DOOR AND JAW
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.
A/N: Spoilers to OotP, not HBP-compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.
Hermione looked up from her files as her office door swung open, and her jaw dropped.
"Fred? George? What are you doing here? Don't say you've gone and got into trouble in the Muggle world somehow?"
Two solid ginger-haired wizards in eye-bursting scarlet dragonhide suits bounced in with as much energy as their own Wildfire Whizzbangs. It was easy to tell them apart now. George was the slightly taller, thinner one with the scar running from his left eyebrow to his hair. Even Fred hadn't thought the advantages of non-identifiability to be worth permanently self-inflicting a matching one.
"We're grieved, Hermione," said Fred.
"Grievously disappointed," added George. "You wrong us –"
"You seriously wrong us."
"Cut to the heart –"
"Seared to the bone –"
Hermione knew enough to interrupt them at this point.
"You look seared to the bone in those awful suits," she said frankly. "Couldn't you have stuck to Common Welsh Greens or even Hebridean Blacks? Chinese Fireball scarlet does nothing for your complexions, however House-proud it makes you look."
Her poky little office could barely squeeze in two normal visitors, let alone a pair as larger than life as the twins. They perched themselves on opposite ends of her desk so she couldn't look at both of them simultaneously. She leaned back in her chair, resting her head against the wall behind her, and gave it her best shot anyway.
"Ah, Houses," Fred exclaimed. "That's the whole –"
"Crux of the matter, isn't it, Fred?"
"It is indeed, George," said his brother.
Hermione sighed. What could they possibly want with a Muggle Liaison Officer if they hadn't been up to mischief with Muggles?
"Did you want something or is this just a passing stop on your way to the Ludicrous Patents Office?" she asked.
"It's tragic, isn't it, Fred?" George asked his twin.
"It is indeed, George. Ah, who'd have thought it would ever come to this in her innocent days of running around after curfew with Harry and Ron?"
"Though she always was a little too fond of Percy the prat," George reminded him.
"A bagatelle," said Fred airily. "A mere matter of mistaken ideas or mistaken identity, perhaps. But then she became a Prefect –"
George shook his head sadly.
"And the rot set in."
"Pity. Before we knew it, she was lording it over us –"
"Banning our experiments –"
"Threatening to write to Mum –"
"But we thought there was still hope." George let out a heavy sigh, which was echoed by his brother.
"And now, the final indignity –"
"Friends with a teacher!"
"If it is just friends," Fred chimed in, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, "and not something more sinister."
Hermione blushed.
"I'm going to kill Ginny," she muttered.
"You mean –"
"It's true then? You're dating the bat of the dungeons?"
"I'm not dating him," she said. "We're just friends, that's all."
"Friends, is it?" George asked with another waggle.
Fred waggled back.
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."
A/N Common Welsh Green, Hebridean Black and Chinese Fireball are types of dragon.
Hermione's job as a Muggle Liaison Officer is mentioned in ch 9 of this fic.