A Hogsmeade Valentine
The weekend arrived far too quickly for Hermione’s liking. She had hoped that somehow, someway, the days would slip by unnoticed, and the looming promise of her "date"—if it could even be called that—would vanish like the winter mist. But of course, that didn’t happen. No, Fred and George Weasley, with their endless enthusiasm and knack for mischief, ensured that she was reminded at every turn. They left her little notes in her bookbag, sent winking owls with heart-shaped ribbons, and, more than once, greeted her in the hallways with exaggerated blown kisses, playful nudges, and whispered "sweet nothings" that made her cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and—dare she admit it—something else.
It wasn’t just Fred and George, either. It was the whole of Gryffindor Tower. The entire week had been filled with giggles and pointed looks, whispers behind her back, and the occasional "You’re going to have so much fun!" from the more enthusiastic members of her house. It was impossible to avoid, even if she tried to bury herself in her studies. She was going, they all assured her. It wasn’t a question—it was a foregone conclusion.
By Saturday morning, Hermione was seriously considering feigning a terrible illness and locking herself in her dormitory with a stack of textbooks and the soothing sound of parchment crinkling under her quill. That seemed like the safest option, after all. She could stay out of Fred and George's line of fire, enjoy some peace and quiet, and not have to deal with whatever chaos they had planned for her. But just as she was about to pull the covers over her head and give in to the allure of an afternoon spent in solitude, a loud knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
She groaned.
“Hermione! You cannot bail on them now!” Ginny’s voice rang through the door, full of determination.
"I’m not bailing!" Hermione called back, her voice muffled by the blanket she had now pulled over her head. “I’m just… not feeling well today.”
Ginny’s laughter floated through the door. “Nice try, but no. You agreed, and you're going. Don’t think I’ll let you off the hook that easily.”
Hermione let out a huff, sinking deeper into her pillows. “I was coerced, Ginny. Coerced.”
The door flew open, and before Hermione could even register what was happening, Ginny had marched into the room, grabbed the edge of the blanket, and yanked it off her with one swift motion.
“Hermione Granger, you’re going on this date, and that’s final,” Ginny said, hands on her hips, her face full of mischief. “You agreed to it, and I’m not letting you get out of it. Not now, not ever.”
Hermione flopped back dramatically, hands covering her eyes. “This is outrageous,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow.
Ginny grinned. “Call it whatever you like. But you are definitely going, and you’re going to have fun. Trust me, you’ll see.”
“I don’t see how,” Hermione grumbled, though she knew better than to argue further. Ginny had that look in her eye—the one that said there was absolutely no point in trying to get out of it.
“Get up,” Ginny ordered, raising an eyebrow. “The twins are waiting. You’ve got, oh, maybe ten minutes to look presentable.”
Hermione shot her a look that could’ve melted steel, but Ginny was unphased. With a resigned sigh, Hermione threw her legs over the side of the bed and trudged toward her wardrobe, pulling out a thick cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders. If she was going to survive this, she’d need all the warmth and protection she could get.
By the time Hermione made it down to the entrance hall, the chill of the February air had begun to seep into the castle, and the atmosphere outside was as cold and crisp as the tension she was feeling. The soft crunch of snow beneath her boots punctuated the quiet, and she was nearly halfway to the castle doors when she spotted them.
Fred and George were standing at the bottom of the stone steps, leaning casually against the railing, both wearing identical mischievous grins. Fred, with his jacket worn and slightly too big, his scarf looped carelessly around his neck like he had thrown it on in haste, was already looking far too pleased with himself. Beside him, George had his hands shoved into his pockets, his windswept hair making him look like he had just stepped out of one of those over-the-top romantic novels Hermione had occasionally borrowed from the library. The sunlight caught the gleam in his eyes as he spotted her, and his smirk deepened.
“Ah, Hermione, my dear,” Fred greeted, his voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. He strode over to her, his hand outstretched in a dramatic offer of his arm. “You look radiant today.”
Hermione’s immediate instinct was to roll her eyes, but she held back, though the warmth creeping up her neck gave her away. “I was hoping I might slip by unnoticed,” she muttered, glancing at the castle doors behind her.
“Positively breathtaking,” George chimed in, his voice playful as he nudged Fred out of the way with a mischievous grin. “It’s an honour, really, to be in the presence of such a vision.”
Hermione gave them both an incredulous look, one eyebrow raised sceptically. “If you two are done with the theatrics, can we just get this over with?”
Fred let out an exaggerated sigh, pressing his hand to his chest like he had just been struck by some fatal blow. “She wounds us, George. Wounds us deeply.”
George shook his head, putting on a mock solemn expression. “Right in the heart. Absolutely no regard for our delicate sensibilities.”
Hermione didn’t know whether to laugh or groan at their antics, so she did neither, simply pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. This was going to be one long day, she thought to herself. But she knew deep down that despite the madness, this was a bit better than being holed up in the library, hiding from the world.
“Fine,” she muttered, pushing past them. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Hogsmeade was bustling with energy, its cobbled streets alive with the vibrant chatter of students enjoying the holiday weekend. The crisp winter air seemed to make everything feel a little bit more magical, with couples strolling arm in arm, their breath forming little clouds of steam as they walked, rosy-cheeked and giddy with the romance of the day. Groups of friends wandered from shop to shop, hands full of chocolates, new trinkets, and bundles of brightly coloured scarves, their laughter filling the air. The rich smell of warm butterbeer and the sweet scent of fresh pastries from nearby bakeries wafted through the streets, mixing with the occasional blast of snowflakes from the enchanted rooftops. Hermione couldn’t help but feel, just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t going to be so terrible after all.
That was, of course, until she realized that Fred and George had absolutely no intention of behaving like normal, decent human beings.
The twins’ antics started the moment they entered Honeydukes, their favorite stop on any trip to Hogsmeade. As soon as they crossed the threshold into the candy shop, Fred immediately swept an arm toward the shelves, as though it were a royal display of treasures.
“Ah, Granger, my dear,” he said with a grin that could only be described as devilish, “the finest of sweets await.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but didn’t protest. Fred was already pulling her toward the counter, where a large display of sugar quills lay in front of her.
“Open wide, Granger,” Fred said, as he dramatically held one of the sugar quills up to her lips.
Hermione recoiled, not entirely sure whether to be offended or amused. “I can feed myself, thank you very much,” she said firmly, batting his hand away.
Fred’s grin only widened, and George, who had been trailing behind, snorted in exaggerated shock.
“Tsk, tsk,” George said, wagging a finger at her. “So unromantic.”
Hermione couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her lips, though she quickly covered it up with a cough. “I’m not your child, you know,” she muttered, but the warmth creeping up her neck was betraying her.
Fred, not deterred in the slightest, made a grand show of sighing deeply, clutching his chest dramatically. “Our Hermione, always the realist. No room for romance, no room for spontaneity.”
George, on the other hand, bent down to pick up a sugar quill himself. “Don’t worry, Granger. Fred’s just heartbroken. He was really hoping you’d fall for the charm.”
Hermione could feel the heat of a blush rising in her cheeks as she stepped away from them, hoping to redirect the attention elsewhere. “Let’s just… move on, shall we?”
But, of course, they had other plans.
Their next stop was Zonko’s Joke Shop, and that was when Hermione truly understood the depth of Fred and George’s lack of boundaries. They had, evidently, no intention of having a normal date. Instead, they had roped her into their latest round of prank testing. While she browsed the shelves of peculiar joke items, examining the strange little items designed to cause chaos, she could hear Fred and George whispering conspiratorially behind her. They took turns trying to convince her to help them test their latest prank—a set of enchanted chocolates that caused the eater to burst into spontaneous sonnets of undying love.
Hermione crossed her arms. “Absolutely not.”
Fred leaned in, lowering his voice. “But Hermione, imagine the chaos. The drama. The Shakespearean tragedy of it all.”
George wiggled his eyebrows. “Just think—Malfoy reciting poetry to McGonagall. A thing of beauty, really.”
Hermione groaned, dragging them out of the shop before they could rope her into something she’d regret.
It wasn’t until they finally stopped for butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks that things began to settle into something more familiar, more comfortable. After a day of pranks, teasing, and general mayhem, the warm, cozy atmosphere of the pub came as a welcome relief. Hermione felt a sigh of relief escape her as she slipped into the corner booth Fred and George had snagged, away from the bustling crowds. The warmth from the fire crackling nearby enveloped her, the scent of roasted nuts and spiced butterbeer filling the air. She held her mug tightly, letting the warmth seep into her fingers as she took a small sip, the creamy, frothy taste of the butterbeer easing some of the tension in her shoulders.
For the first time all day, Fred and George weren’t performing for an audience. Their usual exuberance had dimmed to something softer, quieter, almost like they were allowing the day to be a bit more real—just for a moment. It was a side of them that Hermione had never really seen before, and she couldn’t help but appreciate it. It felt more… natural, almost. Less like they were trying to get a rise out of her and more like they were simply enjoying her company. The idea that she was part of this felt strangely comforting, even if she hadn’t fully wrapped her head around the situation yet.
“So,” George said, leaning back in his seat, his elbows resting on the edge of the table as he looked at Hermione, “have we completely ruined your life yet?”
Hermione smirked but couldn’t quite suppress a small chuckle. “Oh, without a doubt,” she replied, lifting her mug to take another sip. The heat from the butterbeer was beginning to settle in her chest, making her feel warmer in more ways than one.
Fred grinned widely. “Excellent. That was the goal.”
Despite herself, Hermione laughed. It wasn’t the boisterous, over-the-top laughter she’d gotten used to from them, but something genuine, a real release of tension. It was hard to be upset with them when they were being so effortlessly charming, in their own ridiculous way.
They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, the only sound being the occasional clink of mugs and the soft hum of chatter around them. Through the window, Hermione watched the snowflakes fall lazily from the sky, the world outside seeming softer, quieter as the wind kicked up the snow into a gentle swirl. For the first time all day, the twins seemed to be content, and Hermione realized with a start that she was too. She wasn’t entirely sure how that had happened, but here they were—Fred, George, and Hermione—sharing a quiet moment.
Then, to her surprise, Fred spoke again, his voice quieter than usual. There was something about his tone that caught her attention, pulling her gaze away from the snow and back to him.
“You know, Hermione,” he said, his eyes meeting hers with an almost surprising sincerity, “we really do like you.”
The words landed with a soft thud in the air between them, and Hermione blinked, her heart giving a little jolt in her chest. She hadn’t expected him to say something like that. She’d been so used to their teasing, to their antics, that the shift in his tone took her off guard.
George, who had been staring at his butterbeer, looked up at her with a small, almost tender smile. “We wouldn’t go through all this trouble if we didn’t,” he added, his voice steady but kind.
The sincerity in their words made something flutter deep in Hermione’s chest. She wasn’t sure what to make of it—she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to laugh, or blush, or just brush it off. Her heart felt a little too full, her mind a little too conflicted. After all, Fred and George weren’t exactly known for their seriousness. But… this felt real.
“Well,” Hermione said after a long moment, her voice softer than before, “I suppose there are worse people to spend the day with.”
Fred’s eyes widened comically, and he pressed a hand over his heart, pretending to be dramatically wounded. “Granger, was that a compliment?”
George raised an eyebrow and let out a low whistle. “Blimey. She does like us.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Don’t push your luck.”
Fred, ever the one to seize on an opportunity, lifted his butterbeer high in a mock toast, his grin returning to its usual mischievous form. “To Hermione Granger,” he said, his voice warm, “our favourite, most stubborn, and most reluctant Valentine.”
George clinked his mug against Fred’s with a quiet laugh, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “May she never escape us.”
Hermione huffed, but the truth was, the words didn’t have the sting they would’ve had earlier that day. In fact, for some reason, she found herself almost enjoying their antics—perhaps because she could see the glimmer of something more underneath. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the worst way to spend a day.
As the two twins laughed and took long swigs of their butterbeer, Hermione took another sip of hers, letting the warmth of the drink settle into her chest. The conversation shifted, but for a moment, she couldn’t help but notice how the day had turned into something far more intimate than she had ever anticipated.
And then, as if on cue, a small piece of froth from her butterbeer lingered on the corner of her lip. She didn’t realize it at first, too caught up in the moment. But when Fred suddenly leaned forward, his eyes glinting with that familiar impish gleam, Hermione froze.
“Oi,” Fred said, his voice low, but his eyes fixed on her lips. “You’ve got something… right there.”
Before Hermione could react, Fred’s thumb lightly brushed over the corner of her mouth, gently wiping away the froth.
It was such a simple, casual gesture—one that she had no reason to read into—but Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. His touch was brief, soft, and the moment it lingered, she couldn’t decide whether it was another joke or if there was something more to it. The warmth of his thumb left her skin tingling, and for a moment, she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes.
But Fred wasn’t finished with her yet. His smirk was playful, yet there was something more in his gaze now. “There you go. Much better,” he said, leaning back in his seat, still watching her carefully.
George, who had been watching the whole thing with mild amusement, now shifted his gaze from his brother to Hermione, his expression far softer. “Don’t worry, Hermione,” he said, his voice low and genuine. “It’s just us. You don’t have to worry about all the teasing now.”
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but she found herself unsure of how to respond. The small act of wiping away that bit of foam had felt strangely intimate—almost like an invitation into a moment that was just for them. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to laugh it off, or if they were truly being serious for once.
But, as Fred leaned back and George gave her a soft, almost reassuring smile, Hermione couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t all a joke. She looked at both of them, really looked at them for the first time all day, and realized with a start that she might not be entirely opposed to the idea of spending more time with them.
Maybe this day hadn’t been a disaster after all.
And maybe—just maybe—the twins had been serious from the very beginning.