A/N: I am updating and reposting this fanfic that I wrote years and years ago. This will be Hermione/Fred. I have progressed a little since writing the original all those years ago, so I'm hoping that this is better than the last.


Fred watched Hermione as she sat in the corner of the burrow, pretending to read a book. He says that because she spent most of her time behind that particular book examining page two-hundred and fourteen. For the past month she had been 'reading' that book and hadn't turned the page once.

Every evening after dinner she would pick up the rather large book, sit on her pillow in the corner, and disappear behind that bloody book. When she was ready to come out of hiding for the evening, she would clear her throat and sniffle before reappearing into the real world with blotchy cheeks and red, swollen eyes. Once she had put it back into its resting place on the shelf they all knew it was safe to speak to her.

They all knew what was taped to the inside of page two-hundred and fourteen, but they all pretended not to notice. The Weasleys made sure to never touch the book on the shelf out of respect for the curly headed, brown-eyed witch.

Not that anyone wanted to touch the book. Just the thought of it could bring tears to anyone's eyes. It had only been three months, after all. The pain was still quite fresh for all of them. They had all lost either a brother, a best friend, a son….or in Hermione's case: her first love.

Fred won't call him her soul mate, because he could not bear to think of a God being that cruel. Hermione had done nothing but good in the world and she hadn't deserved to lose him. None of them had. So, Fred continues to consider his brother her first love in hopes that she will find an even greater love throughout her life.

The shock of his death was still so new to everyone. Three months was no time at all. Certainly not enough time for anyone's heartache to dull any. The family couldn't deny her that little moment of peace every night. So, they all let her drown her sorrows in that book. Two-fourteen. Fred really begun to hate that number.

Her movement brought Fred out of his thoughts and he watched as her fingers gripped the book a little tighter. He listened for a sniffle and waited for those big brown eyes to show themselves. Hermione was a creature of habit and he had learned the cues she gave when she was done with the book each night.

Fred waited and tried to smile warmly at her as she lowered the book to her lap. He didn't want to feel the ache his brother's memory left with his passing and he certainly didn't want Hermione to feel it. She stood up and returned the book back to its resting place; the book with Ron's picture nestled on that page. Her fingers grazed the spine once more as it lay on the shelf and she murmured a goodnight to it. Fred's heart broke for her.