Sneaky

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Story Notes:
3/8/06
She was going to kill them. She didn’t know how they’d found out, but one look at their mischievous smirks confirmed that this wasn’t just a coincidence. Hermione felt her cheeks flush, which was rather annoying considering some of the things they’d done during the last two years, and she deliberately ignored them as she walked into the kitchen to get something cold to drink.

“I think she’s trying to ignore us.”

“Silly girl couldn’t ignore us if she tried.”

“Course not, but it’s kinda cute that she’s trying.”

“Better not call her cute, Fred, or she’ll swell up like a stubborn hippogriff.”

“Hippogriffs aren’t stubborn. They’re quite tame and friendly. Didn’t you pay attention to Magical Creatures, George?”

“Right, as if you could understand half of what Hagrid mumbled about during that class.”

“I’m quite good at translating mumbles.”

“Stop preening, you prat.”

“Bloody fuck, George! Didn’t have to smack my head so hard, you git.”

“You deserved it. ‘sides, you barely passed that class so stopping trying to look impressive for Hermione. She knows I’m the smart one.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the good-looking one, then, so let’s see which one gets into her knickers.”

“Neither of you are going to get into my knickers,” Hermione told them firmly as she walked back into the room. She refused to look at them because it would probably make her stop and possibly drool, which would be all the confirmation they needed that she was affected by their efforts. They certainly didn’t need encouragement when it came to such things, especially they’d somehow guessed one of her most secret, even after shagging and loving them for two years, fantasies.

“Wanna bet?” George asked in a smug tone that made her shudder despite her best intentions.

“That would be a stupid bet to take,” Fred remarked with a hint of amusement.

“You’re both impossible,” Hermione muttered as she glared at them and headed down the hall to the bedroom. She opened the door and froze when she saw what they’d done while she was out. The room had been transformed into a locker room. The bed was transfigured into a large bench, the wardrobe was lockers, and there was Quidditch equipment scattered around.

Oh God.

“Well, look what we have here, George,” Fred said from behind her.

She turned and looked at them, her gaze moving over the Quidditch uniforms. It lingered on the gloves and the leather guards, a soft whimper escaping her mouth as she felt heat spread over her.

“Mum warned us about these Quidditch groupies,” George mock whispered before he licked his lips.

“Tsk, tsk. Such a naughty thing, isn’t she? Sneaking into the locker room during the match and I bet her knickers are soaking wet.”

“Absolutely wicked of her. Maybe we should teach her what happens to wanton little sneaks with wet knickers and hard nipples?”

“I’d say she needs to be punished,” Fred agreed as he walked over to her and slid a heavy glove along the curve of her breast before he squeezed.

“I’m going to kill you both,” she threatened in a husky voice that became a moan when George pressed against her from behind and bit her neck. They chuckled, having heard that threat more times than she wanted to admit, and pulled her shirt over her head before lips and tongues moved along her bare skin. She gasped when they moved lower and amended her threat. “Later…much later.”

The End