Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is awesome - I don't own anything.
Chapter Seven
It had been a very long two weeks, and Hermione was exhausted. Intellectually exhausted because her research into the spattergroit curse was going nowhere, physically exhausted because she'd just finished a twenty-hour shift, and emotionally exhausted because she hadn't been able to vent in her diary. It had sat untouched on her bedside ever since Fred's comment about reading that she'd kissed George. She'd briefly contemplated replacing it with a new one, but wasn't sure if that would be enough of a counter measure. There was also a principle at stake. They were in the wrong, and it felt – irrationally, she knew – like conceding the moral high ground if she bought a new diary. With the start of September, Ginny had gone back into serious training, so hadn't been free for Hermione to rant at over wine. She had been restless for two weeks with all the thoughts racing around her head, unable to find a safe outlet for her conflicting emotions.
The fact that the twins kept sending her gifts only added to her constant level of irritation. Did they honestly think they could bribe their way back into her good graces!? Though, she had to admit that some of the chocolates had looked very tasty, and the apology letters had been heartfelt. She had read them all using a spell that lifted the text out of the page to let it hover in the air, leaving the letter unopened – even when principles were at stake, she found it difficult to outright ignore the written word, no matter how indignant she might feel.
The other irritating aspect was that she actually missed them. Well, she missed Fred – dating him had been fun, and they'd been about to get to all the good parts before events had soured their relationship. And George... well, she still wasn't thinking about George. Definitely not thinking about his hands, or his mouth, or the look of abject shame on his bloodied face.
It was a relief to finally leave St Mungo's, apparate home, shuck off her lime green robes, and step into the shower. Her head began to clear as the hot water massaged her skull and relaxed her aching muscles. The problem, she decided, was the lack of forethought and planning. A thing worth doing was worth doing well, and preferably with a colour-coded outline. Agreeing to see Fred when she was clearly attracted to both twins had been shortsighted on her part. Had it been George rather than Fred who had turned up at her flat with poppies and asked her to dinner, she still probably would have said yes. Maybe events would have taken an almost identical turn, and she'd still be muddling through her emotions under a showerhead. No, if she had actually sat down and thought about it, she would have realized straightaway that... that what? That she wanted to date both of the Weasley twins? No, that was putting it too innocently. She had to be honest about what she wanted, which frankly at this particular moment was to have them both here with her naked in the shower, massaging, snogging, and shagging all her cares away.
Hermione groaned in frustration, letting her head fall back against the tiled shower wall. Fantasizing about Fred and George together was one thing; actually trying to have a physically intimate relationship with both of them simultaneously just seemed insulting, as if she saw them as one interchangeable person. Except she'd come to realize, mostly through spending more time with Fred, that whilst complementary, they were even more distinctly different than she'd ever noticed before.
Fred was by far the more outwardly expressive twin, his lithe hands constantly dancing through the air as he described WWW's latest invention, or recalled a particularly brilliant Hogwarts prank. He'd also inherited his mother's ability to hold a grudge, and was still distrustful around Percy in a way George wasn't. George could never be called reserved, but whereas Fred radiated tightly coiled energy, George always seemed to be at ease with the world. Or at least he had seemed so before. Hermione frowned, recalling flickers of more remorseful expressions on George's face when Fred had dragged him to her flat to apologize.
Sighing, Hermione turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a fluffy dressing gown. Clearly she did see them as two distinct people, and wanted to be intimate with them both. And there was the crux of the matter. Well, you don't always get what you want.
She grimaced as she eyed her complexion in the mirror. Thankfully, it remained silent. She had been adamant about having no magical furniture in her flat. She was quite fond of her quiet and privacy, thank you very much. Giving herself one long assessing look, one last moment where all things were still possible in her fantasyland, she squared her shoulders before heading to her closet.
It was time to make things right.
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It had only been a question of time, really. Maturity was overrated, and Harry would still love her even if she was at times a trifle meddlesome. After all, wasn't it the sworn duty of a younger sister to interfere with her older brother's love lives?
Ginny had apparated to the front door of the flat entrance. All the members of the Weasley clan new better than to apparate into the middle of the danger zone that was Fred and George's private living quarters. Even apparating to the doorstep could be risky. Ignoring the shriveled head on the door, Ginny conjured her patronus, waiting none too patiently as the great mare disappeared inside. A minute later a very dispirited-looking George opened the door.
"Hullo, sis."
"Hello my ginger-freckled arse! Why on earth do you look like someone's died?" Not waiting for an answer, Ginny gave her brother a swift hug before heading upstairs and calling out for Fred. She found him in the lounge, moping on the couch. "Right," she said, turning to point at George with her wand, "sit." She found her brothers were all more inclined to listen to her when she used her wand. It was a point in Harry's favour that he seemed to listen to her even if she wasn't waving it about.
George duly sat. Ginny eyed both her brothers, trying to work our what stage of we-fucked-up-and-now-feel-sorry-for-ourselves her brothers were at. They were both clean, and they didn't seem to be angry at one another anymore, which was a good start at least. Best to get it over with quickly then – aim for the jugular.
'So, what did she do?" Her brothers blinked, looking confused. What, no shouting? I must be losing my touch. "Well? What did Hermione do to make you both this glum? I'm assuming it must be her fault, since-"
"How dare you! She didn't-"
"What do you mean, her fault!? We-"
Ha – still got it. She silenced them with a flick of her wand. "That's better. Now, sit down again." Glaring, they did. None of her brothers had ever managed to break one of her silencing charms. Harry had, but only the once. "I'm not even going to bother to ask what you did. Frankly, I don't think I want to know." They both looked extremely guilty at this. That bad? I'll have to make Hermione tell me everything. "We'll start with the basics then. Have you both apologized?" They nodded. "Sincerely?" More nodding. Hmm... "In person?"
The quick flick of their eyes at each other confirmed her suspicions. Honestly, how they managed to create such brilliant inventions and still be so thick was beyond her comprehension. "Typical. Well, this has been a lovely visit, but I must dash. Things to do, places to see, boyfriends to shag senseless" Both of them pulled faces of disgust. Smiling, she stood and hugged them both. "Good luck." She un-silenced them, then apparated away.
Ginny Weasley, saving relationships wherever she goes. Now, where is Harry and how naked is he?
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Author's Note: Better late than never? (please don't hurt me)