Something cool was pressing against Hermione's forehead.
"Methinks she is rousing."
Her eyes fluttered and opened, only to see the strange face of an elderly man leaning over her. For a moment, Hermione thought it was Albus Dumbledore, but this man did not have his half-moon glasses, nor did his gaze hint at any sort of recognition on his part.
"How fare thee, my lady?"
Black spots floated in her vision once more.
"Don't you dare, Granger!"
Hermione blinked. "Fred?"
The old man rose from his seat beside Hermione, and Fred replaced him. "I know I'm quite dashing, but there's no need to go and faint on me," he offered with a grin. "Had I known you were prone to swooning spells, I would've cast a Featherweight Charm on you."
She sat up a little. "Are you saying I'm heavy?"
Fred gave her a languid perusal. "No, just curvy in all the right places."
"If I didn't feel so wretched, Fred Weasley, I'd slap that stupid grin off your face."
This caused the ginger wizard to smile even wider. "Violence—the answer for the simple-minded masses."
"Oh, you prat!"
"Ahem."
Hermione and Fred sobered and turned to the man off to their right.
"Master Frederick has informed me that you are travellers from afar."
Afar wasn't even the half of it. "Yes, we are. And it's time we continued our journey home, right Master Frederick?" Hermione suggested with a pointed look at Fred.
Fred turned as ruddy as his hair. "Erm, about that…"
A moment of panic welled in Hermione's chest. "You do know the path home, right?"
"Is that wise, my child? Weariness hangs about your person, my lady…" John Dee looked to Fred for confirmation.
"Granger. Lady Hermione Granger."
Dee nodded and then smiled gently at Hermione. "Granger. From whence does your family hail? It is Old French, is it not?"
Hermione was about to lose it. She was stuck in what she assumed was the sixteenth century, with Fred Weasley of all people, with no idea how to return home—or even how they got here—and she was being questioned by Dr. John Dee about her family origins. Add to that the fact that she was pretty sure witchcraft was not only illegal, but possibly fatal in this day and age, and she was up the river Avon without a barge paddle.
"Lady Granger has had a most taxing day," Fred lied easily, distracting Dee. "Perhaps something to eat and a bit of rest will refresh her."
Dee narrowed his eyes at the both of them. "I fear that is not possible at the moment. I am to receive the Queen this afternoon before she closets herself at Hever castle for a portrait."
Hermione officially snapped. She got up abruptly from the bed and paced the room, wringing her hands. "I can't believe you've done this to us, Fred! How many tests did you perform on that potion? None, I'll bet. I can't believe I was foolish enough to trust you."
Fred grabbed her arm and brought her to a halt. "Hang on a tic," he whispered, not wanting his words to carry. "George and I have tested it plenty of times, but only with one person. I had no idea it would do this if both of us were touching the item. And you must not think very highly of me if you believe I'd deliberately put your life in danger. There's a failsafe on the potion—a finite duration of one week, at most, until it wears off and we return to our dull, pointless lives."
"We're in the Tudor era, Fred!" Hermione hissed. "We'll be lucky to survive the next twenty-four hours! If the sanitation or food doesn't kill us, the Queen's edicts surely will!"
Further discussion was brought to a halt when an armed soldier appeared and announced, "Her Majesty, the Queen!"
Fred gripped Hermione's elbow as she swayed and then pinched her arse to keep her conscious and upright.
"Argh!" she cried just as Queen Elizabeth strolled in.
Everyone turned to stare at Hermione. Mortification tinged her cheeks red. "I'm going to kill you slowly," she gritted in a low tone out of the side of her mouth.
Fred grinned unrepentantly and tugged on her arm. "Now, now, love. Where would you hide the body?"
Fred bowed and Hermione managed a credible curtsey. They both kept their heads lowered.
"Rise."
Hermione took in the regal woman before her as she slowly rose to her feet. The gown was an exquisite Russian blue damask with a slight Herringbone pattern. The bodice and arms were of the same cloth, with ecru lace covering a modest bosom and neck. The skin beneath the lace was extremely pale, as was Elizabeth's face. Hermione remembered a snippet of Muggle history, that upper class ladies of this time had worn a cosmetic called ceruse—a mixture of white lead and vinegar—and that Elizabeth in her later years had liberally applied it to her skin to hide smallpox scars and age lines.
The calculating eyes now sizing up Hermione and Fred had many crow's feet at the corners, more than the poisonous makeup could cover. Obscenely red lips and cheeks made Elizabeth look something of a clown, but the kohl around her eyelids emphasized the danger of crossing this very powerful woman.
"You, girl. What is your name?" Elizabeth demanded.
Hermione swallowed past the fear rising within her. "Lady Hermione Granger, if it pleases Your Majesty."
"It does not please me, for I know of no nobility with the surname of Granger. Certainly not one who traipses about in her chemise. Tell me true; who are you?"
Hermione felt her stomach roll and knew she was about to be sick, but thankfully Dee intervened. "I ascertained that she and her companion are from France, Your Majesty." Hermione's stomach quieted a bit.
"Is that so?" Elizabeth drawled, reminding Hermione of Snape just before he had verbally lacerated someone. "I have been given to believe that the girls of the French court possess beauty beyond compare." She gave Hermione a haughty look. "She does not look French to me."
"Perhaps if Your Majesty were to gaze a bit longer, you would find the most intriguing, intelligent, kind, compassionate, giving woman in the room. Next to Your Majesty, of course," Fred said in his most charming manner.
Hermione didn't know whether to kick Fred in the shins to keep him from baiting the Queen of England, or bask in the praise he had given her in such an awkward way. She settled for biting her lip as she glimpsed the ire in the queen's eyes.
"You dare tell me that the royal sight is clouded?"
Fred risked leaning towards the queen, which had several of her guards reaching for their swords, but she waved them off, clearly annoyed. "Not clouded, Your Majesty. Merely… distracted. I am certain you have many beautiful and talented ladies-in-waiting with you constantly." He winked at one such girl in the corner of the room, smiled when she tittered and blushed, and returned his attention to the queen. "But Lady Hermione's beauty does not fade when youth's first bloom has withered on the vine."
Hermione's jaw dropped, and she turned to stare at the wizard she thought she knew. Since when was he a poet of any sort? The Fred Weasley she knew didn't have one romantic bone in his body... but then again, how well did she actually know Ron's brother? The flutterings she had first felt in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes returned in full force and she was sure her cheeks were crimson with embarrassment.
"Such a gilded tongue you possess." Elizabeth arched a ginger brow, studying Fred intently. "I like you, though your manner of dress is crude and foppish. Are you part of Shakespeare's troupe?"
Fred glanced quickly at Hermione, who nodded imperceptibly. "I am, Your Grace. I am at present playing the part of a vagabond, hence my lowly garb."
"What is your name? What manner of relation are you to this not-French Lady Granger?"
Fred did not hesitate a moment, "Fredrick Gideon Weasley. We are affianced, Your Majesty."
Hermione squeaked and slightly bent her knees to keep from them locking and causing her to faint, as the black spots began swirling again.
Elizabeth snorted. "This is unheard of; a commoner marrying into nobility—that is, if Lady Granger is who she claims to be. There is something quite peculiar surrounding the two of you." The Queen turned to her advisor. "Dr. Dee, I will take these two with me to Hever Castle and see to their welfare. Let it not be said that the Queen of England is not a superb hostess."
Warm fingers threaded through Hermione's clammy ones, reassuring her slightly. "You are most gracious, Your Majesty," Fred said with a nod.
"May I accompany you, Your Grace?" Dee asked. "I wish to consult with Lady Granger about a sign I received only yesterday."
Elizabeth laid her hand on his arm. "Of course you may, my friend. I wish to speak with you myself." She gave Fred a coy smirk and Hermione a derisive look, and then strode out of the room, her retinue following in her wake.
Once the room was emptied, Hermione turned and glared at Fred. "What do you mean, 'affianced'?"
Fred smirked. "And here I thought you were so smart. Do you need a dictionary?"
"The first purely English alphabetical dictionary won't be written until 1604," she retorted. "Where would you get one?"
"Truly?" Dee broke in. "There are several lexicons in different languages readily available, but to have a lexicon of our own… wondrous!" he exclaimed with a clap of his hands.
Hermione groaned. "You can't tell anyone about that, Dr. Dee. It could destroy—"
"The predestined path of the individual," Dee finished, patting his longish beard. iDid his eyes just twinkle?/i she wondered. "I suspect there will be many things that must remain a secret to me."
"A lot of things," Fred agreed. "What is today's date?"
"The first of April, year of our Lord 1590."
Fred's face was bright. "It's my birthday!"
"You haven't been born yet, you twit," Hermione whispered under her breath.
He elbowed her in the ribs. "Just go with it."
She rolled her eyes and gave Dee a wan smile. "Yes, it's his birthday."
Fred whispered, "When do I get my present?"
"When you get us home," she grumbled. She huffed out an exasperated breath then frowned. "Pardon my curiosity, Dr. Dee, but I did not see Sir Francis among the Queen's contingent. Did he not accompany her?"
"Francis who?" Fred asked.
"Walsingham," she expounded. "He is the Queen's spymaster. Snape always reminded me of him."
John Dee's gaze was sad. "Alas, my lady, Sir Francis is quite ill and the signs are not favourable; I have foreseen his death within a fortnight."
She cursed her scattered mind. Had Dee not just given her the date? Walsingham would die on the ninth, and with his departure, a great deal of level-headedness in court proceedings went with him. Dear gods, this was going to be a nightmare, trying to remember what to say and what not to say. And now, they were to be taken to Hever Castle, of all places…with the Queen herself!
She must have been doing something to warrant Fred taking her by the shoulders and guiding her to a chair. "Focus, Granger. Use that unbelievably large brain of yours to remember what we need know in order to survive a week."
The candlelight struck Fred's eyes made them gleam in a way that left Hermione breathless despite her anxiety over their situation. Unable to speak, she nodded her head and inhaled deeply, trying to control her rising panic. After several minutes, she was able to smile hesitantly at the wizard in front of her.
Soft fingers touched her cheek. "There's my lady," Fred whispered with a mischievous look.
She blinked slowly, held by his gaze. Then, her eyes widened. "The book! Where's the book?" She looked around wildly.
Fred was about to answer when Dee held up the paperback, The Life and Times of Elizabeth I gleaming in gold letters on its cover. "Is this the tome of which you speak?"
Hermione swallowed and held out her hand. "May we please have that, Dr. Dee?" She prayed he hadn't read any of it.
Dee gave her a sly look and opened the cover, peering at the title page. He dropped the book and quickly stepped back as though he had seen a snake. "That is highly improbable."
Fred snatched the book and stuffed it inside his waistcoat while Hermione groaned and Dee continued to stare at them. The man could have seen any number of things: the copyright date, the duration of Elizabeth's reign, the city in which the book was published, even the web address of the publisher.
"Don't worry; we can Obliviate him before we leave."
"That's not the point!" she hissed. "We can't use magic here—they hang you, or worse, burn you at the stake in this day and age if they suspect you of witchcraft."
Dee gasped. "Merciful God! You are sent from the heavens as I predicted!"
"Oh no," Hermione muttered.
"Saint Philip Neri, patron saint of buffoonery and comedians, at your service," Fred said with an exaggerated bow. Dee paled even further and Fred glanced at Hermione. "What?" She quirked an eyebrow and thinned her lips. "Oh. Old Phil is still alive, is he?"
Dee seemed uncertain how to respond to this casual mention of 'Old Phil'. "According to my sources, he is still very much among the living."
"How about his cousin, Saint Genesius of Rome?" Fred looked to Hermione for confirmation. "He's dead, right?"
She rolled her eyes and stood up. "Dr. Dee, would it be possible to change into more suitable clothing?"
Dee, who really was an Albus Dumbledore look-alike, shook himself out of his stupor. "Yes, yes, my child. My servant Edward will procure the necessary items." He opened the door and beckoned a young man into the chamber. "Should you have need of anything, tell him, and you shall have it."
Edward bowed and said, "May I show to your rooms, Sir and Madame?" Hermione and Fred followed the gangly youth at a discreet distance.
"How did you know about Philip Neri?" Hermione asked in a low voice.
Fred grinned and leaned close enough to rub the tip of his nose against her ear. "You're joking, right? George and I weren't about to let anything happen to the shop, so we took every precaution known to wizard and Muggle kind. When I looked into having the shop blessed, I found out about St. Philip—he was known to be spontaneous and unpredictable, charming and humorous, just like me." His soft laugh sent shivers down Hermione's spine. "Plus, he was accused by the Pope's vicar of 'introducing novelties'. I knew then that we had our saint."
They came to a stop in front of a door, Edward beckoning Fred to continue following him. Before Fred left, though, he grabbed Hermione's hand and moved close, crowding her against the wall. His nose grazed her cheek, as well as a light brush of his lips. Her breath caught in her chest, the mad fluttering increasing. She even leaned into his caress when he nuzzled her temple.
"While stupidity has a certain charm, ignorance does not," Fred whispered. "We're not imbeciles, Granger."
Her eyes caught his. "I never once thought you and George were idiots, Fred. In fact, I think you're both too clever for your own good or for the public in general."
His look softened. "Veritable menaces to polite society, eh?"
And to my heart, Hermione thought.
Hermione stared at the mounds of clothing lying on the four-poster bed, debating which article to don first.
"That's quite a dress you're about to have on," quipped Fred as he leaned over her shoulder to study the garments.
Startled, she turned and threw him a glare. Fred had obviously had no trouble changing into his clothes, but then again, men's clothes were so much less trouble during this time: a doublet, hose and trousers, and he was done. Fred's doublet was dark green, a shade Hermione noticed set off his red hair nicely. The hose outlined his toned legs, something she hadn't noticed before. The idea of what those muscled calves could be used for caused a warmth to bloom in her belly. She cleared her throat, desperate to focus on something other than lascivious thoughts of Fred Weasley's body and love play.
"I have no idea how to put any of this on, nor in what order."
He picked up the embroidered bodice and held it to his chest, batting his lashes. "I think you should wear only this." He sashayed his hips.
She smirked. "I think it would look much better on you." She tilted her head to study him. "Maybe a bit of eye shadow, white stockings… why yes, I think you'd be quite fetching."
His smile dropped and he flung the bodice on top of the pile of lace, his face heating up. "Don't they have any house-elves around here?"
She sighed. "Fred, try to remember where and when we are, so you don't get us both killed. No, there, are no house-elves, and even if there were, I would not use slave labour."
"Well, a lady's maid or some such nonsense?"
Hermione touched the intricate fabric of the gown. "There are only the two girls in the kitchen. Honestly, I'd be afraid for either of them to handle such fine material." She grimaced. "They're not exactly the cleanest lot, are they?"
"Well, since we're affianced, I could help you." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
She stilled at his words, swallowing nervously. "Yes, well, let's not forget that's just a ruse, Fred." So why did her heart wish it was just a little bit true?
He blatantly ignored her words and peered over the garments on the bed, finally plucking a long, white gauze-like gown from the assorted clothing. "Come on, time to get starkers. We only have an hour before the Queen wants to leave."
A look of pure horror crossed Hermione's face. "Out of the question!" She covered her breasts and groin as if they were already bare to his gaze.
"You'll have more questions from the Queen if you don't have this kit on right, Hermione. Quit being a prude and dress as if our lives depend on it, which they do, but don't feel pressured, really."
She gritted her teeth. "Fine. Turn around."
A salacious smile curled his lips. "You don't have anything I haven't seen before."
"You're an arse, Fred Weasley. Just turn around!"
"All right! Don't throw a wobbly!" he muttered under his breath as he turned his back to her.
Satisfied that he couldn't see anything, Hermione unbuttoned her blouse, dropped her skirt and folded them into a nice, neat pile. "Keep your eyes closed, but hand me whatever it is you have," she instructed nervously.
The item was tossed over her head, landing on the floor in front of her.
"Real mature, Fred," she snapped. She picked up and dusted off what looked like a chemise. Quickly, she slipped it on, plucking at the overlarge sleeves. "What's next?"
Fred turned… and stared. In fact, his gaze was so heated, it made her feel anxious, as if she were completely naked. She glanced down, noticing only that she had not taken her bra or knickers off, so they could clearly be seen through the diaphanous shift. Both were black satin, white polka-dots decorating the knickers, bought during a moment of frivolous madness during a shopping spree in Muggle London. They were not the height of fashion, so she had no idea why he was watching her with the intensity of a Hippogriff eyeing its next meal.
"What's next?" she prompted when he continued to just stand there.
Fred blinked slowly, and shifted oddly to the side. "Knickers," he blurted out.
Her eyes widened. "What about them?"
He swallowed, then gave her a pained look. "You'll have to get rid of them. They didn't have knickers." He pointed a shaky finger at her chest. "And they had corsets instead of bras."
Her cheeks bloomed with a crimson stain. "Merlin, you're right." She hesitantly lifted the hem of her chemise and her bottom lip began to wobble. "I can't walk around for a week without knickers!"
Fred seemed to crumple. He strode quickly to her and cupped her face, wiping a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "Yes, you can. And you will. You're Hermione Granger, resident know-it-all, stubborn witch and brilliant professor." He gave her a tender smile. "You've fought against the Dark Lord and lived to tell about it. Going without knickers should be a walk in the park."
She sniffed. "I'm glad you have so much faith in me, but forgive me if I don't actually believe it right now."
He lifted her chin. "That's why I'm here. To bolster your flagging spirits, to drink spirits until your bolster is sagging, and to wave flags at saggy spirits who drink."
Unable to help herself, she chuckled and shook her head. "You always know how to make me laugh."
"Ah, well, laughter is the best medicine. Unless, of course, you're really sick. Then you should go to St. Mungo's."
She rolled her eyes. "So, what's next?"
He cleared his throat. "The knickers and bra. They have to come off before you can put the other clothes on. And we'll have to hide them, or vanish them, or something."
"All right," she sighed.
Tentatively, Fred closed the gap between them. "I can help." His fingers danced their way across her shoulder, moving the shift away from her neck in the process.
"Can you?" Her voice was so breathy.
He gave her a languid smile and stepped behind her. Taking a healthy portion of Hermione's hair, he laid it over her shoulder, baring her neck to his gaze. "Your skin has a tawny glow to it," he whispered, his breath stirring the hairs along her nape. "And it's dotted with freckles. I've lived with freckles my whole life—my own and those of my family—but I've never seen such perfectly placed marks on a woman's shoulders."
It was a good thing Hermione was holding onto the bedpost, for her knees turned to jelly at his soft words. "Truly?" she managed.
He chuckled softly and began untying the flimsy strings that cinched the chemise fabric at the top and she watched as the smock drifted to the floor. Hermione shivered, but she wasn't foolish enough to think it was the cool air in the chamber that caused the gooseflesh to rise on her arms. He unhooked the clasp at the middle of her back and set about ridding her of the constrictive garment. Once it was loosened, he slid his fingers under the satin straps and slowly moved them down, leaving her upper back and shoulders exposed for his perusal.
When he lowered his head and pressed his lips on the back of her neck, she gasped and turned her head towards him. "This won't help me get dressed. In fact, quite the opposite."
Fred smile against her skin. "Maybe that was my plan all along." His hands made their way around her sides to rest just below her bra, his fingers grazing the underside of her breasts. "How else am I to know my fiancée?"
She stiffened in his arms. "That's not real, and you know it."
He sighed and let her go, taking a step back. "Right now, right here, it is." He gave her a pensive look. "I'm not into mindless shags, Hermione. I can't do casual anymore."
She didn't want casual either, but neither could she verbalise that what they wanted was just not feasible at the moment. There were too many mitigating factors involved, and if she were to have Fred, she would have him fully, not because of some ploy to fool the Queen. "I-I think I can figure out how all of this fits together," Hermione murmured and bent to pick up the chemise that had pooled at her feet. She looked uncertainly at him. "I may need your help lacing up the corset, though."
His affable smile was forced. But then, Fred winked and the tension was dispelled. "I'd be a fool to pass up the opportunity to tie up Hermione Granger."
She shook her head. "You're incorrigible. Go play with something explosive until I need your help."
He smirked and glanced at his groin. "Aye, my lady."
"Ugh. Just go." She pushed him out into the corridor and shut the door.
Hermione leaned against the wall and smiled to herself, hoping Fred would be determined to woo her in earnest.
