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aenxiome · 3 years

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Chapter 2: Chilled Conversations

As soon as I opened the front door, the sound of shouting and explosions greeted me. I made my way up to my bedroom to drop off my book bag and then headed to Jazzs' room. I entered without knocking and found my sister sitting on her bed with headphones in and surrounded by homework.

"Jazz," I called, trying to gain her attention. When she doesn't acknowledge me, I try calling her name a little louder, "Jazz." Not being in a waiting mood, I walk closer to her and wave my hand in front of her face. She continues staring at the page as if nothing is there. I look towards my hand just to make sure I didn't accidentally turn intangible on the way over.

I couldn't keep in my sigh when instead of my hand being at the end of my arm, the only thing there was an empty sleeve. For some reason, my powers have been slipping away from me more often recently. I thought I was over this stage of the ghostly experience already. Focusing on becoming tangible, I waited until my hand came back into existence then gently pulled one earbud out of her ear.

As soon as it came out, I had her full attention, " Little brother," she greeted. Then, she looked at me, signaling that I should tell her what I wanted so she could get back to her work.

When I didn't answer her right away, she pushed away from her things and patted the side of her bed, allowing me to sit down. I readily take her invitation as I flop down onto her bed and lay back to stare at the ceiling. She studied me for a moment and let out a sigh, "what's wrong this time? You haven't hurt yourself again, have you?" I don't answer for a moment as I try to get comfortable before answering, "It's nothing like that. It's just.." I pause, thinking of how to go about this before deciding that it wasn't worth it, " Never mind, it's been a long day, that's all." She turns back to her work and gathers it all together before placing it on the floor and laying next to me.

" Okay, and?" she says, prompting me to go on. I thought about not telling her about anything at all, but the silence broke my resolve. I put a hand up to my face and rubbed my eyes before telling her about my day, leaving out the ongoing argument I have with Sam and Tucker about my ghost powers and the talk with Mr. Lancer and Ms. Tally.

I would rather deal with the lingering anxieties about both of them than come clean to Jazz. She always means well, but she can be a bit of a mother hen. I don't know why she does it, but she constantly analyzes all of my arguments, and if I told her about the meeting, I would be doomed to relive the whole thing. She is always asking questions. I blame the fact that she is a budding psychologist.

As I tell her about the hallway incident, I notice Jazz slowly turning red. It wasn't long until her face resembled her hair. Once I got to the fact that I had to stay after school because of my tardiness, she was scowling and had a fist full of bedding. " You told her, right? You told Ms. Tally why you were late, didn't you?" she interrogated, I shook my head no, and she let out a sound of frustration. " You can't keep letting Dash and the others do you like this! It isn't right you do understand that don't you?"

"Well, what else was I supposed to do?" I mumble to her. She sat up quickly, starting to lecture, "Tell somebody! But, seriously, Danny, if you let this go on, you're going to be in more trouble than detention." I couldn't think of anything to say; she is right after all.

" I said that I didn't tell Ms.Tally during class, not that I didn't say anything at all." Jazz looked relieved as if I finally got some reason in my brain. " So what are they going to do?" she asked impatiently."The teachers are going to keep us separated in classes, but besides that, I'm not sure what else they are going to do." she looks put out, " that's it?" I nod my head, yes, and she lets out a small groan, " well, at least that's better than nothing."

Even though this is a good thing for me, it is still worrying. What if other people start getting messed with? What if the next person that gets picked on can't take it? I would rather be the A-Lists punching bag for the rest of high school if it means that everyone else is left alone. I'm left by myself to my worries as Jazz goes back to her homework, and I go to grab mine. I end up doing my homework in her room with us both, enjoying each other's presence and silence.

By the time dinner comes around, Jazz is finished with her things, and she comes to look over mine. The only things that she was unable to help me with are astronomy, math, and science. Unlike me, STEM classes aren't her area of expertise. She can breeze by any other type of class no problem, but these classes are something she has to try to excel in.

Once Jazz is satisfied that my work is up to par, we head down the stairs into the kitchen. When we get there, it is empty. The only sign that anyone else is home is the array of sounds from the lab connected to it. I open the lab and take a peek inside. My parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, are hunched over a table filled with different mechanical parts.

I go down, double-checking to make sure I'm completely visible and grab their attention. " Hey, Mom, what's for dinner?" She startles and drops the part in her hand, then looks up at me. " Oh, hey sweety, when did you get home?" Unfortunately, the lab doesn't have a clock, so I can only estimate when I answer, " A couple of hours. It's almost nine O'clock. Are we going to have dinner?" By the time I am done answering, Mom has already gone back to her parts. I stand there for a couple more seconds before interrupting again, " Mom?" Finally, she answers me absent-mindedly, " Maybe later, go upstairs. We will talk about it later."

I rush back into the kitchen, look at my sister, and give her a solemn nod, and then we get to work. We go back and forth between cabinets, the fridge, and the stove as a well-oiled machine. It doesn't take long before dinner is finished and is hitting the table. While I wish we could make dinner as a family, I can't help but feel that only Jazz and I should handle the food. Dad can't make anything more complex than a peanut butter sandwich, and Mom, well, let's just say her cooking is a bit unique. Just about every time she makes something, the food ends up having some kind of side effect. The food is either glowing or has come alive.

I suspect it's some kind of weird ecto- contamination.

While everyone is supposed to decontaminate themselves before leaving the lab, if they have messed with ectoplasm, Dad has difficulty remembering to do so when fudge is involved. At least when Jazz and I make it, there is at least an 80% chance that it comes out normal. I may have once or twice accidentally contaminated food when I was sick before, but since then, I have been extra careful not to do it again. I don't like having to fight my food for dominance.

This time Jazz went down to the lab and brought back our parents for dinner. As usual, dad stuffed his face as soon as we sat down, and mom brought back her latest gadget to fiddle with. We eat in silence until, "So, Mom, what did you do today?" Jazz asks, attempting to make small talk. Mom hums in thought for a short moment before, " Mostly just working in the lab today. We were trying to figure out how that ghost has managed to get our Fenton Thermos to work. He was at the Nasty Burger today; you should have heard those poor people over there. They were convinced that menace was there today to save the day!" She looks between Jazz and me and tells us seriously, " Just you two wait, it won't take long now for that thing to mess up. Once people start to see its true ways, everyone will know that all ghosts are evil."

I discreetly make eye contact with Jazz and signal that I want this conversation done with. A look of understanding is in her eyes, and she steers the conversation away from ghosts to some psychological thing that I don't understand. I quickly finish eating and head to my bedroom. It doesn't take more than ten minutes before Jazz comes in and shuts the door behind her. She leans up against the door and looks at me accusingly, " So the Nasty Burger, why is this the first time I'm hearing about this?" I started my defense immediately, " I told you about school and what was wrong earlier. It's not like you asked for a play-by-play of my entire day." She continued to glare at me until I mentioned that it was only the Boxxy.

" I don't see why you give him that ridiculous nickname, you're only getting him madder." I looked at her with fake surprise, "I make Boxxy mad oh no, it's not like I want to annoy him or anything." She gives me a look, and I roll my eyes back at her, " come on, it's not like giving him a nickname is going to hurt anybody. Maybe lose a couple of boxes, yes, but I make sure to bring them back." Jazz turns around and leaves with a huff.

I spent the rest of the night going back and forth between playing doomed and chasing the odd ghost that has made its way out of the zone. Since my parents have been held up in the lab, I have been unable to let go of the ghost I had previously caught throughout the past day or so. So finally, just before midnight, I make my way to bed and hope to make it through the night without any more interruptions.

I wake up hours later, feeling ice running through my veins. When I open my eyes, I see a pale blue mist escaping my mouth and into the room. I groggily sit up and look through my window to see the mechanical ghost rushing towards the house.

I let my transformation bubble over me and phase through the wall just as an ectoblast flew past me. I create an ecto-shield around myself and rush out to the middle of the street, away from FentonWorks and closer to the ghost. This ghost is immediately recognizable, with his armor being a staple piece of his being.

"Ghost child," he says in greeting, while I respond with my normal amount of displeasure, "Skulker." He prepares his weapons while spewing out his regular monolog, " This will be the day I, Skulker the Greatest Hunter in the Ghost Zone, claims your pelt welp." He pauses for a moment as if imagining something and then says a little out of character, "You know you would look perfect hanging in front of the fireplace. Maybe I'll only put half of you at the foot of my bed." He hums to himself while I stare dumbfounded, "decisions, decisions, oh never mind, I'll figure it out later. Prepare to die welp." He starts shooting his ecto-rockets and regular ectoblast immediately, hardly giving me the time to dodge them.

" I have been telling you this for months, first off EWW," like, gross, " Second, what is your problem it's like 3 in the morning!" Skulker just laughed and kept shooting. I noticed how much damage was happening to the neighborhood around us and did my best to lead him to an empty lot not too far away. It didn't take long as we were flying at speeds around 100 mph ( 161 kph). We exchanged ectoblasts and kept our shields around ourselves until one of us either lost too much energy or broke the other's shield.

My breath was quickening, and I was becoming less energized. The back and forth went on for a while, and both of us were tired. Both of our shields were starting to show some wear and tear, with small cracks running through the ectoplasm. Skulker's shield broke first, shattering like glass and leaving him defenseless.

I rush forward with the Fenton Thermos in hand and get ready to suck him up when he sets off another ectoblast that grazes past my face. The pain makes me hesitate, and Skulker pushes away from me, creating distance once again. I huff in annoyance, causing a spike of ice to fire out of my mouth and into the ground. Skulker and I both look towards the ice, me in shock and him in apprehension.

"W-What was that?" I ask breathlessly, still in shock; Skulker didn't look any better, gaping at me. I go up to him and slap him in the face, grabbing his attention. "What Is that?" I asked him again. He looks back and forth between the spike and my mouth and then goes closer towards the spike. He pokes it and then immediately takes his hand away. "It's solid ice," he informs me, "just touching it brings chills down my spine. How did you do it? " he asks in wonder.

"I don't know," I stammer out, " but can I guarantee you I plan on finding out how." We float in the middle of the lot for a few more moments before I ask, "Truce for the night?" He nodded his head, yes, and then I brought up the thermos once again. Skulker looks at me with dread, "Any chance you will let me get back to the Zone on my own?" I smirk at him and let out a small laugh, " No," I laugh once more, "Not a chance." I say as I suck him up into the thermos.

As soon as he is back in the thermos, I stop laughing, and my face turns into a grimace. My cheek is bleeding out a mixture of ectoplasm and blood, while the rest of me is in the middle of blooming into an array of bruises.

I look back at the ice and break a piece of it off, planning on taking it with me to study it. However, once it breaks off, the ice starts to turn powdery and crumbles into my hand. I look at its tiny crystals, mesmerized as it melts away. Before leaving the lot, I take a survey of the damage. Most of the ground has burn marks covering it, and the area around the spike is frozen over. I look away in shame at the damage before flying away.

On the way home, I turn over, floating on my back, and look up at the stars. With my enhanced eyesight, I can see them better than the naked human eye, almost as good as a low-quality telescope. The stars have always mesmerized me, taking my breath away. Every time I see them it's as if I get lost in their brightness, their shine. I would give just about anything to be among them. Instead, I take my time floating on home, trying to enjoy the sight for as long as possible.

Once I get to the Fenton Works sign, I float back to my room intangibly and drop through the floor to the lab. I empty the thermos and look around for the first aid kit, then go back upstairs. Luckily for me, my parents have already gone to bed, so my presence wasn't noticed.

I bandage the side of my face and check the rest of my body before heading back to bed, hoping to get some more sleep.

Unfortunately, by the time 6 AM came around, I had no such luck. Twice more, I had woken up by my ghost sense going off. Even though they were just a couple of octopuses and other animals, they still took some time to gather up.

Once I get ready for school, I rush to Jazz before she heads out the door and persuade her to let me ride in her car to school. Once we were settled in, I fell asleep, but it didn't take long for us to arrive, but I was gone to the world. Jazz had to resort to poking me in the ribs to wake me up.

"Late night again, little brother." She says, already knowing it to be fact. I let out a cautious yawn and rubbed my eyes, "What gave me away? I ask groggily. She runs her hand through my hair in a calming motion as she replies, " well, between wanting a ride and the new injuries," gesturing to my face, " it wasn't hard to guess." We sat there in silence for a little bit, with Jazz running her hand through my hair and me leaning onto her. We don't leave the position until we hear the warning bell ring and hurry out of the car.

I wave to my sister, " have a good day." She smiles at me and tells me the same, but before we separate, she grabs my arm and turns me around to face her. "Remember to remind your teachers about the A-List," I nod to her, " if they don't do anything when the class first starts," she tells me seriously. "Okay, okay," I reply, "come on, we're going to be late. Jazz gives me a quick hug then rushes down the opposite hallway.

I'm almost to English when a hand comes out of nowhere and knocks me into the wall. The impact had my body crying in agony as it put pressure on the bruises going across me. I look up with pain in my eyes to see Dash and a couple of his cronies boxing me in. I try to see past the jocks looking for a teacher, but I couldn't see a thing with them towering over me.

Dash didn't even say a thing before he delivered the first punch. I take a couple more as the other two keep me in place before we hear the shout of, "Detention!" The others turn around and move just far enough apart to see Ms. Tetslaff the P.E teacher coming towards us. She is a tall, intimidating woman with light brown hair and blue eyes. I don't think I have ever seen her out of gym clothes, and she lives to keep the A-List in trouble.

Once she comes in front of us she corners me while I start sputtering excuses, " well you see-" I started to explain before she cuts me off. " Get to class Fenton, now you Baxter are going to follow me to my office," she turned to look at the others, "You two as well." All of us looked at her as if she had lost her mind, but Dash still looked to be in denial as he showed no sign of worry at being in trouble.

I rush off to class trying to make my way to class before the bell rings and Ms. Tetslaff changes her mind. I make it into the classroom just as the bell rings and go towards my normal seat as Mr. Lancer Calls out to the class, "Before you all get comfortable I need you to gather your things and move to your new assigned seats." The class let out a sign of displeasure. Everyone went up to the podium and another set of groans were heard. I take a look and see that all of the A-List were separated. I checked for my own name and to my joy Sam, Tucker, and I were still grouped together with the only difference being that we were brought up to the front of the room.

This is going to be a good day.

All of my classes containing students from the A-Lists were given new seating arrangements giving me a new hope for my grades. So far classes are quieter but nothing else has seemed to change. Many of the A-List were called out for making a scene in class and hopefully things keep getting better.

It was at lunch that my luck ran out as I once again came face to face with Dash Baxter. " You must have thought that was so funny, didn't you Fenton?" He says accusingly, I tried to stay neutral but I still couldn't help the look of mirth that is planted on my face. Finally he is being held accountable. Dash was getting closer to me when one of his buddies called him off reminding him that he was in trouble and that he doesn't need to get into anymore.

Half way into lunch was when Jazz appeared. She sat down at our table, put her elbows on it, and laid her chin in her hands. She looked at me with the fakest smile that I have ever seen and said in a sing-song voice, "Oh, Danny, is there something you forgot to tell me about yesterday?" I started to pale as she went on, "Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that you told Mr.Lancer and Ms.Tally about a little ghostly occurrence?" If her look could kill I would be a pile of mush.

"Danny," Sam interjects, " what is she talking about?" looking at me suspiciously while Tucker is stuffing his face looking between the girls I start to crack under pressure. "Whaz et uhg detesuin yezteraay?" Tucker inquires with his mouth full.

" well you see… it wasn't exactly a detention," Sam and Tucker give me a betrayed look, probably thinking the worst, " I thought it was, I swear," I tell them sincerely. " Ms. Tally brought me to Mr. Lancer's office and wanted to ask me about my attendance, grades, and stuff." I Look at Jazz in the eye trying to convey that I didn't see any harm in my words, " I didn't know they would talk to you I swear! I was only trying to be honest." Her anger lessened at my words but the hostility is still there. " I only told the basics, nothing in detail I swear!"

"What exactly are you going on about?" asked Tucker, having his mouth free of food for once. Sam nodded her head agreeing with Tucker wanting an explanation. I put my head in my hands and said, " All I did was say that the house is loud and that it can be hard to sleep, and that some of the ghosts have an unhealthy obsession with us." Sam looked thoughtful, " Well that doesn't sound too bad," Jazz amended ", but then again I guess you could have done worse."

"Hey," I exclaim offended, " you're the one who said honesty is the best policy. It's the truth… not the whole truth but not a lie either."

Jazz gave me a look telling me that I am all forgiven but said, "Next time a little heads up would be nice."

"I'll keep that in mind."

#danny phantom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #skulker #Maddie Fenton #jack fenton #fanfiction #fenton family #fanfic

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fanfictionaries · 4 years

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Oh So Many Years: Ch. 14 - In The Morning

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Hermione arrives at Grimmauld Place

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST) (except that one time)!

Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<<Chapter 13

I can't stop myself from calling calling out your name I can't stop myself from falling falling back again

July 17th came around sooner than Fred was truly ready for and before he knew it, his father and Ron were leaving Grimmauld Place to meet Hermione and her parents in Diagon Alley. They had extended the invitation to George and himself as well, but the two of them opted to stay behind to help Ginny get things ready for her arrival. Or at least that’s what George told their mum and dad. Instead, they planned to use that time to work on welcoming Hermione back the only way they knew how.

“Okay, we’ve got – fake wand, spitting teapot, nose-biting tea cup, Ton-Tongue Toffee, Canary Creams, those Nosebleed Nougats we’ve been working on, aaaaand then of course we can always just turn her scarf into a snake or something,” listed George, looking down critically at the products in his trunk.

“You’re overthinking it, mate,” said Fred, chewing on the side of his thumb as he shuffled through his work notes on the desk.

“Well then, please enlighten me Freddie,” George huffed, placing his hands on his hips and turning to his twin.

“We can just apparate downstairs as soon as she gets here and scare her. She’ll never see it coming.” It was true. While Fred and George had passed their apparition tests first try the previous spring, Hermione had not been around enough to see them practice.

“What? A jump scare? That seems a bit cheap, don’t you think?”

“Since when have you cared how we pull pranks?” laughed Fred. “You’ve never been particularly choosy before.” With satisfaction, Fred finally found the piece of parchment he’d been searching for and pulled it to the top of his pile of notes. It was his ingredient list for Fever Fudge. He and George had spent the entirety of their free time so far that summer developing a themed line for their business and Fred felt like they finally had it. Now they just needed to make the products. And they needed Hermione’s help. Hermione. The familiar twisting and churning in his stomach returned every time he thought of her. What was it about the little witch that made him so bloody nervous? His palms sweat, his neck got hot, and his stomach ached whenever her soon to be visit was brought to the forefront of his mind that week. It was ridiculous. It was only Hermione after all. Even if he did fancy her at one point, that was off the table now. He was with Angelina and she still fancied his brother. The only thing to do was to get back to normal, go back to the way things were before he found himself lusting after his baby brother’s friend, go back to when they were simply just friends.

“I suppose we could do it when she’s standing next to Walburga. That’ll certainly give her a fright,” mused George, closing his trunk with a heavy thump of the lid.

“Now you’re getting it, Georgie boy!” Fred stacked the parchment and moved around quills and ink bottles, doing his best to tidy up the small workspace. Hermione was sure to make a comment on their messiness the minute she saw it. She always did.

“You seem in better spirits—” George leaned casually against the wall near the open window and looked at Fred with an annoyingly knowing smirk “—Hermione’s visit wouldn’t have anything to do with that. Would it?”

Fred scoffed. “It has everything to do with her visit, Georgie. We need a pair of fresh eyes to go over these product designs and it’ll be someone else to talk to in this depressing place besides you.”

George opened his mouth, clearly ready to refute Fred’s statement when a large tawny owl soared through the open window and landed on the bottom left-hand corner of the desk. The owl had a stately, professional manner, akin to the owls used at Hogwarts. Taking the letter from its claws, Fred gave the owl a small treat and watched as it spread its wings and soared back out through the open window. He turned the envelope over in his hands and saw that it was addressed to him. The words were in a neat scrawl he recognized immediately, and so he tore into the envelope with enthusiasm.

Dear Fred,

I’m so sorry I haven’t written to you. Quidditch camp has kept me really busy. They have us running so many drills, I barely have the energy to eat at the end of the day. But, as I’m the new Gryffindor quidditch team captain (remember don’t tell anyone, it’s still a secret), it’s important that I know everything there is to know. I hope your summer is going well, though!

I will try to write more later, but I wanted to send you a quick note to let you know I’ve gotten your letters.

Yours,

Angelina

P.S. – You won’t believe who’s an instructor here. Oliver Wood! Can you believe it?

Fred threw the letter down onto the desk with a sigh. She clearly hadn’t read his letters. If she had, then she would have known that his summer was not going well. Feeling close enough with Angelina and taking the fact that she was his girlfriend into consideration, he’d shared with her his lamentings of his overbearing mother and the general stodginess of the home they were currently staying in. He hoped to get a tad bit of sympathy or maybe even acknowledgement. But instead, he got a few short lines and news on Oliver Wood. He smirked at the last bit. At least he could be certain that Oliver Wood was there to torture her with his insane quidditch practices and long-winded speeches on hard work and diligence.

“Who’s it from?” asked George.

“Angelina,” answered Fred, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his head as he stared at the discarded letter on the desk in front of him.

“What’s it say?”

The sound of the front door opening downstairs caught the pair’s attention and Fred stood, grabbing the letter, and tucking it into his pocket. “Don’t worry about it. Hermione’s here. Let’s go,” he said pointing to the door with a tilt of his head.

Sneaking down the hallway, they leaned over the banister and spied the top of Hermione’s frizzy head. They watched as she walked slowly down the entry hall, looking side to side as she took in the ominous visage of the ancient Black home. She was almost to the end of the hallway where it split into three separate directions when Fred looked to his brother and with a nod, and apparated. Fred felt the familiar pull at his navel and the thrilling sensation of the air being sucked from the space around him before he landed effortlessly beside Hermione. Half of a second later George appeared at her other side.

“Wotcher Granger!” they exclaimed in unison, immediately dissolving into laughter when Hermione jumped with fright. The poor little witch let out a startled yelp, falling back into the covered portrait of Sirius Black’s mother Walburga.

Upon being woken up the nasty woman began to spit her usual vitriol, “Filth! Mudbloods! Blood traitors! In my home! The disgrace! Out! Out!”

“Fred! George! How many times have I told you to leave that portrait be?!” screamed their mother, appearing in the kitchen doorway to their right.

“Wasn’t us mum!” yelled Fred in their defense, still trying to stifle his laughter.

“Yeah mum, Hermione’s the one that screamed and pulled the sheet down!” agreed George, slinging an arm over the shoulders of Hermione who currently looked incredibly displeased.

“Right, well I wonder why that was—” their mother scowled “—get! All of you, out of here while I fix this. Ron, help me, will you dear?”

Ron, who’d been leading Hermione down the hallway stepped forward and grabbed the sheet with their mum. Meanwhile, Fred and George followed their mother’s instructions and led Hermione into the kitchen.

“You two are biggest prats!” scolded Hermione, setting her bag down on the kitchen table.

“Maybe, but you still love us,” said George cheekily before pulling her into a tight hug. Hermione smiled, her irritation visibly melting away as she hugged George back. Once his twin brother had released her, Hermione turned to Fred, both of them fully intending to hug as well. But then they stopped, both jerking forward awkwardly before settling on a very stiff and uncomfortable handshake.

“Frederick,” she greeted him politely.

Fred cleared his throat before answer, “Granger.” They continued to shake hands, their arms sticking out in front of them for much too long as they stared at each other, unsure of what to say. “You’ve gotten taller,” Fred finally remarked, noticing the way she no longer came to his shoulder, but instead reached just past his chin. He released her hand lamely and brought it up to scratch the back of his head.

“Yes, well, it appears I’ve been through a bit of a growth spurt the last month or so,” she answered, before reaching for the clasp at her neck and divesting herself of her light travel robes. Growth spurt was right, thought Fred as he stared unabashedly at Hermione. Not only had she gotten taller, but her once lanky body had given way to a very womanly form. He exchanged a quick look with George, whose flabbergasted expression clearly stated that he too was witnessing the same phenomenon. Hermione Granger had gotten hot. Very hot. Swallowing thickly, Fred wanted nothing more than to burst into flames literally and figuratively. Being dead, he reasoned, would be better than dealing with the hot fresh hell of Hermione Granger surely coming into her own body the moment he had decided his attraction to her was off the table. Almost mockingly, the corner of the envelope that held Angelina’s letter poked into his thigh.

“Is that a new sweater, ‘Mione?” asked George. Fred shot a glare in George’s direction. While his question appeared to be innocent, Fred knew it was an obvious jab at the fact that not only was Hermione not wearing something three times her size, but the sweater in question outlined her new curves so perfectly that Fred had to consciously keep his eyes trained on her face.

“Oh—” Hermione looked down at her outfit “—yes. My mum insisted we go shopping before I left. Got me a whole new wardrobe and everything. Something about putting me in better spirits or something.”

“Why would you need to be in better—”

“My, my, my, well if it isn’t Hermione Granger,” the voice of Sirius Black cut Fred’s question off. He watched as Hermione turned excitedly and spotted the older wizard leaning against the doorframe that led into the dining room. The witch crossed the room enthusiastically, allowing Sirius to envelope her in a tight hug.

“Sirius! It’s so good to see you!” exclaimed Hermione, letting out a small squeak when Sirius lifted her into the air.

“Same to you,” he said with an exaggerated groan before setting her back on her feet and holding her at arm’s length. “Look at you! Is this really the same mousy little girl that saved my life two years ago?” asked Sirius teasingly before leading her to the kitchen table.

“Hold on a minute. We haven’t heard that story,” said George. The comment caught Fred’s attention as well. While the two had been informed by both Ron after his third year and their mum and dad that summer that Sirius Black was not the man they thought him to be, they had never heard exactly how he officially escaped his capture.

“Really? She only traveled back in time and road on the back of a hippogriff to break me out of my cell,” said Sirius, looking down proudly at a flushing Hermione. “Would you like some tea dear?” he asked Hermione.

“We’ll get it,” said George, pulling a stunned Fred around and towards the counter. “Well that’s interesting.”

“Which part?” asked Fred, reeling from the combination of Hermione’s figure, and finding out that she traveled through time?

George chuckled at his comment and the pair began to make a nice afternoon tea. Merlin, being able to use magic whenever he wanted was so convenient, thought Fred as with just a few flicks of their wands, the tea was prepared, and a nice plate of biscuits was ready. Levitating the cups, teapot, sugar, milk, and biscuits to the table, they took their seats at the table as well.

“Now, tell us all the sordid details of this breakout and don’t hold anything back,” said George firmly, reaching across the table and grabbing a biscuit.

Fred listened intently as Sirius began his story, grabbing a cup and preparing Hermione’s tea. She seemed surprised when he set the cup in front of her and even more surprised when she took a sip. The younger witch shot him a curious glance before taking another sip and grabbing a biscuit as well. What? Did she not think he remembered how she took her tea? wondered Fred before making his own.

By the end of his story, Sirius was smiling widely, Hermione was blushing furiously, and Fred and George were staring blankly. Ron, who had joined them halfway through, looked bored having already heard the story before from Harry and Hermione.

“Blimey,” said Fred, unsure of what else even to say. “Do you ever stop getting cooler, Hermione?” Fred’s ears grew hot in embarrassment, but the small smile Hermione gave him cooled the heat slightly.

“I’ve always been cool, Fred. Maybe you’ve just been too thick to notice.”

Fred gave a small chuckle, joined by the rest of the table. Just like that, the heavy weight of tension that had been present between him and Hermione since the moment she arrived lifted slightly.

“So, is anyone going to explain to me where I am exactly and what’s going on, or am I supposed to guess it at some point?” asked Hermione, looking around her with an exasperated look.

“I’m sorry kitten, I thought Arthur told you,” said Sirius.

Fred prickled. He didn’t quite like the way Sirius called her ‘kitten’.

“This—” Sirius motioned to the space around them “—is my childhood home. Left to me as the last living heir to the Black fortune. I volunteered it to Dumbledore for the Order.”

“The Order?” Hermione scrunched her brow in confusion.

“The Order of the Phoenix,” Ron chimed in, as if the name alone would be explanation enough.

“We’re like Death Eaters, but for the good side,” added George with a grin.

“Not yet you aren’t!” exclaimed their mum, striding into the kitchen with a scowl on her face.

Fred huffed in annoyance. He and George had been keen to join the Order ever since they learned about it, but their mum was adamantly against it. “Come on mum, we’re seventeen! It’s not your choice anymore.”

“Like hell it isn’t. You watch your tone with me Frederick Weasley. As long as you live under my roof, you do as I say. Is that clear?”

Fred and George rolled their eyes, turning back towards the table.

“There’s an Order meeting tonight Hermione,” said George.

“You can learn all about it after. Most of the members usually stay for dinner,” added Fred.

“In the meantime, don’t you want to check out your room?” George stressed the question, widening his eyes and tilting his head towards the door leading to the entry hall.

“Do I?—” Hermione gave them a confused look before her eyebrows lifted in realization “—I mean, yes, of course.” She stood from the table, moving to follow Fred and George out of the kitchen before stopping at the door and turning back to the table. “It was so lovely to see you again Sirius. Shall we catch up more later?”

“Absolutely kitten. Have fun…checking out your room.”

Fred grabbed Hermione around the upper arm, pulling her from the kitchen and back into the now silent entry hall. The portrait of Walburga Black was once again covered by the old sheet, but he watched as Hermione still gave it a wide birth. “Hold tight,” he said to the witch in his grasp before apparating them both up to his and George’s bedroom.

Hermione landed next to him, gripping the front of Fred’s shirt tightly in her fist as she doubled over, breathing heavily.

“Alright ‘Mione?” asked Fred, trying not to focus on the way she held onto him.

“You absolute BERK!” She released his shirt, reeling back to slap him across the chest. It stung a bit, but Fred laughed all the same, figuring he deserved it. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to apparate someone without telling them first?! It’s incredibly—oh god, I think I may be sick.”

“Come now, Hermione. That doesn’t sound like someone who time traveled and helped a convicted felon escape from authorities,” said George, walking past the two of them to open their trunks and begin pulling out products.

“Where did you even get a time-turner in the first place? Aren’t they regulated by the ministry?” asked Fred, walking over to gather his notes for Hermione.

“Professor McGonagall got it for me. She had to write a lot of letters to the ministry about how I was an exemplary student and wouldn’t use it irresponsibly. I signed up for every class, you see, and so the only way to take all of them was to use the time-turner.” Hermione had now straightened up. She looked a little less green as she walked towards them and peered down at products spread out across the bed.

Fred laughed. “If that isn’t the swottiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Watch it,” Hermione warned casually as she picked up a pair of extendable ears with equal fascination and revulsion. To be fair, the accurate imitation of flesh was a bit much, but that’s what Fred and George loved most about them.

“Speaking of swottiness—” George gave Fred an impish smirk before leaping forward and grabbing the large stack of parchment from Fred “—Fred made you this. It’s all our product designs, some of them old, some of them new, some of them not yet tested.”

“No notebook?” Hermione asked, exchanging for Extendable Ears for the stack of parchment, and looking at Fred with a teasing smile.

“Now, why would I give you my notebook? No, these are your copies,” admitted Fred, looking intently at Hermione’s face as she sorted through the pile.

“You made me copies. I’ve never known you to be so…fastidious Fred. Wow, you two really have been busy,” said Hermione in amazement as she continued to sift through the large pile of parchment.

“Yes, well, that’s about seven months of missed inventing time, Miss Granger. A lot happens when you’re not going about snogging professional quidditch players,” stated George.

“I was not going about snogging Viktor!” cried Hermione in indignation, turning the color of a ripe tomato.

“You weren’t?” Fred found himself asking, before he could stop himself.

Hermione looked back to him shyly, running her hands over her hair to flatten it down. Fred kept his eyes trained on the girl’s face, fighting very hard to not let them drift down to view the magnificent way her sweater stretched when she lifted her arms. “I mean…” Hermione drifted off, earning a wolf whistle from George who she promptly sent a scathing glare at.

Fred felt the all too familiar sinking feeling in his stomach return, but this time mixed with the overwhelming urge to take Hermione in his arms and kiss her till all thoughts of Viktor Krum were gone from her memory. He looked away from her, distracting himself with the products on the bed as he tried to process his reaction. It wasn’t his place to be jealous. Hermione was a free and single girl – she was more than welcome to snog whoever she wanted – and he had a girlfriend. He shouldn’t be jealous. He really shouldn’t be jealous. But he was.

A knock on their door pulled the three’s attention. The door opened to reveal Ron looking mildly annoyed.

“This isn’t your room ‘Mione. Yours is down the hall,” he said, crossing his arms and looking suspiciously at Fred and George.

“Hermione—” Ginny’s voice sounded from behind Ron “—come on! We’re sharing a room. I’ve got your bed all made up and everything.”

“Oh right. Fred and George were just showing me their summer homework,” Hermione replied, holding up the stack of notes in her hands.

Ron gave an obnoxious snort. “Sure. Come on, then. Before Ginny has a conniption.”

“Coming—” Hermione turned back to Fred and George “—I’ll have a look at these tonight.”

She turned, following Ron out of the room, and shutting the door behind her. It was silent in their room for a few moments as Fred stood staring at the place Hermione had just been.

“Merlin, did you see the baps on her!” George cried, sounding relieved to finally be alone just the two of them.

Fred couldn’t help but laugh against his better judgement, body shaking with chuckles as he turned to his twin who stared back at him with wide eyes.

“Come on now mate. It’s Hermione. Have some respect,” said Fred, flopping onto his bed and propping himself up against the headboard.

“Believe me, I have nothing but respect for them—” George followed his lead, lying down on his bed as well “—and in case you’ve forgotten, I’m a single bloke. I’m allowed to look. Couldn’t help but notice you paying your respects earlier. What’s your excuse?”

“I suppose I was rather surprised is all. She was fit before—”

“Was she?” George questioned, giving Fred a cheeky grin.

“I mean—” Fred stuttered over his words “—yeah, a bit.”

“But now she’s more your type?”

“I’m not answering that.” Fred rolled over on his side, facing away from his twin.

“Oh, come on Freddie. I’m a simple question.”

“No, it isn’t. Not when you’re leading me on – trying to weasel a specific answer out of me,” accused Fred. The whole conversation was like watching two trains headed towards each other on the same track. He could see the inevitable ending from a mile away but could still do nothing to stop it.

“Me? Weasel? Never. I’m just curious as to whether Hermione’s new shapely form has you wishing you’d asked her to the ball, instead of Angelina. That’s—”

“George, stop it.”

“—all. I’m sure now that she’s all filled out, she’d make a more than suitable girlfriend. The tits and ass would surely make up for her annoying bookish—”

“Oi! You’re my brother but say shit like that again and I’ll give the thrashing you deserve. You hear me?—” Fred turned over, glaring daggers at his brother in the bed beside him “—‘Mione’s got more to offer than just her body and in case you haven’t noticed, you benefit quite a lot from her annoying bookish personality. So just shut it.” He marked his words with a final sneer before turning back over and facing the door.

“Hmm, you’re right brother. My apologies.”

Fred didn’t need to see the smug expression on George’s face to know that he’d played right into his twin’s hands. He shouldn’t have let George’s goading get to him. He should have known that George was only saying those things to get him to slip up and admit something. George liked to play on Fred’s short temper. Always did. Staring hard at the dull dark wood grain of the bedroom door and the ornate trim that surrounded it, he wished more than anything he was in the comfort of their brightly colored bedroom back at the Burrow. At least there he could storm out, take his broom, and fly until he cooled down. But here, in the dingy, dark, confines of Grimmauld Place, he was trapped with his annoyingly perceptive twin one side of the door, and Hermione Granger on the other.

Hermione took in the sight of her shared bedroom in Grimmauld Place with perplexed curiosity. The ancestral Black home was unlike any other wizarding home she’d ever seen. Albeit she’d only ever been in one wizarding home before – the Burrow – and that, she was told, wasn’t necessarily “normal” as far as wizarding homes went. But still, the rich, dark atmosphere of Grimmauld Place and the things that inhabited it spoke depths on the history, ideals, and opulence of the Black family. She ran her fingers along the intricate carvings on the sleigh that was now temporarily hers.

“So, this is yours and my room! I made sure to get a bedspread you’d like and did my best to clean up. You wouldn’t believe the amount we spend cleaning these days, and the place still looks dirty all the time!” Ginny threw her hands up into the air in exasperation, walking over to her side of the room and kicking a dirty jumper into the corner.

“How long have you been here?” asked Hermione, sitting down on her trunk, which had already been placed at the foot of her bed.

“Pretty much since the day summer started. It’s been a real drag. I hoped to do a bit of flying this summer, you know, play a bit of quidditch. But this place only has a small garden and because we’re in the middle of muggle England, we can’t go too far in case we’re seen. I’m so glad you’re here now though, it’s nice to have another girl around besides mum, and Tonks on the occasion,” said Ginny, collapsing onto her bed and pulling a licorice wand out of her pocket. She took a large bite off the end of it and chewed it aggressively.

“Who’s Tonks?”

Ginny gasped dramatically, sitting up and turning over to face Hermione on her stomach. “She’s an Order member – auror for the ministry. She’s so cool. She’s a metamorphmagus so she can change her appearance to whatever she wants and she’s young so she’s always turning her hair purple or blue. Plus, she listens to the coolest music and wears the coolest clothes.”

“Sounds…cool,” said Hermione, flatly, brain still hazy from her interactions with Fred earlier. She certainly never expected to spend so much time with him from the moment she walked through the front door. Seeing and speaking with Sirius had been a nice distraction, but there was still how Fred made her tea perfectly and the way he quite literally pulled her from the room. To top it all off, he presented her with an itemized list of his invention notes. Was he purposefully trying to drive her crazy? He must be, she thought in exasperation, considering he looked even more handsome now than the last time she’d seen him. While his long hair was gone, she found the new professional cut to be even more handsome, despite her preferences. Then of course, there was the ridiculously sexy way in which his t-shirt hung on his biceps. Merlin help her, maybe she should have just gone to France with her parents.

“Hermione!” Ginny’s voice brought Hermione out of her mental fog. Looking up, she found Ginny giving her a curious look.

“What’s got you all lost in thought?” Ginny asked mischievously. “Is it a boy?”

“Why would you possibly think it’s a boy, Ginevra?” scoffed Hermione in indignation.

“Because you had this big dopey look on your face like you were fantasizing about Professor Lockhart in second year.”

“I did not!” Hermione picked up a pillow and threw it at Ginny who artfully dodged it.

“Yes, you did! Now, who could it be…not Viktor surely, since you dumped him royally at the end of the year.” She tapped the end of her chin in thought.

“I did not dump him. We parted ways amicably.”

“Okay, okay, whatever you say. Do I know the person?”

Hermione nodded weakly, unsure as to why she was playing along.

“Neville?”

Hermione shook her head no.

“Harry? It’s alright if you do, seeing as I’m going with Corner now.”

Hermione shook her head again, this time more aggressively.

Ginny gasped, “It’s not one of my brothers, is it?”

Hermione hesitated for a second too long, resulting in a gleeful exclamation from Ginny.

“Well let’s see. It’s not Bill or Charlie since you’ve only met them once, it can’t be Percy because you do have some taste, Fred’s currently halfway up Angelina’s arse, so that just leaves George and Ron!” Ginny smiled widely, clearly pleased with herself.

“I—” Hermione began but was cut off swiftly by Ginny.

“It’s Ron, isn’t it? I knew it! You know, I’m pretty sure he’s keen on you as well. Wouldn’t shut up about how you should be here while we were clearing the pixies out of the parlor.”

“He wouldn’t?” asked Hermione, caught off guard by Ginny’s offhand comment.

“Oh yeah. I think that’s why mum finally sent you the letter – to shut him up,” said Ginny, taking another bite from her licorice wand.

Hermione bit the inside of her lips and tried to come to terms with the fact that Ron might actually like her now. When had that happened and why hadn’t it been before she’d developed the biggest crush on one of his older brothers instead?

“I could help get you guys together, if you want.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione looked up at Ginny is surprise.

“You and Ron, while you’re here I could be like your wingman or something,” Ginny explained further.

“No, I understood what you said. Absolutely not Ginevra. You will not be doing that.”

Ginny held her hands up in surrender. “Alright, suit yourself. No need to pop your top,” said Ginny, tossing the last of the licorice wand in her mouth and standing from her bed. “I’m going to see if there are any leftover biscuits from tea. I’m assuming you’ll want some too?”

Hermione smiled widely at the ginger haired girl, answering enthusiastically, “Yes please. You’re super cool.”

Ginny exited the room, holding up a middle finger at Hermione’s teasing.

Hermione chuckled lightly to herself, standing and opening her trunk. She began to unpack, realizing it was best to get a clear and organized environment if she were to be there for the remainder of the summer. She started with her clothes – taking each piece out carefully and placing them either in the free drawers of the room’s dresser or in the wardrobe next to Ginny’s few blouses and dresses. Her new clothes, while very pretty, were definitely out of her comfort zone. Her usual clothes were so large and relaxed that she practically swam in them and she liked it that way. They were comfortable. But her mother insisted that she was becoming an adult now and so she needed clothes that actually fit her. She was able to save a few of the pieces from her old wardrobe, like her favorite sweatpants, favorite striped sweater, and of course, Fred’s cardigan. But the rest had been sacrificed and replaced by the fitted, tailored pieces her mother picked out for her.

Picking up Fred’s cardigan from the bottom of her neatly packed clothes, she brought it to her face and marveled in the fact that it had somehow kept his scent. It shouldn’t still, after all those months, but it did. Feeling a chill run down her spine, Hermione glanced out the window and noticed the sky had turned a dark grey and the trees on the street leaned heavily in the wind. Great – a summer cold front followed by a storm. England sure did have fantastic weather, thought Hermione sarcastically. Without even thinking, she slipped her arms into the cardigan and wrapped it tightly around herself before returning to her unpacking. Ginny reappeared a short while later, bringing a plate piled high with an assortment of biscuits, and what looked to be two pumpkin pasties. Hermione grabbed a pasty, nibbling on it as she organized her books on the spare table in the corner. She finished her unpacking and was chatting idly with Ginny about Michael Corner when Ron knocked and entered.

“Well, it must be serious, Gin, if Dumbledore is getting the Order back together,” said Ron, shoving a biscuit into his mouth.

“Of course, it’s serious, Ron, You-Know-Who is back. Harry said so himself and he’d have no reason to lie about it,” said Ginny.

“I wish the rest of the ministry agreed with you on that. Have you seen the vile things they’ve been saying about Harry and Dumbledore in the Prophet, Hermione?” asked Ron.

Hermione sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, yes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say You-Know-Who already had his fingers buried deep in the ministry and the prophet, but I don’t know how true that is,” she said, crumbling a biscuit in her hand.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Ginny curiously.

“Well, it’s quite clever what they’re doing. Isn’t it? Instead of coming right out and saying that Harry and Dumbledore are lying, they’re giving the readers subtle reasons as to why they should believe them to not be credible. A small jab here, a snide remark there. Throw in a few jokes and next thing you know, everyone’s laughing at dramatic, fame-seeking Harry Potter and his crazy aging mental mentor Albus Dumbledore.” The cookie was officially powder in her hands as she finished her theory. It had been circulating in her brain since the first time she’d seen signs of turning in the Prophet. It was another reason she felt so on edge these days.

“Dad says it’s Fudge. Says he doesn’t want to accept that You-Know-Who is back,” sneered Ron. He rolled his eyes and rubbed at the freckles on the side of his nose. Hermione stared at the spattering of brown for a moment, trying to find the same thrill in them as she did Fred’s, but only came back with disappointment.

“Fudge is an idiot. Everyone knows that,” spat Ginny, rolling her eyes as well.

“Who’s an idiot?” a voice popped in, the door opening slightly. George’s head came into view, peaking into the room from the neck up.

“Surely not us,” said Fred, his head popping up now too, just below George’s.

“Don’t rule yourself out so quickly,” said Hermione, sharing an impish smile with Ginny.

“Can you believe the cheek on this one?” asked George, striding fully into the room, followed closely by Fred.

“We just came to say order members started arriving five minutes ago,” said Fred, eyes flick back and forth from the hallway through the door and Hermione’s torso. Glancing down, Hermione saw his cardigan and wondered if he might finally want it back now. Was it inappropriate to wear another girl’s boyfriend’s cardigan?

“What?!” Ginny leapt to her feet, nearly knocking the plate of biscuits onto the ground. Luckily, Ron caught them before they could slip off the bed.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Ron, standing as well, and placing the plate of biscuits onto the table before darting out of the room behind Ginny.

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” said Hermione, looking between Fred and George.

“We’re not allowed to attend the meetings, you see—” explained Fred.

“—so, we have to take what we can get from watching members arrive and listening to their conversations as they walk into the kitchen,” continued George.

“We usually watch from the top of the stairs and sometimes mum forgets to cast a silencing spell and we can use the Extendable Ears to listen in on what they’re saying.” Fred pulled a bundle of fleshy string connected to two life-like ears from his pocket and waved it in her face.

Hermione scrunched her nose, remembering the disgusting items from earlier that afternoon. Exiting her bedroom, she took a seat on the ground near the railing at the end of the hall. The spot looked perfectly over the stairs and the entry hall that she had walked through earlier. Silently they watched as a string of wizards and witches entered Grimmauld Place – some Hermione recognized and some she did not.

“Blimey, it’s Dumbledore,” said Ron.

Hermione turned her attention away from a vibrantly pink-haired woman, who she assumed was Tonks, to the door where, sure enough, Dumbledore stood. “Why is that a surprise? Isn’t he the founder of the Order?” she asked.

“Well he doesn’t show up to a lot of these meetings. He’s a busy man, Dumbledore. Only pops in when he has something really important to share,” said George, looking down at the silver-haired headmaster in contemplation.

“Albus, we weren’t expected you—” Mrs. Weasley greeted the elder wizard in surprise “—will you be staying for dinner?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid Molly. No, I heard you’ve invited Miss Granger here for the rest of the summer. Is that correct?”

Ron, Ginny, and the twins turned their heads to stare at Hermione curiously. Hermione shrugged, just as surprised as they were to hear their headmaster speak of her.

“Yes, yes. She arrived this afternoon. I hope that was alright. I know Ron really wanted a friend here with him and Harry might—”

“It’s okay Molly. You’ve done nothing wrong. I was actually just hoping to speak with her and Ronald before the meeting began. If that’s alright?”

Hermione and Ron looked at each other for a moment. She wasn’t sure if Ron had come to same conclusion as her, but Hermione was almost one hundred percent positive that if Professor Dumbledore wanted to speak to them both, then it was probably about Harry.

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Weasley answered sweetly, before titled her head up and calling out to Ron and Hermione.

“What do they want with you two?” asked Fred, frowning slightly.

“Can’t be too certain, but it’s most likely about Harry,” said Ron with a shrug of his shoulders.

“It always is,” replied Fred and George in unison.

Ron and Hermione made their way down the stairs slowly, until finally they were standing in front of their headmaster. No matter how many times she spoke with the man, Hermione always found him incredibly intimidating. It never lessened.

“Ah! Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley,” Professor Dumbledore greeted them politely.

“Professor,” Hermione greeted him with a small nod.

“I was hoping I could have a quick word with the two of you. Perhaps, in the parlor?” Professor Dumbledore turned to Mrs. Weasley with questioning eyes.

“Yes, yes. It’s all cleared out now,” said Mrs. Weasley, ushering them to the parlor on the second floor before leaving them alone with their ever-intimidating headmaster.

They watched as the man circled the small space, inspecting the tapestries and portraits on the walls as his vibrantly purple robes dragged on the stained, emerald carpet. Hermione was beginning to feel as though she were responsible for starting the conversation, when Professor Dumbledore finally seated himself on a settee, so moth-eaten and threadbare, the springs were starting to peak through. He motioned for the two of them to take seats as well in the two parlor chairs opposite him.

“Now, I’m sure both of you are wondering why I wanted to meet with you.”

They nodded.

“Yes, well, as both of you are here now and will no doubt soon know most of the Order’s business, I thought it important to have a chat with you,” explained Professor Dumbledore with a small smile. He always smiled liked that, thought Hermione, like he was laughing at some small joke only he knew.

“We won’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about. I mean, besides Harry, we’re the only people we talk to during the summer,” promised Ron.

“Ah – well that’s exactly who you cannot speak to about this,” said Professor Dumbledore, adjusting his half-moon spectacles.

“I’m not sure I quite understand, Professor,” said Hermione, pursing her lips.

“I’d be impressed if you did, Miss Granger. Even with your intellect, it is hard to understand something that has not been explained fully. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the ministry and the Prophet are not acknowledging Voldemort’s return—” Ron flinched at their headmaster’s use of You-Know-Who’s name, but Professor Dumbledore continued unfazed “—Fudge is growing increasingly paranoid as the days go by, I’m afraid. I would like to ask that neither of you tell Harry about where you are, and what you’re doing this summer until you can speak to him in person. It’s exceedingly important that you do not write to him about any of this. Harry has been through a lot in the last few months; best to give him less to think about for a while.”

“You’re not worried about the ministry intercepting our letters, are you Professor?” asked Hermione, realizing the severity of the situation if it were true.

“Ah, you see Miss Granger, that is exactly what I’m worried about. So, for now I ask that you keep your correspondence with Harry brief and to a minimum. Can you do that for me?”

“Absolutely Professor,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, of course Professor,” agreed Ron.

Professor Dumbledore released them after that, disappearing into the kitchen to the dining room where she was told the meetings were held. The rest of the evening was a blur, Hermione’s mind a clouded, foggy mess as she processed what Dumbledore had told them. For as little as he said, the implications behind his words spoke volumes. Fudge wasn’t just denying You-Know-Who’s return, he was growing paranoid. A paranoid, denial-ridden minister in a time such as this was a dangerous thing, thought Hermione.

“You look knackered ‘Mione. Perhaps you should go to bed?” a voice whispered lightly from beside her as she sat in the nearly empty dining room, staring into the roaring fire. Hermione looked up, vision slightly blurred and dotted with floating white orbs from staring too long into the flames. She blinked a few times, seeing Fred’s vision come into view. A small yawn escaped her lips and she nodded, looking around her to see what remained of the Order. Ginny and Ron laughed heartily as Tonks morphed her appearance into all kinds of silly things – she’d been doing it all night and yet the novelty of it had not worn off. Professor Lupin and Sirius were telling some story from their younger years to an entranced George, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in the kitchen cleaning up.

“Come on, I’ll walk you,” said Fred, standing and offering his hand to Hermione. Hermione hesitated for a second, looking at the lines of Fred’s long fingers, before nodding and taking his hand. She supposed she was tired. More tired than she’d been in a while. Perhaps she might be able to get some actual sleep. The nightmares had been getting worse. Unsurprisingly, they’d picked back up the moment she’d started spending less time with the twins and more time worrying about Harry’s ability to survive during the tournament. Then, after the final task, after seeing Cedric’s lifeless body sprawled out on the grass as his father cried, they’d only gotten worse. The time spent at home only amplified it as well. It had been almost a month since she’d gotten a good night’s sleep. But, with the amount of time spent with the twins that day, she was almost positive that sleep would come easily and peacefully once again.

Hermione and Fred walked up the stairs to the third floor where their rooms resided. She was grateful that he did not apparate them straight up like last time and almost voiced as much. But instead, she opted to stay silent, allowing the soft, comfortable silence between them to last a little longer. This was nice. It almost felt like old times – when things weren’t so complicated and her and Fred were simply friends. When they reached her bedroom door, Hermione faltered, unsure as to why her feet kept her in place. She turned, looking up at Fred in the dimly, candle-lit hallway. The warm light of the candles turned his red hair to flames itself, igniting it in fiery reds and yellows. Harsh shadows streaked across his face, as the flicker of the flames passed his hazel eyes periodically. The goodnight she’d meant to give him, stuck in her throat and instead all she could do was stare up at him and marvel in how handsome he was.

“Thank you, Fred,” she finally managed to force the words from her drying throat.

Fred smiled down at her, reaching up and tucking one of her curls behind her ear. His touch lingered, the rough pads of his fingertips grazing the side of her cheek and sending shivers down Hermione’s body. She swallowed thickly.

“You know—” Fred began, pausing as if he was reconsidering his words “—you never told me how you can always tell me and George apart. Mum and dad almost never get it right and even our friends can’t do it. Merlin, even Angelina sometime—” He stopped, a pained expression on his face that gave Hermione’s heart a little jolt. How horrible it must be for everyone to always be confusing you for someone else. She wondered, for a moment, if he felt much like Ron did – forgotten, living in a shadow. Reaching up without thinking, she placed a hand to his cheek. Fred stiffened at her touch momentarily, but then relaxed into it, leaning his face ever so slightly into the palm of her hand.

“Well, it’s quite obvious really. Your eyes sit straight across, while George’s left one tilts down ever so slightly—” her fingers traced under his eyes lightly “—then of course there’s the line of your nose. Yours is straighter and you have a freckle, here, on the tip that George does not. And one here as well, above your top lip that George doesn’t have either.” Her fingers brushed across each of the freckles, her breath hitching when she got close to his mouth. Fred caught her wrist in his hand, holding it as he stared down at her with an inscrutable expression. Memories of his kiss all those months ago, flashed into the forefront of her mind and how she’d used that kiss to measure every kiss with Viktor. Nothing compared. Often times she’d lie awake at night and wonder if she’d be comparing every kiss for the rest of her life to the one she shared with Fred.

“You noticed all of that?”

“Of course,” breathed Hermione, pulse quickening.

“Why?”

This was all too much. She was getting too worked up over something she couldn’t have. She needed to get ahold of herself. Pulling from Fred’s grasp, she cleared her throat and looked down at Fred’s cardigan she still wore.

“I suppose, I really should give this back to you,” she said, hoping to break the spell between them.

And it did. Fred took a step back, creating space and looking down at the cardigan as well. He shook his head with a small smile before answering, “You’ve had it long enough now. I’d say it’s as good as yours.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione.

“Of course. I have loads. Looks better on your anyways—” Fred smirked, taking another step back “—Goodnight Hermione.”

“Goodnight,” Hermione mumbled, watching as Fred disappeared down the hallways and into his own room.

Hermione slipped into her bedroom and quickly changed into her pajamas, before sliding into the soft sheets of her bed. While they held a slightly musty smell from disuse, she could tell they were expensive. Sleep took her quickly. Visions of snow, lights, smart dress robes, and elegant dresses floating through her head as she dreamed. Good dreams.

But it was only a mere few hours later, in the early moments of the morning, before the sun even rose, that she sat up straight – heart beating wildly and brow sweat-slicked. With labored movements, she quietly slid out of bed, careful not to wake Ginny. She grabbed Fred’s cardigan and the pile of notes he’d made her before tiptoeing out of the room in search for a place to work. Surely in a house this size, they were bound to have a library.

Chapter 15>>>

Taglist:

@theworldisugly-22

@aoonai

@sjh-07-10

@is-it-madness

@i-d-e-g-a-f

#fremione #fred weasley #fred x hermione #hermione granger #fanfic #fanfiction #slow burn #romance #mutual pining

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officially-a-bee · 4 years

Text

"Are you sure we should be doing this, Jason?" Cristal asked nervously, glancing around. "I mean, it's really not good to mess with this stuff. . . especially not tonight."

Jason scoffed. "Nothing's gonna happen, Cris. It's just an old book. A game. We'll be fine."

"NoooOooOo, but Jase, Cristal's right!" whined Brandon in a sarcastic falsetto tone. "It's Halloween, and a blue moon, so obviously we can't do anything fun today or else we'll all kill each other!"

"Yeah, lighten up, Cris," said Emily, bumping Cristal's shoulder lightheartedly. "It's just a game. Let's have some fun with it!"

"Okay," said Cristal, still unconvinced. "If you guys say so."

Jason slapped the old, musty book sitting on the table in front of them. "Awesome! Let's see what this bad boy has to say!" He pulled it toward him and flipped open to a random page. "Ooooooh, demons! That sounds intriguing."

"Keep looking," Brandon urged, looking over his shoulder. "We should find something really freaky."

"You know it, bro." Jason kept flipping through, muttering various bizarre phrases under his breath. "Oh. Oh, this is it. Guys, I've found it. There's not many details, but whatever this is, is specifically only to be used for a night like tonight - Halloween, on a blue moon. It's perfect! We have to!"

"Um, what? How can we do some mysterious spell out of an old book from your dead grandma's attic if we don't even know what happens?" Cristal's face was white.

"It's okay, Cris," Emily tried to comfort her, but Brandon interrupted by bursting out into laughter.

"Oh, my God, Cristal! It's fake! It's all a joke! If you don't like it, you can leave! God, you're such a nerd!"

"Hey, shut up, Brandon!" Emily snapped. "It's not Cristal's fault if she's superstitious! Give her a break!"

"Thanks, Emily," Cristal muttered, staring at the tablecloth.

"No problem, babe." Emily patted her on the shoulder. "But really, it is a joke. No worse than saying "Bloody Mary" three times in front of a mirror. You don't have to play if it scares you, but nothing's gonna happen, I promise."

Cristal balled her fists and steeled her nerves. "No. I'm fine. You know what? I'll even do the spell. Give me that." She snatched the book from Jason, spinning it around as it slid across the table. "We need a metal bowl, and a bunch of herbs."

"Now we're talking!" Brandon rubbed his palms together. "My mom's got an herb garden, what do we need?"

Cristal listed them out, and Brandon grabbed his coat and dashed out the door for his quest.

"And we need blood. It doesn't say whose, but it should be enough to write down this incantation thing."

Jason, returning with the bowl, set it down on the table and shrugged. "We can use mine, I don't care. How much we need? I'll get a knife."

"I don't know. A bit. Probably not much."

"Whatever works," Jason said, barely audible from his kitchen.

"What can I do, Cristal?" Emily asked.

"Oh." Cristal looked back down at the book and saw that there wasn't much left to do after this. "Uh, you can get maybe a paintbrush and some paper? You're the best artist here, you can paint the words on, okay?"

"I have to paint in Jason's blood? Gross. It's probably filled with the bacteria of all the nasty stuff he eats off the cafeteria floor for money." Emily wrinkled her nose, but her eyes were playful.

Cristal grinned back. "Sorry. Try not to touch it, and you should be okay."

"Got it. I'm gonna have to burn that paintbrush when I'm done." Emily wrapped an arm around Cristal's shoulders. "Thanks for playing along, Cris. This is gonna be fun, I swear."

Cristal squeezed back. "But not for Jason."

"But not for Jason," Emily echoed. Then she let go, and wandered off to find the supplies.

Jason returned, smaller bowl and knife in hand, just as Emily got out of view. "Somebody say my name?"

"Yeah, Emily and I were just saying how not fun it's gonna be for you. Because of the blood," Cristal explained.

Jason shrugged. "It's no biggie. I bust up my knuckles worse than this on the punching bag every week."

"Your knuckles?" Cristal echoed curiously.

"Yeah, that's where I was gonna cut. Hurts less than my palm, y'know?"

"Fair enough."

He lifted the knife. "Should I do it now?"

"I don't see why not."

He lifted the knife, and Cristal turned away. She could manage demon rituals, but she wasn't a fan of blood. Just then, Emily returned with her supplies, setting them down on the table.

"Ugh, Jason, how deep did you cut? That thing is pouring."

"I dunno. Figured the more the merrier, y'know?"

"That's for people, not your own blood. I could have made do with half that and it's still going!"

"Hmmph. It is what it is."

"Let me get some bandages," said Cristal, standing up abruptly. She left for the bathroom to do exactly that, and when she returned, hands full of medical supplies, Brandon had come back as well, knees scuffed and dirty, with various muddy plants scattered across the table. Jason had a bloody paper towel wrapped around his knuckles, and the small bowl was half full with his blood. Cristal handed him the supplies, then glared at the mud-spattered herbs. "These need to be washed."

"On it," said Brandon enthusiastically.

"Should I start painting?" Emily asked.

"Sure!" Cristal picked the book back up and set it in front of Emily, pointing out the few phrases of Latin she had to copy. She read the instructions a bit further over Emily's shoulder, and upon seeing it required them to burn the bloodied paper alongside the herbs, left to get matches. When she got back, Emily was half done with the writing, and Brandon was using a ladle to crush the freshly-washed herbs in the bowl. She surveyed the sight and smiled a little to herself, if only because this was the first time she'd spurred any number of her friends into action. Her hands shook, though, and she stuck them in her pockets to hide it. There was no turning back now. They'd probably never talk to her again if she tried to back out.

"Done!" Emily announced, holding up her handiwork to show Cristal.

"Awesome, good job! Brandon, those look sufficiently shredded. I think it's time to start." She took the paper and book from Emily, setting the first in the bowl and the second open on the table in front of her. "Apparently I have to recite this, so hopefully my Latin pronunciation is okay."

Cristal read it slowly, rhythmically, in a quiet, monotone voice, making an effort to be dramatic. As soon as she was done, she struck three matches on the box and dropped them all into the bowl at once. It caught quickly - much faster than she anticipated - and burst up inches from her face. Seconds later, the contents of the bowl was nothing but ash, and all the lights went out.

A chill went down every one of their spines.

"I'll check the circuit breaker," Jason said, uncertainly.

"There's no need to do that!" Brandon shouted. "It was her! She's a witch! What did you do, Witch, I'll kill you!"

"Cristal isn't a witch, it was everyone's game!" Emily yelled desperately.

"I just did what the book said," Cristal whispered shakily.

"I still think you're a witch," Brandon snapped, "but whatever. I'll go check the breaker with Jason."

Just then, the church bells tolled midnight a block away.

"Wait a second." Jason said, sounding genuinely scared now. "Didn't that already happen earlier?"

"Yeah, it did. It was like 2 AM the last time I checked." Emily pulled out her phone, its glow lighting up her face. "That can't be right. This says it's midnight."

"What?" Cristal furrowed her brows.

Emily tilted her phone towards Cristal, and sure enough, the display read 12:01.

Brandon shoved her out of the way to see, and his face contorted. "No. I know it's later than that. I remember texting my mom about her herbs at like 1:45." He pulled out his own phone and unlocked it, and made a strangled noise when he saw what popped up. "They're gone. My texts. Like I never sent 'em at all. What did you do?" He turned his fury back towards Cristal, slamming her into the nearest wall.

"I don't know," Cristal squeaked. "I was just playing along. Like you guys. I did what the book told me to. I swear!"

He lurched back, and Emily shoved him away with a huff. "Leave Cristal alone, you bully. It's not her fault. I'm sure this is just a mistake."

"My phone says it's midnight, too," said Jason nervously. "I don't think just a mistake could change the time on all our phones. And even if it was about daylight savings time, that only goes back one hour, and they wouldn't ring the church bells twice for that."

"Or cut the lights out," Emily muttered.

"So what now?" Cristal asked.

"Circuit breakers. You two start calling parents to let them know." Brandon declared, then stalked out the door, Jason close on his heels.

Cristal brought out her own phone, and saw that it, too, now read 12:04. She swiped it open, then pulled up her mom's contact. It went right to voicemail when she dialed, so she backed out and tried her dad. Voicemail.

She got voicemail again from all three of her grandparents, as well as her older brother and both her aunts.

Heart in her throat, she lowered the phone and looked slowly over to Emily, whose face mirrored her own terror.

"Voicemail," they both whispered at once.

Emily, stirring out of their frozen terror first, took five strides to the front door and shook it - but the handle wouldn't move. Cristal darted across the kitchen and living room to the sliding back door. Also stuck.

Jason returned from the basement, shaking his head at Emily, the first person he saw. "It was like new. Everything was fine. But nothing did anything when I flipped the switches. I don't know what happened."

A high scream rang through the house, far too close, cutting off too quick with a gurgled cry.

All the blood drained from Jason and Emily's face, and they bolted through the kitchen and living room to see a tall, darkened figure standing with a knife. Jason turned on his phone to light up the scene, revealing a blood-spattered Brandon standing over Cristal's immobile form on the floor.

Brandon's hands shook, and he dropped the knife. "I told you. It's her fault. She's a witch."

"Did you kill her?" Emily said, with a freakishly calm demeanor.

"Yes," Brandon replied, seeming equally calm everywhere besides his hands, visibly trembling.

Jason swore.

"I'll kill you too, Brandon. With God as my witness I will kill you."

"Okay," Brandon said, "that's fair. But can we at least see if things go normally now? I just want to know if I was right. Then you can kill me. I don't care."

Emily stared him down, her face a perfect void of emotion. "Fine. You have two hours. Until 2 AM passes. Then you're a dead man. Give me that knife."

Brandon picked it up off the floor and passed it over wordlessly.

"Jason, go get some rope."

Jason's eyes flick back to life, and he walks out of the room, calm as anything, and certainly in shock. He knew this, but he didn't really know how to deal with it. Nor did he know how to deal with the fact that he'd just seen his best friend kill one of his other best friends. So he was just going to listen to Emily, because at least she knew what she was doing.

When he returned to her with the rope, she took it with steady hands and pointed to an armchair. "Sit."

Brandon obeyed, and she tied him tightly - hands together, then feet to the legs, then back to the back. She finished by shoving the remaining length of rope into his mouth and tying it around his head, effectively gagging him.

When she was done, she surveyed her handiwork and then looked to both of the boys. "Okay, listen to me. We are in a time loop, yes? I think that's clear enough from the disappearing texts and the church bells. So if 2 AM comes around, turning back into midnight like before, and Cristal gets back up, you walk too, and you leave her and everyone else alone. If she doesn't and things continue after 2 AM, you die. Is that clear?"

A few lonely thoughts occured to Jason. "What if it goes back to midnight and she doesn't wake up?"

"Then he dies. Whatever else happens, if Cristal stays dead, he's dead too. Very simple."

"But what if you get caught?"

"I cannot express to you, Jason, exactly how much I no longer care about that anymore. When we have signals again, you can call 911 and report me yourself if you like."

"I don't want to do that, Emily."

"Then don't. I'm not about to put the phone into your hands."

"Okay. So what now?"

"Now we wait for 2, or the bells."

"Okay."

Brandon made a muffled noise of affirmation, nodding.

"So it's agreed." Emily sat down on the sofa across from Brandon, not five feet away from Cristal's immobile body. "We wait."

Jason sat, too. No one said anything, but the time seemed to pass quickly. Soon enough, Emily lit up her phone again, and showed it to the room. "1:56 in the morning. It's almost over."

"Or all over again," Jason murmured.

The last two minutes dragged on. All three waited with bated breath. Just when Jason sat up to call the continued passing of time ---

Bing, bong, bing, bong.

They checked their phones - midnight again.

They looked to Cristal.

But she stayed still.

The room was motionless.

Until Emily stood and plunged the kitchen knife into Brandon's gut in a single smooth move.

He tensed up and struggled against his bonds, crying out soundlessly, but she twisted the knife and pulled it out. He went limp, blood pouring to the carpet.

Jason stared at Emily, openmouthed. "I didn't think you'd actually go through with it."

Emily spat at Brandon's still-twitching feet. "He killed Cristal."

"I - yeah." Jason didn't know what to say, so he sat silently again, staring at the expanding pool of blood. "What now?"

"I don't know," Emily admitted. She stepped gingerly over Cristal's body and tried the back door again. "Still stuck."

"Maybe it'll be different this time. Maybe time will keep going. Now that the one who did the spell and the one who killed her are both dead."

"I just said the doors are still stuck."

"Yeah, because we're still in the loop." He checked his phone. "I mean, 12:14 already happened twice now. But maybe when 2 comes back around, it'll keep going. We could leave. You should run."

"I don't know, Jason," said Emily. "We don't even know what that spell was about. And we all helped somehow. Your blood was in it."

"Then, maybe me dying will fix everything. But you did the least, you just painted it. I think if either of us has a chance of getting out, you do. But I also just have a feeling that this is the last one."

"I don't know," Emily repeated. "Let's check the book?"

"That's a good idea, but we don't understand Latin. Nothing on that page said anything about what the spell does."

"We have Google Translate."

"No signal."

"No, I've got data." She showed him her phone. "I just don't think we can contact anyone. It blocks us."

"Try it, then."

Emily pulled it up, and typed "hola" into the text box. "Hello" appeared next to it, so she turned it to show Jason. "See?"

"Oh. Cool. Let's go, then."

They went into the kitchen together, where Emily sat down and carefully typed in the phrase she'd copied earlier. As soon as she hit "enter", though, the phone turned hotter than fire in her palm. She dropped it and it fell to the ground, shattering on impact. She swore and stomped on it, but it was still burning-hot even to her socked foot, making her swear more. Jason watched her in concern, and grabbed her hand to check for damage.

"It doesn't even look burned," he muttered.

"It FEELS burned, JASON," Emily yelled, pushing him away.

"Sorry! Did you catch any translation before it fell?"

"Of course not! It didn't even show anything!"

"Jesus, okay, sorry."

Emily rubbed her unburned palm grumpily, then she flicked her eyes back to Jason. "So what time is it now?"

He checked his phone. "Almost 1:30."

Emily scrunched up her face. "These times are all messed up. Like, even more than usual. Me typing that shouldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes. It must be part of the spell."

Jason shrugged. "Yeah. Don't know what to do about it, though."

"Don't know what to do about any of this," Emily whispered.

"Hey." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders."We'll figure something out."

"Like what?" Emily demanded. "Live alone in this house forever, our only company the two corpses in the living room?"

"I don't know, Emily! It just seemed like the right thing to say!"

"Well, it was wrong. You shouldn't have said anything."

"I'm sorry! I was just trying to help."

"It didn't work! Just leave me alone!"

"Fine, I will!"

"Fine!"

Jason stomped out of the room and up the stairs.

Emily started to cry.

A few moments later, the bells tolled again, signaling midnight, and Emily cried harder.

Then, a muffled thud came from upstairs, and her heart stopped.

She kicked back her chair and took the stairs four at a time, ending at the room she knew to be Jason's. Throwing it open, she was forced to take in the one scene she dreaded the most: her last friend, lifeless on the floor. She screamed and pounded on his chest, begging him to get up, but it was too late. His faintly glowing phone beside them had just two things on its almost all black screen - the time, 1:53, and a single word: DIE.

Emily sat back and sobbed. She picked up the phone and threw it across the room; it hit a wall, fell to the floor, and broke with a terrible smash.

She had no idea how long it took to stop crying, but when she did, she looked up -

- and saw that the phone had shattered a window.

Her mouth fell open, and she shot across the room to stick her head out the window - and it went! She could get out!

Her arms followed, then her torso, and finally after tugging one leg after another through, she was free. Traumatized and criminalized, but free. She could run far away, until her only memories of her former friends were faded, but fond.

She shimmied down the roof until she was far enough to let herself drop, and then she took off running, fast as she could. There was a section of woods just by Jason's house, if she made it there maybe she'd be able to escape.

She could see it, she got to the treeline, she stumbled and fell but it was okay because she was under the cover of the trees -

- and then, far away, she heard the church bells chime.

@krystal-prisms

#horror story #halloween #death tw #gore tw #storytime with bee

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theawkwardterrier · 5 years

Text

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 11

AO3 link here

Shelby Peterson’s family has been to Disneyland and Disney World, which means she has been on an airplane four whole times. Shelby Peterson has taken pictures with Mickey, Minnie, Pooh Bear, and all seven of the dwarves. Shelby Peterson’s favorite rides is the Rocket Jets, but she likes the Alice in Wonderland teacups too because sometimes they spin so much that her little sister throws up. Shelby Peterson thinks that the Swiss Family Treehouse is so boring that she considered writing to the people at Disney Studios to tell them to come up with something better. Shelby Peterson thinks it’s a real shame that not everyone can experience the most magical place on Earth.

Steve hates Shelby Peterson.

He knows she’s a fifth grader and he knows he’s never met her, but if Nate brings even the specter of her into the house again, Steve’s banning her name.

It’s only because it’s Nate that he hasn’t already. He doesn’t say any of it in a wheedling way, or faux casually while peering up through his eyelashes to see how the information is landing. He doesn’t put it forward as if demanding anything. He drops the comments randomly - after spitting toothpaste into the sink, as he pulls out his math folder in the afternoon, when he asks if the peaches on the backyard tree are still too hard to eat - as if they are always turning over in his mind. His words are always simple and considered, the way Nate is, but there’s a jealousy there, a deep longing that makes Steve’s own brain start working.

“Have you thought about what you want to do with your vacation this year?” he asks Peggy. They have made sure over the past few years that Peggy takes at least two weeks off from carrying too much of the world on her shoulders. “I thought this summer might be a good time to take a trip. Rosie’s going to be starting college in the fall, Drea’s had a pretty tough year, and where have our kids gone in their lives? Brooklyn, up to Howard’s place in Maine, a little time at the beach here and there?”

They stand side by side at the kitchen sink - it’s one of their nights to do the dishes. Steve’s wedding ring (the replacement, which he’s grown quite fond of in its own right) sits on the countertop as he scrubs and rinses a frying pan then hands it to Peggy to dry. She circles the towel over it with an amused expression.

“Is this about Shelby Peterson?” she asks indulgently, slotting the pan into the rack. “Have you finally been convinced to experience Mr. Disney’s dreamland despite the expense?”

Steve finishes the last of the cutlery and hands it off to her, letting the scummy water circle down the drain. “Not exactly,” he says. “But if you can free up some time in August, I thought we might experience something else.”

They shuffle the kids out of bed at 6 AM, dressed in sweaters and comfortable clothing for the car and carrying their own pillows and blankets. The station wagon was packed the night before, its spacious trunk filled with suitcases, and once everyone is tucked in and already dozing again, they set off.

Peggy squeezes Steve’s hand and leans to take a catnap herself. The sun rising behind them, Steve pulls out of the driveway. As they move easily through quiet, empty streets, Steve looks in the rearview at his sleepy family. When he takes the time to consider it, when he isn’t caught up in the day-to-day routine of it all, there’s a strangely tinged sweetness in looking at them. They are the loves of a life he nearly didn’t have, and he is so grateful that he has had the opportunity to know them and be loved by them, for them to know and love each other.

He smiles to himself: he has no idea why Peggy thought this would be a rough trip.

By 9 AM everyone is up again and clamoring for breakfast.

By 10, they’re returning to the car following a nasty fight in the diner between Rose and Drea over whether they should both get pancakes or if one of them should get French toast (Rose: “It makes sense to have one of each! Then we can trade, a taste for a taste.” Drea: “You wouldn’t stop at just a taste! You’d probably eat all of yours and half of mine!”).

By 11, everyone is stewing in the aftermath of the argument between Nate and Drea as they’d returned to the car (Drea: “You can’t have that seat - you know we’re supposed to trade, plus I had dibs on that one and you know I get nauseous.” Nate: “The first part of the ride was short! Trades only count when it’s been hours. And we all know you’re faking because you just don’t like the back.”) and another between - surprisingly - Rose and Emma because Rosie refused to root around under the seats for Em’s sky blue colored pencil (Emma: “But you have the longest arms! They’re so long, it will be easy for you.” Rose: “I’m sorry, my weird long arms are busy.”)

Steve refuses to look over at Peggy, even as they stop for bathrooms, gas, and lunch around 1.

They divide into a kids’ room and a parents’ room at the motel in Indianapolis that night. Through the wall, Steve can hear the four of them bickering about who should have to share beds with who.

“I have no idea whether or not Rosie’s snoring is the equivalent of Nate’s kicking, but if they don’t go to sleep soon I don’t know that it will matter,” Peggy mumbles.

“If they’re tired out, it might make things easier tomorrow,” Steve suggests.

“I’m not certain that you’re in a place to comment,” she tells him, and rolls over to go to sleep.

Peggy takes the first driving shift the next morning, outfitting herself with sunglasses and a determined expression. They’re supposed to make it to Missouri by tonight.

“You look great today,” Steve tries about ten minutes down the highway, but Peggy just raises a waspish eyebrow at him and puts her foot to the gas. He sighs and tries to find a comfortable way to stretch his legs as he takes out his book.

The kids are following his example in the back, having each apparently elected to give the silent treatment to the rest. He isn’t sure how effective it is when they’re all doing it, but at least it’s quiet. Quiet enough that with the road whizzing beneath them and the scenery blurring outside, Steve actually falls asleep.

When he wakes up, Peggy is saying sternly, “No dirty words, Rose,” and Rosie is replying back, “I just said that we should look for signs that have the letters F and U in them! We’ve gone through the whole alphabet already, we have to move on to combinations. It’s just logic.”

“I can do without that logic,” Steve tells her, straightening in his seat and clearing his throat. “Your mother’s right, pick something else.”

“Hello, again,” Peggy says to him as he scrubs his fingers over his eyes to clear them. Behind them, the kids are reminding each other of the rules for Twenty Questions.

“Hey.” He smiles over at her. “I didn’t think I’d slept that long. Are these our same kids from this morning?”

“They are, they’ve simply remembered that they actually like one another.”

“Mom, Emma says that Drea’s pushing on the back of her seat!”

“That’s what happens when I’m all the way back here! My legs need somewhere to go.”

“Well, they like each other most of the time,” Steve says, and points to an awning beside the road proclaiming Dolly’s, the smaller print below reading Hamburgers, Floats, Fries. “And they’ll probably like each other more after lunch.”

Their motel that night has a pool, and the fact that none of the kids beg for a swim before bed should probably be a tipoff that something is up. Steve is still awake and reading at 11 when there’s a splash outside the window. He brushes back the curtain and stretches up as much as he can from his position sitting up against the wall. Rosie and Drea have already jumped in, and Nate is climbing down the ladder. Emma seems content to simply dangle her feet, at least for now.

“Are you going to tell them off?” Peggy mumbles into his shirt from where she’s dozing on his shoulder.

“Nah.” Steve closes his book and puts it on the bedside table. He leans over and rests his face into Peggy’s hair for a moment. “Hey, Peg,” he finally says, kissing the top of her head with his eyes closed. “You brought a swimsuit too, didn’t you?”

The night manager comes out at half past midnight to grumble at them that the pool’s closed, and when they go to check out, a charge has been added to their bill for a noise violation. Steve’s about ready to argue that he isn’t paying for any made up fine, but then he watches Nate and Emma guarding the luggage in the corner, interrupting each other with eagerness as they recall the underwater somersault contest they had with Peggy the night before.

He pays the charge.

They drive past a sign advertising a local square dance in one of towns near the border of Oklahoma, and even though they’re meant to just be driving through, the kids want to see it badly enough that they while away the rest of the day and put together the most appropriate outfits they can find from what remains in their suitcases.

It’s too intimidating for the kids to actually participate. Even Rose, who is usually difficult to embarrass, doesn’t attempt a venture into the fast paced synchronicity in front of her. But they enjoy themselves anyway, clapping along to the beat that echoes from the huge tent which has been set up, trying to translate the unfamiliar language of the dance for Emma, and appreciating the energy of the caller, a grinning, red-faced man whose enthusiasm only increases as the evening goes on, until he’s ending each number with a bellowed “Yeehaw, it’s done!”

For the rest of the trip, whenever something is completed - a meal or a book, the drive through another state - it will be inevitably and solemnly announced, “Yeehaw, it’s done.”

The plan had been to have arrived in time to celebrate Nate’s birthday, but the stop in Oklahoma puts them a bit off. They end up in a joint called Elmer’s for his celebratory dinner, which Steve doesn’t think looks particularly promising, until he meets Myra, the brains behind the operation.

She doesn’t even let them order, just brings out family sized dishes of lasagna and garlic bread and some kind of broccoli dish that all the kids actually eat. When they mention that it’s Nate’s birthday, she nods solemnly and asks how old he is. The cake, topped with eleven candles plus one to grow on, arrives at the end of the meal, so enormous that Myra has to balance it on both arms.

“How did you know what kind I wanted?” Nate asks her, wide-eyed, as they get ready to go. “No one ever guesses that I like white frosting but chocolate cake inside.”

Myra taps the side of her nose. “Restaurant owner secret.”

(Emma won’t leave until Myra’s given up her lasagna recipe, even though she and Steve have been perfecting their own for years.)

“If we’re just going to find a place for the night,” Rosie asks slyly as they return to the car, “why don’t I drive?”

“No,” Steve says firmly, only to find himself echoed by everyone else. Rose is a maniac driver. He’d tried to give her a couple of lessons but couldn’t concentrate on advice when he was consistently formulating strategies for evasive maneuvers - he was certainly getting older, but he could probably still get the two of them out if it came to it. It is common family wisdom that she’d only been licensed to drive because the examiner had interpreted her handling of the test course as a direct threat on his life.

Keeping a tight grip on the keys, Steve says, “I’m actually in the mood to drive a little more. You all go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when I find somewhere to stop.”

He turns off of I-40 around 5 AM. The sun is just beginning to trickle up the horizon. He leans over and runs his fingers over Peggy’s cheek.

“Are we there?” she asks, her voice soft and sleepy. She blinks a few times, slow, groggy, barely opening her eyes, and stretches a bit. “Have you accomplished your latest bullheaded idea?”

“Almost. Thanks for agreeing to come with me.”

“I always will,” she says. “You know that.”

He drives the rest of the way with one hand on the wheel, the other hand holding hers.

They don’t quite make it before sunrise, but that’s alright. There isn’t anyone much there: it’s chilly, a Monday morning. The kids bundle themselves up in their blankets as they stumble from the car. They are still in their clothes from dinner last night.

They stand together on the rim of the Canyon, looking out.

“This is it,” Steve signs when no one says anything first. He wonders if they’re regretting letting themselves get dragged all the way across the country. Maybe this isn’t enough for them the way he had thought it would be.

Then Drea says, “The world is so big.” For once she does not stretch the sign to exaggeration; it is held against her chest in wonder, a whisper. She looks up at him. “Dad, did you know the world is so big?”

He smiles down at her. “I had a bit of an idea.”

They start to drive back at night after two days at and around the Grand Canyon. It’s the only way Mom is going to get back in time for her to start work again, and everyone still has to go back-to-school shopping.

“At least you let us prepare this time,” Rosie grumps as they climb into the car. “No one likes sleeping in their jeans, Dad.”

Dad just kisses the top of her head and says, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Nate, like all his siblings, falls asleep pretty easily on car rides. But he wakes up a little while later and isn’t sure why. It’s really dark out, even darker than at home, and the stars look pretty from where his head is leaning by the window. Mom and Dad are talking softly up front. He likes when they do that. It makes him feel safe.

“I’ve been thinking,” Mom says. “It seems to me that once the cost of the various food and lodgings, the gas and souvenirs and all the rest have been tallied up, a trip to Orlando might have been more cost effective.”

“Maybe,” says Dad. “But wasn’t this worth it?”

“Hmm,” says Mom in that smiling way she does when Dad makes a good point. “I suppose it was.”

Nate remembers doing handclaps across the car seat with Emma until his palms were sore and they declared themselves world champions, making Rosie laugh until she’d almost peed in the pool, trying to remember the square dance steps with Drea even though he was too short and she was too tall and they kept tripping over each other. He remembers his birthday cake. He remembers Mom leaning over to Dad that first day at the Canyon and asking very quietly, “You really never saw it before? In all that time?” and the way he’d replied, “No. I guess I was waiting to see it with all of you,” and how Nate had felt all lit up inside from hearing that.

Worth it, Nate thinks drowsily, and closes his eyes again as Dad drives them steadily through the dark.

He’ll have plenty of stories of his own to tell Shelby Peterson when sixth grade starts.

#steggyweek2k19 #Steggy fic #Steggy #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #things left behind fic #(this is my free choice day fic if it wasn't obvious)

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