Chapter 39
Fred
The little minx has gone and played the first prank of the year without us. Fred thought, positively smug at the thought that his girlfriend was so clever. Fred couldn’t have been more proud; he watched his little brother twist and squirm, trying to catch the spider as it scuttled along his hairline, down his neck, into his robes and back again. The clever spell had the spider always just out of reach, even as Lavender and Ginny stepped in to help. Finally, Ron ran out of the hall with a rather undignified scream when the spider raced up his pants leg, Lavender hot on his heels. Harry was doubled over laughing, and Hermione was staring at the chaos with smug satisfaction.
“We saw that.” George whispered in her ear, kissing her cheek and claiming the seat beside her.
“Clever spell that. How long does it last?” Fred whispered in the other ear, kissing her cheek and sitting down on Harry’s lap. “Oy, the seats got really uncomfortable over the summer.” He quipped.
“OY-GETOFF!” Harry groaned, pushing at Fred, who laughed at his distress but stood.
“Sorry Harry, didn’t see you in my seat.”
“She’s my sister you know.” Harry grumbled, moving to the empty seat beside him. Fred beamed at him and ruffled his hair.
“Yes, but you get the pleasure of her company all day in class.” George said, piling eggs and sausage onto his plate.
Fred plucked Hermione’s timetable from her hands and studied it.
“Excellent, free period after DA. Meet in the courtyard?” He asked, waving his wand over her schedule and making himself a copy, which he slipped into his front pocket.
“Can’t. McGonagall’s called me in to her office then.” She frowned and leaned her head on his shoulder. “You have to be careful. Something tells me this year they’ll be watching more closely.” She said carefully.
“What do you mean, love?” Fred asked lightly.
“The advertisement? I don’t want you two to get expelled.”
“Fear not, Hermione.” George said, brandishing a paper. “We’ve got it covered, no one can snitch.” She took the paper from him and frowned as she looked it over.
“George. You can’t hex kids who sign up.”
“It’s just a tongue-tie only works if they try to spill trade secrets. Like products we’re testing.” He said with a smile and a wink. Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Don’t worry, we’re only testing things we have personally tried ourselves for safety. It’s market research, nothing that will hurt them.” Fred rubbed her shoulder.
They walked her to her first class, George carrying her bookbag despite her protest and Fred holding her hand. Fred noted quite a few boys on the way taking a second look at her before frowning over their joined hands and smirked every time. Too late, gentlemen. He thought with smug satisfaction. He felt insanely proud to get to hold her hand in front of everyone, and resolved to tell her just that at every available opportunity.
She fretted over the gossip that had dominated her morning, telling them about her hag roommates, and the ambush at the breakfast table. To preoccupy her (both from the appreciative stares and the decidedly less kind pointed looks and whispers behind hands), George began telling her a highly animated tale about dueling a one-eyed wizard in Knockturn ally over a spilled butterbeer incident. Fred added all of his parts to the tale, and soon they had her laughing too hard to worry over gossip mongers.
“So how much of that story is true?” She asked as her laughter subsided and they reached the Defense classroom. He exchanged a look of mock horror with his twin.
“Madam! How dare you question the authenticity of our tale!” George said audaciously.
Fred placed his hand over his heart. “Do we look like the type of gentlemen to lie?” He ruined his sincere tone with a grin and a wink. She smiled back and kissed his cheek, turning and pecking George’s too and said, “Defiantly.” She gave them a cheeky grin and flounced into class.
George
George’s mood was darkening by the second. As far as he was concerned this bloody school was too big to be this small. Gossip rang through the halls, and while normally he’d delight in a scandal or too, far too many involved his girlfriend. It ranged from suspicions about Harry, you-know-who and Dumbledore’s questionable behavior (according to the Prophet’s version at least, not that he disagreed about the old man being questionable) to for some reason, Hermione dying her hair to look the part of a pureblood. Gossip and rumors weren’t the reason he was getting angry, however. It was Aidrian Pucey and Marcus Flint carrying on at the potting table beside them in Greenhouse 5. They spoke in low but perfectly audible voices (Thanks to a disillusioned extendable ear) and their main subject was Hermione.
“Imagine the Black Family making a comeback like that.” Flint said lightly as he added fertilizer to his Shrivelfig.
“Another heiress in the pool, I may not have to marry the wretched French girl Father is pushing on me.”
Flint sneered, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Suddenly, she's quite… attractive, isn't she?"
“Now that she’s…refined herself, I certainly wouldn’t mind putting a leg over.”
“Think again, Pucey, the Weasley’s are already pursuing her.”
Pucey snorted. “Poor as dirt and Blood Traitors.”
“Clever though, snag an heiress before the other families even have a chance to meet her.”
“Chasing the galleons, no doubt.”
“It won’t last. Why would she bother with them now that she has better options?”
“Shall we see who can bag her first? 100 Gallions says I can get her in bed before you. Pucey said with a leer.
They laughed together, and George felt fury swell within him, clenching his fist so tight Fred winced.
“Calm down brother.” Fred hissed. “You know what they’re like, you’ll take the bait and we’ll take the fall. Be smart, revenge is better slow.”
“Fucking vultures.” George spat. “Now, she’s pretty? Now she’s acceptable? Did you hear-” He found the insult to himself secondary to the implication that Hermione was “better” somehow after her adoption. That her change in blood status reflected her worth. He longed to punch Flint in his smug face and break his sharp, beaky nose. As his initial rage calmed some with Fred’s steadfast presence, his thoughts of vengeance shifted from violent to calculated. It would be better, he decided, if someone were to say, sprinkle powdered bobotuber puss in Flint and Pucey’s underwear drawers, causing them to break out in painful blisters in unmentionable places. He found himself smiling at the thought, and Fred caught his eye.
“I know that look.” He said with a smirk. “Planning something especially cruel, are we?”
“The deserve it.” George said darkly.
“No question.” Fred watched the Sytherin pair calmly, although George knew he was angry too. Fred was better at storing his rage, keeping a cooler head in the moment, knowing that retribution was coming. George took careful, measured breaths as he fiddled with the plant in front of him, willing his body to calm and focus on not getting expelled and imprisoned for murder the first day back to school. He shared a look with Fred, darting his eyes to the side and receiving a nearly imperceptible nod in return. If he couldn’t punch them into the floor and make him swallow dragon dung, they could at least make them miserable for the rest of the hour.
George and Fred discreetly pocketed the extendable ears, not wanting the long cords to get in the way of what was coming. They watched with smug satisfaction as Flint and Pucey had a series of unfortunate events befall them for the rest of class. Flint dropped so many pots he was docked five points from Slytherin, and Pucey kept tripping and falling into the shelves, his shrivelfigs, and other students. The end of class saw them both with scrapes and bruises, both to their bodies and their egos. George grinned as he watched them limp away to the hospital wing. He couldn’t wait to send them back there in boils.
“How’re we getting the bug back to check it?” Fred asked him in a low voice as they walked to Workroom 3. Although they put on a good front of lazy indifference, their many free periods were spent working…just not on school. They had learned early they didn’t need to put much effort into passing their classes, which left them free to pursue their true interests.
“Get into the office, obviously since the recall charm didn’t work.” George muttered. The test run of the bug wasn’t their most successful launch to date, having failed it’s first test. They had designed it to come on command upon uttering the recall spell, but so far it had not returned, even with their joint efforts. It didn’t necessarily mean it had failed to work entirely, although George had a bad feeling about it. Fred (of course, the eternal optimist) was positive the bug worked, and it must be stuck; meaning it was time to plan a retrieval mission. What made this one tricky was that although they had crossed many lines during the last six years, they had never dared to break into the headmaster’s office. To be fair, they had never had a reason to break in, Dumbledore himself turning a blind eye to most of their mischief and wrongdoing, or leaving their punishment to their head of house. Previously they had considered him a good-natured old man, a legend for sure, with a penchant for oddity and an appreciation for humor. Now…now they couldn’t even be sure he was on the Order’s side, let alone theirs…so if they were caught, who knew what the result would be.