Surprise, surprise
Couldn't find it in your eyes
But I'm sure it's written all over my face
The first rays of sunlight shown through one of the small east facing windows of the Burrow. The brightness woke Hermione Granger softly as it kissed her face with it's warm embrace, causing her to open her eyes slowly, blinking in the new day. She peered through the glass and watched the sun as it rose over the hill, a golden glow illuminating the trees from behind and casting long shadows onto the lawn below. Hermione snuggled further into the warmth of a large hand-sewn quilt. She loved the Burrow. Sometimes it felt more like home than home did – not to dismiss any of the love and happiness found in her childhood home, but there was something so alive about the charming Weasley house. A loud snore from the red headed girl beside her cut the serenity of the moment short, and Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. She turned her head to look at the youngest and only female Weasley child sprawled out on her stomach, face mushed into the pillow, mouth open, and a small drool stain beneath her lips. As another snore ripped from the young witch, Hermione reluctantly sat up and stretched her arms wide with a yawn. She'd never get back to sleep with that going on.
"Ginny," she nudged her companion, but only got a grumble in return as the stubborn witch refused to wake up. Hermione nudged her again, this time a little more roughly.
"What?" Ginny whined, squeezing her eyes tightly.
"It's time to get up. We have an early start today, remember?" Hermione reminded, but only got a muffled cry of protest as Ginny buried her face in her pillow.
"I expect to see you downstairs in thirty minutes Ginevra, so use your time as you please," Hermione sighed as she clambered over her friend, not trying to be graceful about it in the slightest. After dressing quickly, she stopped by the bathroom to brush her teeth before she hurried down the rickety and twisting staircase with the thought of a nice cup of tea circulating in her brain. Mrs. Weasley was taking out a batch of muffins from the oven when Hermione reached the last step, the whistling sound of the kettle filling the cosy kitchen. She made her way to the stove to quiet the screeching kettle, as the scent of cinnamon and blueberries drifted through the air.
"Thank you dear." Mrs. Weasley smiled as she wiped her hands on her apron and drew her wand out from her pocket. With a flick of her wrist the muffins exited their tin and swirled through the air before landing neatly into a basket on the kitchen table. Hermione hummed in response. With familiar motions, she prepared the tea, making sure to grab two cups – one for her and one for Mrs. Weasley. There was something so soothing about the small act. Sitting down at the table, she placed Molly's tea in front of her and sipped her own as she watched the incredibly energetic mother of seven crack eggs into a bowl. Hermione quietly observed Molly Weasley and wondered how she did it. Having seven children is a lot of work in general, but with her specific bunch of rowdy boys and equally rowdy girl, it took a special kind of person to be strong enough to handle them. After cracking what seemed like at least three dozen eggs into the large mixing bowl, the elder witch waved her wand sending its contents to be whisked and scrambled on the stove top. With a light sigh Molly Weasley turned her attention finally to her tea and then to the young witch across from her.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Molly asked, taking a sip from her cup.
"I was just admiring you Mrs. Weasley," Hermione admitted sheepishly.
"Oh goodness, whatever for?" Molly laughed.
"I don't know how you do it, taking care of everyone the way that you do. My parents found it trying just to raise me and I wasn't even a difficult child. I can't imagine what they would have done if they had had to raise seven, let alone just Fred and George." Hermione rubbed at a tea stain on the side of her cup with her thumb.
Molly snorted.
"It's most certainly not easy, I can guarantee you that. Of course, some days I do wish I could go back to a time where Arthur and I were nineteen and just married—" Molly's voice turned thick with nostalgia "—but, given the choice, I'd have all my children again because I'm damn good at taking care of the lot." The two shared a smile, acknowledging the truth in her statement. They sat there for a while, chatting idly, as the eggs scrambled, and bacon flipped on the stove top aided by the occasional flick of Mrs. Weasley's wand. Conversations like these were common in the early morning of the Burrow whenever Hermione came to stay, as the two of them were usually the first to rise. Their talks often consisted of school, Harry, Ron, and even occasionally fashion and magazines. This morning, however, they had settled into a comfortable silence and Hermione began again to focus on the strength that Mrs. Weasley had. Hermione liked to think that one day she would be just as strong as her. Already she felt stronger, more grown up. It, of course, had everything to do with the sheer amount of time she spent merely existing during her third year. While all her classmates were living their third year happily, she was practically living it twice, three times over. It was surprising the amount of change that could happen to a person in that sort of situation. She assumed it was what had given her the courage to punch Malfoy in the nose that year. She smiled at the thought.
After a while Molly stood up. "Would you mind going and making sure everyone is awake dear? Breakfast is just about ready."
"Of course, Mrs. Weasley."
Hermione set her tea down and made her way to the upper levels of the house. She stopped outside of Ginny's room first and knocked. When she didn't hear an answer, she opened the door to find her still lying in bed, this time with the blankets pulled completely over her head to shield her eyes from the bright sun.
"Ginevra Weasley! I told you to be out of bed ages ago!" Hermione scolded before grabbing a fist full of the quilt and pulling it off the redhead's sleeping form. With the sudden loss of warmth, Ginny turned over, staring daggers at the bossy girl in front of her. Their gazes locked as they challenged each other silently – neither one wanting to break eye contact and lose. Much to Ginny's great annoyance, her stomach let out a ferocious growl that broke her resolve. She huffed and sat up.
"Of all the people for my brother to befriend, he had to go and find a girl who's just as stubborn as all of us…" Ginny grumbled more to herself as she started to rummage through her clothes. Fully satisfied, Hermione crossed her arms and smiled with a small hmph. Reminding Ginny to pack a bag as Mr. Weasley had instructed them to do, she exited the bedroom. She turned to her left and headed up the stairs to the next level where the bedroom of Fred and George resided. Their door was painted a ghastly explosion of purple and orange that Hermione took in for a moment before knocking. The seconds ticked by as she waited for either of the Weasley twins to answer. What should she do? She couldn't possibly open the door like she had with Ginny. She knocked again, this time placing her ear to the door to listen for any signs of life.
"Can I help you?"
The sound of a voice right in her ear caused Hermione to nearly jump out of her skin. She let out a little yelp as she turned around to come face to face with Frederick Weasley.
"Merlin!" She placed a hand to her chest, feeling the strong thumping of her heart under her fingertips.
"Now, what do we have here? —" Fred crossed his arms boldly and leaned against the wall, blocking Hermione between himself and the door behind her "—Hermione Granger, spying?" He spoke the words as if it were the latest scandal in the gossip columns of Witches Weekly.
"I was not spying!" Hermione responded indignantly.
"I don't know if you know this—" Fred started flatly, not believing her for a second "—but I happen to be an expert on all things spying, snooping, and meddling. You can't fool me."
Hermione rolled her eyes and scoffed, fighting hard to bite back the response she really wanted to give. Instead, she would not give him the satisfaction of an answer.
"So, why were you trying, and quite poorly I might add, to spy on us?"
Hermione did not respond, instead she mirrored him, crossing her arms, and standing pin straight on her tip toes to gain a level playing field.
"Trying to get us in trouble?"
Again, Hermione did not reply.
"Gain some kind of leverage on us for blackmail?"
Hermione watched as a twitch of irritation flashed across Fred's face at her lack of response. But then, it transformed into a wicked grin.
"Not trying to catch one of us naked, are you Granger?" Fred looked at her triumphantly, obviously feeling as though he had won the battle. Hermione felt the heat of embarrassment spread across her face and before she could stop herself, she responded with as much bravado as she could.
"Hah! —" she guffawed heartily, throwing her head backwards exaggeratedly "—Why would I possibly want to induce vomiting Frederick?"
Fred stood in front of her, his smug grin melting from his face into a dumbfounded expression. Frederick Weasley, for the first time in his life was utterly speechless. Hermione smirked and without another word pushed past the lanky ginger and continued up the stairs to Ron's room.
As she distanced herself from Fred, Hermione couldn't help but let a small rush of excitement flow through her body. She did not know what had caused her to respond that way but the thrill of once and for all shutting up one of the Weasley twins was satisfying enough that she did not care. When Hermione finally made it to the top step, she let out a long exhale and knocked on Ron's door. Not hearing an answer, she knocked again for safe measure and then opened the door a crack. This door she did feel comfortable opening.
Honestly, why did no one set an alarm? she wondered to herself when she saw her two best friends still asleep in their beds. Ron was spread out like Ginny that morning – arms wide, mouth open, and snoring loudly. Harry on the other hand was tossing and turning, clearly in the middle of a very bad dream. She approached the little cot in the corner cautiously, noticing his pale and clammy skin. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and shook him, trying to rouse him from his sleep.
"Harry! Harry!" she called his name, hoping it would bring him to. Harry awoke with a start, looking up at her with confusion spread across his face. He said her name as if acknowledging her presence and his reality. Hermione stared hard at the boy. He hadn't changed much since the last time she saw him, except his hair was longer. It hung damp and matted to his neck and forehead; his scar shone through the dark locks looking pinker than usual. His chest rose and fell harshly as his breathing slowly returned to normal.
"Are you alright?" she asked tentatively.
"Yeah, it was just a bad dream," he assured her unconvincingly. Hermione nodded and stood, biting her tongue, and giving Harry some space. If he didn't want to tell her, then she guessed he didn't have to. With a particularly loud snore coming from Ron's bed, she picked up a pillow from the cot below her and threw it at his head. Then, marching over to the window, she drew back the curtains letting in the bright daylight that had broken over the hill and risen higher into the sky. Ron jolted off the mattress, hugging his covers up to his chest and looking dazed. He frantically looked around the room before spotting Hermione glaring at him with her hands on her hips.
"Bloody hell, Hermione!"
"Honestly, Ronald, get up! Your mother says breakfast is ready!" she scolded before making her exit and leaving the two boys to get ready.
Fred couldn't help but stay rooted to the spot as the little Gryffindor bounded up the stairs away from him. The situation had been all too rare. Fred and George always revelled in their ability to efficiently tease the Miss Hermione Granger. In fact, she was one of their favourite victims because when you teased Granger, you got the most genuine reaction you ever hoped for. Unlike others who would attempt to act as if the picking and the prodding didn't affect them, Granger made it very known. Her hair would grow twice its size and her face would flush so brilliantly that you'd think someone had jinxed her to make her skin turn red. Over the years she grew more towards the occasional small bout of lecturing on how to treat people, how they should not be so insensitive – blah, blah, blah. So, when the little know-it-all came back with one of the best comebacks he ever heard, he hadn't known whether to be offended or kiss her square on the mouth.
He walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, snagging a warm muffin out of the basket and taking a large bite before planting himself next to George at the table. He savoured the flavour of the baked good with a grin spread wide across his face. A few moments later, footsteps sounded from the stairs, followed by the entry of his sister, little brother, Harry, and lastly Granger. As he made eye contact with the last of the party, he was met with a scowling and defiant glare, the girl's chin raised haughtily in the air. George nudged his side, looking between the Granger and himself curiously.
"I'll explain later," Fred told his brother.
Still picking at his muffin, Fred observed his family. His mother was flitting about the kitchen, doting on everyone as she continued to cook and clean. His father was casually following her around, gently but persistently trying to convince her to sit down and eat something herself. His little sister was chewing on her food with the reverent and polite façade she put on whenever Harry came about. Usually she was just as bad as Ron, slovenly shovelling her mouth full and practically inhaling her meals. Now, her long-standing crush on The Boy Who Lived was as clear as ever as she daintily nibbled on a piece of bacon and stole not too subtle glances at the subject of her affection. It seemed, however, that Ron's affection for Hermione did not slow him down in the slightest. He scooped eggs, bacon, and toast into his open mouth as he chatted with Harry. In his animation and general lack of manners, he spat little bits of food out on the plate and table in front of him.
"Honestly, Ronald!" Hermione pushed her contaminated plate away from her in disgust.
"What?" Ron respond lamely.
Fred shifted his focus back to his own food, and his thoughts to his and George's latest endeavours. This past year they hoped to transition from mindless pranks and jokes to something of actual substance. As they approached their sixth year, they knew they needed to start thinking of the future – they couldn't very well live with mum and dad forever. There was also the little problem of their O.W.L.s, which were, to quote their mum: 'so disappointing she could cry'. While Fred wasn't quite as upset about his scores as his mother was, he did have to admit that it limited their options. When he voiced this concern to his brother, George very adamantly claimed that they were too good to work for anyone but themselves anyways. And thus Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was born. Why try and work for some sad sop when they could own their very own joke shop? So far, they hadn't told anyone but their closest friends about their plans, but their futures were looking promising already, having designed numerous prototypes over the summer. In fact, order forms were already printed out and ready for the new school year and they were planning on putting together some sickles to take out a small advertisement in the back of a few popular magazines.
"Do you suppose we could invent something that binds mouths closed?" George whispered, motioning towards Ron's full mouth of food and Hermione's nagging voice. Fred snickered and started to theorize with his brother on how they could go about that possibility. They were just starting to make a list of avenues to research when their father, Arthur Weasley, stood from the table and proclaimed that it was time to shove off and get moving. Fred and George exchanged a look that meant they would continue the topic later and grabbed their packs before following their father out of the kitchen as they waved goodbye to their mother.
As the group walked leisurely through the garden and into the surrounding wooded area, Fred and George trailed a few yards behind and chatted lightly about the Quidditch World Cup and how lucky they were that their father was able to get such great seats this year. It was, in fact, the first time in ages it was being held in England. The Hungarians versus the Irish! It couldn't get any more exciting than that. Eventually their conversation faded into a comfortable silence and Fred found himself transfixed by the swishing of a long, frizzy, brown ponytail swinging back and forth like a pendulum. His mind wandered to the enigma that was Hermione Granger. She was considered to be the brightest witch of their age, and that was no exaggeration. The thing about Hermione though, was that while exemplifying all traits of someone uptight, prudish, and entirely against fun, she was best friends with his idiot of a little brother and the Harry Potter. For a witch who was pretty much the poster girl for rules, Hermione Granger got herself into a lot of trouble with the two of them. It was astounding that she hadn't said goodbye to them and their adventures years ago. Thinking back to their small interaction earlier, he wondered if he had glimpsed a side of Granger that she perhaps only revealed to Ron and Harry.
"Why do you think she stays friends with those two gits?" George asked, reading his mind.
"Beats me what she sees in them. I mean, Harry's not all that bad, but our ickle Ronikins is a right idiot," said Fred, letting out a dramatic sigh and shaking his head as his younger brother bob along in front of them. His gaze shifted back to the uptight Gryffindor in front of him as she walked arm in arm with the red headed girl beside her, talking animatedly. He glanced at his baby brother to see him sneaking a look at Granger with big puppy eyes.
"When do you suppose our ickle Ronikins is going to finally man-up and tell Granger that he fancies her?" asked Fred.
They walked forward through the understory watching as Ron continued to sneak seemingly covert glances at Granger.
"Probably never—" George let out a rude snort "—What do you suppose he sees in her?"
"I've seen her doing his homework quite a few times. S'pose I'd fall for any bird that did that for me long enough. Though, I don't know if the lecturing would be worth it," Fred grimaced at the idea of being with someone that constantly berated him.
"Merlin, does she sound just like mum when she gets all angry. Could you imagine that?—" George shivered "—Maybe our baby brothers got a little bit of a mommy issue?"
"If he does Georgie, I don't want to know."
After a short while of walking through the tall grass, they came around a corner to find a figure standing next to a tree. The stranger was an older man, probably around the same age as his father with grey hair and a slightly shorter, rounder shape. He watched as his father hurried his steps and stretched out his arms in a familiar gesture.
"Amos!" Arthur Weasley shouted out.
"Arthur! Took you long enough," Amos joked.
"Sorry about that, some of us got a bit of a sleepy start," Arthur responded before embracing his friend in a brief hug.
A young man swung out of the tree that Amos had been standing near and landed next to him with a surprising amount of ease. Fred recognized him as Cedric Diggory. He was a seventh year Hufflepuff, and while Fred had never met him personally, he always considered him to be a bit of a prat. Then of course, he was still bitter about their loss to Hufflepuff during the previous year's quidditch season thanks to him. Fred and George stood near the back of the group and watched as introductions were made between everyone, finding more amusement in the comical way in which Amos Diggory fawned over Harry, than spreading niceties themselves. George nudged Fred and pointed towards the two girls in their company who were giggling to each other, peaking at the golden boy of Hufflepuff from under their lashes. Absentmindedly, Fred wondered if Hermione would consider seeing Cedric Diggory as 'vomit inducing'. Ginny, leaning over, whispered something into Hermione's ear that made her pull back, cheeks enflamed and hand over her mouth. Fred couldn't say for certain, but it looked as though Hermione was fighting a laugh. Then quickly she swatted Ginny's arm and scolded her with a scandalized expression. Ginny merely rolled her eyes and smirked. His sister had always had a bit of a wicked streak. Fred liked to think he and George had played a part in that.
"What was up with you and Granger this morning?" George asked casually once they began to walk again.
Fred regaled the whole event in the hallway in a hushed but animated voice – George interjecting and nodding when appropriate. He was equally as surprised and impressed by Hermione's response. They began to think of possible explanations for Hermione's out of character remark. However, they slowly broke down into both more ludicrous and preposterous theories and soon they had fallen far behind the rest. The pair didn't notice this, of course, until they heard the slightly faded voice of their father calling after them from up ahead.
"Fred! George! Catch up!"
The two picked up their pace, holding tightly onto their packs and jogging up to the group that circled an old boot. When they approached, they observed Hermione closely for possession, as their latest theory had been that she had somehow been taken over by an evil (and much cooler) spirit. Almost as if she sensed their eyes on her, Hermione turned to face the two with a confused expression.
"Anything I can help you two with?" Her small nose wrinkled as she looked between the two.
"Hmm, what do you think Fred?"
"I don't know George."
"I suppose you'd see it in the eyes, yeah?"
"I think you're right. We'll have to cross this one off the list."
Hermione looked at them, a bored expression plastered across her face at their incoherent ramblings. She chewed on her bottom lip, looking as though she were currently engaging in an internal debate. Clearly coming to some conclusion, she crossed her arms in front of her before speaking snootily.
"I would say to take a picture as it would last longer, but I don't think I'd want to subject that kind of torture to even a reflected image of myself."
Her statement hit them like a rogue bludger, but before they could answer, their father yelled once again.
"Fred! George! Hermione! Hands on the boot!"
Quickly, all three reached forward and pressed their hands to the old boot, Fred barely placing a finger onto it before they were pulled upwards. His stomach lurched as he twisted and whirled through the sky, wind and shapes whipping around him, before he landed hard onto the ground. Slowly he sat up, feeling fuzzy and confused. Looking to his right he saw George sitting up as well, his expression matching what he felt exactly. A flash of denim appeared in his line of sight as a pair of legs walked between them. Following them he watched as Granger passed them, trailing behind the rest of the group into the thick of a new forest line.
He looked to George who stared bewildered at frumpy little Granger walking confidently away. And as she walked, all it did was leave them to wonder…
Who is she and what has she done with Hermione Granger?
