Chapter Text
Sleeping in a new place was always a difficult task. Sleeping in a house where the pictures on the walls ranted about how unwelcome you were, was harder. Hermione lay on the lumpy mattress in her new room at 12 Grimmauld place. The smell of damp and decay leached from her sheets, persistent even after many cleaning and freshening charms from Mrs Weasley. She tossed hot from the summer heat, then cold from the lingering presence in the house that was watching her, hating her. If whatever it was still had access to magic she was sure it would have cursed her by now.
Should she have come here? She felt guilty about leaving her parents so soon into the summer break. She barely saw them during the year, and had left them once again in favour of a gross house in the magical world. Not that she knew the state of the accommodation when Dumbledore had invited her to stay.
Why had he invited her here? And why couldn’t they see or talk to Harry?
Dumbledore had made her promise not to put anything in writing about where she was in her letters to Harry. She understood the need for security, but it seems cruel not to bring him here too. He would love to be with Sirius. He needed support after Cedric’s death, not isolation. Or was she here for her own safety? As Harry Potter’s muggle born best friend. If that was the case why weren’t they protecting her parents? They would be at risk now if anyone came looking for her. It was all so confusing.
She hated not having all of the information. That was what she did. Research and accumulate knowledge to be prepared for whatever came her way. With people blocking her at every turn, she felt like a sitting duck.
Hermione popped on her slippers and slowly made her way downstairs to find the little library she had spied earlier. She would have to be careful opening the books, as she was sure some were warded against muggleborns, but the tomes that had been collected by this historic family were sure to be fascinating.
Avoiding eye contact with the heads of the deceased house elves, she snuck down the stairs, her resolve to put more effort into S.P.E.W revlitalised by sight of the grotesque trophy of centuries of slavery. Why were wizards so prejudice? From blood purity and muggles to other magical species. Wizard kind really thought they were superior didn’t they?
Well, thought Hermione, as being someone from both world, I can positively say, wizards are way behind the times with innovation and technology, and honestly, we’re not even the most magical beings. Elves can do so much more magic than we can.
Hermione found the door to the library and quietly slipped inside, distracted by her internal rant.
“Granger,” a warm voice greeted. Her eyes scanned the room quickly to find one of the twins set up behind a makeshift potions station hidden away in a small nook at the back of the library. The positioning of his desk, she noted, was just out of sight from the door. Surely this was incase an adult, specially Mrs Weasley decided to do rounds to check everyone was in bed.
“Weasley” she greeted, not quite sure yet which one she was talking too. Oh she could tell the twins apart. That hadn’t been an issue for her for a while now, but it wasn’t as easy in a dark room this far away. “Nice spot you got here. Mind if I join you for a bit? I’m a good study partner, you won’t even know I’m here.”
He grinned at her, seemingly amused by her pitch.
“I don’t think I could keep you out of this room if I tried, little bookworm. Gotta sign a NDA tho, proprietary material being discovered here, and can’t have you blabbing.”
She was closer to him now. The light from the candles he lit were licking his face, outlining his jawline. His hair glowed like embers in a campfire, warm and dangerous. His blue eyes sparkled, not because of the candle light, but with mischief and curiosity.
This was Fred.
She had many ways to tell the twins apart. A freckle here and there. Scars on the hands. Slightly different senses of humor in funny quips. But the most foolproof method of discovering identity was in the eyes. The window to the soul.
George’s eyes were bright with life, full of compassion and laughter. They had a lighter spirit to them.
Fred’s eyes were more interesting to Hermione.
They sparkled. His internal flame was so intense it radiated out his eyes, flicking through complex thoughts in a matter of moments. In his eyes she could see his raw intellect, his curiosity and his creativity. She could also see when he was burning with anger. It was generally assumed by most of the wizarding population that the twins didn’t care about anything besides causing chaos, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. They cared. Fred cared too much. She saw the disappointment in his face when people couldn’t figure out which twin he was. The self flagellation when a new invention malfunctioned. She saw his devastation when Mrs Weasley threw away his creations.
“I’m surprised you know what an NDA is Fred,” she looked up, noting the pleasure in his eyes when she got his name right. “I’ll sign one for you, but I’ll be checking the fine print carefully.”
“Please Hermione, If I wanted to trick you into doing something for me, I’d use my charm, not a legally binding document.”
“How about a pinky promise then?” She offered, extending her pinky.
He looked confused for a moment before looping his pinky through hers. His hands were much bigger than hers, freckled and calloused from days in the sun gripping his beaters bat. His hand was warm and heat spread from the small points where their fingers to the rest of her body.
“Hermione Granger, do you pinky promise not to tell anyone the going on inside this room, and the depth of genius that is taking place.”
“Fredrick Weasley, I pinky promise not to tell anyone about the goings on, inside this room.” She paused, waiting from the prompt she knew was coming
“And….?” He leaned in closer, his eyes, searching her face, daring her.
“And I promise not to tell of any genius I see.” She smiled warmly up at him.
He pulled the hand that was attached to hers towards his lips and pressed a quick kiss to his thumb, while he stared deep into her eyes.
“Gotta seal the deal with a kiss.” He grinned.
She mimicked his movement, kissing her own hand. It felt oddily intimate. Fred was the type of person try to change a pre-established function of society, add his own special spin, make it new and exciting. Only he could reinvent the wheel, or in this case a pinky promise.