Fred and George were both quietly overjoyed when she regained her appetite. She had begun to finish entire (if undersized in their opinion) helpings of food, and even filch treats from their near endless supply of sweets. She was thoroughly embarrassed to have them paying any mind to her eating habits at all, but she had to admit that she felt better, that she finally had the energy to stay up all day without a nap and without the help of copious amounts of tea.
She couldn't pinpoint precisely when the tide had turned, but now she had more nights without nightmares than she did with, she only rarely jumped at loud sounds, and with every shadow she shook off she felt like she was more herself. When she looked in the mirror now, she could see the bumps of her spine and the lines of her ribs disappearing under new flesh and could only be retroactively concerned that she had allowed herself to become so sickly.
So she smiled and allowed them to pile on second helpings and refrained from making the comparisons to Molly which were always on the tip of her tongue. They would be horrified at the thought.
She had been mentally preparing herself (and her stomach) for another twin onslaught when she entered the kitchen to see four plates instead of three sitting on the supper table, and Angelina Johnson preparing a bowl of mashed potatoes. Soft music was playing, and Hermione only had time to quirk an inquisitive eyebrow in Fred's direction before Angelina was hustling them all toward the table, waving her wand to bring the rest of the side dishes floating along with her.
They busied themselves with piling on food, and then the boys stuffed food in their mouths to avoid having to speak. The undercurrent of tension was thick, and she tried not to sigh at the two oafs sitting on either side of her, only oohing and aahing to show their appreciation for the food through their full mouths. Her elbow brushed against George, and she got a crystal clear jolt of nervousness that sent her heart beating faster. She switched her fork to her right hand, and let her left fall to George's knee, sending as many calming thoughts as she could muster into their bond. Vague gratitude flowed back, and Fred winked at her from her right.
"So, Angelina," she began around a bite of roast, "what have you been up to lately?" Angelina began regaling them with stories from the pub she worked in part time, and of the children she was coaching in Quiddich, their fearlessness and talent. Over time the constricting unease around Hermione's chest fell away. She took her hand off of George's knee and let the conversation carry her away, learning more about Angelina in a single dinner than she had in the entire time they had both attended Hogwarts, and not missing when Angelina placed a casual hand on George's arm whenever he said something particularly clever.
They cleaned the dishes together, George and Fred busying themselves with making tea to go with dessert, and Angelina learned that Hermione was only a year younger than Fred and George.
"We were almost in the same year! That would have been fun, though I don't know that my class ranking could have taken any more hits," she said with a wink.
"That's alright," Hermione said with a laugh, "I don't know that my heart could have taken being classmates with Fred and George!"
"Oi! I believe someone is taking our names in vain Forge," George called over from where he was heating the kettle.
"I heard it Gred, unconscionable." Hermione waved them off, and they both chuckled. Angelina finished washing a spoon and handed it to Hermione to dry.
"I think you three would have been thick as thieves, and with your brain, they would have gotten into twice as much trouble." Hermione acted affronted, putting a dramatic hand to her heart.
"I'm wounded! I would have been nothing but a positive influence on them." Her statement was somewhat ruined by the grin on her face, a cut and pasted copy of the ones on the twins in question. They both laughed at that, and Hermione felt a happy contentment on the edge of her consciousness that was coming from one of the twins, or perhaps both.
"Seeing how close you three are now, I highly doubt it," Angelina said, something slightly off about her tone, which caught Hermione's notice. Angelina's eyes caught hers and held them, something cool in her gaze. "Speaking of close, I saw you putting your hand on George's thigh earlier." Something in her brain sprung to alertness in a second, and her mind was filled with the catfights she had been present for between the girls in her dorm in Hogwarts, the ugly remarks sparked by an inappropriate glance toward someone else's significant other. She gulped. Fred's eyes flashed to her face.
Angelina laughed out loud at her apparent panic. "Don't have a kitten Hermione, I was only joking." Hermione laughed weakly.
"Don't scare me like that, I thought you were going to pull my hair for touching your man, or something." Angelina laughed again.
"Don't worry, George already told me about everything that happened between you and Fred during the battle, and the way it affects him. I'm rather glad for the three of you actually. We all needed help after... well, after everything, and I'm happy you could find it in each other. Besides," she said with a salacious wiggle of her eyebrows, "you three might have a special bond but George and I share things that you certainly don't." George had the decency to blush, but he was smirking nonetheless.
Angelina stayed for a few more hours, and a few rounds of firewhiskey, leaving only when it appeared that she would fall sound asleep in her chair despite the excellent conversation. She kissed George soundly before she left, ignoring the exaggerated wet sounds Fred was making from across the room. George sent his brother a rather obscene gesture, but seemed otherwise unfazed. She apparated away with a crack, and Fred went off to bed soon after, dropping a kiss on Hermione's head and ribbing George as he went.
"Don't stay up too late thinking of your lady love, Georgie boy."
"Sod off Fred." He left the room laughing, leaving George and Hermione sitting in companionable silence, staring at the flickering of the fire, charmed to put off only light and no heat. Finally, Hermione couldn't stand the question in the back of her mind, itching to be answered.
"Why didn't you ever say anything about dating Angelina? I had no idea." George chuckled nervously before answering, running a hand through his hair, which was shorn much shorter now, exposing both ears.
"It's been a confusing few months Hermione. I rather... well," he flushed almost to the color of his hair, his freckles disappearing in the rosy tone. "I rather thought that I fancied you, and that made things with Angelina pretty bloody complicated." Hermione could feel her own cheeks heating.
"Fancied me?" she managed to squeak out.
"Well you were always touching me, just friendly stuff, but it was like electricity each time. Some real Witch Weekly stuff that," he said with a grin. He let his arm fall from the back of the couch to touch her shoulder, sending the now familiar rush of magic moving under her skin. They smiled at each other. "Finally I plucked up the nerve to tell Fred about it, and he said he'd felt the same thing, but more, like fire and ice in his veins, sending the whole world spinning.
"I began to think something might have happened then, but Fred was half convinced that he had dreamed it up. Took quite a bit of needling to get him to touch you again, to prove it. When I felt that rush of magic through the bond, well, I knew." In the back of her mind, she could feel the echo of Fred dreaming about something pleasant, reverberating through George. "So, once I had an explanation for all those inexplicably fond feelings I had been having for you, things became decidedly less complicated."
"Fond feelings?" she echoed. George chuckled again.
"Yeah, Fred's leaking through." She shifted away suddenly, her chest feeling tight, causing George's hand to fall away. She felt through the ghost of their connection, Fred stirring in his sleep.
"Fred," she breathed, something akin to panic roiling in her chest, making her feel too full, too much.
"He hasn't told you? Oh Fred, you knobhead." He looked at her, almost tenderly. "He loves you Hermione, how could he not?" She was on her feet before she could think, ready to run if she only knew where to go.
"Don't we," she gestured wildly, slicing her hand through the open air in front of her, "don't I get any choice in the matter?" George looked at her steadily, his composure stark in comparison to the heaving of her chest.
"Of course you do Hermione, of course you get a choice. It's just that... well, who would you choose?" She slumped to her seat next to George on the couch, her heart pounding and her ears ringing and a single name springing unbidden to her lips.
"Oh," she murmured, "oh."