Permission

Fred lay stretched out on a sofa in the Gryffindor common room late one evening, absently skimming through the worn copy of Quidditch Through the Ages he had borrowed from the library again.

It was his last year at Hogwarts, though things weren't at all how he and George had imagined them. A mischievous smirk pulled at his lips as he remembered the plan they had come up with – they were going to go out with a bang. Literally.

"Fred! Fred! I wanted to talk to you about something!"

Fred looked up, watching as George scrambled over a few second years to get to him.

Fred absently turned a few pages in his book as George leaned over the back of the sofa to talk to him. "Let me guess…" he said, slowly, "you want to ask me if it's all right if you ask Angelina out?"

"What – I – but…" George spluttered. "Lee told you!" he finally bellowed, making the second years behind him jump.

"No," Fred went on calmly, "but I'm disappointed you told him before me. What's the point of having a twin if he's not going to let you in on any gossip?"

"This isn't gossip," said George, firmly. "How did you know?"

Fred marked his place in his book and set it down, looking up at his brother. "You know that dopy look Ron gets?" he asked.

"The usual one?"

"No, the really stupid, far-off one."

"The one he gets when Hermione's around?"

"That's the one."

George raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, so?"

"I know because you get that look when you talk to Angelina."

"Oh…"

"But I'd hop to it, mate," Fred went on, conversationally. "These are mad times – who knows how long we'll even be at Hogwarts?"

"So…" said George quietly, "you're cool with this?"

"Cool? Bro, I'm cooler then Dumbledore when he wears those magenta robes."

"Those are pretty cool," George agreed, nodding staring off into the fire.

Suddenly, Fred sat bolt upright. "Here she is!" he cried.

"What? Where?"

"Nah, I'm just yankin' your wand," Fred grinned, leaning back into the sofa. "But the look on your face was priceless."

"I hate you," George grumbled, hoping over the back of the sofa to sit beside his brother.

"Ah, don't say that. There'll come a time when I'm not around to be a smartass and you'll miss it."

"Whatever you say," George shrugged.

Fred went back to is book, but every so often he snuck a glance at George, who was staring absently into the fire, a small, but definite smile on his face.