Author's Notes: GASP! The final chapter! Tee hee. Actually, I got an idea for an epilogue, but I'm not sure if I'll write it or not; for now, expect this to be the last chapter of "Just a Harmless Joke." If I have any news about the epilogue or a sequel, I'll put it on my biography page, or you'll see it on author alert if you sign up for that. :sniffles: Oh, it's so sad… It's actually OVER… Well, I'm working on e-mailing everyone I said I'd e-mail, and reading everything I said I'd read, and replying to all the reviews and e-mails I've been getting… I just was editing this story and got so nostalgic that I realized I needed to post it and let it go, rather than stare at it and sniffle pathetically; I am SO gonna miss this story. I hope you all will, too; let me know what you think of the conclusion.

Chapter Twenty-One

Master Plan

I'm completely insane, Hermione grumbled to herself as she headed for the library. She needed books, and she needed them now. Harry was at practice, Ginny was serving detention for something to do with roaring (and—mostly—harmless) lions roaming the Slytherin dormitories, and Ron was at practice as well, not to mention rather pissed off at her, and even Crookshanks was off wandering around somewhere. So Hermione turned to the last comfort she could think of—books.

Try as she might, she couldn't get Fred out of her head. She liked him, she knew she liked him, and it hurt that he didn't like her back. It seemed so stupid to her—after everything else she had to deal with, Voldemort and Harry and Sirius and so on, a crush should be nothing. But it wasn't nothing; it was driving her mad.

She couldn't stop trying to analyze Fred's reaction to Harry's presence. Had he been pissed that Harry was there because Fred wanted to further some stupid plan to embarrass her, or had it been because he looked forward to being alone with her? She wanted to believe it was the second, but she didn't dare hope for it. Still, his reaction had seemed… off. Not just in the whole I've-gone-mad way, but… there was something more to it. Was she reading too much into it? Was it possible he liked her after all? No, of course not, that was—

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Hermione screamed as someone grabbed her arm and yanked her behind a suit of armor and into a secret passage. A hand covered her mouth to keep her from yelling and she began to panic, kicking out—

"OW! Stop it! It's me!"

George. Well, then—

"OW! OW! Quit it! OW! OW! OW!"

George let her go and Hermione whirled to face him. "What the hell are you doing!" she hissed.

"Keeping you from screaming so a half-dozen teachers don't show up," George groaned, rubbing his shins. "Was that necessary?"

"You're lucky I didn't have my wand out," she snarled. "Don't DO that!"

"Well, excuuuuuse me, but I wanted to talk to you."

"And you couldn't get my attention the normal way?"

"First of all, that's absolutely no fun, and second, that rarely works with you anymore."

"Which is your fault."

"Yeah, yeah."

Hermione sighed. "What do you want, George? And why aren't you at Quidditch practice?"

"Angelina finally figured out that Fred was trying to kill Harry when he missed Harry for the thirty-seventh time and tried to bash Harry with his bat."

"WHAT!"

"Yeah, she was really slow on the uptake, if you ask me. I mean, all those times when Fred missed the Bludger, she couldn't tell he was out of it? And the Bludger flying almost exclusively at Harry, I mean, come on—"

"Not Angelina, you moron, Fred! Oh, god, Harry's gonna kill me! I knew I…" Hermione trailed off, frowning. Surely Fred wasn't THAT pissed about Harry coming to the detention? Had… had he already picked up on the message she was trying to send, that Harry supposedly liked her? If so, how? And if he had, why had that pissed him off?

"Figured it out yet?" George asked mildly. She looked up to see him leaning casually against the wall, watching her expression; she knew her thoughts were probably quite visible on her face.

"Figured what out?" she said sourly.

George sighed and stood up straight, looking her straight in the eye, his gaze intense to the point of being intimidating. "What the hell have you done to my brother?"

"What do you—?"

"Don't you dare play innocent," George said in a commanding tone. "He's lost his mind, Hermione. You're all he talks about. He hasn't been truly enthusiastic about making plans since the beginning of this mess. Last night, he went to bed early, laid there awake most of the night, and some time after I fell asleep, he left the room, and then came back pissed off and with a maniacal gleam in his eye that I've only ever seen in Quidditch captains. What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Hermione said, frowning and looking away. Was George to be trusted? Something was off about him; for the first time since she'd met him, George seemed serious and sincere at the same time. Her instincts told her to believe him, and there was something else, but what…?

Fred left the dorms in the middle of the night last night and came back angry… oh, god. Last night… I was with Harry.

Hermione burst out laughing. So that was it; Fred really believed she was with Harry or something. How completely ironic; they'd planned to do such a thing and before they could get the plot halfway off the ground, Fred had done the work for them and skipped straight to the end.

Why had it pissed him off, though? Was she ruining some evil plan with the Harry thing? Must be; there was no other explanation… right?

Just then, she heard two familiar voices in the hallway outside—Harry and Ron, making their way back from Quidditch practice.

"I'm going to kill Hermione," Harry growled. "He could've killed me!"

"Yeah, it was awful." Ron let out a few snorts of suppressed laughter.

"Oh, shut up. I knew this would happen."

"You knew Fred was going to fly at you in the middle of Quidditch practice, swinging like mad and screaming 'She's MINE' like a lunatic?"

"I knew he liked her, and that he'd probably try to kill me the moment we went through with this stupid plan. Well, I'm done with this. I have too many people trying to kill me as it is!"

"Well, at least we know how he really feels about Hermione," Ron said, not sounding the least bit upset by it.

Hermione froze, shocked to the core. Was that it? Was Harry right? Had Fred really been telling the truth the day before? Had she misinterpreted what she'd overheard him say to Lee and George?

She looked up at George, no longer laughing, her face uncertain. George sighed and gave her a pleading look.

"Listen, I'm not really good with the whole pep-talk/advice thing, okay? Fred likes you, accept it, you like him, accept that too, go snog him, okay?" She gave him a funny look. "What? Weasleys don't do wise men impersonations, damn it. Just go ask him out, will you? I can't take much more of this. I'm tired of getting beat up and humiliated."

Hermione smiled, suddenly feeling like a new person. Fred wanted her. Fred wanted her, and she wanted him, and that was all there was to it.

"Where's Fred now?" she asked.

"Our room," George said, hope creeping into his voice. "Are you going to talk to him? …Or are you going to beat the crap out of him?"

Hermione laughed again leaned up to peck George a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, George," she said, heading for the exit. She paused at the entrance to the hallway and gave him a final grin. "And I'm really sorry about your eye."

George watched her go, shaking his head. "Mental, that one," he murmured. "She's perfect for him."

Fred lay on his bed, his thoughts alternating between praying that no one turned him in for trying to kill Harry (Dumbledore took attempts on Harry's life very seriously, after all) and beating himself up. How stupid could he be? Great way to get on a girl's good side—scream at her during detention, then try to kill her close friend and crush/boyfriend/whatever the hell they were.

The door opened and Fred groaned inwardly, not wanting to face a lot of questions or accusations from George and Lee and quite possibly Angelina, Alicia and Katie. He cringed, praying he'd be left alone, closing his eyes as the hangings around his bed were yanked back in the hopes that he could feign sleep.

"Oh, come on, you idiot," said an all-to-familiar voice that made his body jerk with shock. "I know you're not asleep."

Fred's eyes flew open and he stared at Hermione dumbly, completely clueless as to what to do; part of him wanted to run and part of him wanted to grab her, pull her to him, and shut the hangings again. "What?" he said stupidly, unable to think. Why was she here? She'd never come here before, except on Christmas once or twice, and that was just to give them their presents. Especially not when they were in the middle of a war.

"You're an idiot," Hermione said, her arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the wall, looking down at him. "Why couldn't you just ask me out like a normal person?"

Fred sat up and glared at her. "What makes you think I want to ask you out?" he snapped. "Why don't you just go back to Harry and leave me alone?"

Hermione giggled and Fred jumped up, glaring at her, but she just smiled up at him, unfazed. "I think the better question is what makes you think I want to be with Harry?" she said calmly.

Fred rolled his eyes. "Don't even try to deny it," he growled. "I know you like him. I saw you two last night."

"You saw us doing something we do all the time, you mean."

Fred frowned. "You've only ever done that when one of you is upset," he said. "And there wasn't anything going on yesterday, nothing about You-Know-Who or the Death—"

"I was upset," she interrupted. "I heard George and Lee congratulating you on a joke well done in the bathroom."

Fred's jaw dropped. "You… what?"

"I decided to come talk to you, and I heard George and Lee saying it had been a joke," she repeated. "I don't know why I didn't guess you were just being a typical guy and putting up a front about it. All the time I spent with Harry and Ron, and all the times you've lied your ass off—"

"What makes you think it was anything more than a joke?" Fred snapped.

"George," she said, still completely calm. "He stopped me for a chat."

Fred blinked. "George went to talk to you?" She nodded. "But… but… George is terrified of you!"

"As well he should be," she said with a grin. "But he told me you've been B.S.'ing him for quite a few weeks now—"

"Damn that intuitive twin thing," Fred muttered.

"—and helped me figure out your master plan," she finished, her tone becoming softer, her eyes shining as she smiled at him.

Fred found himself smiling back, his anger melting away. She did like him, she really did, she wanted to be with him, it wasn't all a joke after all…

"You figured it out, eh?" he said. "Damn. You mean I have to come up with a new way to kill Harry?"

Hermione laughed, pushing away from the wall and walking towards him, stopping barely a foot away. "Oh, come on," she said, "you knew you'd never get away with it. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's keeping people from murdering my friends."

Fred grinned. "You just love messing with me, don't you."

"It's becoming a new favorite hobby," Hermione said mock-seriously.

"What's the other? Messing with George? Or riding on jinxed sleds?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to get you back for that one, you know. One day, when you least expect it, I'm going to strap you to a jinxed sled and send you shooting off all over the countryside."

Fred threw back his head and laughed. "You've got one hell of a poker-face, you know that? I can almost believe you're not joking."

"I'm not," she growled, socking him in the arm.

"Ow," he said, still laughing. "Okay, well, assuming that you're not going to try it at the moment, what are you doing here?"

"I came up here to talk… mostly," Hermione told him.

"Mostly?" Fred repeated suspiciously.

She grinned up at him. "I have one or two other things in mind, I'll admit."

"Do they include a black eye?" he couldn't resist asking.

She giggled. "No," she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes, "even better."

"Oh, yeah? Come to break a few bones? Or could you just not wait until tomorrow's detention to get your hands on me?"

Hermione smiled, shaking her head. "The correct answer is B."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

A slow smile spread across his face. "Did you really figure out my master plan?"

"The one where you try to kill Harry during a Quidditch game and make it look like an accident? Because that one's been done—"

"Did you figure out that I'm crazy about you," he interrupted. "That my twin and close friends have all been driven mad because of it. That humiliating you was just a bonus; all I really wanted was to kiss you."

Hermione grinned. "Well, duh," she joked. "I've known all that for ages. I was just playing along."

Hermione stepped forward, pressing herself to him and tilting her head back to kiss him. For the first time, their kiss was slow, deeper and more passionate, not as frantic as before. Hermione slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, her fingers getting tangled in his hair. He pulled her as close to him as possible, suddenly hit with the realization that this time, when the kiss ended, she wouldn't run off or try to kill him. She'd stay with him, she'd stop messing with his head, and George would be quite overjoyed to learn that she was no longer violent. She was his now, his and his alone.

Fred pulled back, their lips still so close they were almost touching. He opened his eyes, savoring the blissful, happy expression on her face. "So," he said casually, "you want to go out sometime?"

Hermione couldn't fight the grin that came at his words. "Sure," she replied, shaking her head at the irony of the situation. "After all, you're much better-looking than Harry."

Fred laughed uproariously, not letting go of her but angling his head so he could look at her better. "That was really cruel, bringing him to detention like that," he said, mock-pouting at her.

"I think it was lot more cruel to force him to fly around the Quidditch pitch while some psychotic Weasley chases him around with a Beater's bat. Thank the gods that Harry's got such a good broom."

"Well, you've got a point there," Fred said. "Tell him I'm sorry about that, will you?"

"Sure, once he can speak to me without screaming," Hermione said. "That may take a while, though. He gets very annoyed after someone tries to kill him."

"You'd think he'd be used to it by now," Fred joked. He paused, smiling down at her, relishing the moment—he was with his girlfriend, and it felt wonderful.

Hermione frowned just then, and Fred raised his eyebrows at her. "What?"

"I was just thinking," she said with a rueful smile, "what on earth are we going to tell people?"

They both laughed, each thinking how absurd it was. "Amazing, isn't it?" Hermione gasped.

"Yeah," Fred said, grinning his head off. "All this… from just a harmless joke."

The End

Author's Notes: Holy crap! I just finished the story! How did that happen! Drat, what now? I guess… I'll have to go back to the D/Hr stories… sigh. Why am I writing them, anyway? SHE BELONGS WITH FRED!

…Okay, yeah, well, it's 4:30 in the morning and I've just finished a story that I thought would probably go on forever like "The Prank War" or "We Woke Up Married," only it didn't turn out that way. I thought I'd have another ten chapters and bring the elder Weasleys back… and the next thing I know, the story's OVER. The story just sort of poured out like this… and I needed to rant about the lack of good F/Hr fics… but she belongs with Fred, she really does!

I seriously can't believe this thing is OVER. How did that happen? One minute I said "Let's finish chapter nineteen," and then suddenly I'm typing "The End" and panicking at the thought that my last unfinished Fred/Hermione fic is over. Oh, the horror…

I really loved this fic, and I hope y'all did too. It's been swimming around in my head since 2002, when I was just letting my fingers run wild at the keyboard and came up with some casual background Fred/Hermione story for "A Night at the Three Broomsticks." More than two and a half years later, here I am. I had no clue that it would end like this; it just sort of happened. I suppose now I'll go back through and edit a few things, take out the storylines and schemes and subplots that I'd mentioned but didn't use. If I do that, though, it'll essentially stay the same, just less planning and maybe the alteration of a line here and there. The story is over, folks, sorry—I don't think I could do a sequel for it, either, but maybe I will one day, if I get some sort of idea. I do, however, have a vague idea for an epilogue, which I just might write one day. I feel so lost… like my fish has died or something, it's so weird… I don't want to end this stupid note because I'm so attached to this lovely, lovely story. Well, nothing I can do anymore, no sir, it's over, I must go sob and get over my hatred of change. But it's been fun, and I hope you've enjoyed reading this thing as much as I've enjoyed writing it.