"I HAVE A PROBLEM!" Fred bellowed. George groaned as Angelina started. He handed her his shirt and rolled out of bed, wincing at the freezing floor on his feet. He grabbed a bathrobe from its hook on the wall and tied it around himself before sticking his head out the door.

"Fred, what the hell are you doing?! Go to bed," he hissed. Fred shook his head fervently as he passed into view. George muttered a prayer to all things magical and slipped out of his room.

"I have a problem."

"You mentioned that," George said, wiping sleep from his eyes as he trudged to the kitchen. "Very, very loudly."

"So, according to 'Mione-"

"Here we go."

"There's this new teacher who's an old teacher—Slughorn, right— and he's got this club of smart people-"

"Like Hermione."

"Yes, like Hermione, and Harry, and Ginny," Fred said. George frowned.

"What about Ron?" He asked. Fred shook his head, "I'm sure that's lovely to be around. What's it got to do with your problem?"

"Hermione asked Ron to go to this Yule Party the old lard is throwing, as friends," Fred reached into his pocket and unfolded a letter, "Only Ron doesn't think it's platonic."

"That is a problem," George glanced back at Angelina, who was leaning against the wall at the end of the hall. It was a mistake. She looked very nice, especially since she hadn't come for the night since the summer and was wearing shorts. She had a lot of leg. And her coach hadn't let them start wearing practice pads and jerseys until it'd gotten down to two degrees, so her skin had managed to get darker in the sun.

George cleared his throat roughly and went to the cabinet for a glass. He filled it with water and drained half of it without thinking.

"And he wants my advice," Fred added. George choked on the water as he laughed suddenly. Ron levels of bafflement had found their way onto Fred's face. George had never seen his twin so confused in eighteen years.

"Your what?!" George coughed, feeling his throat protest the forcefulness of it.

"Ad-vice," Fred said each syllable carefully. "Help, wisdom, knowledge!"

"He asked the right person, if he's really trying to bag Hermione," George said. Fred snarled and took a threatening step forward. "Okay! Okay, I get it, this is definitely not funny."

"What'd he say?" Angelina asked calmly. George drank some more water.

"I dunno. I stopped at 'I need your help with Hermione,'" Fred passed the letter—which was remarkably long—to Angelina and resumed pacing around the couch in front of the fireplace.

"Party, Hermione, help, Hermione, Harry . . . What?!" Angelina said shrilly. She looked up at Fred before she read aloud, "'She's been acting sort of odd and I think it's because she's worried I don't like her that way.'"

"What a sad misreading of the situation," George commented under his breath, earning him a glare from his brother. "Sorry."

Angelina went back to muttering under her breath for a time, then let out a low whistle, "You've got some serious competition in the mushy feelings for our favorite Muggleborn category: 'she can be so irritating but it's just 'cause she's always right. She's so intelligent and I don't think I'm good enough for her, but I think I love her.'"

"Why?!" Fred shrieked abruptly, throwing the candle on the coffee table across the room. Some of the wax shattered upon impact, but the bulk of it fell to the wooden floor with a thump and rolled back toward Fred. George jumped. "Are there no other girls?!"

"Shouldn't you be happy that you now know your taste in women isn't complete shite?"

"He has a problem," Angelina murmured, still reading the letter. George ducked a thrown magazine and raised his empty glass in a rather threatening manner. "Stop it, you two."

"Don't want to get in trouble with your lady?" Fred pouted.

"I will write 'Mione if you don't start behaving," Angelina warned. Fred rolled his eyes but said no more. "Ron is doing some teenaged-boy bullshit right now. God damn, can't you separate your dicks, your brains, and your hearts!"

"What do I answer?"

"Start with, 'Your biggest problem is that Hermione blows me on the weekends-'" The glass in George's hand shattered. He jumped, frowning at Fred, whose hands were shaking. "Where's your wand?"

"I don't need it to rip out your damned tongue," Fred said lowly. George swallowed, standing taller. Fred hadn't used magic accidentally since the Teddy Bear Incident.

"Boys," Angelina warned again. Fred cut his eyes at her and flopped down onto the couch. George looked down at the broken glass. He could take care of it later. He didn't think Fred had ever been . . . stressed before. If that was what this was. They'd breezed through life easily. The most unnerving thing George had ever done was ask Angelina out, and Fred had done that for him. Angelina had definitely known that though.

"Should I ask Hermione?" Fred mused. "No, that's stupid. This isn't her problem."

"Telling Hermione might ruin their friendship," Angelina said. "I know that him hiding something so big—well, I don't see how she could trust him after he hid something so big from her for so long."

"So long?"

"He says it started last year, but that he thinks he might've always had these feelings," Angelina answered George's question without looking at him. He carefully stepped around the broken glass and made his way to her side. Ron's handwriting was much bigger than his or Fred's, less cramped. "I mean, he doesn't even say he still wants to be friends."

"He says he's scared he won't be good enough in bed," George touched the parchment lightly. He blinked slowly, then looked to Fred. "What if-"

"He might not believe-"

"Tell him-"

"No! I'm not going to tell him that-"

"Then just say-"

"How is that any better?!"

"There were rumors about-"

"He didn't believe-"

"What are you two on about?!" Angelina demanded, making George jump. He'd nearly forgotten she was even there.

"We tell Ron he does need a bit more experience if he doesn't want to screw things up, and to get him to believe us—I mean me—I'll tell him that I tried things out with Hermione last year at Valentine's, because most people heard about it anyways, and I know for a fact that Hermione has more experience than she lets on and she likes to keep things private, which will only make him believe that there's no way in hell that she and I stand any chance because I'm so open about everything and he doesn't think I could keep my mouth shut if I'd so much as kissed anyone, although I might have been a little too sarcastic with him and he definitely thinks we made out last Christmas-" Fred let out a long breath, then picked up again even faster. "But that will also make him realize that he's going to be the worst snog she ever had since he doesn't know shit about it."

"So, you want him to use some other girl as practice?!" Angelina demanded. "How is that any better?!"

"It won't be Hermione," George said plainly.

"Maybe not, but it'll be some poor girl who thinks she stands a chance against her!" Angelina said.

"The idea," Fred said clearly, "Is that he'll hopefully get attached to the other girl anyway."

Angelina's beautiful dark eyes narrowed almost to slits, "You watch yourself. I won't let some poor girl get dragged into your schemes."

"Please, any girl willing to snog Ron has a thing or two coming," Fred muttered, rolling off the couch. "Care to help?"

"With?" Angelina glowered.

"My response. I'm probably only going to make things worse if you leave me to my own devices," Fred twisted to crack his back. George was giving him a neutrally flat look of mild distaste. He didn't really want to write a letter, and he didn't really want Angelina to either. He wanted to go back to bed with Angelina.

"Fine," Angelina stepped away from George, shaking out the parchment slightly. George groaned and shot Fred a sour look.

It took two hours. Two hours of squabbling, non-magical spell-checking, spilling ink, tearing papers, and rereading Ron's long letter. Their reply was longer than the original. Angelina insisted on answering every tiny fear and little question that Ron even implied.

"It sounds too much like you," George had complained to her an hour in. He was ignored. Fred wanted to do it correctly the first time.

They reread the answering letter, which was stupidly long at that point, and then decided he was right. Fred rewrote it, still answering everything, but much more dismissively.

"Despite Hermione accompanying me to Hogsmeade last Valentine's Day—Angelina, what is this shit?—put 'we went out, but your friend is kind of-'"

"Very."

"'Very particular about the guys she dates, and apparently handsome, funny, successful gingers aren't good enough for her,'" George finished.

"That sounds perfectly insensitive," Angelina mused. "Although, you weren't successful then."

"We were too!" They protested. George shoved her a little as Fred finished his (significantly shorter) reply. Angelina pushed him back and he made a grab for her wrists. She was too quick. George leaned forward, but Angelina held him at bay with a single finger on his chest.

"I want credit," Angelina said suddenly.

"What?"

"It'll sound more credible if you asked a girl," she shrugged.

"I thought you wanted no part in-"

"We only implied he find someone else," George grinned. "Isn't our fault if he misinterprets, is it?"

"Not at all," Angelina smiled back. "Just something simple Fred."

"'Hope you don't mind, but I asked Angelina to make sure' sound good?"

"Perfect."

"Sign that son of a bitch, get your fucking owl, and send the piece of shit," George laced his fingers with Angelina's. "We've got something to finish."

~m~

Ron got a massive letter in the mail from a very familiar owl. Hermione watched him tear at the envelope and offered Bellona some toast.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Letter from Fred," Ron answered.

"And what does he want?" Hermione hoped the appropriate amount of coolness transferred into her voice. She shifted forward onto the edge of her seat, calmly stroking Bellona's feathers.

"Trust me, you probably don't want to know."

"If you're thinking of helping them sneak more products into-"

"It's nothing like that, back off, woman," Ron waved at her like she was a nosy cat. Hermione scowled and reached for more toast. She'd have to ask the next time Fred-

A large barn owl dropped a package in Hermione's lap and soared off, back to the Owlery. Hermione licked her lips, recognizing the packaging. Had he really sent her something like that here?!

Of course he had.

Hermione was nearly as red as the package as she quickly stuffed it into her bag.

"Was that from Madame Scarlett's?" Hermione stiffened at Lavender's voice. She sent her a warning glare, shaking her head slightly.

"Madame Scarlett's?" Harry frowned. Ron shrugged, though his ears were turning red.

"Merlin, I wish I had a man who got me things from Madame Scarlett's," Parvati sighed, eliciting a giggle from Lavender. Hermione shouldered her bag and started to stand.

"'Mione, you've hardly eaten," Harry said as she used his arm to climb over the bench.

"I have to- school work," Hermione said. She grabbed a piece of his toast—already buttered—and took off out of the hall. She ate her toast thoughtfully, glaring at her bag-

And ran right into Tess.

"Hey, watch where you're going, Mudblood," the girl behind Tess spat.

"Shut up, Amarantha," Tess snapped, steadying Hermione. Hermione gave her an apologetic smile and continued on, cramming the rest of her stolen toast in her mouth. "'Mione, wait up!"

Hermione slowed and looked back at her dark haired friend, mouth full. Tess laughed and Hermione focused on actually eating. Tess looped her arm through Hermione's, "Don't you need to eat?"

"I think you've got that covered for the both of us," Tess teased. Hermione groaned and slung her bag around toward her.

"You would not believe what he's done now," Hermione opened her bag just big enough for Tess to see inside it. Tess gave a satisfactory squeal and tugged the bag shut.

"No!"

"You just saw it," Hermione pushed her a little when she pulled the bag back open. Tess cackled.

"Any idea what it is?" She prodded Hermione's arm gently.

"Not really," Hermione sighed. She smiled wryly, "He knows I hate surprises."

"Oh, come on, you just haven't had enough good surprises in your life," Tess muttered. Hermione stopped and gave Tess a slightly sad look. Tess didn't meet her eyes.

"You don't have to be optimistic for me," said Hermione quietly.

"Anita is much better at it," Tess admitted. She offered the floor a smile, then finally looked at Hermione. "You know every time I walk into the Hall, I expect . . . I can hardly see the people."

"I'm scared too," Hermione touched Tess's shoulder. "But bravery isn't the absence of fear, but what we do in spite of it."

"I'm not brave," Tess shook her head. "I ran from my parents, when I should've-"

"Done what? Gotten yourself killed by them?" Hermione glanced back at the Great Hall. People were starting to leave. "Knowing when you're outmatched isn't cowardly."

"But?" Tess narrowed her eyes.

"Not trying to become better, not trying to fight," Hermione let go of her shoulder and stepped away. "That is."

"See you around," Tess said over her stomach's growling. Hermione grinned at her and nodded.

~m~

It was entirely embarrassing. There were three bras and three absolute scraps of excuses for underwear. Worse of all was the blasted note, written in loopy, fancy cursive that wasn't Fred's, George's, or even Angelina's.

For next time.

It wasn't signed, but he didn't need to have. Fred was the only one who could've possibility sent it. There was no 'next time' that anyone else was even capable of getting. Not anyone who knew to send Madame Scarlett's anyhow.

"How do you expect me to wear all three sets at once?" Hermione murmured, running a hand over one of the bras.

"Did you say something?" Hermione jumped and looked around one of her bedposts.

"Just talking to myself," Hermione gave Parvati a half-hearted smile and quickly folded the garments back up in their packaging. She stood and shoved it in her trunk, then locked the chest with a flick of her wand and leaned back on the bed.

She wanted to talk to Fred. Notes were too risky, as were letters. Everything was being searched.

Hermione twirled a piece of her hair over the tip of her wand. There was no way to trace this particular package back to Fred. Hermione couldn't send anything back though. Even if she tried to return a Daydream, claiming it was a defective product, there was no way to do so without tipping off Filch. If he found out about them, well, Filch might tell anyone. She trusted the old man about as far as she could throw him sans magical assistance.

Hermione turned and looked at her wand. The Order could use Patronus messages. It couldn't be that hard to figure out.

"Expecto patronum," Hermione murmured. Her otter settled on the bed beside her. "Find Fred, and tell him his gift was appreciated."

~m~

Fred glared at the silver otter taunting him. It danced around him, swam, spread warmth like a disease that filled him with the happiness he only felt in the presence of Hermione.

"Who sent that?"

"I dunno," Fred answered, letting out a slow breath. He could practically feel her beside him, hear her laugh echoing off the wall. He waved his hand through the otter, trying to get it to go away, but it felt like her hair twisting around his fingers. Fred groaned and turned away from his older brother, fisting his own hair in his hands.

"You all right, Freddie?" Bill asked, stepping forward. The otter nudged his neck. It even smelled like her. Fred took another fortifying breath and ignored it.

"I'm fine," Fred said, words slightly strangled.

"Listen, I just came to tell you you're on Hogsmeade duty this weekend," Bill said slowly. "But if you-"

"Get George."

"You realize I'm your brother, too. You can trust me."

"Not with this," the words had slipped out before Fred could stop them. He closed his eyes and lowered his hands. "I- I didn't mean- It's just . . ."

"Isn't your Patronus an otter?" Bill asked, as though Fred had said nothing at all.

"Uh, I can't-"

"Remus told me."

"I meant I can't do it every time, and I've never fought off a Dementer, but when I can manage, it's kind of otter-y," Fred cringed. Why was he still talking? And why was Remus telling people about his Patronus?!

"Do it now," Bill suggested. Fred turned back to give him a look that would've curled most's toes but for the otter making a nest out of Fred's head. Bill chuckled. "Who-"

"I don't know," Fred rolled his eyes despite the warmth seeping through him from being so near an extension of her.

"Wait, didn't Ron say something about Hermione-"

"Another of your crackpot theories?" Fred grabbed his wand from the counter.

"I know you've had sex with her," Bill said. "At least once."

"I have?" Fred raised his wand, thought of leaving Hogwarts and the old hag's face. "Expecto patronum."

As planned, only a silvery mist snaked its way out of Fred's wand.

"George is more comfortable with her than Harry."

"She's spent more time with us over holiday," Fred explained easily.

"You rise to her defense as soon as she's attacked."

"Someone has to."

"You think she's attractive."

"Objectively, she is."

"You know her measurements."

"I have a good eye."

"I caught you together."

"You didn't catch shit."

"You snuck into Hogwarts to see her."

"I was on Hogsmeade duty; I stayed in the village during my shift."

"And after it?"

"Went home," Fred leaned against the counter, "You want to keep trying?"

"You're in love with her."

"Wow, that came from no where," Fred sighed, then decided on a sarcastic tone. "How ever did you figure it out?"

Bill pointed. The otter was curled around his mist, as though it was a blanket.

"I don't know who sent-" the otter disappeared with a soft pop. Fred pulled at his hair some more. The room definitely seemed darker now. His own mist dissipated quickly.

"I'm onto you," Bill warned. "You said I didn't catch shit, not that you didn't do shit."

Fred rolled his eyes, "You didn't catch shit because we didn't do shit. I thought that was clear."

"She always wears bulky sweaters, there's no way you could possibly know her measurements."

"How do you even know that I know them?" Fred asked slowly, leveling his brother with another protectively terrifying look. Then he realized his mistake, "No- that was-"

"You know how odd Mum thought it was that she left the kitchen and her sewing patterns had been filled in with measurements she hadn't taken yet?" Bill brushed something off his shoulder and crossed his arm. "I managed to play it off, but you owe me, little bro, and I want an honest answer to one question."

"Shit," there was no way for Fred to back out; if he tried, even Charlie and the prat would be notified that Fred was a pussy of the highest degree, a cowardly liar who did not deserve to have gone to Hogwarts or tasted their mother's cooking.

"So, Freddie," Bill crooned. "I'd like details, by the way. How are things with Hermione?"

"I haven't been with her in a while. Doubt she thinks of me much." Lie, but laced with enough pain that it seemed like a sad truth. "She could do a lot better than me. Probably will, eventually." Merlin, I hope she doesn't realize that. "We don't write. We don't talk. Don't know what she's doing for Christmas. It's best we aren't involved. She doesn't need to be . . . I don't like the idea of Death Eaters going after her because of something that happened over the summer," Fred gave a hopeless shrug.

"No plans to woo her?" Bill asked.

"Not really," Fred didn't add that he didn't need one. He'd barely scraped by on half truths.

"That sucks, Freddie," Bill said.

"Yeah, so that's going no where."

"And I'm going home. I'll tell Mum you said hullo."

"Bill, don't tell her-"

"Turns out, I can be trusted with this," Bill said, before twisting and disappearing with a pop. Fred groaned, then prepared himself to send a Patronus.

.o0O0o.

Hello lovelies. Fridays have become the only night I have free. It's fun times.

livtheravenclaw: Credit goes to you for the timeliness of this update, and I'm glad to see you didn't try to read all of it at once.

kittkat95: Thank you! Don't fail your classes for this though! I discover AO3 literally a month and a half ago, so I've been thinking about it, but if I upload this story here, I'll redo the beginning because it's been a year and change since I wrote it so naturally I hate it.

Hollowg1rl: That seems like a really good idea! Thanks much!

Catrowline: If I die, I will leave instructions in my will for my sister to follow to let y'all know and release the ending (yes, it's tentatively done).

Hammylammy: Right?!

Infernalbooks: Albert is one of Jacob Williams friends, a Ravenclaw the year above Hermione. The funny thing is, in the story I wrote and stole him from, Albert is Albert Jacob Williams and Jacob Rex Williams is his father :O

I'm a Nerd and Proud: I literally went onto Wikipedia and looked up all the tiny islands in the collective British Isles. I don't remember where Rum is anymore, I think off Scotland? You're the second person to say Remus needs to get his head out of his ass, I'm dying. (Fun story, I'm not yet in university, though I've been accepted and plan to go in the fall, so I'm right there with you.)

Raven that flies at night: YOU GOT MY MUSHU REFERENCE I LOVE YOU

Newsie35: I'm working on three fics right now my life is ending I swear it

Reader: Yeah, I know I spelled Fleur's name wrong, I'm sorry, I really do not know anything about France or the French language. I swear, I'm only dyslexic with her freaking name.