Thursday, July 22 – the Journal of Hermione Granger

George is frustrating me.

I mean, how perfect can the man be? It's like the more I try and find fault in him, in order to try and convince myself that I shouldn't have feelings for him, the more I learn about him that I love. He's so sweet and funny and SO bloody attractive. I can't help being drawn to him.

It's times like these I wish I was best friends with someone other than his little sister. Or his little sister's husband. Or his brother/my ex-could-have-been-boyfriend.

Angie's very nice and seems to really be trying to get to know me, but she's his twin's wife, which is possibly even worse than the three previously mentioned.

At this point, I'm fairly sure George doesn't have any feelings for me besides those of a friend. He jokes and, apparently, flirts with me, but he also seems very uncomfortable whenever anyone hints at anything like that. I mean, all the times I've ever seen him interact with girls he's interested in—which, to be fair, is much less than Fred, who was always far more of a playboy, but then he mostly just flirted with Angie…hmm—but all that to say, George is fairly smooth when it comes to girls. He can flirt with the best of them and, though he doesn't seem to know how attractive he really is, he seems to at least know that he's appealing in some way.

Tonight, I'm just going to treat him as a friend. Because that's all I am to him. Right?

In an attempt to convince myself that George is just a friend, and that's the only way I see him too, I dress rather slouchily for dinner. Normally I at least where a nice blouse or a skirt, but tonight it's jeans and a dark purple t-shirt with some old ratty sneakers from third year. I place a thick, leather African bracelet that my mum gave me for Christmas one year strategically over my mudblood tattoo, and let my hair run wild.

"Hermione!" shouts a red-head twin as he opens the door and sweeps me into his arms. "Fred and Angie are in the kitchen—before they interrupt I must tell you that I love you passio—"

"Fred!" I yelp, punching his shoulder aggressively. "Put me down!"

He looks both amused and disappointed as he obeys. "How'd you know it was me, Granger? I personally think my 'George' impression is pretty spot-on after twenty-four years."

"Umm…" I consider him for a moment, "I think you have different chins. Yours is more pointed and George's is rounder. And you have different smiles too."

He smirks and closes the door behind me. "So, what you're saying is that I'm the manlier one?"

I roll my eyes, unsure how he came to that conclusion. "Yes, exactly, Fred," I reply sarcastically, making my way toward the kitchen. "Does Angie need any help with dinner?"

Fred shrugs. "Dunno. Last I offered to help she burst into tears and said I was an 'ungrateful wretch' and deserved to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the rest of my life for what I've done to her."

I snicker. "Poor Angie. I hear the hormones'll settle down after she has the baby." I cock my head and consider this. "But then you'll both be sleep-deprived and miserable."

Fred looks rather horrified at this conclusion, and I leave him standing in the hallway while I go find his wife.

"Hermione!" Angie exclaims with a wide smile, apparently having recovered quite well from her crying jag. "I heard a commotion—thought it must be Fred trying out his 'George' impression. Didn't fool you, did he?"

I grin. "Not quite. I think he was a bit disappointed."

"Oh, he'll get over it," she says with a wave of her hand. "Do you mind getting out some plates while I finish with the salad?"

I pull out a random assortment of china from the cupboard—as broke newlyweds, Angie and Fred don't own a full set of anything, much less something as useless as matching plates—and set them on the table in the adjoining dining room. "Just four?" I ask Angie.

She nods, sticking a thermometer into a roast chicken. "Yeah, George'll be here in a bit, he just had to finish some things up at the shop."

"You get most of the nursery done?" I ask, filling up a glass of water and leaning on the edge of the counter.

"Yeah, I think we're just about done. All that's left to do is hang a few pictures, but if we don't get that done in time I won't be too disappointed." Her eyes slip to my arm, and I glance down to see my bracelet has slipped down to my wrist. "I didn't know you had a tattoo."

I brush my fingers across it as she comes to look closer at it. "Is this a scar?" she asks, tracing the remains of Bellatrix and the black ink that now outlines the word 'mudblood'.

"Harry and Ron and I were caught by Bellatrix Lestrange once," I admit quietly. "She doesn't take too kindly to anyone who's not pureblood. I got the rest of the tattoo last year. Usually I use concealer to cover it up if it's…not the appropriate time to have it displayed, but I ran out yesterday."

She gives me a sympathetic glance before going to trace the rest of the tattoo. "And what's the meaning behind the rest of it?"

I shrug and try to smile casually as her fingers run across the words following. 'Mudblood of M. and A. Granger. "I'm not ashamed to be the daughter of my parents. They may be Muggles, but I wouldn't have changed them for the world."

"What were their names?"

"Michael and Anna," I whisper, tears unexpectedly prickling my eyes at the memory of my parents. Last time I checked they were settled quietly in a village on the Australian coast, having set up their own practice. They're happy. They don't know that I'm missing and it's easier for them that way.

Once George arrives—I make sure to greet him in a very friend-like manner—we sit down to a dinner of roast chicken, broccoli, salad, and chocolate cake. For once Fred refrains from most inappropriate comments, but Angie keeps giving him rather threatening looks so maybe she's behind that.

George, on the other hand, is being very flirty tonight, way more so than usual. He's barely through the door before he's commented on how lucky he feels to be the only single man here tonight, winking suggestively at me, and throughout the night he's so attentive, he makes me even more confused.

I hadn't known it was even possible, but he's managed it.

After we're all done with dinner we stay at the table and chat for a moment before Angie smiles at me and says, "Well, I'm ready, are you, Hermione?"

As we make our way to the bathroom George wishes up good luck as he and Fred make their way to the sitting room.

"Hermione!" Fred calls out, waiting 'til I turn toward him before saying anything more, "keep in mind the…offer I made to you last night."

"Fred," George hisses before meeting my gaze and smiling apologetically. I just roll my eyes and smile back.

"You ever done this before?" Angie asks after we've both changed into our shorts and locked ourselves in the bathroom.

"No," I reply as I skim through the package's instructions. "You?"

She shakes her head as she piles her hair atop her head and ties it up. "Can't be too hard, though, right? Birds dimmer than us have had to figure it out."

It takes a couple minutes' interpretation, but eventually we have a general idea of what we're doing. I use a warming charm to get the wax to the right consistency.

"Let's do the first one together, eh?" Angie asks as she sets herself in the bathtub. "I hear it's bloody painful—probably best to have some camaraderie first time around."

Eventually I've applied the wet, goopy wax in a strip down both our calves and stuck the paper on, hoping I'm doing it right. "Okay, on three?"

Angie nods. "One, two, three."

Well, that's about ten thousand times more painful than I'd anticipated. We both shriek rather loudly and, from Angie's watering eyes, I gather that she's feeling about the same as me right now.

"You alright in there?" Fred calls from the other side of the door.

"Just fine," Angie replies through gritted teeth. "Don't worry about us." She blinks several times to focus on me and swallows. "Well, I'd say that bloody well hurt."

"I should say so," I have to agree. "You sure you want to do this?"

She nods. "It'll just make it easier for the next couple weeks after the baby comes…I think it might help if maybe you did two strips at a time, though, just to get it over with faster."

Soon we have a routine down. I cover Angie's legs in goop, cover it up with paper, and rip off two at a time 'til I've finished either calf or thigh. She clenches her teeth to avoid crying out—I think she's trying to keep from freaking Fred out.

Finally we're done and Angie gets into the shower to rinse off while I sit on the bathroom counter to finish my own legs. I've just finished slathering my right thigh with wax when Angie lets out a quiet moan.

"You alright in there?" I ask jokingly.

She's quiet for a moment before saying softly, "Um, I think my water just broke."

"What?!" I shriek, practically falling off the counter as I rush to the shower. "Are you okay?! Should I get Fred?"

"No," she replies shakily, "just go ahead and finish your legs. I still have hours…I'll just wash my hair and you can help me get dressed before we let him know."

Well, you can understand that now I hardly even feel the pain in my rush to finish with my legs. I should be in a leg waxing competition at the rate I'm going.

I finish just as Angie turns off the tap. "Do you want me to help you get dressed, or do you want me to get Fred first?"

"You can just help me get dressed," she says calmly as she steps out wrapped in a big fluffy towel. "He'll be so stressed out he won't be any help to me." She quickly transfigures the jeans she was wearing into some stretchy pants and I help her into her t-shirt before taking her by the hand and leading her out, leaving the bathroom in a complete disarray of hardening wax, random papers, and various clothing articles strewn about.

"Hey, Fred?" Angie calls out shakily as we walk down the hall toward the sitting room. She's clutching my hand, her other hand tight around her belly, and I think both the adrenaline and the fact that she's having a baby is starting to sink in.

"What is it, babe?" he asks distractedly as we come around the corner to see he and George engaged in a game of chess.

She's quiet for a long moment and I look up to see her eyes shining with tears. "Well, my water broke, so…" She bursts into tears.

"What?!" Fred leaps over the couch and skids to a stop in front of her, taking her face in his hands. "Are you okay? What's wrong? What can I do?"

She shivers and allows him to pull her into his arms. "I'm just really nervous, and excited, and…" Her voice trails off as she buries her face in his shoulder with a sob, his hand stroking the back of her head.

"It's going to be okay, Ang," he assures softly. He pulls back just a bit so he can see her face and says, "I'm going to be with you the whole time, okay? And we're going to have a baby!"

She sniffles and nods. "We're going to have a baby," she repeats as if trying to convince herself.

Fred nods and abruptly turns to George, who's still standing next to the chessboard in an apparent state of shock. "Rain check, Georgie?"

George grins. "You want me to go get mum and dad, or wait awhile?"

"I'd rather we get settled in at the hospital first," Angie interjects. "Once we're there you can let everyone know."

What with Angie's nervous state and the sudden shock of it all, Fred proves himself to be exactly the kind of frantic, anxious father I expected he'd be. Angie's still a bit weepy, so I sit at the table with her while Fred attempts to get the diaper bag, Angie's suitcase, etc. Around the time he runs through the sitting room crying, "Where are the bloody diapers?!" Angie lets out a low moan from her first "real" contraction, and I decide to take charge.

"Fred!" I snap, halting him in his dash across the room. "You need to calm down and get Angie to St. Mungo's. George and I will follow in a few moments with everything you need." I turn to Angie. "Do you have a list, or is everything pretty self-explanatory?"

"Well, I thought it was," she replies with a pointed glare at Fred. "All I need is the small bag of toiletries in the bathroom and the package of diapers in our bedroom closet."

"Okay, George and I will take care of everything, and we'll be there as soon as we can."

"Okay," she replies shakily, taking Fred's hand so he can help her to her feet. "Let's go then, babe, alright?"

"Right then, sweetheart," he murmurs, putting an arm tight around her before apparating them away.

I let out a long sigh and turn to see George just staring at me. "Forgot what it was like to see you take charge, Granger," he says with a big smile. "I don't think you'll have a problem with keeping the peace in your classroom."

I roll my eyes and head toward Fred and Angie's bedroom. "Maybe, but it's been my experience that I have the greatest success in just ordering Weasleys around." I give him a pointed look as he enters the bedroom behind me.

He snorts and heads to the closet while I go to the bathroom. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Hermione. So far your technique is only proven to work on Ron and Fred."

"That's true," I admit, meeting him in the center of the room, toiletry bag in hand, "but I've no doubt I'll prove it with you someday too."

He raises his eyebrows and steps closer to me so I have to tilt my head up to meet his eyes. "Oh yeah? And when do you think that'll be?"

I suddenly realize just how close we're standing. I swallow and try to regulate my breathing, hoping against hope that he doesn't notice how I react to his nearness. I want to tell him that I was kind of hoping he'd just stay with me for the rest of my life—we can work on my theory, maybe we can also snog some too, take a trip and explore the London countryside, let me learn what his favorite thing to eat is. His gaze doesn't waver as his eyes darken slightly to an emerald green and I desperately want to take his hand, want to lean in a little closer and press my lips against his.

"We've never really been friends before," I hear myself saying.

George's brow furrows slightly and it takes me a moment to remember what we were talking about before.

I take in a great, heaving breath and clear my throat. "What I mean is, now we are and…I hope we'll stay that way so…eventually I'll get to test my theory on you."

He gives me a gentle smile and reaches his hand up to brush his thumb across my cheekbone. "There's a lot more to you than I ever gave you credit for, Hermione. I'd like that too."

Now I do take his hand, and his eyebrows rush up to meet his hairline at my touch. But all I do is smile up at him and say, "Can I sidealong you to the hospital?"