Chance--A Fremione OneShot

Sixth Year: Poison

"The Fat Lady was snoozing and not pleased to be woken, but swung forward grumpily to allow them to clamber into the mercifully peaceful and empty common room. It did not seem that people knew about Ron yet; Harry was very relieved: He had been interrogated enough that day. Hermione bade him good night and set off for the girls' dormitory."

—J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 19

***

The best part about having a reputation for following the rules was that no one ever suspected Hermione of plotting anything. After she and Harry parted ways to their respective dormitories, she had only to loiter in the girls' staircase a few minutes for the common room to empty. She snuggled into an armchair in the corner and let her mind wander while she waited. Her meet up with Fred that afternoon replayed in her mind.

"It's him, isn't it?" Fred had asked her with enough resignation to shatter Hermione's heart. He had manage to get away from his family for a few minutes and had pulled her into one of many hidden alcoves that speckled the castle.

"Look, Hermione," Fred had went on, "it's okay. This, what we have— I mean, whatever it is we're doing here—" But the rest of Fred's words had been engulfed by Hermione lips. Hardly believing her daring and without fully registering what she was doing, she had pushed herself up on her tiptoes, laced her fingers into Fred's hair at the nape of his neck, and pulled him in. She had kissed him hard with a desperate fervor. Though Hermione had surprised herself, Fred had not seemed caught off guard by her kiss. Rather, he had wrapped his arms around her almost instinctively, cradling her body close to his. Warmth had radiated between them as Fred sighed into their kiss.

A minute later they had pulled apart, and the familiar grave expressions that had permeated the day slid back onto their faces. After all, Ron had just been poisoned, and practical realities like the distance between them, the very different circles of their lives, and the reactions of George, Ron, and Harry were they to be discovered bombarded them.

"There's nothing with Ron," Hermione had said at last, breaking the thickening silence. "Sometimes I think there should be, or there might be, then nothing happens. It's not like with you. I've never—er, you know—at all, with Ron." Fred had grinned, and Hermione recalled the glint in his eyes. Was it triumph?

Before she could think on it more, the portrait hole swung open, bringing her back to the present as it allowed Fred to clamber in. He was tall, though not quite as tall as Ron, and cut an impressive figure in his dragonhide suit. They stared at each other, and Hermione wondered if Fred felt as nervous as she did at that moment. Whenever they got together, it was usually by chance. It wasn't their style to plan a clandestine meeting by the fire. The inviting comfort of the room, the dim lighting, and the unusual intimacy of having the entire room to themselves struck Hermione. She felt her cheeks redden. Fred cleared his throat.

"This is a bit awkward," he tried to laugh. "It's weird being back in here. Seems like longer than a year since we left. Everything's changed so much."

Hermione smiled faintly.

"You're as gorgeous as ever," Fred said as he crossed the room, tossed aside his blazer, and sank onto a couch facing the fire. He didn't look at her as he spoke. It could've been a trick of the light, but Hermione thought she saw the color rise in his cheeks. She moved from her tucked-away armchair to sit next to him. "I think about you, did you know that?" he said.

Hermione didn't know how to respond to this, so she remained silent.

"I mean, not all the time," Fred rambled on, "cause we're so busy with the shop and production and inventing and marketing. Sometimes we're so busy I forget to eat. It's things like that I miss about home, or even about being here." A grin stole over his face. "You remember that night in the kitchens? And the night before when we didn't quite make it to the kitchens?"