The Weasley Triplets Save the Day by Luvscharlie
Fred entered the pub and followed the jut of Seamus Finnigan's chin to a booth in the corner. He nodded his understanding and headed over sitting down across from the small brunette behind the three-quarters gone pitcher of lager.
"I never really fancied you much of a drinker, Hermione."
She hiccupped, eyes seeming to have difficulty in focusing.
"You okay?" Fred asked.
"I'm not sure which of you to answer," she replied, followed by a loud belch.
"All the picture of decorum tonight, aren't you, love?"
She pointed a finger, then seemed to gain her bearings and pointed it somewhere over his left shoulder. "Why are you—I mean you—why are all of you here? I do not need a babysitter." She slurred the words into one long, rather incoherent sentence. "And when did you become triplets?"
Fred chuckled. "Surely you don't think the world could handle three blokes this handsome." She was going to be mortified in the morning... and really, really sick. He rather wished he'd be there to see that. "Hermione, why don't I walk you home. You're completely pissed."
"Nope, nope," she said, waving him off. "I'm not drunk. I'm on the verge of being happy."
Fred rubbed his chin. "What's got you so upset, love?"
Hermione raised her finger once more and pointed at him, then to his right and his left sides. "Your, your, and your little brother is a prat. I caught him with that slag. He doesn't know I saw them, but I did. And I'll tell you this much, Fred, George and—what's your name?" she asked looking to his far left. She held out her hand to his imaginary brother. "I don't think we've met. I'm—" She leaned forward and poked Fred's shoulder, her other hand still outstretched towards his imaginary duplicate, and whispered in conspiratorial fashion. "Psst, Fred. Tell your new brother my name."
"Do you know your name, love?"
"Of course, I do. It's—what'd you call me again?"
"I called you love."
"Well that's a rubbish name if I ever heard one. I don't think my mother liked me very much, Frank." She leaned forward and began sobbing.
"Fred. My name is Fred. Okay then, time to go. I don't think this is happiness, Hermione."
"Hermione! That's my name. Not much better than love, really, is it?"
Fred tossed some coins on the table and rose offering her his hand. She took it and stumbled forward, nearly falling. She would have, but for his quick reflexes. "I think it might be best if you weren't alone tonight." He wrapped his arm tightly around her and Apparated them both to the flat above the shop. They landed in a heap of tangled limbs; Hermione's added weight knocking him off balance.
"Ooh, Fred. I don't feel so good." The words had only just left her mouth and she was sick… all over him.
"Fred?"
"Yes, Hermione?"
"I think I threw up on your brother."
"Lucky him."
Fin.
A/N: Originally written for Round 2, Challenge 10 of the FWHG_LDWS (Fred Weasley-Hermione Granger Last Drabble Writer Standing) Competition on Live Journal. Our prompt was that someone must say the line from a book called Hard Eight: "I'm not drunk. I'm on the verge of being happy" and the drabble must be under 750 words. This one did not make it through to the next round. I finished in third place.
