Author's Note: Sorry about the extra update. Found a glaring error that was driving me nuts.

Chapter Title: 4 - Annoying Swot

Characters: Hermione Granger, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Sirius Black

Description: Set during OotP. George Weasley confronts Fred about his relationship with Hermione. Fred, frustrated he has to continue to hide things from George, gets into an argument with Hermione. Sirius weights in.

Word Count: 3,503

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Christmas breakfast at 12 Grimmauld Place had been strained. Mrs. Weasley had tried, without much success, to hold back tears since her estranged son, Percy, had felt it necessary to return his Christmas sweater unopened. The other attending children, including the twins, Fred and George, Ron, Ginny, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger, had finished quickly and in relative silence before each darting off to various locations throughout the obnoxiously decorated estate.

And that is why Fred found Hermione holed up in the front sitting room, slouched down on the wide, black sofa in an attempt to avoid detection, one of the several books she'd received for Christmas open on her lap. He smirked, plopping down heavily next to her.

"You're getting better at these, you know," he declared shaking the spring green mass of knitted yarn Hermione had given him as a Christmas present. "I mean, you're no Molly Weasley, but this is an almost passable nappy."

Chocolate brown eyes narrowed in annoyance and her lips pursed. Hermione didn't even lift her gaze from where it was focused on the words in front of her to swat him on the arm. "Git."

Just then George used his long legs to step over the back of the couch to sit at her other side. "Hey, thanks for the nappy, Granger," he said with a wink.

Hermione groaned, rolled her eyes, and, slouching down even deeper, lifted her book to block out both twins.

Grin plastered to his lips but no further, George's eyes snapped up and held Fred's in challenge. "Funny thing, though, Granger, but how did you know mine and Freddie's favorite colors?"

Fred's stomach clenched, though he held his own grin firmly in place. He'd known George had been growing more suspicious of his occasional unexplained absences and the not-so-occasional brush offs about what exactly it was Fred seemed to be glancing around distractedly to find. The last several weeks, his questions had gotten more and more pointed until, in a very rare spat between the brothers, George had declared he was going to make Fred regret hiding something from him. That has been eleven days ago and Fred had hoped without any real optimism that George would drop it. But here was George, telling him subtly and silently, yet in no uncertain terms, that his current line of questioning was merely a means to confirm what he already suspected.

Hermione's cheeks flamed. "Lucky guess," she mumbled, shifting uncomfortably between the red-headed twins. George's grin grew and he subtly pressed the line of his arm against hers in what Fred knew was a blatant attempt to fluster the poor girl.

Hoping to wrestle control of the conversation from George, Fred pretended to play along, throwing a protective arm around Hermione's narrow shoulders in a way he knew his twin would read as sign to back off.

"Or maybe," Fred began, smirk mirroring George's, "you've been secretly stalking us, Granger."

"Sneaking about our rooms," George added, pointedly pressing closer against Hermione in silent rebuttal.

"Sorting through our unmentionables." Fred noted the subtle flinch of George's shoulders, the only outward indicator of a laugh. He hoped the dip into more risque teasing would head George off. Fred could feel the embarrassed flush radiating off the girl beside him.

No such luck. George's eyes flashed in defiance, his grin notching wickedly. "You didn't happen to come across Fred's collection of muggle pornography, did you, Granger?" he asked, not even pretending to watch for Hermione's reaction as he gloated to Fred in mute triumph.

"Enough!" Hermione screeched, struggling mightily to remove herself from their grasps. Book falling to the floor, she stood and rounded on them. Her cheeks flushed red, hair a disheveled mess. "You two are deplorable," she seethed fixing them each with her impressive glare.

Grinning unapologetically, George batted his lashes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Hermione dear."

"Honestly!" Hermione huffed, completely unaware of the George's true intentions, and crossed her arms over her chest in clear annoyance. "If you don't want your bloody scarves, just give them back!"

"Nonsense!" Fred cried indignantly, clutching his scarf to his chest.

George gaped at her, appalled. "We never said we didn't want them!" He wrapped the deep blue scarf tightly around his neck before muttering to himself about 'touchy birds,' and flouncing away.

Slumping back into her seat, Hermione glared at Fred. "You really are a prat."

Fred offered her a weak smile, groaning inwardly. It would have been better in George's eyes if she'd marched off in a right fit. "Wouldn't want to arouse suspicion," he said sarcastically.

Hermione snorted, patted his knee, and stood. Her arms came over her head, stretching back with a groan, and revealing a sliver of skin along her stomach that Fred studiously avoided glancing at, feeling George's eyes burning into him from across the room.

"Right," Hermione said with a nod. "I'm off to the library."

Fred rolled his eyes as she moved deeper into the house. She had barely left the room before George flung himself down into her vacated seat. He turned to Fred, eyeing him expectantly.

Growling in annoyance, Fred shot him a glare. "Dammit, George, what?"

"Favorite colors, Fred. Exact favorite colors. Care to tell me, brother dearest, how Miss Swot just happened upon this information?"

Fred forced a smirk and waggled his eyebrows at his twin. "Perhaps she truly does want in your knickers, George."

A vicious grin spread slowly across George's face, taking the attempted redirect as on par with a full admission. "And what bird wouldn't, me being the much more handsome twin and all. But cut the shite, Fred. It's more than that. Did you know she called me by my name the last time she lit into me about testing on little firsties? My whole name."

"Oh no, Forge! Not your name!"

George scowled. "Bugger off, prat." He leaning into Fred, squinting up as if studying him for subtle clues. "What I just don't understand, Fred, is she stayed. Normally that sort of colorful commentary would have sent her off in a fit a tears, but Miss Swot powered through it all with nothing more than a half-hearted scowl and an affectionate pat to the knee. Seems awfully dodgy, if you ask me."

Agitated, Fred ran a hand through his hair. "Hell if I know, George. Did you ever consider she asked Ginny? They seem to be quite friendly."

"Sure. But that doesn't really explain why you and Miss Swot seem on the verge of picking out floral patterns together. And don't deny it, Fred, I'm not the only one to have noticed. Lee's got the same suspicions I have."

Fred shot up off the couch in frustration and began pacing. "It's not like that, George."

"No," he agreed, leaning back into the sofa, his hands behind his head. George smirked. "But you want it to be."

Freezing in mid-step, Fred stared at him incredulously. "You're barmy."

George snorted. "Hardly. But whatever this is, brother dearest, it needs to stop. You do know Ronnikins seems to have some shoddily hidden feelings for her?"

Fred nodded distractedly. "Course I do. Bloody hell, George, the only one who doesn't seem to know is Ron." He sighed heavily before pinning his twin with a earnest gaze. "Whatever you and Lee have convinced yourselves this is, you're wrong."

George considered him for long moments, deeper understanding burning in his eyes before nodding once. Fred winced but accepted the silent dismissal of the argument. Anxious and frustrated from the confrontation, Fred left the sitting room, shuffling through the house with no conscious destination driving him. He started slightly when he noticed all the bookshelves and the diminutive form of his secret confidant curled up in an expensive looking leather arm chair in the corner by the fire. Hermione's eyes met his with a smile.

"Fred." His name rolled off her tongue like warm honey and he scowled as he stepped into the room.

Hermione's eyes widened in concern and she shut the book in her lap. "What's wrong, Fred?" she asked softly.

Resuming his earlier pacing, Fred dragged large hands through his already mussed hair. He looked at her searchingly. "George."

Hermione stiffened. "What about George? Is he alright?"

"He suspects something," Fred ground out past gritted teeth.

She blanched. "He does? You didn't tell him anything, did you?" Her voice was strangled.

Biting back a curse, Fred began to gesture wildly. "Of course I bloody well didn't, Granger! You know what I did do though?" He whirled on her then, ignoring her flinch as he jabbed an accusing finger. "I lied to him. George! I lied to my twin brother because you asked me to," his rasped.

Eyeing him warily, as if expecting him to attack her physically, Hermione slowly stood from her chair, setting the book down behind her. Slender fingers reached toward him tentatively. "Fred?" she asked timidly.

"Don't," Fred spat, yanking his arm from her grasp. "Just… Not right now." With that, he swept from the room.

The rest of the day dragged. Fred had studiously avoided any and all contact, refusing to even look at Hermione despite sitting across from her on the way to St. Mungo's to visit his father. Once there, he and George had snuck off as soon as possible, first fetching a cup of tea, then attempting to find the hospital's potions cupboard, only to come back to Grimmauld Place and lock themselves in their room for the remainder of the evening. Now it was late. All decent hours to be awake had passed awhile ago yet still guilt seemed content to gnaw holes in his insides. Fred listened bitterly to gentle snore of his twin, knowing from experience he wouldn't be able to drift off as well until he checked up on Hermione.

Sneaking quietly from the room, Fred padded down the plushly carpeted hall to the room Hermione shared with his little sister, Ginny. Door creaking faintly on it's hinges, Fred popped his head around and cursed at the perfectly made bed dominating the right side of the room. After a brief glance in the kitchens and sitting room, Fred found himself at the library, mildly annoyed, and watching a forlorn Hermione staring down blankly at the cover of a book.

"You of all people should know they work better if you open them," he said.

Red-rimmed eyes snapped up to him, startled. Swallowing hard, she nodded.

Fred pushed himself off the door and came to kneel in front of her. He sucked in a deep, steadying breath.

"I'm sorry…" they both paused, each having spoken. Relieved, Fred gestured to Hermione to continue.

She smiled sadly. "I'm sorry I made you lie to George," her voice rasped, whether from disuse or tears, Fred wasn't sure.

Chin falling to his chest, Fred took a moment to absorb her words. "And I'm sorry I yelled at you but, Hermione," he pleaded, exasperation coloring his tone. His rough calloused hand clasped firmly over hers and he held her gaze intently. "Why can't we tell him? It's nothing sordid! We're just friends. For two years, Hermione!"

"Fred -"

Leaping to his feet, Fred paced. "No! He's trustworthy. I swear he is. He wouldn't tell anyone else, Hermione, not if we asked him not to." He whirled on her, grasping her hands again. "It's George," Fred said imploringly.

Tears choked her voice as she said so low he almost didn't hear, "It would change things, Fred."

"It wouldn't," he vehemently denied.

Hermione's eyes flashed in anger and she pulled her hands from between his. "It would!" she said. "It already has! Tell me, Fred, what exactly did George say to you?"

He studied her, his expression guarded. "Only that he's noticed we've been spending more time together."

"And how did you respond?"

Fred shook his head. "I don't -"

"You avoided me, Fred!" she cried, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. "George obviously didn't approve of whatever it is he thinks he saw so you've been avoiding me."

Offended, he brushed her finger away. "Because he doesn't understand -"

"Sure," she interrupted. "Because everyone we're friends with is just so understanding, are they, Fred? What do you think will happen if we tell everyone now that we've secretly been friends for the last two years? They're all going to have opinions, Fred. Loud, vocal opinions regardless of if it's their business or not, and it's going to change how we interact together! I wouldn't be able to be myself with you, something I dearly love, because I'd be too worried someone was watching us, reading into it things."

Fred stared at her as if she were barmy. "It's just George!" he bellowed.

Hermione gave a low scream of frustration, her tiny hands yanking at her bushy strands. "Yes, Fred. Just George, who you would have to tell the entire truth to! Everything Fred! How you found me, what I might have done if you hadn't shown up, how sorry and pathetic the poor little muggle-born girl really is -"

Outraged, Fred lept to his feet. "Don't you dare, Granger! George would never treat you like that!"

Hermione stood to face him, her body tense, fists balled at her sides. "Oh no? I've heard what he says. He already thinks I'm an annoying little swot! I don't need another reason for him to dislike me any more than he already does."

Fred could hear the angry thrum of his heartbeat in his ears. He gaped at her, mouth working silently before he finally found his voice. "But you are an annoying swot!" he shouted, resisting the urge to reach out and throttle her. "Maybe if you laid off about us testing our products he wouldn't have quite so much of a reason to think so. I don't understand how me telling him will change any of that!"

Eyes suddenly shining, Hermione reeled as if slapped. Her voice wavered when she spoke. "You… you still think I'm annoying?"

Fred rounded on her. "Oh no! You don't have any right to make me feel guilty, Granger. You know damn well you're an annoying swot, you don't need George or me to tell you. And that's beside the point! This is your fault. It is your fault I had to lie to George!"

Her eyes hardened despite the bitter tears still straining for release. "I never asked you to be my friend, Fred," she whispered harshly.

Fred snorted and rolled his eyes. "Fat lot of choice I had there, Granger."

The strangled whimper that escaped her throat caused his stomach to drop painfully. "I… I knew… Fred Weasley, I knew that's why we became friends, but I didn't… didn't realize that was the o-only reason," Hermione's voice cracked painfully and she fought to regain control.

Fred's face crumbled and he reached for her. "Hermione -"

"No," she spat, taking a step back. Pulling herself up and squaring her shoulders proudly, she glared at him, furious mask in place. "I am so terribly sorry for having wasted so much of your time," she mocked, her lip quivering. She took a deep breath before cold eyes locked onto his. Then Hermione sneered.

"Happy Christmas."

She turned on her heel and stormed from the room.

With a groan, Fred collapsed heavily into her armchair, dropped his head into his hands, and stared unseeing at the smoldering fire.

A cleared throat drew him out of his quiet seething and he sprang to his feet, wand drawn.

"Spectacular show there, mate," Sirius Black stated, leaning airily against the door frame and picking at some invisible lint. "Well done, putting the bird in her place." Smokey gray eyes flashed up at him mockingly.

Sighing in disgust, Fred pocketed his wand. "Bugger off, Sirius," he groaned, sitting back down and resuming staring into the fire. Movement from the door drew his eyes back to Sirius. Fred snarled. "Aren't you gone yet?"

"Hardly." Draping himself in a decidedly elegant fashion across the matching armchair across from Fred, Sirius made a show of studying his perpetually dirty finger nails.

"Shame really," he began, glancing toward Fred through a fringe of hair. "Letting some bird come between you and your matching half. And a swot, no less?"

"She's not a bloody swot," Fred grunted, refusing to look away from the embers.

Sirius laughed humorlessly. "That's not the way I heard it. In fact," he said, slapping his knee for emphasis, "It seems there's universal agreement on her swot-like status."

Fred cringed before shooting Sirius a murderous glare. "Finished?"

Sirius gave a winning grin. "Now that depends. Shall I expound on what a fantastic prat you are for sending the girl off in tears? Or how, if you're really going to let someone come between you and your brother, I'd at least hope you were getting a little something on the side? Unless I'm quite mistaken and you are shagging her, in which case 'prat' just doesn't quite cover -"

With an inarticulate yell, Fred picked up a nearby tea cup and hurled it into the fire. The fine china shattered in a spray of dust. Eyes hot with unshed tears, Fred stood and resumed his earlier pacing, resolutely avoiding looking at the older man.

"I never really liked that tea set anyway," Sirius announced airily after long moments.

Fred snorted and rolled his eyes. "Anyone ever tell you you're a right bastard, Black?"

Sirius smirked. "James may have mentioned it once or twice back in the day." He paused in contemplation. "You know, you're not going to win this one, mate," he said softly.

Slumping back down into the chair, Fred scrubbed at his face with his hands. "I know," he said in exasperation.

Sirius nodded as if that was what he expected. "Any idea how you're going to right this mess? She doesn't seem like the type of bird to be bought off with a dozen flowers and a few sweet words."

Fred shook his head. "Not a bloody one. Merlin's balls," he groaned. "I really am a right prat."

Sirius stood, laughing, and headed toward the small, unobtrusive bar in the corner. He poured himself a firewhiskey. "You certainly are at that. Care for a drink?"

"If you think it'll help."

Handing Fred his own glass, Sirius tossed his back and sighed. "Course, mate. Firewhiskey always helps."

Fred took a large swallow, wincing with a groan as it went down. His head started to swim almost immediately and deep burn in his gut soothed his frayed nerves.

"So," asked Sirius, pouring himself another shot. "How are you going to win back the girl?"

Fred snorted into his glass. "Same way I'm going to win back George. I'll apologize, maybe prostrate myself at her feet, and eventually she'll forgive me."

"And if she doesn't?"

Fred scoffed, his head buzzing slightly. "Please. She's forgiven my little prat of a brother for worse than this."

Sirius contemplated him over the rim of his glass. "I wouldn't be so hasty, mate. It sounded to me like you threw the basis for your entire friendship into question."

At this Fred started, blinking in surprise. His eyes widened in horror before he dropped his head in shame. "Buggering hell, I didn't, didn't I?"

Swallowing the last of his firewhiskey, Sirius clapped him once on the shoulder. "It's not insurmountable, mate. Though I might recommend one hell of an 'I'm sorry' gift."

Fred nodded absentmindedly. Sirius' words and his earlier encounter with Hermione swirled through his head in a torrent. Guilt and anger and embarrassment warred for dominance in his gut. He didn't have the slightest clue what sort of gift would make up for him all but telling her he never wanted to be her friend, when what he actually wanted, when he let himself think about it, was quite the opposite. She'd grown on him over the last two years and while, initially, he might not have been overly thrilled, she'd somehow ingrained herself in his life. He'd found himself on more than one occasion with his mind wondering to what she might be doing, what she must be thinking. If only he could think of a way for them to share their thoughts -.

Fred shot out of his chair. "Bloody brilliant," he muttered, mentally tallying a list of ingredients. "Need to research that charm, and some added enhancements wouldn't hurt. There must be some way to make it two directional…" He slipped out the door to the library lost deep in thought before he remembered he'd left Sirius behind without so much as a backward glance.

He jogged lightly back to the library and popped his head around the door. "Thanks for the chat, Sirius," he said, smiling viciously at the old mutt. "You really aren't nearly as bad a bloke as mum says." And with that he resumed his quick yet stealthy pace to the room he and George shared.

Author's Note: Ah, sweet angst. Just a warning I'm likely going to have to up the rating on this little project to M for the chapter after next. A Fred and Hermione coupling seems unavoidable to me at this point, though I am still aiming to make this as canon compliant as possible. Sans the kiss with Ron. You know, because of the coupling with Fred. Even though he dies.