Disclaimer: The characters and their respective backgrounds are not my unique creations, but are borrowed from J.K. Rowling. I'm very appreciative of her willingness to lend them.
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Chapter 21
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Fred sighed at his workbench, frustrated that the damned potion was continuing to curdle. Normally he loved raw inventing, loved the process of taking an abstract idea and reforming what he knew until he had worked and teased out something different from the original. His knowledge of potions preparations, ingredients, combinations, and how to integrate charms with them was singularly impressive. He and George had once reckoned that their combined knowledge might have even exceeded Snape's; certainly it exceeded most wizard-kind.
That only made it more tiresome when he couldn't quite tweak something to make it work the way he envisioned it. This was this fourth attempt at combining a malleable transfiguration potion with a directive charm. He had several directions for such a product; being able to choose what sort of animal your mate (or enemy) would become was the easiest, but he'd also considered a couple of options for the Wonder Witch line. Hermione had made an off-hand comment the other morning about how glad she was that she'd learned some hair-control charms from Parvati, because she couldn't afford to spend so much money on Sleekeazee's hair taming potion whenever she wanted a look other than frizzy, thick curls. A potion that would allow the witch to set her hair to whatever style she wanted for the day would potentially be an easier alternative. Possibilities were all well and good but none of it mattered if he couldn't make the damned potion work.
The tension was set in his shoulders and he knew it wasn't just this. He and Hermione hadn't fought, not exactly, but there was definitely some tension between them. George, who was working quietly at the other workstation had joked earlier that the honeymoon was definitely over after they'd been in the flat for nine days together now. Fred was worried that joke held more than a bit of the truth. They were doing brilliantly in many areas, but seemed to be butting heads over the loo and the kitchen of all things. Hermione was known to be a neat and orderly person, and all of the time she'd spent at the Burrow and all his interaction with her at Hogwarts and all his experience with her in the shop confirmed it. So why he was surprised to find her tidying things away every day, sometimes two or more times a day, he didn't know.
Hermione, of course, was pleasant enough about it, but it was evident after the fourth time she hung up his towel or banished his lunch dishes to the sink to be washed that she was getting annoyed over it. Fred and George weren't necessarily messy blokes, precisely, but it was true that he wasn't as organized in his personal living space as Hermione was, least not when he was only taking a break from work and heading back down into the shop.
For all that though, he was unpleasantly surprised to find himself feeling a bit territorial when he discovered her in the kitchen actually cooking. Naturally, given that she'd fed him multiple times, he was aware she cooked perfectly well. Fred also knew that she prepared the tea every morning, and had even watched her move about the kitchen. But he wasn't used to it. George rarely ventured into messing about his utensils and moving things because it 'made more logical sense that way' and Fred had apparently come to regard the kitchen as his own area. Relieved as he was not to have to do all the cooking, ceding control to her and bowing to her superior organizational skills hadn't come easily. He frequently found himself biting his tongue and trying to hide sharpness with jokes.
Then there were the moments of awkwardness when George was around in the flat. With Angie there too, it was slightly easier, but George alone was different. They were all aware that the bonds between them had changed; that George would be married too in roughly five weeks did little to ease it. In the workroom, at the Leaky, at the Burrow, they were fine, just like their old selves. But when they were both in the flat, it was like a farce of politeness. George was solicitous of Hermione, but tried not to appear to be acting as a host to her. Hermione, for her part, was trying to make herself feel more comfortable, and at home, but seemed to be unsure how to act with George now she was there full time. It was beginning to irritate Fred.
All day, in fact, he'd walked about in a state of irritability, which is why he'd punted Lee out to help Verity in the front and finally settled to doing some research. He felt that if he could just focus on something or move this forward he'd be more cheerful. Hermione had requested the day off from the shop, to better organize something or other, no doubt; she'd said she was going to be working on the flat. Fred grimaced. He was in no way opposed to her standards of neatness or her organization of their things if it made her happy. He just didn't want to be expected to maintain perfection all the bleeding time. Bad enough downstairs, but they had no choice, given the sometimes volatile mixtures and ingredients they kept on hand. Be nice if he could find a way to make Hermione understand that.
Returning his thoughts glumly to the now thoroughly wasted potion before him, he prodded at it with a glass stirrer, and sighed. George looked up from his work, and then pushed his wheeled stool over to his brother's workstation.
"Gone wrong again?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah, botched it for a fourth time. Seems to work as usual right up until I substitute mockingbird feather for blackbird. The properties are similar, and mockingbird should add the flexibility I need, especially with the fluxweed increase. Both should be stable, which makes me think that it's a preparation issue more than that substitution. Something about the change is altering how it needs to be introduced to the potion and nothing I've tried yet works." Fred crossed his arms and glared balefully at the potion.
George looked thoughtful. "Hmm. You've tried altering your stirring?" Fred nodded. "An extra rotation or anti-clockwise move didn't help?" Fred shook his head, lips pursing in irritation. After all, standard deviations weren't groundbreaking maneuvers. Of course he'd tried them. "Right, what about how you're chopping the fluxweed? Pentagon instead of triangle, maybe?"
"Did it on this batch. Can't alter any of the other preparatory ingredients. I just need it to be stable until I get to the drop of myrhh. I'm certain that would bind the brew enough," Fred said disgustedly.
"Well, it's nearly lunch time. Take a break, go have a good shag and come back refreshed and rejuvenated. And if your wife isn't up for a good shag, then pick her brains. She'll probably be able to figure it out," George said, clapping Fred on the shoulder.
"Sure, if she's done cataloguing every item in the flat like a bloody library," Fred muttered under his breath. George heard him and chuckled. "Right, so we're meeting with the new distributor this afternoon?"
"Yes, at three in the Leaky. And you should be taking Hermione out to dinner soon-ish. A bit of a break from here will do you both good."
Fred merely grunted and pushed himself up and away from the worktable, and began making his way up to the flat, already taking off his work robes. Hermione was not in the great room, but he hung his robes up by the door anyway, rather than throwing them across the back of the chair as he might normally have done. He walked down the corridor and glanced into their bedroom and stopped short.
It was completely changed about from how it had been when he awoke that morning. Fred took three steps into the room to get a better look. The walls, previously a color between beige and cream, were now a sort of teal color. The rugs had gone from brown to a deep brick red, and the warm red and gold coverlet was now the same deep brick red, with a silvery trim. The hangings around the bed were cream colored, with silver trim, echoed in the curtains. There were pillows on the bed (where had they originated?) in the same colors; teal, dark red, cream, silver. It was refreshing, crisp, and sophisticated; the dark-wood furniture he'd already owned looked marvelous against them, and he noticed the hardware had been transfigured into brushed silver as well. But it was so unexpected, all he could do is look around in wonder. How she'd managed this in the span of a morning was beyond him.
"You hate it," came a deflated voice from behind him. He spun around to see Hermione framed in the doorway, biting her lip, eyebrows creased.
"No, it's just not what I expected," he said. To his surprise, her eyes filled with tears. "Hermione? What's wrong, love?" She shook her head, but two tears fell down her cheeks, and he was pulling her close into a hug before she could turn away.
"You hate it. I knew you would," she said with a sob.
"I don't hate it. What on earth are you talking about it? It's brilliant. I can't believe you managed this so quickly."
"You're only trying to make me feel better," she wailed.
Fred look at her in blank confusion. "Mione, sweets, what has gotten into you? Listen, I can't say it any more plainly. I love the bloody bedroom. It's fantastic, lovely, brilliant, nothing like what I was afraid it would be. It's not too feminine, there are no bloody cabbage roses and no Quidditch colors, and George will be green with envy when he sees it. It's not like you to cry, love. Are you feeling well?"
Hermione sniffled some, and looked up at him with watery eyes. "You really don't hate it?"
Fred smiled down at her. "I really, really don't."
"Good. Why are you up here? Do you want to see what I've done to the study?" She pushed away, dried her eyes and was in the corridor before a very confused Fred caught up with her.
"Uh, sure," he said uncertainly.
Hermione swung the door open and said quickly, "It's not finished yet, of course. Nowhere near done with the unpacking. I've got another four boxes of books and we still have that pile of wedding gifts, which can't really be touched until we redo the lounge, but I know I'll be comfortable working in here, and maybe you will too, I hope so."
Fred glanced around the room. The same crisp, refreshing feeling was evident here, though the colors were completely different. The walls were a celery sort of color, and the bookcases Hermione had transfigured from some old furniture were white, as was the window casing, the curtains and the rug. She had transfigured the floor to pale ash wood, and the desk along one wall was ash with a white desktop. The only spot of color besides the walls was the faded brown leather desk chair. It was a surprisingly comfortable room.
"It's gorgeous, Hermione. I should think that you'll be quite comfortable in here. Not sure how all your books will fit though," he said teasingly.
Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Just what is that supposed to mean, Fred?"
Fred's forehead creased again. "Er, that you've already filled three of the five bookshelves and said you've still got four boxes of books to unpack?"
"Oh, right. Of course. So this meets with your approval?" she asked, suddenly frowning.
"Yeah, it's great. Hermione, are you feeling well? Really, you're acting a bit strange."
"I'm perfectly fine, Fred," she said, but her tone was icy, and she stalked down the hallway into the kitchen. "I assume you want some lunch? That is why you aren't working isn't it?"
"Yeah, but I thought I'd fix something for us, you don't need to worry about it," he said quickly.
"More like you don't want me in the kitchen," she said, her back to him.
"What was that, Hermione?" he asked, now on edge. Her behavior was odd and it was uncomfortable that he had no idea what was going on. He didn't think George was stupid enough to give her some sort of mood altering potion for a laugh, but that was the only thing he could come up with to explain her quickly shifting moods.
"Please, Fred, you've made it abundantly clear how little you like me being in the kitchen. Don't deny it," she said heatedly.
"Ok, yeah, it's not something I'm used to. But I'm adjusting to it. Just like I'm getting used to your obsession with organization and cleaning up behind me as if I were a child."
"My obsession? Maybe if you were more neat, I wouldn't have to go tidying up behind you. How hard, really, is it to simply take two more steps and hang your robes up? Or banish your socks to the hamper, for Merlin's sake? It's not even as if you have to do it the Muggle way! You've got a wand!" her voice was raising in pitch and volume.
"Hermione, the world does not end if something isn't put away for five minutes. It's like living in a bloody museum! It is normal for people who live in a place to have occasion to leave something out for a bit. No one is going to be taking pictures for display in Witch Weekly, for Merlin's sake!" Now Fred was angry, evidenced by his ears growing red.
They newlywed couple stood facing each other, glaring. Hermione's hands were on her hips, and Fred's arms were crossed defensively over his chest. There is no telling how long the stalemate might have lasted, had George not walked into the flat, whistling, at that moment.
He stopped abruptly, looked back and forth between the pair and spoke slowly. "Right. I think I just walked in on something. I'll, um, try knocking next time. Just be going back down then." He pivoted and would have walked away, had Fred not stopped him.
"No need. We were just talking about lunch. I think I'm going over to the Leaky to pick something up. You want to come?"
Hermione was still glaring at him, but her eyes were glittering again with tears. George opened his mouth, glanced between them and shut it again. Fred turned towards him and raised an eyebrow.
"Er, yeah, a walk sounds good. What can we bring back for you, Hermione?" George asked in a forcedly genial tone of voice.
"I'm not particularly hungry," came her frigid, clipped response.
"Right. Well, I'll just see you downstairs, Fred. And see you later, Hermione." George slipped quickly out the door and his steps quickly faded.
Fred turned back to Hermione, jaw clenched. "Look, Mione, something is clearly upsetting you, and you are not acting normally. I'm sorry if I've upset you, I shouldn't have snapped at you. But you seem to be trying to pick a fight, and I'm not interested in fighting with you right now."
He took three steps towards her. She didn't back away from him, but when he put his arms around her, he found her stiff and unyielding, rekindling his annoyance. Biting back a sigh, he said, "Right. I'll bring you some fish and chips." He placed a kiss on her forehead and then strode out of the flat and clattered down the stairs.
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Hermione dashed angry tears from her eyes. She had no idea why she was so wound up, but she was a basket case. It didn't seem to matter what she was doing, she was vacillating between melancholy and annoyed irritation all day. Things had been more tense than not in the flat; oh, tense wasn't the right word. It was just that things had changed when she and Fred had married and she was still feeling out her role here. Knowing George would be gone soon made both of them tiptoe around each other, and they both felt ill at ease; even knowing the feeling was mutual seemed not to diminish it entirely.
And then there was her new status with Fred. She was realizing anew how frightfully short their courtship was, and how overshadowed it had been by the odd events that were happening. Of course Hermione had known Fred for eight years, but she'd never paid much heed to his living style. She'd realized he was neater than she'd originally thought, but his habit of just tossing things about and leaving them where they fell was maddening to her, especially after she'd just straightened the flat. It was a problem she'd likely have had with Ron and Harry on their little adventure, were it not for everything being stowed in her expanded bag. That habit of keeping everything and handing it out when needed likely irritated Fred as much he irritated her.
She had noted his hesitancy with her in the kitchen, but until today it hadn't really bothered her. For the most part, he'd let her into his life and his flat with acceptance, rarely appearing ruffled or perturbed. Her turmoil was more evident, to her embarrassment. But she didn't know what she was to do. Much as she had looked forward to more uninterrupted time with Fred, to living with him, to not having to shuffle back to the Burrow to study each day, she was finding that spending all her time in close proximity to him, to both he and George, really, was a bit suffocating. Much like the Horcrux hunt, except when things got very tense, they could at least go on walkabout or something.
Here in Diagon Alley, she couldn't really just take a stroll if she wanted to clear her head. Hermione felt like she'd been trapped inside the workroom or the flat with little break. And the flat didn't yet feel like home. She didn't move about with the same ease that Angelina did, and while Fred was kind about most things, she didn't know how to tell him she was a bit overwhelmed with the constant presence of people around her. Of course, she'd shared a room with the other girls at Hogwarts, with Ginny at the Burrow, and with Harry and Ron on the hunt. But there was a way to gain some solitude in those situations. If nothing else, she could be alone at the end of the day in her own bed, shutting the world around her out; here, she shared a bed with Fred.
Of course she loved that, and him, but how had she never noticed what a restless sleeper he was? Ginny had been correct, Fred did not snore. However, he did grunt, sigh, toss and turn and frequently awoke Hermione with his nighttime exercises. How many nights had she spent with him before they were married? Just a handful, and most of those interrupted by outside things. Hermione sighed, moving to sit in the lounge. She didn't often, choosing instead to sit in Fred's room. Now the guest room was nearly transformed into her study, and George's room would be made over into a guest room – largely for George on nights Angelina was traveling with the team – but Hermione still didn't feel wholly at ease relaxing on the leather sofa. When Fred was with her, it was better, but mostly, she avoided it.
After a moment, she launched herself up and back to Fr- their- bedroom. She was pleased with the changes, and when she had done them, she felt certain Fred would be pleased. But Hermione had watched him looking everything over and had been overcome with the idea it was all clashing and awful and he must hate it. And that thought made her miserable and weepy. Weepy! Over some damned color-charmed walls and pillows. If he'd hated it, she could have altered it in about ten minutes. Oh, how she wished she could find a way to voice her concerns aloud. She simply needed some time to herself, and was afraid to ask for it, lest she seem uncaring or unhappy.
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Fred was clearly still angry, but was also clearly doing his best to tamp the anger down. The problem for George is that it manifested itself physically; Fred was walking astonishingly quickly, and George was hard pressed to keep up, despite equally long legs.
"Oi, slow down, mate," he finally called in aggravation. Fred immediately obliged, giving his twin an apologetic half smile. "Thank you. That's better. Now are you going to tell me what is going on, or am I going to have to put veritaserum in your firewhiskey?"
"Hermione was trying to pick a fight, and I was goading her on. Once I realized it, I stopped and came away with you. I don't know what is wrong with her, but she was acting terribly strange, very unlike herself." As they closed the distance to the Leaky Cauldron, Fred summarized the bizarre interaction before George interrupted them.
George frowned in thought, but said nothing for the moment, because they had arrived at the pub and Tom was waiting patiently for their order. That placed, they each bought a firewhiskey and sat in a private booth to wait for the food.
"I don't know what to do," Fred sighed, tossing his drink back in a single long gulp.
George hesitated for a moment, but said, "Angelina gets that way sometimes, too. Maybe it's just, erm, female troubles? You remember how Mum and Ginny could be."
Fred blinked and then groaned. "Merlin, I didn't even think of that. I have no idea. Hermione's taking some sort of muggle medicine that is similar to a contraceptive potion, and I've no idea how it really works. She tried to explain it once, but I got distracted."
"If it works, that would be useful to know. Angelina is looking for alternatives to the potion she's on, since it'll be outlawed once we're married."
"Now how exactly am I supposed to ask her if she's bloody mental because of her monthly cycle? She's all worked up already, which you saw. She'll send those birds of hers pecking after me, or render her muggle potion unnecessary. Too bad I can't simply hand her a bottle of Milladay's Monthly Mender and be done with it."
"It probably wouldn't go over well," George agreed. "Look, just ask her what's wrong. Easiest place to start."
"I tried that. She said nothing was wrong."
"Well, obviously something is wrong," George said.
"No shite, George, all this time I was thinking things were peachy," Fred said bitingly. They were disrupted by Tom's barmaid bringing over a bag containing their order, charmed to keep warm. George finished his drink and they strode out again.
"Ok, that wasn't the brightest thing I've ever said. No need to bite my head off. Look, I'll eat in the workroom with Lee, I wanted to keep working anyway. Verity can take off once we're done, we'll mind the shop. You can surely find a way to get her to talk to you. Just keep calm and don't let it become a fight."
"Right," Fred muttered. "You've always been so good at that in the past. Just that easy, is it?"
"No, but give it a go anyhow. She's probably cooled down some by now. If not, well, guess you can eat with us downstairs." George gave him a cheerful grin, and Fred rolled his eyes as they entered their shop.
-o0o-
Hermione was still sitting uncomfortably on leather sofa when Fred came back through. He looked cautiously at her, and she immediately felt badly for how she had behaved earlier. Fred walked into the lounge and set the food before her on the coffee table.
"Fish and chips, as promised. Unless you'd rather Yorkshire pudding. I'm not feeling picky."
"Fish and chips are fine," she said in a near whisper. Fred put his hands in his pockets and studied her for a moment.
"Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have shouted or gotten defensive. The flat has been immaculate thanks to you and it's really pleasant to come up at the end of the day and know it's neat and not have to do anything. I'm not as neat as you, Hermione, but I will try harder to stow things where they go as I go along, yeah?"
Hermione nodded and sniffled a little, not looking up at Fred.
"Right, then. I'd like to eat with you, but if you'd rather, I'll go downstairs."
"You can stay," she said quietly. Fred sat down, in the armchair perpendicular to Hermione's seat, summoned a fork, and opened his carton of food. Hermione watched him eat for a moment or two and then picked up her own carton. Fred watched, but she ate only a few bites of fish and two chips, before simply pushing the food about and finally setting it aside.
"Do you want to talk about what is bothering you?" he asked gently.
"I don't know," she responded.
"I don't mean to be presumptuous or anything, but is it, er . . . well, you know. Um, female problems?" he asked hesitantly.
Hermione's head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. "Female problems? I beg your pardon?"
Fred knew instantly that he ought not to have said anything. "Er, it's only that you seem to be having some mood swings, and I know Mum and Ginny could be that way when they were expecting their, um. . ."
Now, despite her flash of anger and the dismissal of whatever she might be feeling as 'female problems,' her lips twitched. Fred seemed to be floundering in trying to find a way to discuss her menstrual cycle. "Their what, precisely, Fred?"
"Their, er, monthly visitors," he said, his ears turning red.
"Their periods?" she said, mirth and anger battling in her.
"Yeah. Is that the problem?" he asked with dogged persistance.
"My period isn't due for another week, Fred. If you want to know, apart from asking, you can look at my birth control pills. The green ones are the non-active pills. When I'm done with those, I have my period and start a new package of pills. Regardless of whether or not I'm expecting my period, it's exceptionally rude to dismiss anything I'm feeling as female problems. That is a poor excuse that allows you to ignore me, and I don't appreciate it." Her voice was crisp, but nowhere near as icy as it had been earlier.
"Well, I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm not trying to be dismissive, but you won't tell me why you've been snapping at me or sobbing on me when neither is particularly like you, so I'm left trying to puzzle it out. Seemed a logical enough explanation. If it's not hormonal issues, then, what, please please tell me, is bothering you so much?" Fred's voice was exasperated.
"I don't know!" Hermione responded, in a volume louder than her normal volume. "I'm having a difficult time adjusting, I suppose. I hate it. It's so easy for you, but I'm having a harder time and I feel awful about it. It's not that I don't love you, or want to be married to you, because I do. But ever since we got back from the honeymoon, things feel different."
Fred put down his food and leaned towards her, startled by her words, but grateful that she was finally opening up to him. "Different how?"
"I didn't have a problem being around George previously, but now I feel like I'm stepping around him. I feel strange sometimes, being here. It doesn't feel like home, but I spend all my time here now. All my time – I'm almost never alone anymore. Even if I stay up here to revise or something, you lot are just downstairs and can come through anytime. Before, when I was at Hogwarts, at least I could be alone at night, and here I share a bed with you. And I like that, I don't want you to think I don't, but you move about and toss around and it's distracting. I can't just go for a walk or anything because it's not safe and I feel so cooped up here." Tears were building in her eyes, to her immense annoyance, the pressure behind her nose making her head hurt.
"And I don't know what else to do to contribute, so I clean and clean and then you just throw your things around and it feels like you don't notice or care how hard I've been trying," Hermione continued on quickly. "And you don't want me in the kitchen, and I know it made you angry when I reorganized the kitchen, which I didn't mean to do. I just feel as if I can't do anything right here, and I hate that it feels so hard, because it seems so easy for you, and I'm afraid that means that I don't love you enough or something, because I ought to just be happy to be with you." She spoke the last in a rush, as if she were afraid to say them aloud, and looked afraid when she had said them.
Fred felt a wave of shock and sympathy. No wonder she'd been upset, letting this build up inside her for two weeks. Of course adjustments were difficult, but he'd felt largely the same way. It was just like anything else, wasn't it? Growing pains while you figure out the new role you were in; took some time, but they'd get it eventually. Fred felt rather bad for not paying better attention, not seeing her distress. Nothing to be done now, except try to reassure her. So he moved to sit beside her on the divan and pull her into the full, warm embrace that was so comforting and reassuring to her.
"Sweet heart, I'm sorry you're feeling so out of place and out of sorts. It certainly doesn't mean you don't love me enough. That's utter rubbish. It's just a harder transition for you, Hermione. I'm still going to the same job every day, still sleeping in the same room, in the same bed. It's different, because you are here with me full time, but it's not as big a change for me." He smoothed her hair and rocked her slightly.
"If you need some time alone, Hermione, all you need to do is ask. I'll walk you to the Leaky so you can go over into Muggle London and have a wander through if it'll help. You can pop over to the Burrow to sit by the pond, or over to Shell Cottage for a walk on the beach. No one will think badly about that. I don't mind so much, but it's only because this is normal for me. Doesn't make anything wrong for you, love."
"I'm sorry I'm such mess," she said softly. "I know the housekeeping drives you spare."
"We never have really talked about it, have we? Perhaps we need to do, so we aren't driving each other insane. Or maybe just figure out how to discuss it like mature adults when we are going spare," Fred said thoughtfully.
Hermione wiped her eyes. "Or maybe I just should just send a stinging hex your way repeatedly until the learned behavior sets in. Works on lab rats, anyway."
"What is a lab rat?" Fred asked with confusion, and Hermione gave a watery chuckle, and rested her head against his chest.
"Muggle scientists conduct some experiments by using rats in their laboratories. They've learned a lot about how to affect behavior with positive and negative reinforcements."
"I'm not sure I follow," Fred said.
"Well, for instance, they might have a rat going through a maze. A positive reinforcement would be providing cheese at certain points when the rat goes the right way to get through the maze. A negative reinforcement would be the rat being zapped with a shock of electricity when the rat chooses the wrong path."
"And you think I'm like a rat?" Fred asked, sounding wounded.
"Of course not," Hermione replied, sounding amused. "I'm simply thinking about the best means of encouraging you to do what I want."
"Well if that's all then," Fred said comfortably, leaning forward to retrieve her lunch. "I'll happily be your willing slave tonight, but you have to eat now to have strength for later."
"You're only saying that because you've got some kinky fantasy you want to try out and you know I won't agree when George is sleeping over."
"No, I'm saying it because you need to eat more than a few bites. And so do I. And darling, if you want to be the willing slave tonight, I won't say no," Fred said in a completely serious voice.
"Prat," Hermione said, but with affection glowing in her eyes. She ate more, as Fred urged her to do, and felt significantly better than she had done earlier. Once a bit more sated, she finally thought to ask, "How was your morning?"
Fred grimaced. "Not great. The potion continues to curdle on me after I add the mockingbird feathers. Nothing I've tried yet has worked."
"You increased the fluxweed, correct?" Hermione asked, thinking back over their previous discussions.
"Yes, but it shouldn't interfere with the mockingbird feathers. The properties are similar."
"Similar, but not identical. Why not add a jabberknoll feather with the mockingbird feathers? It'll be rendered null by the excess fluxweed, but may diffuse the essences of the mockingbird feathers long enough to get you to the binding ingredient. Especially if you add an anti-clockwise stir after the addition."
Fred wore a look of concentration few ever saw or would believe him capable of as he mentally reviewed her suggestions for immediate problems. There were none. In theory, it made perfect sense. If nothing else, it was worth trying, he felt.
"I'll give it a go then. You know, love, I really do love the bedroom. You've got a knack for decorating. What are you thinking of for out here?"
She shrugged a bit. "I wasn't thinking of changing much. I like the wall color, it's very warm. It's just a bit too masculine. I'll probably add some blue in here, maybe some green as well. And some red for balance." She shrugged some.
"Why don't you work on that this afternoon then? And come down with us to the Leaky? We're meeting a distributor at three, one of our little side projects. You could go have some time in Flourish and Blotts or go over to Muggle London or something. Just have a break for a bit. You're right, you've been too cooped up here. George even suggested that today."
"Maybe . . . I haven't spent enough time on revision today though," she said with a sigh.
Fred laughed. "Hermione, you've already read the books forwards and backwards, you write with Minerva and Neville every week, you revise nearly every day for hours. I think a small break is warranted."
"All right, all right. But you definitely have to be the slave tonight."
"There's my cheeky girl," Fred said with a laugh.
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A/N: I've not had much time to work on this, but am hoping for a break in the madness for a bit this weekend. This is a chapter I personally enjoyed and am pleased with. I know I went through something similar to Hermione shortly after I was married, and how relieved I was to find many of my friends felt likewise. Despite my husband spending nearly every weekend with me before he moved in, I remember how shocked I was by some of his habits or how they grated on me (and no doubt vice versa) when we were together all the time. And even though we only lived together for a few months before we married (we had a two and a half year long engagement, so a bit longer than Hermione's), I think the transition was eased by having the shock of living arrangements out of the way already. Adjusting to what 'wife' and 'husband' mean in the context of your own relationship as it actually exists and apart from what you expected based on your relatives, friends or books and movies can be hard enough on its own!
Beyon that, I wanted to take a moment to say that I am so pleased to read all of the lovely and thoughtful reviews that have been sent – thank you for letting me know that you are reading and what you like about this story. I've been chuffed to receive some very interesting speculation from some of you about who may be behind all the shady goings-on happening in the background, and I would love to hear what more of you think (or if any of you have had a change of opinion since you reviewed!). Updates may be slow for awhile, but I do continue to work on this, never fear. Hope everyone is well. Cheers!