Laughter fills up the small living room as they struggle to catch their breaths, both vividly picturing the events of that October day in their minds. It's the first time Hermione has told someone other than Ginny about it, and she's glad she has. The memory is so precious to her – so much so that the idea of sharing it used to seem, in some way, sacrilegious, as if the other person might somehow ruin it by not appreciating it as much as she does – but telling Fred about it has made her see it afresh. He keeps saying, "You're kidding," as if he honestly expects her to reveal that they had in fact befriended one another in some other, much more mundane, way, and she keeps shaking her head and insisting that it's the complete and utter truth. Previously, she viewed it with fond embarrassment; now, she's able to laugh at it and at how stupid they were back then, spurred on by Fred's obvious incredulity.

"I don't even know why they didn't just tell Percy or Professor McGonagall," Hermione finally manages to say in between chortles. "They didn't even have to say why I was in the bathroom to begin with; they could've just said I'd left the feast to go to the loo and wasn't back yet."

"Logic," he replies prosaically with the composure of somebody who is well versed in personal reflection, "has never been our house's strong point, and Harry and Ron are a prime example of that. I thought you'd have realised that after all the time you've spent with them over the years."

Grabbing a pillow, she whacks lightly him in the chest. "Hey," she objects, protesting on behalf of both her and her friends.

Still, he soldiers on. "Besides, you were pretty stupid too; why on Earth did you try to lie to Quirrell, McGonagall and Snape about it? There's no way didn't notice. Besides, Harry and Ron would have gotten into less trouble for panicking and then forgetting to tell a professor than you would have for purposefully disobeying one."

Shrugging awkwardly, she replies, "Ron thought I'd be a terrible friend, and I wanted to prove him wrong."

Noticing her discomfort, Fred decides not to push the topic; he doesn't want to push her self-consciousness so far that she reverts to her past, validation-hungry self. However endearing it might be when she gets slightly flustered, he knows that going any further would just run the risk of ruining the rest of their evening. "So, that was when Ronnikins learned his first spell?" he asks, wanting to shift the attention from her to his brother.

Her expression twitches defiantly, and he can tell that the derisive nickname irritates her, but she lets it go. That's one of the things he appreciates about their friendship; it's clear when she disapproves of something, but she seems determined not to interfere with the little squabbles that are so idiosyncratic of Weasley family dynamics. Besides, he can see the gratitude that flits across her face at the well-timed change of topic. "Yeah, it was. I'm sure you can imagine our amusement when Professor Flitwick revised it in class the next day. We pretended that we were levitating clubs instead of quills. Speaking of," she adds sternly, "telling him that spell would turn Scabbers yellow was cruel."

He descends into another fit of laughter that has her struggling to keep a straight face. "Maybe, but he believed it, didn't he? By eleven, he should've known that spells aren't little rhyming English ditties. That's one of the oldest pranks in the book."

"You know, I think someone got Seamus, too," Hermione says. "Something about rum."

"Water to rum? That would've been Lee's doing. He bet us a galleon that he'd be able to find someone who'd fall for that; he was sure that wishful thinking would outweigh common sense."

As much as she likes Seamus, Hermione has to admit that that's a good description of him. He has never quite learned that doing the same thing over and over again won't suddenly result in a vastly different outcome. "Did you take him up on it?"

"Nah. Knew there'd be some first year who'd fall for it. George did, though."

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Hermione admits, "I can't think of trolls anymore without picturing Harry jumping on its back. I'd say he ruined them for me, but…"

"But he did the exact opposite?"

"Yeah."

They manage to hold themselves in for a few seconds, but then Fred sniggers, and that starts them up again like stray sparks near petrol. "I'm sorry," he says, "it's just – it's just so fitting that you lot became friends over something crazy like that."

"I know, right? 'Sheer dumb luck' is what Professor McGonagall called it. She gave them points for Gryffindor for 'sheer dumb luck'. If she'd realised how accurate a descriptor that would be for the rest of our lives, she mightn't have been so willing to reward it."

The front door creaks open, and they look up to find Harry coming home from his date. "How was it?" Fred asks, his voice completely neutral. Throughout the course of their vigil, Hermione and Fred discussed their approach to his return, deciding not to let their personal feelings colour their reactions to Harry's interpretation of his evening. Now, Fred can't help but feel like a parent greeting their oldest child after his first date.

"Not great. It wasn't as uncomfortable as I expected, but not great. Is Teddy asleep?"

"Yeah, we put him to bed two hours ago."

"Well, we tried to put him to bed two hours ago. Apparently Fred's adventures are too interesting to make for good bedtime stories; it was a whole hour before Teddy would let us leave – "

"It's not my fault I'm such a good storyteller!"

" – the room. He was asleep when we looked in on him ten minutes later, though."

"I need a shower, anyway. I'll look in on him while I'm upstairs," Harry says, making his way to the staircase. "So, what were you guys cracking up about when I came in?"

"Troll piggybacks and sheer dumb luck," Fred says with an impressively straight face.

A/N: I still can't fully believe it, but we have a new Prime Minister. I'm kind of torn between thinking that it's been a long time coming and thinking that it's kind of disconcerting to see how much we suck at keeping a Prime Minister in for their full term. I mean, we even lost one once.

Anyway, in relation to the chapter, I purposefully went with the movie version because the phrase 'sheer dumb luck' basically epitomises Harry, Ron and Hermione's success in my mind. Also, as mentioned on my profile page, some personal things have been happening that have taken priority over fanfic, but I'm hoping that I will be able to get back to writing regularly again soon.