** This is a series of drabbles, ficlets and one-shots following our dear Fred and Hermione from June of 1995 (shortly before the third task of the Triwizard Tournament) to an as-of-yet undetermined point post-war.**
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8 June 1995
"What do you mean you've never noticed?" Fred asked his brother, who was seated on the bed beside his own in their dormitory. There was a desperate, if slightly unhinged, edge to his voice.
"I mean," George said with a huff, "I've never paid attention to whether or not Hermione drinks coffee or tea."
"Well, that's just… just… it's unacceptable!" Fred declared indignantly.
"Oh, I'm sorry. With my busy schedule, I completely forgot to stalk my kid brother's friend who, for the record, scares me to my core every now and again. String me up in the dungeons, why don't you?"
Fred whipped a pillow across the room, which landed with an anticlimactic "fwup" against George's chest.
After Fred's epiphany that afternoon, and consequent confession, the two had been heatedly debating whether or not there was even any merit to the items written on the list, which was now crumpled up beside Fred on the mattress.
"A lot of witches use hair stuff that smells like lavender," George reasoned, not for the first time. "What about the other items again?"
Fred, who'd sunk sideways on the bed at that point and was staring at the canopy overhead like a man on death row, groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face before answering.
"Leather. That one is a no-brainer; she's always lugging around enormous old books that are bound with the stuff."
"Okay, what about rain?" George coaxed, still trying to figure out what exactly rain smelled like.
"I've no idea. I can't remember a time we've ever interacted when it was raining."
"So, it has to come down to the coffee then… do they even serve coffee with breakfast? I don't think I've ever seen anyone drinking it."
"I've no idea, I've never even tried the stuff," Fred sighed. "I only know what it smells like because Charlie has it when he visits."
"Well, there's only one way to find out then," George said resolutely. Fred turned and looked at him expectantly, brows raised. "We'll just have to beat her to breakfast tomorrow."
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9 June 1995
As it turned out, beating Hermione Granger to breakfast was no small feat. They'd never actually seen her come down the stairs in the morning, she'd always been planted at the table in the great hall and surrounded by books and scrolls of parchment by the time they'd arrived, if she hadn't already departed for the library.
Breakfast was served at seven, two hours before the start of class, so for the first time in his life Fred Weasley set an alarm for a time starting with the number six. The next morning, when it went off, he dearly regretted having done so.
"Wasgoinon," Lee mumbled groggily, sitting up and looking around their room with eyes that were still fully shut.
"Nothing, go back to sleep," George soothed, clutching in the dark at the clock that sat between his and Fred's bed to silence it. Once he'd done so, he glanced back to find that Lee was already prone once more and drooling.
In the dark grey light, he turned and saw that Fred was sitting up against the pillows with an expression somewhere between anticipation and nausea. He opened his mouth and closed it twice before speaking in a quiet flurry of words.
"You know what, let's just go back to bed."
He made to close the curtain around his mattress and roll over, but George leapt to his feet and ripped the fabric back. "Oh no you don't, I'm already awake. Up you get."
After no small amount of hemming and hawing, the two stumbled down the stairs to the common room, blinking against the sconces mounted along the walls. They'd never seemed quite that bright at night, but now it was like looking into the sun.
"Fucking hell," George muttered, tripping over a chair someone had left pulled out from one of the study tables. "If she's your soulmate you're going to have to have a serious conversation about the hours humans were meant to be awake and functioning."
The pair made it to The Great Hall before any other students, thoroughly shocking Professor Sprout at the head table, who nearly dropped her morning paper and then immediately fixed them with an uneasy, suspicious stare.
They raised their hands innocently, palms forward, and took a seat at the Gryffindor table, a little further down than they normally would have in favor of a decent vantage point. The food hadn't even appeared yet and they went about extracting several items from their bags that might look like homework to any passersby.
One by one, students began to trickle into the hall, Ravenclaws accounting for a disproportionate number of them. George at least made a show of pretending to study, though he was far more likely to fall back to sleep sitting up, but Fred just stared unblinking at the enormous oak doors as if they might explode inward at any given moment. Every so often his right eye would twitch.
Finally, at exactly seven o'clock, Hermione materialized, as did the food. It would be a generous assessment to say that the twins looked like death warmed over, rumpled and propped across from one another on the benches, but she appeared the same as she always did. Her curls were tamed into a bun on top of her head, a few already having sprung free, and her white collar was crisp and freshly pressed.
Similarly to Sprout, her eyebrows quirked disbelievingly when she saw the twins, particularly the one that was gaping at her, but she seemed to brush it aside with a small, if slightly self-conscious, wave before settling at her usual spot. She then promptly began removing books from her bag, muttering something unintelligible under her breath.
George kicked Fred beneath the table in an attempt to curtail his gawking, but it did absolutely nothing to deter him.
Once she was settled, Hermione reached for a slice of wheat toast and marmalade, making that up and setting it on her plate. Then, in one fluid, practiced motion, she plucked a small carafe of black coffee off the table from beside the tea service and poured it into her mug until it was threatening to overflow. She then raised it, held the cup just below her nose with two hands, and inhaled deeply with her eyes shut.
George had been watching the series of events closely, captivated, until he heard a dull thud and the fork beside his plate jumped and clattered. Tearing his eyes away, he refocused them on his brother, who'd slumped forward in defeat and dropped his head heavily onto the table.
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A/N: Thank you to GrimmHarry for pointing out that my characters/pairings were originally not showing properly. I've been having some troubles with the site all around this week.
The next chapter is one of my favorites, so stay tuned.