For Want of an Ear

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Here you go. :)

Chapter 9: An Unexpected Task

It was five minutes to the bell in Transfiguration on Thursday when Professor McGonagall collected the last of the potted figs that they were supposed to be turning into colourful rose bushes; then she cleared her throat, addressing the bemused class.

"I have a few words before we leave today regarding a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament that will take place during the Christmas break," she began, and for a moment George stopped idly doodling on a scrap of parchment, on which he and Fred had been enacting a fierce game of hangman.

"The Yule Ball will take place on Christmas Day from eight until midnight. It is traditionally a dance and an opportunity for us all to socialize with our foreign guests. It will only be open to fourth year and above, though younger students may come by invitation. Now, as the host school, I warn you that we will not tolerate any behaviour inappropriate for school." Was it just his imagination, or did her glare settle on him and Fred as she said that? George grinned innocently and set aside his quill.

"No student of Gryffindor will shame the high standards of our school, or they will be facing the consequences," Professor McGonagall went on warningly. "Is that understood?"

There was mumbled assent and nods from all gathered; apparently satisfied, Professor McGonagall turned away. "Very well - you are dismissed. George Weasley, a word, if you please."

George hastily gathered up his school things and bid Fred and Lee meet him in the hall afterward; he approached McGonagall's desk, silently running over his every gesture in class and wondering if he had done something significant enough to earn her ire.

Nevertheless, when Professor McGonagall spoke, it was in a kinder tone. "Mr Weasley, as school champion, you and your partner will be opening the ball."

"Er - right," said George, mentally kicking himself for completely forgetting about the Yule Ball in his planning. He had been rather distracted as of late trying to figure out how to get Fred to notice Hermione without seeming to play the matchmaker.

"I trust you will be on your best behaviour," she said sternly. "You and Potter will be representing the school, and good heavens, that boy told me this morning he can't even dance..."

"Don't worry, I'm on it," said George with enthusiasm he didn't quite feel; Professor McGonagall nodded and offered him a biscuit before he hurried out of class, hoping Fred and Lee hadn't decided to desert him in favour of supper.

"So. The Yule Ball," said Fred cheerily as they tucked in to roast and potatoes amid the chatter of the Great Hall. "Who d'you reckon you'll go with?"

"Dunno," said Lee, but his eyes wandered absently along the table to where Angelina, Alicia, and Katie were whispering excitedly to one another.

"George?"

"Huh?" George's mind was on other matters. "Er, not sure yet, but turns out I have to open the ball with them..." He told them, distractedly, about what McGonagall had said; then, grabbing a piece of roll, he made to rise. "See you later."

"Where're you going?" Fred asked incredulously.

"Library - have to look something up."

Fred and Lee stared at him in horror. "For what reason?" Fred demanded. "The task's ages away and our Potions essay isn't due until next Friday."

"I told you, that's your responsibility," George shook his head at Fred, exasperated, "and the essay's due Wednesday. In any case ... product idea. See you."

George, munching on the roll, headed off for the doors as Fred stared after him with his brow furrowed; at long last he turned to Lee beside him.

"...It's really due Wednesday?"

Lee nodded solemnly.

"Ah, crap."

"Never mind that ... who're you gonna take to the ball, mate?"

"There you are, Potter," said Fred at last as he and George cornered Harry, Ron, and Hermione where they were poring over their Transfiguration books by the fire. "Been looking for you."

"Why?" Harry looked warily between the twins. "What's up?"

"We have something very important to show you, it'll help in the Tournament," said George.

"I thought you weren't supposed to help -" Ron began, glancing to Hermione for confirmation, who nodded with her brow furrowed.

"Easy," Fred said, waving him off. "No one has to know. You'll thank us later. C'mon, now, let's get upstairs."

Curious, the three fourth years stowed away their homework and trooped after them up to their dormitory; Fred and George exchanged triumphant grins.

"Now, you see, we'd like to teach you a little something we picked up, being awesome short Weasleys and all," Fred began when they were standing in the middle of the circular sixth year dormitory.

"And that is...?" Ron said, folding his arms.

Fred grinned broadly and spread his arms. "Dancing lessons."

It took two hours and many sore toes, but at long last Harry and Ron could waltz without looking like stumbling duck-footed platypuses. The twins took turns dancing with them (learning quite quickly that it was less painful to have Harry stomp on your toes than Ron) while Hermione looked on in amusement. George's previous disclaimer of, "You'll just use your lovely imaginations and pretend we're your female companions," did not seem to have much effect, as with his ears bright red Ron kept shooting glances at the door as if at any moment someone might walk in and see them like this.

Finally, George flopped down on his bed with a groan. "I think that's enough for today." Reaching down, he tossed aside his shoes and wiggled his toes, just to ensure they were all still attached and functional.

"Aren't you glad we got the short Weasley genes?" Fred said to him with a grin. "Sometimes I feel sorry for the likes of Ron and Bill and ... well, maybe not so much Percy, he's a git anyway."

"We weren't that bad!" Ron spluttered incredulously, looking around pleadingly at Hermione. "Weren't we?"

"Oh, Ron," said Hermione, shaking her head. "Well, I don't pity your date as much now..." As Fred and George sniggered, she bolstered, "At the end, there, you did really well - you've got the rhythm now, you've just got to practice leading instead of just standing there." She looked around at Harry. "And you, Harry - you did well, too. Just try to keep looking - er - her in the eye now instead of at her feet."

"Hey," George muttered, tossing a pillow in her general direction. "I'm quite happy being a guy, thanks."

"I think Hermione just about covered it," Fred said, clapping his hands. "Brilliant - another lesson tomorrow night, then, and you should be just about ready enough on your own - but hang on a sec." He had stopped short and raised an accusing finger at Hermione. "She just watched us suffer all this time ... how do we know she has any clue how to dance?"

"I -" Hermione began crossly, but before she could formulate a coherent protest Fred had stepped forward and seized her wrist; her breath caught as he pulled her out onto the makeshift dance floor, one hand finding her waist, the other her right hand.

George blinked bemusedly at the scene a moment as the two started to dance; Hermione's cheeks glowed pink as she fell into step with him as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Well, what do you know, you are decent at this, Granger," Fred remarked as he spun her around and brought her back into his arms. Hermione was beaming, but she said nothing. George, drawing himself out of his reverie, turned back to Ron and Harry.

"You two - together, now." He ignored the boys' complaints, forcing the two together none too gently and watching as they stumbled and shuffled, Ron, now leading, accidentally treading on Harry's foot.

"Sorry -"

But it didn't matter if they were horrid, so long as for a few moments more Hermione had that dazed happy look on her face, Fred oblivious as always as he teased her about the finer points of her movements.

He didn't miss, either, the very strange look Ron shot over his shoulder at them as the three later trooped out of the room, leaving the twins to nurse their sore feet for twenty-four hours more.

The cool December breeze tickled her cheeks as Hermione turned her head out over the lake, enjoying the slightest weak sunbeam and the feel of the wind on her skin, tugging through her long curly hair. She tightened her red and gold scarf about her neck and shifted in her chosen perch upon the dock stretched out onto the black lake.

The water rippled as she dragged her bare toes through it - the touch of ice sent shivers up her legs, but it was a welcome sort of feeling. The lake hadn't frozen over in a way she suspected to be magic; farther out along the shoreline she could see the great bobbing Durmstrang ship tethered, its many sails folded, high above a small flag with the school's logo flapping in the breeze.

She enjoyed being out here, where it was quiet and she could allow herself to think; with the upcoming Christmas break and the Yule Ball, the Gryffindor common room was particularly boisterous of late, and she didn't yearn to go off to the Room of Requirement more so than necessary in order to avoid raising suspicion.

She sighed softly. Down along the shore, she could hear the echoes of giggles from the usual fan club that followed Viktor Krum around - the celebrity himself was there in the water, as he always was in the afternoons, swimming back and forth in long strokes. Hermione was rather annoyed that his choice of timing coincided with her own; she had been hoping to have time to herself, after all, and that giggling was getting on her nerves... She sighed again and resumed staring at the distant horizon, where sunlight gleamed through the pinprick treetops of the Forbidden Forest.

"Something bothering you?"

Hermione jumped; she whirled to face a familiar figure crouched next to her and spluttered, "Fred! What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, rocking back on his haunches. "Could ask the same of you, you know."

Hermione opened her mouth for a tart reply and deemed she didn't have one. Instead she turned away and resumed lightly trailing her toes through the water. Fred followed her movement with his gaze.

"Aren't you cold?"

Hermione shook her head and grinned slightly, holding up her wand. "Warming charm every ten minutes."

"Ah."

Fred settled cross-legged beside her, his gaze wandering about their surroundings. Hermione half wanted to ask how he had found her - or why - or where George was at the moment ... but none of these queries made it to her mouth; her heart had begun to hammer in her chest and she directed her stare very purposefully at her bare feet. She wondered, idly and with a bit of shame, if she should have chosen to paint her chipped nails as Lavender and Parvati had been doing that morning: a vibrant purple and garish pink, respectively.

"Hermione Granger," Fred said suddenly, sounding amused, and Hermione glanced up sharply; a smirk played at his lips as he watched something farther down the shore. "I never would've guessed, you of all people."

"What?" she asked, a bit sharper than she intended.

"A Krum fan girl, are we?" He nodded to where the Bulgarian seeker had just risen from the water, rivulets shining on his toned chest. Viktor Krum rubbed a towel through his dark hair, apparently oblivious to - or very good at ignoring - the group of girls crouched behind a nearby rock, giggling none too subtly.

Hermione's face flushed furiously. "I am most certainly not -! I was here first," she huffed, a bit childishly, she knew. She crossed her arms. "I just came here to enjoy the weather."

Fred made a disbelieving noise in his throat, but did not press further; she was glad of that as, her cheeks burning, she remembered in the past how Viktor would choose her for his Yule Ball date and the alienation it would cost her with Ron more so than Harry. It wasn't that she didn't like him - though not in that way, honestly - but she had a feeling most other people only liked him for his fame. Her indifference in that regard was what had drawn Viktor to her in the first place, and it had made it incredibly difficult to refuse his offer, even if she had wanted to, a little, to see if a certain someone else... Hermione shook off that train of thought as another more worrisome realization surfaced in her mind, and she frowned suddenly.

She had seen perhaps less of Viktor than last time around, having taken to the Room of Requirement instead of the library when needed, due to the fact that it was much quieter these days and she already knew most of her schoolwork by heart. All that aside, she had seen firsthand the tricks fate played on them: was it possible Viktor would choose to ask her to the Yule Ball again?

And what would she do if he did, in her predicament?

She drew herself back to the present to find Fred was playing with her abandoned shoes. She stared a moment, bemused, then made to grab them out of his grasp - "Hey, I need those -!"

"What, you think I'll curse them, too?" Fred grinned, ducking out of her range; they were both on their feet now, him flaunting his extra few inches of height to hold the shoes out of her grasp. "You're a touchy one, aren't you?"

Hermione set her hands on her hips and glared at him. "I wouldn't be if you wouldn't insist on being so - so-" She stopped short, struggling for a strong enough word.

"So what?" Fred asked.

So irresistible, she thought, but couldn't voice that particular thought aloud as color burned at her cheeks. This was how it had started last time: a bit of teasing in the brief times they were in contact; during the summer at Grimmauld Place, it had become something more, something almost like friendship as she offered the occasional tips with their experiments; somehow, then, she had learned at last to fully tell them apart. She had always had a feeling when it came to them; it was just something in the way that Fred looked at her that was different from George, and to this day she couldn't quite put it in words. She certainly hadn't been able to back then, as naive as she had been, as she hardly came to realize just how deeply she had fallen in love with Fred Weasley.

"...so difficult," Hermione finished finally, still glaring unwaveringly at him. Fred blinked, a slow smirk crossing his face. Hermione tried to ignore how that familiar devious expression made her heart flip.

"Am I, now? I think my dastardly ways have finally gotten to you, Granger. You'll see, I'll convert you to our side yet."

"I'd like to see you try," Hermione said under her breath, musing that she was already on their side, more than he could ever know. "Now give me back my shoes."

"Uh-uh! Magic word, Granger."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Accio."

She still had her wand in hand; a slight flick of her wrist and the shoes came flying back toward her. Smiling confidently, she held out an open hand to catch them. Unfortunately, she had missed one detail in her ploy: in his surprise, Fred hadn't let go of the shoes, either.

The next thing she knew, the wind was knocked out of her as Fred crashed into her; she stumbled, her feet slipping on the wet dock, and she flailed out her arms to catch herself, one hand seizing Fred by the front of his robes. In the next second they had both spectacularly overbalanced, pin-wheeling their arms all the while; and then a startled shriek escaped her a moment before she plunged backward into the icy water, shock plain on his face as she pulled Fred down with her.

Farther along the shore, Harry and Ron were on their way to meet Hermione; they had already searched her favourite haunts (i.e. the library) and after Ron pointed out they'd be better off checking the Marauder's Map, the two boys were then off across the grounds to find her. Harry had spotted her first on the dock and had just shouted out a greeting, raising his hand in a wave; in the next instant his eyes widened as he saw Hermione disappear into the water, dragging another figure with her.

"Ron, did you see -?"

"HERMIONE!" Ron shouted, horror blanching his face; tossing aside their school bags without a second thought the two ran ahead to rescue their friend.

They rushed past the clump of fan girls, who paused a moment to look after them in confusion; but then too another figure joined their course, and with a sidelong glance Harry did a double-take to recognize Viktor Krum, bare chested and in swim trunks, running alongside them.

Krum reached the dock first; he dived, the water rippling in his wake. Ron and Harry hastened to remove their bulky outer cloaks and kick off their shoes. "Wait here, Harry," Ron said, pale faced but determined, before following Krum's gesture and plunging beneath the dark surface of the water.

Harry waited, his heart pounding in the silence. The fan girls were freaking out on shore, but he ignored them, searching the bobbing surface for any sign, a ripple, or even bubbles - bubbles!

Harry jerked forward into motion, dropping to his knees and reaching out a hand as a figure broke the surface; it was Ron, gasping, his hair plastered to his forehead, and he had an arm around an equally waterlogged figure. Both seized Harry's hands and clambered up onto the dock, lying there a moment with their chests heaving; then Ron sat up and his face burned as red as his hair.

"What - the - bloody hell - did you think you were doing?" he snarled, and lunging forward grasped the front of his brother's robes; Fred actually shrank back a little at the glare Ron was giving him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, coughing out a mouthful of water; he glanced around blearily. "Where's Granger -?"

But just then another head broke the surface; Viktor Krum hefted a drenched and trembling figure onto the dock before climbing up himself and Harry rushed to fetch his cloak, which he wrapped about Hermione's shoulders.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione coughed; her long hair was tangled and half plastered to her face, and she was soaked from head to foot in her thick robes; she managed only a faint mumble of thanks as Harry held his cloak around her, feeling her trembling against him.

"You are all right?" Krum asked her now, kneeling in front of her. Hermione started a little and, wide-eyed, met his gaze.

"Y-yes ... I think so ... th-thank you..."

Ron shifted forward. "Hermione, whatever my prat of a brother did to you, I swear -"

"I didn't do anything," Fred protested weakly, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to him; Krum glanced to Harry.

"She vill get cold like this - she should be getting to the castle," he said.

"I'll take her," said Ron, with another glare at Fred. He helped Hermione to her feet and kept a steady grip under her elbow as Hermione shot a wide-eyed, helpless look at the others behind her - at least Harry had given Fred the other cloak, and they seemed to be conversing in low voices.

She turned back around and tugged the clasp of Harry's cloak tighter to her neck, freezing in the winter air. She had lost her shoes when she fell in the lake; she was barefoot, and her toes were freezing. Ron was hastening her toward the castle, but she paused a moment to utter a warming spell: at least that would do for now.

As she limped past Viktor's group of fans, she felt their ugly glares on the back of her head; she kept her gaze downcast, horror making her cheeks glow.

This was not what she had planned; not at all. And now ... she had more than one man's precarious emotions to contend with...

Viktor Krum likes me. Hermione reflected wryly that if she were any other female member of the species, that thought alone would make her heart pound and her stomach flutter with inexplicable joy.

But the notion only made her heart pang. For the past few days, she had been in such a state that even her roommates had taken to noticing her melancholy; and Hermione, try as she might, couldn't shake the depression that had taken root in the bottom of her stomach.

It was the last day of term and an unbearable air of festive excitement hung in the air: everywhere girls were whispering and conferring about their dress choices or boasting their dates; on the other side of the spectrum, Harry and Ron were in a terrible dilemma of their own, and had taken to in whispers debating each girl that passed in the hallway.

"No ... look at those pimples," Ron said, grimacing after Harry's last desperate suggestion. "C'mon - there's got to be a girl somewhere who's not taken -"

Hermione was absolutely disgusted with them. At lunch she went in search of George - who was, amazingly enough, in the library, his nose buried in a book; he was hastily scrawling notes of some sort, but Hermione, tilting her head, could not read his messy print.

"What are you doing?" she ventured instead, taking a seat next to him. George made a faint noise in his throat and pushed the book aside so that she couldn't get a close look at it.

"Working. I think I'm on to something here - something you want, Hermione?" He said this without looking up.

Hermione watched him, bemused; he was in one of his moods, and she knew that, try as she might, he would not pay full mind to anything else until whatever idea he had was completed. She knew their regime: it was more often than not Fred who had the brilliant idea, but George was the mastermind who fleshed it out into being, who could work through the details to find what wasn't working properly and fix it. They each had their own kind of brilliance, but without the other, half of the awe-inspiring products they had come up with wouldn't exist.

She sighed, "I was wondering if you had a date to the Yule Ball yet."

"No, why?" said George without looking up.

"You need one - you're a champion!"

"Yeah, I'll get around to it." George squinted at a line in the book and muttered something under his breath.

"George," Hermione sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose - she hated feeling like she was the only one who actually had a brain around here, sick of having to herd everyone else to what they were supposed to be doing. She ignored the fact that she herself had yet to find a date. "It's the last day of term. When, pray tell, are you going to ask someone?"

"Later. Got a few more important things to finish up first. I can always ask Alicia, went with her last time."

Hermione snorted, opening her mouth to reply - George cut her off.

"I've got it all under control, all right? A little patience, 'Mione - we've still got loads of time." George reached over and squeezed her hand slightly before returning his attention to his research. Hermione glanced at him, her mouth still slightly open, and settled for a long huff of breath.

She got up and left the library a moment later, fed up with the male population in general.

When she entered the Great Hall, she found the last stragglers of the diners; Harry and Ron had gone off somewhere, and instead Hermione sighted a familiar redhead. She smiled slightly and dropped into a seat beside Ginny Weasley.

"Hi, Ginny."

"Oh, hey, Hermione," Ginny said brightly. "If you're looking for Ron and Harry, they just left - looking for you, actually."

Hermione shook her head ruefully. "Those two drive me crazy," she sighed. "Can you believe neither of them worked up the nerve to ask anyone yet?"

For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of hope in Ginny's eyes. "Oh, really?" she asked, amused. "Sounds just like my brother."

Hermione nodded, but her mind had suddenly flashed back to another matter. She remembered clearly how Harry, in a last act of desperation, would ask the Patil twins to go out with him and Ron; and neither had wound up enjoying themselves very much with their non-dancing partners. On the other hand, she was not blind to the obvious attraction Harry and Ginny had had to each other in their last school year - and then during those war-free months, when he had finally felt she was safe enough in Voldemort's absence to actually maintain a steady relationship.

"Are you going with anyone, Ginny?" she asked abruptly.

"Well, third years can't go on their own," Ginny said a bit glumly. "I'd love to, though - Mum bought me some dress robes this summer, they're much nicer than Ron's." She forced a bit of a wry smile.

"Well, why don't you go and ask someone?" Hermione said carefully. "You never know - maybe they're just too nervous to ask you themselves..."

Ginny's face went scarlet. "I ... he wouldn't want to," she mumbled, turning her attention to her knife and fork. "I'm just ... just Ron's little sister to him..." She stopped short with a sharp intake of breath as if she had just realized what she'd said; Hermione raised an eyebrow knowingly.

"Just ask him," she encouraged. "You won't regret it. I promise."

"Ron would kill me," Ginny said automatically.

"Not if you can find him a date," Hermione suggested shrewdly. She wondered if she would have been this devious if she hadn't grown used to living with Fred and George. "Just think about it, Ginny ... surely you know someone who would go with him ... he's a much better dancer now..."

"I find that hard to believe," Ginny said dryly.

"You'll have to come to see it, then," Hermione winked, and stood up, deciding she'd best get to Potions early; they had a test on antidotes today. As she left the Hall, she spared a glance back and noted Ginny staring very thoughtfully after her, a familiar determined crease forming in her brow.

When Fred and George stepped into the Gryffindor common room, they were greeted with a very odd sight indeed: their younger brother was huddled in the far corner, ashen faced, with Ginny and Harry on either side; as they watched Ginny patted Ron on the arm sympathetically. The room around them was deserted, everyone else basking in the freedom of the winter break with an excellent dinner.

George glanced at Fred, who raised an eyebrow; what, indeed. Together they traipsed over to the corner, Fred taking the seat opposite to them.

"What's got your goat, Ron?"

Ron shook his head; he seemed unable to speak.

"He asked Fleur Delacour to the ball," Ginny offered in form of explanation.

"Oh," said Fred, while George covered a loud cough, "well, she didn't say yes, did she?"

Ron shook his head again.

"He kind of ran away first," Ginny said, fighting off a smile with difficulty.

"I don't know what I was thinking..." Ron mumbled hoarsely. "I just saw her and - and it kind of slipped out..."

"Meaning he yelled it across the Entrance Hall," Ginny offered helpfully. Fred grinned wickedly.

"Well, don't worry, Ron," Harry said glumly. "I didn't get a date either ... I asked Cho, but it turns out she's going with Cedric Diggory."

"That Hufflepuff bloke?" said Fred. "Well, we could always off him for you, Harry..."

"That won't be necessary, Fred," said George rather quickly. "I'm sure there are plenty of other - ah - more available girls around here."

"Speak for yourselves..." muttered Ron. "I suppose you've already gotten your dates?"

"Come to think of it," said Fred. "We should probably get started on that sometime soon."

"You mean you haven't...?" Ron said, brightening slightly. "C'mon, Harry, there's got to be loads of girls who'd rather go with us than them. Or ... or, hey, Hermione's a girl, one of us should ask her...!"

"Er -" George put in.

"I know someone who'd go with you," Ginny said very suddenly. Everyone looked around at her; Ginny's ears went slightly pink.

"Really? Who, then?" Ron said earnestly.

"Just a friend of mine," Ginny evaded, her eyes going to Harry. "I think I know someone who'd like to go with you, too, Harry - if you want, that is..."

"That sounds brilliant," said Harry, looking as if Christmas had come early. Ginny lowered her eyes to her lap and became very interested in her fingernails.

"Well, that's that resolved," said Ron, his shoulders considerably looser as he glanced around the room.

"What about us?" said Fred, raising an eyebrow.

"You'll live," Ron dismissed, still searching the common room for something. "Hey - you guys seen Hermione? She's not been here since Potions..."

But just then they were distracted by the arrival of a dark-haired witch. "There you are, Fred, I've been looking everywhere for you," Angelina Johnson said crossly.

Fred grinned at her, "You know us, places to go, people to see, stuff to sell..."

Angelina rolled her eyes. "Well, I've heard you two still haven't found yourselves dates yet, so just in case you ever decide to work up the nerve, I'll give you my answer."

"Ah, that would make the decision a lot easier," nodded Fred sagely.

"What decision?" Angelina was looking at him, a bit annoyed. "I'm the only girl you've gone out with. We've been together since third year."

"Hang on a sec," George intervened, looking between the two of them with a little panic. "I thought you agreed to see other people - I thought you were into that McLaggen kid..."

"Ugh, don't mention him," said Angelina, shuddering. "And don't worry, George, I can find you someone. Lee asked Alicia at lunch, but I think Patricia might be free..."

"Thanks, but no -"

"I'll consider it," said Fred, with an air of great thought. "Mind, the idea of going solo was mighty appealing, but for you I might renounce it."

"Great!" said Angelina, beaming. "You let me know when you make up your mind." And without waiting for a response she leaned forward, catching his surprised face in one hand and planting a kiss full on his lips. She then turned and hurried away to the girls' dormitories.

"Women ... they're scary when they're older..." Ron muttered to Harry in the background. George had been frozen, staring at Fred with horror written across his face; he jolted out of his stupor when they heard a loud thump behind them.

Hermione Granger, who had just stepped through the portrait hole, had thoughtlessly dropped her heavy schoolbag on the ground; her eyes were wide and suddenly filled with tears.

"Shit..." George breathed. She had seen everything; or at least enough to deduce what had happened.

"Hey, Hermione," Ron called, "guess what? Harry and me -"

But he didn't get to finish; just as abruptly Hermione turned on her heel and ran for the still open portrait hole, tears running down her cheeks.

George swore again, loudly, and, stooping, grabbed the bag she had left behind; he then plunged after her, ignoring Fred and the others stunned in his wake.

"Hermione, wait!"

To be continued...

And thus the plot thickens ... again. Please review!