Chapter 14
George
George woke before his twin, and slipped out of bed quietly. Although they did most things (almost everything) together, when it came to this particular task, his twin was hopeless ,so George figured it was kinder to let him sleep. He made his way to the kitchen, and began working quickly. George was a planner. Fred was too, but his planning tended to be more, quick thinking and strategy, while George was about long-term outcome and details. He had spent the day before worrying about Hermione, and plotting small ways he could cheer her up, and figured the best start was food. He loved baking, it was like potion-making to him and came naturally. Precise measurements and temperatures resulting in a guaranteed outcome. In this case, delicious rather than magical.
George was just pulling the first batch out of the oven when other occupants of the house started to stumble in, starting with his mother.
“Fred! Good morning!” Mrs. Weasley called out cheerily. “What’s all this?”
“Morning mum.” He said, offering her a muffin. “I baked breakfast. Had a craving, you know.” He gave her a charming smile to go with her baked treat and she flushed happily. He didn’t bother to correct her. He figured if she didn’t know which one of them could bake by now (it was always him, Fred could cook, he could make candy, he could hex the hell out of someone, but his cookies were worse than Hagrid’s) that was her problem. Setting the rest of the muffins out, he picked a large one with a perfect sugar crust and plenty of blueberries, and set it on a tray with a small pot of tea and a folded napkin on top, and turned to leave the kitchen.
“Where are you going with that?” Ginny asked him suspiciously.
“Not your business.” He replied shortly, skirting around her and belining for the door.
“George can just come down, he doesn’t need you delivering him breakfast.” Molly said absently, tucking in to her own food.
“Uh, ok.” George didn’t pause, or correct her. He had hoped to be out of the kitchen before she even woke up, but rising before her at all was enough of a challenge. He didn’t want to start a row first thing in the morning, but he didn’t think she’d approve of him doing anything nice for Hermione at the moment. His mother had painted her the villain and it would take something monumental (or enough time to pass) for her to move past it.
George paused in front of Hermione’s door and waved his wand over the tray, rewarming the muffin. He lifted his fist to knock, but paused again, conjuring a daisy and laying it beside the tea. Satisfied, he finally knocked.
“Just a moment!” She called from behind the door.
“George! Good morning! What’s this?”
“I made you some breakfast. Wasn't sure if you’d be up for the kitchen crowd today so…” He trailed off, offering her the tray. She took it from his hands and walked over and setting it on the bed. Sitting beside it, she lifted the napkin and gasped in pleasure at the steaming muffin.
“Blueberry! My favorite, thank you!” She took a bite and let out a little moan of pleasure that sent George's brain to places that had nothing to do with baked goods. “So good! I would swear these came straight from the Hogwarts kitchen! You baked this?”
“Hey, I can bake. I’m a man of many talents.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed, swatting him playfully.
“Well thank you. Have you eaten yet?”
“Yeah I ate earlier. I gotta get Fred up, he’s sleep all day otherwise. Catch you later, Granger.”
“Later George.”
Closing the door behind him, George raced upstairs to his shared room and jumped onto his sleeping twin.
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Fred
“OW, Whatda- getrowf me!” Fred shouted sleepily, struggling to free himself from the tangle of blankets, limbs and twin he had woken in.
“Wake up sleepyhead!” George yelled, grinning (in Fred’s groggy opinion) like a maniac, and sitting on his chest.
“Get off you weigh a ton!” Fred snarled, pushing his brother roughly off his chest and the bed with a loud THUD. Undeterred, George bounded back up and sat on the edge, thankfully not putting his weight back on Fred’s bladder.
“I brought Hermione a muffin this morning, she’s officially up, and even smiled.”
“You made muffins? Where’s mine?”
“In the kitchen I suppose, all the more reason to GET UP!” George was vibrating with excitement and the combination of seeing his twin so happy and feeling it thrum inside his own chest pushed away the last of Fred’s tired grumpiness.
“And you are this happy because…she liked your muffin?” Fred said slowly. He felt like his brain was moving too slow, and felt a dire need for a tea himself. Or better, coffee.
“No, idiot. Because when she smiled for a minute her eyes weren't sad, aaaaaand now she knows we aren’t mad at her. “
“Oh, well. Excellent.” Fred had wondered if part of her issue was fear that they would hold a grudge for the rug assault, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. They actually could not wait to learn how she’d done it. What spell had she used? Did she invent it? He wouldn’t normally jump strait to spell creation for something unknown to them, but Hermione Granger was no normal witch. He was fairly certain she didn’t have any clue that the things that came so easily to her were almost unheard of, especially at her age. He flung the covers aside, over George on purpose (laughing at his twin’s curse and struggle to free himself) and jumped out the other side.
At breakfast they leaned their mother had devised a cleaning schedule with a list of chores for each of them. Fred had also quickly learned that moaning about it earned him extra chores. He felt keenly this was the last summer of his “childhood”, even though he and George were of age. Next summer they would have their shop to run, and summer hols would be a thing of the past. Yet instead of playing Quidditch at the burrow, swimming, working on their products or just fucking off, they had a list of things to clean. He supposed unlike Ginny, Hermione, Ron and Harry, he and Fred would just use magic, get it done fast and then disappear. Their mother wouldn’t complain too loudly as long as the work got done.
Fred tossed their list to the side and picket up a discarded Daily Prophet on the table, pulling out the middle and tossing it to George. They ate as they read, trading pages back and forth without looking at each other. He focused on the paper, sure that somewhere in the pages they would mention the attacks on Hermione’s home, or the fire in Harry’s neighborhood. Someone (besides them) must have seen the death eaters! Finally he conceded that there was nothing currently worth reading that morning.
“Nothing about Voldemort-” Fred started with disgust in his voice.
“Or the Death Eater attacks-” George continued.
“Anywhere!” They finished together.
Sirius lifted his head and took a page of the prophet from Fred’s hand. He glanced at the page then tossed it down with a snort.
“They’re covering it up. Read between the lines, there are little digs on Dumbledore. Trying to discredit him before word spreads.” Sirius said rolling his eyes.
“Oh, here, they’ve got Harry too. This story about a woman claiming to have invented a portkey to the moon. “A story worthy of Harry Potter”, it says.” Fred said incredulously.
“They’re making your name a joke, mate.” George slapped his paper down on the table.
“Not even a good joke!”
“Right-o my twin, they aren’t even trying!”
“We could do better.”
“What about, Harry Plotter, what’s his plan?”
“The boy who lived or the boy who lied”
“Harry Potter, Champion or chump-man?”
“That was horrible!”
“Your horrible!”
“Boys! Enough!” Mrs. Weasley snapped.
Harry laughed as he picked up the paper, “It’s alright Mrs. Weasley.” He said, the smile slowly leaving his face as he read through it before tossing it into the fireplace.
“This doesn’t make sense!” He snapped, crossing his arms and slumping down in his chair. “Why aren't they reporting what really happened, Dumbledore told everyone-”
“The Ministry is leaning on the Prophet to keep quiet about the events of the TriWizard “out of respect to Cedric’s family”, and discrediting you and Dumbledore in the process.” Bill announced from the doorway. He crossed the room and kissed his mother’s cheek, pouring himself a coffee before joining the others at the table. “Fudge is scared, thinks Dumbledore is after his job.”
“But Dumbledore doesn’t want-”
“Of course not Harry, but Fudge never forgot that many called for Dumbledore to be Minister over him. There’s talk of removing him as Chief Warlock too.” Bill sighed. “It’s going to take a lot to convince people with the Ministry and the Prophet denying everything.”
Harry made a frustrated noise and pushed away from the table. He picked up his list and motioned for Ron to follow him. “May as well get started on this. Maybe we can -HERMIONE!” He ended in a shout, as the girl herself entered the kitchen. She flushed at the sudden attention focused on her, and Fred took a moment to drink her in. George had been right, she looked better today. Less haunted. She was smiling at Harry and Ron, her cheeks flushed pink as she spoke to them. She had dressed for summer, in a bright green tank, tight cut-off shorts and trainers. He knew without glancing at her that his mother would hate it(to his delight),because as much as she railed against blood prejudice, she had no love for ‘revealing muggle clothes’. Fred, personally, had no problem with muggle dress. Especially those shorts. In fact, he was quite fond of them.
“Nothing to worry about Harry, it was just…magical exhaustion. From apparating, you know.” Hermione was saying. This seemed to placate Harry, which confused Fred. Why would he buy that, when he was there? Dense. He thought unkindly. The boys left, and Hermione waved hello to everyone, pouring a cup of coffee and sitting at the table near Sirius. His mother descended on her with her first sip, presenting her her list of chores. Hermione glanced at the list, then Sirius.
“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, but I have my own project this morning. Perhaps I can help you tomorrow.” She said sweetly.
Fred and George shared a look and suppressed grins at the stricken look on their mother’s face.
“All the children are doing their part to make this place livable, if you think you are somehow exempt..”
“Nothing like that. Don’t worry, I’ll be doing my part, Mrs. Weasley.” She had locked eyes with his mother, still using the sugary sweet tone, edged with steel. Mrs. Weasley gaped at her, at a loss for words. Hermione was openly defying her, but she had no real authority to make her obey. This was fascinating. Hermione ended the showdown by taking a final sip and sweeping out of the room before their mother could find a proper argument. She settled for glaring at Sirius, who gave her a saccharine smile and left the kitchen as well.
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Hermione
Hermione laid out her gathered tools and assessed the job in front of her. Sirius had help her find her requested items, a short (if a bit wobbly) ladder, a crowbar, a hammer, and a book titled “Charming Charms” By Merryweather Selven. She studied the plaques on the wall for several moments, then paged through the book until she found the chapter on sticking charms. This morning, as she ate her breakfast (foolishly excited that her favorite breakfast treat had been delivered by George) she had decided that the elf heads needed to go, immediately. She was also beginning to suspect George might like her. It was welcome, but made her slightly uncomfortable at the thought of Fred. Not that she thought Fred was also interested in her, Fred was a flirt. He flirted with everyone, and she was not so self-centered as to think boys would line up to be with her, or that anyone who paid attention to her might be interested in more. But she liked Fred . Also George, which made it complicated. Could she date one of them, and ignore the feelings for the other? It would probably be better to simply stay friends with both. I’m probably imagining things anyway. She told herself firmly, forcing her mind back to her chore.
After speed reading through the chapter on sticking charms, and cast a quick spell to determine the type used on the grotesque taxidermy. Finding no less than five different types, she sighed and got to work. The first three heads came down easily enough with the proper counter-charm, and she laid them neatly off to the side. I have to find a way to get rid of them respectfully. She mulled the thought over as she tackled the next head, this charm proving much more difficult to unravel. After several minutes and several colorful curse words aimed at the offensive piece, the charm was broken but it stayed stuck tight to the wall with years of dirt and grime. Hermione readjusted her footing on the ladder and tried to pry the piece off with her fingers.
“Get off the fucking wall you bugger!” She mumbled to herself as one of her nails broke down to the quick. “FUCK!” She yelped, hopping down and grabbing the crowbar. The heads were leaving the wall today, even if she had to cut the plaster out around them. Hermione wedged the crowbar under the bottom corner and pushed hard. The plaque popped off suddenly, flying off the wall and startling her, sending her reeling backwards on the wobbly ladder. Unable to regain her balance she felt herself fall backwards.
She connected with something solid but soft, and it took her a few seconds to register she had not fallen to her possible death, but rather into someone’s arms. Opening her eyes, she saw Fred looking down at her.
“Falling for me, Granger? Can’t say I’m surprised, I am quite charming.” He said playfully, setting her back down on her feet.
“Oh, Fred, um, thank you.” She forced the words out of her suddenly tight throat, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“What are you doing with these?” George asked, holding up the head she had just dislodged from the wall.
Hermione cleared her throat and sidestepped away from Fred. She gestured to the row of Elf heads on the floor.
“I’m not sure. I need a box or something to gather them, but it feels wrong to throw them away.” She bit her bottom lip and looked at the wall again, as if the answer would just come to her.
“What about the family crypt? It’s near the dungeon.” George suggested.
Hermione gaped at him. She was used to the wizards around her dismissing her ideas about elves deserving rights and respect. Most, even fellow muggle-borns, accepted elf servitude as a point of fact. The elves were happy (seemingly) and so the wizards saw no problem with their continued slavery. They didn’t even see it as slavery, which she found infuriating. To be buried in the ancestral family crypt would be accepting them as family, equals.
“Brilliant idea.” Fred said casually. “They probably raised the children and took care of those wizards their whole lives, what’s more family than that?”
“When I asked you boys to join S.P.E.W. you said the elves were happy and to leave them alone.” She said suspiciously, remembering that afternoon.
“Well, that’s when you were trying to trick them into freedom by hiding hats in the common room.” Fred said bluntly.
“Which is an insult to them- and wouldn’t work, by the way. Clothes must be given by the master with intent. Otherwise, how would they do laundry?” George said wisly.
“It’s not that they don’t deserve freedom.”
“It’s that their entire lives are focused around taking care of wizards-”
“And they see freedom as us rejecting their care-”
“So they need to see the benefits of freedom-”
“And know they won’t be cast away from what they love because of it.”
Hermione looked back and forth at the twins as they spoke, astounded. She had gone about it wrong, she knew that when the elves had stopped cleaning the common room due to her hats and socks. (That and Ron letting it slip that he had seen Dobby wearing all of her lumpy hats at once, confirming that she was not, in fact, freeing desperate elves.)
“Well, um, I think the family crypt is a great idea. I’ll go ask Sirius if it’s OK.” She hurried away, marveling at this new facet of the twins. There was no help for it, she was smitten. Championing elf rights? Could they be any more attractive? Stop with ‘they’! She scolded herself, blushing even though she was alone. ‘They’ nothing. You have to pick one! Neither, Merlin there is no way they like you. They are being nice, that’s all. She scolded herself internally as she searched the lower floor for Sirius. She thought of the daisy George had left on her breakfast tray (now carefully pressed inside her Hogwarts, a History book for preservation) and smiled. In her experience, friends didn’t just surprise you with breakfast in bed and flowers.
When she returned with permission to “do whatever the hell she pleased with the old hall of bones” (And the spell that would grant them entry), she was shocked to find the twins hard at work and almost done removing the rest of the heads from the wall. Fred was atop the ladder, casting the removal charm, then tossing down the heads, as George steadied the ladder for him , and caught each one deftly, setting it into a box that hadn’t been there before. They removed the last head as Hermione reached the top of the landing, and beamed at her.
“You guys didn’t have to do that, I was-”
“We know we didn’t have to.”
“We wanted to.”
“Well, I uh, got permission. Did you want to come with?” She asked shyly.
“Lead the way.” They said together.