#and it’s not like we’ve hung out every single weekend. she’s had plenty of opportunities to invite me to stuff

[permanentreverie]

just a quick lil rant before i head to bed

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 10 - Even Though

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

A botched Hogsmeade visit and the first task of the tournament! 

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

HOLY SMOKES! This chapter is over 9000 words??? 

I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<< Chapter 9

Something about the way he touched me. Was so slow, the way he put his arms around me. Even though I'm feeling lonely, I'm, I'm feeling lonely.

“I was thinking…”

“About?” Fred asked lazily as he leaned against the wall of the secret passageway behind Gregory the Smarmy. He watched the beautiful girl before him as she pulled her panties up her long, toned legs and moved her hands up to button her white school shirt. She was having a difficult go at matching the correct button to hole when Fred stepped forward and brushed her hands away. He made quick work of righting her shirt as she tightened his tie back to its proper place. They shared a small smile and leaned into each other, sharing a brief kiss.

“Well…I know you said Hogsmeade weekend would just be you and me, but what if we made it a group thing? You know, like the old times.” Angelina proposed, linking her fingers with Fred’s as they exited the passageway. He glanced down quizzically at their interlocked hands.

“What? You don’t fancy spending quality time with me?” asked Fred cheekily as they walked at a leisurely pace.

“Please, what would we talk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What do we usually talk about?”

Angelina paused for a moment. “You know, now that I’m forced to think about it, I have no idea,” she laughed, Fred joining in when he realized he too couldn’t remember a single conversation they had shared in the past six years when pressured to.

As soon as his good humor appeared, it was dampened by a sudden realization. “When you say a ‘group thing’, who exactly do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You, me, George, Lee, Katie, Alicia—” mused Angelina, pursing her lips in thought “—you know, the whole gang.”

Fred hesitated, the list did not include Harry or Hermione and he and George had already agreed to go with them to Hogsmeade. When he originally brought up Hogsmeade with Angelina, he assumed George could still go with Harry and Hermione and it wouldn’t be a big deal, but if he and George weren’t going…For a moment, he thought of proposing that they invite them along as well, but for some reason he got the sense that Angelina might not be too happy about him inviting his new friends to hang out with “the gang” as she so endearingly termed it. He also thought about backing out entirely and saying he forgot he had already made plans, but he knew that was most likely the worse of the two options.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll let George know,” he agreed, fighting past the sinking feeling in his stomach he got so often these days. He hoped Hermione wouldn’t be too upset with him for canceling on her but then he remembered her silent conversation with Harry at the Gryffindor table. From what he could tell, she would have Harry to go along with and so he didn’t feel quite as bad about ditching her for Angelina and the rest.

It was a week later, on Saturday morning as Fred walked with George towards the front of the grounds that he realized he had forgotten to tell Hermione they wouldn’t be attending Hogsmeade with her and Harry. It wasn’t as if he never had the opportunity to bring it up. He had plenty of opportunities, but every time he planned on telling her, he chickened out. At a certain point in the week he decided that when she brought up the coming Hogsmeade visit again, he would mention it, but much to his annoyance, she never did. The familiar sinking feeling in his stomach returned when he saw the tiny figure of Hermione Granger, adorned in baggy trousers, trainers, cardigan, and robes. She stood waiting for the carriages that took them to the small wizarding town of Hogsmeade just a few meters away from the small group that was Angelina, Alicia, Katie, and Lee. Her stoic posture contrasted sharply with the rowdy nature of his other friends. Instinctively his pace slowed, afraid of what he was going to say. George landed a firm punch to his shoulder, catching his attention.

“I already told her.”

“What? When?” Fred asked dumbly, feeling both guilty and like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Wednesday,” stated George matter-of-factly. “I knew you were going to cock up the whole thing, and look at that, I was right.” George made a sweeping motion towards Hermione as they got closer, a smug expression on his face. “She took it surprisingly well too; in case you were wondering. Although I think she would have liked to hear the news from you since you were the one that changed our plans.”

Fred scowled at his brother. Mostly because he knew he was right, and Fred hated that. But he was also surprised that Hermione hadn’t said anything to him. As they neared, Angelina caught sight of them and ran up to greet them.

“It’s about time you two showed up. The whole school’s already left, and we’ve been waiting for you. The lines are going to be outrageous at Honeydukes,” she complained, grabbing Fred’s arm and pulling him towards the group. Angelina did not let go of his arm. Instead she casually held onto it like it was something they’d done a million times and for some reason, Fred’s palms began to sweat. Though he was trying to stay focused on the conversation going on among his friends, his gaze kept drifting back to Hermione, standing alone, staring down at a large book in her hands. The cardigan she wore, he noticed looked quite familiar and with further inspection, he realized it was his. The very one he gave her at the World Cup and the very one she had said she loved so much. The sleeves, a bit too long for her arms, hung over her hands with only her fingers peeking out of the ends to hold her book. Her curls swayed gently in the chilly breeze, catching the light of the sun, and revealing hints of gold. If you didn’t know her or were only familiar with her in passing you wouldn’t’ think anything odd about Hermione Granger standing there, but something about the picture didn’t seem right to Fred. He stared for a moment longer when it dawned on him.

“Granger,” he called over his friends. The slight fourth year closed her book and looked up at him. “Where’s Harry?”

“Yeah, wasn’t he supposed to come with you?” George piped up, the conversation around them now put on hold as they all looked at her.

“Oh. Um, he couldn’t make it. He wasn’t feeling too well,” Hermione called back to them, an odd tone in her voice. Great. Not only had he ditched her but now she was going by herself, bemoaned Fred to himself. He felt like the biggest prat in all of England. The familiar sound of a carriage drifted up the lane and Fred took a step closer to her, breaking away from his circle of friends.

  ***

“You can tag along with us if you’d like.” Fred extended a hand towards her.

“Oh…” Hermione hesitated, unsure of what to say. She couldn’t very well say ‘Oh no thank you. I’m actually not alone. I have Harry Potter underneath a magical invisibility cloak’. For in fact, she did have Harry Potter underneath a magical invisibility cloak, standing next to her whispering little comments to her as she pretended to read her book. Then again, even if she were alone, she wasn’t sure she was as invited as it seemed. Staring over Fred’s shoulder she saw Angelina glaring at her. Her harsh, scrutinizing gaze swept from the top of Hermione head to her toes, only to travel back up to her torso where she focused very hard. Hermione couldn’t imagine, for the life of her, what she was staring at. She looked down, wondering if she had spilled something on herself at breakfast, but only saw the knitted pattern of her cardigan. Wait, not her cardigan – Fred’s. It was Fred’s. Was that what Angelina was so focused on? Had she recognized the hand-knitted piece of clothing as her friends? If so, why was she so obviously put off by it? When she’d gotten dressed that morning, she’d scrounged her trunk for her favorite sweater. But instead of the chunky striped sweater her mother had bought her, she found the cardigan Fred had leant her oh so long ago. She should have returned it ages ago, but she simply forgot. Lifting the sweater from her trunk, she felt the soft thread and cozy fabric in her hands and couldn’t resist the urge to put it on. Surely, Fred wouldn’t care if she wore it just one more time. Afterall, if he hadn’t asked for it in all this time, he couldn’t miss it. Feeling a sharp tug on one of her curls, Hermione jumped and tucked her hands behind her back to swat at her invisible friend.

“Hermione?” Fred pushed further. She had yet to answer him and the carriage had reached them, stopping in front of the space that separated herself and the older Gryffindor students.

“Thank you, but I’m alright. I’m probably just going to pop into Tomes and Scrolls and then head back up to the castle,” answered Hermione, hoping that her bookish tendencies would seem off-putting to the lot.

“Are you sure?” he asked, frustrating her. It had been so easy for him to abandon her for his other friends before, why was it so hard now? she thought hotly.

“Yes. Completely. Besides I’m sure I wouldn’t be much fun. Boring books and all,” she laughed nervously.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be any trou—” Fred started.

“She said she didn’t want to go. Leave the poor girl be. I’m sure she’ll be fine,” said Angelina, pulling him towards the carriage fill with their friends. Fred followed, looking back at her with furtive glances. Hermione waved goodbye, smiling politely as the sixth years rode off in the horseless carriage. George waved back with exaggerated enthusiasm. Fred waved as well but looking satisfyingly guilty. Hermione relished a tad in it. Serves him right, she thought mercilessly as they disappeared out of view. When George had told her, they couldn’t go to Hogsmeade with her and Harry because Fred had told their friends they would go with them instead, Hermione had been a little hurt. However, George was quick to defend his twin, stating in his words ‘Fred is the big soft, push-over out of the two of us’ and gave in easily when guilt-tripped by their friends. It made sense. Still the polite thing to do would have been to tell her himself and not wait till a few days before to do so. Truly, it was the polite thing to do.

“You didn’t have to pull my hair Harry,” she scolded as she rubbed the back of her head.

“Sorry.”

“Why couldn’t we tell Fred and George you were with me again? They already know about the invisibility cloak,” Hermione questioned, tucking her book into the pocket of her robes. She had understood Harry’s wariness to being out in such a public place while everyone at Hogwarts still thought poorly of him. It was the reason she had suggested he wear the cloak.

“Because the last time they spotted me wearing it, they practically tackled me,” said Harry sounding slightly aggravated. “I’d rather not risk that.”

Hermione nodded. The next carriage had arrived and so she stepped on board, seating herself on the bench to her right. She felt Harry board the carriage as well, taking a seat opposite her.

“Can’t you just take off the cloak for a little Harry? There’s no one else around and it’s getting a bit odd trying to talk to you when I can’t see you,” said Hermione, staring in the direction of what she hoped was his face. Then, before her eyes, Harry appeared. Or the parts of him that existed from the chest up, as he pulled the cloak off of his head. His dark hair was uncontrollably messy and long, even for him. His cheeks and nose were tinted pink from the cold, and he smiled at her impishly.

“Better?”

“Much—” Hermione smiled at him “—so your conversation with Sirius is tonight?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded his head enthusiastically. If Hermione hadn’t already known, the jovial expression on Harry’s face would have given away just how excited he was to speak with his godfather. It had been approximately six months since they last saw him and the soonest Harry could see Sirius wasn’t soon enough.

“Would you like me to be there?” she asked, secretly hoping he would say yes as she was extremely curious as to how Sirius planned on getting in contact with his godson. She looked at her best friend expectantly, but from the expression on his face, she wasn’t at all surprised by his response.

“Oh um…I was actually thinking I would talk to him alone. Sorry.” His face looked like that of a guilty party and it made Hermione feel bad for even asking. Of course, he’d rather have the time with Sirius to himself than share it with her.

“That’s alright. I just thought I’d offer my support if you needed it,” Hermione lied, smiling in reassurance.

They traveled the path for a little while longer, chatting about classes until Harry had to put his cloak back on. Hermione pulled out her book again so that to any unsuspecting onlookers, she was merely reading as she rode to the village by herself. When they arrived at Hogsmeade, they quietly agreed on a butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks, and off they went.

“Where do we sit?” Harry whispered to her from under his cloak as they scanned the crowded pub.

Hermione spotted a table near the window, tucked uncomfortably close to a Christmas tree, and pointed discreetly. “Over there. You sit and I’ll go get us some drinks.” She headed towards the long wooden bar, sticky and crowded, and ordered two butterbeers. It was not until after she ordered the drinks and held them in her hands that she realized how unusual she must look. A single person, holding two hot foaming tankards of butterbeer to go and sit at a table by themselves in a rowdy pub. Merlin, I hope I don’t see anyone I know, she thought as she weaved through tables and slipped past the mingling patrons.

“Harry? Where are you?” whispered Hermione, placing the tankards down onto the table and wiping her sticky hands on her robes.

“I’m opposite the tree,” said Harry and she pushed one of the butterbeers closer to his seat. Squeezing herself through the tight space between the tree and the table to get to her chair, the little bells that hung on the tree tinkled and chimed as she struggled. Once sitting, she looked down to find a spattering of tinsel and needles adorning her shoulders and hair. She picked them off one by one, with a huff. Once she was done, sipping on her drink, she found herself at a loss for what to say. They couldn’t very well have a full conversation. She’d look like a loon talking to herself. However, much to her relief they were soon joined by two unexpected guests.

“Hullo Hermione!” Hagrid greeted her enthusiastically.

“Hullo Hagrid!—" she said brightly before looking to the haggard man next to him “—Professor Moody.” She smiled politely, but contrary to her friendly manner and wide smile, she was mot very pleased to see the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Truly, she did not care for Professor Moody at all. She found him crass, vile, insensitive, and downright insane. While his lessons thus far had been well informed and thorough, the lasting impression that his first lesson on unforgiveable curses was hard to forget.

“Yes, hullo Granger. Hullo Potter,” Moody grumbled. It didn’t surprise her that Moody could see Harry under his cloak. While he was facing her, his small beady black eye giving her his full attention, the magical eye that spun constantly in his head was looking straight at the seemingly empty seat that Harry currently resided.

Hagrid cleared his throat. “Mind if we join yous?”

“Not at all.” She motioned to the two empty chairs to her left. Very aware that their business was with Harry and not her, Hermione turned her attention to outside the window. Hogsmeade was a quaint little village with its cottage like exterior giving it the aesthetic of something out of a fairytale. Though it was not yet December, the village was already decorated festively for the holidays. Red and gold Tinsel adorned the streetlamps, garlands draped atop doorways and wreaths of pine and ribbon hung on every door. Little bells swung suspended from wherever the wind was sure to catch them, tinkling in the early winter breeze – it’s sound causing warmth and excitement in all that heard it. Several trees stood tall and cheery outside shops, their deep green needles decorated in strings of beads and popcorn. Bright sparkly ornaments covered them from head to toe and on each a golden star sat proud and shining. Sprigs of holly and poinsettia flowers could be seen littering every nook and cranny possible and the lights – gorgeous lights of white, red, green, and yellow – were strung in as many places as possible. The only thing missing was the first snow of winter.

She watched as students and locals rushed by, some holding great big bags from the shops – mos t likely getting their Christmas shopping done early this year. Hermione smiled. She had taken care of all her shopping the previous week – this year by mail order. Those that were not holding bags were holding tightly onto themselves, trying to fight against the harsh wind and biting cold as they walked down the cobbled roads that ran through the village. Or they were holding onto each other, friends linked arm in arm, children clinging to their parent’s legs, and couples walking hand in hand. She watched the couples and felt a tightness in her chest. Her thoughts drifted to Ron and how his recent redemption had relit the small flame she had previously believed to be dampened by his actions. It seemed that nothing would come of that small flame, however. Sure, she had kissed him, albeit on the cheek, but nothing came of it since. She had followed Lavender’s advice and put herself front and center and he simply went about things as if it had never happened. It was safe to reason that if Ron liked her, even a little, more than just a friend, then he would have made some type of move by now. Right? Hermione sighed. The door to Honeydukes across the street opened, revealing a couple she recognized. Fred and Angelina walked hand in hand as they laughed, followed by the rest of their friends. Seeing the group of them having a raving time, a frown formed on her face. She looked around the raucous space of The Three Broomsticks and thought perhaps a Hogsmeade weekend wasn’t what she wanted after all. Finishing her butterbeer quickly, she stood and excused herself from the table with a promise to see Harry later and visit Hagrid for tea that week.

The next day Hermione found herself in a position that was starting to become all too familiar. In a small, abandoned classroom, known only to three students in the whole of Hogwarts, she stood at a workbench next to Fred working on their next product. Working with Fred wasn’t nearly the headache she imagined when she first volunteered to assist them in their inventions. He had the same love for problem solving that she did and as long as the subject kept him interested, he was hardworking, mindful, and incredibly diligent. But despite how easy Fred was to work with, Hermione couldn’t help but be annoyed by everything he did that afternoon. She reasoned part of her frustration may be linked to her increased anxiety about the first task of the Triwizard Tournament the following day – an anxiety she was currently trying to ignore by putting her mind to work.

Fred’s infamous notebook sat between them, her and Fred scribbling notes into it as they added ingredients into the cauldron and even though the sound of his quill was indistinct from her own, it’s scratching sent her up the wall. She sent twitchy looks in his direction out of the corner of her eye as their potion sat bubbling over the flame. Fred’s long arm, much to her annoyance, reached across her for the bottle of Neem oil. She stepped back involuntarily, like two positive ends of a magnet her body was drawn away from him. He gave her a brief questioning expression before pulling back his arm and uncorking the bottle, adding a few drops into the cauldron. A few moments later, the potion turned a vile putrid green.

“Bollocks!” Fred shouted, attempting to pull the spoon from the cauldron, but only succeeding in jostling the cauldron on its flame. The potion had completely solidified.

“Frederick!” Hermione scolded at their stunted progress. “What did you do?!”

“What did I do?! I added the Neem oil like you said to do!” He pointed into the notebook at her handwriting. “See! You wrote it right here!”

Hermione looked down at the page and shook her head. “That was written in purple ink!”

“What the hell does that mean?!” Fred exclaimed, scrunching his eyebrows in frustration.

“Are you serious? I’ve told you a thousand times!”

“I’m pretty sure I’d remember it if we’d been over it a thousand times.”

Hermione huffed, feeling flushed with anger. “Very cute, Frederick. We’ve been over this. Red ink means a failed attempt or error, blue means inconclusive results, purple means a possible untested idea, and black means successful instructions, trials, and results!”

“And we need to be that thorough because…?” Fred leaned against the worktop, crossing his arms.

“Because if we aren’t then things like this happen!” Hermione defended, crossing her arms as well and staring Fred in the eye.

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Do you two mind? I’m trying to get some work done over here,” George called from across the room. The second Weasley twin sat near the fire, working on an essay for his transfiguration class. An assignment that Fred assured Hermione he had finished when she goaded the two of them about their schoolwork.

“Now that I’m helping you, I won’t allow you to fall behind in your studies,” she had told them. It, of course, had resulted in a numerous amount of eye rolls, groans, and teasing on their part but so far, they had been good about staying on top of their work. It didn’t even take them that long to shell out proper, decent results either. All this time, she had thought them dumb when in fact they were just lazy with very little patience for school in general.

With a sigh, she broke her gaze from Fred and threw up her hands. “Whatever.”

Fred gave her an odd look as she turned and stormed across the small classroom, heading towards the fire to warm herself. The place was freezing, a winter’s chill seeping through the small window near the front of the room. She didn’t make it to the fire though, as George stopped her, extending an arm, and scooping her easily onto the plush arm of his chair.

“What happened to ‘I’m working, don’t bother me’?” asked Hermione crossing her arms in annoyance and peaking at the words on George’s parchment.

“I need a distraction, or I very well may lose my mind.”

“I think it’s a bit late for that.”

“Oh, she has jokes, I see,” growled George, pulling Hermione off the arm and assaulting her sides with tickling fingers.

Hermione laughed against her will as she fought off George’s attack. “You are the absolute worst George Weasley. Does your mother know you behave this badly?” she asked, finally breaking away from George’s grasp and sitting back on the arm. This time, he legs bridged over his lap. She kicked off her shoes, chucking them aside and tucking her feet between the cushion and George’s thigh.

“If I’m being honest, I think she’s under the impression I behave much worse.”

“Well, let’s keep expectations high above action. Shall we?” laughed Hermione feeling in better spirits. She picked up George’s slightly wrinkled parchment and reading over his work.

“Say, speaking of big strapping Bulgarians,” George piped up, snatching his essay out her hands, making Hermione pout. She kept forgetting the twins didn’t need her looking over their work like Ron and Harry.

“Were we talk about big strapping Bulgarians?” Hermione asked casually, intrigued by just where he was taking the conversation.

“We are now—” George reasoned “—now, speaking of big strapping Bulgarians, I couldn’t help but notice, you know what with my keen observation skills and all, that a certain Triwizard champion has been in the library every time we find you there. Anything you want to share Granger?”

Hermione groaned in aggravation. “He’s been showing up for weeks! It’d be one thing if it were just him, but everywhere he goes there’s at least ten girls giggling and pointing. It makes it almost impossible to get any work done.” She crossed her arms and blew a curl out of her face.

“That isn’t exactly what I was referring to,” said George, looking up at Hermione’s confused face.

“He fancies you,” stated Fred curtly from across the room.

“Who?” asked Hermione incredulously.

“Krum,” the twins responded matter of fact.

Hermione stood, slipping her shoes back on and walking over to assist Fred in cleaning up. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, corking a bottle, and placing it in a cabinet below.

“Ridiculous?” George spat as if the work itself was distasteful. “Did you hear that Freddie? She called us ridiculous.

“I did Georgie,” said Fred, turning on his heal and facing Hermione. “What do you have to say for yourself Miss Granger?” he asked in a scolding manner as he blocked her way. Hermione rolled her eyes and pushing past him with more force than she intended to. Fred grasped her wrist, spinning her around and taking the bottle of Neem oil from her hand.

“Now then. Someone’s in a sour mood today.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I wonder –” Fred ignored her continuing “—if it’s because you think I forgot.”

“Forgot?”

Fred took a moment to reach over her and place the Neem oil on the shelf behind her. Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine that contrasted strangely with the burning sensation on her wrist where Fred’s fingers remained. They really should charm that window to keep the cold out, she thought briefly. Fred’s touch was gone just as quickly as it appeared, and she was left standing by herself in the little work area as Fred headed over to his bag. She followed him and looked on in surprise, eyes growing wide, as Fred pulled out the largest box of sugar quills she’d ever seen from his bag.

“I said a week’s supply. Not a year’s,” she gaped, hands hovering in the air afraid to take the gift that was much too generous.

“Well, I figured with your sweet tooth, this was as close to a week’s supply for you I could get.” Fred smirked, pushing the box into her arms.

Hermione took it, looking speechless between him and the enormous box. It had to have at least two hundred sugar quills. “Cheeky,” she said simply, fighting the grins on her face. Opening the box, she reached in and grabbed a sugar quill off the top, pulling back the wrapping and popping the end in her mouth. The hard candy melted slowly in her mouth. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath through her nose, feeling the stress melt away like the sugar on her tongue. When she opened her eyes, she found Fred looking very oddly at her. “What?”

Fred coughed, looking away swiftly, and scratching the back of his head as she swung his bookbag over his shoulder. Hermione looked over at George in question, but only saw him smirking oddly at his brother, almost as if he were holding back a laugh. They really were strange sometimes.

“Now, about the ten knuts—”

“Oh, keep it!” Hermione hurriedly said. “You should use it to buy supplies for your inventions anyways.”

“Are you sure?” asked Fred, looking down at her as the three of them exited the small classroom.

“Yes, of course. I think you’ve fully paid me back with these.” Hermione held the large box up in response.

“Good—” Fred laughed “—because I was about to tell you, I didn’t have the money anyways.”

The three laughed, and Hermione returned her focus to the sugar quill in her hand, placing the tip of it back into her mouth and running her tongue along the feathery grooves. They were silent for a while as they walked, a nice peaceful moment, ruined by the fact that Hermione could not get Fred and George’s words out of her head.

“Viktor Krum does not fancy me.” She felt the heavy weight of Fred’s arm rest on her shoulders and looked up. He was staring down at her like one would a naïve child.

“He can’t keep his eyes off you Granger.”

Hermione pursed her lips and frowned, confused by the odd joke they were playing on her. They continued towards Gryffindor tower, Fred’s arm remaining on her shoulders and Hermione wondering why she hadn’t brushed it off yet like she usually did. In fact, she hardly ever brushed off Fred and George’s small touches anymore. They were incredibly touchy people, which was odd as Ron was not. Ron was awkward and valued his personal space. The twins, however, didn’t know the meaning of the word. The two had no qualms with pulling her this way and that way, picking her up, wrapping their arms around her. Fred and George Weasley had no sense of boundaries, interacting with people on such a level of ease that they turned other’s space into their own.

They were almost to the tower when Harry came running up to them, looking more disheveled than usual. His hair pointed in every direction possible, rivalling Hermione’s in unruliness, the tie around his neck was so loosened that the knot threatened to come undone completely, and his shirt hung wrinkled and untucked from his trousers.

“Hermione—” the dark-haired boy gasped “—I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Harry, what is it?” she asked, taking a step towards him.

“Um.” He hesitated, glancing at Fred and George behind her with hesitancy.

“Right. Don’t mind us,” one of them said awkwardly.

“We were just leaving,” the other finished before they stepped around Harry and Hermione and continued in the direction of Gryffindor tower. As soon as she could no longer see the retreating backs of the twins, Hermione felt like it was safe to speak again.

“What’s the matter?”

Harry informed her that he needed help on his summoning charms, something they learned in class the previous month, but also something he needed a lot of help with. As much as Hermione loved to help Harry with his schoolwork, the urgency of the lessons was suspicious. The first challenge of the tournament was the following day. When she pressed him for the reason, he would only say that Moody had stopped him in the hallways earlier that day and told him that it was something he needed to practice if he wanted any chance at succeeding in the first challenge. At first, the idea that a professor was condoning cheating, especially in something as serious at the Triwizard Tournament, rubbed at her conscience, but she pushed it aside. Harry needed all the help he could get. At the end of the day that’s what this was all about, making sure Harry Potter stayed alive. Professor Moody could have made it a little easier by giving the hint to Harry a sooner, instead of the day before the challenge, but still it was better than nothing.

They stayed up late into the night, practicing and practicing. When they first started, Harry could barely manage to lamely drag an item a few feet in his general direction. Hermione thought perhaps his issue was a lack of force. She insisted that he needed to really mean the intended spell when he cast it, but that resulted in items flying through the air of the common room at breakneck speed. After taking several books to the head, she insisted that they switch to pillows to avoid any more injury. However, still Harry was failing to make the items come to him directly.

“You need to focus Harry,” Hermione scolded at one in the morning when another pillow had come flying into the side of her head.

“I am focusing Hermione!” he yelled back, running his hands through his hair, and gripping it at the root.

Afraid that he might rip it out from sheer frustration, she took a deep breath and tried again, “Harry, it’s not that you’re not focusing, it’s just that you’re not focusing in the right way. You need to cast the spell with purpose and as you do, just envision the object you want flying into your hands.”

It was after that piece of advice that he successfully summoned a pillow across the room and into his hands. Hermione just hoped that now, as she walked through the crowd towards the first task that it would be enough for whatever they had planned for the four champions. Absentmindedly she pulled on the two braids she had forced her hair into that morning. She relished in the soothing sensation of the hair slightly tugging at her scalp. Her eyes drooped slightly in exhaustion, and she could physically feel the bags under her eyes. Students pushed past her in hordes as they fought to get to the arena that held the first task, but she was in no hurry. The arena was large and intimidating, rising high into the air and casting a long shadow in her direction as she walked down the hill towards what felt like impending doom. It very much resembled the Burrow in some ways, she thought, – a hodgepodge of wood scraps and precarious construction holding up the stadium seats. However, she never questioned the integrity of the stands for a second; magic was a strange thing. She glanced nervously to the tents that connected to the arena, striped blue and white. Harry was in there. Was he scared?

“Alright there, Granger?” came a voice to her left. Turning, she found George matching her pace. She nodded.

“Are you sure?” came a second voice to her right, no surprise as wherever George was Fred was close by, and vice versa.

“Yea, no offense, but you look dreadful,” commented George. Hermione frowned at him, feeling a strong urge to grab his knit cap and pull it over his stupid face.

“Ever the charmer George,” said Hermione sarcastically, but still she rubbed her face self-consciously, wondering just how bad she really looked.

“I’m not George, I’m Fred.”

“No, you’re not. You’re George.”

“You think I don’t know my own name?”

“No, but I think you like to mess with people when they’re absolutely not in the mood.”

“Then pray tell us, what’s got you in such sour spirits Granger? It’s the first task of the tournament! It’s supposed to be exciting,” said Fred, nudging her side with his elbow.

“If you must know, I was up all-night helping Harry prepare for today,” she responded with a small yawn.

“You know, Charlie said earlier that Harry looked a little peaky as well. I figured it was just the nerves,” Fred shrugged.

At the mention of Charlie’s name, Hermione perked up. What was Charlie Weasley doing at Hogwarts? And why had he been to see Harry?

“Why is your brother here?” she asked, as they neared the arena.

“Dunno,” answered Fred.

“He never mentioned it,” George added. Both of them acting as if the fact that Charlie, of all people, would be there wasn’t at all strange. It couldn’t have possibly just been to support Harry, they barely knew each other. She also couldn’t imagine him taking time off from work just to watch the Tournament. He’d have to come all the way from Rom— she stopped dead in her tracks, her stomach dropping.

“Wait, what is it your brother does again?” she asked Fred and George frantically, them having turned around to face her when she stopped walking.

“Who, Charlie?” George looked at her confused.

“No, Percy. Yes! Of course, Charlie!” Hermione yelled, having no patience for George’s general state of being.

“He works with dragons of course. You knew that Granger,” Fred answered. Hermione felt like crying or screaming or both. It all made sense now and she had no idea what to do.

“When did you two know that Charlie was in town?” She pulled at her braids again, this time harder, causing pain to shoot through her scalp.

Fred looked at her with concern. “About two days ago, why? Granger, what’s wrong?”

Hermione wheeled forward towards the twins and began frantically hitting them. Their cries of surprise, not stopping her for a minute.

“How. Could. You. Not. Tell. Me. You. Idiots?!” She punctuated each word with a hit to each ginger-headed twin. If she had known sooner, she could have helped him! She could have told him. She let out an audible gasp and ceased hitting the two idiots. She had to tell Harry! Turning on her heel, she ran full speed towards the champion’s tents. Hermione ran until her calves burned and her chest ached, but she did not stop until she had made it to her destination, skidding to a stop right before the main entrance. She very well couldn’t barge right into the tent to find Harry, she reasoned to herself. Students most likely weren’t allowed to enter as they pleased. Creeping to the side, she noticed a split in the canvas that traveled all the way to the ground. Moving the material to the side, ever so slightly, she peaked in and saw Harry sitting not too far away.

“Psst!” she called, quietly attempting to grab his attention. Harry perked up at the sound and turned his head, looking for the source.

“Harry!” she whispered, hoping to draw him over this time. With great relief, Harry stood and walked towards her, stopping just short of the fabric.

“Hermione—" Harry looked at her incredulously “—what are you doing here?”

“I’ve um, I’ve come to see you off,” she stuttered unsure of just how to tell him what he was about to face. “Remember, the key is to concentrate. After that you just— “

“—have to battle a dragon?”

Overwhelmed with the raw emotions of fear, relief, and surprisingly…pride, she pushed through the fabric and pulled her best friend into a tight hug. She held him close, feeling the familiar sting of tears welling up in her eyes. He had known. The stupid, stupid boy had known all this time and he hadn’t told her. Mostly likely one of his many attempts at martyrdom. She relished in the solidity that was her best friend Harry Potter as he hugged her just as tightly. For all she knew, this might be the last time they saw each other, and she was pretty sure Harry knew that to be true as well as his fingers dug into her back. She breathed in his familiar scent – handle polish from the broomstick servicing kit she had gotten him the year before, the earthy scent of the quidditch pitch, fresh linen, and something that could only be described as very distinctly Harry.

A flash of light appeared behind the lids of her eyes and she pulled away from her friend in confusion. Looking around the tent she saw none other than Rita Skeeter. Adorned in a vile lime green skirt and equally putrid vivid yellow blouse, she sauntered towards them followed by a camera man and a floating Quick Notes Quill and parchment.

“Ahhhhh, young love. How…stirring,” Rita sighed, looking at the two of them behind her horn-rimmed glasses like the cat that got the cream. Her lips, painted bright red, pursed as she assessed the two of them, thinking of what she might write next.

“You. I’m surprised they let you in here,” Hermione glared at her, detesting everything about the woman – from her curly blonde hair piled high on her head, down to her pointy toed heels.

“Well, I have to say—" the slippery journalist walked closer to Hermione, circling her “—I expected you to be… prettier.”

“You have no business being here!” bellowed a deep voice from across the tent. Viktor Krum stood tall and intimidating, looking at Rita Skeeter disapprovingly. “This tent is for champions and friends.”

Rita Skeeter slid her eyes over the strapping Bulgarian in a predatory fashion. She smiled in a slimy manner, shifting her gaze between Hermione and the two champions before addressing the tent, “No matter, we’ll be going. We…got what we wanted.”

  ***

Fred stood in the stands next to his brother feeling more excited and more anxious than he ever had. Hermione was still missing, and he had no idea what happened and why she had run off like that. He wanted to run after her, but George pulled him back, informing him that they had to make it inside the arena, or they’d never get decent seats. Fred agreed but insisted on saving a seat for Hermione in case she showed up again. So now, while everyone else in the stands chatted away in excitement, Fred continually scanned the crowd looking for the familiar figure of Hermione Granger. It wasn’t until the first task was about to start that Hermione emerged out of nowhere by his side. Fred moved out of the way, allowing her to take her seat between himself and George. Her eyes and nose were red, like she’d been crying, but before he could ask her what happened, Ludo Bagman entered the arena and began speaking.

“Hello and welcome to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!” Bagman announced with great enthusiasm in his voice. Git, thought Fred looking over to his brother and sharing a look of discontent.

Bagman continued, “Now, for our first task, the objective is simple! A golden egg has been placed within a nest in the arena. The goal for each champion is to obtain that egg! Obtain the egg and they move onto the next task! However, each egg will be guarded by a mother dragon.” The crowd went wild. Some gasped in shock and horror, others screamed in excitement. Fred stood silent, realizing now why Hermione had been upset. George, however, not making the connections, jumped, and hollered at the prospect of watching four people go head to head with actual real-life dragons. He reached over Hermione and grabbed Fred’s shoulder shaking him in elation.

Once the crowd had settled down enough, Bagman started again, “Each of our contestants have selected a dragon at random already and so it is my pleasure to start off the Triwizard Tournament with our first champion, Cedric Diggory!”

The stadium was hysterical, screaming and cheering as loud as possible. A chant of Diggory! Diggory! Diggory! echoed through the space as they waited for the first contestant to appear. Fred watched as a dragon was directed into the arena, his brother Charlie standing out as a giant ginger beacon among the other dragon handlers. He clapped for his brother, shouting Charlie’s name as the excitement around him, brought him out of his worried stupor and fueled his excitement.

Fred cheered and clapped, watching in awe as each champion took their turn at the dragons. Each brought their own spin to the task, some getting burned, others slammed into rocks by the strong tails of their dragon, but all succeeding at getting their golden egg and moving onto the next task. Cedric Diggory had used a transfigured dog to distract his dragon, just barely avoiding the full force of its flames when it changed its mind last minute. Fleur Delacour put her dragon into some kind of trance, distracting it long enough to obtain her egg. Her skirt did catch fire at the last minute though, something Fred found very entertaining. Krum’s battle was the most entertaining. Sending a spell right into the dragon’s eyes, the blinded beast trampled frantically about the arena, smashing its eggs in the process. Some in the crowd booed at that, but Fred thought it was pretty cool, nonetheless. Despite his invested viewership of the first task, Fred continually snuck glances at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. Her face was maskless as she watched in equaled awe and overwhelming horror. She was an open book.

So, when Harry finally stepped into the arena, his dragon much nastier and aggressive than the last two, Fred reached out and brushed his thumb across the back of Hermione’s hand. It was a brief bit of contact, but he hoped it was enough to calm her. Hermione looked down at her hand and then back up to him with a curious look before giving Fred a small, tight-lipped smile of appreciation. The Hungarian Horntail, a vile breed of dragon Fred was very familiar with because of his brother, paced the arena menacingly as Harry entered further into arena. The crowd gasped collectively when the terrifying dragon spotted him, shooting flames in his direction. Luckily, the young contestant jumped out of the way at the last second, taking refuge behind a large bolder. Fred’s heart leapt and sunk. This was Harry Potter – his little brother’s best friend, his teammate. How as he planning on defeating this dragon?

“Your wand Harry! Use your bloody wand!” Fred was brought out of his morbid realization by the shouts of Hermione Granger. He turned to look at her standing beside him, caught completely off guard by her outburst and use of profanity. Then, almost as if he had heard her, Harry withdrew his wand and cast a spell that Fred could not hear. The crowd stood in stale silence, confused and anxious as nothing happened for quite some time and then, zooming through the air came Harry’s Firebolt. Fred roared with excitement, feeling now that Harry had some kind of chance at maybe defeating the dragon. No one at Hogwarts was better on a broom than Harry Potter. Now, mounted on his broom, Harry’s small and distant figure began advancing the dragon, attempting to grab the golden egg out from underneath it. He twisted and dropped in the air, narrowly avoiding swipes and flames, and Fred found himself chewing on his thumb from nerves. At a particularly close miss from the dragon, he felt someone grab tightly onto his robes and looked down to see Hermione holding tightly onto him, her eyes never leaving Harry who continued to fly through the air. Releasing his thumb from his mouth, Fred reached down and took Hermione’s hand in his tightly, looking back as Harry began taunting the dragon, getting it to lift up into the air. Everyone held their breath as the Horntail spread its impressive, bat-like wings and lifted into the air towards Harry, but before the dragon knew what was happening Harry was diving down, faster than falling, towards the eggs and then it was done. He had captured the egg and with the fastest time out of all the contestants!

Fred released Hermione’s hand as he jumped up and down in excitement, grabbing onto his brother’s shoulders and shaking George in celebration. Hermione between them was more ecstatic than he had ever seen her. She jumped and screamed, the smile on her face so wide he could feel the joy emanating off of her. He watched as she hugged George enthusiastically, both of them laughing in relief as the crowd chanted Potter! Potter! Potter! Potter! She turned towards him and jumped into arms, wrapping her arms around his neck. On instinct he lifted her up, her legs dangling off the ground as they both laughed. Fred held her close, feeling her whole body buzz with happiness. When she pulled back, her face merely a hair breadth away, Fred’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed thickly, his face warming and most likely matching the pretty blush that had spread across Hermione’s face as he stood there with the younger witch still in his arms. He coughed awkwardly, diffusing the tension and released his bookish friend. Her body slide down the front of his and when her feet hit the ground, Fred made quick work of turning to Lee nearby.

A few hours later, when all the proud Gryffindors joined in the common room to celebrate, Fred sat in a relaxed state. He and George had done their due diligence as the rowdy party starters earlier in the night, smuggling bottles of butterbeer into the tower and passing them around as they decorated the small common room with banners and small self-exploding fireworks. Harry was the star of the show. Everyone, it seemed, had decided to forget their pervious opinions on his entrance to the tournament, and instead were taking any opportunity they got to congratulate the boy. That included his little brother. The two friends had made up the moment they had all reached Gryffindor tower after the first task, Ron admitting that he didn’t think any sane person would enter their name willingly after watching Harry get almost eaten by a dragon. Fred just shook his head and thanked Merlin he had never been that dense. Looking around the room from his seat, his gaze landed on Hermione as she sipped on her butterbeer, her full pink lips wrapping around the bottle. She leaned against Ron, her head resting on his shoulder casually as he and Harry talked.

He stood, setting his empty bottle on the table next to him, and walked over to the trio.

“Well look at this, the happy throuple is back together.”

“Shove off,” said Ron, but in good spirits as he smiled good-naturedly.

“Now, don’t go getting all moody again brother,” said George, swooping in to stand by Fred’s side.

“Yeah, we much prefer you like this. Less morose. Less of a prat,” added Fred.

“Oh, leave him be, Fred. You’re being a twit,” Hermione chided, lifting her head off of Ron’s shoulder and giving Fred a warning look.

“Oi, don’t run my good name through the dirt,” gasped George, holding a hand up to his chest, scandalized.

“I didn’t. I put Fred’s name through the dirt. You, George, are just lovely.”

“How is it you tell them apart? I’ve known them my whole life and even I can’t do that,” asked Ron in wonder, looking down at Hermione.

“Yeah, how do you tell us apart, Granger?” asked George, sounding a bit annoyed. Fred wasn’t surprised. Switching places was his favorite joke.

“Now why would I tell you that? That takes all the fun out of it—” Hermione gave them a cheeky grin before shooing them away with her hands “—now go on. Go cause trouble somewhere else you two.”

Fred and George turned, heading over to where the bottles of butterbeer sat.

“She’s something isn’t she,” George commented, reaching down, and grabbing a bottle.

“Yeah,” Fred responded, grabbing a bottle himself and looking back at Hermione.

“Very spirited Granger is, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed, not breaking his gaze.

“Quite pretty too, don’t you think?”

“Yeah—” Fred only realized what his twin had said once he’d spoken, pulling his gaze away from Hermione and looking at his brother in scandal “—wait, what? No, she can’t be pretty, I mean she’s Granger. She’s Ron’s pal. That would be inappropriate.”

“Oh, right. Of course,” agreed George, giving Fred a cheeky grin.

“Don’t be ridiculous Georgie,” said Fred shaking his head. “I don’t think of her like that.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, do you think of her like that?”

“Nah, not really my type.”

“She’s like a little sister, really.”

“Absolutely.”

“And if I’ve been spending a lot of time with her it’s only because she’s been helping us.”

“Seems reasonable to me.”

They were quiet for a moment, the air between them stiff and uncomfortable as Fred tried to think of more ways to defend his growing fondness for Hermione Granger.

“Besides—" Fred continued “—even if I did feel that way, which I don’t, she’s head over heels for our baby brother and I’m pretty sure Angelina and I are getting serious.” He looked over to Angelina, chatting enthusiastically with Alicia Spinnet about Harry’s flying earlier at the task. Her hands flew through the air as she mimed flying maneuvers.

“Yeah, when did this happen?” George asked, his tone and expression one of amusement.

“Well, it hasn’t really happened yet. But things are different…You were the one that said we needed to do more than mess around in secret passageways.”

“No, I said that’s what she wanted. I couldn’t care less what you do in your free time Freddie,” laughed George, before taking a more serious tone. “But if I did care about your free time activities, I’d probably ask something like ‘How do you feel about having a…girlfriend or whatever’?”

“She’s a gorgeous girl that I get along with swimmingly. Oh, and she lets me shag her on a consistent basis. I’m pretty sure I’d be a complete nutter if I were upset about it,” Fred stated concretely. The words were true, at least he thought them to be true, but the speculation in George’s response when he simply replied ‘If you say so mate’ put a grain of doubt into Fred’s mind. 

Chapter 11>>

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[shes-soparticular]

Might Just Be My Everything and Beyond

Shawn’s girlfriend leaves town for a bachelorette party. He’s left to his own devices.

A/N: Just fluff. P.S. I’m now taking requests and am happy to start a tag list for anyone interested :)

Words: 4180

     He’s never wanted to be that boyfriend. The hopelessly co-dependent kind that can’t be left to his own devices without his girl around to entertain him. But today? Watching Alex throw sunscreen and sandals into her suitcase? He’s feeling a little like that boyfriend. Their bed is presently covered in a pile of her summer clothes, her pointer finger pressed to her lips as she ponders the fabrics like a complex equation. Feeling that familiar wave of neediness come on, he walks up behind her, wrapping his arms tight around her shoulders to stop her as she throws another pair of shorts into the suitcase.

     “I know you’re going to have blast in Vegas with your girlfriends but you know what else would be super fun?” Shawn rests his chin on the top of her head, trying his best to hide the pouty tone of his voice. “If you stayed home with me instead.” When she initially announced she was planning her best friend’s bachelorette party as a liquor fueled weekend in Las Vegas, he’d thought it was a great idea. Alex had been busting her ass at work over the last few months in addition to putting up with his insane tour schedule for the better part of a year, so a long weekend to blow off steam with her girls was well deserved. It wasn’t until he started listening in on all of her planning that he got a little nervous. The club crawls, the all day pool parties, the front row seats at Magic Mike…and if he’d overheard her conversation with her raunchiest friend, strippers weren’t completely off the table. Regardless, he knew he had nothing to worry about. She was an adult, she had more than earned his trust over their two years together, and it wasn’t like he had any concern she was going to run off on him with a Vegas stripper. More than anything, Shawn selfishly felt like he would be missing out. He wanted to hold her hand in front of the Bellagio fountains, wanted to slather her in sunscreen poolside, wanted to carry her out of the club on his back once she refused to wear her heels. (Because this happened every single time Alex wore heels.)

      “And what benefits are in store for me if I stay home?” She inquired, leaning her head forward to deliver a soft bite to his forearm. Her attention was still mainly focused on her wardrobe choices, but as the queen of multi-tasking, she could manage to entertain his pouting.

     “Well, we could stay in all weekend watching conspiracy theory documentaries. Order your favorite Chinese food…” Dropping his arms from her shoulders, he let his hands settle on her hips, thumbs hooking under the top of her pajama shorts. “Have all the sex.”

     “Mmm…you really know the way to my heart, don’t you?” She places her hands over his, momentarily pushing them teasingly further under the hem of her shorts before pulling them away completely, earning a frustrated groan from him. “Let’s put that plan on hold until next weekend? You know I have to go to Vegas, this is my best friend’s bachelorette we’re talking about. I have to be there to make sure it’s a weekend to remember.”

     Something about that statement makes his brow furrow. “Why don’t I like the sound of that?” Watching as Alex resumes her packing, he flops down on the bed next to her suitcase, giving up on sidetracking her. At least for the time being.

     “Don’t worry, this weekend isn’t about me. I’ll be good. You know that.” Her statement is matter of fact, but as she holds up a pair of bikini bottoms that look more like a thong than swimwear, Shawn doesn’t feel especially at ease.

     “But that whole “no talking to boyfriends” rule? Is that really a thing? You’re really not allowed to talk to me for three days?” This was by far his least favorite part of this Vegas trip. Although those bikini bottoms were giving this rule a run for its money. The concern in his voice is enough to catch her undivided attention, bringing her to stand between his knees where they dangle off the edge of the bed.

     “I know, it sounds dumb but we all made a pact. We’re going to have a true girl’s weekend which means not reporting back to the men at home.” Resting her hands on his thighs, she leans forward to give him a soft consolation kiss. “I’m sure I’ll post plenty to Insta and Snapchat. You’ll have proof that I’m alive.” He won’t challenge her now, but he already knows there’s not a chance in hell she’ll obey this rule. Even with his exhaustive touring, they’d never gone a day in their relationship without speaking to one another. Without at least checking in.

     “What if I came with and just hung out in your hotel room? You wouldn’t even have to tell anyone.” Reaching up to her with grabby hands, he simultaneously locks his legs around hers forcing her to lean all the way forward. With an indignant sigh, she lets herself collapse on top of him, her hair hanging around them like a curtain. “It could be our little secret.” Shawn knows how much she loves an opportunity to sneak around. It could be that she’s simply an exhibitionist, or, more likely, it takes her back to the beginning of their relationship when dodging his fans and the media made their romance something of a team sport.

      “I’m sharing a room with two other girls, I think they’d notice you in my bed.” She momentarily lifts herself up, moving her legs to straddle him more effectively. She may not be giving into his requests, but she’s also not strong enough to deny him attention. No matter how much packing she has yet to do or how early her flight leaves the next morning. “You’ll be fine here on your own. It’s just three days and we’ve spent far longer apart.” Even though he knows she’s right and that he’s being far too dramatic, he still can’t shake the sulking feeling. “You’re just getting a taste of being the one stuck at home.” Her eyebrows raise with her statement, amused by the role reversal. Of course she’s right. He rarely thinks twice about leaving for weeks…months at a time. That’s not to say that it isn’t insanely difficult to be away from her. Obviously if he had his way, she’d travel with him for the entirety of tour. But regardless, it’s a thousand times easier to be away from the one you love when you’re moving at such a fast pace you barely have time to reflect on it. Yes, there were days and nights that the urge to hold her nearly drove him to cancel a show and fly home. Yes, there were days and nights that hearing her muffled voice from across the ocean was enough to rip his heart out. But at the end of the day, there was an entire team of people relying on him to keep his shit together.

     This would be different though, considering there’d be no performance to focus his nervous energy on. Instead, he’d be rambling around the condo on his own, with little else to think about than what she was up to. And not even being able to call her? That would make it infinitely worse. “Fine, leave me here. All alone.” Just because he knows that no amount of pouting is going to convince her to cancel her trip, doesn’t mean he’s not going to give it his best effort. “Have your fun.”

   While she won’t admit it, his plan is almost working. His puppy dog eyes are melting through her and it’s nearly enough for her to fake the flu and call the whole trip off. But considering the bride-to-be has been her best friend since the third grade, there’s really no contest. Shawn will be fine on his own for three days, she knows that. As long as he stays away from the stove. “My mopey boy.” Alex pouts right back at him, leaning in to kiss that look right off of his face. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She punctuates her statement with another kiss, her hands taking their own initiative to roam underneath his shirt. Just as her lips start a trail down his neck, she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. Shawn’s hand has somehow found those bikini bottoms, which he is presently trying to shove under the blankets to hide them away from her. He can deal with her going to Vegas. He can deal with her dancing all night with her friends. He can even deal with her throwing singles at some oiled-up dudes. But he cannot deal with seeing her in that thong of a bikini through his phone screen without any means of taking it off. She catches his wrist in the nick of time, holding it down on the bed as she tries to wrestle the bottoms away from him. Unfortunately, he’s got them in a death grip, his other hand free to tickle her side in the exact spot that makes her unable to function. “Okay, okay, but if you make me forget my swimsuit, I’ll just have to skinny dip.”

              Immediately, he releases the bottoms in defeat, tossing them back towards her suitcase. Fine. If he’s going to be subjected to that evil piece of fabric from a thousand miles away, he’s at least going to make up for the lost opportunity in advance. Without warning, he rolls them over, her back landing on top of a pile of clothes yet to be packed. “You’re the worst, you know that?” Giving her no time to respond with her signature sarcasm, he captures her lips in a hungry kiss. She’ll make it to Vegas, but if he has any say about it? It’ll be on no sleep and smelling of him.

      Day one starts off fairly easy. For starters, Shawn absolutely gets his way and they’ve only been asleep for an hour or two when her alarm goes off at 7:00am. He watches with tired satisfaction as Alex rushes to finish packing, throwing items into her suitcase without consideration. He’s pretty sure that in her haste, his jeans from the night before end up in the mix, but he keeps that to himself. He’s not proud of it, but he takes advantage of her guilt long enough to con her into granting him one last quickie rather than taking a shower. So when she gets out of his car at Toronto Pearson, she’s still flushed and smelling of sex and he feels pretty good about sending her off that way.

      At first, time passes quickly. Mostly because he spends most of the afternoon catching up on sleep. It’s around 5:00pm when the updates start rolling in, beginning with a wholesome group photo that Alex has posted to Instagram. He has a sneaking suspicion that this will be the last photo taken in Vegas where they collectively appear sober and bright eyed. In any case, he’s glad to see a sign of life from her. As the night pushes onward, he’s quickly proven right as he watches several of her friend’s snap stories as they go shot for shot with one another, the sound of their woohoo’ing driving him to turn down the volume on his phone to the lowest setting. Okay, so maybe he’s relieved he didn’t go and hide out in her hotel room. Granted, it’s not like he’s any stranger to the sound of screaming women. Around 11:00pm, he nearly chokes when he comes across a video of Alex taking a shot of tequila with her hands held behind her back, the whole bar cheering her on. At midnight, there’s a photo of her holding back the bride-to-be’s hair with in the backdrop of an opulent marble bathroom. He checks for the last time shortly after 2:00am to see that they made it out to the clubs in one piece, though he takes note that Alex has already taken her heels off. Predictable. With one day under his belt and two to go, he drifts to sleep surprisingly quick considering her fingers aren’t threading through his hair.

     Day 2 becomes a bit harder. Not only is he bored out of his mind, but when there isn’t a single update from Alex or any of her friends by 1:00pm, his stomach starts to churn. He knows these girls, they live for social media and a bachelorette party is prime content. Reminding himself of the time difference, he’s soothed temporarily but it’s not long before he’s refreshing each social media account desperate for updates. Just as he’s about to break the rules and call her, the bride starts posting video after video of the group poolside at a day club. He swipes past all of the photos of obnoxious inflatable pool toys and selfies of the other girls until he finds a video starring Alex. From the cover photo alone, he recognizes the cut off short covered ass belonging to his girlfriend. Honestly, he could pick it out of a lineup with ease. The way there’s just a flash of cheek peeking out from underneath the faded denim, the shorts completely filled out to the point that his breath hitches in his chest. As if he hadn’t kneaded that ass in his palms less than 48 hours before.

      Eagerly, he hits play on the video only to instantly hear the beginning of the Lost in Japan remix. The camera zooms in on Alex as she turns towards her friends, a giant, open mouthed smile plastered on her face. Instantly, she raises her comically large, neon colored drink into the air, hips already swaying suggestively to the song. “That’s my man!!” Her voice is hoarse but full of pride and excitement, and he swears his heart almost can’t take it. Without shame, he replays the video over and over, maybe a dozen times. There’s a matching smile stuck on his face as he hears her shout “that’s my man!” again and again. Alright, so maybe Day 2 isn’t so bad either. At least not until he sees the group photo of the girls hanging all over the dancers from the Magic Mike show. Alex, in particular, is sandwiched between two incredibly buff dudes that would put even Shawn’s physique to shame. The way her hand rests on the tanned abs of one of the guys causes a rush of jealousy to burn upwards through his chest, but all he has to do is rewatch the pool video for the twentieth time and the feeling fades away. “That’s my man!” Do people still use personalized ringtones? Because he’s pretty sure he’d like to hear that sound bite all day, every day. Some would call it odd to be this infatuated with someone this far into a relationship, but every glimpse of her gives him butterflies.

      By Day 3, he swears he’s about to lose his mind. The minutes seem to crawl by and nothing helps pass the time any faster. In typical Shawn fashion, he spends a while juggling. He does an Instagram Live for 20 minutes. He tries to figure out how to make this chicken thing Alex always cooks, but he burns it and turns to cereal instead. He screws around on the guitar for awhile but inspiration never strikes. Finally, he calls in the reserves and invites his buddies over for a boy’s night. He also swears to himself that he’s not going to check in on Alex…because he knows if he does, he’ll end up calling her. Since he has a feeling that she’s expecting him to fail at the three day communication embargo, he’s doing his best to power through this final day without proving her right. Inviting his friends over turns out to be the right call, as his mind finally leaves Vegas and joins the world of X-Box and craft beer. It isn’t until he hears Brian snickering from the corner of the room that Alex is brought back to his thoughts.

     “Dude, Alex’s friend Chelsea is live on Insta right now…I think you might want to see this…” He passes his phone to Shawn, the rest of their friends leaning in to see what all the fuss is about. Sure enough, there’s Alex, on a karaoke stage with the bride-to-be, microphone held sideways in her hand. She’s…rapping? Not just to any song, but the incredibly raunchy Ludacris song “What’s Your Fantasy?”. “She’s getting every. Single. Word. Right.” Brian can barely catch his breath he’s laughing so hard, and Shawn isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh along or rub his temples. Alex would. She’s almost more of a ham than he is, always the person in the room cracking jokes the loudest, always willing to make a fool out of herself to get a laugh. Based on what he can see from the video, the crowd is LOVING it and he almost feels a weird sense of pride? For his girlfriend performing a dirty song? It doesn’t make a lot of sense but this is one of those strange, inappropriate moments where the only thought in his head is I’m going to marry this girl.

                The next morning, he wakes up long before his alarm, energy already coursing through his veins. Boyfriend energy. There’s a notification on his phone, only a few hours old, for a text from Alex. He grabs his phone so fast he nearly fumbles it, trying to swipe into the text message to see what was finally important enough for her to break her silence. It turns out to be a video, just a few seconds long. Clicking on it, he’s treated to the sight of Alex climbing into her hotel bed, hair piled in a top knot and sheets pulled up to her chin. “I love you. I miss you. One more sleep, baby.” She blows a kiss to the camera at the same moment one of her friends shouts at her to shut up. The video cuts off just as she yells a “make me” back, face twisting from puppy love to bitch, try me. Jesus, where did he find this woman?? Just like the pool video, he plays this one several times before texting her back. No more sleeps. See you soon, honey. Travel safe. Love you. He is whipped. Completely. Shamelessly. Happily. Whipped.

                      When he finally sees her coming down the escalator, he has to fight to stifle a laugh. Half of her face is obscured by a massive pair of sunglasses, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up over her head and tied around her face. A baggy pair of sweatpants he’s never seen before and a sad pair of flip flops complete her outfit. She moves slowly when she steps off the escalator, a slight limp in her walk as she favors one ankle. She doesn’t notice him at first, but the second she does, her shoulders slump even lower.

              “I am…not okay in this particular moment.” Alex wheezes, voice barely above a whisper and clearly lost from all of the drinking, screaming, and rapping she’d been doing in Sin City. Leaning directly into him, it’s clear that she’s wiped out and wrecked from her three-day bender.

              “What? My girl can’t rally like she used to?” Shawn readily accepts her into his arms, relieved to be able to feel her again. And also, maybe, a little relieved that she made it home in one piece.

              “The problem is that I did rally. For 72 hours. Now I never want to see vodka again. Or tequila. Or champagne.”  She pauses for a beat, head still pressed into his shirt. “Whiskey is still okay though.”

              This time, he allows himself to laugh at her expense but pulls her in tighter all the same. “Well as long as you’re not claiming to swear off all alcohol. That I wouldn’t believe.” She whimpers into his chest, understandably unable to match his energy. “Come on baby, let’s get you home before you drop.”

      By the time he gets her into the apartment, he realizes that she might still be a little bit drunk. Trying in vain to convince her to lay down on the couch, she attaches herself to him once more, arms slung around his neck, doing her best to climb him like a koala. “I missed you. Every second. I should have let you come along.” While he’s touched to hear this admission from her, he really is happy that she got to spend the weekend on her own, letting loose with her friends in her element. There will be plenty of other vacation opportunities for the two of them, a few that he may or may not have started researching when he was climbing the walls on Day 3.

              “I don’t know, it looks like you had a great time. Especially at Magic Mike,” He leans back far enough from her so she can spot his raised eyebrow. “You seemed pretty damn enthusiastic for that, by the way…”

      An incredulous squeak escapes her, face turned up to look at his. “I was only hyping it for the bride! Why would I be horned up for those meatsuits when I come home to this?” Her hands settle on his cheeks, giving his face a soft squeeze. “And this…” Her statement is punctuated by her pelvis grinding into his.

              His hands instantly catch her hips, stilling her before she can go any further. “I’ve had three days of blue balls watching your stories. Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

              There’s an actual look of shock on her face, considering she’s not used to being turned down. “Who says I can’t finish?” There’s a determination on her face that makes him second guess himself. But upon giving her a once over, he pauses long enough to think of the most delicate way to let her down.

      “For starters, while you look like the most beautiful train wreck, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you this tired.” He bites his lip, hoping that critique won’t upset her. But she seems to willingly accept it, blowing the loose hair out of her face and rubbing her tired eyes. “You need a shower and a nap. As much as I want to make up for lost time.” There’s a mixture of disappointment and gratitude on her face, which he answers by patting her butt towards the bathroom. “Go shower. I’ll nap with you after.”

              As she showers, he gets busy making her a cup of tea with a copious amount of honey to sooth her throat. Being the king of using YouTube to teach himself new skills, he watches a few videos about wrapping sprained ankles until he feels confident. By the time she’s finished, he’s ready and waiting to fix her up. She complies with his orders, relaxing into their headboard, cup of tea balanced on her chest while his hands gently affix the wrap around her injured ankle. Fingers ghosting over her skin once he’s satisfied with his work, he grabs a pillow to rest underneath her foot. “I’m glad you had fun. But. I’m calling it now, no Vegas for your bachelorette party.” He chuckles, crawling up the bed to join her. “I hear Calgary is a great bachelorette destination. Maybe Winnipeg.”

              Swallowing the last of her tea, she discards the mug on the nightstand and rolls to pull herself into him. “You know, there’s this key thing that needs to happen before it’s my turn for a bachelorette party.” It’s a lighthearted statement which she follows with a soft kiss to prove as such. She’s never been the type to put any pressure on their relationship nor has she ever been preoccupied with any timelines. As evidenced that weekend, Alex was more of a “live for the moment” type of person. That was one of the many things he appreciated about her, considering so much of his life had to be tightly planned. With her, there was never any pressure.

              “Just putting it out there. You might want to give it some thought.” He flashes her a knowing grin, bringing his face to hers for just one more kiss. There isn’t a single doubt in his mind that this is the woman for him. And sooner than later, much sooner, he’s going to make sure the whole world knows it. “Now go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up and you can tell me all about Vegas.” She settles into him once more, head on his chest and ear over his heart. “And we can talk about your karaoke performance…it’s given me…some ideas…” The last sound he hears before her breathing turns deep is an embarrassed laugh and a murmured I love you.

     Yep, he’s definitely going to marry this girl.

tagging @fourtristattoos for boyfriend!week 

[chocolate-brownies]

I had been traveling through India for five months. I’d been on motorcycles and in rickshaws, trekked through rice paddies, invited to a traditional wedding, hung out with a baba in a Banyan tree, and explored sacred temples—all while sleeping on straw mats and on floors, showering by bucket in cinderblock bathrooms. Headed to Agra for the obligatory Taj Mahal visit, I decided it was time to splurge on a room in a colonial mansion-turned luxury hotel, and upon arrival was upgraded to a room with marble floors and stained glass armoires, and a claw-foot tub. When my head hit the feather pillow that night, I felt as if I’d gone right to heaven.

Adventuring doesn’t have to be barebones. It’s OK (even healthy!) to treat yourself from time to time. In fact, sometimes gifting yourself a little bit of luxury can help you to sink into the present moment more fully than you would otherwise be able to. Luxury doesn’t have to mean marble floors and colonial mansions—even festivals can be luxe experiences. There are plenty of ways to do Wanderlust on a budget (looking for those options? We’ve got you covered), but if you’re looking to splurge a little and give yourself the gift of Wanderlust-in-style, that’s available too.

Premium ticket packages are available for all US and Canada festivals. What’s included with a premium pass? Read on to find out.

The Red Carpet Treatment

It’s true—no premium experience would be complete without finishing touches that make it truly special. When you get to Wanderlust, you’ll have access to an on-site concierge service, who can help any of your random Wanderlust dreams come true as you think of them. Your favorite yoga teacher consistently teaching to crowds in the hundreds? With a premium package, you’re invited to a private yoga class with headliner talent, where you’ll have intimate access to the teacher and a singular yoga experience.

Dine Like a Boss

Weekend evenings at Wanderlust boast special hospitality events: a gourmet cookout on Friday, and a “happiest hour” on Saturday followed by a Farm to Table dinner (Sea to Table at Wanderlust O’ahu). Each event requires a separate ticket when you’re holding a regular festival pass, but all are included with a premium package. Gather around the grill with your community at the cookout, with plenty of vegetarian and vegan options. Raise a toast to biodynamic and organic adult beverages overlooking the mountains as the sun sets on Saturday, and then enjoy an exclusive menu prepared by Wanderlust chefs. Each farm-to-table dinner is concocted with the specific festival ethos in mind and sourced from hyper-local farms and vendors. Feel fancy—and know you’re being a responsible diner while feeling it.

Unlimited Access to Sched

Once you purchase a ticket to Wanderlust, you’ll have access to a schedule so you can plan out your best weekend ever, selecting classes and workshops with world-classes teachers, leaders, and experts. Activities are limited by type—you can only sign up for a certain number of yoga classes per day, for example. Signing up for a class beforehand guarantees entry. With a premium ticket, you can sign up for as many of the same activities as you’d like. Just need to take three acro classes on Saturday? Can’t get enough of the musical hikes? Want to listen to every single Speakeasy? A premium pass makes that possible.

Experiment with Abandon

Part of the Wanderlust magic is certainly the opportunity to try new things that you may not otherwise have had an opportunity to explore, like aerial and SUP. Because they require lots of additional equipment (and specific expertise!), these activities are bonus activities to a regular Wanderlust festival ticket. But you guessed it—they’re included with a premium pass. You get not one, but TWO bonus activities, so you can feel free to try something you may never before thought possible.

Take it Home with You!

Now that you’ve been bitten by the Wanderlust bug, don’t worry that the bottom will drop out when you get home. With Wanderlust TV, you can continue to learn from and be inspired by top name teachers and talent, right from the comfort of your living room. A premium package includes access to one class on Wanderlust TV, to get you started.

Allow yourself to sink into the Wanderlust experience and get the goddess treatment. After all those sweaty nights on your yoga mat driving home in the cold alone, you’ve earned it.

—

Lisette Cheresson is a writer, storyteller, yoga teacher, and adventuress who is an avid vagabond, homechef, dirt-collector, and dreamer. When she’s not attempting to create pretty sentences or reading pretty sentences other people have created, it’s a safe bet that she’s either hopping a plane, dancing, cooking, or hiking. She received her Level II Reiki Attunement and attended a 4-day intensive discourse with the Dalai Lama in India, and received her RYT200 in Brooklyn. She is currently the Director of Content at Wanderlust Festival.

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