Something was wrong with Fred. It wasn't that he was physically sick, or emotionally troubled. He just couldn't concentrate.

Actually, he could concentrate, just not on anything except for Hermione. Her sweet, bow-shaped, pink lips; her warm chocolate eyes (how could he not have noticed those little golden flecks among those beautiful brown orbs?); her bushy hair no longer seemed untamed, but thick and lush. He swallowed dryly as she wrapped her mouth around her fork, blissfully ignorant to how sexy she looked as her supple and soft lips slid off of the utensil, with what to him sounded like a completely sexual and delectable plop. More than once he had had to look away as her eyes met his. Turning his attention to Charlie and George, engaging in their conversation about the upcoming Quidditch Cup.

As he lay in bed later that night he couldn't stop thinking about her. He repeatedly replayed his memory of her eating at dinner. Her lovely mouth closing around the food on her fork, not to mention that tantalizing sound she made when she pulled her mouth from the fork. Just the very thought of it made his throat dry.

It didn't help that he and George were sharing a room with Ron, Harry and her. Turning his head slowly to the right he could see her outline in the darkness. Her recently sizable chest rose and fell slowly as she breathed. Closing his eyes, with his face still turned in her direction, he fell asleep to the thought of her curved chest rising and falling, and the memory of that plop resounding in his mind.

Early the next morning as Fred and George rolled into the kitchen for some breakfast before the family had to leave for the Cup Fred saw Hermione and Ginny drowsily drowning their toast with some orange juice. He watched as Hermione licked the crumbs off of her lips, and his cock jumped a little in his pants. Jumping a little himself he quickly turned away from the sight and made to walk out of the door alongside George.

"George!" said his mum sharply. The two jumped from shock, and Ron's head shot up from its resting place on the table.

"Shit," muttered George under his breath. "What?" he replied a obviously fake tone of innocence.

"What is that in your pocket?"

George looked down at his rounded pocket, alarmed. "Nothing!"

"Don't you lie to me!" snarled Mrs. Weasley as she pointed her wand at his pocket. "Accio!"

Fred ducked as several small, brightly coloured objects zoomed out of George's pocket and zoomed passed George's hand and over Fred's head into their mothers hand.

Soon multiple of the hidden toffees zoomed out from unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket, the turn-ups of Fred's jeans and the waist-band of his boxers. At seeing this, Hermione looked away and blushed before looking up at Fred, attempting to shake off her flush as something unnoticed. But he noticed. And he liked it. Or at least he liked what he thought it might mean.

"Fred! Wait up!"

Fred, who had been walking sulkily away from the Burrow, in the direction of the Portkey that would take the group to the forest where the Cup would be held, turned around at the sound of his name. When he saw Hermione running towards him his heart leapt in his chest. As she arrived next to him she sounded a bit out of breath. Openly laughing at her disheveled appearance he stopped to let her catch her breath.

They walked along next to each other for the next half an hour until they reached the portkey, talking about a range of topics. Fred was glad to be so close to her, and relished the time spent. From his angle above her he could see the swell of her breast clearly, and had to repeatedly avert his gaze, for fear of how she might respond, although he desperately wanted to know what she was thinking.

It wasn't long before they reached the portkey, where two people were waiting already – Amos Diggory, and his son Cedric. There were the awkward introductions, and Fred was completely oblivious to anything except for the fact that Hermione was standing next to him, being very unintentionally distracting. That was until Amos brought up the loss of a certain Quidditch game last year, in which Harry had fallen off his broom while Cedric had continued to catch the snitch, without bothering to help Harry, the slimy troll. Fred and George both scowled at the pair.

Finally it was time to go. The group of nine crowded around the old boot Amos Diggory was holding, and as soon as Fred had grabbed the boot he felt as though he had been dragged forward, as his feet left the ground. He was spinning and twirling haphazardly in the air, until suddenly time slowed, and Fred slammed into the ground with an oomph, landing awkwardly on top of Hermione.

"Are you okay?" he asked her with concern. She was flushed and looked a bit shocked at their sudden crash into the earth.

"I'm fine…" she said breathlessly, staring up with wide brown eyes into his deep blue ones. It was then that they both seemed to notice that they were entangled into each other, and that their faces were very close. So close that if Fred moved just a little bit forward, he was sure that their lips would meet.

He noticed that her eyes were darting between his and his lips. When their eyes met he absentmindedly licked his lips, causing her to blush a pretty shade of pink. Just a little closer…

All of a sudden he heard a voice: "Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill."

He looked back to where Hermione's lips had been a second beforehand, but they were gone. He looked up. There she was, standing up, talking to Harry and Ron.

Damn.