Chapter Text
“Look alive, Granger!”
Hermione looked up just in time to see a wall of water crashing down from the ceiling. Completely caught off guard, she wasn’t able to manage a shielding charm in time, and suddenly found herself soaked at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.
“Bloody hell!” She cried as the portrait hole swung shut behind her. After a moment’s hesitation where she cringed how Ron-like she’d just sounded, she turned her attention to the pile of soaked textbooks in her arms. “I swear to Merlin if any of these are ruined…”
“They’ll be fine, Granger. I’ve returned books in worse condition than before.” A familiar voice drawled, and she snapped her gaze up to see Lee, dangling over the banister leading to the boy’s dormitories. “You’re welcome for the warning, by the way.”
“Welcome for the…?” Hermione repeated back, dumbfounded at his gall, before drawing her wand. “I’m soaked!” Lee’s eyes lost their playful glint at the sight of her wand.
“Whoa, whoa, you’ve got the wrong bloke!” He cried, ducking under the banister. “You should really be pointing that thing at -”
“Oi! Who set it off early?!”
“-them.”
Hermione’s breath caught. Of course. Steeling herself, she whirled around, trying to hold on to her anger despite the butterflies erupting in her stomach.
“Gred, I think we went a little off target.”
“Just a tad, Feorge.”
A pair of lanky, red-haired twins stood at the portrait hole, backlit by the bright light pouring in from the corridor. The one with the neater hair and a dusting of slightly less prominent freckles was surveying the puddles on the hardwood floor and the soaked carpets with bored sort of resignation. His counterpart, slightly taller with a decidedly wilder (and freckle-ier) appearance, hadn’t spared a glance at the room. The side of his mouth twitched up as his eyes raked up and down her sodden robes.
“Gone for a swim, have you Granger?”
“You - I -what-?!” Hermione spluttered, whether out of anger or a fluster born of something else altogether who could say. “Why?!” She finally settled on, only to be answered by identical bursts of hastily swallowed laughter.
“Not meant for you, if that makes a difference.” Fred finally offered, his eyes swimming with mirth.
“I kind of figured.” Hermione growled, relieved her turbulent emotions were finally just settling on ‘annoyed.’
“Stewart, that new, very Percy-like Prefect turned us over to Filch yesterday.” George shrugged, stepping over a puddle further into the room. “We had the portrait hole charmed so it’d dump water on any Prefect who entered for the next hour.”
“He’s a muggle born, so we assumed he’d appreciate the spin on that muggle pail-of-water-on-the-door prank.” Fred smirked.
“How thoughtful of you.” Hermione bit out, beginning to shiver in spite of herself. The cold weather was relenting to spring, but the process was proving to be abnormally slow for the time of year, and the fireplaces throughout the castle were extinguishing themselves much too early for her liking. She cast a desolate glance at the vacant fireplace in the middle of the common room.
“Hey! We were thoughtful!” George pouted.
“Yeah, you typically go to the library after class on Wednesdays!” Fred agreed vehemently, before his eyes went comically large and he snapped his mouth shut. Hermione shivered, readjusting her grasp on her stack of books.
“You lot just soaked the only warm clothes I have left on laundry day, so you’ll excuse me if I’m not singing your praises.” She scowled, turning toward the girl’s dormitories.
She’d crossed the room and just barely began to mount the staircase, when something soft hit her in the back of her head. In a second, her books had clattered to the floor, she’d wiped around, and her wand was aimed threateningly at twins’ throats.
“Oi! OI!” Fred shouted, throwing his hands up in a mock surrender. Beside him, George leapt for cover behind an armchair.
“It’s a jumper!” He clarified urgently. Hermione’s wand lowered a few inches, her eyes flickering to what did appear to be an item of clothing at her feet. Sensing he was no longer in immediate danger, Fred grinned. “It’s one of my warm ones!” He continued. “Return it whenever.”
It was true, the twin was suddenly in just a white t-shirt, his hair stuck up like he’d just pulled the jumper over his head. In spite of herself, a blush began to spread across her cheeks and Hermione ducked her head, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“Thanks.” She managed, and tried to pretend she didn’t feel his eyes on her as she gathered it up with her armful of books and ascended to her dormitory.
~*~
It smelt like him.
It bloody smelt like him.
A lot.
And she was obsessed.
The jumper was a thick, burgundy material, lined with fleece and sporting a large hood. It was almost comically apparent how dramatically Fred dwarfed her, the helm halfway to her knees and the sleeves enveloping her hands, forcing her to hike up the material so it cinched around her elbows.
This is how she worked for a couple nights, her bare legs folded under her as she sat on her bed, the delightfully large hood pulled up over her curls, finishing an essay as she breathed the scent of him in.
On the front of the jumper, of course, was: ‘Gryffindor Quidditch Team’. The back: ‘Weasley, #12’. It should have mortified her. She should have scoffed, discarded it, and asked Parvati to burrow a warm cloak that night.
But she didn’t, and she kept it, and her laundry had been done for three days.
“You look so cute!” Lavender giggled on the forth night, crashing unceremoniously onto her bedspread and jostling a few hard covered books to the ground. “You know that means he likes you, right?”
Hermione snorted, reaching down to collect a book she’d been using as a reference that had been catapulted to the floor.
“If only.” She sighed, her guard slipping at the other girl’s imploring doe eyes. Lavender could be vapid at times, but she was endearingly sweet, and undoubtedly loyal. Needless to say, after a few years of bunking together, the witch had grown on her.
“C’mon, I’ve seen the way he looks at you!” Lavender persisted. “He turns the charm on max and then gets all flustered once you leave.”
“Okay, now you’re just making things up.” Hermione huffed, flashing her roommate a teasing smile. Lavender rolled her eyes good-naturedly, peeling herself off the bed and grabbing her bath towels.
“I’m sooooo not.”
“Oh please.” Hermione smiled, turning a page on her current textbook absentmindedly. “You’re just saying things I want to hear.”
“Doesn't make them less true!” Lavender sang, padding off to the showers down the hall.
Once she was confident the witch was gone, Hermione set the book down, hardly suppressing a smile. What if Lavender was right after all? What if she had a chance? She had been harboring a crush on Fred Weasley for years - a crush that had gone on so long she couldn’t even say for sure when it started.
She burrowed further into the sweatshirt, suddenly feeling guilty for enjoying it so much. He was just being nice, and it was best not to read into it too much.
Yes, best to keep her expectations low.
~*~
Ron had announced Snape had given him detention with something that was less a sentence of coherent words strung together, and more of a long, drawn-out wail.
“It’s going to be a horrible match anyway.” Harry said placentetly, once they had deciphered the desolate wailing. “It’s supposed to pour and it’s just against Hufflepuff. I’d miss it too if I could.”
“If it makes you feel better, next time I see him, I’ll set Snape’s robes on fire again.” Hermione added, and was rewarded with the first small smile they’d been able to pull out of Ron all afternoon.
“Much appreciated, make sure to singe some skin this time too.”
~*~
It turned out Harry hadn’t been exaggerating about the weather.
It was only 50 degrees out, and it wasn’t downpouring, but it was cold enough that the sprinkling of rain was certainly unpleasant, and Hermione had been almost blown backwards twice by the wind during her trek to the stands.
To be honest, she had also thought about missing the match when she realized that not only Ron, but none of the girls in her dormitory had planned to come. The idea of braving the foul weather alone wasn’t extraordinarily appealing, but she could tell, without him having to say it, that Harry was extremely appreciative whenever anyone came to watch him - doubly so when it was a rough match.
Of course, she had absolutely no ulterior motive of wanting to watch a certain red-headed beater. That would be preposterous.
So as it were she bundled herself up in an excessive amount of layers, pulled on a knit hat and scarf, and bustled to the stands, where she sat panting and sweating. She belatedly realized, as she attempted to catch her breath, that somehow, in an effort not to be miserable, she’d over compensated, and completely over dressed.
Bugger.
“Mush over, would you?” A sudden voice startled Hermione out of her exhausted fog, and she scooted over on the stand to make room for the other Gryffindor fan.
“Sorry about - Fred?!”
“ ’ello.” The twin responded, sounding uncharacteristically lethargic. “Lovely weather we’re having, ay?”
“Fred, what are you doing here?” Hermione spluttered, concerned but pleasantly surprised at the turn of events. “Shouldn’t you be on a broom somewhere out there?”
“Hmmm Wood definitely thinks so.” Fred bobbed his head. “See, if it was a normal illness, I’d be allowed to stay in bed, but since it was -” He held up his fingers to make air quotes. “‘Self-inflicted’, I have to drag myself down here and -” More air quotes. “‘Support the team’”.
Hermione cocked her head to the side, watching the chasers bellow take some warm-up shots as he spoke.
“I’m not following.” Beside her, Fred blew out a breath.
“You know those snackboxes we’re inventing?” He sighed. Hermione raised her eyebrows.
“The ones that make people sick?”
“Exactly.” The twin confirmed, a fleeting hint of pride in his voice. “Well, Georgie tested the Nosebleed Nougat last week, so it was my turn this week, and it all would have been fine except we somehow screwed up the antidote and well…”
“What exactly are you stuck with?” Hermione laughed. Fred shot her a petulant look and she attempted to collect herself. “Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just a little…”
“I know, I know, I deserve it.” Fred griped. “It was stupid to test the day before the match, we’d just had so much luck with the antidotes before…” He gave his head a shake, like he was trying to clear it. Hermione, feeling the circumstances made it socially acceptable, finally allowed herself to properly look at him.
Fred was slightly hunched against the wind and bundled in a dark cloak with Gryffindor scarf slavishly wound around his neck. At first glance, nothing was amiss, but as Hermione studied him further, she found that his cheeks were quite flushed, his dark brown eyes slightly foggy, and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, despite his broad shoulders shaking with barely-suppressed shivers.
“Wood’s a prat.” Hermione declared, her voice carrying a bit more ferocity than she’d intended. Fred didn’t seem to mind, flashing her a tired smile.
“ S’fine, Hermione.”
“It’s not.” She responded defiantly. “You have a wicked fever.” Fred shrugged dejectedly.
“Fever Fancy. At least we know they work.”
Hermione hummed angrily under her breath, but came to the conclusion that cussing out Wood right then wouldn’t be very productive. Instead, she settled back into her seat and attempted to refocus her attention on the game. It’d apparently started without her realizing.
They made it through the first quarter before she couldn’t plausibly pretend not to notice his shaking any longer.
“Please go inside.”
“Nope.”
“I think you’re going to make it worse.”
“Probably.”
“I’m a Prefect, I could give you detention if you don’t go inside.” Fred fixed her with a look.
“That’s not even remotely how that works.”
“It’s kind of how it works.”
“I’m feverish, not dumb.”
“Right now, I think you’re both.”
Fred gave a feeble sort of groan and dropped his head on her shoulder. Hermione almost melted.
And then she realized he was just extremely out of it and she couldn’t put stock into any of his actions that day.
And then she realized that even through her many layers, his head on her shoulder felt warm.
“For Merlin’s sake.” She huffed, shrugging him off. Fred pouted teasingly for a second, before his eyes widened in surprise.
“Hermione what are you -” In one fluid motion, Hermione had taken off her thick wool hat, stuck it on Fred’s head, and with one violent tug, pulled it down over his eyes.
“Better?” She huffed, once Fred had lifted over the top of brows and shot her a startled look.
“Oi - I’m not taking your hat-!”
“Don’t be silly - I’m overdressed, sweating, and fever-free. Also, it should really help. Most of your heat leaves through the top of your head, you know.” Hermione said in a rush, decidedly looking at that match and not him.
“Right.” Fred finally relented, a complicated look coming over his face. But before too long the twin relaxed back into his seat, and they settled into a comfortable sort of silence, his shaking somewhat easing.
Fred lasted a whole other quarter until, finally admitting defeat, he unsteadily stood up to leave.
“Take it.” Hermione waved him off as he started to pull off the hat. “Long walk to the castle, I’ll get it back eventually.” The weird, complicated look returned to Fred’s face and he just kind of blinked at her for a second.
“Yeah, thanks.” He said, and Hermione had to resolutely put an extraordinary amount of effort into watching the match so that she wouldn’t turn around like a love sick puppy and watch him leave.