Hermione sat cross-legged in the storeroom, glass bottles littering the floor, half dusty and jumbled and the other half polished and standing in neat rows.
"Hermioneeeee," came the singsong from the flat. A parade of footsteps followed, announcing the approach of one twin. A head topped with flaming red hair popped in a few seconds later; Fred. "Tea?" Her stomach growled at the thought of food, and Fred quirked an eyebrow with a grin. She placed her rag down on top of her itemized list, rising carefully to keep from upsetting any of the glass bottles.
"Tea sounds lovely."
"After you mademoiselle," he gestured up the stairs with a bow and she curtsied back, covering her own grin with a cough. She could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't particularly convinced. Up the stairs and on the kitchen table was an excellent assortment of sandwiches and biscuits, and if they were placed perhaps a touch too close to the potion bubbling on the end of the table, well, who was she to complain.
She grabbed a biscuit and curled up on the kitchen chair, tucking her feet up under her, and surveyed the controlled chaos all around her. There were stacks of parchment, some which she knew to be lists of all of the remaining product that had survived the war, some were lists of what had been on display before the store had closed, and the rest were random notes scribbled on scraps of paper for what they would create.
"Some of the old classics," George had told her,
"And some new, of course. It'll be good to flex those inventing muscles again," Fred had finished.
They had been discarding old and spoiled product, ordering new ingredients and creating some of their old recipes with surprising efficiency. Skiving Snackboxes had already been and placed under preserving charms (Hermione was rather good at them), and were lining the shelves, waiting to be sold. Currently they were working on trying to perfect a gumdrop that made one giggle uncontrollably.
So far it had caused Fred to laugh, big belly laughs, until he'd cried and begged for the antidote, but it had only given Hermione the hiccoughs.
They hoped to be open in a week, building their supplies as they sold product. Hermione knew the budget was stretched terribly thin, but the twins were optimistic. Or, at least, they appeared to be. They were jovial, joking with one another, Fred leaning back with his feet crossed on the table, gesturing with the sandwich in his hand. George was leaning over, hands on his knees, laughing at something Fred had said. Hermione felt herself smiling at the two of them, something which had been growing more and more familiar with every passing day. Her cheeks had ached that first night, the muscles unused to the strain.
Their chatter was interrupted by a knock on the store door, a tentative rap of knuckles.
"I'll get it," she found herself saying. She stood, laying her hand on George's shoulder as she passed, a simple gesture that she had picked up without quite realizing it. Contact with him sent a pleasant, and now familiar, buzzing up her arm. She couldn't manage to make herself touch Fred, remembering the lightening his skin sent through her veins. She didn't catch the stricken look on Fred's face as she passed.
As she descended the stairs to the store, she caught a glimpse of a small shadow through the front glass window. A second, decidedly more impatient, rap of knuckles sounded on the front door. She swung the door open to find a small boy, blonde hair in mussed curls, his brown eyes striking in his pale, round face. He grinned up at her, missing his two front teeth.
"'Ello. Is the store open?" She blinked down at him, and before she could say anything he had slipped past her and into the still mostly empty store.
"Um, no, we're not quite open yet," she informed him, regretfully. He ignored her. Instead he ran up to a close display and pulled down a low box, an Aviatomobile.
"Can I get this, pretty please?" Hermione found that she couldn't quite say no.
"Well of course you can, mate," Fred said, as he came abreast of her (nearly startling her to death), and knelt down to the child's level. "We haven't had our Grand Opening just yet, but you can be our first customer."
"I have money!" The boy held out a small fist full of coins, and Hermione could see from where she stood that he was a few knuts short.
"Bup bup bup, free of charge, our little secret. Just do me one favor." The child looked on the verge of grateful tears, or maybe laughter, or maybe both.
"Anything," he whispered. Fred put one long finger along the side of his nose.
"Tell all your friends, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, opening next Wednesday." The blonde boy's response was a mess of babbling and giggling that apparently Fred was able to interpret because he was nodding along and interjecting a word or two whenever there was a pause for breath, ushering the boy out the door. As soon as it was shut, he turned with a relieved exhale. "Geez Hermione, try not to give all our product away!"
"Wha- Fred!" He was laughing at her, blue eyes sparkling.
"Only joking. I think our first sale was a success." He went to drape his arm over her shoulders, just the way his brother had done only yesterday when she had said something particularly clever. She tried to stop herself, but she flinched away from his arm, and it fell limply to Fred's side. His easy smile slid off of his face. "Did I do something wrong Hermione?"
"No! Oh no Fred."
"Well, it's just..." a flush spread across his cheeks, but he looked dejected, "you don't seem to have any problems with George." Suddenly she had to say something to explain herself, to fix his miserable expression.
"It's just... surely you've noticed what happens when we touch?"
"Of course," he started, "but you'd never said anything and I half believed that I had dreamt it." He reached out, and she let him catch her fingers in his hand. Electricity, so hot it felt cold, raced up her arm, and she couldn't bite back her sharp cry at the contact. She meant to pull away, but he caught her hand with his other, staring into her eyes. "Wait," he ground out, "let's see if it gets better." The energy rippled, responding to her panic, but Fred was murmuring soft words she couldn't quite make out, his eyes never leaving hers. Finally, she let her eyes slide closed, and let herself fully experience the bright pain of the magic moving through her.
Her fear was making it more erratic, so she fought to slow her breathing, and felt the surging slow in response. With her eyes closed, she could focus on her own magical core. She couldn't see it of course, but in her mind's eye she had always visualized a glowing pool of pure silver, deep within her person. Now it was roiling and bubbling, melding with and responding to a foreign energy which was feeding into her, uncontrolled.
"It's our magic, it's... connected somehow. Try and pull yours back." She didn't see Fred closing his eyes, but she did feel his magic begin to slow, going back to the normal rhythm of his heartbeat. The two sources of energy were still connected, through their clasped hands, but the pain receded, to be replaced with a reckless energy, almost euphoria. Hermione had never felt so much magic before. She felt invincible.
Without warning, she felt a something foreign reaching out, taking hold of some of her magic, and pulling it like taffy. Her eyes shot open and she saw Fred, grinning like a maniac and levitating every box of product in the room, wordlessly.
Her surprise sent a ripple through their connected magical cores, and the spell faltered, causing the packages to settle back to their shelves, but Fred's grin remained firmly in place.
"How in bloody hell did you know how to do that?" Fred laughed out loud at her profanity, or perhaps just because they were both still thrumming with energy.
"George and I. It's nothing like this, but we can tap into each other's magic just a bit. It's why we're... well, why we are like we are." As if summoned, George burst through the door and onto the stairs, breathless.
"Fred, what happened, I felt..." He stopped, mid-step, looking at the both of them, flushed and standing with their hands clasped. "Well, I think you two have some explaining to do."