Disclaimer: I own nothing but Hermione's fuzzy pink and blue socks. Touch them and pay the consequences! haha :D
AN: I apologize ahead of time for this. I don't know how it worked it's way to the top of the pile but it was just begging to be written. And who am I to deny the stories in my head? So, here you go. A bit of Hermione/Fred fiction. It takes place in a completely different universe, one where the kids spent their last summer at the Burrow and weren't being threatened by dear ol' Voldie every time they tunred around. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!
"Um…I'm George"
For the three weeks and two days Hermione had been at the Burrow, she had done the same thing every morning. She woke up fifteen minutes before everyone else in the house–except Mrs. Weasley who had to make breakfast for eight very hungry people–and headed straight to the bathroom. Once her hair was in some sort of presentable state, she hurried back across the hall and down the stairs to Ginny's room and threw on some clothes. It was at about this time that the house started to come to life.
The ghoul took up his obnoxiously loud pounding on the pipes in the attic. Harry and Ron were coming down the stairs in a sleepy march, their feet sounding loudly on the floorboards. On the bed behind her, Ginny yawned widely and noisily, her arms stretching high above her head, before rolling over and pulling her pillow down over her ears.
Hermione sat on the very edge of her mattress, alternating nervously between picking invisible flecks of lint off her clothes and tucking an errant curl behind her ear.
This is it, she thought, staring at the door as if it was about to do a trick. Any minute now...
There was a soft knock and Hermione very nearly fell off the bed in her hurry to get to the door. She paused just as she reached it, took in a deep breath and attempted not to look at all rushed. She checked herself over once more before finally pulling open the door just enough to see who was on the other side.
In the dim light that managed to somehow filter into the hall, his orange hair gleamed and his freckled face shone. His face split into a wide grin, flashing his straight, pearly white teeth. "Breakfast is ready."
She couldn't help herself. She grinned up at him stupidly. "Thanks," she murmured shyly. "I'll get Ginny, then."
He nodded and continued on his way down the stairs.
For the 23 days that Hermione had been eating breakfast at the Burrow, she hadn't yet mastered just coming down the stairs and going straight to her seat between Harry and Ron. Seeing him sitting there, laughing and talking and carrying on with his brothers, never failed to make her hesitate on the bottom step.
One, two, three, she thought to herself.
He raised his eyes, smiling at her and motioning her over to the table. Her stomach fluttered and her heart skipped a beat. And nobody was aware of what was happening inside her as she squeezed in between Harry and Ron.
When Hermione had been staying at the Burrow for four weeks and five days, she finally had enough of her daily routine. She was quite fed up with rushing to the bathroom before everyone else was even aware that the sun was just over the horizon. She was very tired of waiting with bated breath until the moment he knocked on the door to call her to breakfast when she could very well tell that it was ready by the rich aroma wafting up from the kitchen. And she was very, very, beyond a doubt, sick of sitting between Harry and Ron without having the slightest idea as to what they were talking about because her full attention was on how he spread jam over his toast.
So, instead of getting up at the crack of dawn to hurry to the bathroom and make herself presentable, Hermione rolled over and pulled her pillow over her head when the sun ventured a peek through the window. She didn't care that her bushy mop of curls would splay out about her face if not forced into some sort of manageable state. It didn't bother her in the slightest that her pajama bottoms had a rather large hole in both knees or that the tee-shirt she wore was splattered with paint and very nearly swallowed her up.
At least, she didn't care in the slightest until the knock on the door came.
It was subtle, barely audible through the fluff of her pillow. She pulled the pillow off her ears and listened closer, trying to place the sound.
The knocking grew a bit louder and was accompanied by a hesitant, "Hermione?"
Suddenly everything clicked into place and she hurried to scramble out of her blankets and get to the door. In her haste to reach the door, she fell to her hands and knees, her foot caught up in an unruly sheet. She muttered a curse and clambered the rest of the way to the door, pulling herself to her feet with the help of a convenient chair.
She swung the door wide and smiled, quite proud to have made it to the door in one piece. "Good morning," she chimed, the smell of bacon tickling her nose.
He just stared, his hand raised to knock on a door that wasn't there anymore. "Hermione?"
"Yes?" She reached up and patted down some of her curls, acutely aware that he was looking intently at her hair.
"Breakfast is ready," he answered, a puzzled look on his face.
"Thank you," she replied, pulling the neck of the overly large tee-shirt back up over her shoulder. "We'll be down in a minute."
He nodded, the baffled look still on his freckled face. "Did you forget to wake up this morning, Hermione? You look..."–he paused and appeared to be searching for the right words–"...different."
Hermione shuffled her feet and fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. "I decided to sleep in this morning. It is the summer after all." She gave him a hesitant smile.
Thankfully, he smiled back. "It's about time you embraced it. Don't forget Ginny when you come down. You know how she is when she doesn't have her morning feeding."
Hermione watched until he stepped onto the stairs and disappeared around the corner before turning around and closing the door behind her. She sagged against it, her eyes closing as she tried to regain control of her pounding heart.
"Ahem."
Her eyes snapped open to find Ginny sitting up in bed, a smirk inching its way across her face. "Is there something you wish to share, Hermione? Perhaps the besotted look on your face?"
Hermione glanced over at the mirror and burst out laughing. She looked a mess. Her curls were sticking out every which way and there was a fading red mark across her forehead. The over sized neck of her shirt hung haphazardly off one shoulder and her knobby knees were making an appearance, pale against the dark plaid of her pajama bottoms. Her left foot was covered by one bright pink, fuzzy sock and she knew that, if she looked, she'd find a blue one to match somewhere amongst the sheets that now sprawled across the floor.
Ginny raised an eyebrow as she watched her friend throw the sheets back onto her bed and pick a bright blue sock carefully out of the heap, proceeding to pull it on her foot while hopping around on the other.
"You've been on the receiving end of one of the Twins' pranks haven't you," she said, grasping hold of the only logical explanation for her friend's extraordinary behavior. Nothing else made any sense. "I'll have a talk with them. Now come on so we can get this little oddity straightened out."
She took Hermione by the arm and ushered her down the stairs. On the bottom step, Hermione paused, just as she had 32 mornings before.
One, two, three...
He didn't look up.
...four, five, six...
He still didn't look up.
...seven, eight, nine, ten...
Nothing.
She felt Ginny tug on her arm and followed obediently to the table. He always looked up. He always smiled at her. But not this morning. Hermione felt dejected.
She sat quietly all through breakfast, wondering if her hair shooting up all over the place had really made that much of a difference. He hadn't sounded disappointed when she answered his knocking.
"You look...different."
Different? Different. That's what he'd said. Maybe he didn't like her different. Of course, she wasn't entirely sure that he liked her normal either but that was beside the point. He apparently hadn't liked her different, that was for sure because he hadn't once asked her if she was enjoying her breakfast. He always asked if she was enjoying her breakfast.
Ginny cast a worried glance over the table at her friend. Apparently the effects of the prank had worn off because Hermione wasn't loopy anymore. Now she was just sitting quietly between Harry and Ron as they talked animatedly about Quidditch. Something was still off with her but as long as she wasn't laughing hysterically at her reflection, Ginny wasn't going to say anything.
Hermione poked the lone piece of toast on her plate with a forlorn finger, a crease forming between her brows as though she were in deep thought. Ginny nearly smiled as she saw her friend glare across the table at one of the twins.
Don't worry Hermione, she thought. We'll get even.
But Hermione wasn't thinking that at all. She'd finally had enough. Different he said. She was going to show him different. She was going to knock his bloody socks off with just how different she was feeling this morning.
She stood up abruptly, her chair sliding across the kitchen floor with the force. All conversation ceased as every eye turned toward her. She looked...well...very determined.
Walking around the end of the table, her glare never once faltered as she walked right up and stopped directly in front of him. Taking a very deep breath, she grabbed the sides of his face, announced "Fred, I've had about all I can take of this" and promptly kissed him with everything she was worth.
When she was finished, she released him and straightened. He just sat there, his unblinking eyes staring up at her and a piece of partially eaten toast resting in a hand that had gone limp with shock.
"Well," she prompted when he didn't say anything.
"Um..." he stuttered, still not taking his eyes off her. "That–that was bloody brilliant Hermione but I–I'm George. That's Fred."
She slowly turned around, following his pointing finger with a sense of dread. He was standing just inside the door to the kitchen, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water and the perplexed look from earlier that morning on his face.
"Heh," she laughed embarrassedly. "Morning, Fred. How long have you been standing there?"
He opened his mouth to answer but all that came out as he looked from Hermione to his twin and back again was, "You–he–you–him–you kissed him?"
Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat and promptly instructed everyone to go about their business...in any other room besides the kitchen. Mr. Weasley headed off in the direction of his workshop. Harry and Ron each looked at her as if they didn't quite recognize her as they went back up the stairs. George gobbled down the remainder of his toast, grinned at Hermione and disappeared out the back door.
Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were the last to leave. As Ginny was walking past Hermione, Hermione reached out and latched onto her arm, begging with her eyes and her vice-like grip not to leave her alone. And Ginny would've given in but for the look on her mother's face. With an encouraging smile, Ginny pried Hermione's fingers loose and followed her mother out of the kitchen.
Being alone with him was much worse, Hermione decided. Neither made a sound as they looked at anything but each other. Seconds stretched into minutes and those minutes seemed to stretch on for hours. She looked at the clock above the mantle, each of the eleven hands pointing to something different; Fred's happened to be pointing to "moral dilemma" which made Hermione wonder just what was going through his head.
At last he heaved a great sigh, drawing her eyes to his face for the first time since they'd been left alone. He was giving her a boyish, lopsided grin. "Did you enjoy your breakfast?"
She couldn't resist the smile that inched its way onto her lips. "I'm sure it would've been better if I hadn't made a complete fool of myself by mistaking George for you."
He sat down at the table and picked up a piece of toast. She watched intently as he spread jam over the rough surface, the knife scratching the bread. When he finally took a bite, she blushed and looked away, embarrassed by the way she had been staring at him.
"Please, sit down, Hermione," he said after swallowing. "I keep thinking you're about to bolt. It's making my stomach uneasy."
Hermione did as he asked without really thinking. She just heard the words and, without giving it a second thought, she fell into the chair beside him. He took another bite of toast.
"Are you terribly angry with me?" She scooted to the edge of her chair and clasped her hands together in her lap. "I wasn't in the proper state of mind to be able to tell the difference between the two of you."
He plucked a couple pieces of bacon off a plate in front of him and scooped up a spoonful of eggs. "Aren't you hungry? Best eat up before it gets cold." He put a spoonful of eggs on her empty plate.
"Fred..."
"I'm not angry, Hermione." He added a pancake to his growing mound of food and smiled over at her. "If I was angry, I wouldn't be talking to you. And I most certainly would not still have an appetite."
She smiled back at him and picked up her fork, taking a bite of eggs. And for the next few moments, that was all that happened. They ate in silence, glancing at each other under lowered lashes when they thought the other wasn't looking.
It wasn't until she had finished off her second helping of eggs and third round of bacon and was taking a gulp of orange juice that she realized that he was openly watching her, that lopsided grin fixed firmly in place.
She lowered her glass to the table, her thirst forgotten and looked back at him. "What is it, Fred? Is there something on mmmfffhhhummmm–"
Her words were abruptly cut off as he grabbed the sides of her face and pulled her to him, covering her lips with his own. Shivers raced up and down her spine and goose bumps made their appearance on every inch of her skin. Hermione's toes curled in their bright pink and blue fuzzy socks. She felt like she was going to burst from sheer happiness.
"You're beautiful, you know," he said softly, pulling at an errant curl and twining it around his finger. Hermione smiled against his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his orange hair. For the 32 mornings she'd had breakfast at the Burrow, this one was by far the best.