"Fred and George still not up?" Mrs. Weasley frowned at her reflection in the mirror, before turning round to address her children. "And them going to bed so early last night, as well. Must have been tired out, bless their souls."
Ron and Ginny exchanged guilty glances. Hermione continued spooning creamy porridge into her mouth, hoping that if she ate her breakfast quickly enough they would manage to leave without seeing the twins. Although she had dismissed George's introspective diagnosis as nothing more than drunken ramblings, her bed had seemed uncommonly lumpy as she had lain tossing and turning, with nothing to dwell on but George's words. Maybe they were true. Well, she knew he was right; that was what had riled her so much. It was one thing admitting to loneliness in times of self-doubt, quite another hearing it prescribed so glibly by an observant acquaintance. But how could he possibly try to empathise with her? George: one half of the dream team, adored and feted wherever he went; popular, funny, attractive even. Hermione: walking dictionary and bossy know-it-all. She didn't appreciate him making fun of her like that, sneakily trying to draw a confession out of her.
"Well I can't wait for them, they can fix their own breakfasts. I'll be gone for a couple of hours while I get some more food shopping done. Lock up if you go out. See you later."
Hermione joined the Weasley chorus of goodbyes as Mrs. Weasley shut the door behind her. Ginny and Ron let out relieved sighs.
"Pssst, has she gone yet?"
Hermione turned around to see George – or possibly Fred, or possibly even a rogue vagabond – peek his head around the corner. His hair was standing on end in curly peaks and there were dark shadows underneath his gummy eyes.
"Wait." Ginny ran to the window and peered out on tiptoe. "Yep, coast's clear, Fred"
"Urrrrgh!" Fred groaned, crumpling pathetically into the nearest chair. "Tiny little men are playing very loud drums in my head."
"Eggs; fried or poached?" Ginny said authoritatively as she began laying thick rashers of bacon on the frying pan.
"Aw, Gin, you're a star. Fried, and no mushrooms for me." He lay his head back down on the table and closed his eyes.
"Mine's fried and extra baked beans." George broke in, stumbling sheepishly into the kitchen and looking as though he'd slept upside down. He stretched theatrically and let out a heartfelt yawn, scratching his chest through his open pyjama shirt distractedly. Hermione lowered her eyes and coloured slightly, wondering whether he was feeling the same awkwardness as her. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he collapsed into the chair next to Fred.
"What are you guys up to today?" Ron addressed the top of Fred's head.
"mmm nnnnm mmm nnnn m"
"And for those of us without the mumblese dictionary?"
"We were going to go into Diagon Alley - got to be there to sign for some new stock we're expecting," George said slowly, idly stirring the jam spoon around the sticky jar.
"Ooh, goody! Can we come along too? I was going to take Hermione into the village again – somehow I think her first impression of Ottery St. Catchpole was slightly skewed - but London would be much more fun."
"Yeah, I need to go to the Quidditch store." Ron broke in excitedly. "'Mione, you don't mind going to Diagon Alley, do you?"
She nodded, sneaking a quick glance at George to try and gauge his reaction. But he was too busy plaiting Cheerio hoops into Fred's hair to be bothered with Hermione's response.
After a leisurely breakfast, during which Fred treated them to a lively description of his stomach's contents, as revealed by the morning's violent bout of queasiness ('ooh, do you not want the rest of that toast, Hermione?'), they donned their travelling cloaks and stood expectantly in front of the fire.
"Ladies first." George handed the pot of Floo Powder to Ginny. She took a handful and threw it into the fire.
"Diagon Alley!" she shouted, before disappearing into the green flames.
Hermione walked forward nervously – she had never much cared for Floo travel.
"Diagon Alley!" She felt herself spinning wildly as dozens of grates whizzed past her eyes. She tucked her elbows tightly into her body, unable to shake off the feeling that she was only a hair's breadth away from careering into the brick walls. Finally she was spat out at the other end, stumbling out of a large stone fireplace and into a back room of the Leaky Cauldron. She stepped forward and out of the way just in time for Ron to skid out of the hearth after her. He was followed moments later by a sooty George and a very pale-faced Fred.
"Excuse me." He ran off toward the toilets, hand clamped over his mouth, a witness to Weasley's Third Law of Motion that hangovers and centrifugal forces do not mix.
George shrugged. "While my dear brother contemplates the finer things in life, I suggest we split up and meet back here for lunch at one o'clock."
"Here, you've got soot on your nose." Ginny leaned forward and tried to wipe the black smudge off his nose with her handkerchief.
"Gerrof!" George whined, pulling his head away as he noted with alarm the demonic Molly Weasley glint of domesticity in his sister's eyes.
"Come on," she giggled, linking her arm through Hermione's. "We need to do some shopping for Saturday night."
Which explains how Hermione came to find herself sitting boredly on the changing room floor of Madame Malkin's hours later.
"Does my bum look big in this?" Ginny whined expectantly as she pulled aside the changing room curtain aside and twirled in front of the floor length mirror.
"Mmm." Hermione mumbled noncommittally without taking her eyes off the Witch magazine she was rifling boredly through. She flipped past an article on the latest diet fad with disgust, dreading to think how Muggles would interpret their culture if they based it purely on analysis of their reading material. 'They'd think we were all men-obsessed harridans with arses the size of Venezuela,' she thought grimly to herself.
"You're not even looking!" Ginny stamped her foot impatiently. Hermione sighed and looked up to find Ginny looking as gorgeous as ever. She was wearing a deep purple dress that nipped in flatteringly at the waist, before flaring out below the boned bodice. "I mean, it's just to get some ideas, not like I can afford this."
"You look great Gin, just like you did in the last fifty dresses. Now can we please go?"
"Just a few more?" she pleaded, before being thrown what Ron would have instantly recognised as the patented Granger death stare, ideal for eradicating even the most stubborn of irritants. "Erm, well why don't we split up and meet up again at the Leaky Cauldron with the others?"
Hermione nodded with relief while Ginny stared blankly at the older girl, wondering whether an X chromosome had gone awry somewhere during conception. She watched her leave the shop with a sudden pang of guilt, wondering whether she had pushed her guest too far. It couldn't be easy for Hermione, knowing that she was not going to be able to be with her parents over Christmas and suddenly thrown headfirst into Weasley World. She would try to find more time for her tomorrow. Well, after their double date, of course. She sighed, before returning to the waiting pile of dresses with glee.
Hermione could hardly have stepped into a more different world. She breathed in slowly as she entered Flourish & Botts, as though trying to inhale all the knowledge contained within. A new book display caught her eye at the far end of the shop and she wandered over to the laden table. She picked up a copy of 'Famous Wizard Partnerships' and opened it up on the contents page, looking to see whether it included any essays on Dumbledore and Flamel.
"Looking for me and my good brother in there?"
Hermione jumped about three feet in the air, clasping a hand to her hammering heart as she turned around to find George standing behind her. She usually had difficulty differentiating between the two, but was aided by the streaky black mark still smudged across his nose.
She rounded on him angrily. "You scared me half to death, sneaking up like that!" She paused. "And I thought you hated being one half of the dynamic duo."
"What are you talking about?"
"Last night, your little 'woe is me, and all I touch' speech."
He laughed uneasily. "I'm afraid my memory of last evening's activities begins and ends with the bottom of a pint glass. I'm quite proud of the fact I retained my vision, never mind the ability to string a semi-coherent sentence together. I wouldn't take anything I said to heart – was I confessing a dark, undying love for Professor McGonagall again?"
Hermione frowned. Although his tone was perfectly confident there was a distinct shiftiness about his eyes as they steadfastly avoided her own. Was this a front? Was he making a joke to hide his embarrassment… or was he really just that shallow? Her money was with the latter; she couldn't really get beyond the classroom clown she remembered from Hogwarts, surrounded by an enraptured audience in the Gryffindor common room.
"No, just some quasi-theological rubbish," Hermione lied. "What are you doing in here anyway?"
"Incredulity in Hermione Granger's voice; noted and digested. Sorry, am I not allowed to take an active interest in self-improvement, or have I been pigeon-holed as nothing more than an ignorant joke shop proprietor?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I wasn't trying to say-" Hermione blustered, until George broke out into a grin and leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially into her ear.
"Actually, I'm trying to find an Engorgement Potion recipe for a new range we're working on. But I like to retain my air of educated man about town."
Hermione blushed, well aware that she actually had pigeon-holed him. He watched her blushing and understood. At least she had the good grace to look embarrassed as she lowered her head, letting a few stray tendrils fall over her face. Well, he could certainly empathise with her on that point – the amount of times he had spent staring into a mirror as a child and wishing his hair were any other colour but red. He had heard Ginny trying to cajole her into applying Sleekeasy's Hair Potion enough times to know that her hair was probably not the most desirable type to teenage witches. Yet he thought it pretty; beautiful the way it escaped every time she tried to constrain and tame it within those small hair bands she insisted on using. If that were Ginny, she would have chopped it off and bleached it dead years ago. He fought the impulse to reach out and brush it away from her face, imaging what Fred would say if he knew that his twin was currently entertaining thoughts of Hermione Granger's attractiveness, or, more to the point, how Ron would react. Good job he knew they had absolutely nothing in common – impossible situation all round.
Hermione felt him looking at her, no doubt sneering at her bookishness. He was probably wishing his house invader could be more normal, more like his sister. She certainly wouldn't spend her precious time in Diagon Alley in a mouldy old bookstore. Never-the-less, she felt compelled to fill the silence - she was not having him think she was stupid as well as insensitive.
"I think the best one is in Gideon Mendelson's 'A Journey Through Potions, Old and New.' They've got it here in the reference section – bit too obscure to appear in with the Potions' textbooks. But it depends what you want the Engorgement Potion for; different recipes can have different reactions depending on what you combine them with. That's why I wouldn't recommend the one in 'Perplexing Potions Presented' which most people make the mistake of using; can have some pretty nasty side effects if you intend on using – what? Sorry, I'm boring you aren't I?" She blushed a deeper shade of red as she noted George's blank face.
"No, no, not at all! You're just going too fast for me to absorb it all. This is great stuff; I didn't have a clue where to start looking. Not something they taught at Hogwarts was it, ey?" He winked at her, and she felt her face grow even hotter at the implied innuendo. Damn it, she couldn't get used to seeing Fred and George as adults, rather than mischievous schoolboys she had to frequently admonish with threats of detention. The power pendulum had certainly swung the other way.
"I can show you where it is, if you want," she muttered.
He frowned. She didn't have to make her annoyance at his lack of Potions knowledge quite so obvious – it wasn't his fault that he had spent his obligatory five years in the dungeons trying to think up ever more ingenious ways to seriously piss off Snape. Well, okay, maybe it was, but it was hardly unjustified, or even particularly unusual. Yet he followed obediently as she led the way through to a small side room, watching her hips swing and wondering how long it would take before Ron laid his hands on them.
"Here." She took down a thick red book from the shelf and handed it to him, smiling. "You can copy the recipe down."
"Thanks." He smiled back, relieving her of the weighty tome. "Hermione, I-"
"What's this, a Weasley with something new in his hands? Contemplating a shoplifting career are we? Because Merlin knows you certainly can't afford to buy anything in this shop on your Dad's pathetic excuse for a wage. Oh, and I see you've managed to bag yourself a Mudblood accomplice. Just when I thought you couldn't sink any lower." Draco turned to acknowledge Hermione, cold grey eyes glittering maliciously as he swept into the room, looking her up and down critically.
"Shut it, Malfoy," George growled as Hermione placed a restraining hand on his arm. She knew that Draco was just trying to wind them up, to evoke a reaction that he could feed off. But while she was able to dismiss such insults as inflammatory rhetoric she was well aware that the Weasley boys could not stay so clear-headed when they found their family honour under attack.
"Draco." Hermione acknowledged him with a small, tight-lipped nod, trying to take the higher moral ground. George shook her hand off roughly and took a threatening step toward Draco. He had just opened his mouth to speak when another figure swooshed into the pokey side room. Tall and elegant, he swept his silver-lined robes around him with unnecessary flourish, taking in his son's unsavoury companions with a perceptible narrowing of his haughty eyes.
"Well, well," Lucius Malfoy spoke slowly, looking down his long aristocratic nose as he placed his ebony wand cane repressively on his son's shoulder. "What a pleasant surprise. Another Weasley and a… forgive me, I seem to have forgotten your family name." he sneered, in a way that left no doubt that he was passing comment on Hermione's Muggle descent rather than his memory.
"It's Granger, Hermione Granger," George spat angrily as Hermione cursed his fast temper. It was exactly this sort of reaction that always ended in trouble.
"Oh, silly me. How could I forget Hogwarts' most promising talent?" Lucius drawled. Hermione's eyes flicked to the pewter head of his wand cane, which she noted was digging viciously into the flesh of Draco's shoulder. "It seems one can hardly publish an examiners' report at Hogwarts without Hermione Granger's name appearing at the top."
"Er, thanks." Hermione knew Lucius was not really paying her a compliment as his eyes bored into hers. She could feel the icy hostility rolling off him in waves, and for a brief moment almost felt sorry for Draco, dragged along like an obedient dog on a leash.
"Perhaps my son can pick up something of your conscientiousness," he said smoothly, but with an unmistakably malicious undertone. He turned his withering gaze on Draco, who looked at Hermione with such venom that she almost gasped. Really, it was hardly her fault that he didn't work as hard as she did, and that she had beaten him in every O.W.L. except for History of Magic as a consequence. Did people expect her to write her exam papers with a blunt piece of chalk, sat on a wobbly chair or something, so that she could give the other students a chance? It was bad enough being blamed for her intelligence by her classmates without their parents also entering the affray.
"I dare say he can, picks most other things up," George sneered.
"Spoken like a true Weasley," Lucius flashed back, looking George up and down with distaste.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" George said, taking another step forward, which only succeeded in emphasising Lucius' impressive stature.
"Oh, I'm sure Miss Granger, our resident expert, can help you out with the difficult long words you don't understand," he drawled as Draco smirked appreciatively.
"Actually, we were just going." Hermione grabbed George by the elbow and steered him toward the archway and back into the main shop. Lucius stood unmoving for a second longer, before finally stepping out of the way when Hermione made to brush past him.
"Good day, Miss Granger," he smirked to her retreating back.
"What did you go and do that for?" George hissed as soon as they had stepped back onto the busy street. "Made us look like we were scared of him, scurrying out of the shop just because he entered. That's exactly what he wants." He made to turn back into the shop, causing Hermione to reassert her grip around his arm.
"No, what he wants is for you to lose your temper and do something silly. He's a dangerous man, Lucius Malfoy."
"I'm not scared of him," George snapped back, finally pulling his arm free.
"Well you should be!" Hermione screamed in his face, "You bloody well should be!"
George stumbled back in shock, confronted by Hermione's inner-Banshee. Yet it was not like his mother's shrieking hysterics; he could feel a powerful sense of purpose within Hermione which extended beyond the immediate concern of whether or not he had deposited wet Wheetabix in Ron's bed. This was for real.
"Men like that, they don't make idle threats. In fact, they don't make threats at all; they just do it. The Malfoy's have a lot more resources behind them than even your dad could imagine. One shouldn't succumb to anger over calculated insult trades, handing them the weapons with which to both attack and defend themselves. Think, George, before you open your big mouth next time."
She stalked off down the road, banging haphazardly into any Witch or Wizard who was fool enough to remain in her path. George stared into space for a while longer, digesting her words, before running to catch her up and knocking into the recently recovered pedestrians all over again.
"You're right, Hermione," he said, out of breath by the time he had managed to catch up with her. She was like an exorcet missile with elbows parting the crowds, while he lumbered through laboriously in a cloud of apologies and polite 'excuse me's. "I can't help getting riled by that little prick," he added bitterly.
"I know," she sighed, "But he's very perceptive. He calculates peoples emotional vulnerabilities and exploits them accordingly."
"I don't know how you keep your cool with him. Is it Ron he tends to give a hard time at school then?"
"Oh, I see. You're choosing to interpret my self-restraint as some form of hypocritical judgementalism? It's not a plague unique to the Weasley house, you know. Draco says some truly terrible things to me." She lowered her head.
"I didn't mean – well, yes I did actually," George admitted honestly, catching her eye and smiling sheepishly. "I guess you always seem so calm, so together. I forget you're just a mere mortal, underneath it all."
Hermione frowned, unsure whether he was making fun of her again. That was the trouble with funny guys; they only ever did one emotion. Try to set them in the context of a serious adult conversation and they sent all sorts of weird mixed signals whizzing through the air. Ron was much simpler to interpret, and she'd even come to recognise the tell-tale signs in Harry which warned her that he was about to veer off into one of his violent mood-swings. But she didn't have a clue what was going on in George's head. It bugged her, although she also found it strangely intriguing discovering what made him tick. Although he had plenty of friends she doubted whether they ventured below the glossy veneer he presented to the world. Even Ron had George well and truly typecast as Loveable Buffoon #2.
"Well if it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one who's lost their temper to him. I once slapped him across the face," she giggled, "And I don't know which was more priceless; the look on Malfoy's face, or the shock on Harry and Ron's."
"Hermione Granger! Bodily assault is no laughing matter, young lady… but since it's a Slytherin you so kindly chose to dehabilitate that'll be five points to Gryffindor," George said, mimicking his old Head of House, Professor McGonagall.
Hermione laughed. "I'm not even going to ask how you got so good at impersonating an elderly Scottish lady."
"Well, loveable young scamp that I am-"
Hermione held a hand up to interrupt him. "Stop right there. My delicate constitution can't take disturbing revelations this early in the day."
"I was referring to the amount of time I spent in her office on the receiving end of a 'talk' – what on earth did you think I was talking about?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively.
"Well, one does wonder exactly how you managed to stay in Hogwarts so long without getting kicked out on your ear." She looked at him sideways.
"Why, by merit of my amazing brains, of course. The sorting hat seriously considered putting me in Ravenclaw, you know."
Hermione's smile froze as she was filled with the horrible uncertainty of whether or not he was making fun of her again, remembering the very same words she had confided to Terry Boot at one of the Defence Association meetings. Honestly, it was more hassle than it was worth talking to George. He just made her feel miserable, and not in the straightforward Malfonian sense where you could walk off indignantly and proceed to righteously complain to a sympathetic ear. No one else seemed to get that he could be just as mean, in his own subtle way. It was safer just to not talk to him at all, to show him that she knew perfectly well what he was doing. She didn't want to hand him weapons that he would laugh about behind her back.
She moved away slightly, allowing a larger gap to grow between them as they walked to the Leaky Cauldron in uneasy conversation. George kept a constant stream of narrative going for her benefit, but it mostly went uncommented on by a suddenly dull Hermione. The louder her silence, the more he found himself babbling in intimidation. He knew he was boring her, so much so that she had fallen silent in an attempt to discourage further discourse, but he couldn't help himself. When he got nervous he talked; that's how he hid it. He wished he was interesting enough, clever enough, to hold her attention, but it seemed that he wasn't.
He held the door open for her as she stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, thankful for the company of others to remove her omniscient gaze. He needed a drink. Loosen up a bit.
9