusion. “Ronald, while incredibly insecure and often prattish, has always put his foot in his mouth at the absolute worst moments. I love the little git, but he has the self awareness of bowtruckle.”
His hand tucks a stray curl behind her ear and then falls to rest on the warm curve of her shoulder. Her eyes track his movements, little flecks of honey visible in the soft candle light. She bows her head and exhales softly.
“I just thought, however misplaced, that he'd be happy for me. I’m not exactly most people’s first pick for anything non-academic related, that I was-” She breaks off and looks back into his gaze, “nevermind, it’s silly.” She looks away with a self deprecating huff.
“That you were what? It can’t be any more silly than accusing your best mate of fraternizing with the enemy .”
She looks back to him and he watches her mentally weigh what she’s going to say. “I was excited to share something with him because he knows how it feels to be desperate to break out of the image that others have painted for you.”
“What d’you mean?” He can feel his brows furrow in confusion.
“I just mean-” She sighs and scootches closer to him, eliminating most of the remaining space, “that everyone thinks I’m a know-it-all, boorish bookworm, that has a swotty personality and hates all things fun.” She murmurs. “I know some of it’s true, but that doesn’t mean I only want people to see me as that. There are other things about me that I want others to notice. I may not put as much care into my looks as Lavender or Parvati, but I still care . Even if I wish I didn’t want it, I still want someone to look at me and think I’m pretty. I don’t want them to think I’m some kind of stick-in-the-mud either.”
His hand slides down her arm to cover her own smaller one. “Granger, I think people would have to be bloody blind to think you aren’t pretty.” She chokes on a surprised laugh and he squeezes her hand. “ Especially after tonight. You have a smile that most would consider infections, you laugh with your whole body, and you have the warmest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.” Her eyes start to look a little misty again but he holds her gaze. “I’ll deny this to the top of my lungs, but you aren’t some kind of stick-in-the-mud either. Rules, while absolutely not my favorite, and, now that I’m thinking about it, should be the goal of most to bre-” He clears his throat at her dry look, “Right, rules, they have a place. You respect them but also know when they’re rubbish and should be broken because they aren’t fair to the people they’re impacting. You bring order to students that would otherwise be in chaos. That isn’t a bad thing.”
She smiles at him and sniffles a little, then laughs. “Gods, I always seem to be crying when you give me these pep talks, huh.”
He laughs and stands, her eyes tracking him with mirth and curiosity.
“Well, I just happen to know the best way to dry those tears up.” He offers her his arm and she tentatively, if not with a bit of confusion, places her hand in the crook of his elbow. “M’lady.” He bows and moves to clasp their opposing hands together and place one on her waist. “I’ve been told that I’m a devilishly good dancer.”
“But Fred, there’s no music!” She laughs as he starts to box step with her.
“I think I can fix that, per the lady’s request.”
He starts humming, perfectly in tune thank you very much, as he glides them over the stones. His shoes and her giggles are the only thing that compete with his humming, making the hallways echo. He glides her through different steps, twirling her when appropriate. He can’t help but glance down at her happy face, all previous morose thoughts lost to his ministrations to make her laugh. He dips her exaggeratedly, buzzing at the twinkle in her eyes and the feeling of her in his arms. When he pulls her back up, neither says anything at him eliminating some of the space that had been there previously. He continues to waltz, albeit slowly, with her to the music he hums between them.
He looks down at her, smile still pulling at both of their lips, and releases her one hand in order to place his at her waist. Her smile softens into something uniquely her and uniquely pretty as she trails her hands up to slide around his neck. His humming slows, eventually petering out as they gaze at each other, content with the silence. He shuffles them slowly, not really going in any direction, but swaying gently.
“‘M’sorry my brother said that to you. And I’m sorry it took him four years to realize you’re a girl.”
She hums and presses herself closer. “It’s ok Fred. The night wasn’t a total loss. I did get some top tier dancing in.”
He huffs a laugh. He sways them for a couple more beats, relishing in the way she fits against him. She’s warm and relaxed, allowing him to do most of the movements. He rests his head atop hers, feeling her tuck her own against his chest. The scent of lavender, and something uniquely Granger, permeates around them. Her hair is smooth. While pretty and tamed, he almost misses her unruly curls that seem to have a life of their own. He just barely pulls away, only moving enough so he can properly look down at her face.
“You really are beautiful tonight, Granger.”
She gets a wrinkle between her brows. “Hermione.”
“Huh?” He feels his own scrunch in confusion.
She holds his gaze with what he knows is determination. “Hermione. You’ve been calling me Granger for years. I think it’s only fair you call me Hermione.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” He smirks at her.
“Yes, I do.” She’s all Gryffindor courage and bravado.
He hums and pretends to think it over, laughing when she flicks the back of his neck. “Ok, ok!” He settles and lets his lips quirk a soft smile of his own. “You look gorgeous tonight, Hermione. Krum was lucky to escort you.”
She smiles up at him, all radiant warmth and contentedness. He pauses for a moment, feeling his stomach and brain go fuzzy at having her complete and undivided attention. He shakes himself, not allowing the implication of that to make it very far. He breathes out a steady breath before slowly leaning down and placing a kiss between her brows. He can hear and feel her suck in a surprised breath at the contact. He tries not to squirm and second guess himself, borrowing some of that Gryffindor bravery from before. He rests his forehead on hers briefly before pulling away, hoping that he won’t come face to face with an angry glare. She’s not angry, but it’s a look that he’s seen her wear when faced with a particularly hard question in an essay. The little furrow on full display between her perfectly plucked brows.
“That’s perhaps the most beautiful part of you. You may look more gorgeous tonight, but that’s, without a doubt, one of the most mesmerizing parts of you.”
She opens her mouth, no sound coming out, and her eyes still firmly holding his gaze. Her mouth closes and then reopens once more, trying to find words. Whatever, if anything, she was about to say is cut off by the clearing of a throat from their right. Professor McGonagall is standing two meters from them, formal robes still pristine. She’s got her trademark brow raised, lips drawn tight, look on. Although, if Fred had to guess, it wouldn’t be from annoyance, but rather amusement.
“Did you two know that the Ball ended thirty minutes ago? Students are supposed to be back in their dorms by now.” She quirks her eyebrow impossibly higher.
Fred sees Hermione blush a pretty pink across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She retracts her hands from him and furiously starts straightening her dress of invisible wrinkles. One of his hands falls from her waist and the other remains there as she turns to address their head of house, resting on the small of her back now.
“O-of course, Professor! We’re terribly sorry. Oh, we must have lost track of time! I can’t believe-”
“Miss Granger, it’s quite alright. There is expected to be some leniency on a night like this. Young witches and wizards losing track of time is hardly something nefarious.” Her eyes glitter as she looks from Hermione to him. “Although, I do suggest that you and Mister Weasley make your way back to the common room, I’m sure some of your own housemates will have undoubtedly decided to continue the festivities. Perhaps a Vienna waltz could be next?”
Hermione sputters and stutters out a good night and another quick apology to the older witch. Her blush has doubled by this point, something that Fred finds more amusement in than he thought. He has thoughts racing through his head about how he can get that same color to return to her cheeks, different pranks and things to say filtering through as they start walking away. He catches McGonagall’s eye as they start to pass her. Yes, she seems to be quite amused at the two of them. She, in a move that still astounds him, winks as he’s almost completely out of her line of sight. He puts that at the back of his list when Hermione quietly groans in embarrassment at his side. His hand, having never left the small of her back, fiddles with the delicate zipper track. It hits them as they trek towards their tower, that the look she had before McGongall announced her presence was one he knew. It was the face she made when she saw something, usually in regards to magic, in a new light. Like she finally made sense of something that had an obvious answer all along. He definitely didn’t see his Yule Ball ending like this. It ended better than he would have thought.