About three things I was absolutely positive.

First, Fred was a vampire.

Second, there was a part of him - and I didn't know how dominant that part might be - that thirsted for my blood.

And third, this sounded an awful lot like a teenage romance novel.

AN: I promise, no more Twilight quotes from here on out. This fic was written for my dearest Jack who is indeed a fan of the Twilight series, so I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy vampire!Fred as much as you do Edward, hon! (even if he doesn't glitter) I'm also sorry it's a teensy bit late, but it's still a work in progress.

To everyone else, I hope you enjoy this fic. I did my best to keep it both original and in character given the story premise.


Chapter One: Discoveries

"It can't be. You're dead," Hermione stammered, her fingers clenching tightly around her wand as she began to back up.

"You're right," Fred agreed. "I am." He approached her slowly, an almost predatory gleam in his eyes. His lips parted, revealing too white teeth. He ran his tongue across them, pausing to curl around his extended incisors, and then everything went dark.


Four long months had passed since Voldemort's defeat at the hand of the infamous Harry Potter. In the wake of the events, the papers had been overwhelmed with stories and articles as people clamored hungrily for information. There were numerous recounts of the Battle of Hogwarts to be told, along with the feel good stories of families reunited, reassuring statistics of imprisoned Death Eater's and the unavoidable profiles of those who had died.

Fred Weasley, co-founder of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley, was part of the initial wave of attack on You Know Who's army...

"Can't they even type the name Voldemort?"

Hermione sighed, looking up from the page to take a sip of tea. She had already read the profile numerous times and had finally reached a point where she could read it without breaking down. She found it cathartic to work through her grief by analyzing the text but this one had been by far the hardest, even more so than the double whammy of Lupin and Tonk's combined article.

Setting down her cup, she skipped further down the page.

...remembered fondly by friends and relatives as a perpetually happy person known for practical jokes played with twin brother, George...

George... She swallowed the last dreg of tea, the remaining liquid cool and overly sweet with settled sugar. She'd have to go by the shop and see how he was doing. According to Ron he still wasn't handling things well.

…Mr. Weasley is buried on the Hogwarts grounds amongst other members of the now renowned Order of the Phoenix. He is survived by parents Molly and Arthur, and six siblings.

Tossing the paper to the far side of the table, Hermione stood. Fred had given far more than the majority of the population and all the Prophet could spare him was a single column on page 13-D in September. She was much fonder of the four page spread the Quibbler had dedicated to him in their first post-war issue, its glossy pages full of happy animated photos.

She placed her cup in the sink beside a few days' worth of unwashed dishes and headed down the hall to her bedroom. She pulled on her robes without much care, deciding to take a walk through Diagon Alley and check in on George now while it was on her mind.

It was nice to be able to Apparate right from her flat without worrying about wards and safety. The first few weeks of having to walk half way through her new hometown of Ottery St. Catchpole before traveling had been an incredible hassle. Now she just had to step around the side of her building to make sure she couldn't be seen before disappearing.

She fought against her body's instinctive desire to stumble as she arrived outside the Leaky Cauldron, straightening up as nonchalantly as she could. She walked slowly, not eager to see the morose expression she was getting more accustomed to on George's face. She often thought it would have been better if they'd both been taken by death. Together forever.

The shop front was still spectacularly bright and animated, and it was a relief to see a fair amount of customers inside. No matter how he felt, George was still able to put on a look of happiness for the sake of the business. She wasn't a proponent of suppressing your feelings, but it wasn't good for him to wallow in them either. Sometimes a smile, even a forced one, could help.

"Hey George," she greeted as casually as she could manage. He looked up at her and shrugged his shoulders in response.

"Looks like you're still pretty busy. That's good."

"Yeah, I suppose," he agreed in monotone. "Ron's been pretty helpful, I have to admit."

"I saw him the other day. He's really happy he's gotten the chance to spend some time with you." She offered him a smile and wasn't surprised when he failed to return it. "If you need any help with stuff Ron can't handle like the accounting or anything, you'll let me know, right?"

"Doubt I will. I always handled that stuff anyway. Fred was more-" His voiced pitched several octaves higher before he broke off. He sniffed loudly and shifted his attention to the nearby Pigmy Puff cage for several minutes before turning back to her. "Thanks for the offer."

He attended to several customers while Hermione stood to the side, fidgeting slightly. When they were finally alone, she spoke again.

"George, I know this is hard but you can't keep pushing on like nothing happened."

"Does it look like I'm doing that?" There was no malice in his voice, though he spoke harshly. "If this is what I was like before I lost the person closest to me, then please let me know."

"I didn't mean it like that."

George sighed, his shoulders sagging. "I know."

An awkward silence stretched between them until Hermione finally squared her shoulders and took hold of George's arm. "Right, you're closing the shop and I'm going to cook you dinner."

Even his confused frown looked sad. "What?"

"You. Shop. Close. Now. Come on, do it." She gave him a push towards the door, glancing around to make sure there were no customers left. She forced a cheery smile as she faced him again. "You lock up and I'll be upstairs. I may not be the best cook in the world, but it's nice to have something homemade, right?"

She ran for the backroom, knowing it wouldn't take long for his confusion to fade and then he would likely kick her out for interfering. She hoped that once she got going in the kitchen though, he would let her be. Her feet pounded up the steps and she swallowed against the rising feeling of nausea that hit when she feared she was pushing too much.

The fridge was surprisingly well stocked, most likely by Mrs. Weasley, and she began pulling out an assortment of vegetables along with what looked like left-over meatloaf. In the pantry she found a box of pasta and an unopened jar of tomato sauce. It would be a simple meal, but that meant she could get it done quickly, and that it shouldn't turn out too bad.

It didn't take long for her to find a large pot which she filled and set to boil. On the counter she set a knife to chop the vegetables, one of the few cooking magic skills she had learned, and threw the sauce into a pan. She was just breaking up the meatloaf into bite sized pieces when George came in.

"You're insane," he muttered, shaking his head. "I don't know how you wormed your way up here, but I'd rather you go."

"I managed to worm my way up here because you're so distracted that you're barely functioning," she told him sternly. "And I will not be leaving until you've eaten a good meal at the very least."

"Suit yourself." He sat in the empty armchair in the living room and made no further attempt to make her leave. She wasn't sure if she should take that as a victory or not.

George merely sat while she cooked, staring blankly ahead of him. It was painful to watch so she tried to focus on her cooking instead, hoping against all odds that it would turn out alright. When she accidentally flipped several vegetable pieces out of the pan onto the stove, she thought it may have been a better idea to come back with some takeout. The food she managed to get onto their plates looked fair enough at least.

"George, come on in!" she called, resuming her air of forced cheer. "Supper's ready."

She smiled warmly at him and he returned it weakly, the corners of his mouth barely turning up. "Looks edible at least," he commented.

"Is that all you have to say?" she huffed. "After I went out of my way for you and everything."

"I didn't ask you to," he reminded her, but she could see the slight play of a smile on his lips again.

"Yeah, well tough. Show a little appreciation or I'll have your mum over here to remind you of your manners."

George shook his head and began to eat, nodding his head in agreement to some unspoken thought. "It's pretty good." He looked up to stare at her for a moment. "Thank you."

"Thanks for letting me," she replied sincerely. "I know things are really hard for you, and I want to be able to be there for you."

They ate in silence for a relatively long while.

"Did you see the article?"

Hermione looked up, surprised that he would bring it up. "Yeah. It was really hard to read at first. Kept bringing up all these memories I didn't want to face."

George looked up in surprise then and frowned. "I thought you were handling everything just fine."

She shrugged. "It's hard for everyone George. There are some days I don't want to get up at all; when it feels like it's too much to handle. But I make myself do it anyway and sometimes the feeling doesn't go away, and other times it does. Either way I just keep pushing forward."

George nodded, spearing the remaining vegetables on his plate with his fork. "Just keep pushing forward."

"It hurts, and it's not fair and no one can know how hard it is for you, but if we just let ourselves wallow in misery, it won't do anyone any good."

He nodded silently and Hermione began to clear their dishes. "I'll get them," he told her, stepping towards the sink. "You should get home."

"Alright." She put their plates down, knowing she shouldn't push any further, and pulled him into a hug before stepping away. "Good night George."

"Night."

She let herself out, walking through the silent store and locking the doors again behind her. The air was beginning to chill and she was surprised to see that the sun had already set. Along the street, flames flickered in their lamp posts and she shivered slightly. She began to walk and stopped, a hint of movement catching her eye. There in the alley she could barely make out a figure hidden in the darkness.

The person ran and she moved on instinct, drawing her wand as she rushed towards them. They rounded a corner and she pushed herself to move faster, afraid they'd Disapparate before she could find out who they were and what they wanted.

Pulling around the corner herself, she was surprised to see the hooded figure standing with his back to her. The alley was blocked off here but they could have easily Apparated. Judging by the man's frame, he was certainly older than seventeen.

"Who are you?" she demanded with forced bravado, but the person remained silent. "What are you up to?"

There was a low chuckle, its tone and intonation sounded off to her ears and she shuddered.

"So quick to assume I'm up to no good. Typical."

"Yeah?" Her voice was shaky now, but she gripped her wand in a steady hand. "What am I supposed to think when you run like that?"

"That I don't want to be seen, perhaps?"

"Sounds suspicious to me. Now, who are you?"

"Were you checking on George? How is he?"

Hermione blinked, thrown by his question before regaining her voice. "Is that why you were there? What do you want with him? Some sort of revenge? Or are you just a thief looking to rob the till?"

Again that crooked chuckle filled the dark alley. "Such narrow minded conclusions… Since when are you such a pessimist?"

"I'm a realist. Give me a reason to think otherwise and I will."

The man shifted slightly, pulling the hood of his cloak tighter. "Is there any chance you'll just walk away and leave me be?"

"Not even the slightest."

"Then I have no choice." He turned, gravel crunching beneath his boots as he came around to face her. She could make out little of his face beneath his hood, but as he pulled back the fabric, familiar features came into view.

Shaggy hair, longer than she last saw it and so matted with dust and tangles that the vivid red shade existed solely in her imagination. Green eyes, sharp and cunning, framing a smoothly sloped nose which led to lips once pink, now pale and chapped.

"It can't be. You're dead," Hermione stammered, her fingers clenching tightly around her wand as she began to back up.

"You're right," Fred agreed. "I am." He approached her slowly, an almost predatory gleam in his eyes. His lips parted, revealing too white teeth. He ran his tongue across them, pausing to curl around his extended incisors, and then everything went dark.


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