Log in

No account? Create an account
26 January 2008 @ 07:16 pm
Shamelessly - Mature - OneShot - Fred/Hermione  
Pairing: Fred/Hermione
Rating: M
Warning: Sexual content
Genre: Humor/Romance
Summary: An evening tryst leads Hermione to the conclusion that she and Fred were meant for more than secrecy. All she has to do is let herself say those three words. (Fred/Hermione OneShot)

Banner made by
: Kelstar of The Dark Arts!


By: atruwriter
Challenge issued by: Tahneese


“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Hermione protested lamely, her voice coming out in a breathless huff.

He smirked up at her. “That’s the best part,” he replied cheekily.

She rolled her eyes, about to snap something back at him, but instead letting out a strangled moan.

“Hermione, love, if you don’t want to get caught, you’re going to have to try and keep it down,” he told her mockingly, licking his lips and winking at her.

She glared, feeling the flush of her nearly naked body thrum with anger and excitement. “It’s moments like these that make me wonder how I ended up here,” she told him.

He stroked the inside of her thigh, grinning as she shivered and her eyes fluttered. “If I remember correctly, you kissed me on a dare and never looked back.”

She snorted, trying to regain her composure and failing miserably. “That is not how it happened!” she exclaimed, lifting her nose and pursing her lips. His hands slid higher up her skirt, managing to pull it down her legs farther and expose her white knickers that she was only slightly regretful to admit were dampening by the second. Gods, he, of all people, should not have this effect on her. “I was accused,” she enunciated, “of never having thoroughly kissed somebody. Viktor didn’t count for some reason.” She crossed her arms over her shirtless chest and turned her eyes away from his shock of red hair and the freckles she’d counted on numerous occasions. Fifty three and a half. He said there was no such thing as a half freckle, but she begged to differ. He had one beside his dimpled right cheek. “You just happened to be near by and things simply… progressed.”

“Progressed to a secret relationship where you can’t keep your hands off me?” he teased, his brown eyes glittering up at her with mirth.

“My hands aren’t on you right now, are they?” she replied, lifting a brow.

“Because you’re trying to prove a point and you’re worried my family might hear you.” He managed to tug her skirt completely off and tossed it to his floor carelessly. “No use pretending, ‘Mione, you’re more than a little loud.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not my fault!” she denied. “You’re always doing that thing with… Well you know what you’ve done!” she said, becoming flustered as his fingers wrapped around the band of her panties. How had she come to this place? She wondered for the millionth time. Sure she knew what led to it. She never could stand being accused of being a prude. But what had led her to these secret trysts with him. Him; a man who didn’t seem to be her type at all. Bookish? Not likely. Rule abiding? Never. Still… Smart? Very. Handsome? Quite. Loving? Without a doubt. Strong? Completely. Funny? There was no one funnier. But she shouldn’t be here, she should be… Well, perhaps working? Or helping his mother prepare dinner or setting the table. Anything but lying on his bed and letting him… letting him… Oh wow, there was a reason she stuck around, wasn’t there

He tugged her knickers away, dragging them up her thighs with slow reverence. There was something about him in moments like this. He could be both serious and playful, but the look in his eyes was something else altogether. He was… He was hers. She’d never admit it aloud and she’d never tell him how it affected her when he stared at her so, but it was… intoxicating.

With her lower half bare, except for the knee high socks she wore, he made his way up her torso, placing small, gentle kisses against her abdomen as he went. He had the most adoring mouth. It always seemed to find just the right spot on her body. He tickled her ribs with his nose as he raised higher, his hands splayed out on her hips. She heard those words ring in her ears, that skip of her heart in her chest, that thrum through her whole body, making her toes curl. He’d said it before, didn’t spare a time when he didn’t feel like telling her. And he didn’t pressure her when she didn’t return it.

He popped the front clasp of her bra and pushed it to the side, revealing her small but perky chest. His hands cupped them as if magnetized to them, thumbs finding rosy centers and circling them for a reaction. He always smiled at her when she made that noise; something mischievous and loving in his face. Three and a half months they’d been doing this. Sneaking away to rooms and broom closets, to the flat above the shop and her mostly ignored flat. She spent more time with him than she was willing to admit. It wasn’t all this, either. Sometimes, they lie around and watched her telly, or he showed her his newest invention, or she’d lay back against his chest, a book propped on her knees, while he played with her hair and hummed some song she didn’t know.

It was turning out to be more of a relationship than she ever expected. There were things she knew about him that she’d never known before. His favorite ice cream; buttersnap crackle. His favorite band; The Shrieking Banshees (with the first lead singer but not the second). His favorite time of day; late at night, so late it was really the morning. He loved the stars; knew most of the constellations. She knew his favorite part of her, her ears oddly enough. He wouldn’t explain why, just said that’s what it was. Her favorite part of him… That half freckle. She kissed it in greeting every time she saw him. He smelled like potions ingredients, parchment, and the freshly mown grass.

His mouth was creating incredible havoc on her mind, laving at the sensitive bud at attention on her heaving chest. While one hand cupped and massaged the ignored breast, his other hand ran up and down her side, soothing her in a way only he knew how. His fingers were calloused and rough, but she’d grown to love that feel on her skin. His hair brushed against her, soft and ticklish on her ribs. She ran a hand through it, loving the feel of it beneath her fingers. She could feel his grin against her. As he detached his mouth from her, he lay his chin down in the valley of her breasts and looked up at her with a half-smirk.

“You’re incorrigible,” she told him, biting her lip to hide her smile.

“Can you expect any less from a Weasley twin?” he asked, lifting a brow.

She snorted, rolling her eyes.

He leaned up to kiss her, a chuckle still falling from his mouth as his lips met hers. She trembled from head to toe as she melted into his kiss. He could be so gentle, so unbelievably incredible sometimes. He tasted like cherry candies and butterbeer; an odd combination that fit him. His body lay across hers, strong and rather heavy. Her hands ran down his back, fingers bunching up his shirt as they went. He was still completely dressed and she didn’t bother with telling him it wasn’t fair, instead dragging it off of him and tossing it away. She loved the feel of his skin against hers, rough and toned. Her hands slid up and down his back before moving around to his front, wanting to feel every inch of him that was exposed.

He trailed away from her mouth slowly, leaving her panting, her eyes closed and her body lifting up to press into his. He made his way back down her torso, paying special attention to her neck and clavicle with his teeth. His tongue slid into her belly button as his teeth nipped around it and she cut the squeal off inside her throat, but he still heard her and laughed against her stomach.

He knelt between her open legs in nothing but his jeans, the belt undone. Tall, broad shouldered, freckles over his strong body. She could never get an exact number, but she continued to count them anyway. His hands sat on her knees, fingers flexed out around them, stroking her skin. He stared down at her with that expression again, the words going unspoken this time. He loved her. Loved her in the mornings; kissing her despite her warnings of morning breath. Loved her in the afternoons, when she ushered him away so she could put all of her attention on her work and books. Loved him in the evenings, when she was too tired to do anything but cuddle. Loved him in the dead of night, his favorite time, where she simply listened to him tell her some absurd story about a constellation that he made up on a whim. She usually fell asleep and he’d have to carry her to his or her room, but he never once complained.

Three and a half months, the longest relationship she’d ever really had. Viktor wasn’t really a relationship. Neither was Cormac. Blaise lasted only three weeks. Ron even less at two, with four break ups along the way. Joshua from work lasted one month and three days, but she was fairly certain he liked the other gender. Then there were those few dates with Seamus, but those felt uncomfortable and out of place and they’d agreed to settle on being friends. Hm, she hadn’t talked to him in some time. She wondered how he and Parvati were doing. Their baby would be seven months by now.

She’d sworn off men for awhile and that was when Ginny plain accused her of never snogging anybody right. Not thorough enough, not like she meant it. And she’d walked away in a huff, muttering under breath. Deciding she needed a cup of tea to calm her nerves she happened upon Fred in the kitchen, staring out the window at the sky, completely absorbed in thought. The next thing she knew, she was whirling him around and kissing him as if her life depended on it. He’d been stunned at first, simply standing there in shock, arms hanging limply at his sides. But then he was kissing her back, with teeth and tongue and lips. And his hands were roaming, sliding into her hair and his body was pressing her back against the counter. Before she knew it, she and Fred Weasley had snogged the living daylights out of each other in his mother’s kitchen.

They’d agreed to forget it when things quieted down and became slightly awkward. But when Molly asked her to drop something off with her twins, she went by their shop and George was out on a lunch break. The next thing she knew, she and Fred were using the back storage room for an intense snogging session that was interrupted by annoyed customers. Things simply heightened from there. She’d look for an excuse to come see him and he simply showed up out of the blue at her flat.

Two months passed and while they were lying on his kitchen table, clothes abandoned, bodies thrumming with near exhaustion, he’d said those words she’d never expected him to say. “I love you,” he’d told her, kissing her so gently she’d nearly forgotten her name. He hadn’t asked for it back, simply picked her up off the table and brought her to bed. He’d said it casually ever since, never once expecting her to say it back. She knew he wanted to hear it, but she appreciated that he was letting her decide whether or not that was what she wanted. Whether or not it was a relationship went unsaid. He didn’t date anybody else, told his family he wasn’t interested whenever they tried to fix him up with a “nice girl” they knew.

He kept their secret, never hinting that he wanted to let it out. But he held her hand with the cover of their robes or jackets when they went for walks through Diagon Alley, and he kissed her hello and goodbye every chance he got. Sometimes when he hugged her it seemed he’d never let go. He also blurted out little things randomly. “I got a pea lodged in my nose once. Mum had to take me to St. Mungo’s to get it out,” he’d said to her as they watched the commercials on the telly. There was nothing more than that. Just a little bit of his life shared. He did it often, really. And she admitted, if only to herself, that she loved knowing those little things about him. Things that probably very few knew or remembered.

Some days she wanted to tell him back that she loved him, but then her fear would creep in and she’d let his claim echo into the night, unanswered. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of being with him, or loving him, not exactly. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t the greatest guy she could ask for. He was better than any before him and sometimes, her mind wandered to a future with him. She always shook her head of the idea. This was Fred Weasley. Funny, rule breaking, nearly never serious, Fred Weasley. He just didn’t fit with Hermione Granger. Others would think it laughable. Sure they met on a physical level like no one before, but that didn’t mean… It couldn’t mean… And yes, she found herself watching him sleep sometimes. Tracing patterns with his freckles and wondering if a child between them would have red or brown hair. And okay, admittedly, when she thought of the word ‘love’ and the meaning, his face was conjured in her mind. She brushed it off as simply the reason that he was the only one to say it and mean it. She didn’t question his feelings it was her that had her confused.

Could she ever be with Fred? Really be with him? Let her fears and reserves melt away and just love him like he deserved to be loved? Yes? No? Maybe?

She felt his hands smooth down her thighs and she shuffled her way up his bed just slightly. Her head sat angled on his pillow, watching the tense of his shoulders and the curve of his body as he leaned forward to kiss down her thighs, tongue flicking out to taste her. When his mouth found her center, she gasped, her eyes rolling back. He threw her leg over his shoulder and her toes curled into his back, heels digging in. His hair brushed against her stomach and legs as he laved at her folds, top to bottom. Her back lifted from the bed, stomach tensing and thighs shaking.

She bit down on her lip hard, trying not to alert the others of what was happening in the room upstairs. She couldn’t imagine Molly’s face if she walked in on them. Worry and fear seemed to melt away as her mind focused solely on the feel of Fred’s tongue inside of her. A coil of heat wound in her stomach and her body seemed to lift and fall in measure with the pleasure he was causing.

She wanted to pull her hair out from the intense waves that flowed through her. Breathing became gasping, her body writhing, her hands clutching at his hair, his shoulders, his hands. His tongue seemed to be everywhere at once, tasting all of her, teasing her every nerve. His teeth made her body shudder, her hands clutch at him, her heart stutter. She could see flashes of light before her eyes and that edge was so close now, just waiting for her to jump over. He hummed against her and the vibration sent her flying.

She meant to bite back the shout, but her teeth let loose and her jaw fell lax. “Oh Gods!” she practically screamed into the room, her entire body spasming. She couldn’t find it in her to be upset about her lack of restraint and she could practically feel Fred’s self satisfied grin.

“I told you,” he said childishly.

She tugged his hair in response, her eyes falling shut once more and her body slumping back to the bed in pleasurable exhaustion. She could feel the wonderful flush of her skin, the hum of her body, the jerk of her thighs as she came down.

The door seemed to fly open and a worried George, Harry, and Ron stumbled inside, wands drawn.

Fred looked over at them with a lifted brow and a frown. He folded the sides of the blanket over her front, covering her. “Next time try knocking,” he told them, amusement in his voice as they stuttered and blushed, shifting on their feet.

Footsteps in the background alerted them to the rest of the family coming to “save” them from whatever danger lie in the room.

Harry turned around briskly. “Nothing to see! Everything’s fine,” he said, his voice cracking at the end.

“Well what was it, Harry? We all heard Hermione shout!” Molly said worriedly.

Fred smirked at her.

Lifting a hand to her eyes, Hermione scowled. “Nothing, Molly,” she called out, hoping she didn’t sound guilty. “Er, sorry for worrying you.”

“What are you doing in the twin’s room then, Hermione?” they heard her ask in confusion.

“Yes, what are you doing in here?” George wondered, grinning. “Or who, perchance,” he teased, quiet enough that his mother couldn’t hear.

Glowering, Hermione chucked a pillow at his head. “Er, Fred was, um, showing me something,” she replied, rolling her eyes. She was horrible under pressure.

Ron choked on a laugh, George snickered, and Harry covered his mouth, his face turning bright red.

“Are you all right then, he hasn’t done anything to you, has he?” Molly worried motherly.

“Oh Gods.” Hermione muttered under her breath.

“She’s fine, mum,” Fred replied, sighing. “Dinner smells great. We’ll be down in a minute.”

“Thank you, dear. I do what I can,” his mother said modestly.

George crossed his arms over his chest. “Sure you’re still hungry, Fred?”

“George Weasley!” Hermione exclaimed, her voice harsh and her eyes burning.

He grinned at her, winking, before he turned to leave. Ron and Harry left quickly, rubbing their necks and flushing uncomfortably. George turned back at the door, “By the way...” he said, lifting a brow and motioning to Hermione. “Wow! Never knew the little bookworm had it in her.” He winked at his brother. “Nice one, Gred.”

“Thank you Forge,” Fred replied, before half-glaring. “Now forget you ever saw anything or I’ll be forced to obliviate you.”

George nodded, bowing dramatically. “Butterfly tattoo? On Hermione? Never!” he exclaimed, walking away.

The door shut tightly behind him and Hermione sighed. She knew they shouldn’t have risked it at the Burrow. How had he coaxed her up here anyway? She furrowed her brow; all she could remember was his hands on her hips and his mouth on her neck. It all went fuzzy after that.

“Dinner will be interesting,” Fred told her, laughter in his voice.

She lifted her hand from her eyes to glare at him.

He shrugged. “Come on, love, what’s life without a little entertainment?”

“Even if it’s at our expense?” she asked, her voice nearly shrill. “I can’t believe I let this happen. What they must be thinking right now… I…” She huffed, shaking her head. “You’re not even embarrassed, are you?”

He stared at her a moment, his laughter and smile gone. “I’m not ashamed,” he said simply.

It was the first sign he’d shown that he didn’t care for it all being a secret and she felt a pang in her chest over the fact. He looked hurt. As if her being mortified was only because she was found with him, and not because she’d been completely naked and had a man’s head between her thighs. That was her fault though, wasn’t it? That she’d let him believe being seen with him in a romantic light wasn’t appealing in any which way. He climbed off the bed, gathering up his shirt and tugging it on. He didn’t wait for her, instead leaving the room, his expression rather dark and pensive.

Sighing at her folly, she got up off his bed and picked up her clothes, getting dressed quickly. She made a run to the bathroom to freshen up and then joined the rest of the family downstairs for dinner. She couldn’t look Harry or Ron in the face, although they didn’t appear to want to look at her either. They sat on the other side of the table, carefully avoiding anything involving her. She was sure it was just nerves rather than actually being upset with her over the fact. If they were mad, they’d have said something. Ron wasn’t one for keeping things to himself, really.

George wouldn’t stop smirking at her, it was becoming incredibly unnerving. And she was fairly certain he was staring at the exact place where her butterfly tattoo was. It took a lot not to throw a roll at his head.

She wasn’t sitting by Fred, but instead Charlie. He was a fascinating man. Sure loved his dragons and could tell her everything she ever wanted to know about the intriguing creatures. She spent most of her dinner chatting with him, trying to keep her mind off the sorry way they afternoon had turned after her and Fred’s tryst. Charlie kept her distracted and laughing, which she really needed at the time, since at least four family members weren’t talking to her and the rest were still curious about what happened upstairs. Fred’s dour mood left them with more questions, but they weren’t asking, simply watching.

Molly’s dinner was fantastic, as usual, and Hermione found herself amused as she heard Ginny forcing Harry down the stairs. She’d talked him into going to a Muggle club for the evening. Ever since the two hadn’t worked out, they’d become good friends. Harry had a long time fancy for Daphne Greengrass and Ginny had heard she was working the Muggle club network, so she was trying to get the two together. She already had Neville and had for six months now, so she was only going to encourage Harry. Ron wasn’t going, having to get home to his one year old son and wife, Luna, who decided not to come out as she felt that it was too close to Findraggle season, which brought out the rain, so said she and her dad. For some reason, she refused to Floo lately. She always had been odd, though, so Hermione didn’t question it.

“Harry James Potter, get your arse down here. We’re going to be late!” Ginny called from the bottom of the stairs.

“I thought that was fashionable or something,” he called back sadly.

Ron snickered. “Come on then, Potter, show us how Gin dressed ya up this time.”

“He looks good, Ronald!” Ginny half-shouted at her brother, turning to him with her hands on her hips and a frown on her mouth. “Just like last time and the time before that. It’s not my fault that you have poor fashion sense!”

“Oi! I do not! Luna picked this shirt out herself!” he exclaimed.

She stared at him witheringly. “Exactly.” She stomped, turning back to the stairs. “Now, Harry! Or Daphne will be snatched up by some metrosexual stud that got there on time.”

“But Ginny,” he whined, “I look like a man slut!”

Hermione tried to hide her laughter behind her hand. “Oh, Harry,” she called back, trying to sound reassuring. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

With a long, suffering sigh, he appeared at the top of the stairs and walked down them, shoulders slumped and face twisted in a pout.

His shirt was half open, revealing his hard chest, and his hair was gelled into a mess that actually looked quite good on him. If Hermione were to be honest, which was hard considering she thought of him in a purely friendly manner, he did look quite appealing. She still had no idea why Daphne hadn’t snatched him up. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been obvious in his affection so far. A dozen roses, an invite to a Quidditch game, a stuttering conversation that nearly nobody could make out, a blushing Harry that told her she looked pretty in yellow, and the always charming, “Your hair looks soft!” that he blurted out randomly one day as they met up in a coffee shop he knew she frequented. How could she not get the message? He was head over bloody snitches for her!

“Oh,” Hermione commented, nodding. “You look very handsome!”

“I look like a twit,” he replied scathingly.

She snorted. “No, no, you don’t. You look very… Er, sexy.” She shrugged.

Harry lifted a brow at her. “Really?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, nodding. “Daphne won’t know what hit her.”

He sighed before turning to Ginny. “I’m only wearing this because if it really did look bad, Hermione would’ve lied worse.”

“Great,” she said, nodding. “Let’s go then. Sooner we get you and Greengrass together, quicker I can get home to Nev.”

“Ew,” Ron muttered, wrinkling his nose.

Turning back, Ginny glared at her older brother. “Shut it or I’ll stuff that hideous shirt of yours down your throat!”

“Someone’s in a bad mood tonight,” Bill commented, amused.

Huffing, Ginny put her hands on her hips. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get his hair to sit like that?” she asked, pointing to the gelled mess on Harry’s head. He smiled apologetically, shrugging slightly. “Come on then, let’s go already.”

Waving farewell, Harry followed his ex-girlfriend to the floo grate.

“Well, I best be off,” Ron announced, standing from his armchair. “Luna was going to make something special for dessert tonight. She said it had an ingredient in it that very few used, let alone could see!”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, pursing her mouth so not to insult him or his wife. He disappeared into the green flames of the floo and she stood from the couch. Bill and Charlie were discussing their chess game in the corner and George was explaining a gadget to his father. Fred was nowhere to be seen and Hermione thought it best to go and help Molly clean up the kitchen. She wondered if perhaps Fred had apparated home and chewed her lip in thought. Should she go see him or just wait until it all passed? What if it didn’t simply go away? What if it all ended? That thought sent a sad chill down her back and she realized that she really relied on their time together more than she meant to.

Making her way to the kitchen, she felt her shoulders slump. As she stepped inside, she found Molly missing and another fixture leaning against the counter, staring out the window. She felt déjà vu at the moment and wondered if she should go on to repeat what happened the last time she found Fred alone doing the exact thing he was.

Her feet faltered on her walk toward him and her eyes turned to see that it was raining outside. Seemed Luna was right this time. Maybe not on Findraggle season, but at least on the raining part. Hermione had always loved the rain. As a child she jumped in the puddles and ran around in circles, getting soaking wet. But as she grew up, she learned that wasn’t at all intelligent. It was just cold, wet, and made her nose run. So she admired it from afar.

“Nice night,” he commented quietly, staring up at the stars still.

“It’s raining,” she replied, as if that made his statement wrong.

He turned, half-smiling at her. “You ever danced in the rain, ‘Mione?”

She looked at him like he was crazy, but then he was taking her hand and dragging her outside. She felt the water drench her clothes almost instantly and the mud squish under her shoes. “You’re mental, Fred Weasley. We’re going to catch our death out here.”

“Not if we dance fast enough,” he replied, looking down at her through dripping lashes. “Think you have it in you, Granger? Your legs looks a little shaky still, I might have to carry you!”

She shook her head at him, trying to suppress her smile. “We’re getting soaked, we should go in.”

“I dunno, the wet mop look doesn’t seem half bad on you,” he told her, taking her hands and beginning to twirl her around in a mock dance across the damp grass and mud.

“Well, sadly, it doesn’t suit you at all, I’m afraid,” she replied, trying to sound prim and chastising.

“Maybe it’ll grow on you.” He spun her around, wet fingers sliding over hers. He pulled her in closer and she felt their sopping clothes slap together. His hand sat on the middle of her back as he swayed them around, humming a tune beneath his breath.

“You’re going to owe me a hot bath after this,” she told him, chuckling as he turned himself away from her and then twirled back into her arm, batting his eyes at her dramatically.

“What’s wrong with the shower you’re having now? With me in it, it should be the best you’ve ever had.” His arm tightened around her waist and she felt the dance slow slightly as he looked down at her softly.

“Where do you come up with these things?” she wondered, her voice taking on a slight awe that she couldn’t cover.

“I took sarcasm as my foreign language course,” he replied, his mouth cracking with a grin.

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Oh, Fred,” she murmured.


She looked up at him, watching the water drip down his face in rivulets. “Nothing.”

He nodded, his smile waning some. But before she could think it through, he leaned her back in a dip, her wet hair dangling and her leg kicking up in surprise. He laughed at her shocked expression. As he brought her back up, he kissed her forehead lingeringly. They stood there for a moment, her arms wrapping around his waist, his encircling her shoulders. He leaned his chin on the top of her head and she pressed her cheek against his chest. They were soaked to the bone and her intelligent side told her it was time to go in, time to end the romantic jaunt in the rain. But her heart swelled with this moment. One of many that he’d made so much more than what they could be. Some of her best memories had him in them and that said more than she wanted to admit.

She felt him breaking apart from her, his arms falling from her shoulders and his chin leaving her head. He stepped back a moment, staring down at her with that expression again. His mouth fell open, but she lifted a hand to cover his mouth, thumb stroking his half-freckle.

“Don’t” she said, shaking her head.

He looked hurt but he nodded. The lightening, shadow and rain seemed to light him up and she saw the rejection sitting plainly on his face. Something had come out of this that she’d never expected, but that didn’t make it wrong. So a harmless little comment by his younger sister led to a long time tryst with the brother she never really saw herself with long term. But now… Now she couldn’t see herself not with him.

“I love you,” she told him, her voice quiet and soft.

It just so happened that a rumble of thunder covered her voice.

“What?” he asked loudly, his brows furrowing. He leaned forward to hear her better, lightening cracking the sky beautifully.

“I love you,” she said louder, but the heavy thunder overpowered her once more.

He shook his head. “I can’t hear you!”

“I’m in love with you,” she yelled, staring up at him with wide eyes. Well, it was good practice. It was getting easier to say every time.

Still, he couldn’t hear her. The rain was getting louder, the thunder rumbling around them, the wind shaking the trees. It was like a mini hurricane in the back yard, coming at them at the worst time.

“Come on,” he told her, taking her hand and leading her toward the house.

Dripping, they stepped inside the house and he looked down at her questioningly.

“I LOVE YOU!” she half-shouted, her voice still not adjusted to being outside.

The house was completely silent and she could practically hear herself echoing throughout it.

His face was blank for a moment, before he slowly grinned. “I love you, too.”

She sighed, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders that she hadn’t realized was there.

He leaned forward, his mouth finding hers and taking it possessively. Her wet arms wrapped around his neck and her body pressed up into his. He lifted her up off the ground, her feet dangling down. She could feel him smiling and chuckled as he twirled them around the kitchen, happy.

“Oh!” Molly could be heard exclaiming. “Oh, this is just so wonderful! Look at you two!”

Fred put her back down to the floor, his arms still holding her tightly. He stared down at her, eyes still shimmering with the heat and emotion that he was always free to display, never ashamed. “Look at us,” he murmured.

She reached up, pushing his damp hair from his face and caressing his cheek.

“So, how long has this been going on then?” Molly asked, her hands on her hips. “And why wasn’t I told?”

Hermione turned to shrug at Molly. “What matters is we’re together now and I’m not ashamed in the least to let it be known.”

His mother clapped gleefully, smiling at them with watery eyes. “As well you shouldn’t. Why you two make a lovely couple!”

Fred tipped his chin, kissing her forehead. “You’re all mine now, ‘Mione,” he told her.

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” she told him, her eyes closing and her mouth quirking with a smile.

“I made a carrot and toenail pie once and fed it to Ron,” he told her randomly.

She laughed, shaking her head.


He simply nodded.

“Have I ever told you the story of the constellation Pyxis?”

“Just three or four different variations,” she replied, rubbing his back slowly.

“Let’s go home,” he said against her hair, “Run that hot bath of yours, get you out of these clothes, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

She grinned, nodding. “I’d love that.”

He took her hand and a moment later, they were saying goodbye to the family and making their way to the floo network. Charlie, Bill, and Arthur donned expressions as if they’d just figured out the last piece of a puzzle. They’d likely come to their conclusions about the happenings of that afternoon while she was up in Fred’s room and though she felt a blush fill her cheeks, she didn’t deny or explain. She simply let Fred take her home and let everyone think what they wanted to. He loved her. She loved him. Shamelessly. And that was simply how it was. How she wanted it to be. How it would stay.


Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this! My computer is now in for fixing. It should be back soon. xFingersCrossedx Until then, I'm writing a series of oneshots involving the following couples: Dean/Hermione, Cedric/Hermione, Charlie/Hermione, James/Hermione, Sirius/Hermione, Remus/Hermione, Bill/Hermione, and George/Hermione. Is there a pairing you would like me to write a one-shot for that isn't Dramione, slash, or involves Dark!Hermione? I have nothing against such pairings, I just personally don't write them. Well, except Dramione, but I have so many stories for them already, I feel like branching out, you know?


Challenge involved these "Must Use Phrases":

1. "Can you expect any less from a Weasley twin?"
2. "I took sarcasm as my foreign language course"
"Next time try knocking"
“By the way..."
5. "But Ginny I look like a (man(optional))slut".
6. They were soaked to the bone...

Please leave a review. It's very appreciated!
Much Love,