A/N: I got re-inspired to write after reading zeegrindylows "Where Your Treasure Is". It's a Severus/Hermione, which is another favorite pairing of mine. If you haven't read it, it comes highly recommended. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Beta'd by Lament of Meow. The title of this chapter was taken for Ron's own interpretation of the three Ds in Apparition.
Disclaimer: Just playing in Rowling's sandbox.
Chapter Eleven
Hermione lay prone on Fred's old bed, staring up. She had given up on the Arithmancy text after she realized she had been staring blankly at the same sentence for at least a half an hour. Sighing, she set her whirring mind to what was really bothering her—namely, her now ex-boyfriend. She and Ron had the dreaded, official talk at the breakfast table this morning, and it was over. No tears, no yells—there was only bald disappointment and the inexplicable question as to what exactly had happened. What had they done wrong? She had to admire how well Ron seemed to take it; although, at the same time, she wondered if he'd had a similar breakdown behind closed doors. If she knew him, and she believed she did, his pride would prevent him from sharing his distress with anyone, no matter how cathartic.
The patterns of the burn marks on the ceiling started to form shapes to her eyes. She thought she saw a pumpkin to the right, close to one of the walls, and by the door there was a thin dragon wing. She followed what looked like a trail of stars to a fairly big burn patch resembling a face, which, for reasons she couldn't explain, turned her thoughts in the direction of Fred. He had given her the rest of Friday off when she came in this morning and told him about her discussion with Ron. Hermione thought it would have been awkward coming into the shop the day after they had, quite literally, slept together. However, nothing had seemed to have changed. She was immensely relieved to see that Fred was as wicked and cheerful as ever and nothing suggested he considered what happened particularly out of the ordinary.
George, on the other hand, had a field day the second Hermione stepped into the shop. The innuendo, exaggerated winks and eyebrow waggles followed her until Fred had threatened to tell Anne about an unspecified Saturday in Hogsmeade involving Katie Bell, a bottle of Ogden's and some Spello-tape. Hermione didn't know to what he was referring, but George seemed to suddenly find intense interest in restocking the nearly full shelves of Puking Pastilles. Unfortunately, he returned a moment later to give her a homework assignment. He had no qualms about forcing her to work on her day off and had given her a prototype to test. George had told her to take it home and—his words—"work her mojo" on it.
Turning her head slightly, she stared at the object resting on the boxes in the middle of the room. Purple and spherical with orange handles on opposite ends, the prototype drew her curiosity. She picked it up by its smooth, brightly-colored grips and studied it carefully. Come to think of it, George never really told her what it was supposed to do. Sighing in annoyance, Hermione tucked it under her arm and made her way downstairs to make herself a cup of tea. Maybe she could figure it out after a dose of caffeine.
If this thrice-cursed product failed to work in the next minute, Hermione wouldn't be held responsible for her actions. She fiddled with the handles while a succession of bangs, whizzes, and whirrs filled the air in a cacophony of maddening noises. She glared once again at the snickering pair occupying the same large flannel blanket thrown over the grass on the Burrow's front lawn.
Harry had his broomstick servicing kit out next to him and had just started polishing the handle, an activity that garnered him very red ears after a particularly wicked innuendo from his girlfriend. Ginny lay on her stomach with her chin resting on her closed fists and was being thoroughly entertained by Hermione's increasing desire to set this particular product aflame.
And oh, did she want to set the thing on fire.
"What exactly did my brothers say it would do?" Ginny asked, wiping tears of hilarity away.
Hermione watched as her friend fanned her burning face as she thought back to what the one-eared twin had said, "Actually, George said it was very self-explanatory."
"Really?" Ginny raised her eyebrows.
"Shut up."
"Well, whatever it was intended for, I'm rather enjoying it," Harry quipped with a grin. Hermione glared lightly at him before throwing it onto the blanket with an irritated huff.
"Well, that's no way to treat our products." Two voices called in tandem as the figures of Fred and George appeared behind the fence. Fred opened the gate for his brother and bowed him inside with a flourish. Folding her arms across her chest, Hermione refused to outwardly show her chagrin over losing her temper.
The twins joined them on the blanket, George throwing himself on his back next to Ginny and Fred lounging near his irate employee. They both looked tired but pleased, and Hermione wondered how the shopped had fared today. She tried to avoid Fred's amused eyes, still slightly ashamed of herself.
He draped a lazy arm over her shoulder and gestured to the product, "Be honest. What do you think?"
Hermione turned her head to stare at him, a small muscle beneath her eye beginning to twitch at an even tempo, "I think if I hadn't put it down—"
"More like thrown it away violently," he interrupted.
"—it would have been blasted half way to Jupiter."
Fred sighed in apparent disappointment, "Back to the drawing board, Forge. She didn't actually blow it up."
George frowned, "She did throw it around a bit."
"I did not!"
"Violently," Fred cooed, rubbing her shoulder consolingly.
"I just tossed it onto the blanket!"
"It was quite a vehement toss, Hermione," Ginny added with a grin.
Hermione paused as Fred's earlier comment finished ruminating, "Wait, you wanted me to blow it up?"
His eyes crinkled as he grinned. With a flick of his wand, the orb flew high into the air to hover about thirty feet above their heads. Another flick and the orb exploded in a ball of purple flame, revealing something that had been hidden in its depths. Fred directed the object towards his bushy-haired friend, loving the way curiosity etched itself on every inch of her face. She reached up to wrap her fingers around a parcel covered in blue paper and glanced at the twins to see them gesture for her to open it. Turning it over, she dissected the covering carefully to reveal a beautifully grey and white patterned quill with a wrought silver tip, a WWW's Patented Daydream Charm box underneath it.
"This is lovely," breathed Hermione, the pads of her digits brushing delicately across the downy edge of the feather. She glanced at the Daydream Charm, the outside not depicting scenes typically found on the cover of dime store novels but a pattern of tiny white clouds against a bright blue background.
Ginny poked George in the side with a sharp nail, "That's what it does? It explodes and makes thirty minute fantasies and pretty writing instruments?"
"Not exactly," George replied, rubbing his sore ribs painfully.
Fred took the quill Hermione handed to him and flourished it, "We haven't come up with a name for it yet, but this orb is a sort of randomized product gift package. You can give it to whomever you like and it will nearly give them a heart attack trying to figure it out before granting them some well-deserved products. This is the Not-Your-Notes Quill that allows you to write messages to your specific people without it being read by anyone else. You can write 'You're a git' to any Slytherin in your Potions class and there would be no way to prove it." Hermione rolled her eyes and grinned in spite of herself. Fred summoned the blue and white box next. "And this isn't your typical—"
"—Average—"
"—Mediocre—"
"—Run-of-the-mill Daydream Charm. It's designed to specifically tailor itself to your imagination."
Hermione raised her eyebrows, her mind racing through the calculations that would be required for that to work, "Really?"
"All it takes is an incantation," George affirmed, nodding proudly.
"That's brilliant," Hermione breathed, "You've really outdone yourselves with this one."
"And coming from her, that's saying something," Fred nodded to Harry importantly, as if imparting knowledge the latter had never considered. Hermione turned red.
"So, does mum need a Calming Drought yet?" George asked. He amused himself by pointing his wand up at the soft, white clouds and shaping them into inappropriate objects.
Ginny sat up and stretched, "Any minute now. She wants everything to be perfect tonight." She gave her boyfriend a playful look, "If our mum collapses from exhaustion I'm holding you responsible."
Harry looked mildly distressed at this, "I told her I didn't want a fuss."
"Oh, no, it's only the birthday of the bloke who defeated Voldemort," Fred said mildly.
"Yeah, of no importance at all to anyone," George mocked, raising his eyebrow at the younger man. It was Harry's turn to flush.
Hermione was looking forward to tonight's Friday dinner, as it was also intended to be the early celebration of Harry's eighteenth birthday; the first he was able to celebrate without the threat of Voldemort hanging over him like a pall. Neville and Luna were sure to come as were other familiar Order members like Hagrid, Lee Jordan and the Minister of Magic himself.
She abruptly realized three things in succession. The first was that she should have been in the kitchen helping as much as she could hours ago. With that resolution, the second thing she noticed was that she was unconsciously running the edge of the quill along the small Daydream Charm box that she still held in her lap. She hadn't meant to keep it, and she turned to Fred to give them back when she noticed something else. Fred's arm was still casually resting across her shoulders. Hermione followed the path from his shoulder, up his neck and to his face, which was turned away from her and towards the clouds his twin was shaping overhead. The sunlight filtering through the fluffy, white condensation flickered across his features, emphasizing his freckles and setting his red hair aflame.
Suddenly, she didn't want to go anywhere.
Her reluctance to leave confused and alarmed her, and she scrambled up from the blanket. Fred startled slightly as his arm lost its support and it fell to the blanket.
"Sorry," she called over her shoulder, already stepping into the house, "I'm going to see if Mrs. Weasley needs help."
Ginny watched her flustered best friend leave in a hurry and wondered what she had missed while watching George's antics. Had something happened? She looked at Harry who was still watching the sky, his broom ministrations temporarily forgotten, and then glanced over to Fred, who was looking after Hermione with a puzzled expression. Ginny caught his gaze, raised her eyebrows and got a shrug in response.
She touched Harry's shoulder and indicated that she was going inside before following Hermione into the house. The kitchen was a maelstrom of activity with her mother in the center. Pots and pans of various sizes were clattering around the cramped kitchen, flying this way and that and never spilling a drop of their contents. Hermione sat at the table, attempting to master the spell of potato-peeling. Her face was slightly pink and Ginny thought that her expression was too contemplative and worried for her mind to be solely on tubers.
She sat down on Hermione's left and grabbed a potato herself, continuing to study her friend even as she directed her next question to the older witch zooming around the kitchen, "Fred and George are here, mum. They want to know if you need any help."
Molly took a moment to glance at her youngest before shaking her head and casting five more spells in varying directions, "I'm fine, dear. You know they just make things more difficult." Ginny smiled at her mother, noticing that although the older woman seemed harried and rushed, there was hint of peace somewhere in the lines of her eyes and mouth that indicated contentedness. She felt a rush of pride in her mother, a woman who could be in one moment fiercely maternal and in another every inch the fearless warrior.
Glancing back at Hermione, she noticed her friend looking more and more relaxed. Tense muscles loosened and death grips on potatoes just became firm holds. Hermione looked sideways at her and Ginny gave a questioning look. The bushy-haired witch gestured helplessly to the pile of potatoes on the table then to Molly. Ginny took the hint and, with short knife in hand, helped Hermione finish prepping the vegetables in record time. Hermione vanished the peelings and followed Ginny's lead up the stairs and into the redhead's bedroom.
"So what happened?" Ginny asked without preamble.
Hermione sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, her hands clenched into fists on her lap, "Nothing really. I'm sure I'm just—maybe it's that—I don't know." She finished lamely with a sigh.
Ginny looked skeptical, "That seems unlikely." Hermione looked uncomfortable and her friend nodded, "I'm guessing you know exactly what the problem is and you're just not letting yourself admit it. So, what happened?"
"I think it's that Fred and I slept together yesterday, which is something quite intimate really, and I suppose I'm just feeling a little awkward about it," Hermione blurted.
Ginny's mind went blank in light of this completely unexpected information. She took a deep breath to filter out the anger, "You slept with Fred?"
Hermione's eyes widened and she waved her hands frantically in front of her, "No, that's not what I meant! Sorry. We fell asleep on his couch together."
Ginny blinked and then laughed in relief, "Merlin, Hermione! I was a second away from hexing you to next Thursday for cheating on my brother with…my brother. Well, that's confusing isn't it? Sounds like Rita Skeeter's wet dream."
Hermione was shocked into laughter for a moment, but began to blush fiercely in consideration of Ginny's misinterpretation. The redhead studied her heated face and asked slowly, "You don't fancy him, do you? Because that wouldn't be fair to Ron, no matter how much a prat he is sometimes."
Hermione wasn't eager to start telling people, but she knew she'd have to say it eventually, "Ron and I are no longer together, Ginny."
Ginny watched Hermione struggle with the words and she scowled, "What did he do now?"
"Nothing, nothing. It's nothing either of us did. We just decided that it wasn't working. We fight more now than we ever did before, and we aren't—compatible."
Hermione's eyes started to fill and Ginny pulled her into a hug, "After all that time? Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry."
A few moments passed in which Hermione tried to compose herself. She was making a very bad habit of crying miserably in the company of Weasleys. As she thought that, her thoughts turned on a dime to focus on Fred once again, and her already flushed face became even redder.
Ginny's expression became shrewd. "You never did answer my question, Hermione."
Hermione considered playing the fool, even if would only garner an extra few seconds of peace, but decided against it, "Of course I don't fancy him, Ginny. I've only just broken up with Ron, and—it's Fred." She wrinkled her nose at the strange idea, even as her mind replayed the moment they had woken up together the day before, when they had caught each other's eyes for a short, long moment until George's wit had cut through the silence.
Ginny watched her friend's face and smiled slightly, "Well, considering your odd taste in men, it wouldn't be a stretch from Ron to our older brother. And, in my opinion, you'd be getting a better deal." She ignored Hermione's protestations. "He's got a bigger imagination, he's not built like a broomstick—unlike Ronnikins—and despite all contrary evidence he's a vast deal more mature."
As she made her argument, Ginny surprised herself with the idea that Fred and Hermione had much more in common than anyone had ever previously thought. And who could blame her? Before today, the whole family believed that Hermione would be married into the family by the end of next year at the very latest. But now that Ginny had opened the door to possibilities, all sorts of revelations came flying out.
Everyone knew that Hermione was ages ahead of anyone else in her year, just shy of sheer genius in logic and magical ability. The only difference between her brother and her friend in that respect was the amount of effort each put into insuring that everyone else could see their brilliance. Hermione cared about earning Outstandings and Exceeds Expectations, cared about O.W. L. scores and ensuring that she would have something to show for every ounce of effort she put into her work. Fred, on the other hand, didn't care about official recognition for his genius so long as his products worked and brought laughter to whoever bought them.
Ginny also knew that Fred enjoyed brief moments of quiet and solitude—where he could let his mind do what it pleased. A presence of mind that she believed would appeal to Hermione greatly when compared to Ron's constant need for employment, entertainment and reassurance. Fred was also a thousand times more laid back and easy to get along with and ten thousand times more conscious of other's emotions. Although, Ginny amended her thoughts, Ron had become suspiciously perceptive in the past year.
As she stared at her sniffling friend, Ginny concluded that Ron was still a work-in-progress, whereas Fred was a fully grown man and a brilliant wizard, something Hermione wouldn't be able to ignore for long.
The noise that drifted around the dinner tables was almost deafening. Conversations were loud and excited, and in some cases, people were yelling pleasantries across two tables to be heard.
Hermione had donned a nice, lavender dress for the occasion and she had gotten a number of wolf-whistles from the eldest two Weasley boys and the twins when she came down the stairs, something that, in light of Ginny's assertions, made her blush something fierce. Ron had given her a thin smile and a nod before heading quietly to the kitchen.
They were both relieved to be on opposite sides of Harry, which granted them the ability to avoid looking at each other accidentally. The birthday boy himself was sitting across the table from his girlfriend, who was giving him salacious winks when she thought no one was looking, enjoying the way he continued to blush in response. On Hermione's other side, Neville was in deep conversation with Fred and George about the magical properties of a certain kind of luminescent mushroom they were thinking of using in another product.
Glancing unobtrusively down the table at Ron, she could hear Luna explaining to him the latest article from The Quibbler. Hermione smiled in amusement at her ridiculous hand gestures and felt a bubble of pressure in her chest ease when Ron guffawed at the ridiculousness of the Ravenclaw's elucidation. They would be fine.
The birthday cake Molly Weasley brought in after dinner would have fed a small army. Which, for the present company, Hermione thought appropriate. It was made to look like a miniature Quiddich field, complete with goal posts made of spun sugar and tiny Griffindor players charmed to fly in formations that Harry himself had designed as Quiddich Captain—Ron must have helped his mother with that part.
"We can't eat that, Molly, it's a masterpiece," Kingsley protested, his smooth deep tones carrying across the tables easily. Everyone nodded their agreement.
"Nonsense. It's made to be eaten." Molly asserted firmly, brooking no argument. She smiled warmly at Harry as she handed him the first slice, "Happy Birthday, Harry."
He took it, attempting to blink back tears as he surveyed the people around him. More loved ones than he gave himself the luxury of imagining when he slept in a small, dark broom cupboard in Privet Drive.
"Happy Birthday, Harry!" Everyone chimed in, beaming at the eighteen year old man.
After everyone had tucked into dessert and were lounging in their chairs and chatting amicably with their neighbors, Arthur Weasley stood from his chair.
He let them all fall silent before speaking, "As we are all in danger of falling asleep where we sit, let me make a case for brevity."
"That's a first!" Fred and George called together.
"Thank you boys," their father grinned and waited for the laughter to quiet, "We're here to celebrate the anniversary of the birth of a most extraordinary wizard. One who has saved all our lives at least once and who has done it without complaint or conceit and with all the good grace he can command. Please join me in raising a glass to Harry Potter. Happy Birthday, son." He held up a snifter of firewhiskey and all the occupants of the tables followed his example, lifting their drinks into the cool, night air and cheering. There was a moment of silence as they all took a sip and, in some cases, large gulps. "Now, I believe it's time for presents. And I think the first should come from our own Minister for Magic." He nodded at Kingsley and sat down, blushing minutely as his wife leaned over to give him a kiss.
Kingsley rose with his trademark grace and directed his gaze to Harry's shining green eyes, "This gift isn't just for you but for your fellow classmates as well. For all those students who fought in the war, and who could not complete your education, you are officially invited to begin Auror training this September." Hermione stared at him, astonished, as did the rest of her classmates.
"You're joking!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes fixed on Kingsley with a disbelieving look.
Kingsley smiled, "I am not. My sense of humor belongs to the Ministry, and I'm not authorized to use it today." Those who weren't struck dumb by the announcement laughed. Fleur spoke excitedly to Bill at the end of the table, and Charlie clapped Ron on the back so hard that his little brother almost fell into the bowl of punch.
Harry's look of shock melted into excitement and he reached across the table to shake Kingsley's large hand, "Thank you." Kingsley nodded and sat back down, which was Molly's cue to begin handing Harry presents from the enormous pile by the door.
Hermione's mind raced as she processed this new information. Not take the N.E.W.T.s? Miss her last year at Hogwarts? She felt a rush of fear as she looked at Harry, Ron and Neville who she knew were bound to take Kingsley's offer. Whatever her decision would be, she would never go to class with any of them again. She would never sit in the common room with them, eat with them in the Great Hall, see them play Quiddich in the crisp Autumn air—
She knew it wasn't the end of the world, but, as she watched Ron encouraging Harry to "just rip the bloody paper," she knew she had just witnessed the end of something immensely important. And it made her sad.
A/N: Reviews are love. Thank you, my lovely reviewers, for your continued support. You're reviews make me squirm with joy. ;D