Viva Revenge, Part 7/? "Damnable Doubt"
Title: Damnable Doubt (Part 7/? of Viva Revenge)
Author: Thea Witchiepooh
Pairing/Characters: Fred, George, Draco, Hermione
Rating: PG-13 (for some language)
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters. This silly plot is mine.
Summary: Fred wakes up to his blunder. (Sequel to Friendly Fire.)
There was something different about Hermione.
Whatever it was, it made Fred Weasley feel something he hadn't felt in a long time, if ever. Regret.
And another truly discomfiting emotion: envy.
Rather than dwell on these two foreign feelings, the not-so-practical redhead pondered the witch's transformation. Hair? Relatively the same, though a bit more controlled then when they were younger. Eyes? Their amber seemed to glow more and grow deeper through the years. Complexion? Smooth and youthful, with no signs of aging. Posture? Straighter and slightly more confident. Yes, overall she had truly come into her beauty.
Yet he recognized it wasn't anything physical. Or, at least her outward appearance was only a small part of it. Something had changed inside Hermione.
Fred looked at the towhead hanging by her elbow. No, it can't be him. It can't.
It isn't that he disliked Draco. On the contrary, he found him to be a likable git (versus estranged brother Percy, a wholly unlikeable one). Sure the prat didn't come close to deserving his Hermione...wait, where the hell did that come from? His Hermione? Get a grip, man.
As if he'd said it out loud (and he didn't, no way) Draco glanced toward him, expression unreadable. Scratch that, Fred knew exactly what Mr. Shiny Hair was thinking: Too late, arsehole. The statute of limitations on Ms. Hermione Granger has run out, fucker. She's mine and don't you forget it.
Fuck.
It was a good thing the pub was noisy, it helped to obscure the tension between the two wizards. Hermione was smiling drunkenly, quite unaware of it as she and Colin Creevey lined up more shots of tequila. (Being in a muggle establishment, firewhiskey was not an option.)
The conspirators were celebrating their triumph--the plan unstoppable now--and as queen among them, she stood in the vortex of their victory. Who knew, she thought to herself, who could ever imagine that someone like her could be standing (well, more like leaning on the edge of falling) surrounded by five men (George Weasley and Lee Jordan rounded out the group) who admired her and looked up to her. Well technically, only Creevey looked up to her, the others were taller. But never mind that, this was Hermione Granger. Little miss know-it-all, the bushy-haired swot.
Oh, it wasn't like she hadn't commanded attention from wizards before. But in all the years that she played a point in Harry and Ron's triangle, the focus was never really on her. It was always Harry Potter, and rightfully so. She knew her role and she performed it without missing a beat. But now, as silly as this scheme really was, it was hers. And more importantly, they knew it. They respected her. She was the main angle of the um, hexagon. Alright, perhaps that wasn't geometrically possible...but...ah fuck it, "To bloody revenge!" she proclaimed for about the twentieth time that night, clinking glasses with Creevey (the little bugger could pound the shots) before downing another round of ta-kill-ya.
She stumbled a bit afterward, pressing more heavily against Draco whose arm had circled around her (possessively, though she didn't notice). She smiled up at him stupidly. "Tanks." He looked so cute and fluffy. Okay, maybe not fluffy but there was something soft about him. How did this happen, she wondered and then asked it aloud, somewhat incoherently. "How dis 'appen?"
He hadn't been looking at her, but now turned his glance downward. He didn't answer with words, just moved in and captured her lips with his own. Hermione was already too pissed up to match his passion and giggled instead.
George Weasley happened to glance at his brother in that moment and saw a look of...oh bloody fucking hell. He tried to send out that twins vibe, all "Wonder Twins" and shit. Come on arsehole, over here, over here dammit. But the idiot only had eyes for the beauteous boozed up brunette. Yeah, George wasn't dumb or blind, he knew what his brother had seen in Hermione. And he also realized where his biological other half had gone completely wrong. Instead of recognizing that she was special, that it wasn't the same as mum or dad or Bill or Charlie or Ginny or anyone else in their voluminous family, Fred had taken Hermione for granted.
He recalled how they'd talked about it after the breakup. "Why should I be upset," Fred had reasoned at the time. "She's family and nothing will ever change that." George had tried to explain that yes, she may be family, but no it wasn't the same. And now, watching her with Malfoy, he saw the awareness finally click into place in his brother's eyes.
Fred sighed forlornly, like a lustful maiden held captive in a convent. He was genuinely happy for Hermione. He really was. But...but...he was contrite over the fact that he wasn't the reason for her contentment. He took a sip of the beer he'd been nursing and tasted the bitterness of his blunder. (Well, truthfully it was the bitterness of warm, stale beer, but anyway...) Continuing to ignore his telepathic twin, he walked toward the lucky bastard and his witch.
"So Hermione, what sort of plans do you have for Bulstrode's stag party?" he asked.
She grinned at him with glassy eyes and un-spooled herself from Draco's arm. Instead of answering the question, she jumped into his arms and squealed, "Freddy!"
While Fred winced at the butchering of his name, his spirits were lifted by the warmth of her inebriated embrace. Draco looked as if he was on the verge of a conniption, but then Hermione pulled away and proceeded to accost all of the wizards, including a rather annoyed Lee Jordan, who had been working his charm on a pretty muggle. Draco peeled her off him as Lee nodded his thanks.
Hermione pushed him away, "Whoa, missster," she slurred, her hand against his chest for balance. She seemed to clear her head and after a moment moved toward the bar and announced, "'nuther round!"
Before he'd had a chance to react, Draco watched Fred swoop in by her side and take hold of her elbow. "I think you've had enough, luv."
Draco gritted his teeth and moved to Hermione's other side, grasping her arm.
"Bollocks," muttered George, who had been anxiously observing the interplay. He had to do something before the two wizards pulled the poor witch apart.
He walked over. "I think Fred's right, better take her home, Draco." He looked pointedly at his brother, whose eyes filled with undisguised anger. He responded without words, giving a look which conveyed, "sorry, but this is for your own good."
Fortunately, Fred picked up on it and a jolt awareness of what he'd been doing shot through him. He released Hermione's arm. She remained oblivious to the struggle and patted him affectionately on the chest, "awww, iss good to be surrounded by the men I lurve." Fred's heart involuntarily quickened its pace. She was completely twisted, but what if there was more meaning to the words? Draco, on the other hand, felt his own heart sink a bit, also wondering at the underlying ramifications.
He tried to shake off his insecurity. She loves me. She loves me. She loves me. He repeated it in his mind like a mantra.
"Right then," interrupted George. "We trust you can get her home safely."
Draco nodded. Before Hermione had to a chance to launch into another round of hugs, he said quick goodbyes to the others and commandeered her to the front door.
For a moment it looked as if Fred would follow them out, but George stepped in front of him. "We need to have a little chat, brother mine."
****
It was raining when Draco and Hermione emerged from the bar. He wrapped her up inside his cloak and hurried them to a floo point (neither sober enough for apparation). Unfortunately, it was quite a distance from the pub, so they were soaked to the bone by the time Draco announced, "Malfoy Manor!"
As they stepped out of the fireplace and into his bedroom, Hermione shivered violently, the cold starting to sober her up. Draco led her to the bed and undressed her quickly. It wasn't in a sexual way, but more like a concerned parent taking care of his charge. He cast a warming charm on her as he urged her under the covers. "There you go, love, nice and toasty." Her teeth still chattered a bit, but she smiled at him sleepily.
A moment later he was out of his own wet clothes and snuggling in beside her. He held her gently, kissing her forehead as the last of her tremors seemed to subside. "Better?"
She settled into the crook of his arm. "Perrrrfect," she sighed contentedly.
Maybe, he thought, there was no reason for him to worry about the Tweasle. He tightened his hold on her, relishing in the warmth that came both from the nearness of her body and the blood that flowed inside. She loves me.
"The twins looked nice tonight, dontcha think," she mumbled.
His heart constricted painfully as his blood seemed to boil with anger and freeze simultaneously. He took a calming breath. Hermione's out of it, she doesn't even know what she's saying, he thought. And she said "twins" not Fred. It was an innocuous remark, no need to overreact. She loves me.
But no matter how many times he repeated the mantra, he was seized with lingering doubt. Long after she'd fallen asleep he held her purposefully. If somehow that redheaded prankster had awakened old feelings in her, so be it. She was his now. He wouldn't let her go.
****
George looked sternly at his twin. "You can't use a time turner on this one."
"I know," whined Fred. "I just..."
"Well forget it."
"But..."
"No. You had your chance and you buggered it up," he said firmly.
"But Malfoy? Come on! We both know she can do better."
"Maybe," George conceded. "But that's not for you to decide."
"I can make her happy," he protested. At the look on George's face he quickly added, "Not saying Malfoy doesn't. But she's supposed to be with one of us. If I hadn't been so bloody stupid she'd probably be with me right now."
"You can't change the past."
"No, you're quite right," he said. "But that doesn't mean I can't change the future."
George narrowed his eyes.
"I'm not saying I'll steal her from...him. Just make it clear to her that she has a choice."
He shook his head. "You'll only end up hurt. I don't want to be harsh, but she's clearly in love with Malfoy."
Fred seemed to digest his words. On some level he knew George was right, that he had to let go. Or, more accurately, he had already let go, long ago, and there was no way to amend the situation. But since Hermione had shown up in the shop that day asking for their help, they'd spent more time together then they had in years. Maybe he'd ballsed up before, but that didn't mean he'd forfeited his right to try again. She cared for him, he was certain of it. And from the jealous looks Malfoy had given him all night, the other wizard knew it too. If things were meant to work out with Hermione and Malfoy, well he'd be a man and accept it. But to just turn away without any kind of a fight? Her happiness was of the utmost importance to him, yet he wanted--no needed--her to know that Malfoy wasn't the only option.
George saw the steely resolve come over his normally laid-back brother. "That's the way it is then?"
His voice was resigned,"'fraid so."
Part 8
Author: Thea Witchiepooh
Pairing/Characters: Fred, George, Draco, Hermione
Rating: PG-13 (for some language)
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters. This silly plot is mine.
Summary: Fred wakes up to his blunder. (Sequel to Friendly Fire.)
There was something different about Hermione.
Whatever it was, it made Fred Weasley feel something he hadn't felt in a long time, if ever. Regret.
And another truly discomfiting emotion: envy.
Rather than dwell on these two foreign feelings, the not-so-practical redhead pondered the witch's transformation. Hair? Relatively the same, though a bit more controlled then when they were younger. Eyes? Their amber seemed to glow more and grow deeper through the years. Complexion? Smooth and youthful, with no signs of aging. Posture? Straighter and slightly more confident. Yes, overall she had truly come into her beauty.
Yet he recognized it wasn't anything physical. Or, at least her outward appearance was only a small part of it. Something had changed inside Hermione.
Fred looked at the towhead hanging by her elbow. No, it can't be him. It can't.
It isn't that he disliked Draco. On the contrary, he found him to be a likable git (versus estranged brother Percy, a wholly unlikeable one). Sure the prat didn't come close to deserving his Hermione...wait, where the hell did that come from? His Hermione? Get a grip, man.
As if he'd said it out loud (and he didn't, no way) Draco glanced toward him, expression unreadable. Scratch that, Fred knew exactly what Mr. Shiny Hair was thinking: Too late, arsehole. The statute of limitations on Ms. Hermione Granger has run out, fucker. She's mine and don't you forget it.
Fuck.
It was a good thing the pub was noisy, it helped to obscure the tension between the two wizards. Hermione was smiling drunkenly, quite unaware of it as she and Colin Creevey lined up more shots of tequila. (Being in a muggle establishment, firewhiskey was not an option.)
The conspirators were celebrating their triumph--the plan unstoppable now--and as queen among them, she stood in the vortex of their victory. Who knew, she thought to herself, who could ever imagine that someone like her could be standing (well, more like leaning on the edge of falling) surrounded by five men (George Weasley and Lee Jordan rounded out the group) who admired her and looked up to her. Well technically, only Creevey looked up to her, the others were taller. But never mind that, this was Hermione Granger. Little miss know-it-all, the bushy-haired swot.
Oh, it wasn't like she hadn't commanded attention from wizards before. But in all the years that she played a point in Harry and Ron's triangle, the focus was never really on her. It was always Harry Potter, and rightfully so. She knew her role and she performed it without missing a beat. But now, as silly as this scheme really was, it was hers. And more importantly, they knew it. They respected her. She was the main angle of the um, hexagon. Alright, perhaps that wasn't geometrically possible...but...ah fuck it, "To bloody revenge!" she proclaimed for about the twentieth time that night, clinking glasses with Creevey (the little bugger could pound the shots) before downing another round of ta-kill-ya.
She stumbled a bit afterward, pressing more heavily against Draco whose arm had circled around her (possessively, though she didn't notice). She smiled up at him stupidly. "Tanks." He looked so cute and fluffy. Okay, maybe not fluffy but there was something soft about him. How did this happen, she wondered and then asked it aloud, somewhat incoherently. "How dis 'appen?"
He hadn't been looking at her, but now turned his glance downward. He didn't answer with words, just moved in and captured her lips with his own. Hermione was already too pissed up to match his passion and giggled instead.
George Weasley happened to glance at his brother in that moment and saw a look of...oh bloody fucking hell. He tried to send out that twins vibe, all "Wonder Twins" and shit. Come on arsehole, over here, over here dammit. But the idiot only had eyes for the beauteous boozed up brunette. Yeah, George wasn't dumb or blind, he knew what his brother had seen in Hermione. And he also realized where his biological other half had gone completely wrong. Instead of recognizing that she was special, that it wasn't the same as mum or dad or Bill or Charlie or Ginny or anyone else in their voluminous family, Fred had taken Hermione for granted.
He recalled how they'd talked about it after the breakup. "Why should I be upset," Fred had reasoned at the time. "She's family and nothing will ever change that." George had tried to explain that yes, she may be family, but no it wasn't the same. And now, watching her with Malfoy, he saw the awareness finally click into place in his brother's eyes.
Fred sighed forlornly, like a lustful maiden held captive in a convent. He was genuinely happy for Hermione. He really was. But...but...he was contrite over the fact that he wasn't the reason for her contentment. He took a sip of the beer he'd been nursing and tasted the bitterness of his blunder. (Well, truthfully it was the bitterness of warm, stale beer, but anyway...) Continuing to ignore his telepathic twin, he walked toward the lucky bastard and his witch.
"So Hermione, what sort of plans do you have for Bulstrode's stag party?" he asked.
She grinned at him with glassy eyes and un-spooled herself from Draco's arm. Instead of answering the question, she jumped into his arms and squealed, "Freddy!"
While Fred winced at the butchering of his name, his spirits were lifted by the warmth of her inebriated embrace. Draco looked as if he was on the verge of a conniption, but then Hermione pulled away and proceeded to accost all of the wizards, including a rather annoyed Lee Jordan, who had been working his charm on a pretty muggle. Draco peeled her off him as Lee nodded his thanks.
Hermione pushed him away, "Whoa, missster," she slurred, her hand against his chest for balance. She seemed to clear her head and after a moment moved toward the bar and announced, "'nuther round!"
Before he'd had a chance to react, Draco watched Fred swoop in by her side and take hold of her elbow. "I think you've had enough, luv."
Draco gritted his teeth and moved to Hermione's other side, grasping her arm.
"Bollocks," muttered George, who had been anxiously observing the interplay. He had to do something before the two wizards pulled the poor witch apart.
He walked over. "I think Fred's right, better take her home, Draco." He looked pointedly at his brother, whose eyes filled with undisguised anger. He responded without words, giving a look which conveyed, "sorry, but this is for your own good."
Fortunately, Fred picked up on it and a jolt awareness of what he'd been doing shot through him. He released Hermione's arm. She remained oblivious to the struggle and patted him affectionately on the chest, "awww, iss good to be surrounded by the men I lurve." Fred's heart involuntarily quickened its pace. She was completely twisted, but what if there was more meaning to the words? Draco, on the other hand, felt his own heart sink a bit, also wondering at the underlying ramifications.
He tried to shake off his insecurity. She loves me. She loves me. She loves me. He repeated it in his mind like a mantra.
"Right then," interrupted George. "We trust you can get her home safely."
Draco nodded. Before Hermione had to a chance to launch into another round of hugs, he said quick goodbyes to the others and commandeered her to the front door.
For a moment it looked as if Fred would follow them out, but George stepped in front of him. "We need to have a little chat, brother mine."
****
It was raining when Draco and Hermione emerged from the bar. He wrapped her up inside his cloak and hurried them to a floo point (neither sober enough for apparation). Unfortunately, it was quite a distance from the pub, so they were soaked to the bone by the time Draco announced, "Malfoy Manor!"
As they stepped out of the fireplace and into his bedroom, Hermione shivered violently, the cold starting to sober her up. Draco led her to the bed and undressed her quickly. It wasn't in a sexual way, but more like a concerned parent taking care of his charge. He cast a warming charm on her as he urged her under the covers. "There you go, love, nice and toasty." Her teeth still chattered a bit, but she smiled at him sleepily.
A moment later he was out of his own wet clothes and snuggling in beside her. He held her gently, kissing her forehead as the last of her tremors seemed to subside. "Better?"
She settled into the crook of his arm. "Perrrrfect," she sighed contentedly.
Maybe, he thought, there was no reason for him to worry about the Tweasle. He tightened his hold on her, relishing in the warmth that came both from the nearness of her body and the blood that flowed inside. She loves me.
"The twins looked nice tonight, dontcha think," she mumbled.
His heart constricted painfully as his blood seemed to boil with anger and freeze simultaneously. He took a calming breath. Hermione's out of it, she doesn't even know what she's saying, he thought. And she said "twins" not Fred. It was an innocuous remark, no need to overreact. She loves me.
But no matter how many times he repeated the mantra, he was seized with lingering doubt. Long after she'd fallen asleep he held her purposefully. If somehow that redheaded prankster had awakened old feelings in her, so be it. She was his now. He wouldn't let her go.
****
George looked sternly at his twin. "You can't use a time turner on this one."
"I know," whined Fred. "I just..."
"Well forget it."
"But..."
"No. You had your chance and you buggered it up," he said firmly.
"But Malfoy? Come on! We both know she can do better."
"Maybe," George conceded. "But that's not for you to decide."
"I can make her happy," he protested. At the look on George's face he quickly added, "Not saying Malfoy doesn't. But she's supposed to be with one of us. If I hadn't been so bloody stupid she'd probably be with me right now."
"You can't change the past."
"No, you're quite right," he said. "But that doesn't mean I can't change the future."
George narrowed his eyes.
"I'm not saying I'll steal her from...him. Just make it clear to her that she has a choice."
He shook his head. "You'll only end up hurt. I don't want to be harsh, but she's clearly in love with Malfoy."
Fred seemed to digest his words. On some level he knew George was right, that he had to let go. Or, more accurately, he had already let go, long ago, and there was no way to amend the situation. But since Hermione had shown up in the shop that day asking for their help, they'd spent more time together then they had in years. Maybe he'd ballsed up before, but that didn't mean he'd forfeited his right to try again. She cared for him, he was certain of it. And from the jealous looks Malfoy had given him all night, the other wizard knew it too. If things were meant to work out with Hermione and Malfoy, well he'd be a man and accept it. But to just turn away without any kind of a fight? Her happiness was of the utmost importance to him, yet he wanted--no needed--her to know that Malfoy wasn't the only option.
George saw the steely resolve come over his normally laid-back brother. "That's the way it is then?"
His voice was resigned,"'fraid so."
Part 8