So I have decided for this New Year that I will be sorting through my unfinished oneshots in what I am calling "Politelycynical's Oneshot Extravaganza". For the next few days or possibly weeks, I will be regularly finishing up and promptly posting the oneshots that have been building up on my computer. They include many Fremiones and a few Geormione's to mix things up a bit. So without further ado, I present to you part one of "The Letter".
The Letter
By:politelycynical
She could hear sneakers squeaking against the wood of the back porch. She hustled through the Weasleys' kitchen as briskly as she dared. She broke out into their garden and dashed after him. Ron was ahead of her, cautiously making his way down the overly steep pebble path that led down to the lake. She felt a stitch building up in her side, but broke out into a run anyways— it didn't matter. There were upsides to breaking her neck if it meant not seeing his face if Ron gave him that letter. Ron's long legs were faster than her own, but she was much more determined.
She could see the twins up ahead, sitting beside the water with their brooms resting beside them.
"Ron! No!" She hissed at him. At the foot of the hill, she caught up to him and tried to jump up to snatch her handwritten letter from his hands.
He and Harry had taken to pestering her about her growing infatuation. What started as mere compliments about the talents of the twins ("Fred said that they used the Sigma rune, Ron," she gushed, eyes sparkling. "I mean, as I am sure you know- sigma is so hard to utilize. He's just-" she coughed and corrected herself. "They are so brilliant.") had progressed into something much more intense (Her hands shook as she handed the basket of rolls to his outstretched hands. "Thank you kindly, Granger. I owe you one," Fred said, winking suggestively. She smiled slightly before staring back down at her peas.).
"It's better this way, Hermione! You'll be happier!" Ron insisted between bursts of laughter. He held the letter high above his head, safely out of her reach.
She had written that stupid letter for one purpose. It was an outlet to get out everything she had been feeling—she just needed to say it somehow. To explain what was coursing through her every time his hand brushed hers. She hoped that it would put an end to this pull that he seemed to carry with him- ground this electricity that beckoned her to him. Her intentions were to write it all out- and then symbolically banish it or set fire to it or fold into a small boat perhaps and let it float away- she hadn't yet decided which would be best. She thought that maybe she could let go of him. She had been reluctant when she raised her wand to it, though. She had placed it between two pages in one of the books that Molly had given her- Swish and Flick; Spick and Span: Cleaning Spells for the Modern Witch - and forgotten about it.
It was just her luck that Ron had gotten a spaghetti stain on his favorite shirt.
"That's not for you to decide!" She growled at him. She could see the twins approaching, laughing and gesturing towards her and Ron's backyard squabble. She panicked and quickly kicked Ron decisively in the shin ("Oi!), snatched the parchment out of his hand, and stomped her way back up to the house in a huff. She knew that her face was a deep shade of scarlet, and tried to keep the twins from seeing it.
Ron, George, and Fred trailed after her. Ron was limping, but neither Fred nor George offered him a shoulder to lean on. George even tried to trip him as Ron started to step up onto the Burrow's back porch.
"Honestly, Hermione. That really hurt." Ron whined when the four of them made their way into the kitchen.
"Then I guess you shouldn't steal from me." She shrugged and glowered at him.
"Hermione Granger: Resident Badass." George quipped, taking a seat at the table.
Fred smiled widely and pulled a large pitcher of lemonade out of the icebox. "Hermione Granger: England needs saving, and she'll kick any prat in the leg to get the job done." He grabbed three glasses from the cupboard and filled them up greedily. Fred carried them to the table. Ron held out his hand eagerly to accept one, but George quickly reached across the worn wood and slapped it out of the way.
Ron huffed and got up on his shaky leg to pour his own damn lemonade.
She shook her head, but couldn't help but grin.
George snapped his fingers and jumped as he thought of another one. "Hermione Granger in… Gimme that Parchment! Part 2! Revenge of the quill!"
Ron collapsed into a chair. "Hermione Granger in –"
"This is our game, little brother. Get your own game." George scolded him.
"Hermione Granger: Beautiful Brainy Brunette Bombshell Banishing Badguys by Broom!" Fred said quickly, his grin getting wider with each stab at alliteration.
George laughed loudly. "Nice one!" He said, before diving into his next suggestion.
She felt her blush deepen as she cautiously slid into a chair at the table. Did Fred just call her beautiful? It must have just been for the game that they were playing. He wanted to win and it was yet another word that began with 'b'. Fred smiled widely at her, his teeth just barely catching his bottom lip, as he passed her the lemonade that he had poured for her.
Ron sighed and started to leave the room. "Well—they aren't going to stop anytime soon." He told her.
Hermione waved him off. "Yeah, you go on, that's fine." She couldn't possibly miss out of all of this tomfoolery just to go upstairs and sort through her notes. Besides, what if Fred tossed another stray compliment her way? She had to be there for that.
"Hermione Granger: One prefect to rule them all. Hiding in a cupboard? She knows. Disillusioned and holding your breath? Fat chance at getting away! Trying to cheat on a test? You're history." George dropped his voice lower like a narrator out of the muggle cinema.
Fred grin became more crooked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. She had to stop herself from sighing at the mere sight of it. She rested her hands on the table and heard them crinkle slightly. She visibly relaxed as Fred took his turn in their impromptu game of ridiculousness.
"She's a rogue vigilante, jumping from building to building in black, tight spandex." Fred emphasized. George's eyebrows shot up at the suggestion. Hermione coughed, covering her mouth and watching him eagerly. Her mouth was dry. She took a large gulp of her drink. "No Deatheater, or hot-blooded man for that matter, stands a chance against… Hermione Granger: The Kneazle-Woman." Fred finished. "I'd watch that movie."
Hermione swallowed loudly.
Fred smirked at her, his eyes gleaming. His gaze darted from her eyes to her lips and then back up again. "Too far, Granger?"
She shook her head quickly. "No, no, it's not that—It's just—" She took a large breath. "Evil-doers Beware." She said in a rough imitation of the two of them before laughing nervously.
"Brilliant!" Fred laughed, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin up on his palm. "So what's this then?" He reached towards the wadded up stationary that she was clutching tightly.
She snatched it away quickly.
"It's nothing- nothing at all. I have to go." She rambled hastily before darting away from the table, slightly around the corner, and then scrambling up the stairs.
George looked suspiciously at the door. "Well. Now I'm dying to know."
"Yeah, me too. That was highly unusual for her." Fred leaned back in his chair so he could watch her disappear one step at a time up the stairs. George kicked a long leg at one of Fred's raised chair legs. He threw his body forward and caught himself. "What'd you do that for?" He growled at his brother.
"For watching Miss Granger's rear end ascend the stairs." George grinned widely.
"I wasn't watching her bottom. I was just watching her leave. She's acting suspicious." Fred argued.
"Right, just like you also weren't dropping highly sexual overtones into your suggestions?" George laced his hands behind his head and leaned back.
"Those are just common plots! It's not me! It's the cinema industry," Fred sputtered. "Blame them, why don't you?"
"Hermione Granger in tight, black spandex." George snorted, "That's what you said."
"Oh come off it, she didn't mind," Fred growled.
George paused before a sly grin crept onto his face. "Yeah… you're right."
Fred lifted an elegant eyebrow in question.
"Why did she not mind, Freddie?" George insisted, his eyes gleaming. "That doesn't sound like our Miss Granger, now does it?"
"We were just joking around." Fred reasoned. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure as to why he suddenly felt a little vulnerable.
"Or maybe," George started, raising his eyebrows. "Just maybe Granger doesn't mind that kind of filth as long as it is coming out of your very own mouth."
Fred swallowed harshly. "We have to find that letter," He said seriously.
"Exactly." George crossed his arms and leaned back.
Words: 1,575
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