Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is awesome - I don't own anything.

Chapter 4

Hermione was pleased to be working the day shift this week – the night shift on a Friday was brutal. It seemed wizards were no different from mugg- non-magical persons when it came to saving their shenanigans for the weekend. However, Friday's day shift was generally no more stressful than usual. She nodded to Laura at the enquiries desk before taking the lift to the fourth floor. Anaxos was waiting for her, smoothing his mustache absently as he frowned over a parchment. He looked up as she arrived, wordlessly handing over a thick stack of files. Hermione made a small sound of distaste as she opened the topmost file – magical pictures of ill patients seemed entirely unnecessary.

"Why am I looking at a case of spattergroit? Surely that belongs on the second floor, if not at their own home in quarantine." Hermione started to skim the notes made in Anaxos' cramped and untidy hand.

"Shall I let you read on or shall I just tell you?"

"Tell me," she replied absently, still skimming the patient notes.

"Seems the lad was in an altercation of sorts in Sauchie Lane-"

"That's like Diagon Alley, but in Glasgow, right?"

"Yes. Anyway, seems like he and a few wizards visiting from Portugal had a few pints too many, which degenerated into an altercation over something nobody appears to remember." Hermione snorted; they received similar pub-brawl related spell damage cases every week. "One thing led to another, wands were pulled, and our patient ended up on the receiving end of a very nasty curse that causes spattergroit – or at the very least, the symptoms of spattergroit. No one believed him at first, and no one would get close enough to verify his claim that it was caused by a spell, but I have diagnosed him and it was indeed caused by a curse. Fascinating, actually"

"Potuguese, you say?"

"Indeed – you'll find a file from the MLE department in there as well; interview with the bystanders and the wizard who cast the curse, thankfully. They can't do anything about it, of course, the-"

"International Statute for Secrecy states that wizards cannot be detained outside their own country for anything less than a forbidden curse or acting with intent to kill – but spattergroit can be fatal. Surely-"

"I think the MLE doesn't want to borrow trouble – they're still hunting a few Death Eaters." Anaxos cleared his throat, sounding disapproving. "No matter, we at St. Mungo's will remain professional at least. I was thinking you could do the research on this one – if you can't find anything here I don't mind if you head to Hogwarts, Inquiries can give you a portkey as usual. Be back here at four'o'clock, though. The Spavin boy is awake and Auror Weasley will be visiting then to ask him a few questions."

"Right. And the others?" Hermione flicked through the other files.

"Standard charms and curses, but with some confusing variations – your specialty." Hermione smiled; admitting that someone might be more qualified than himself was the closest Anaxos ever got to a compliment. Even now the fierce wizard was looking distinctly uncomfortable with his admission.

"I'll let you know if I need any help," Hermione said soothingly, earning her a near smile from Anaxos. The dark blond wizard smoothed his mustache contentedly, mollified. She made a quick stop to the office to gather an extra notebook and some pens – she often wondered how she had survived Hogwarts without pens – and took the lift to the seventh floor library.

Hermione breathed in deeply as she arrived, reveling in the scent of hundreds of thousands of books. The St. Mungo's library was vast, employing the use of many undetectable extension charms to house every known book pertaining to magical maladies. The central rectangular room was half a mile long with twenty wings, ten on each side. The high arched ceiling some 30 feet above was much like the ceiling in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, but depicted scenes from the ocean instead of the sky. Presently, large schools of fish swam in bright flashes of colour, darting in and out of distinctly tropical coral beds. This was one of the more common ceiling views, though she'd seen shipwrecks, deep-sea ocean beds, and whale pods before as well. Hermione wasn't sure what whimsy had led to the ceiling, but she loved it anyway despite of the absurdity of a water ceiling atop a library. Bookshelves extended from floor to ceiling, arranged into archways over the entrances to each wing and rounded into columns on either side. The floor was richly carpeted with a repeating pattern of St. Mungo's wand and bone insignia and subtly reflected the undulating water patterns from the ceiling. Large carved wooden desks with small lamps floating above them were scattered throughout the central hall.

By the entrance was a sign that read:

NO Apparating in the library

NO eating or drinking without first casting a semi-imperturbable charm

NO wandering unattended in the library, please use the chairs provided

To the left was a row of high-backed plushy purple armchairs arranged like a line of shopping trolleys, each facing towards the back of the library. Hermione seated herself in the front most armchair, settled her handbag in her lap and slid open a small compartment in one of the armrests to reveal what looked like a small golden clock, but instead of pointing at numbers the hand pointed at small boxes with written sets of instructions. At the moment the hand pointed to tiny script that read:

Please write down what you wish to search for, fold the paper twice and push it through the slot provided.

Hermione wrote spattergroit curse and Portugal on a small slip of paper, folded it twice and slid it into the gold-plated slot below the clock face. A whirring noise sounded, followed by a small click. She grasped the armrests tightly as the armchair shot forwards and upwards off the ground, stopping abruptly near the top of the third column of books. She transfigured one of her pens into a large hanging basket that she affixed to the other armrest and carefully took the three books that were illuminated by a soft, glowing purple light, placing them gently into the pen-basket. She gripped the armrests again as the chair sped off. The chair stopped twice more before taking Hermione and seven books to rest in front of a large wooden desk. She stacked the books on one side of the desk and spelled them with a modified imperturbable charm before pulling a mug out of her bag and conjuring some tea. She sipped it pleasurably, savouring the quiet moment. Being a healer was challenging, stressful and emotionally draining. Most days it made Hogwarts look like a cakewalk, and some days it even made defeating Voldemort feel easy in comparison. She'd spent six years in Healer training after returning to Hogwarts and completing a seventh year. She'd also enrolled in a six-year course training as a mug- non-magical doctor, using a time turner in order to complete the two courses simultaneously. She never wanted to taste an anti-age potion ever again. The training for both had been incredibly demanding, and Hermione had realized that she hadn't actually learned how to truly work whilst at Hogwarts. Being smart could sometimes be a disadvantage. Rigourous as the training was, it hadn't fully prepared her for the gritty realities of life as a healer. Moments like these in the library reminded Hermione how much she loved what she did – how good it felt to find answers and fix things. She pulled the first book down from her small stack and started reading chapter titles.

Four hours and 18 books later, Hermione yawned and stretched. She'd worked through all the patient files, owling Anaxos with her findings as she'd reached them. She flicked her wand at the books on the desk and they flapped off back to their positions on the shelves. She sat back in the armchair and twisted the dial in the centre of the clock face so the hands pointed at tiny script reading: Done for today. The chair took off again, parking itself at the back of the queue of armchairs and Hermione slid out, stretching again.

Hermione was waiting for Ron when he arrived. She smiled brightly at him and walked him over to the bed occupied by the Spavin boy.

"Hello, Edmund," she said gently to the wide-eyed boy who was looking fearfully at Ron. "This is Auror Weasley. He's going to ask you a few questions about what happened to you. You're not in any trouble," she continued, seeing the boy swallow nervously, "he just needs to know what happened so he can keep other people from getting sick. I'm going to stay here, if that's alright with you?" The boy nodded quickly, looking extremely relieved.

Ron sat at the foot of the bed. "Hi mate, I'm Ron," he said, extending his hand and grinning at the boy. "Fancy a game of wizard chess?" They boy's eyes widened again, this time with excitement. Hermione smiled inwardly as Ron set up the game, pulling out a bag of Bertie's – trust Ron to use chess and food to put the boy at ease. She continued watching as they played, the boy shedding his shyness as he became absorbed in the game, distractedly answering the careful questions Ron asked in between moves and game play tips. It transpired the boy had been in Diagon Alley, and had actually gone to Fred and George's shop to purchase a few fake wands, before being accosted by a 'man with more sweets'.

"Did this bloke have a name?" Ron was studying the board, scowling at the pieces as he slowly lost. Hermione was fairly sure it was all an act on his part, though she'd never been much good at chess herself, wizard or otherwise. Edmund was screwing up his face as he contemplated his next move, sticking out his tongue as one of Ron's pieces called him an especially foul name. Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ron, who gave her a level stare in return as his ears slowly reddened.

"Said his name was Freddie Fred Fred the Weasel," piped the boy. Hermione breathed in sharply but remained silent at a warning look from Ron.

"That's a rather silly name," Ron observed casually, as if it were of no consequence. "What did he look like?"

The boy shrugged, "Dunno really." He ate a bean. "Mm, watermelon."

"Remember what colour his hair was?"

"Sort of brown, maybe."

"Not like mine then."

The boy looked at Ron for a moment then rolled his eyes and laughed vigorously as if Ron had said the funniest thing, "no. Not – at – all."

They talked for a while longer and finished the game. Ron won, but made it seem like he only just managed to win. They said their goodbyes to Edmund and made their way back to the floor's central desk.

"Well, looks like Fred and George definitely didn't have anything to do with it after all," Ron observed.

"But it almost sounds as if someone wanted people to think they did," Hermione frowned, "except... well, what was the point? They couldn't have honestly thought Fred and George would have been blamed for it?"

"If the kid had died from the sweet and all he managed to say before snuffing it was Freddie Fred Fred the Weasel and Diagon Alley, who knows what might have happened. They probably wouldn't have gone to Azkaban, but who knows how badly it could have damaged their business." He shrugged, looking around the desk. "Got anything to eat? More cake, maybe?"

Hermione shook her head in mock disgust. "How can you possibly speak of a child dying and ask for cake in the same breath?" Nevertheless, she summoned the cake platter and two plates.

"I'm sure I breathed between those two thoughts."

Hermione chuckled and they ate cake silently for a minute. "I'm surprised you're so casual about the whole thing."

"It's just cake, I don't-"

"No," she cut him off with an exasperated look. "I mean about your family, Fred and George. I would have thought you'd be more upset about a possible threat."

Ron wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "A threat, really? I dunno. This just seems too pathetic really to be a serious threat."

"That boy almost died – I'd call that serious."

"Not the boy," he frowned at her. "That's not what I meant. This just seems too... indirect."

"Ooh," Hermione's brows rose in mock surprise, "look at you, using big words."

"Ha, bloody ha. Anyway, this doesn't feel like a threat, just some nutter targeting kids."

"I see what you mean, but still, it doesn't quite add up." Ron tilted his head in thought and she continued, "I mean, the guy who gave Edmund the sweet sounds a bit, er,-"

"Barmy, loopy, deranged, mad as a bleeding hatter?" Ron supplied helpfully.

"-mentally unstable," Hermione said acerbically, "but whomever altered the potion recipe was clearly intelligent enough to understand what they were doing. Or was incredibly lucky." She paused, thinking. "Or unlucky? What if they were trying to make something else happen instead, but got it wrong – what would they be trying to do, and why would they want to implicate Fred and George? Maybe I'll look at that potion recipe again and just see-"

"Oi, 'Mione!" Ron snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Don't go library mode on me just yet." Hermione tried to purse her lips but couldn't help giving a small smile. "You think maybe it was two geezers then that did this?"

Hermione grimaced. "I don't know what to think, but it's probably worth considering as a hypothesis-"

"Small words, please."

Hermione laughed then, a full-throated laugh that shook her insides. Ron was looking at her in mild amusement and with some confusion. She waved helplessly at him, smiling broadly. "It feels good to do that. I- I haven't-"

Ron shushed her and wrapped both arms around her in a tight embrace.

"S'okay," he said gently. "It- it's just good to have one of my best friends back."

Hermione laughed again weakly, blinking fiercely against the prickling of tears at the back of her eyes. "Yeah, well," she said, pushing him away, "sorry I took so long."

"No worries," Ron offered nonchalantly, spreading his hands wide, "What can I say? I'm just too studly to handle."

Hermione laughed and whacked his arm lightly. "Yes, that was it. I was just mourning the loss of your eminently virile presence."

"Speaking of men in your life," Ron said, taking another piece of cake as he fixed Hermione with a knowing look, "what's this about you and Fred and dinner?

"How do you- Ginny told you, didn't she! Well, that's the last time I ever invite her over again!" Hermione exhaled in annoyance, then turned and looked at Ron cautiously. "Do you – do you mind?"

"No, not really." Ron shrugged. "It's a bit strange, I guess, but more because it's you and Fred, not really anything to do with the fact that we snogged or anything. Though," his eyes lit up, "if Fred asks, tell him I'm the better snogger."

"We're not! I'm not- it's- hmph!" Hermione growled in frustration, blushing furiously. "It's just dinner, and I'm not discussing it with you or anyone. Who else knows?"

"Just Harry, I think. I only know because Ginny told him. She'd never tell me stuff like that – apparently I'm the enemy. Or something. So yeah - you and Fred: not really that weird. Ginny and Harry: really weird. Still not sure I should have said yes to that-"

"It's really not your place to give permission. Ginny is perfectly capable of making her own decisions and-"

"Yeah, yeah," Ron flapped a hand carelessly, "that's what she says. Or at least, that's probably what she says. I don't really listen to her when she gets all screamy – females, bleurgh." He shuddered.

"I'm a female!"

"Nah, you don't count – friends don't count."

"It's a good thing we stopped seeing each other when we did, isn't it?"

"Yes." Ron squinted questioningly at her. "No? Maybe! I quite agree with you, my dear."

"Well, if you're just going to be childish I'll leave you to it – I have work to do," Hermione sniffed.

Ron smirked. "Have fun at dinner."

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Fred was nervous. Except he wasn't, not really, Fred Weasley never got nervous. Fred Weasley had never been nervous, never would be nervous. Fred Weasley didn't even know what being nervous felt like, he could only imagine what other, lesser beings felt when they were nervous.

"Nervous?" asked George.

"No."

George gave one of his annoying I-am-obvously-the-better-twin smiles. Fred sent a mild stinging hex his brother's way... well, maybe not so mild.

"Oi!" George yelped and glared but didn't bother retaliating. That's right, know your place, minion, retaliating is useless. Smug bastard – maybe not a bastard because that would be complicated, but smug: smug minion. That's right minion, kneel to your master, the glorious Fred Weasley, who is not nervous, who is going out to dinner with Hermione Granger. Who would be nervous around Hermione Granger? She was just a bushy-haired witch who's a bit bossy. Just a bushy-haired witch who's a bit bossy, and freakishly intelligent, and kind of amazingly beautiful, and rather lovely, and would probably look amazing stark naked and tangled up in sheets or no sheets just after being rogered senseless and-

"Fred, you 'right, mate?"

"I'm fine – I already told you, I'm not nervous!" Fred Weasley never got nervous. Fred Weasley didn't even... Fred Weasley, Fred Weasley. What sort of a ridiculous name was Fred Weasley anyway? Who wouldn't laugh at a name like Fred Weasley?

"Fred?"

"Fine, George, you win, I'm nervous! And what kind of a name is Fred Weasley anyway? Who made that decision?"

"I did – had to get an advantage somehow, seeing as how we look alike. Thought I'd at least get the better name."

Fred chuckled weakly and looked fondly at his twin before turning back to the mirror to adjust his hair again. "She's not going to laugh at me, or yell at me, or tell me I'm an idiot, or tell me she can't stand my name, or anything like that, is she? It's all in my head?"

"She probably is going to do all of that – if she hasn't already – but I doubt she'll do it tonight."

"Thanks, mate – helpful, that is, helpful." Fred turned away from the mirror to look at George. George was absently twirling his wand in his fingers, looking pensively at the coffee table. "You 'right, mate?" An indefinable emotion flicked across George's face briefly as he looked up and nodded. Fred forgot his nervousness momentarily as he canted his head and studied his twin. "Sure?"

"Yeah – just thinking; ideas for the shop and whatnot." George sighed, swiped a hand across his face, stood and lightly punched Fred's arm as he walked towards his own bedroom. "You'll be fine."

"Yeah," Fred agreed shakily as he turned back to the mirror, frowning at his hair. "Sure."

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Hermione looked at her watch again, and then picked up the parchment Fred's owl had delivered earlier.

I'll arrive outside of yours around 7 – dress code is smart casual, Fred.

Hermione glanced at her watch yet again as she put the parchment back down: 6:57. She opened up her handbag and summoned items to the top to check they were there. All of her handbags save one had undetectable extension charms. The unmodified handbag she used for whenever she visited her parents – it was just easier to interact in mug- non-magical Britain without magical items that could be difficult to explain away. She'd made that mistake once when she'd accidentally brought a magically colour-changing scarf to a Christmas gathering at her grandparents' house. She'd had to make up a story about a friend who worked in fashion; the high-end, exclusive, groundbreaking technology sort of fashion.

Her musing was interrupted by a loud pop on the other side of the door, shortly followed by a knock. She stood, smoothed her skirts, and walked quickly to the door, pausing to breathe slowly in and out once before reaching out to open the door.

Fred was waiting outside, again tugging at his collar. His hair looked like he'd forgotten what a comb was and his robes were a slightly alarming shade of lime green, but otherwise he'd cleaned up well.

"Hey," Fred said softly in greeting, "you look lovely."

Hermione smiled, ducking her head slightly at the compliment. "You look nervous, which is good, because I feel nervous, which is honestly just ridiculous." She stopped and shook her head in embarrassment. "And I'm babbling already, forgive me?"

"Would you like to head to dinner?" Fred looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh, which Hermione greatly appreciated.

"Yes, please."

Fred stepped forward and was suddenly too close, his breath warm on her cheek as he spoke. "We're apparating there." His voice sounded lower than usual and Hermione felt her temperature rise in response. She looked up as he gently gripped both her arms, feeling as though her skin were rippling outwards with tingles from where he held her. She felt short of breath as she met his clear blue gaze, his eyes framed almost delicately with lightly coloured lashes. Before she could stop herself, she glanced at his lips, realizing her mistake too late and feeling a blush heat her cheeks.

"Determination is really hard when you look like you want to eat me, Hermione." Fred's voice sounded strained, but his lips crooked mischievously as he spoke. She dropped her head self-consciously. "Not to worry though, just hold tight." So saying, Fred pulled her closer and they apparated. She stepped away quickly as they landed, not trusting herself to be so close to him. Already she could feel warmth slowly burning between her legs and her breath was coming in short pants. Just from standing too close, you are in trouble. She looked around, carefully not meeting Fred's eyes. They were in a back alley she didn't recognize.

"I know, I know, I take you to all the nice places," Fred drawled. Hermione let out a slightly breathy giggle. Fred extended a hand, "shall we?"

Hermione hesitated only a moment before reaching out with her hand to hold his. His hand was warm and surprisingly large, and held her hand gently but firmly. "Yes – where are we?"

"Bristol." Hermione blinked.

They only had to walk down a few streets before emerging onto a central road with several restaurants. Hermione didn't twig where they were going until they stood outside of the small, brightly lit and boldly decorated restaurant front. She gasped in delight as she read the lettering.

"I've been wanting to eat here for ages, ever since I read about it in the Guardian! How did you know?"

Fred looked smug. "A Weasley never reveals his secrets. Well, actually, we usually do, but in this case my lips are sealed."

"Ginny told you, didn't she?"

"Damn" Fred's face fell and Hermione laughed.

"Oh well – better luck being mysterious next time."

Fred grinned slyly, "Next time, eh?"

Hermione lightly rapped his arm with her free hand. "Don't get too cocky." She tugged him forward eagerly, bending to read the menu. "Those all look really tasty – sure you won't mind vegan food?"

"I have it on good authority they do serve wine," Fred replied archly. Hermione chuckled.

"Lead on, Mr Weasley."

She followed him into the restaurant and they were shortly led to a table on the back patio, also decorated with bright colours and strung with fairy lights. Small candles were lit on each table. The whole effect was festive yet still relaxed.

"So, the Guardian? That's one of those muggle newspapers, isn't it?"

Hermione again blinked in surprise. "You seem to be rather well informed about the mug- non-magical world these days. I read most of the major papers: Guardian, Times, New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Financial Times, the Economist, etcetera, etcetera. I like to have multiple perspectives when I read." She shrugged.

Fred laughed. "You haven't changed all that much since Hogwarts, have you?"

Hermione considered. "I've changed in some ways. I no longer go around forcing spew down people's throats."

Fred gave a shout of laughter, startling the couple at the next table. "Finally given up on that, have you?"

"Not at all, just reconsidering my marketing strategy." Hermione's tone was prim, but her eyes sparkled with mirth.

Fred snorted, "Spew not doing the job, then?"

"No, but tell Ron or Harry that and I will hex you so badly you'll beg for one of Ginny's Bat-Bogey hexes instead." Her smile faltered as she realized she'd mentioned Ron. She'd decided beforehand that she'd try not to do that.

Fred seemed to catch her thoughts. "It's ok, you know, about Ron." He paused, clearly searching for words. "We... we spoke. Not," he added quickly, seeing Hermione's expression, "as two men haggling over chattel, or anything in that sense, but... I just wanted to check that I wouldn't..." he trailed off, his hands gesturing eloquently in the silence.

"Check you wouldn't estrange your brother?" Hermione asked quietly. The idea of being discussed was frustrating, but she understood – she'd practically had the same conversation with Ron. It wasn't straightforward, going out with Fred. They were already tied together in so many ways. Other people could get hurt.

"Something like that," Fred nodded, looking down at the table. "It's just, even now – what, 7 years later? – it's still hard with Percy. I mean," he was absently twisting his napkin in his hands as he spoke, "even before he walked out he was a prat and unbearable, but he was still my brother, he was still family. But now, even though he's apologized and maybe even changed a little, the fact that he left... it's still there. I mean," he looked up, and Hermione winced at the pain in his eyes, "I just can't forget. Most of us can't. Mum acts like nothing ever happened, and Bill and Charlie are ok with him – but I think that's because he's their younger brother and they feel they have to look out for him or something..."

The waiter interrupted then to take their drinks order. They were silent for a moment after he left.

"Sorry," Fred gave an embarrassed laugh, scrubbing a hand across his face. Hermione was again struck by how irresistible Fred looked when he was vulnerable – she felt inappropriately...protective, and wanted to go over to him and cradle his head in her hands. She was surprised at the strength of the urge.

"Shall we try again?"

'Yes." Fred looked at her and gave her a knowing grin that Hermione felt between her legs again. "So, 'non-magical' persons?"

They talked and laughed easily for the rest of the meal after that. Somewhere between their starters and mains they remembered they were Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger, that they'd known each other for years and were already friends, that they'd been through a war, fighting Death Eaters and Voldemort, and the nervousness melted away into easy and companionable conversation. Hermione laughed when Fred made her dessert sing one of the Sorting Hat's many songs, covering it hastily with her hand to keep people at other tables from noticing and whispering urgently at Fred through her tears of laughter for him to make it stop.

They split the bill after an amicable argument about who would pay and walked, slightly unsteadily, out of the restaurant and back to the apparition spot. Hermione's breath hitched as Fred again stepped close, dropping his hands to her shoulders and slowly sliding down her arms, his eyes burning into hers as he did so. They apparated and Hermione stumbled forward slightly as they landed. Heat flared across her entire body as she came into contact with Fred's chest and his arms tightened around her. Without pausing to think she dragged her head upwards, fiercely meeting his descending lips with her own.

Their kiss had no foreplay or teasing, just raw hunger and heat. One of Fred's hands slid down to her lower back, forcing her to arch back and deepen their kiss. As she gasped and clutched at his shirt Fred sucked on her bottom lip, rolling it seductively between his own firm lips. Hermione moaned and fought her hands free to entangle them both in his hair. Fred growled and slid both his hands down lower, pulling at the backs of her legs. Hermione responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck before half jumping, half being lifted by Fred to wrap her legs around his waist, Fred's hands slid back along her legs to firmly grasp her arse. And Hermione could feel the heat radiating from his groin and the hard length of his cock pressing through his jeans and the fabric of her skirt. She sucked on his bottom lip briefly, eliciting another growl, before kissing from the corner of his mouth and along the line of his jaw. His hands squeezed, hard, as she kissed down his neck. Then they were moving and she was being pressed against the wall and Fred took over, starting at her collarbone and energetically kissing, sucking and biting his way up her neck to nip at her earlobe.

"Like it up against a wall, do you?" Hermione shivered at the wicked tone of his whispered words as his lips traced along the side of her face to descend upon her mouth again. His hands moved to grip her waist, sliding her top upwards. She felt liquid pool between her legs as his hands slid over the bare skin of waist, his thumbs rubbing in circles, moving upwards to-

They froze at the sound of a door handle turning. Fred froze for only a split second though before apparating them inside Hermione's flat. Without the support of the wall Fred stumbled slightly and Hermione gracelessly detached herself from Fred. They both stood breathing heavily for a moment, not looking at one another. When Fred moved forward again Hermione held up a hand to stop him, smiling at his confused look. She took both his hands in hers as she turned to face him, holding him at arm's length.

"I... I had a lovely time tonight, and I'd like to do this again, but I'd like to call it a night now." She offered him an apologetic smile.

He grinned back ruefully. "You sure?"

"No, but yes."

"You're probably right." He gave her a long, searching look before freeing a hand and reaching up to cup one side of her face. "Goodnight, Hermione." He bent and swiftly kissed her cheek before stepping back. Then he gave her a wicked look and added in a low voice, "write about the rest in your diary," before disapparating.

Hermione summoned a bottle of wine and walked deliberately to her bedroom.

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"George. George!" Fred's shouting roused George from his sullen reverie. He stuck his head out of his bedroom.

"Hey. How'd it-"

"I need it, the Reveal-O-Parchment. I need it right now."

"We really need to find a-"

"Right now, George! Right. Now." George took in Fred's flushed and disheveled appearance and turned away, scowling. He'd gotten lucky all right – well, pulled at any rate. Looked like they hadn't quite made it all the way though. Good.

"George, I-"

"I'm getting it," George shot back. Two strides took him to the desk and he snatched the parchment violently, scattering quills and other parchments as he did so. He stomped back to the door and thrust it into Fred's hands.

"Why-"

"Bugger off," snapped George, and slammed the door.

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Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and following the story – it's so exciting for people to read my writing, and maybe even enjoy it!

Sorry for the slight delay in getting this chapter out. I'm deliberately not going to set a schedule because I know I won't keep to it. However, I have every intention of finishing this story and I'm going to try to get out at least one new chapter each week. I've plotted out most of the romance arc and am trying to fit the mystery/action arc into that (no, we haven't heard the last of the shrinking sweet). So anyway, enjoy!