Title: Puerile

Rating: T for innuendoes, language, and possibly disturbing scenes

Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own Harry Potter. I don't think J.k. Rowling likes snicker doodles.

A/N: *Sweats* Sorry about not updating… (I really am!) But here is chapter 3! Anyway, since this is somewhat AU, most of the characters are still alive (I just can't handle the thought of them actually being dead)… and somewhat ooc (don't kill me!). I tried to keep them in character, but angsty, depressed trio and friends take all the humor out a story.

Warning: Insanely copious amounts of goo-inducing fluff. And irritated Ginny Weasley.

Chapter 2, part 2:

"Reorge?"

Silence.

"Fed?"

Again, no answer. The silence was nearly deafening.

Shhh…

A small ruffle of fabric.

Hfff…

An echo of breath.

It was too quiet; the tension in the air was smoky, thick and it curled around the three figures hazily, two were hunching and panting softly while the third was watching with gullible amusement. Apart from the tiny shuffling of their bodies, the only other noise was whisper of fabric and cloth as it was strewn across the floor.

Another bout of silence ensued. With a small frown tugging at the corner of her pink lips, Hermione squinted her almond eyes slightly and held a small pale hand up, shielding her eyes from the lone shaft of light that penetrated through the decrepit opening in the slanted windows. It was late evening and the cool light of dusk was just beginning to settle in the cozy horizon. Seated on top of a rusty faded burgundy chest, she kicked her dainty feet against the creaking wood and pouted. The silence was unnerving her. For some reason she couldn't put the lack of noise together with her two tall red headed friends, even if they were acting just a tad strange.

There was a small shuffling of footsteps.

pttff.

"George, move over will you?" She heard one them whisper brusquely.

There was an indifferent huff and seconds later the voice replied, "Why should I?"

"Because I want to be on top" Top. Biting her lip timidly, she mustered a small frown as her brow creased; she didn't know why that should matter. She leaned forward eagerly to hear.

"What the bloody hell? There's no way, you're going to be on top!" It was nearly a hiss.

There little Hermione giggled. Her two friends were very funny.

She was about to laugh out loud when a small rumbling noise made her frown nervously and she quickly decided to call their names again.

Still blissfully unaware of her small pleas, Fred and George bickered silently as they flung another article of clothing to the increasingly large pile of clothes in front of her on the small sturdy bed. Determined, Hermione giggled as she hopped of the chest and smiled brightly as she tugged lightly at their pants, hoping to get their attention.

Feeling a small tug at his knees, George bent down and picked the tiny girl up, placing her on the edge of the creaky bed as he aimlessly grabbed a small brown teddy bear and placed it gently into her arms. With a sigh, Fred stopped his perusing and putting on a soft smile, he turned to the tiny girl behind him. "Mione, er- be…" He paused and swallowed thickly. "…good, alright?"

"Goog?" she cocked her head to the side.

Fighting off a grimace, he croaked out again, "Good". She nodded brightly before plopping down on the fluffy covers of the bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"What in Merlin's name are they doing?" Mrs. Weasley was asking with exasperation. Her brown eyes were narrowed with a cold glint and a grimace was carved ruefully onto her face. Slowly she raised one hand to her hip. Ron couldn't help but let out a squeak. Curious, Harry turned to his friend with a questioning glance and mentally ran down the list Charlie and Bill had provided him the first time he had been invited to dinner.

No tapping fingers at the dinner table. Or a glare would be sent your way.

One glare meant "Stop and I won't hurt you".

Two glares and it was no longer a threat. It was inevitable and likely painful.

Three glares and… Charlie stopped talking at that.

Bill had patted his back reassuringly and continued.

No slurping. Slurping would be received with narrowed eyes.

Narrowed eyes promised pain, Bill had told him sagely.

There was also no clinking glass. No elbows. No punches. No slaps. (The last three were mainly directed at Bill and Charlie) No tardiness was the newly imposed rule into this category as well (It was bumped up from narrowed eyes).

And most importantly, no magic either.

All of those were rewarded with one hand on the hip. Harry bit his lip as he remembered.

One hand on hip translated to, for lack of better words Bill described, "You are in deep shit". And Harry had only seen it in action before twice. Once, when he and Ron accidently burnt the counter top when they were attempting to make a sandwich (apparently wizard's hot sauce was different). Secondly, was when George accidently tossed a quaffle through the window and it had miraculously landed in the steaming pot of chicken soup Mrs. Weasley was preparing. The same one she was constantly stirring all day long. That was the first time that Harry Potter had ever squealed. He even faced Voldemort for Godric's sake. Pulling himself upright, he kept his face impassive; he was not going to squeal now.

Watching the seconds ticked off menacingly as he worriedly eyed his watch, Harry placed a comforting hand on Ron's shoulder.

Mrs. Weasley turned to stare at her youngest son and raised an eyebrow.

Gulping, Ron felt the sudden urge to back away with his hands in the air. "I-I'm not s-sure". He choked out nervously.

"Don't they know what time it is?" She made sure to punctuate the word time. She turned to Ginny.

"I-I'll go check". And she dashed off with a large sigh of relief as Ron and Harry glared at her retreating figure with envy.

Taking the stairs to the upper floors where the bedrooms were situated three at a time, Ginny hurried agilely through the weaving slopes of wooden steps. What the hell could they be doing? After last time they should at least know to get to the dinner table by now.

Sighing, and roughly pulling back a strand of auburn hair that came loose behind her ear, she took a sharp turn left to face a bright orange – and she shuddered, green- door. Not even bothering to knock (not that she ever did anyway) she kicked the door open with the heel of her foot, quietly of course; no need to explain to mum why the hinges came loose…again.

Steeling herself for the apocalyptic mess (she would have to thank Harry for furthering her vocabulary of strange muggle words) she would receive as she step in, she mentally took a deep swallow of air and held her breath, ready to lunge an attack at her two idiotic elder brothers.

"George! Fred! You get your arses down there now or else –" she stopped. There was silence.

Strange. It was awfully quiet. Too quiet.

She squinted her eyes as she glared around the room. There was nothing to be seen; of course this was discounting the numerous masses of piled robes, books, and quills; why they couldn't use magic to clean it was beyond her understanding.

She lingered for another second, disdainfully eyeing the bubbling chest to the far right corner as she was just about to step out, shoulders sagging with relief that even though the twins weren't in their rooms nothing else was.

Instead she found herself face to face with a pair of blue boxers that dangled over the door frame.

She felt her eye twitch irritatedly as her fingers felt along the edges of her skirt for her wand.

She idly wondered if pleading for the sake of her sanity would hold up in court for attempted murder. Besides it was for the good of wizard-kind.

"Oi, Georgie, did you feel that?"

"Feel what?" George asked confusedly, his lips twitched in a worried frown.

"That". Fred answered glancing fretfully towards the door.

Breathing deeply, George answered with surprising calmness, "You're just paranoid". Fred gave him a skeptical look as he saw Hermione glancing curiously at him; her face was scrunched up amusedly. He was sure he felt a strange aura just now. Almost as if something was out to get them. Giving George another doubtful look, he turned back to the task at hand as he shrugged off the feeling nervously. This was the most important priority anyway.

Indignantly stomping her way through the hall, Ginny felt her teeth clenched as she searched another room to no avail. Where the bloody hell could they be? She was just about to kick another door open, this one she hazily remembered being Harry's room, before a slight rustling of wood of fabric made her froze.

Inching her way slowly towards the noise lest her footsteps would give her position away, she closed the distance between herself and the doorframe with increasing dread.

Forget murdering them, she was going to hand their arses over to mum.

Throwing another pink and shudderingly frilly dress behind him, George was practically raving, "How hard is it to find one bloody pair of knickers!"

"Shush, Forge".

"You shut it".

"Why you-"

His voice of cut off as a small lithe figure appeared in the hall, her aura frightfully agitated as she stalked her way towards them. "What the hell are you doing?" Ginny narrowed her eyes in accusation. At most attempted murder could only get her a few years in Azkaban.

Quicker than he realized he was capable of moving, George grabbed the covers atop the frilly white bed and threw it over Hermione's head. Then he dove back under the mountain of clothes they managed to pilfer, er- find.

"Nothing!" they answered slightly too fast.

"No…?" She asked as she crossed her slender arms beneath her chest, "Then why in bloody Merlin's name are you in here?" Her tone was harsh and cold; slightly breaking towards the end as she registered the damage they had done to the room. Her room! How in the world had they managed to pile so many clothes! She could have sworn that she didn't even own that many shirts or pairs of socks. Not to mention there was so much pink and frills and lace! And what was that frightening pink concoction that was dangling of the edges of her bed? She thought she had burned that thing.

"We –er were looking for…" George mumbled before he could think as he glanced over to the odd sight that was Hermione beneath the bed covers. She stuck out like Hagrid in a sequined pink robe. He prayed that Ginny would at least not notice the brown curls sticking from beneath the fluffy fabric. They could barely explain their presence (very unwanted presence) in her room without mentioning her. And there was no way, they could explain that.

"For…?"

"Something" Fred said quickly before George could open his mouth. Ginny raised both eyebrows and stared at them impatiently with her arms still crossed. Heaving out a tired sigh, she gritted her teeth in annoyance as she attempted to reign in her anger. She should wait until after dinner to plot extermination.

Nervously tapping on the wooden frame, Fred coughed awkwardly and placed himself between his sister and the door way.

As casually as he could manage, he leaned gently over the door frame and coolly replied, "It's nothing".

"Nothing?" She repeated with a raised brow as she glanced at the strange masses on her bed. There was cloth, feathers, and …hair? She clenched her jaw audibly, it was really too tempting to hex him. Azkaban could not be that bad.

Nodding their heads, both twins echoed her cheerily. "Nothing!"

Unperturbed, Ginny merely glared at them, the hazel eyes hardening to a misty jade. "Then please enlighten me as to why in the bloody hell you two are in my room?" She emphasized the word 'my' by baring her canines.

Throwing a quick glare at his twin, Fred shuffled his weight to the right and tilted his head to the side to block Ginny's view of the room.

"Like we said," he started as he rubbed a hand to the back of his neck and nervously kneaded the tightening muscles there, "we were…looking for something".

"In my room?" She emphasized the word again.

Not trusting his voice, Fred merely nodded and gave her a sheepish smile.

Ginny responded with another glare as tried to loosen her grip on her wand. Explaining to Harry why she needed his help in hiding their bodies was not a promising option. Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, she pointed to his own wand.

"Well", she paused and looked quickly around the room, "can't you just use your wand?"

Fred didn't reply but gave her a glance and turned tilted his head down wards, towards the area of the kitchen.

"Oh right, that". Ginny mumbled, as she remembered rule number one; no magic during dinner time. Her lips twitched back in amusement before she frowned. Damn it. It also meant she couldn't hex them.

"Yes that". George sarcastically muttered, his hands were still buried beneath the mountains of clothes.

"But even if you couldn't use your wand, this", she stressed by directing a hand at the mess on her bed (and the mob of brown curls that seemed to be shaking with giggles) "was completely unnecessary!" She said the last part with an angry huff and stomped her foot resentfully.

George chuckled apprehensively, "Er- well about that…"

"We'll take care of it." Fred finished as he placed a hand on the back of the door; his lips were curved in a satisfied smirk.

"You better!" Ginny threatened darkly. She was about to open her mouth again when she was face to face with her large oaken door.

Grunting, she gave it a good kick.

Stupid older brothers, she muttered as she made her way back to the kitchen, contemplating the odds of slipping them a few hexes without Mrs. Weasley finding out.

"That was bloody close". George sighed as he fell backwards to the floor. With a hard look to the pile of clothes that was threatening to spill out over the bed, he tiredly grumbled, "stupid knickers".

"Agreed".

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! It made me really happy to read them! Also, thanks to everyone who read my story and kept up so far!

On another note, why did the first scene sound so….. wrong? I didn't notice it until I reread it. Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me something.

This is more a continuation of the previous chapter than it is a new chapter. There's supposed to be another scene with this, but I felt that I owed you something for being so inactive so I figured I'll just published this as part 2 of Chapter 2 rather than struggle through another month or more for the next scene and be pronounced dead. But I hate that this chapter is so short. Usually I have a minimum of how many words I write, before I publish something. But I've been so busy that I barely have time to breathe let alone write.

And somehow, I feel like this story gets sillier with every chapter and not in a good way. I would blame it on the numerous of math equations that I should be doing (and completely avoiding) but I think it's because of my writing style. I'm trying to use another writing style that I normally wouldn't use, so it's been quite hard to write and make it not sound like it was done by a fifth grader. I'm somewhat debating on whether or not to revert to my other style but I don't think it would fit this story as well. And speaking of having trouble writing, I apologize again for the super long update. But as an apology for not updating in about a month(-ish), I promise I will try my utmost best ability to update the next chapter within 2 weeks.

As a way to show you that I really am not dying and that I will update, here's a short tiny snippet of the next chapter!

oXoXoXoXo

"Bill…?" She glanced upwards at the large man in front of her whose face was open in a big toothy grin. Titling her faces towards him, she beamed him a large smile as he placed a hand atop her head, ruffling the brown curls gently.

"Yeah, Hermione?"

"Are you going to be on top? That's what Fred wanted."

Fred almost choked.