Hermione lay bleeding on the grass, holding a hand to the bloody stump that was once Fred Weasley's arm. Fred gazed back at her, begging for some sort of comfort but Hermione couldn't provide it. She had nothing to say. She had for a fleeting moment let herself relax. Let herself believe that Voldermort was dead, and therefore all was to be right in the world. There was to be weddings, parties and bright sunny Sunday mornings. She wasn't suppose to shed anymore blood. She wasn't suppose to lose anyone else. She'd lost enough people. She had killed enough. She had sacrificed enough. Hermione was tired, so beyond tired. Tired of losing. So she let her eyes flutter closed, and Fred watched as Hermione let herself once again, slip into a false sense of security. TW: dark themes, blood, death, fighting, hospitals, survival

Fred Weasley; one half of the Weasley Twins Hermione Granger; Brightest witch of her age She cannot stand him, until he decides he loves her. "Granger, my Love, you just hate that you love me." -Fred Weasley (Ongoing)