Ever since their legs had been long enough, Fred and George had set their feet up on anything, anywhere, at any time. The kitchen table, the coffee table, their beds. They didn't do it to be comfortable; it was more to piss off their family than anything.
"Fred, George," Molly said sternly, glaring at the eleven year old boys, "Feet off the table."
"Feet off the table!" they crowed, slamming their feet on the floor before putting them right back on the table, making her growl and ready to pull her hair out.
"Fred, George," Arthur sighed, frowning at the two sixteen year old boys, "Feet off the table."
"Feet off the table!" they grinned, putting their feet on the floor. Arthur sighed, smiling, hoping that maybe they would stay on the floor this time as he tried to read the –
SLAM!
- Prophet….
Hermione walked into the kitchen at the Burrow, her arms ladled with books and parchment and a quill sticking out of her ponytail. She sighed, seeing twenty one year old Fred and George's feet on the table as they discussed about the shop.
"Guys," she said tiredly, "I really need to study for the written Auror's exam. Could you please get your feet off the table? I'd go somewhere else, but Ron and Harry are hogging the study, and Ginny's off on a wedding induced rant, so just please, for this one time, could you get your feet off the table and keep them off?"
Fred quietly got his feet off the table and set them on the floor, earning a raised eyebrow from George as he slammed his feet on the floor.
"What?" he asked, "Are we actually going to give Granger the table?"
"Yes," was all Fred said.
Hermione sighed with a smile, setting the books on the table, "Thank you."
"Granger?"
"Not like that, George."
"Granger?"
"No, George, not like that."
"Granger?"
"Are you listening to me at all?"
"Ron's Granger?"
"Okay, first off," Fred frowned at his twin, "Ron lost the right to call her his when he started cheating on her with Lavender Brown. Secondly – it is not bloody like that!"
"You got your feet off the table for her! And kept them off!"
"So?"
"So – you don't do that for just anybody! Not even me!"
"George, back off."
George then gasped, looking horrified, "How could you?"
Fred sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "George, listen – "
"No," he cut him off, his lower lip quivering, "No, I know when I need to back off."
"Obviously not or else I wouldn't have had to bloody tell you!"
George gaped at him before giving a great big sniff and running off, supposedly sobbing.
"Git," Fred muttered under his breath.
"What was all that about?" somebody asked, appearing near Fred's arm. He jumped upon seeing Hermione there, silent and looking up at him.
"Err – just George being George," he shrugged.
"Umm," she said, looking uncertain, "Alright. Hey, listen, d'you know where Harry is? I need to ask him what he got on this one question. They keep asking trick ones and I can't tell if that one is a trick one or not. Anyway – do you know where he is?"
"Err…backyard," he said, "De-gnoming."
"Thanks!" she said with a grin before walking away.
All he'd done was get his feet off the table for her, he thought as he watched her go, it meant nothing….
Right?
