** This is a series of drabbles, ficlets and one shots following our dear Fred and Hermione from June of 1995 (shortly before the third task of the Triwizard Tournament) to an as-of-yet undetermined point post-war.**
oOoOoOo
18 September 1995
Just as Pomona was pouring her afternoon tea, reveling in the fact that Dolores Umbridge had apparently found elsewhere to cast her small, toadlike shadow that lunch hour, her brief moment of peace was interrupted.
Watching with some amusement, she saw Hermione Granger stomp into the great hall, brandishing what looked to be a signup sheet of some sort and making a beeline for Lee Jordan and the Weasley twins, parked in their usual place along the bench. George, at least she thought it was George from the conversation they'd been having, half-rose in his seat, as if he might physically run away from her, but Fred reached a hand up and tugged him back down by his sleeve just as she descended upon them.
From where she was sitting at the staff table, Pomona could only make out bits and pieces of what was being said, but she began mentally taking notes for when she and the other heads inevitably had to address whatever the twins had done later.
"I told you to stop – of all the bloody stupid – said he found it in the boy's lavatory – wring your necks –"
The majority of Gryffindor house was watching them at that point, expressions ranging from entertained to genuinely fearful, and not a small number of staff members as well.
Lee and George were wise enough to sink in their seats and look chagrined, but Fred met her gaze, his expression a bit dazed, but defensive nonetheless.
" – anything to say for yourselves?"
"You can hardly blame me for being a capitalist –" Fred started to say, palms offered forth innocently.
"A capitalist?!" Hermione shrieked.
"Minerva isn't here yet. Do you think that you should intervene?" Poppy asked quietly over the din, leaning sideways in her seat toward Pomona. Filius had also not yet appeared, and Severus would likely revel in watching them kill one another and then use it as an excuse to expel whoever was left standing. Despite the near-violent display, Poppy's hands were wrapped calmy around her own cuppa; working with adolescents for decades on end had that effect on a person.
"I trust that Miss Granger has her reasons," Pomona rationalized, deftly slipping her wand from her robes, nonetheless.
"Pomona, really – if our dear Senior Undersecretary were to walk in," Poppy chastised, pressing her lips into a line to keep from laughing.
They watched as the pair traded barbs for another moment.
"Poppy," Pomona implored thoughtfully, observing as the scene played out, "tell me, do those two remind you of anyone?"
The mediwitch tipped her head and squinted her eyes in contemplation, watching as Hermione flicked her wand in a zig-zag motion at Fred, as if she'd been about to hex him. The redhead deftly leaned to the side beneath the tabletop, popping back up with a smug look on his face, mistakenly believing that she'd cast at him and missed. George and Lee had fled further down the bench by that point.
"Well, I'll be!" Poppy suddenly gasped, eyes wide and raising a hand to cover her mouth. Pomona chortled quietly under her breath as Hermione stalked off. Frustration was still radiating off of her, but there was a satisfied smirk plainly visible on her face before she schooled it away.
"Lily was a dab hand at transfiguration too," Poppy noted, sipping her tea and shaking her head, bemused.
Pomona smiled wistfully as she watched Fred, whose hair, unbeknownst to him, had been turned a vibrant shade of pink when he was busy dodging the non-existent stinging jinx he thought she'd hurled at him. He kept his eyes locked on the witch's back all the way out the doors.
"Mmhm," she hummed in agreement. "But James wasn't nearly as good at hiding how he felt about her."