Midnight (Fred/Hermione, G) (original) (raw)
| [ | Tags | | | 100quills, drabble, fred/hermione, oneshot | ] |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| [ | Feeling | | |  creative |
] |
| [ | Listening | | | Frank Sinatra | ] |
Title: Midnight
Author: Me
Rating: G
Prompt Set: (e.g. 100.4) 50.3
Prompt: 033 Midnight
Word Count: 836
It has become something of a ritual, almost a habit now. She lies awake every night (sleep hasn’t come to her in months) and stares at the ceiling, thinking about what’s ahead. Eventually the floorboards outside creak slightly as he passes, and in a little bit she hears a faint whistling as the water in the teapot comes to a boil. Then she pushes the covers off and quietly exits the room, closing the door ever so slowly so as not to wake Ginny.
When she slides into a chair, he places a mug in front of her, the tea steaming gently and casting the comforting scent of peppermint into the air. As always he takes the place across from her and they sit there in silence, sipping their drinks. They never speak, or really even make eye contact. Somehow just the other’s presence is enough, and anyway explanations are meaningless in these days.
But one night she is surprised to find him looking up at her when she comes down the stairs, and when she takes the mug from his hand and sits down, he breaks the code of silence they have operated under for so long.
“Hermione-I’m scared,” he says quietly, voice cracking slightly on the last word. She sets the cup down and meets his eyes and then before she knows it she is on the other side of table enfolding him in her arms and he is holding on to her like a drowning man, shoulders heaving.
And nothing she has been through with Harry has ever frightened her as much as seeing Fred Weasley cry. He is supposed to be the one who keeps them all laughing, the one who doesn’t take anything too seriously, except the pranks he pulls. She wonders fleetingly for a second if this is also a joke but when he pulls back and meets her gaze she knows it isn’t. He’s never been more serious in his life.
He scrubs at his eyes with the collar of his sweater, looking away, and they sit in silence. “Do you remember when we first started doing this?” he finally asks. She blinks but is thankful for the change of subject.
“Yes,” she says cautiously. “It was about the third night I couldn’t sleep, and I started hearing sounds from the kitchen, so I got up and came down-”
“You scared the hell out of me too,” Fred reminisces, a shadow of his familiar smile returning to his face.
“Well, I thought you were a Death Eater or something! The way you were creeping around-from upstairs it sounded awfully sneaky-”
“I was trying not to wake anyone!” he exclaims in a whisper, smile now back in full force. She stifles a laugh and is seized by a sudden impulse to hug him again.
A slight “ Oof!” comes out of his mouth as she squeezes her arms tightly around his waist. “What was that for?” he asks, puzzled, when she releases him. She shrugs, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks and avoids his eyes, scooping up her mug and taking a long drink-then choking on the cold tea.
He thumps her back vigorously as she coughs, eyes watering. “All right there?”
“Yeah,” she manages, “fine-”
“Really? Sure you don’t need mouth-to-mouth? I’d be only too happy to oblige-after all, death by tea is a terrible way to go,” he says with mock seriousness.
“Fred!” She swats his shoulder and he catches her hand in his, pulling her toward him and she instinctively puts her other hand out to brace herself against his chest and suddenly his face is inches from hers and she can’t quite breathe and she wants to say something, is thinking of Ron asleep upstairs, how he wouldn’t like this but she still hasn’t pulled away, and then he kisses her.
His lips are warm and his breath still scented peppermint from the tea and she leans into him, returning the kiss. Dimly she thinks, this is Fred Weasley, Ron’s brother, but a little voice returns, yes, it is, what’s your point? And she can’t argue with that, because the way Fred is kissing her has driven all misgivings from her head. He releases her hand and curls his arm around her, pulling her closer, caressing her back, running his tongue over her bottom lip, and the sudden sensation shocks her into awareness.
She yanks back. “What-what are you doing?” she exclaims breathlessly. He opens and closes his mouth, looking like he’d just been hit between the eyes, and she sits, frozen to her chair, heart thumping, cheeks flushed.
“I…I don’t know,” he says finally, clearing his throat. “But you didn’t seem to mind it all that much.”
Her heart pounds faster and she thinks she must be possessed or something because she’s opening her mouth and before she can think twice she says, “Well, if you don’t know what you’re doing, we should try it again, and see if we can figure it out.”