Fred managed to duck right before ‘Modern Transfiguration’ hit the wall behind him. He wasn’t so fortunate when ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’ hit his knee. He cursed under his breath and tried to reason with her. “Hermione, stop throwing things. You’re just hurting the books, you know?”
That made her pause for a split second before she glared at him and picked up another book. Bloody hell, she must be angrier than he realized if she was putting her books at risk. He ran his fingers through his hair and wondered how badly she’d hex him if he used magic to restrain her.
“Get out, Fred!”
“No,” he growled impatiently, jumping from his spot before the book hit him. “Damn it, woman, would you just listen?”
“Don’t take that tone with me,” she snarled. Some of her hair had pulled free from her braid and now curled around her flushed face in a way that nearly distracted him. Only the sight of the very large book in her hands kept him focused.
“If you think that I won’t use magic on you, you’ve got another think coming,” he warned, wishing he sounded more confident in the threat.
“Try it,” she challenged before she threw the book, hitting his shoulder perfectly. With her accurate aim, it was a shame she didn’t play Quidditch. Focus, Fred. “I’ll hex your bollocks off if you dare raise your wand at me, Fred Weasley. Now go away and leave me alone!”
“You like my boll---” Before he had a chance to finish that sentence and give her a leer that he hoped would distract her, she growled and reached for another book. He reacted quickly, moving faster than he thought was possible, and soon had his arms around her writhing form. He had to remind his body that she was angry and that an erection was probably not wise at the moment. “Stop this nonsense, Hermione. You’re acting like a child.”
It was a low blow, true, but she hated being considered immature, so maybe it would work.
“I hate you,” she hissed while fighting to free herself from his strong arms. He groaned when her elbow hit his belly, but he kept holding on because he knew, somehow, that letting go would be the worst thing that could ever happen.
“We need to talk,” he said softly, wondering how she could still manage to look so attractive when she was flailing around like a mad banshee. “Please, just hear me out, love. Five minutes is fair after seven months, isn’t it?”
“You don’t deserve five seconds, you conniving, evil bastard!”
He flinched, mostly because of the look of hurt on her face and not her words. He’d really messed up this time, but she had to listen and understand because he couldn’t even consider the alternative. “It wasn’t a prank.”
“What was it then?” she demanded, breathing heavy and face flushed a lovely shade of pink. She was still struggling in his arms, each movement bringing her body against his, and he noticed her body tense when she finally became aware of the erection pressed against her hip. Her eyes widened and took on that gorgeous dewy look of arousal that had him fighting the urge to lift her skirt and shag her right there standing up.
“I had to know,” he murmured huskily. He rolled his hips forward and brought his leg between hers, biting his lip hard at the friction this change of position caused. She gasped as she rubbed against his thigh and then pushed at his chest to try to get away.
“You had George kiss me, you prat, and claim it was because you had to know? Was all of this just a big joke? A way to make fun of the frigid, spinster workaholic or something?”
“You’re far from frigid, Hermione, and it wasn’t a fucking joke!”
“I should have let him go further, compared how twins differ when it comes to shagging!”
Her words made him see red, and he growled before kissing her hard. He wasn’t really a possessive sort of bloke (mostly because she’d smack him if he got all ‘she’s mine’ in anything other than smug gloating) and rarely got rough unless they were feeling particularly frisky, but the thought of her shagging George was like a kick to the gut.
It had been three days, ten hours, and a handful of minutes since everything had gone to hell, and Fred had seriously begun to doubt that he’d ever be able to kiss her again. It was that thought that had actually spurred him into stopping his moping and taking action, which consisted of breaking into her flat through some of the strongest wards he’d ever had to crack. He’d known she wouldn’t be glad to see him, but he hadn’t expected her to attack him with books and nightmarish images of her and George, which hurt far worse than a copy of ‘Fantastic Beasts’ to the knee.
Now, she was in his arms again (where she bloody well belonged), and he didn’t plan on letting her go. Fred softened the kiss and moved his hands down her back slowly until he reached her bum. He squeezed gently and pulled her against him, which was a contrast to the urgent way he was grinding against her. Her hands were still on his chest, but they were no longer pushing him away. Instead, she’d moved them beneath his T-shirt and scratched him before she twisted his nipple and lightly pulled on the hair that was scattered over his chest, something that she knew never failed to arouse him.
Well, if she wanted to play that sort of game, he was certainly willing. He squeezed her bum hard, the way that made her hips jerk forward against his thigh, and moved his mouth across her jaw and down her throat. He listened to her breathy moans as he nibbled on her neck, licking and sucking and biting until she was gripping his shoulders and murmuring his name. Now that she was actually not fighting him, he decided it was the perfect time to apologize. Sure, she wasn’t thinking clearly and the right touch would have her moaning, but he wasn’t above using this to his advantage.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered against the wet skin of her neck while he moved his hand beneath her shirt. He squeezed her breast and scraped his teeth against her pulse point before she could react and possibly push him away.
“What?” she muttered as she rolled her hips and rode his thigh.
“’bout George,” he said. “Just had to know that you wanted me, ya know?”
She stopped moving and pulled back to look at him. “No, I don’t know,” she said with a frown. Buggering hell, he’d miscalculated. He’d thought she was well into the ‘close, so close, keep touching me’ phase. Instead, she was far too aware for him to have brought up the subject.
“Angelina kissed him back,” he said simply before sneakily moving his hand lower until he reached the waist of her skirt.
“I don’t---Oh.” She slapped his hand away and gave him that prissy ‘stop that’ look that always tempted him into mischievous deeds. “I’m not Angelina. If I’d wanted George, I’d have gone out with him instead of you.”
“He asked you?” Fred’s eyes narrowed.
“No, he didn’t,” she said, rolling her eyes and muttering about jealous gits. He took offense to that, of course, and moved his thigh firmly between her legs in retribution. When she looked at him, he attempted ‘innocent smile‘. “I don’t appreciate not being trusted by someone who claims to love me. I also have no use for those sorts of games, understood?”
“I do trust you,” he said sincerely. “It’s just, I had to know. If I didn’t, I’d have always wondered if you were with me because I was the one who asked or if you wouldn’t have cared whether it was him or me since we were so interchangeable.”
“You’re not the same person,” she said sharply. “I don’t care how much you and George have in common, you’re not identical beyond the physical, and even that isn’t completely the same. You’re the one who makes my heart race and butterflies do acrobatics in my tummy and looks at me as if I’m far prettier and sexier than I am. I’ve always been able to tell you and George apart, and he’s not the man that I fell in love with. That was you.”
“Even if I let past insecurities get the better of me and occasionally act like a jealous git?” he asked quietly.
“This has been the longest three days of my life,” she admitted. “I was hurt at what I considered a juvenile prank and started to worry that all of it was just a terrible joke, but I still missed you.”
“It wasn’t,” he assured her. “I’ve fancied you for years and can’t believe you’re finally mine, in a non-possessive and feminine rights sort of way.”
“Nice disclaimer.“ She laughed softly and traced his lips with her finger before she looked at him seriously. “If that ever happens again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive you. Next time, talk to me.”
“I’ll try,” he promised, knowing he couldn’t say it wouldn’t happen again or that he’d definitely talk to her because he didn’t want to make promises he didn’t know if he could keep. He could try, though, and the memory of the last few days would probably prevent him from making the same mistake twice.
“I suppose that’s all either of us can do,” she said before she kissed him.
Fred smiled against her lips while he pulled her closer to him and tightened his hold. Not giving her a chance to figure out his intentions, he Apparated them into her bedroom and fell back onto her bed without letting go of her. He grinned up at her as she laughed while trying to scold him. “Just figured we had three days to make up for,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes innocently before he leaned up and kissed her. He rolled them over and raised his head to add, with a decidedly wicked smile and leer, “You can punish me for being a prat later. I deserve a spanking.”