Hermione was a sensible girl. Although many saw her as peculiar, some even going so far as to call her obsessive-compulsive, she always prided herself on her infinite pragmatism. But she knew that her personality was far more complicated than that. She was not some unfeeling, passionless homework machine. And she really did care that people saw her that way, although the perpetually thickheaded Ron still didn't understand why she'd blown up at him when he had called her a femme-bot. He just assumed that it was for the same reason that one week out of the month she would buy out half of he chocolate frogs in Honey Dukes. Ron kept a stash underneath his bed, just in case Hermione's bingeing week didn't happen to fall on a Hogsmeade weekend -- the woman could be deadly when kept away from her chocolate.
But there was George, standing in front of her in a pimp costume, a dopey, pathetic expression on his freckled face. Was he wearing -- good Lord -- a purple velour suit?
she asked, bemused, Why are you dressed like a pimp?
Well, he did look like a pimp.
Uh, you know... Come on, think of an excuse. You're a Weasley twin for Jude's sake...But she's so pretty--look at the way her hair cascades down her back, like rivers freshly broken from winter's spell...Oh, Shove it. Well, you see, I'm going on a date tonight. That's right, make her jealous!
With whom?
With, er, Mary. Mary Sue.
Oh, I've never heard of her before. What house is she in?
Well, she's a sixth year...Hufflepuff.
Ah. You'd better watch out, then. You can't really trust a Hufflepuff girl -- They're notorious heartbreakers. She returned to her book.
Er, cheers...I'd better get going then. Big date, you know.
She nodded, not looking up from Hogwarts: A History. George wondered how he could possibly fancy a girl who had the attention span to read the same book 42 times and yet could still not remember what a Wronski (or Wonky, in her case) Feint was.
Nutters, that one.
Standing just outside the common room, his hands still trembling from speaking to Hermione, a fine layer of anxiety-caused perspiration laced across his forehead, vaguely thirsty, George's heart sank. He had left the enchanted diary in his dormitory, and he couldn't very well go back up to Gryffindor Tower like the pathetic little boy that he was to go get it. He'd lose face in front of Hermione!
Involuntarily, his legs led him down the dank corridor, and his finger stretched out to tickle the pear in the painting that guarded the way to the kitchens; for a Weasley boy, this action was as natural as breathing. Reportedly, Charlie had once eaten 133 kippers, which had to have been some sort of world kipper-eating record.
Nothing could have comforted George more in his moment of romantic desperation than the high, pot-covered ceilings of the Hogwarts kitchen. The aroma of that night's dinner --roast beef with red potatoes-- still hung in the air, instantly reminding him of a frazzled Molly Weasley, stirring several pots at once in the hot, cramped Burrow kitchen.
The reaction to George's presence in the room varied greatly -- some, in anticipation of his voracious appetite, hurriedly began preparing all sorts of treats for him. The elves who had heard of his notorious escapades backed away slowly, for they didn't want to become the next Weasley Wizard Wheezes test-tasters. And still others chose merely to stare at him, trying to figure out which Weasley boy he was.
Is Wheezy come to see Dobby, sir? a flamboyantly dressed elf with an unusually long nose squeaked.
Er, yeah. George sighed, creaking into a tiny chair. It had been a long day. Listen, do you think you could get me some warm milk?
Dobby waived his spindly little hand at one of the other elves, who quickly skipped off to fulfill George's request. What is matter with Wheezy?
Well, you see, Dobby -- He stopped. It felt funny, really, spilling the intricacies of his pitiful love life to a creature who looked as though a weaving loom had spontaneously
combusted on top of him. There's this girl, and I, you know, have feelings for her.
Is Wheezy sad, sir? I'm sure Winky would let you have some of her, he lowered his voice considerably here, Happy Pills.
Winky, of course, had been on an extreme regimen of highly potent antidepressants since Barty Crouch, Jr. was discovered impersonating Mad Eye Moody. She was even required to see McGonnagall for counseling sessions every Tuesday, although George didn't see how talking to that devil bitch could help anyone's mental stability. No wonder the fragile thing was sitting in a corner trembling, her tomato nose running unchecked.
Erm, no thanks, he said. He certainly didn't want to turn into Winky.
Where is she now?
Wheezy's girl.
Oh, that is very hard to say, Dobby. She could be any number of places -- asking her professors for extra homework, writing a hard-hitting biography of Gilderoy Lockhart, or single-handedly undoing the socioeconomic principles of Wizarding England.
She is very busy, then?
George chuckled. Yeah, you could say that. She probably wouldn't have time for me even if she did want me. But as it stands--
Maybe Wheezy should helps her.
Well, if Wheezy helps her, Wheezy spends time with her, and she can get feelings for Wheezy, too.
Considering that he had been accepting advice from an incorporeal dunderhead for a week, this seemed like a fairly sound plan to follow. Perhaps if Hermione saw that he was a compassionate --and well-dressed-- activist, she would return his...ardor.
The phrase speak of the devil had always confused George, and he never knew the proper moment to use it. However, he learned the true meaning of the expression right then, as none other than Hermione honestly, it's for your own good Granger walked through the kitchen doorway.
Hullo, Hermione, George chirped, I've come to help out with spew.
***
Sorry for the un-anticipated delay posting this. I've been working on it in chunks since I posted chapter 2, and it just came together last night. I've got bigger plans for George than he knows. Also, I would just like to thank everyone who posted those nice reviews -- seeing those semi-colon-laden messages really cheered me up a lot (I've had a rough month). Yay!!!
