Chapter Two: She Wears Short Skirts, I Wear T-Shirts

The next few weeks were a passing blur to Hermione; everything seemed to be happening so quickly that the Gryffindor golden girl only had to so much as blink and she'd miss an earth shattering new development. The Burrow seemed to be a hub of constant activity – even at night time, for there was bound to be a Weasley up at ridiculous hours munching on cereal, or Ginny and Harry would sneak out for a midnight swim in the lake when they thought everyone was asleep. Hermione very rarely slept, though, which was why she noted with amusement the innocuous goings on at silly hours in the morning.

Fred and Hermione were growing increasingly close, as they spent more and more time together. Recently, Hermione had taken to avoiding the red headed twin where possible, as the result of her growing feelings for him. It was awkward liking someone who evidently had no romantic interest in her; Hermione had been in that position on far too many occasions, firstly with Ron whilst he'd been pursuing Lavendar, and then with Cedric Diggory before his untimely death, and she knew from first-hand experience that it was not a nice predicament to find yourself in, at all.

George Weasley, Fred's twin, had flooed straight from St Mungo's hospital into the Weasleys' grate with red tinged cheeks and a broader grin than any of his pranks had ever managed to induce, to deliver the news that his wife – Alicia Spinnet, who he'd married pretty much straight after the war had concluded – had given birth to a bundle of joy that they'd decided to name Roxanne. Molly Weasley was beside herself with joy of course – as one would expect from the maternal woman, she loved children as was evident from the number she'd had herself, and she'd already dutifully taken on the role of loving Grandmother.

Hermione couldn't help but think that poor Alicia Weasley-Spinnet – she'd retained her maiden name because she was a Doctor in St Mungo's – was feeling a little bit overwhelmed. The amount of "helpful" advice that Molly insisted on proffering, not to mention the steady flow of baby gifts and baby food (specially developed using magic for newborns) sent directly from the Burrow was enough to drive any mother crazy, and Hermione smiled to herself, glad that she'd decided she never wanted kids, ever, in a million years. The mere thought was shiver inducing, and Hermione was delighted to discover that Fred Weasley also had no intention of being a father.

They'd been sitting outside in Hermione's favourite spot, underneath the blossoming Cherry trees in the Weasley garden, when the topic of George and Roxanne had come out. Hermione had broached it, genuinely curious as to what effect the addition of a new family member had on the dynamic of Fred and George's twin relationship.

"What d'you think of Roxanne?" Hermione had asked, "She's a pretty baby isn't she – and her hair, well you could tell she's a Weasley from a mile away," she'd chuckled.

Fred had shrugged, lacking the enthusiasm Hermione thought he'd have towards his new niece. "She's alright I suppose. I know it's selfish of me but now she's finally arrived I can't help but think that there's going to be even less time that George and myself get to spend with one another. We're pushed enough as it is, for staff at the shop right now… and Alicia doesn't want George to work as much so if you ask me, as much as I love Roxanne, she's causing to be more of a nuisance than she's worth!" Fred had vented.

"Fred!" Hermione had exclaimed, shocked at the twin's outburst.

"What?" he'd asked, innocently, and Hermione shrugged, he was, after all, entitled to his own opinion, and she had asked.

"If you need help at the shop then you need only ask," Hermione offered. "I've not got enough to do at the ministry, as it is," she explained.

Fred stared at her with an open mouth. "You haven't got enough to do? Jesus, 'Mione," he warned, "If you worked any more you wouldn't have enough minutes in the day left for breathing!" This got a laugh out of the Gryffindor, and she tossed her head back in mirth, not noticing the curiosity with which Fred regarded her. She looked pretty when she laughed, he thought. Not that she wasn't pretty anyway, he hastily added. He just didn't usually think of her in that way, he amended, shrugging it off.

"Oh come on, you're the one moaning about not having enough staff!" She jibed, "Besides, half my hours at work are voluntary. I'd be more than happy to help you at the shop."

"Are you sure?" Fred had checked. "It's stressful at the best of the times," he lectured, "And the last thing I want is for Hermione to explode from stress – imagine how messy that would be to clear up," he joked, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm a big girl, Fred Weasley," she pointed out, "I know what I can handle thank you very much… Having helped defeat Lord Voldemort, I think I can handle working in a joke shop," she added, cheekily.

"Touché," he'd chuckled, "You win. You can start this Saturday if you want – I'm sure George will be delighted to have the relief to be able to spend time with Roxy. Remind me to never have kids."

"What?" Hermione had asked, shocked, even though she'd heard what the Weasley twin had said perfectly well.

"Remind me never to have kids," Fred reiterated, a bemused smile flitting across his face as he registered the look of astonishment which crossed Hermione's.

"Oh I heard that," she explained, "Just why don't you want kids?"

Fred shrugged, "Too much hassle. Plus they're dirty, sticky, smelly and bloody annoying. If there's anything I've learnt from having such a big family, it's that I have no intention of having children. Besides, if I take Weasley Wizard Wheezes as far as I hope to take it, I highly doubt I'll have the time to settle down and have a family," he added as an afterthought. "Why, have I just shattered your hopes of having my babies?" Fred teased, cheekily, not noticing the slight flush that crossed Hermione's cheeks.

"Of course," Hermione retorted, "I want you, I need you, Oh baby, Oh baby," she'd said so monotonously that Fred had cracked a massive smile.

"I dunno, we'd have good looking sprogs don't you think, 'Mione?" Fred had laughed, "I mean what with my ravishing good looks and your intelligence they'd be the super children of the future, don't you think?" The thought of children that had both Fred's knack for pranking, and Hermione's knowledge and organisational skills truly was a scary thought indeed.

"Only the best," she'd laughed. "But seems we both see eye to eye on the kid front then," she admitted, bringing the conversation round onto a much more serious note. "I don't want them either."

"Really?" Fred seemed genuinely surprised at this admission. "Why not?"

Hermione shrugged. She didn't really know why – the idea of being a Mum had never appealed to her, and there was something about bawling sticky toddlers in the supermarket that made Hermione feel a tad bit queasy. Maybe she wasn't mother material, maybe she just didn't have anyone to entertain the prospect of bearing children with – whatever it was, childbirth or motherhood had never been on Hermione Granger's 'To Do' list.

"I guess I just want to focus on myself," Hermione admitted sheepishly. "I've never fancied being a sit at home Mum," she explained, and Fred nodded in agreement. No, anyone would have to be mental to expect Hermione to sit on her ambition and play house, he agreed.

"I think you'd be a good Mum, though," Fred admitted quietly, and Hermione smiled.

"Why?"

"You're pretty much perfect 'Mione," Fred hurried, bashfully, "let's face it; you'd be Super Mum if there ever was one. Who knows, maybe one day you'll meet the right person and you'll change your mind," he added.

Hermione had blushed at the compliment and told Fred not to say such nonsense to which he'd only shrugged claiming, "It's the truth!" That had warmed Hermione's insides a little bit more than the Gryffindor witch really cared to admit.

Hermione started work at Weasley Wizard Wheezes that very Saturday. Despite Molly's berating of Fred – claiming Hermione "worked enough as it is" – only for Fred to exclaim, "I told her Mum, but she wasn't having any of it!" – the rest of the Weasley family was happy for Hermione. She'd been miserable – possibly the only person on the face of the Earth who wasn't thrilled at the prospect of two weeks off work – and seeing her busy put the familiar smile back on her face.

Fred, to Hermione's annoyance, had woken her up early on Saturday, with a cold flannel dripping ice cold water down the back of her neck, not only soaking her mattress, but also jolting her out of what had been a rather nice, if not painfully embarrassing dream, involving none other than Fred Weasley himself.

Hermione hadn't been able to remain annoyed for long, not when she saw the beam of her favourite twin peering down at her, especially not as he presented her with a stack of his speciality maple syrup pancakes – which he told her would give her the energy she would need for her first day at the famous joke store of Weasley concoction.

After apparating alongside Fred to Diagon Alley, Hermione felt a little light headed, and she couldn't work out whether she was still getting used to the bizarre feeling of apparition, or whether it was anything to do with the fact that she'd held hands with Fred only moments before. Fred, if he had noticed the way she flinched at his touch, almost cautious to go near him, hadn't said anything, and rubbing his hands together excitedly, he'd given Hermione a whistle stop tour of everything in the shop.

There were so many new products since Hermione had last visited alongside the rest of the Weasley clan. Not that she'd admit it to Fred in a million years, but she was worried that she wouldn't be able to keep on top of everything. They must be doing well, Hermione thought, as to her surprise, there was already a rapidly growing queue outside the store. My, Hermione thought, no wonder Fred was struggling with the lack of George's experienced hands!

"You can re-stock the shelves today," Fred explained, as he led Hermione into the stock cupboard – row upon row of colourfully packaged products and tantalising smells embraced her as she stepped over the threshold, "It'll be easier than diving in headfirst at least," he admitted. "Then once you've got the hang of things you can help me at the register and start doing demonstrations and so forth. Sound good?" He asked in an authoritative, no-nonsense business fashion.

Hermione nodded, too stunned at the multitude of inventions around her to really speak. "Sounds good. This is amazing, Fred," she admitted, gesturing to everything around her. "I had no idea you were this successful!"

"Doubt me, did you?" He asked with a wink that told Hermione he was joking. Modestly, he added, "Nah, it's nothing special, really. You'll get used to it sooner or later he added. Anyway, I better go out front and open shop," he announced.

"Just walk around and anything you see dwindling in supply, you'll find more back here. I think we have everything in stock - that is," he thought out loud, much to Hermione's confusion, "if George reordered that Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder like I asked him to…" he trailed off. "Never mind, you should be able to find everything," he reassured the bemused girl in front of him. "If you can't, you know where to find me. Good luck," he beamed, and rushed past Hermione to let the floods of eager jokers into the store.

Hermione had used to think that her job at the Ministry of Magic was taxing and stressful – but she realised as she wiped the perspiration off her brow after she'd fetched yet another crate of Dungbombs from the storeroom, that her job wasn't a fraction as stressful as what Fred and George dealt with on a daily basis. The shop seemed to be constantly alive – humming with the excited chatter of students and adults alike as they perused the available products and the steady clink and ring of the cash register, as products were bagged and sold faster than you could say Pygmy Puff.

Fred had been running around like a maniac all day, except unlike Hermione, he hadn't even broken a sweat. Hermione had to admit she was impressed – his entrepreneurial skills went far further than she'd initially thought, as she watched from the sidelines as he charmed the young witches cooing over the fluffy pet section, or stood staring at the love potions longingly. Heaven knows how many female witches came in just to chat to the boisterous twin; Hermione couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as Fred flirted unabashedly with every XX chromosomed customer. She shook her head – she was being silly, she told herself. First and foremost, Fred wasn't hers to be jealous of in the first place, and it was his job to be charming. And a bloody good job he did of it! He raved like a little boy on Christmas morning to the budding pranksters, taking their time to pick from the selection of Skiving Snackboxes, and barely anyone left without a Weasley bag bursting with products.

Lunch time seemed to take years to arrive, but when it finally did, Hermione collapsed with relief as the door sign changed automatically from "Open" to "Closed". Fred snuck up behind her, making the tired witch jump as he did so.

"Whatcha, 'Mione," he'd beamed. "How are you holding up?" he enquired, proffering her one of Molly Weasley's famous sandwiches.

"Never better," smiled Hermione, even though she wouldn't admit it, she felt like she'd ran a marathon, her feet hurt that much. But she wasn't a quitter, and she didn't need to give Fred a chance to gloat, so she stoically resolved to handle the rest of the day.

"What do you think?" Fred had asked, and Hermione couldn't help but think she could detect a twinge of nervousness in his voice. She swallowed the bite she was eating before turning to regard the man next to her.

"Magical, Fred," She'd whispered honestly, and Fred had grinned, his eyes sparkling as they'd locked onto Hermione's.

Hermione wasn't one to dwell on situations, but her brain adamantly kept telling her that Fred Weasley had been about to kiss her. That was, of course, until the shop bell rang and shattered that little fantasy, which Hermione couldn't help but replay over and over in her head.

Angelina Johnson had tossed her hair like some kind of show-horse, Hermione thought bitterly, as she watched as the International Quidditch star threw her arms around her boyfriend, smothering him in kisses. At least Fred had the decency to throw Hermione an apologetic smile over his girlfriend's shoulder, but nonetheless Hermione hadn't been this put out for quite a while.

It was moments like these in which Hermione Jean Granger realised with a sigh that there was absolutely no chance that Fred Weasley would so much as notice a plain girl like herself – not when the likes of Angelina Johnson were around, at least, she admitted to herself. If Angelina was a show horse then Hermione herself was a commonplace donkey, the witch thought bitterly to herself. Angelina was a pretty witch, and had a brilliant figure, Hermione noted with distaste, as the Quidditch player's skirt rose a little too high up the girl's retreated into the storeroom, to sort through the already organised Extendable Ears, not wanting to witness such a vomit inducing display of PDA.

Trade resumed in the afternoon, and Fred barely had a chance to see, let alone speak to Hermione, as the galleons flooded in. Apart from a minor incident – involving the spillage of some unburstable bubbles (hardly very dangerous, anyway) - Hermione's day went to plan. When it came to shutting shop, Fred had held her coat out to her warmly, and waited for her to shrug it on, before locking up the shop, checking and double checking he'd done it properly.

Hermione's mood lifted considerably when Fred took her own dainty hand in his much larger and calloused one, that familiar warm feeling flooding through the young witch at his touch. It was hard to be in a bad mood around the Weasley twin, Hermione conceded in defeat. She'd all but forgotten about Angelina's rude interruption upon their arrival back to the Burrow, and she recounted with an eagerness that rivalled Fred's own, the day's events in the shop.

Fred had ruffled Hermione's hair and said, "I'm proud of you, 'Mione," in what he thought was the privacy of the kitchen, once everyone had retreated to bed. Hermione's insides had squirmed with happiness at the simple gesture, and Molly Weasley smiled curiously to herself at the exchange. Hermione's admiration for her son was growing increasingly apparent, to an expert matchmaker like Molly, at least, and the motherly figure couldn't help but wonder if getting Fred to look out for Hermione had been one of her wisest moves as a parent – for both her son himself, as well as the bushy haired witch that Molly had watched and nourished as she'd grown up into one of the most astounding young women. Molly smiled to herself, planting a kiss on both adults' heads as she bustled into the kitchen, before she climbed the stairs to bed, receiving a loving smile from Hermione in return and a "Gerrof, Mum!" from Fred, which was only to be expected.

Fred was the only Weasley child, apart from Ginny, who still let their mother baby them a little. He still made a fuss of course, whenever his Mum kissed him, or fiddled with his shirt, but he didn't really mind. Now that George was both a Dad and husband, he'd become decidedly less fun, Fred thought bitterly to himself, from where he mused on the careworn sofa in the living room of the burrow. Without realising it, some of his attachment he held with George over their twin link had manifested itself in his newfound relationship with the witch to his right; Fred had opened up and told Hermione things which he didn't share with anyone but his twin, and she had done the same, sharing secrets and thoughts with the mop-headed Weasley which she hadn't even shared with Ron and Harry.

Hermione held out a cup of steaming hot cocoa – a beverage which Fred had taken a particular liking to, especially the way Hermione made it, four marshmallows (two white, two pink) floating atop the sea of chocolate. The duo settled comfortably on the careworn patchwork sofa in the living room. Work had taken its toll on Hermione, Fred noted, as once she'd drunk the last dregs of her chocolate, Hermione's eyelids had fluttered shut and she'd fallen into a peaceful slumber. Fred reached out without thinking, and pushed an unruly curl behind Hermione's ear.

He'd chuckled to himself as his mind wandered back to a spat between the Weasley clan earlier that very summer. Ron, dating Lavendar by this point, for Fred had noticed his and Hermione's relationship hadn't lasted more than a couple of weeks at most, had been very serious when he'd arranged a council of Weasley boys in the front room. He'd been so serious in fact, he'd even bribed Ginny to keep Harry distracted – no mean feat, given that it wasn't exactly a secret that Ron hated the idea of his best friend going anywhere near his sister in that sense. Charlie Weasley – looking tanned and muscular from months in Romania – had slouched on the doorframe, interested in the unfurling situation.

A soon to be married George slouched on one end of the sofa, whilst Fred had taken the other, not really bothered by what ickle Ronniekins had to say, as he doubted it was of much relevance to him. Percy, now reconciled with the rest of the clan, sat awkwardly upright in Arthur's armchair, seeming out of place in his suit and tie (he now worked for Gringotts, having quit his beloved job at the Ministry of Magic). Bill wasn't there, as Fleur had insisted on a second honeymoon in the aftermath of the war, so the couple had jetted off to Portugal for a few weeks. Ron had rubbed his hands together in a business-like fashion, Fred recalled with a smirk, wondering what could possibly be so important for Ron to get so worked up.

It turned out Ron had called the meeting after over-hearing a conversation that had transpired between Percy and Charlie that morning, over breakfast. Apparently, Hermione had been hot gossip that morning, and Percy Weasley had been berating Ron for breaking up with the famously smart Gryffindor. Percy had always had a good rapport with Hermione – as their no nonsense attitudes to being a Prefect had been painstakingly similar, and they held many shared academic interests – and he was shocked when he had heard Hermione and Ron were dating in the first place. Now that it was evident that was over, however, he had been quick to say Hermione was too good for Ron, anyway. Charlie Weasley, unmistakable womaniser, had surprised Ron, apparently, by admitting that Hermione was hot and that if Ron wasn't up for what the feisty witch had to give, then he'd maybe "give it a shot". This had triggered a heated debate between Charlie and Percy, over who Hermione would be better suited unto out of all the Weasley siblings, and apparently, at that point, Ron had heard enough, and made his presence known, much to the discomfort of the older Weasley boys.

Hermione, of course, had no idea that these kinds of conversations were occurring, to the sheer amusement of Fred – following her breakup with Ron she'd buried herself in books as a distraction. Any witch would probably die to be talked about quite so much, but Hermione didn't so much as blink – except for when she turned yet another page, of course. Hermione probably wouldn't notice people were talking about her unless someone wrote a book about it, Fred chuckled to himself. For a smart person, she really could be quite obtuse, he thought, as he smiled fondly at the sleeping witch.

He shook his head, regressing. Back around the point after Ron restarted his relationship with the insufferable Lavendar Brown, Ron had had the audacity, after hearing the conversation that transpired between Charlie and Percy, to tell his brothers he "wasn't quite over Hermione" – to which Percy had smartly enquired as to why he was dating Lavendar, then, only to receive a death glare from the younger Weasley – and that he would see any one of his brothers pursuing his ex-girlfriend and "best friend" as a "breach of brotherly trust, love, and definite sign of betrayal".

Charlie had backed off entirely once he saw how much it meant to Ron, but Percy proved to be slightly more troublesome than expected. Why, he argued, was Ron being so possessive over Hermione when he was doing a pretty darn good job of acting over her, sticking his tongue down Lavendar's throat at every opportunity? Surely it was up to Hermione who she pursued, in a romantic sense, at least? Ron had simply growled, "Leave it", and Percy had shrugged pompously, even though he had no real intention of pursuing the female member of the Golden trio, anyway. He was still hung up on Penelope Clearwater, and had been ever since his Hogwarts days.

Fred had never had anything more than a friendly interest in Hermione. She was always just the girl his brother had somehow bamboozled into being friends with him - but now that Ron had staked his claim over the brunette, it had certainly make the twin sit up a little. Part of Fred's love of pranking stemmed from the fact that it was so blatantly out of bounds – off limits, even. A little tiny part of Fred admitted that Hermione was certainly a new point of interest, after Ron's little outburst. But that little spark had remained supressed by the larger part of Fred that was completely and utterly devoted to the affections of his long term girlfriend, Angelina Johnson.

Tiredness took its toll, and Fred's head lolled back against the sofa, his cup of cocoa slipping out of his hand and into the furry carpet that cushioned the sound it made, preventing the sleeping from stirring. Fred Weasley fell into a dreamless sleep alongside Hermione Jean Granger, until Molly Weasley discovered them there, mouths open and snoring softly, as she came downstairs for her morning cuppa.