Chapter 8
Arriving for her first day on a new job in nothing but a robe - smelling of bleach and sex - was not something Hermione Granger had ever foreseen herself doing. But there she stood, in the middle of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes looking as if she had just had the life shagged out of her.
"Right this way Master of mine," Fred said happily, turning toward the storage room, which had been used by the three of them for much more than just storing things.
"Ah, Fred... aren't we forgetting something?" George asked, stopping his brother in his tracks.
"Right, uh… are we?" Fred asked, looking as eager as a little boy at Christmas.
"A shower?" Hermione suggested, tugging at a particularly gross curl that seemed plastered to her skull, a look of distaste colouring her features.
"Well, there is that," George agreed, lifting another one of her woefully sad curls before dropping it and wiping his fingers on his shirt, "But we seem to have forgotten one of our party."
"What?" Hermione asked, still picking out strands sadly, rather single-mindedly now that the twins had helped her through the worst of her stressful depression.
"Who?" Fred asked, looking around them.
"The elf, we left it in the kitchen," George said with a sigh, "I'll be right back."
Kissing Hermione's cheek softly, he apparated with a loud crack from the shop.
Fred came back over to her and lifted the matted strand of hair from her fingers with a matching look of disgust, "Maybe you were right. We'll shower first."
He led her upstairs by the hand, cheerily outlining all the jobs he and George had brainstormed for her, all the while reassuring her that she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to do. Hermione's only concern was becoming the twin's latest guinea pig, but nothing in Fred's job description was it mentioned she would be tested on, more like she would be helping with the testing.
It was still relatively early when Fred helped her out of her robe and set the shower temperature right. The store, like so many others in Diagon Alley didn't open until midday on a Sunday so they could afford a little bit more time to luxuriate in hot, steamy bathroom.
Fred hands gently urged her under the water, his chest pressed against her back as he began the slow, laborious task of washing her hair. This wasn't the first time he had performed the menial task for her, but it was the first time she had ever shared something so intimate without George there with them.
"Fred?" she said softly when he turned her around to face him, his fingers running conditioner through the dripping curls. He smiled down at her through the spray of water between them, "I was thinking…"
"Is there ever a time where you stop?" he teased, ducking his head under the shower rose for a moment before popping back out.
She grinned, despite the serious nature of her next words, "Not that I have been aware of. But seriously, what will people start to think of me working here now?"
Fred stopped rubbing shampoo into his hair, letting a trail of suds almost fall into his eyes before he caught, "They'll think we've given you a job, that's all there is to it."
"Is it though?" she asked, gnawing at her lip, the guilt she suppressed about being with Fred and George bubbling to the surface, "How long before people start to wonder just how close we are?"
Sighing, Fred rinsed the shampoo from his hair before pulling her flush against him under the rapidly cooling water, "Hermione love, Georgie and I care about you, and we would never do anything to ruin your reputation. We know what we've been doing is a risk…"
"A risk is a nice way of putting it," Hermione interrupted sadly, "It'll break Ron's heart if he ever finds out. I've been so careless."
"Then he won't find out, not by our admission anyway. We've been discreet so far, and we all know this isn't a permanent arrangement – just a bit of fun. You'll get married, become a Weasley, have loads of redheaded kids and look back with happy memories of George and I. Simple."
Hermione stared up at her lover, wanting badly to believe his words. But the truth was that things had stopped being simple months earlier. With each encounter, interaction and moment with them she was finding it harder and harder to convince herself that what they shared was meaningless sex.
Although she couldn't regret her time with Fred and George she knew that if it weren't for them then she would most likely be married and well on her way to children with their brother. Before they had made their intentions know she had been content to settle down, happy with her sweet tempered best friend who so obviously cared for her. What the twins had shown and taught her was passion, and until now she hadn't realized that it was the key ingredient missing in her relationship with Ron.
George opening the bathroom door, her house elf squirming happily in one arm, interrupted her torrid thoughts.
"Stop shagging you two, there's work to be done," he announced happily, leering playfully at Hermione as she stepped out of the shower and snatched a large fluffy towel from the long metal rail.
George left the bathroom, the sounds of him crashing about the kitchen signalling some much needed food. Fred came up behind and rested his hands on her shoulders briefly.
"Stop stressing," he whispered before kissing her neck and going to see what his brother was doing. Throwing her robe back on, she let out a deep breath and followed the brothers into their brightly lit kitchen.
Fred sat at the small table, his arms full of baby house-elf; George stood by the stove, cooking what smelled like bacon. Hermione sat down at the table too and stared at the large cardboard box in the centre that she hadn't noticed on her way in.
"Should I be worried something is going to explode on me?" she asked warily, leaning forward to try and peer in without actually touching it.
"We hope not, if anything in there exploded we would end up with a lot more than just Howlers as complaints," George laughed, moving about the kitchen with confidence, flicking his wand at the fridge for a fresh pitcher of orange juice, his attention never once wavering from the frying pan.
Hermione looked between the twins, her curiosity definitely piqued now, "Do I really want to know?"
Fred stopped bouncing the elf, which had been happily gnawing on the collar of his shirt and handing it to Hermione, standing up to drag to the box down onto his chair, "Actually, it would probably be best if you looked in the box, since this will be a major part of your job," he explained.
George approached the table with three levitated plates of bacon, eggs, sausages, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, the glasses of orange juice not far behind, "You may have noticed Hermione," he said with a large grin on his face, "that Fred and I are not of the female persuasion."
Hermione found herself giggling as he kissed her cheek and handed her a plate, "Yes, that fact hasn't escaped my notice," she agreed.
"Well, a good thing that too," Fred replied, plucking a piece of crisp bacon from his plate before opening the box and pulling out a small egg pink egg, made of a material that was not quite stone and not quite plastic.
"It's rather convenient that you have come into our employ, because Fred and I here are on the cusp of a brilliant and innovated niche market," George continued to explain, tucking into his own breakfast with gusto.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, holding out her spare hand for the pink egg, marvelling at its smooth pliable texture and jumping when it began to vibrate gently in her palm.
She missed the look that passed between Fred and George but looked up and dropped the object quickly when they chorused a well rehearsed, "Brilliant."
"What is it" she asked again, holding the elf close to her as she waited for the egg to hatch something brilliant.
"Our new idea," Fred said, moving the box to the floor and starting on his own breakfast finally, nonplussed that she seemed to be terrified by it, giving her a funny look.
"You see," George said, picking up the now motionless egg and tossing it up and down with one hand, "You're a witch."
"Yes," she agreed warily.
"And a woman," Fred continued.
"Well, the two tend to go hand in hand."
"Ah, but this is a WonderWitch product."
"It's a… you mean those products you have down stairs for the silly third years? Love potions and dream spells?" she asked, ignoring her breakfast to take the egg back from George, examining it closer when it once again began to vibrate.
"Yes, and no. We wouldn't be selling this to the third year girls," George told her.
"But…" Hermione started, frowning at the egg as she tried to place their childish girly product line with a new niche market, when it clicked, "You mean this is… this can… you're making sex toys?"
"We prefer to think of them as… pleasure objects," Fred laughed, taking in her horrified expression.
"And we're not making them anymore. You are," George said.
Hermione carefully placed the egg down on the table, watching as it switched off when she took her hand away. She turned her attention back to the twins, "Me?"
"Yup, as we said, you're a girl and we're not. Who better to understand the market?"
"You want me to make magical sex toys?" she clarified slowly, picking up her fork to spear some tomato.
"Hermione love, you're making it sound like we're asking you to film dirty movies. We're asking you to become a business partner, to help us develop something we don't fully understand," George reasoned.
"And you should know by now that all our experiments are completely confidential. We'll tell everyone you're our cashier and we are the causes of every witch in London's satisfied smile," Fred said with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Hermione looked between their hopeful faces and back down to the silent egg, her mind whirring at the possibilities. It had been a long time since she had had some real research to do and a true challenge to conquer – and if inventing sex toys was what was going to make her life a little more exciting for a while, then why not?
Looking back up at Fred and George, she gave a heaving sigh and said the words they were hoping to hear, "Okay, I'll do it."
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