Doublemint Gum
By Tempest Break
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Nor do I own Hermione or Fred or even George! They all are property of the lovely and talented (not to mention multi-millionairess) J.K. Rowling.
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Chapter One: Original
"George! George, could you come down here a minute?" called George Weasley's elder brother Fred—elder by only two minutes, George would have you know—from the bottom of the staircase.
George sighed and looked about the bedroom he and Fred shared. Clothing was strewn everywhere; a huge suitcase lay open on the bed, unfolded clothes stuffed into it; and George couldn't even remember what color the carpeting was. He nudged at a pair of crumpled slacks and a lone sock, and the answer was revealed to him: They had hardwood floors.
"Fred, I'm a bit busy at the moment," George shouted back.
"I'm hurt!" yelled Fred. "You won't answer the plea of your poor twin brother, who's being noble and letting you go home and have all the fun this summer while he stays and watches the shop?"
George rolled his eyes, but he waded his way through discarded clothing items and got to the door. He had to clear a bit of space away so the door could swing open, just enough so that he could squeeze through… Then he quickly slammed the door behind him and followed his twin brother's piteous noises. He slid down the banister (how many times had Madam Paola told them not to do just that?), leapt off before he hit the wobbly wooden knob at the bottom, and landed, coming face to face with a mirror.
Or, no, wait. That's only Fred, George thought to himself. I'm much better looking.
In reality, there was little with which to tell the two nineteen-year-old twins apart. They both had flaming red hair, mischievous blue eyes, and freckles on their long noses. The only way to tell the two apart—and this was what Molly Weasley herself used whenever she was uncertain—was that Fred had a rather large freckle just under his left earlobe and George did not. Excepting that one freckle, they were practically the same person.
"Ah, there you are," said Fred happily. "Just needed you to help me set up this display for Message-Disguising ink. Could you get a box of regular quills?"
"You're a wizard, aren't you? You could do it yourself," George pointed out, but he grabbed a box of quills and followed Fred into the main room of their joke shop.
"I don't know why you're so eager to pack," answered Fred over his shoulder. "You're not even leaving 'til tomorrow, and there's plenty to do until then."
Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes had far surpassed even his and Fred's high expectations. They were one of the most successful shops in Diagon Alley (not quite as hard to do, now that several of them had been closed, but still no easy feat), and even before store hours, there were throngs of shoppers with noses pressed up against the glass of the window display.
Upon seeing Fred and George lugging the boxes into the main room, a younger chap with sandy blond hair rapped on the pane for them to open the shop, but Fred completely ignored him, shaking his head to his brother. "What do they expect us to do?" he muttered, taking out a few quills from the box George held and setting them into aesthetically pleasing patterns. "We're not going to open early just because they knocked on the window."
"Oh, come on, Fred," George chided. "I seem to remember a certain someone wanting to get into Zonko's at what? Six-thirty? And in the snow, too."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, brother dearest," Fred answered airily, setting out some parchment for test runs for the quills. When the boy tapped on the glass again, Fred rolled his eyes. "Come now," he said under his breath. "The sign says ten to six, and it's not written with Message-Disguiser!" He finished arranging the display and hurried out of the main chamber.
"Need any more help?" inquired George as he easily carried the now-empty boxes into the back room.
"Yes, actually," said Fred, climbing to the top of their yellow ladder and standing precariously on the flap that said, "DO NOT STEP HERE." George watched in amusement as Fred wobbled a bit before withdrawing a long box of trick wands from the top shelf. "Old standby," he said to George, jumping down from the ladder. "We're running low, though. Just noticed while we were out there. Could you put twenty or so of these out there, please?"
"Will do," said George, taking the box from his brother and turning back toward the main room.
"Oh, and George?"
"Yes, cupcake?"
"Don't let anyone in until ten, understand?"
"Loud and clear." George hefted the box of trick wands onto his shoulder and carried it out into the main room. There was another knock from the door, and George looked exasperatedly toward it—and found, to his surprise, four familiar faces.
He grinned, set down the box of trick wands, and approached the door, standing inches away from the delighted faces of his two younger siblings and their friends. He waved with a cheery grin.
The group at the door each had claimed a small window pane just large enough to fit a face. The pane in the upper left corner was a freckled, long-nosed face with a finger up against the glass—the owner of this face had tapped on the door. To that face's right was one with messy black hair and a rather famous scar on its forehead, which drew more than a few stares from the surrounding crowd. Below that face was one similar to the first: red hair framing the freckled cheeks. And the last face, in the bottom left, was not pressed up against the pane so closely, but rather idly appraising the store with intelligent brown eyes.
"Hallo!" said Ronald Weasley, who had grown at least another inch since George had last seen him.
"Which one's that?" asked Harry Potter in a hushed tone, although George could still hear him through the thin pane of the glass.
"Dunno," answered Ron.
"It's George," said Ginny Weasley with a look at her older brother that said plainly, You really ought to know these things by now!
George continued waving to them through the pane with the wide smile on his face, listening to their conversation. The last member of the group—the brilliant, not-so-bushy-haired Hermione Granger—gave George a funny look, almost inquiring as to what the hell he was doing, waving like that.
Ron shrugged at his sister. "Whoever it is, he ought to let us in. Open up, George," he shouted through the door.
George only continued waving to them.
"George." Ron tapped on the glass in annoyance. "C'mon, open the doors."
The twin in question put his hand to his ear and exaggeratedly leaned in toward the door. He made a motion with his other hand to encourage Ron to repeat what he'd said.
"Open – the – door," said Ron slowly and distinctly.
George stood straight again, shrugged, and mouthed, "I can't hear you," several times while wildly gesturing to his ears.
Ron groaned and knocked even more loudly. "George! Come – on. Open the door!"
George feigned realization. "Oh, you want me to…?" he mouthed, pointing at the door handle questioningly. Ron nodded condescendingly, as though his older brother were a two-year-old. George approached the door handle, then abruptly grabbed the sign in the window, held it before Ron's long nose, and shouted through the door: "TEN TO SIX, RONALD! TEN TO SIX!" He threw the sign back into its slot violently, waved again, and went to set out the trick wands again.
He could hear his brother throwing curses at his back and Harry, Hermione, and Ginny trying to pacify him, but George only smirked. It was altogether too easy to get a rise out of dear Ronald; he and Fred had been doing it for seventeen years.
As George was setting out the fake wands, Fred came out of the back room with another box labeled in thick black marker, "S. SNACKBOXES." The elder twin passed George on the way to the Skiving Snackbox display. "What was all that noise?" he asked.
"Oh, dear Ron has brought Harry, Ginny, and Hermione to the store today," replied George, counting out twenty trick wands. "Unfortunately, our darling brother has yet to learn to tell time, and as such wasn't aware that we open the doors at ten."
"Ah, what a shame," tutted Fred, looking toward the doors and seeing Ron's reddened face. "You'd think Mum would have taught him better than that."
"You really would," agreed George, looking to the large clock on the wall, which was spelled to turn rainbow colors and spew illusory gold pieces on the hour, and saw that in ten minutes, they would have to allow the by now giant throng of shoppers into the store. He quickly replaced the box of trick wands and went out to the main room to do a quick recheck that everything was in place. He surveyed the pots of ink by the Smart-Answer quills, the various invisibility-inducing clothing items, and the fireworks display. Finally, he and Fred positioned themselves on either side of the front door.
"Ready, Mr. Weasley?" inquired Fred.
"Ready, Mr. Weasley," confirmed George.
Both of them grinned and, as the clock on the wall was spurting holographic gold pieces, they slowly opened the doors to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes and greeted the massive horde of witches and wizards that streamed into the store.
"We hope you enjoy your shopping experience," Fred said with dignity.
"Have an absolutely spiffing day at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes," George said with just as much aplomb.
"Just what have you two ingested?" demanded an amused Ginny, standing in front of Fred with an accusatory look.
"Whatever do you mean, Ginevra?" asked Fred, eyebrows raised slightly. Then suddenly a huge grin split his face, and he and George both swept the four of them into the main part of the shop.
"So, what brings you here?" George asked of Ron and Harry as Fred demonstrated to Hermione and Ginny the Message-Disguising ink.
"Mum wanted us to check and make sure you were coming after all," said Ron, examining one of the fake wands George had put out a few minutes ago. "You look really busy."
"Oh, yes," said George dramatically. "Loads of work to do every night. Don't know how we manage, do you, Fred?"
The other twin shook his head and clutched a hand to his heart. "Every day is a battle, my friends! You, there!" he shouted to the same sandy-haired boy, who seemed to be trying to open a Skiving Snackbox without paying first. "Put it down, or the curse for shoplifting'll really have you out of commission."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What exactly happens to shoplifters?" she asked.
"Chop off their hands," replied Fred easily. "Medieval, yes, but effective." Hermione gaped. The sandy-haired boy quickly replaced the snackbox. "Need any help?" Fred glided off to assist a young girl inspecting the Animal Crackers—guaranteed to turn you into the animal on the cookie or your money back!—leaving George with an open-mouthed group.
"He was joking," said Ron confidently. "…Wasn't he?"
"Why don't you test it, Ron?" snickered Ginny.
"Why don't you?" Ron glared at his younger sister. George watched in amusement as Harry and Hermione very badly disguised rolling their eyes.
"We should probably get going," said Harry, stepping between the two Weasleys. "Fred and George are obviously very busy, and we've set out to do what your mum told us, haven't we?" He looked at George pleadingly.
"Oh, yes, good show," said George. "Definitely, I'll be up to the Burrow on the morrow."
Harry thanked him silently, and shouting goodbyes over their shoulders, he and Hermione herded the younger Weasleys out of the store.
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George leapt on top of his suitcase, which was bulging—not because he had so many clothes, but because he hadn't been bothered to fold them neatly—and squished the contents of his luggage down into a shape that would allow him to zip up the suitcase. It was dark outside the window of their flat above the store, and George was hastily packing for his Apparition to the Burrow on the following day.
Suddenly Fred burst into their bedroom and cried, "Oh, she's so beautiful!" With that, he threw himself dramatically onto his own, unmade bed.
George raised an eyebrow at his twin, whose face was buried in his pillow. "All right, Fred," he said finally. "You've intrigued me. Who's beautiful?"
Fred flipped onto his back and sighed, "Hermione."
"Hermione?" repeated George, incredulous. "Have you gone mad?"
"Not more so than usual," replied Fred. "Didn't you get a look at her today, George? She's got curves in all the right places. Her hair's gone all curly instead of bushy. And her eyes! Her eyes are like deep, fathomless pools of really, really exquisite brown… stuff."
"Delicious," George remarked.
"I'm serious, George," insisted Fred. "As serious as I can be. And I had to be nice and let you go to the Burrow while I stay here and work." He sighed piteously.
George rolled his eyes. "I'm not letting you go, Fred. This was your repayment to me for when you wanted to go off with Angelina to France over Christmas vacation, don't you remember? You promised you'd let me have a vacation at the Burrow for every day you spent in France, probably shagging Angelina."
A smile curled around Fred's lips. "Ah, yes. I do remember," he said, grinning.
George nodded and went back to zipping his suitcase. He looked over at Fred, who seemed to be staring at the ceiling. Probably "remembering," he thought, grimacing.
Suddenly Fred sat bolt upright in his bed. "I've got it!" he exclaimed.
"Got what?" asked George suspiciously. Fred was looking at him with a maniacal glint in his eye that told George he was an integral part of a plan he probably didn't want to be a part of.
"George, one could say that you and I look rather similar to each other, couldn't one?"
"Yes, if one didn't know the meaning of the words 'identical twins'," George answered warily.
"And one could also conclude that it would be rather difficult to tell us apart, wouldn't you say?"
"One is not liking where this is going…"
"But the other is loving it." Fred grinned; George groaned and put his face in his hands. "I know you don't fully appreciate what a delight this plan will be, but soon you will. You will! Because—think of it! You'll get to woo a girl, who will undoubtedly fall for it, given our good looks, and at the end of two snog-filled weeks, you won't have to be committed! Think of it! Think of it!"
"I am thinking of it, and I still don't like it."
"Oh, please, George," Fred begged, coming to his knees before George, who was still seated on top of his suitcase. "It won't be for that long, I promise."
George twisted his face in to a grimace of apprehension. "I really don't think—"
"Don't you remember when I helped you with Alicia Spinnet in fourth year? Don't you remember? I put my life on the line, with that basilisk gallivanting all over the castle!"
"This is hardly the same—"
"George, please," said Fred seriously, looking earnestly into his twin's eyes. "I'm begging of you, on my knees."
George stared at Fred for several long seconds before sighing in defeat. "Fine," he groaned. "I'll do it."
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Tempest: Well, I'm back, and sooner than I'd expected, too. I have completely mapped out this story, and as such I don't think it will take nearly as long to finish as CoH did. Therefore, I decided to start it as soon as possible. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter and noted the subtle differences in Fred and George's personalities. Well, I think I'll scurry off to bed, but I'll see you later. And, of course, review, review, review!