December 24, 1994. The Yule Ball.

Spiking the punch was second on Fred's to-do list, right behind finding Bagman and wringing his neck over that bet.

He was slowly, nonchalantly, making his way over to the drink table nearest to him when he bumped into someone — someone blue and beautiful and —

"Oh, hi Fred."

Hermione. Of course he'd run into one of the only people who was not afraid of him and would rat him out in a second. She was also very pretty and could definitely beat him in a fight, which, unfortunately, was exactly Fred's type, and he had realized this all of forty minutes ago.

She squinted at his arm, tucked behind the fabric of his suit jacket. "What's that behind your back?"

"Nothing," he said with an easy grin. (It was not nothing. It was a large bottle of Vinal's Aqua Vitae, which he was going to dump into the punch.)

"I'm not that gullible, Fred."

With a grimace, Fred hedged, "Don't suppose you'd fall for the plausible deniability spiel either …?" Hermione frowned.

"No. I— actually yes. Just for tonight, mind." She nodded, as if securing herself in her decision.

This was new. Normally she'd expose any of his pranks with no forethought. But not tonight. What changed? Had she seen in him what he saw in her? Someone she could get lost in? Get lost with? He thought about asking.

"Planning on partying?" He asked instead.

"Sort of, though the Weird Sisters isn't my style."

He was desperate and she had a date and he knew all of this and he still kept talking. She was polite enough to listen, he knew."I know what you mean. I'm partial to the Deadly Spellz, myself, so the Weird Sisters are kinda—"

"—Boring? Yes!— No. Sorry I didn't mean that. They're a good band. They're just… A pop band, I guess."

If she likes punk, I'm fucked, thought Fred. "Yeah," he said instead. She kept talking.

"The Deadly Spellz are cool— not my favourite, though,"

He's fucked, but he can't help but ask. Jinx him, but he's only just realized about forty minutes ago how much he wanted to be around her, and now she likes punk music. "What's your favourite band, then?"

"I like—" She closed her mouth abruptly, looking at him with narrowed eyes before demanding, "you can't tell anyone they're my favourite; it'll ruin my image— promise me, Fred."

With a smirk, he promised. He barely even thought about it.

"I'm quite partial to the Stoned Warlocks."

He nearly chokes on air. The Stoned Warlocks are a bit more grunge, but he has at least two albums in his room.

"Oh Fuck," escapes his mouth, and then, "You?! Sorry, I mean…"

He meant that he would like it if his mouth could shut the fuck up.

She smiled, "I get it."

"You're just… the Stoned Warlocks. Wow."

Hermione shrugged. "You won't tell, right?" She was still smiling at him, and for a moment he had the thought that he'd agree to anything if only it was her asking.

"Right. I'll take it to my grave. Promise." He grinned back, drawing an 'X' over his heart. Ready to find another excuse to keep talking to her, he opened his mouth, but his face fell when he saw her date over her shoulder. "I think you're date's looking for you."

She looked, her smile growing wider as she saw Viktor. "Oh, yes. Thank you." She picked up the skirts of her dress and started walking away, only to turn back. "Have fun spiking the punch!" She winked, nodding in the direction of the bottle he was still hiding behind himself.

His eyebrows quirked, and he sent a cheeky wink back her way, and shouted, "Have fun dancing!"

He really was fucked.

Early October 1997. Diagon Alley.

"Right. I'm off. Music shop," said Fred, pulling on his jacket.

George looked up from his papers, suddenly angry, "you're going out to buy more of your noise? There's death eaters round the block — and you're buying shitty records?!"

"The Stoned Warlocks released a new 45. It's important—"

"You're an idiot."

"I'll just pop there and back. The owner knows I'm coming. Ten minutes tops." When he said nothing, Fred stuck out his bottom lip to pout. "George…"

"Fine! Go! Ten minutes," George said, tapping his wand to a timepiece on the table so that the hand whirled around to point at the banner that read "Plenty of Time!"

Fred stepped out of the flat and apparated off to the music shop (which was only two blocks diagonal, but walking anywhere was too dangerous these days).

Once he arrived, he opened the door to find the owner sitting behind his till doing a crossword.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. Yes, your order's right here," he said, removing the paper sleeve which housed the record from a crate under the desk.

With a smile, Fred thanked the shop owner. "Bril, thank you."

"That'll be 1 Galleon, 8 Sickles, and 15 Knuts.[1] You're the only sale I've got for that one, you know. "

"Figured," Fred said, dropping the coins on the desk.

"You must really love the Stoned Warlocks, going through this much trouble for that. Glad to find another music lover," said the owner as Fred grabbed the vinyl.

"Err... I don't," admitted Fred. "They're not bad, but they're not…"

"Ohhhhh, I understand," said the owner. Fred got the feeling that he wouldn't like whatever happened next. "Girlfriend."

Fred cringed. "Not yet. Err…. No, I mean, and she's… She won't. She'll never…" Fred huffed out a sigh. "Whatever," he said, running his free hand through his hair. He moved to head out the door and return to the flat before his ten minutes were up.

The owner was near cackling behind him. Nosy fucker.