"Stage Fights" by Quidditch, Anyone?
Back To Work
In no time at all, Ron was in tip-top shape and ready to rehearse again. Even better news was that no one in the whole school suspected what had happened, for Ron was very meticulous about his rituals to make sure his lips looked normal. Hermione was also kind enough not to go blabbing about what happened because, well, she was Hermione.
Normally the backstage members of a play have a great load of preparation to do before a performance- set making, costumes, lighting- but one of the perks of being a witch or wizard in showbiz was that one flick of your wand could make the Great Hall into one huge Broadway stage. So the jobs of the stage crew was more or less to thoroughly pamper the big-headed, spoiled, egotisti- er, talented young actors. Herds of exhausted Hogwarts students flooded the halls at all practice hours with hot towels or extra-large lattes in their hands. Among the few that weren't bending over backwards for this play were Fred and George. However, they did have their hands full with some 'other' planning.
"So Gordon back in Hogsmeade loves the idea, but is tight on the Galleon at the moment..." Fred reported late one night by the fire.
"I don't want to work with ol' Fatty, anyhow," George speared another marshmallow with the fire poker as he spoke. "Seems like a cheat to me. Doesn't trust us 'cause we're still in school."
Fred sputtered slightly. "Oh, please. Anyone with half a brain knows our stuff is high-quality... they should be begging for our business, not degrading us."
"Well, next year we'll be out of here, so maybe things will get better. No more schmoozy-woozy negotiating on our parts." George turned his marshmallow while Fred frantically pulled a flaming one out from the fire.
"Yeah, still doesn't change the fact we'll be the youngest merchandise sellers around, though," he said between puffing out the tiny fire. "God damn..."
"I'll eat it," George said, reaching over. "They're good burnt. Try one," he chomped. Fred made a face.
"This is why I'm in charge of food manufacturing."
"Not if we can't find a someone who'll do business with us," George swallowed. "Then we're right outta luck, my friend."
The twins were silent for a moment. Probably for the first moment since birth.
"I know!" George said suddenly, causing his brother to drop the whole sack of white puffs on the floor. "Okay, hear my out!"
"All ears."
"What if," he started dramatically. "We got a teacher to do business with us! You know, pretend he's the one selling all our inventions, but really we're getting most of the cash. I promise you, we'll get much better offers if it's with-"
Fred cut him short with his uproarious laughter. "Are you trying to commit school regulation suicide, George?"
George blushed.
"Yeah, let's go up to McGonagall and blatantly admit we're making and selling practically illegal inventions from school. Not only that, but ask if, oh, she would mind doing us this small favor, and she'd even get to keep ten percent-"
"No!" George stomped his foot. "I-I didn't mean it like that." He obviously had no alternative, but he was merely trying to save face.
"Well, then, please tell me how you expect to get some teacher here, some thick-headed, dumb ass of a fool-"
Fred stopped. George grinned. Fred grinned. The marshmallows were roasting once again and the plan was mutually set without saying a word.
·~··~··~·
It was never harder to concentrate on Arithmacy. Ever time she saw the numbers sprawled out in some strategic was unknown to her at the moment, they would swim around in different patterns. First of a heart, then of a smiling mouth, then two people standing very close together. Then every time she got too absorbed and snapped her book shut, she saw a real-life image that had the same mesmerizing effect on her, fixing his hair in a mirror or something simple like that. Hermione sighed. She was far too smart to play such mind games with herself. Even in this crowded room behind the stage, she should be able to pay attention to the extra homework she had assigned herself. But not when he was there. Lately Ron-watching took precedence over all over activities.
She shook her head and forcefully went back to studying. Stupid redheads...
"Hermione?"
Her head shot up as if were attached to a string. "Yes?"
In full costume, Ron walked over with two tattered hats in his hand. "This one," he placed one atop his hair. "Or this one," he switched.
"Well, no matter what, you're still going to be some super-fine hunk even in those grotesque clothes for the play."
Right, like she would actually say what her head voice told her.
"Umm, the first one," she said shyly. "It goes better with your shoes."
Ron looked down at his footwear while putting on the cap. Then he smiled. "And since when do you know so much about matching clothes and whatnot?"
She turned a page and started to read again. "Well, I know you haven't actually noticed this yet, but I am a girl."
Most unfortunately, she didn't even realize what she had said until it was too late. She didn't mean to bring back passed quarrels with Ron, especially about certain fourth-year Yule Balls.
"I mean-"
"Oh. Well, I was just saying- it's not really like you to be all concerned with that kind of stuff. I'm just saying... it's nice how you're, you know, different," Ron mumbled. He secured his hat again and turned away, the back of his neck blazing with an embarrassed shade of red.
"Ron! I didn't really mean-" she shouted, but later than she had intended. Ron had left in no time.
Nope, I didn't die. I've just been preoccupied and lazy about not updating. I know all these chapters aren't as funny as maybe the first few, but it's harder after not working on stories for a while. Anyway, here's the latest chapter. Next one out sooner, I hope.
