Hermione stared very hard at her potions essay, giving her absolute best attempt at ignoring the discussion directly behind her chair.
"Look Fred I'm not saying that it's not a good idea-" Ginny said in a tone that suggested otherwise.
"Great, then will you give us a lend of yours then?"
The ebola had to be diced into four equal parts. Hermione did not know why, and she needed to. It was vital this she learn about it right this instant, and not eavesdrop on Fred and Ginny.
"I'll only take her up once, see if she sees it," Fred was saying, which Hermione found a little disconcerting. Ginny clearly did not think it merited a reply either, and left to return to her friends.
Fred came to sit on the arm of Hermione's armchair, but he didn't twist his legs away like a civilised human being; instead he draped them over her like she was a dashboard on a car.
"Now that's what I call comfortable" he deadpanned, as Hermione struggled beneath his lanky legs.
"Get off- move you brute" she said, laughing and pushing at his legs that seemed loath to relinquish their newfound territory.
"But I thought this was really working-" he replied before she managed to push him onto the carpet. Fred fell with easy confidence, as if he was secretly a part of the wizard circus, and then he rolled onto his belly.
Hermione used to worry about what other people in the common-room thought when Fred acted like this, rolling around on the carpet, sitting on her. Lavender and Parvati in particular used to stare unashamedly at him as he spent the evening constantly moving, trying to lure Hermione from her books. After a few days of dealing with their incessant curiosity, she learnt to shrug it off. Fred was much more captivating than spending her time wondering what others thought of her, and their opinions did not regulate her happiness.
"M'lady, it looks like Plan Q is a go" Fred said as he propped his head up on his elbows and staring intently at her, waiting for her reaction
Plan Q was Fred's latest zany scheme, though he assured her there was no profit to be made in this particular plan other than making her happy. He liked to say that with her smarts and his muscle-tone that they'd win the cup easily, and that she'd make a wonderful Keeper, and so he wanted to get her into Quidditch.
"Keeper?" she had asked incredulously the first time he had brought it up. "Surely I'd be a beater, with my propensity for violence."
"Nonsense," Fred replied, and ignored the implied joke that if she played as beater, either he or George would be out of a job.
"Mum's always saying it in her letters." He made a face and his voice changed to an uncanny impersonation of Mrs Weasley.
"Fred love, I'm thrilled to hear that you are dating Hermione, she's a wonderful bright young lady. Definitely a keeper!" He smiled, then cried, "What?" as she elbowed him, "That was complimentary!"
"Violent tendencies- remember?" she said in between attacks. It was only play though; the only real way to hurt Fred was to tickle him, which was strictly prohibited and she only dared to use such a devastating attack if he truly deserved it.
Ron mumbled something into his own Potions essay as she and Fred elbowed he another, and Hermione chose to ignore it.
She pulled Fred to his feet. "Shall we say this weekend then?"
"Nope, think I have other plans, sorry-" he said, and she poked him in the ribs.
"Oi! Seriously though, the Slytherin match, remember?"
"How could I possibly forget?"
He began to play with her hair in the peace that followed, but not in a sensual way- he took two pieces and leaned right in so they made a moustache on him.
"Moi thinks zat it suits me." he said in a ridiculous French accent. "Vat do you think?"
"Je pense que mon petit ami est un idiot" she threw back.
"I didn't know you spoke French!" he exclaimed. He breathed in. "You know, that's oddly attractive."
"That's about the extent of my French, je suis désolée. Benefits of being Muggle-born I suppose. Only extra language I have now is Ancient Runes."
"Go on, speak some of that to me."
She tapped him on the head. "Squiggle circle eagle cross squiggle squiggle."
"What's that mean then?"
"It roughly translates into: go away for a while, I have Potions to be doing."
Fred stretched and mussed her hair.
"Alright, I do believe I have urgent business with George to be attending. Enjoy your essay. I'm sure it'll be much more fun than me." and he left her, albeit with discernible ruefulness.
She starting writing again, but found it hard to focus on Potions. She kept imaging flying with him. She was terrible and Fred would laugh, but in a good-natured way, and he'd teach her instead of just assuming she was rubbish, and they'd soar-
It was an hour later when she made her way over to him, her Potions abandoned.
"Hermione, are you honestly stealing my brother again? We're trying to run legitimate business here." George said, only half joking.
"A legitimate business faking illnesses to get out of class," she retorted. Just because she was dating Fred did not mean that she was not still a Prefect.
"The very same. Go on, enjoy yourselves, I can take it from here."
Fred nodded to George in thanks and looped a hand around her waist, and they left the common-room.
Later that night when she was in her dorm she remembered. The curtains hung loosely across a dark window and she noticed how much quieter it was than the common-room. There she had Fred, she had the fireplace and her armchair, Harry and Ron.
The dormitory was different, colder. Lavender and Parvati obviously spoke; in fact they often pulled their beds right beside one another's, but that was it.
Hermione thought it was strange how you could sleep in the same room as people every night for years and yet still be strangers.
She curled into bed and felt cold. There were no hot water-bottles at Hogwarts, nor electric heaters, and sometimes she missed simple Muggle technologies like that. She dragged the blankets around her and tried to sleep.
It was only then, as her brain digested the day that she remembered why she shouldn't play Keeper, even if she did have the necessary talent. That was Ron's position.
The morning after she and Fred first kissed, she had broken the news calmly to Harry and Ron over breakfast.
Ron, in a beautiful example of self-control, had dribbled pumpkin juice all over his robes as his mouth hung open in shock. He then let out a spew of profanity with a similar expression that he had worn when he threw up slugs in their first year.
Harry hadn't seemed too bothered either way, and only seemed to regret the detrimental effect Hermione's newfound romance on his own grades, and Ginny took it well too, only asking that Hermione not go into explicit detail, but Ron did not adapt as quickly.
"But- when did this all-" he asked her that afternoon in the back of Charms, safe from Fred's ears.
She knew better than to say an excessive amount to him as it would only exacerbate his general state of malcontent, so she stayed tight-lipped about the whole thing.
The boys were her friends and they had fought together- and admittedly with one another- and Hermione trusted them, but she still wasn't altogether comfortable talking about boys to them. Look how badly Ron had taken to Victor, for Merlin's sake. She didn't know which was worse, when she had had an unspecified relationship with Ron's idol, or a concrete relationship with his older brother. No wonder the poor boy was flabbergasted.
She managed to drift to sleep eventually, and she dreamed of flying.
That weekend, Gryffindor played Slytherin. That was the match where Umbridge banned Harry, Fred and George from Quidditch for life.