A/N: AHH! New chapter! I'm so sorry it took so long my wonderful, lovely, fantastic, amazing reviewers! You all make me so happy. I tried to make it as long as possible. I hate how fanfiction turns 10+ pages of chapter and makes it about five inches of text. I have more time to write during the summer, so hopefully I can squeeze in a few more chapters before Fall classes start. YAY! Thank you again for your reviews. This was beta'd by my best friend LamentofMeow, who doesn't understand my literary quirks. Kidding. She's brilliant.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the world. I own nothing. Okay, I own socks.
Chapter Eight
It was 10 o'clock Saturday morning at the small, round wooden breakfast table Molly had given the twins as a house warming present when George had his epiphany.
Fred looked up from his cup of English Breakfast at the hacking sound his brother was making, "You know mate, it's a hard concept to grasp, I know, but it's a good idea for people to not inhale their cereal."
George's blue eyes were wide and unbelieving as he completely ignored his brother's teasing and rasped out, "I like her."
A few seconds of silence passed as Fred questioned his twin's sanity before he grinned in understanding, "It took you ages to figure it out!"
"I like her a lot," George wheezed, mechanically scooping another spoonful of Cauldron Crunch into his mouth. Fred took a quick gulp of his tea, looking at his twin over the rim of his mug with amusement. "She's perfect."
"Apart from her strange taste in men, I'd have to agree."
George gave his brother a horrified look, "Why? She has a boyfriend? You've seen him? Who is he?"
"Whoa! Merlin's pants, calm down! I meant you, you git." Fred shook his head and stood up to place his empty cup in the sink. George visibly sagged with relief and continued eating his cereal, looking thoughtfully at the opposite wall. "So the question now is, 'What are you going to do about it?'"
George looked at his twin and grinned cheekily, "Why, sweep her off her feet of course."
Fred leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest with a sigh, "Well, Hermione will be disappointed."
George looked stymied, "Why?"
"She was hoping it would take at least another couple of family dinners for you to finally pick up on the truth. She thinks your painfully awkward courtship is amusing…or did she say adorable?" Fred looked up at the kitchen ceiling, trying to uproot her exact words from the confines of his memory.
George's ear turned bright red, "Am I really the last person to figure this out? I am supposed to be the cleverer one." He finished the last of his milk and stood up to wash his bowl and Fred's mug with a swift flick of his wand.
"The very last—apart from maybe Anne herself. You two are so completely oblivious you have to have been made for each other. You're a lucky man my friend. Don't muck it up." The last part was said with a grin as Fred shoved his brother playfully and went to change into his work clothes. George walked to the window and looked out onto a bustling street, seeing all the signs he had overlooked in the past few weeks. They both really were oblivious. He chuckled at himself and followed his brother's example.
"So, when do you start working at Fred and George's shop?" Ron asked distractedly, searching with keen eyes for the potato-shaped faces of garden gnomes in the front yard.
"Monday morning," Hermione answered breathlessly, having just flung a small female gnome over the fence and into the field beyond. The creature had sailed with a squeal a good 20 feet before landing with a dull thud.
"Think you can sneak me out a couple of old products?" he grunted, shooting his hand out to snag another brown creature from underneath a rosebush. The small gnome dodged his grasping digits and dove into the nearest hole in the ground with a loud cackle.
Her face was caught between amusement at the scene and disapproval of his question, "Of course not, Ronald. If Fred and George trust me enough to work at their pride and joy of a shop I'm not about to betray them to steal you a few baubles."
"I know, I just thought I'd try," he grinned at her before seeking out a new victim. She rolled her eyes and smiled, before her eyes beheld the mother of all garden gnomes peeking from behind the thorny branches of a rosebush.
"Got you," she muttered progressing at a slow pace towards the enormously fat creature. The gnome's eyes gleamed as it watched her approach, not moving a muscle—which probably should have warned her. Hermione was two feet from the rosebush when she pounced, her hands automatically forming the shape best suited for disarming a garden gnome.
When she was young, Hermione's father had tried to introduce her to sports. She was a brilliant strategist, but when it came to execution, she hesitated. Her father always told her to keep her eye on the ball and never blink, but every time a football sailed towards her she flinched and shut her eyes.
She did the exact same thing when catching gnomes, and this tricky little bugger knew a wincer on sight. As soon as her eyes squinted shut the gnome attacked, sinking its miniscule white teeth into the tender flesh between the thumb and index finger of her left hand. Hermione shrieked and shook her arm rapidly in an attempt to get it off.
Ron looked over at her scream and was momentarily distracted by the enormous garden gnome flying up and down and in circles, attached to Hermione's reddening hand. "Stop moving, Hermione! I'll stun it." It took a second for his words to sink in past the pain shooting from her hand to her shoulder, but she ceased flailing and held out her gnome-decorated hand.
Ron pointed his wand carefully at the determined gnome and fired, "Stupefy!" It went instantly limp but still miraculously hung on by its jaws. Hermione's eyes began to water and she blinked rapidly, trying to pry the little creature's mouth open with her free hand. "Here," Ron stepped forward and pulled her to a seat on the grass, taking the gnome-hand into his lap. With a few tugs and a muscle relaxant spell from Hermione's arsenal, the tiny devil was detached and launched a mighty 50 feet into the adjoining field.
"Episkey," Ron muttered and Hermione's hand felt hot then cold then completely pain free. She breathed a sigh of relief and mentally cursed the gnome queen in language even the twins would blush to hear, before she realized that Ron still had her hand in both of his. She looked up at him in surprise. His grip was tight, almost painfully so, and his skin was clammy against hers. Before she could figure out what these symptoms implied he swooped into her personal space and kissed her. A noise somewhere between a squeak and a growl escaped her. The dim thought, finally, slithered its way across her brain and she grinned into the kiss, responding enthusiastically.
They spent a few blissful minutes in their own private sphere before Ginny came out to tell them lunch was ready. Hand in hand, followed by Ginny's taunts, they walked inside.
Hermione jumped at the sound of the cannon blast as she walked into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes on Monday morning, and wondered whether her forgetfulness of the eccentricity was a good sign.
"She's here!" a voice yelled from the back room and George followed his bellow through the curtains a second later. "Pfft. Hermione, you're on time. Minus five Weasley points for punctuality! What kind of operation do you think we're running here?"
Her jaw dropped indignantly, "You told me to be here at eight o' clock!"
Fred suddenly appeared beside her with a POP, making her jump for the second time, "Eight o' clock Weasley time, luv. We don't open for another hour—"
"—which means we'll be able to take you to breakfast—"
"—since we're sure you didn't eat a scrap because you were too nervous—"
"—and exited—"
"—and anticipatory—"
"—and exhilarated—"
"—and antsy—"
"—and—"
"—and let's go to breakfast," Hermione interrupted George, getting a little dizzy. Both of them looked away from each other to the employee they had almost forgotten was there, and both sprouted wide identical grins, "Excellent."
Hermione spent her first day at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes getting acquainted. She got acquainted with the basic layout of the store, she got acquainted with the numerous and inventive products, she got acquainted with the vast numbers of customers flooding in and out the door and she got acquainted with the business sides of Fred and George.
They didn't change much when the doors opened at nine o' clock, but Hermione could see that they knew how to run a business. They were both friendly and entertaining while being persuasive and observant. If a woman came in looking for a present for her son's birthday, Fred took the haggard look off her face with a few charming jokes before directing her to a corner containing the perfect gift. If a small boy came in with mischief on the brain, George would have the little trickster glowing with excitement before directing him to the Perfect Prank selections. While Hermione managed the cash register, she watched the twins work their magic on the crowd—drawing laughter, preventing accidents, clearly having a good time—and surprised herself when she felt a little bite of envy. Fred sent another customer over to Hermione, caught her eye and winked. She shook off the negative emotion, feeling a little foolish, and gave the customer a genuine smile.
At twelve o' clock sharp the twins closed the shop for lunch. They told her the only schedule they obeyed completely was their stomachs', and she didn't doubt it. She'd seen them eat on countless occasions. Her stomach gave a loud, unhappy growl and she scowled when Fred snickered.
"I didn't think goddesses of endless braininess ever got hungry," he said, jumping up to sit on the counter.
A few boxes and small items fell onto the floor from the movement, and Hermione rolled her eyes, "Shows what you know."
George came out of the back room with an armful of Skiving Snackboxes, "As soon as these are restocked, we can invade the Burrow for lunch and beg my mother for bread crusts or we can invade our flat and force Forge to cook for our culinary whims."
Fred pouted, "I like plan A."
"Bread crusts or Fred-slavery…hmm," Hermione held her hands up and pretended to weigh the options.
"Plan B it is!" George crowed, shoving the last Snackbox onto the shelf.
Fred shook his head at Hermione, looking hurt, "All my devotion and you're still so cruel."
She smiled.
The doors closed for the night at eight o' clock, and Hermione was both exhausted and giddy. After lunch, George had replaced her at the cash register and Fred had hauled her around the shop, introducing her to people and helping her get into the swing of things. As the brightest student of her age she was a quick study, and now she could name every product on the shelf and in the back, what it was for, how it worked and which customers favored them.
She trudged slowly into the back room where the twins were lounging on a couple of fluffy , green bean bag chairs. As she stepped through the curtain, Fred looked up and conjured a third chair for her to collapse on, which she did with a grateful smile.
"As first days go, what do you reckon?" George asked, not opening his eyes.
Hermione mulled it over for a moment, "Well, I'm so exhausted I think I could sleep through one of your firework shows, I'm hungry enough to eat some of Hagrid's pastries and my feet are so swollen I'm not sure I'll be able to take of my trainers."
Fred grinned, "So it was a good day then?"
"Very."
George cracked an eye open, "And you'll be back tomorrow?"
"I suppose."
"You should get back to the Burrow so mum can force feed you chicken," Fred yawned.
"And roast potatoes," George added.
"And bangers."
"And Yorkshire pudding."
"And éclairs."
"And—on second thought," George stood up, "We'll go with you."
A/N: Reviews are love.