Hermione was quite nervous. And for the first time in a while, over something other than the possibility of failing an assignment. She pulled on the material of her cardigan jumper, frowning at her reflection. "This just won't do." She muttered.
Quickly, she rummaged to the bottom of her trunk to find a maroon dress her mother insisted flattered her figure. She never wore it, preferring to avoid attention. Though perhaps this occasion called for such extravagance. She then agreeing it was suitable, used some sleek easy hair potion left over from the Yule ball. She figured it would be cold, so last minute threw on her traveling cloak.
As instructed, she met Fred at the statue of the one eyed witch. Fred gave her a wink before jumping through the entrance. With one cautious look over her shoulder, Hermione slid down the slide.
At the bottom she fell ungracefully onto Fred, him emitting a sound of surprise.
"I'm so sorry-" she began, incanting the wand lit charm. The walls of the tunnel were then illuminated, and below her was Fred's smirking face.
"Eager to be on top I see."
Her eyes grew wide in alarm.
She managed to stand up, brushed off her dress, and walked on ignoring his comment completely.
"Alrighty then." He muttered.
They walked in silence for quite a while, until eventually he inquired a question. "Do you have a favorite color?"
She turned around walking backwards. She smiled at the simple question. "Violet."
She spun back around, glancing over her shoulder she asked "and yours?".
He let out a stifled sound of amusement. "Alright, I suppose I like violet as well-"
"You're just being agreeable." She responded in a scornful tone.
"-Hold on, let me finish my statement. I was going to say I like purple, not violet. And only if it's paired with orange."
"Fair enough." Her voice was soft, and harmless, echoing among the walls of the passageway. Though her calmness quickly left. Her nerves had already been quite present considering Fred Weasley was tagging along behind her and not just because he had to. When she felt his fingers dig into her sides she let out a shriek.
"Fred!" She tried to attempt a serious glare, looking up into his mischievous eyes. Though quickly, matching his own smirk, her lips pulled into an amused grin.
"Hermione." He mocked back. Though when he said her name so sincerely, her stomach was filled with a flutter of butterflies once more. "Rendered you speechless have I?" He struck a face that caused her to become even more amused and horrendously nervous at the same time.
She shook her head. "No." She let her eyes break the eye contact that had been held for what felt centuries. "I just have nothing I wish to say." She began walking again.
"Granger-" He called, after a short bit of silence.
"Yes?" She piped up enthusiastically.
"My hands are cold."
"And?"
"Do you think being so bright and all you would have a solution to my dilemma?"
"Perhaps next time bring mittens." She sung. She knew this was not the answer he was looking for.
"Very funny." She stopped walking, and felt his presence behind her. "Why've you stopped?"
He felt her fingers reach out behind her, lightly they pressed against his own fingertips, until finally their hands were interlocked. "Better?" She asked.
He didn't need answer.
Eventually, after a comfortable silence spent walking with their palms pressed, they reached the trapdoor.
Carefully Fred pushed up on the wooden slab, shifting it so that they could sneak through. Hermione climbed up the ladder, joining Fred to stand in the cellar of Honeydukes.
"This isn't a good idea. We are bound to get in trouble." She whispered, looking worryingly up at the stairs to the main shop.
He grabbed her arm anyway, feeling her nails dig into the sleeve of his shirt. He tried not to laugh at her fear of breaking the rules. "Come on, it will all be okay I assure you." Leading her up the stairs, they were able to quickly make a break for it. Once they were around the counter, they ran to the exit of the shop before there was any chance for someone to notice them.
Now outside in the quaint night of Hogsmeade, a sense of relief flooded Hermione.
"Shall we go to The Three Broomsticks? Rosmerta won't mind us any."
She agreed, with a polite nod. Entering the pub, the room felt warm and lively. Though before either of them could gather their senses, they heard the oh so familiar voice.
"Oi!, Freddie!" Hermione glanced to see George Weasley, well whom she presumed to be George Weasley, unless the wizard beside her was not Fred after all; sitting at a table, along with Johnson, Bell, and Thomas.
Before she could register, the identical half was approaching them. George wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her tight to his side. "Hello, Granger. I hope dear Fred isn't bothering you. Nor do I wish that your date is pathetically boring. If it is, don't worry, I'll be more than glad to assist you back to the castle so you can end this evening of awkward suffering and move on with your better, superior, greatly ambitious life."
"Bugger off, George." Fred punched his twin brother, and he let go of Hermione respectively.
"Well I would stay and chat, but I assume the two of you lovebirds would like a table of your own." He gave a necessary wink, and then returned to the table across the pub.
Hermione shared a look with Fred. "He loves to tease does he not?"
"Indeed he does." Fred replied, throwing a look toward his twin. The entire table was now looking at the pair.
"Oh, Merlin." Hermione muttered, blushing crimson. She followed Fred over to a table, sitting across from him. When she tore her gaze from the curious glances of George's friends, she found Fred was grinning at her. "What?"
"You're cute when you're flustered."
Thankfully, Rosmerta brought over a pair of butterbeer's. Hermione took the stein, and drank down the warm liquid to avoid his comment.
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"Anyone can (vote and comment) speak Troll. All you have to do is point and grunt."
-Fred Weasley