Chapter Two: The Hermione Granger Scandal

* *

Notes: This was amazing fun to write. Specifically written for le-blanc-jasmin, for her review of Shell Left Broken and request to hear more of the scandal between Hermione and the twins.

I tried to make the twins more even. Rowling gives Fred more lines and face time than George, which I find unfair to both the Weasley twins and to the Phelps. And because I like George better, he is the more appealing twin in Hermione's eyes, as well.

Neville may be a bit of a drama queen, but bear with him. He's one of the more difficult people to write, I've found, because he lacks so much definition as a character. Thank you, JK Rowling.

* *

I had always fancied the Weasley twins. Even when I ignored Ron, I would have liked to spend time with the twins. I don't suppose many people realize that there is more to them than the fiendish pranksters they made themselves out to be. Beyond the fools are two very brilliant minds and sensitive individuals. They simply chose not to let that side reign around the rest of the world.

It was the late fall of my fifth year that I first saw the intelligence of the twins. A typical visit to Hogsmeade had left me behind; I had once again taken on more than I should have academically and was laden with assignments for various professors. I also had it in my mind to outreach even my own standards and prepare as much extra credit as was possible. I had settled myself down at an empty table in a deserted corner of the library early in the day, just after everyone had left for the train, and had finished over half of my required assignments by lunch. Early afternoon, however, I was tired of the dusty books and leaking quills.

I sought refuge from homework in the empty corridors of the school. I've never been one to wander aimlessly, but that day, I suppose, it was fated that I visited the walkway at the northern wall of the castle. From there I could look out over the lake, where birds dove and sunlight sparkled over the swells in the water.

I must have been there a long while, because next moment I was realizing that the sun was sinking below the hills to the west and the wind was growing quite chilly. I started back for the library to collect my books, but was interrupted by the grating of stone and nearly identical voices speaking in hushed whispers behind me.

"D'you suppose we should turn her in to McGonagall, Fred?"

"I dunno, George, we might get in trouble for being up here, too, y'know. Maybe we should just let her off with a warning instead."

"Right. Then we can walk her back to the Great Hall for supper, eh?"

"Brilliant, George, I like your thinking! Step lightly, now, don't frighten her when we make ourselves known . . . "

They appeared on either side of me, strolling casually along as though they had every right to be escorting me back inside, as though I hadn't heard them approach. They were a full head taller than I, wearing identical robes and red-and-gold scarves. The only way I could have told them apart was that the one on my right was wearing a green sweater and the one of my left was wearing blue.

"Good afternoon, boys," I said, and they seemed surprised that I should have spoken before being spoken to. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"For a stroll, yes," said the twin in blue without skipping a beat, "I suppose it is."

Green caught on soon enough, and added, "Though a bit nippy, what?" He drew a bit closer, and I felt my face grow warm with a blush.

"Say, Hermione," said Blue, "What is a lovely girl like you doing out here all alone on a Hogsmeade day? Shouldn't you be out buying Butterbeers and Chocolate Frogs with Harry and Ron?"

"I had homework," I told them, discovering more ways to tell the two apart. Blue had a longer face than Green, and his voice was a bit stronger. "I spent the whole morning buried in books, but I hadn't intended on staying out here for as long as I did."

"We know," Green piped up solemnly. "We've been here all afternoon as well. Though we -- "

" -- We've been evading McGonagall and Snape more than homework -- "

" -- But little matter, we're all here at the same time, anyway -- "

" -- Would you like to have supper with us?"

Supper was intriguing, but the nagging of homework left undone and possible extra credit was enough to hold me back. I refused the offer politely, trying to ignore the wounded looks they cast at one another over my head.

"The least we could do is to walk you back down to the library, then," Blue suggested brightly, but the cheer in his words was manufactured and half-hearted.

"That would be lovely. Thank you, Fred." Blue beamed that I had identified him correctly, and I then turned to Green. "Thank you, George." He glowed equally bright, blushing slightly, and I shivered with delight as his hand found mine in the sleeve of my robe.

That evening, after the twins had escorted me to my secluded table in the library, they brought me a plateful of supper after taking their own meal. They dawdled there a moment, asking several questions from their Latin and Transfiguration classes, and left with extended goodbyes and lingering glances as they made their way past the bookshelves and out the great doors.

It was all very sweet and very sudden, and I was pleased with the attention. The thought that two boys so alike interested in me was one that remained in my mind. If forced to make a choice, which would I choose? Would I have to turn both down? The idea seemed ridiculous and distracting, and I had trouble finishing my extra credit projects before the library doors were closed for the night.

Upon arriving in the common room, I was bombarded with tales of the day trip. Both Harry and Ron, with many others -- the kids I tutored and attended various classes with -- sat me down and regaled me with humorous stories and anecdotes. I was hardly paying attention to them all; I took my cues and laughed with the rest, shared sympathetic cooing, and nodded as though it all mattered to me; but in fact my mind was fixed on the twins.

I continued the interested facade until close to midnight, when the girls in my dormitory finally settled into bed. Physically I was exhausted, but mentally I was alive and awake and thinking. I lay under the covers for what seemed like ages, staring at the dark curtains of my bed, until the now-familiar grating of stone came softly from the bathroom. I sat up in my blankets, watching the unmoving curtains around the bed, my ears pricked and waiting for the next sound. No voices I heard, but the subtle swishing of robes and padding of sock-covered feet crossing the room I did.

The curtain was pulled aside slowly, and grinning twin faces appeared at the division. They beckoned with their fingers, and I followed them back into the bathroom and through a small door in the floor beside the toilet. We then made our way through the inky blackness of a low tunnel until reaching a small sliver of light; we emerged behind a tapestry in an empty classroom.

"Have you ever been out of your bed after hours, 'Mione?" Fred asked, hopping onto the large front desk in the room. George had seated himself on one of the student desks facing his brother, and I was left standing a few feet away. I watched them both as their eyes never left me.

"No," I admitted, finally taking a seat on the desk next to George. My feet didn't touch the ground and were left dangling like a small child's, while Fred's kept him seated on the edge of the professor's desk and George's long legs were folded, his knees sticking out on either side. They glanced at one another knowingly.

"Well," George said after a long moment. "You have a lot to learn."

And learn a lot I did. Eventually it became a nightly event to slip from my bed after midnight and wander the corridors with Fred and George. I learned how to listen for ghosts -- especially Peeves -- evade Filch and Mrs Norris, avoid being seen by paintings, and cast spells to muffle the grating of the stairs as they changed beneath me. I was shown so many secret passages and tunnels that I've long since forgotten most of them, and I knew the castle better than I now know my own home.

The morning after my first journey out of the dormitory after hours, I returned as the sun, shrouded in mist, rose over the horizon. I was not tired in the least and managed somehow to remain alert for all of my classes. I sat beside George and facing Fred at breakfast, a trick to not be noticed by either Harry or Ron or anyone else at the Gryffindor table, and again at lunch and supper as well.

When the mail came that day, I received an owl from George. It was that day that I discovered that George was a poet. He wrote me all sorts of sonnets and couplets and even an epic poem once, all of which I still have to this very day. He also sketched me little pictures in the margins, some so detailed it would not have surprised me if they had leapt from the page and joined Hagrid's band of beasts. He always said the right thing and knew when to say nothing.

Fred surprised me in a different way; he was not as talented with words as his twin, but just as sensitive. He took me to the most beautiful places in the castle, showed me stained glass windows and delicate statues and intricate paintings. He conjured my favorite sweets, took me on picnics, and took my side in arguments whether he agreed or not.

After the first night, I was never with both of them at the same time save for meals. They seemed to have worked out a schedule to ensure they both spent equal amounts of time with me. I had been initially worried about what others might have thought and being caught out of our dormitories after hours, but soon forgot to worry. In their own ways they eased my worries without mentioning any of it.

It was Neville who was first to catch us. It was close to Christmas; I had been in the library all evening researching something for Potions when George had surprised me with a new poem, and he followed me along the bookshelves as I looked up plants and the like in numerous books. Eventually he was walking alongside me, his fingers intertwined with mine as I perused the shelves. He would lean close, whisper a few words into my ear and lay a lingering kiss on my cheek, then stay behind a step as I moved along, studying titles and molding covers. As I turned to return a kiss, I caught sight of Neville at the end of the row, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open in surprise. I dropped George's hand in shock, who turned to face the interrupting boy with a bemused expression.

Neville took off like a leaf in the wind before I had the chance to say anything, and George insisted that he wouldn't breathe a word to anyone, that Longbottom was a trustworthy kid who wouldn't tell a soul.

" 'Mione," he murmured into my ear, his hand having found mine again. "You said yourself that you would practically trust Neville with your life. It's all safe; it's nothing to be worried about." He smiled, pressing his forehead to mine. "Now, find your book again before I feed Snape a pile of lies about your cheating on your next Potions exam."

I shut up about it and continued looking for books. But George had been wrong in his reassurances, because it wasn't long before Neville had told someone -- possibly one of the worst people he could have. He told Ginny Weasley, and before I found that she knew, half of the girls' dormitories knew of George and I. Naturally, because George is rarely seen without Fred, all three of us were quickly the front of everyone's gossip, and rumors began to fly. Neville seemed sorry enough after hearing one rumor which included himself, so I wasn't too angry with him.

Even after the rumors had slowly come to a stand-still it was difficult to keep ourselves much of a secret. Especially with my visits to the Burrow during summer holidays, when the space we had to work with was drastically minimized and the people we were around were far more inquisitive of one another than much of the population at Hogwarts, we had to be careful. Midnight rendezvous became few and far between, and what infrequent visits we entertained were afternoons hidden in the weed-ridden gardens or nettle-filled wood nearby. Very few and far between were the times when the Burrow was empty but for the three of us, and these were the most precious of times.

Goodbyes at Platform 9 3/4 were most difficult at the commencement of summer holidays. We were forced to say goodbye on the train before it came into station, and out of the compartment we could only cast long and wistful gazes at one another.

Owls were sent in great numbers when I was not visiting the Burrow, and my parents often commented and teased me about having a sweet-heart somewhere, but I kept my peace. I would not indulge them with the truth of the matter, nor would I cease sending owls when they intercepted one of George's poems. I allowed them to keep their fantasies of my sweet-heart by not telling them anything. If my mum found out I was keeping up appearances with two boys, let alone twins, she would go simply mental, and my dad -- Well, his reaction would be much more violent than my mum's.

At the end of the twin's seventh year, we ignored the fact that they would both be leaving while I remained at Hogwarts. We never formally ended things, but by the time I returned to school at the start of term, the owls had grown exceedingly scarce. If at all possible, I threw myself even further into my schoolwork to distract my mind from thoughts of Fred and George, becoming entirely antisocial and introverted. When questioned by Harry and Ron, I made up excuses or changed the subject. I never returned to the Burrow, despite Molly and Ginny Weasley's plethora of invitations and pleas. I simply did not want to see the twins after so long a time had passed.

*

Hermione had managed to make it thus far with dry eyes, and as she paused she cast wary glances to Ron and Harry. Malfoy seemed almost too intrigued by her tale, though he had not been mentioned. After a long silence, the blond man looked around at the others, then back to Hermione with an imploring expression.

"Where does Longbottom join the picture? I was sure you two -- "

"I have an entire year at Hogwarts left to tell, Malfoy," she cut him off abruptly. He smiled warmly.

"Of course. The seventh year." He gestured fluidly with one hand, his other hidden within his robes. "Do continue, Miss Granger."

She glanced at Potter and Ron before speaking again. They stared down at their hands clasped in their laps. She drew in a deep breath, looked to Malfoy, the floor, and the fire, and continued with her story.

*

I had turned to my text books and assignments to sooth the ache of my heart. It was Christmas when Neville arrived in the picture; I had stayed at school to avoid my parents' worries and to continue my head-start with the new term. The ability to return to the many secret places in the castle also kept me at school for the holidays, for as long as I stayed within the stone walls I visited the tiny tower on the west side of the castle where Fred took me for picnics and the tiny room above the library where George had read me his poetry so very often.

Neville remained at school that Christmas for the soul purpose of keeping an eye on me. He was worried, he said, that I could be so consumed with my books and learning. He sat with me every morning at breakfast, noon at lunch, evening at supper. He was by my side in the library and common room, never ceasing to oblige my wishes and keep perfectly silent while I poured over texts and notes and parchments. However, when I asked him to leave, he politely refused and continued to keep watch over me.

One day, after Christmas but before the New Year, he sat beside me as I researched a family of plants for Herbology. His round eyes never left my figure as I read and copied notes in the margin, and after a very long while, he spoke.

"Hermione," he said, "I worry about you, you know. You never speak to anyone but your professors and Harry and Ron and me. You don't even speak to Ginny Weasley anymore." His brow furrowed slightly. "You and Ginny used to be nearly inseparable."

"Times change, Neville," I told him flatly, pausing from my work. "People usually change with them."

"Well you've certainly changed for the worse," he said indignantly. I glanced up sharply, and his eyes went even wider as he tried to amend the situation with a hasty explanation. "I only mean that you've never been so preoccupied with assignments that you would turn down Hogsmeade every single time we're allowed to go. And you've never been so busy that you would miss a Quidditch match, but this year you've not been to a single one." His hand covered mine, and I noticed for the first time that he was trembling. "You're not the same, Hermione. Is it something to do with the twins -- the Weasleys? You can tell me, you know." His forehead knitted with worry. "You can trust me, 'Mione. You can -- "

"Don't call me that," I hissed dangerously, taking my hand back. I leaned close and said, "If you call me that one more time I will personally see to it that you die a very long and very painful death."

"This isn't you!" he exploded, knocking his chair over in his haste to be on his feet. "You don't threaten people, Hermione! You don't -- "

"What do you know about me? Nothing! You don't know a thing about me, or my family, or my friends or the twins or -- "

"LISTEN TO ME," he yelped. Hot tears were gathering in his eyes, and I shut up quickly. "Listen to me." He drew himself away slightly as he continued. "I know that I'm not as close to you as Ron or Harry, but I do believe that I should have the chance to be." He paused, lip quivering and hands shaking as they clenched at his sides. "But if you don't want to tell me anything I understand."

I was speechless for the third time in my life. The first had been when Snape had walked into the conversation Harry, Ron, and I had been having our first year when we thought he had been after the Sorcerers' Stone; the second had been the first time Fred had ever kissed me. But this was a new sort of speechless -- this was a rattling sort. I felt cold and a bit shaken that timid little Neville would be so harshly honest with me.

He turned to go to his dormitory, but stopped when I spoke.

"Neville, I -- " He looked at me with his large brown eyes and I said, "I'm sorry."

After that Neville and I became practically inseparable. From our close friendship came a romance, more dull than that which I had experience with the twins but better in the fact that I knew that Neville would always be there when I needed him. He was secure and dependable. After graduating from Hogwarts at the top of our class, I accepted a job at the Daily Prophet, where I served as a headlining writer and detective. Neville worked for the Ministry in a dependable and predictable department.

He proposed in January two years later. I accepted not because I loved him, though I did in a way quite unlike the passionate way I very nearly loved the twins, but because I knew he would always make a good husband and father. He would be there with his secure, dependable job and would support a family quite nicely without any unpredictabilities.

We had our first son as our one-year anniversary arrived. We named him Ryce, and he had round brown eyes and thick curls of sandy-brown hair. Neville was the responsible, dependable, and, naturally, boring father I had expected him to be. He was there for Ryce's first steps, first words, and first (carefully monitored) spells.

Several peaceful years later, we began to want another child. It was July, and unexpectedly warm and humid. I was on assignment for the Prophet in a small, secluded village just south of Paris where the Quidditch World Cup was being held -- Australia against France -- when I saw the twins again. It had been five years since I had seen them last, but in that first moment it had not felt like a day had passed, as cliched as that sounds.

Fred and George both worked for the Ministry at the time, and had gotten their hands on free tickets to the Cup. As fate would have it (and I'd not believed in fate since third-year Divination with that quack of a professor Trelawney), we were sitting in the same box -- in the same row and three consecutive seats. Somehow in the melee of the game I found myself sitting between them, and George's hand found the small of my back behind my seat while Fred's fingers slipped through mine during a tense play in the game.

The twins had only grown more handsome with time; the both of them were very tall and slightly more broad about the shoulders than I had remembered them. Both said that I had become more beautiful if that was at all possible, and soon I had forgotten that Neville and Ryce were even an issue; I was a fifth-year at Hogwarts again.

The game lasted only a few short hours, until Australia emerged victorious with not only a pleasant amount of goals scored but also the Snitch caught by their Seeker. Fred knew one of the players, a Chaser, and I was taken down to meet the team, lead by Fred and followed by George. The two of them were greeted numerous times by faces I had never seen before. I met the team from Down Under, received the autographed game Quaffle, and was invited to several post-game victory parties, but declined politely. I had work to do, for the Prophet was a harsh mistress.

As we left the Australian team tent, Fred went on ahead in the crowd, and George asked me to dinner. This invitation I accepted; it would have killed me to turn him down. Instead of going into Paris to a cafe, he cooked the meal himself in his tent. Fred, he told me, had gone to one of the Australian parties I had turned down.

George and I danced in the moonlight that night. We shared an exquisite supper, candlelight, and a discussion about the way life had been before we had parted ways. I was quite unsurprised when the evening ended with me in his arms.

*

Malfoy's pale eyes were glued to Hermione's face. She had once again paused, leaving the room shrouded in silence.

"We eagerly await the next installment of your little story, my dear," he said firmly. She nodded hesitantly, and glanced around at the other two men before continuing.

"A few weeks later I arrived home to Neville," she said softly, "without word from the twins since. It was several more months before my second son, Wesley, was born." The hard gaze from Malfoy forced her to add, even more softly still, "He has grey eyes and -- and red hair." Ron glanced up in surprise; Harry, too, seemed startled, but did not lift his gaze from the floor.

"I see," said Malfoy with little compassion. "Indeed -- I see." Hermione buried her face in her hands, but out of what emotion none of the others could place. "And little Wesley is eleven this year?"

"Yes," Hermione croaked after a delay. "A first year at Hogwarts."

"Oh," Malfoy said, blinking across at Potter. "You have him as a student, then?"

His question was met with a stony gaze before the words were spoken; "As I had Ryce before him, yes. They're quite bright kids, Hermione."

"Thank you," she whispered. She took in a sharp breath and said to the blond man, "Malfoy, my story is finished. What say you now?"

Malfoy got to his feet smoothly, his robes hanging on his shoulders as though he was born with them in place. "I believe, Miss Granger," he announced silkily, "that it is time we sleep.

"Tomorrow morning I will leave for you to do with as you please, and we shall resume this bit of reconciliation after breakfast. Now," he clapped his hands once and three house-elves appeared in the doorway, "You will be escorted to your respective rooms. If you have any concerns with your suites, please do not hesitate to tell me, and whatever you find inadequate shall be fixed immediately."

* *