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Story Notes:
The camp was a madhouse after Ireland won the World Cup.

Hermione walked amongst the tents and shook her head at the demonstrations happening around her. If anyone wanted to debate that men were still primal underneath the veneer of sophistication and material items, one just needed to visit a sporting event after a man’s favorite team won. Then they’d have proof of just how little man had risen above those ancestors of centuries ago.

She was not impressed with drunken men slurring and spilling Firewhisky on the already rather muddy path. She was also not impressed with the loud cheering, off-key singing, and overall claustrophobic crowd atmosphere that seemed present now that Ireland had won. Harry and Ron had run off to celebrate and God only knew what trouble those two might get into without her around to watch out for them, but they’d obviously not wanted her along so she’d decided to just return to the tent to read.

The match itself had been entertaining enough. She loathed to fly, more out of her fear of heights than a belief that she’d not enjoy the flight, and thought sports were a waste of time that could be spent more wisely, but she’d been rather caught up in the excitement of her friends and it hadn’t been entirely unpleasant. Of course, if she had to hear Ron extol the virtues of that Bulgarian, Viktor Krum, one more time, she might very well hex him.

She stepped into the Weasleys’ tent and noticed that Bill and Charlie were drinking Firewhisky and talking about the match without the obnoxiousness of those outside the tent. At least a few men were mature, she decided with a bit of relief that there were exceptions to the rule. Her gaze lingered on both of the older Weasley boys for just a moment longer than was appropriate before she hastily looked away. Her cheeks were warm and she cursed herself for the fact that she blushed so easily.

It wasn’t really her fault that Bill and Charlie were older, daring, and both very handsome in their own ways. She couldn’t help but wonder if Ron would grow up to look like Bill, who he favored, or if the twins would eventually have the muscles and strength that Charlie seemed to possess. It also wasn’t really her fault that she seemed to have a fondness for red hair and freckles.

She’d tried to prefer pale skin and unruly black hair and even shy smiles and sandy brown hair, but it was no use. It also wasn’t her fault that she seemed to prefer boys older than her. After all, boys her age were silly and not at all good at holding an even partially interesting conversation.

“Were you just ogling-”

“Our big brothers, Granger?”

“That’s really quite sad-”

“Cause they’re both far too old for you.”

“Poor ickle Ronniekins will be devastated-”

“If he finds out you’re drooling all over-”

“His brothers. It’s our duty as big brothers-”

“To make sure he finds out, though.”

“Because, really, we both think he fancies blokes anyway-”

“Which is really a set up for heartache for you, Granger-”

“So maybe we should take action now.”

“What?” Hermione finally managed to interrupt their rapid fire back and forth. She simply stared at Fred and George and frowned, wondering if they had any idea just how annoying it was when they did that. When she saw their smirks, she knew they must.

“Really, Granger, you disappoint us,” Fred admonished as he shook his head and clucked his tongue in a disapproving way.

“Smartest student of your year and you can’t even follow a simple conversation. Such a sad, sad day,” George agreed with a dramatic sigh.

“Go away,” she told them primly as she moved past them and went into the area she was sharing with Ginny. Behind her, she heard Bill laugh and tell the twins they’d better be careful playing with fire, to which Charlie muttered something that had the twins cursing him and Bill laughing even louder. She almost turned around to scold the twins for having fire in the tent but somehow didn’t think they were talking about that sort of fire, which merely confused her even more.

“Stay away from Charlie,” Fred demanded as the flap of her tent opened.

“He’s got nefarious plans in mind for you,” George added grumpily.

“Bloody git, needs to look for someone his own damn age,” Fred added sullenly.

“What part of ‘go away’ did you both fail to understand?” she asked as she turned to face them.

“Well, see, it’s like this, Granger,” Fred started to say, a big grin replacing the sullen frown that had previously been there.

“We heard you say go away but we know you didn’t mean it.”

“I certainly did mean it! Go harass someone else.”

“We don’t want to harass anyone else. You know that you’re our favorite person to harass.”

“Fred’s right. Why harass someone else when we’ve got you?” George asked innocently.

“Besides, Ireland won!” Fred said excitedly. “That’s a cause for celebration, not for hiding in your tent.”

“I don’t want to celebrate,” she pointed out with a hint of frustration in her tone. They were both just so impossible!

“Sure you do,” George told her matter-of-factly.

“I do not!” Hermione actually stomped her foot and put her hands on her hips so she could glare at them properly. “I do n---”

Her words were caught by a pair of lips that were suddenly on hers. Her eyes widened and she froze, unsure what to do as Fred kissed her. It was her first kiss and rather sloppy. His lips were wet and rather full and Oh! She parted her lips to tell him to remove his hand from her arse but his tongue was in the way and it got even more messy because she had no idea what to do and then he was pulling back and winking at her as he grinned widely and she didn’t even have a chance to demand an explanation before another pair of lips was on hers.

George’s lips were chapped and not as wet as Fred’s. His touch wasn’t as tentative as he placed his hand on her arse and pulled her against him. She felt lips on her neck and a hard body behind her as George kissed her. When he finally pulled back, she gasped for breath and stared at them both. They were smiling mischievously, their lips swollen, and she noticed that George’s hair was messed up, realizing that she’d just been gripping it.


“Stop asking questions, Granger,” Fred interrupted.

“Sometimes there just aren’t answers,” George said wryly.

“But---you just kissed me! Both of you kissed me!”

“Way to state the obvious, Granger,” Fred declared with a wide grin.

“Was it good for you?” George asked innocently.

“Good for…” She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hex them, hit them, or make them kiss her again. The last thought had her even more confused as she looked from one to the other.

“I think that’s a yes, George, my boy.”

“I do think you’re right, Fred, old boy.”

“Poor thing looks confused, doesn’t she?”

“Rather adorable, that. Might have to confuse her more often.”

“Definitely know the best way to get her to shut up now, don’t we?”

“That we do. ‘course, we’re not sharing that with anyone else.”

“No, we’re not. Gonna be our little secret, that will.”

“You’re giving me a headache,” she murmured as she unconsciously touched her lips and stared at them.

“Best cure for a headache is--well, we’ll tell you that when you’re a bit older. Don’t want Mum to hex us into Mungos, after all. Second best cure for a headache, and decidedly less enjoyable, is butterbeer,” Fred said firmly followed by a surprisingly shy smile. “If you, uh, that is to say…”

“Hmph. And he claims to be the articulate one,” George muttered and rolled his eyes. “What do you say, Granger? Get a butterbeer with us?”

It was on the tip of Hermione’s tongue to say no, that she certainly would not get a butterbeer with them, especially after they’d just snogged her without permission and were continuing to confuse her with all these questions and no answers. She opened her mouth and was surprised to hear herself say, “Okay.”

“You will?” Fred gaped at her but quickly recovered and smiled smugly as he walked over and took her hand . “C’mon, then. We’ve got some celebrating to do.”

The End