AN: So, as you may notice, I am new to writing fan fictions. This is my very first one. As I have started school up again and need to study for quarter finals, I'll try my hardest to update once a week when ever I can. I'm so excited about this fic because I get to combine my two favorite things: Fremione and the American Revolution! By the way I have been in love with Taylor Swift's song "Love Story" ever since it came out, so I am somewhat basing this story off it. So without further ado, please review, favorite, and add to your story alerts!

XOXO Sara

Cold. If Hermione Granger was asked to describe how she felt right then, that would be her response. She had taken a moment to survey her surroundings and saw nothing but death. Her feet stayed planted into the ground as she watched green beams of destruction flying every which way from seemingly flimsy pieces of wood. Time after time again, she saw too many people she once knew fall to the stone floor in one convulsive motion. Time after time, she heard the sadistic cackling of the one person she feared most in the world. He is killing innocent people who had lives ahead of them; loves that they will never return to, Hermione thought, the brief sorrow vanishing while blinding rage took over her body. Death Eater after Death Eater fell victim to the young lioness.

"Hermione!"

"Stup-" Hermione abruptly cut off the curse as she saw who had called her name.

Harry and Ron grinned at her from the former door of the Great Hall.

"Harry! Ron!" she cried, sprinting to meet her blood-caked best friends. She had been worried sick about them, knowing that their death would mean her own, one way or another. During the battle she kept the two out of her mind knowing that any distraction would lead to her nonexistence.

"You did it, Harry!" the female Gryffindor screamed, crushing The-Boy-Who-Lived to her with a surprisingly strong grip.

"'Mione, are you all right there?" asked Ron. "You were still firing off curses even though there was no one left alive in the room to curse."

"I'm fine. I'll just sit down for a while," replied Hermione. "Now that you bring it up I am feeling a little dizzy. . ."

With that, the bushy haired witch collapsed with a loud thump.

"Yes, Freddie, we know. Some Death Eater tried to blow up the wall and you Transfigured him into a teapot. How very third year of you," came George's loud voice from downstairs, sounding irritated.

"Fred, we are very happy that you prevented a potentially horrid situation, but you're beginning to annoy us all," said Molly Weasley, slightly frowning. "Make yourself useful and bring Hermione her dinner."

Muttering about unappreciative family, the twin dragged himself up the stairs to Ginny's bedroom. The sound of the door opening had startled Hermione, who had awakened several minutes before to hear the story of Fred's triumph.

"Sorry, 'Mione," said Fred with a smirk that showed no sign of repentance, but soon his face grew worried. "I brought you dinner. Are you feeling okay? I mean, Mum's put you on bed rest for a week so I'm sure you'll be all right. And-"

"Fred!"

"Yeah, 'Mione?"

"Shut up," Hermione said, grinning.

"Right, sorry," the ginger replied, blushing almost the exact color of his shoulder-length hair. He had been attracted to Hermione ever since the Tri-Wizard Tournament in his sixth year, but it wasn't until just recently that he had begun to fancy the witch. He couldn't help the tightening in his stomach whenever she flashed him a smile or blushed at one of his playfully rude comments (not that he minded).

"Are you okay?" asked the witch. He had been acting very odd around her lately, and she was beginning to worry. His snarky comments aimed at her had diminished and he grew quiet whenever she entered a room he was in.

"Splendid!" Fred replied, although his tone convinced her otherwise. "Just plotting, you know, stuff-" On the word "stuff," his voice cracked. Shit, he thought, mentally grimacing. Bloody hell! He was a grown man of twenty and his voice still cracked. Only when I'm nervous, he noted.

Blushing again, he began to back out of the room, muttering something that could possibly be deciphered as "uh I'll be going. . . Places to be, people to meet. . . I'll see you tomor- GAHHH!" The redhead landed roughly on his arse, glaring at that insufferable animal who had tripped him. By that point, Fred Weasley's face and every other visible part of his body glowed with Gryffindor spirit. A now incredibly embarrassed twin scrambled to his feet, sprinting to the door. It was all Hermione could do to stifle her laughter during his charade, but when the door swung open and hit Fred smack in the face, she practically howled. She and a very amused Ginny watched as the redhead barreled through the door.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" asked Ginny.

"I wish I only knew," replied Hermione, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Fred had finally built up the courage to talk to Hermione again. They began doing everything together; Fred had let her help with a few experiments for the shop, they'd fished, shopped, read. . .you name it. They quickly became the other's best friend and confidant as George was busy with his own relationship and Harry and Ron hadn't payed Hermione much attention lately.

One night in the beginning of July, the duo spread themselves upon the grass under their favorite eucalyptus tree beneath a starry sky. Fred looked over at the girl he could only dream of claiming as his own with a sigh. Suddenly, a thought popped into his head.

"Hey, 'Mione, what's your favorite color?"

"What?" The witch looked over with an amused yet slightly confused expression.

"Well," he began. "We're friends but I don't even know your favorite color!" He was trying to keep a serious face, but failed miserably at the sound of Hermione's laughter. Soon enough, he was howling at his own childishness.

When they finished, Hermione looked over at the boy she was slowly falling for, who was currently grinning like an idiot and trying to climb the tree. Will he ever know? she silently asked the wind. He could never notice a girl as plain as I am. . . She recounted all the girls she had ever seen or heard him to be with. They were all so fun and beautiful and lively, but Fred had grown bored and soon moved on to the next girl. How could he ever fall for a girl so plain in every way as Hermione? She'd never have a chance. Right?

At loud thump woke her from her reverie. Her moronic boyfriend- ahem - friend had fallen ten feet off a tree branch.

"Bloody Hell!"

"Fred!" Hermione cried, kneeling next to him.

"You never answered my question," Fred said, wincing from his fall.

"What are you going on about?" the witch responded, brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"You never told me your favorite color."

Oh. That. She tried to think of one, but in all honesty, she really had no singular favorite color. Just as she was about to give her concluded answer, she glanced into his huge, beautiful blue eyes the color of ice, only twinkling with light and mischief.

"Icy blue," she replied, sounding out each syllable. Noticing a small scrape on his cheekbone, she bent down to kiss it before she could stop herself. Fred gasped in surprise as the touch of her lips sent the tightening in his stomach several inches lower.

Grabbing his wand and Hermione's arm, Fred apparated themselves to the top branch of the eucalyptus tree. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise at first, but soon grew accustomed to the height. With the man she was most comfortable with, she felt right at home sitting thirty feet up in a tree. After all, the view was the most beautiful she had ever seen with the full moon so close she could almost touch it and million of stars lighting the sky.

"One more question," Fred began, looking at Hermione sheepishly. "If there was one place you could go, where would it be and during what time-period?"

"Easy," Hermione responded. "I've recently watched this muggle film called The Patriot. It's about America during the American Revolution. I'm now hooked on any book about that war. I love the clothes and the music, and everything seems so romantic! It's almost like you could run away with a secret lover and never be found. It's enchanting."

"What do you say, love?" Fred hid his seriousness with a grin, not noticing Hermione swoon when he called her "love." "Why don't we just run away to back then? We'll have to be patriots though; I don't want to put up with snarky, unrealistic Brits," he said, making a face. The American Revolution was just as well known in the wizarding world as it was the muggle. The war was actually a dispute over whether the British Ministry of Magic would control America. The muggles believed that the war was a matter of taxes and freedom, which was essentially right, but not the entire truth.

"Oh, I wish we could," Hermione sighed.

Unbeknownst to them both, a shooting star passed above the couple as they felt a strange pull from inside them.

"Hermione?" Fred asked, confused when he surveyed his surroundings. He was in a large, grassy field looking out toward several Victorian houses. There was a dirt road with wheel ruts separating the field and homes, along which a horse-drawn carriage was riding. The air was humid and warm, nothing like the weather in England. He looked beside him and saw an unconscious Hermione, clad in a long, pale blue dress with flowing skirts and a tight bodice, obviously worn with a corset. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, but was tied in a half-up half-down style with a matching blue ribbon. After noticing her bare feet, he looked down at his own garb and gasped in horror. His feet, too, were bare, but what bothered him were the tight trousers clinging to his legs. Covering his upper half was loose white blouse that had been neglected to be tied up. Feeling for his hair, his hands landed on a black tri-cornered hat instead. Letting his hands travel further down, he discovered that his red locks had grown several inches and tied messily back with a ribbon.

Shit, he thought. This can't be happening. Shit, shit, shit!

Without intentionally doing so, he and Hermione had been shipped back to the American Revolutionary War.