A/N: Hey everyone, here's a break from the angst and drama in A Christmas Wish! Just a little one shot to cheer you up and lighten the mood a bit. There's a bit of alcohol content in this one, but nothing too terribly serious. Also some very mild sexual content. Fred/Hermione, as usual. Also, this is kind of loosely based on something that actually happened. Hope you guys like it!

Jailbait

I saw her earlier that night hanging out with her friends. I didn't want to strike up a conversation with her while she was surrounded by a gaggle of girls – why is it that girls do that anyway? Do they have to travel in packs, even to the loo? Ah, whatever, just one of the many things I'll never understand. She had on some tiny little red number, showing off curves that could cause car accidents, and laughed with her friends like she had never heard a joke in her life. I let my eyes roam over her figure once or twice –

And then stopped dead in my tracks.

My Gryffindor senses told me that THAT WOMAN COULD BE HERMIONE-SOMETHING-SOMETHING!

The jailbait hottie-bookworm hybrid I had a thing for back at Hogwarts.

Granger, that was her name. Merlin, it had been so long that I'd forgotten her last name.

She didn't need to know that.

It had been years since I had seen her, she had stayed away from the Burrow ever since her disastrous falling out with Ron. I was a little surprised she'd decided to come out to celebrate Ginny's party, reuniting herself with us after all this time.

I told myself, I have to talk to her… even if it turns out that she isn't Hermione.

I needed a plan.

I needed a decent amount of alcohol to pull off what I was going to say and do. I had waited around long enough for Ron to make up his mind, I was sick of sitting by and watching his failing attempts at romance. This girl badly needed a good snogging, and I was going to deliver within mere minutes of talking to her. I had years to hone my charming skills, she would be helpless against their powerful influence.

SO, I went upstairs to the Martini lounge to get some liquid courage and listen to the music. I found a nice seat at the bar, close enough to the door to keep an eye on everybody and yet close enough to the bar to have access to virtually whatever I wanted. I plopped down in the seat before anyone else could grab the spot. I ordered a chocolate martini – sometimes those Muggles could really be geniuses with mixing drinks when they wanted to be – and got situated.

Time to turn on the charm.

Sensuous and possibly unnecessary hair flip - check.

Casual, nonchalant, incredibly simple and yet unbelievably attractive swagger – check.

Mysterious aura created by moodily stirring my drink and contemplating the depths of life – check.

I really had to figure out how to get that hair flip to go in slow motion, it always seemed to go by too fast. Really, it wasn't pulling its weight as far as the charm ensemble went.

I got my drink, listened to the music, sat back and observed the crowd while getting lost in my own evil plots.

And then, OF ALL THE PLACES SHE COULD GO.

She walked into the martini bar.

Heads turned in her direction (not in my direction, I might note – the slack from the hair flip is definitely to blame here) as she sauntered up to the bar. Well, I use the word "sauntered" politely. She seemed to be having a little trouble deciding exactly which direction the bar was in, and changed her mind every few seconds. She was determined to look like she was in control, determined to look like she knew what she was doing.

But I could tell, she'd had more than a few to drink.

It didn't take long for her to catch the bartender's attention, order a drink, and clear out of the martini bar. She probably thought it was too cramped, too crowded, or just wanted to find her friends. Either way, I was even more determined than ever to succeed with the Plan. Running into her once was unlikely, but running into her twice… well, that was meant to be, obviously.

So, it was only natural for me to follow her, chocolate martini in tow.

As soon as we both got outside, I tapped her on the arm and grabbed her to turn her around.

As a side note, never do this. It could result in a pretty vicious slap, what with the tapping and the grabbing and what not.

But, lucky me, Hermione is not the slapping type. She turned around and saw me, and absolutely lit up. She smiled and hugged me tightly, reaching on her tiptoes to make up for our height difference.

We talked a little bit, mostly just exchanging pleasantries. It had been a long time, after all. She seemed pretty excited that the joke shop was opening its fourth location, but seemed subdued when I asked her about her own job. I reassured her that she had nothing to worry about with her career, she was an absolutely brilliant witch who could be anything she wanted to be.

Her smile from that compliment made the previous one look like a grimace. Merlin, she absolutely beamed.

How many times had Ron given her compliments like this, if ever? God, what an idiot. Didn't he understand that this was the way to a woman's heart? No wonder it didn't work out, Ron had a habit of thinking only about himself. A beautiful face like Hermione's should have a smile on it all the time.

Her eyes traveled down to my martini, I told her it was chocolate and offered to let her try some, if she didn't mind sharing some of my spit.

She didn't.

She told me she liked it, and handed it back to me.

She glanced across the street and her eyes landed on one of those photo booth things – my dad had told me about them before. I didn't really understand the purpose of them, as the photos weren't moving like ours were, but whatever. I guess Muggles made do with what they had, right? Anyways, her eyes did that flashy light-up thing again, like bright white Christmas lights strewn across a tree, and then she turned to look at me.

She must have gotten some crazy girly-firty idea. I knew that if I wanted the Plan to succeed, I had to go along with whatever torment she had planned.

I drained the rest of my martini for some last-second courage.

Hmm. I guess it was worth it, for her sake.

A few minutes into the obnoxious,blinding flashes, I began to realize…

It was absolutely worth it.

I can't really see much of what's going on, since I've been temporarily blinded by the flashes. Luckily, it turns out I didn't need to see much at all. I notice she gets a little friendlier with me than she usually does, touching my arm, leaning towards my side to "fit in the picture frame." Drawing her face closer to mine while making a ridiculous facial expression, wrapping her arms around my neck. So, I decide to do something a little unusual, myself.

I told her she needed to kiss me for the next picture we posed for.

Again, this is something very bold and absolutely crazy to say to a woman. Especially a jailbait – hottie bookworm whom I haven't kept in contact with for years. Do NOT try this at home, kids.

Lo and behold, she kissed me on the cheek.

She was obviously nervous about it, but she was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors didn't let silly things like nerves stand in their way (I mean, look at me). A small smile graced the corner of her lips as she looked away for just a second, a smidge of shyness seeping into her cool, calm exterior.

I'd get rid of that shyness soon enough.

The photo printer outside clicked as it printed our last shot. It whirred and slowed until it finally shut down, apparently we had used all the pictures that we had paid for. Hermione shifted to leave, sensing that our time here was through.

I grabbed her arm, her head whipped back around to look at me, that glorious mane of chocolate brown hair whipping with it beautifully. I couldn't help but feel a bit jealous at her hair-whipping skills, the girl clearly knew what she was doing.

I glanced towards the spot on my cheek where her lips had met my skin.

I took a deep breath, and I asked if that was it.

Her eyes widened a bit in innocent surprise, soon to be replaced with an honest smile and – dare I flatter myself – was that desire? Was that need shining in those perfectly innocent brown orbs of hers, was that a blush I saw spreading down her cheeks, her neck, her chest-

And then she was kissing me. And the feeling was like nothing I could have imagined.

She had such soft, young lips. They are the kind of lips that can put a man in jail. Fortunately, she's 22.

It was more urgent and passionate than any kiss I'd ever had before. It was more than just attraction, more than just physical need, more than just desire. It was like finally, I belonged. Finally, she was at home.

I drew her closer until I could feel absolutely every curve against my own body. I let my hands run over her, causing a moan to escape from that luscious throat of hers.

Again - THANK GOD SHE'S 22.

I can feel her putting everything she has into this kiss – her heart, her passion, her soul, her kindness, everything. And I can't help but wonder how Ron ever gave someone like her up.

Slowly she pulls away, knowing that a muggle photo booth is not the most opportune location for our current shenanigans. She still holds me close, still looks into my eyes with that same trusting gaze. I smiled and stroked her cheek with a single finger, brushing a wayward curl back into its mane.

Then she asked a question that broke our moment in half, severed it straight down the middle.

"Why didn't you talk to me more in school?"

I scratched my head and glanced away – honestly I didn't really have a great reason. She was Ron's girl? She was too busy saving the world to spare a glance for a drop out? She was always just out of reach, always something to look at, but never touch?

No, those wouldn't do. Women don't like to hear stuff like that. Women like to hear that you were studying or finding a cure to cancer or ending world hunger or something ridiculously unattainable and noble like that.

I told her instead that I was spending a lot of time on opening the joke shop – which was absolute BALONEY.

She was 14 and I didn't want to go to jail.

She didn't need to know that.

Hermione, unfortunately, has a knack for knowing everything. She saw straight through me, and kind of smirked a little, like she knew exactly what I was thinking. She laughed as she stood up and got out of the photo booth, tearing our strip of pictures off of the machine as she walked by.

I followed her, wondering how she managed to stay upright in those ridiculous heels while also wondering what was going to happen now. Would she just leave, like before? I found myself thinking I didn't want to see her go, I didn't want her to walk away from my life again.

Maybe, just maybe, she was the one that I'd been waiting for.

She gave me half of the photos, and left to join her friends. I think her friends were a little angry I'd kidnapped her.

Next week, I brought home more photos. And the week after, and the week after that.

Soon enough my refrigerator was full of photos from the photo booth, soon enough there was absolutely no space left for any more of our antics. Soon enough, MY refrigerator became OUR refrigerator. Engagement and wedding pictures replaced our silly photo booth pictures, followed shortly by pictures of kids, grandkids, nieces, nephews, what have you.

Despite all the new photos crowding our old photos, I still have that one that she gave me – the one where she first kissed me on the cheek. I scribbled a note on the back of it, a sentence that she'd said just before the notorious kiss had been launched.

It was worn, but I could still read it.

"Don't think that just because I gave you one kiss means you've won me over, Fred Weasley."

I smirked, and laughed just a little.

Wouldn't dream of it, darling. Wouldn't dream of it.