This is a story about love, but most of all about friendship.

The characters may be OOC, and I don't follow canon (the story wouldn't exist if I did). There'll be several chapters, but I can't promise to update regularly.

I hope you'll enjoy your reading! =]

ElieNP

The Masquerade

"We're sorry he-"

"Dead?"

"Oh my gosh!"

"That can't be true!"

"No, he isn't dead, but his condition isn't one of the best."

"What is it supposed to mean?"

"I'm afraid he is in a coma."

Coma. Fred had gotten in a coma. It'd been three months already but he still showed no sign of the imminent waking the specialists were hoping for, thinking that if he'd been lucky enough to survive, he'd successfully defy oblivion.

Had chance really been on his side at that time?

To helplessly lay in a hospital bed, unaware of the world, unable to interact with it, luck wasn't the word which crossed George's mind when he thought about his brother's actual condition. Fred cherished life too much for his to end in such a fashion. Sometimes, whenever it was late in the evening or in the middle of the night, George would come to his room, alone, wondering if the unsmiling man in front of him wouldn't be better off dead.

George didn't hate himself to have those thoughts. He'd fled them, at the very beginning, before accepting that, if roles were swapped, he'd prefer Fred to kill him. The twins had never craved for vegetables, much less to change into one.

The nurses were more used to seeing their patient with a visitor than to finding him alone. Family, friends, but also people who had never, or scarcely ever, spoken to him, whatever their link with him was, all his visitors had something in common. They definitely didn't believe in his loss. Fred would soon be playing pranks on them again, and with his brother they'd become the most famous joke businessmen of the wizard world, they might also conquer the muggle realm in passing.

Though their victory over Voldemort was one to remember, was it worth such a sorrowful aftermath? Most of the wizards had witnessed their loved ones being taken away, tortured, killed, most of them had paid a high price to belong to the still standing side. They didn't regret to have fought for what they believed in. However, they did hold a grudge against those who could have prevented the situation from worsening to that extent. Even Harry, during some of the long silent hours he spent with the Weasleys, couldn't help but think things could have been sorted out differently.

Fred's family wasn't the same any more. Sorrow had begun its reign over the Burrow, overwhelming its usual inhabitants and the few additional ones. Harry and Hermione had moved in, preferring to share their nightmares with people who understood them and their demons perfectly.

Even full, the house held neither smile nor laugh. Albeit they'd tried to rouse them - because Fred wouldn't like them to stupidly stop living when they could still enjoy it - they simply couldn't resume the normal course of their days. They atrociously missed him. Without Fred's smiles, theirs couldn't find a way to their lips, and, if on the off chance, it happened, their eyes would never match the supposedly felt emotion.

Nobody dared enter the room he used to share with his brother any more. George himself refused to push the door open. And Mrs Weasley couldn't bring herself to go in to do some cleaning. It didn't matter that three months had passed nor that dust had certainly conquered all the place. At least Fred would find back his den exactly like he'd last seen it. Untidy, dusty and full of mysteries his mother was certain she didn't want to discover.

The room would remain unopened save for the little hands which, some nights, slowly pressed its handle. Ever so slowly, smalls steps would be taken in the darkness. There was no need for light, the person knew their way by heart. The feet would stop right in front of his bed, then a frail body would tuck itself under his covers. Hair would sprawl on his pillow as a head would be buried in it.

Hermione forced herself to keep her eyes open, fearing she might entirely lose herself in the memories of his presence and fall asleep in his bed until morning came.

It was how it'd used to be during their last summer at the Burrow. She'd spend hours with the twins, working on their crazy projects, only focusing on the practice it offered her rather than on the real purposes for which they were using her knowledge. The twins without their pranks and harebrained inventions wouldn't be the Weasley twins any more. And Hermione loved the mischievous twins as they were. So when they'd asked for her help, she'd given them a positive answer. She'd protest sometimes, telling them they were going too far, but never would she try to make them give up on their passion.

After hours of work, failed attempts, successes, they'd finally collapse on their bed to make the most of a well deserved rest. For a time, they'd even stopped taking their meals with the rest of the family. It had only lasted a short time for Mrs Weasley had quickly forced them back in her kitchen. That they spent their days locked in a room she could deal with, but that they missed family meals, never!

Quite surprisingly, they hadn't protested – Hermione would never have – because it allowed them to take a break, which definitely enhanced their productivity at night.

When this little routine had started, Hermione'd make it back to her own bed, in the room she shared with Ginny. Yet, as time went by, the journey from their door to Ginny's had become difficult, and then to open the twins' door had changed into a herculean task she hadn't had enough strength left to achieve. So they'd all considered it normal when she'd started collapsing on either one of their beds too. Once on George's, another time on Fred's, it had soon become a habit none of them grew tired of. Progressively though, she'd found herself more often sharing Fred's covers. The reason was simple, he was a more peaceful sleeper than his brother. When she'd wake up bruised because of George's moves, she'd only be a little too hot because of Fred's warmth surrounding her.

After the end of that summer, they'd been separated a long time, but never had Hermione lost the comforting feeling of her friend's arms around her. When nightmares plagued her mind, she'd remember his presence and almost instantaneously feel a bit safer.

But now there was no comforting presence any more and her imagination seemed to have abandoned her. As hard as she tried, Fred never came back to her side. Of course, during the war had existed the possibility of them never meeting again – she didn't mind the sleeping habit, it was his presence which reassured her the most – but she'd always successfully gotten over this fear, believing they'd soon be able to resume their projects. Unfortunately, now even the simple idea of spending time with him seemed to be out-of-reach.

Fred couldn't spend time with any one any more. In his comatose state, though he looked like he was sleeping, the effect was more terrifying than comforting. She often visited his hospital room, but never stayed for a long time. He offered a sight which was unbearable for her.

All of them had their own habits concerning their visits to Fred. Mrs Weasley would spend hours by his side, talking, knitting or reading. She always brought something to busy herself with. Mr Weasley would stop by before going to work and on his way back home. Most of them did that, to drop by before their day began and once it finished, every day or punctually. Harry belonged to them, when George rather did like Hermione. They often went together, united by the strong bond they'd developed when working only the three of them together. They'd built a special relationship which now allowed them to be there for each other. Words were not needed between them, each other's presence was enough to hold out.

Fred would definitely come back, as certainly as his pillow still held his scent. Hermione inhaled deeply, biting back a sob. He'd come back, that was a certainty. Muggles got out of a coma after several years, if they could do it why a wizard couldn't too?

Three months were a very long time, an eternity in his situation. The healers couldn't tell for sure which would be the damage done to his organism.

Hermione buried herself further into his bed. As often as she could, she'd bury herself into medical books, both wizard and muggle ones. She'd never imagined herself in this field before, rather having the tendency to flee – or pass out– wherever blood was within sight. She'd always managed her way through the obligatory visits to the infirmary wing at Hogwarts, keeping them as short as possible and turning back on her heels without anybody to force her to. Even with a book it was impossible for her to stay long in that room. No need to speak about St-Mungo! A living nightmare which she now founded herself spending time at several times a week, if not everyday.

She knew it was desperate of her, but couldn't stop hoping though Fred had the best specialists focused on him. If they couldn't come up with a solution, how could she possibly stumble upon an answer in one of her books?

"Hermione?"

She jerked up, all muscles tensed. This voice, almost identical, a lump formed in her throat.

"Hermione... are you all right?"

What a stupid question! She'd have snapped if he wasn't the one to have asked it, because she had no right to be angry at George. People were pestering him with the same stupidity over and over, all day long. Of course none of them was all right, yet the interrogation seemed to be the only way for people who weren't family to dare approach them. Even some of their friends couldn't think about anything else to say when they met.

Hermione shook her head. George had imitated them only because he didn't know what to make of her behaviour.

He was lost.

"I... I..." she stuttered.

As lost as she was.

"It's just..." she suddenly broke down.

George was by her side in less than a second. He tugged her back under the covers and laid on them, his arms gently holding her against him. She buried her nose in his shirt, relieved not to have any explanation to give. George had understood. He wouldn't ask for how long she'd been coming here alone, he wouldn't like her to ask him the same about his nights at the hospital. Albeit they had a strong relationship, there were still things which they preferred to deal with alone.

"I haven't touched anything yet, I just can't," he murmured in her hair.

He didn't need to elaborate for her to understand what he meant. She hadn't had the courage to go back to the workshop where their last experiments had been left alone for so long at all. She felt glad George hadn't resumed their work alone either. It seemed they'd implicitly agreed they needed Fred back to go any further with it.

Embraced by her friend's warmth, Hermione couldn't prevent her eyes from fluttering closed. She fell asleep, lulled by the twins' unique aura. George followed her soon.

His eyes were deeply boring into hers, burning holes in her soul.

He'd made it back.

His arms tightly set around her waist, pressing her against his body, his hands roamed her back at a crazy rhythm, as if he wanted evidences she wasn't an illusion. He'd positioned himself like a shield around her, protecting her from any harm which could be aimed at her. He was also preventing her from disappearing she understood when he tensed at the step she shakily took backwards. He'd been the one unconscious for three months and yet he was the one scared to see her disappear. Nonsense.

She instinctively leant forwards, in his chest, letting his scent overwhelm her wholly. She rested her ear right above his heart. His heart which was beating fast and loud, nothing like the dull and weak rhythm it'd been keeping up for so long.

His hands went up to caress her hair. How good it was to be held by him! How relieved and peaceful she felt in his arms! Not totally though and it was odd, but, at the moment, she wouldn't give more thoughts about it. Fred was back. She was back in his arms. He was safe. Safe she finally – almost - felt again.

George! She had to tell him! She couldn't keep him in the dark after all the pain he'd endured.

She gently pushed on Fred's chest, as reluctantly as she was to leave his embrace, it was necessary. She moved away as slowly as she could not to rouse any panic in him. Fred didn't speak, but the way his hold painfully tightened around her said it all. He didn't want her to leave.

She delicately stroke his cheek.

"I'm not disappearing anywhere," she murmured. "I have to tell George you're awake. It's not fair to keep it from him."

His hold didn't loosen.

"Fred?"

He roughly pulled her back to his chest.

"Fred!" Hermione cried.

She didn't want to lecture him, yet his childish demeanour was physically painful, worrying and mean to George who she couldn't go break the news to.

It was becoming hard to breath. She could feel his bones digging into hers. Why was he going to such lengths?

"Fred," she squeaked when his hand suddenly grabbed her hair.

She didn't like that. The way he was acting, looking at her darkly, doing as if she was some sort of property, it sent a chill down her spine. She fidgeted, hoping to free herself from his grip. Her skull was going numb where her hair was mercilessly pulled.

"Don't leave without telling me." She tensed. It didn't sound like Fred's voice. "Don't leave without telling me or you won't ever meet me again."

The voice seemed to come from another realm. Somewhere far away, dark, threatening, a place their Fred didn't belong to.

Led by a new found vigour, Hermione grabbed his wrist and twisted it enough so as he finally let go of her. She staggered backwards, she'd have gone as far as possible if his nails hadn't dug into the tender skin of her arms to prevent her from moving farther away.

"Fred?" she called though she'd already – with sheer horror – realised there was no Fred any more, not theirs at least.

The feeling of his hands on her had disappeared, a fierce burning feeling was left instead. She glanced down to see dark red marks scarring her skin. Then she couldn't see anything at all. Darkness surrounded her, no matter where she turned her eyes to.

"Fred?" she shakily called. "Fred, this isn't fun!"

"Don't leave without telling me or you won't ever meet me again." His last words loudly rang in her ears.

"Fred!" she screamed. "Fred!"

"Hermione!"

Her eyes shot open. George was leaning over her, worry filling his eyes.

"Hermione what's going on?"

She blinked. They were still in the twins' room, under Fred's covers. Though darkness surrounded them, it was neither total nor terrifying like the one she'd been lost in a second before.

It'd been a dream, rather a nightmare, nothing else. Tears gathered in her eyes. Fred had never made it back. He'd never hugged her again. He'd never hurt her either. Everything had been the product of her exhausted mind. Her eyes fell to her arms.

She couldn't hold back the loud gasp which instantaneously crossed her lips. Dark streaks of blood were staining her skin. How could- she quickly looked at her hands and shivered. There was also blood on them, under them, she'd been the one hurting herself, not an eerie being coming from her own mind.

"Hermione! For Merlin's sake what's happening to you?"

George's voice was saturated with worry. He'd woken up because of her frantic moves and cries of utter despair. Albeit it wasn't rare to hear Fred's name being screamed in the middle of the night by one of the Burrow's inhabitants, Hermione's behaviour was definitely unusual. As scared and lost as he'd already found her at night because of a nightmare, never had he seen such a sheer terror as the one which was now showing on her features.

Hermione shook her head, unwilling for the pictures of her nightmare to flood her mind again.

She believed in magic. She believed many things could happen, many worlds could exist, yet she hoped dreams couldn't predict – or hold truths about – the future. She was clinging to the hope this one absolutely meant nothing. It was only a sick game of her mind to test her sanity.

"Hermione?" She looked at George, fear still evident in her eyes.

"He was here," she sobbed, finally yielding to his worry. "He was here, back with us, but... but then... when I went to... to tell you he... he... I left him and he... he warned me... he simply..."

She mimicked a disappearance with her hands, unable to voice the words. George's brows furrowed, surrounded by magic since his childhood, he knew, better than her, how much dreams could mean. Gently, he took Hermione in his arms. He'd lull her to sleep first, the explanations would come later, when she'd have calmed down enough to tell him about her dream without shaking, and when her mind would be able to understand how serious the situation might really have become without it. It'd do nothing to scare her more at the moment. Much less when this word was too weak to describe her actual feeling. It was terror which flowed through her, gaining him as well.

Slowly, George's presence and the reassuring words he was whispering in her ears soothed her.

"I want to see him," she murmured.

To Be Continued