A/N: Hey. *sighs happily* Thank you for reviews, *they make my Sunday night feel like a Friday night* (see what I did there Meegs? I WONDER who said that, and when??) … hehe, and I'm glad we cleared that up Trav … ~nm3x5s~ Shez    PS – A sequel to Aftermath is certainly a possibility. I have a few ideas floating around. Consider the sequel to be 'in the works', if you will … And now … back to Weasley and Co …

~

Ron's stomach was lurching with a mixture of pleasure and disbelief as he climbed the stairs to the boys' dormitory that night. His head was sort of spinning too, and his ears were shining a permanent red.

He'd asked Hermione. He'd done it, just like that. And she said yes.

He happily changed into pyjamas and pulled back his covers, when he heard Harry on the stairs (he'd been packing up the chess set with Ginny). For some reason, the sound of his feet brought Ron crashing back to reality, and he froze in the process of hopping into bed, feeling himself pale.

Harry entered and went to his own bed, pulling off his glasses.

"Can't believe you asked her," he said, through a wide yawn. "That's great, Ron."

"Harry."

"Braver than I would've been."

"Harry."

"And you'll be able to make up for the Yule Ball."

"Harry. For Merlin's sake!"

Harry turned to look at him, startled, and Ron bit his lip.

"What the hell am I doing?" he said hoarsely, and dropped abruptly to sit on his bed.

Harry came over, a bit warily. "What do you mean?"

Ron put his head in his hands. "I mean, what am I doing asking her? I can't go to a ball with Hermione! I can't do it."

"Why not?"

"Because. I'm crap at those things. God, I forgot. I'm crap."

Harry sat next to him. "What things?"

"You know, dancing and – and compliments – and dressing up, and making conversation …"
Harry cut him off. "Well I've never seen you dance, but you give me compliments about my quidditch, put some form of clothing on every morning, and speak at least five thousand words a day. I think you'll manage."

"Harry …" Ron said, in anguished tones, but the dark-haired boy plunged on.

"Shut it. This is Hermione we're talking about. Girl of your dreams. And you're going with her if I have to wheel you into the room myself."

Ron looked at his feet, and took a deep, steadying breath.

OK, he thought. Harry's right. I can handle it. I can.

"You right?" said Harry.

"Yep. Thanks."

"Wanker," Harry said affectionately, elbowing him. He got up. "Oh, and by the way – I'm not wheeling you in."

He grinned and changed into pyjamas, and soon they were both in their beds. Ron felt a bit calmer. Harry could be good like that when he wanted. Anyway, he could think about all that later, he supposed. Right now, it was enough that he had a partner – not like the Yule Ball, and their last-ditch dash for decent girls.

Then Ron thought of something.

"Who're you taking, Harry?"

Harry was lying on his stomach, face in his pillow. "Don't know."

"Better get a wriggle on, mate."

"Ha-ha."

There was a brief, comfortable pause, and Ron had another thought.

"Take Ginny," he said impulsively.

Harry rolled over. "What?"

"Take Ginny. Then we'll be a kind of foursome."

"I can't take Ginny," Harry said, half-laughing.

"Why not?"

Another pause, in which Harry stopped laughing.

"Well – she's your sister," he said awkwardly.

"Yeah. Funny that."

"And my mate."

"'Mione's my mate," Ron pointed out, and Harry flushed.

"Yeah, I know," he said, sounding rather tense. "But that's different."

"Why, 'cos I like her?"

"Yeah, 'cos you like her."

Ron lay back thoughtfully, wondering how exactly he could work this out – because if Ginny and Harry were allowed to manoeuvre him, then he was going to manoeuvre right back.

"Just ask her as a friend, then. Like I said, we'll go in a foursome. It'll be great."

"What happened to 'I can't go, I'm crap'?" said Harry, and Ron shrugged.

"Don't you want to go with Ginny?"

"No!" Harry said quickly. "No, it's not that I don't want to go with her. Er – well, it just feels weird that's all. But maybe I will."

"Maybe you'll ask her?"

"Yeah, maybe."
Another pause.

"Night, Harry," said Ron.

"Night."

He relaxed against his pillow and focussed on the dark ceiling. He, Harry, Ginny and Hermione – hopefully they were in for a much better evening than the last ball had been.

His worries surged up again as he lay there. He was crap at all this fussy, fancy stuff.

And girls. He was crap at girl stuff too. He didn't know what you were supposed to say, how you were supposed to treat them when they were all dressed up and beautiful, and looked like women instead of students. And Hermione! Hermione was hard to talk to these days at the best of times – what was he supposed to do when she, again, turned into somebody else?

He frowned and shook his head as yet another thought entered his buzzing brain. There had to be another way, but –

No. There was nothing else for it.

He'd have to call in outside assistance.

~

Ron paced anxiously in front of the Gryffindor fireplace the next night. It was just past twelve, and he'd specified in his letter that it would have to be after midnight if they were going to meet at all. That's assuming they'd got his letter. That's assuming they didn't think he was an utter prat for even asking.

"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, stopping. He put a hand in his hair. Maybe he shouldn't do this. Maybe he should just go back upstairs.

"No," he said aloud.

No. He had to stay. He had to do something to make himself feel better about this entire ball dilemma.

He looked around, a bit nervously. Nobody in the common room, thank God – he'd be slaughtered if he was caught with unauthorised visitors, especially as a prefect. He paced a little more, and felt better.

At twelve-thirty, he was beginning to wonder if his message had gone astray when there was a whooshing sound from the fireplace (so loud, it made him jump), and two red-heads came stumbling out.

"Hello, little brother," coughed George. "Lovely to see you. Twin, help me out."
Fred dusted George's hair down, and George dusted Fred's.

"Yes," Fred agreed when they were done. "Just smashing." His eyes widened as his gaze slid over the common room, and he put a hand to his heart. "George," he said emotionally. "Look at this old place."

George sighed. "Such sweet times. So many pranks developed. So much money gathered from so many unsuspecting clients."

"So many classes skipped," Fred went on, in similar tones. "So much homework undone."

"So many teachers ragged."

"So many Gryffindor girls shagged."

"So many illicit parties held."

"So many –"

"Enough!" said Ron, and then lowered his voice. "Enough. I didn't think you were coming."

"Neither did we, at first," said George, throwing himself down into an armchair. Fred chose the couch, and stretched out along its length, hands behind his head. "What's this 'urgent business' you had to talk about?"

"And it better be good," Fred said. "Because after coming all the way from London by Floo, we're neither of us happy bunnies."

Ron stood where he was, facing them, and swallowed. Suddenly he really didn't want to tell them anything.

"Well, it's not exactly urgent business," he managed.

George blinked at him, and Fred sat up.

"Uh-huh," Fred said. "But it's business, right?"

"Er – no. Not business exactly."

"Uh-huh," he said again.

"Ron," George went on pleasantly. "Mind telling us why the fuck we're here then?"

Ron glanced from one to the other, and then hung his head, unable to believe he was saying this.

"I need help with a girl."

There was a short silence, and then Fred grinned at his twin and rubbed his hands together.

"Prat," he said heartily. "That's business. Now, what's on your mind?"

"What's on your cock, more like," said George, and Ron looked sharply at him.

"Don't," he said. "It's not like that, OK?"

"Er – sorry," said George, taken aback. He raised his eyebrows at Fred. "It's not like that," he told him, in an exaggerated whisper, and Fred nodded.

"Right," he said. "We're all agreed. It's not like that. So – what's it like?"
Ron sat down in the armchair opposite George, and tried to put his thoughts together. The twins waited. And waited.

"Hello there, Ron," George said eventually. "We're your brothers, Gred and Forge. You invited us to your school – in a daring bit of rule-breaking, I must say – to talk to you. We're right here. Shoot."

"Just say there was this girl," Ron began in a rush, "and you asked her to a ball, and she's perfect, you know, she's lovely, but you don't know anything about how a guy ought to be at a ball, and you don't want to make an arse of yourself … what would you do?"

"Oh, Hermione doesn't care about all that rot, does she?" Fred said frankly.

"Who said anything about Hermione?" Ron protested.

"Well you're taking her, aren't you?"

"Er – yes," he admitted. "I just – you know, I didn't want you hassling me. Or her. You know."

"We wouldn't do that," said George stoutly. "'Mione is a lovely girl."

"You never kick a man when he's down," Fred added. "And you, Ronald, are clearly down. The question is, why'd you bring this to us?"

"You've always been able to talk to girls," he said miserably. "I mean, you charm the pants off them."

"True," George murmured, buffing his nails against his expensive silk shirt.

"Literally," Fred continued, smiling wickedly. "But wouldn't Bill be a better option?"

"He's out of the country."

"So we were second choice?"

"Yeah."
Fred paused thoughtfully. "OK," he said after a while. "I can live with second choice. Besides, I like talking about girls."

"The main thing is that you've asked her," George said firmly. "That's an excellent start. Very quick of you."

"And it only took six years."

"Please," Ron begged. "Focus."

"Alright, alright." Fred cleared his throat. "You're going to be astonished when you hear this, Ron, but the key to giving a girl a nice time on any date is –"

He leant forward in a conspiratorial kind of way and Ron found himself doing this same.

"Be yourself," Fred finished.

Ron sat back, exhaling heavily. "That," he said disgustedly. "That's no use at all. Isn't there some book I can read?"

"You have been spending a lot of time with Hermione," George commented, and Ron waved a 'stop it' hand at him.

"I know," Fred acknowledged, "it sounds like bollocks. But mate, you'll feel so much better for being exactly the way you are, and not worrying about keeping up the perfect little front, that it'll go just fine, and you'll be at her door with a goodnight snog –"

"Or shag," George interrupted.

" – before you know it. Of course," Fred continued, "it helps if you're great people like us two, when you're being yourself. You've got such fantastic material to work with."

Ron thought about all this (editing out the twins' banter), and it actually made a certain kind of sense. He was going to be thinking too much about 'Mione to be able to concentrate on maintaining the 'perfect little front' anyway.

"Right," he said. "OK. Be myself." He hesitated. "Got anything else?"

"Some practical advice," George offered. "When you see her dressed up for the first time, say something sweet. She'll think about if for hours afterwards, maybe days, who knows with girls? It'll hold, anyway."

"Bring her a flower," said Fred, continuing seamlessly from George's suggestion. "Or, if you want to be creative, something a bit different that you know she'll like."

"Right," Ron said again, sort of wishing he had a quill and paper with him, because now the twins were on a roll.

"Don't overdress," said George, and Fred cut in.

"But don't underdress either. Don't even think about wearing your jeans."

"I wasn't," Ron objected, but they weren't really listening anymore.

"You can't dance to save your life, so just hold her and shuffle a bit. Don't try any fancy stuff."

"Don't stick your tongue down her throat."

"Unless it's to clear it if she's choking," George said, in a clarifying kind of way, and Fred nodded.

"Right. Be funny, but don't try too hard."

"Talk to her girlfriends."

"Be polite."

"Jesus!" Ron said loudly, and the twins paused to look at him.

"What?" asked Fred innocently, and Ron stood.

"Thanks very much for your help," he said, in as final a tone as he could muster up. "I'll try and remember it all."

"Want to borrow robes?" George offered, standing too.

"I've got some."

"Well, let us know. And, ah –" Fred winked. "Let us know how the big day goes too, won't you?"

"Sure," Ron said, flushing. The twins moved to the fireplace and stepped inside, pulling Floo powder out of their pockets. He felt a bit bad about – well, kicking them out, and tried to soften the blow. "Hey, thanks for being so good about this."

"That's alright," George said magnanimously, and then grinned. "Just wait till we tell the family."

"George!"

His brother sent him a brief half-salute. "Just kidding, Ron. Night."
He tried not to show his relief, and waved goodbye. "Night."

They were gone in a snap of smoke and ash, and Ron sat down again, feeling overwhelmed with information. He had no idea how he was going to remember it all, but figured if he could get the main items down, he'd be alright.

He just had to be himself, after all.

The trouble was, he didn't really believe that 'just himself' was good enough.

He was too tired to think anymore, too nervous to worry. He went up to bed.

~

A/N: F&G, back by popular request. *grin* … Pure, fun fluff. Now I'm going to bed too. ~98n6~ Shez