Fool Me

Day Four

“Are you sure about this, Fred?”

Across from him, Fred nodded, putting the finishing touches on their latest scheme. “If this doesn’t fool her, nothing will!”

They tapped their chunky, gray drinks with a clink, and tossed them back in a single, fluid motion. The revolting taste had them racing for the toilet, but nothing came up as they sat huddled by the porcelain bowl.

“Do you suppose it worked?” George choked, suppressing a disgusted shudder.

Sweeping a clammy, shaky hand across his mouth, Fred shrugged. “I don’t feel any different.”

“I don’t suppose we would,” George replied, pushing to his feet. “We are twins after all and Polyjuice only feels different if you were turning into someone that wasn’t completely identical to you.”

Agreeing, they left the bathroom and crept back into their own rooms before anyone noticed them. Hurriedly, they switched their clothes and double checked they hadn’t missed anything, they left the room and ventured down for breakfast.

They caught Hermione’s attention straight away. Her brows furrowed slightly and her eyes narrowed. She tilted her head ever so slightly to the left and her lips thinned. It was a look of pure contemplation, as if they were a difficult task that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Good morning, Hermione,” they chimed, happily, moving around the room to take their places on either side of her.

“Good morning,” she murmured, her voice hesitant.

For the next fifteen minutes, they tried fruitlessly to get her to guess, but she kept responding without once calling their names, not that she did a whole lot of talking to begin with. She seemed lost in her own thoughts. If they hadn’t known what was bothering her, they would have assumed she’d taken one of their Daydream Charms. But they were quite pleased with themselves. As soon as she guessed them wrong, they’d win her silly little game.

“Fred, George, you guys up for a game of Quidditch?” Ron interrupted their gloating to ask.

They exchanged glances. Even if the potion wore off, she’d still be guessing. So, what could be the harm?

“We’re in!” they agreed, leaping to their feet and hurrying to get their things.

As Beaters on the school team, they had no need to be assigned positions as the others guessed and divided themselves. Ron took the post as keeper. Harry claimed Seeker, and Ginny took Keeper position for the other team. With not enough players, Fred and George were assigned as Chasers as well.

They took their places and kicked off the makeshift field and lifted into the air. Down below, Hermione took a seat in a shady spot under a tree and opened her textbook to read. George tried not to watch her, tried not to notice how the sun highlighted the gold in her hair or how picturesque she appeared with the splinters of sunlight slicing through the branches and sparkling around her. She appeared so absorbed in her book that when she suddenly glanced up and caught his eye, he nearly toppled off his broom, startled. He offered her a lopsided grin, which she returned almost timidly. Her cheeks turned a light pink, and she quickly ducked her head.

Chuckling to himself, George tried to focus on the game, but every so often he found his attention wavering and returning to the witch below, nearly hypnotized by every movement she made. He all but melted at the delicate sweep of her fingers brushing back a stray curl from tickling her cheek. How did she enthrall him with such a small gesture? It was pure magic.

A loud crack interrupted his woolgathering, and he had just enough time suck in a sharp inhale of air before the Bludger hurled into his gut and sent him sailing off his broom. He hit the ground before he could even grasp falling. The impact rattled his teeth and sent a spear of pain raking down his aching body. He stared at the wide stretch of blue overhead before it was shadowed by Hermione’s ashen and horrified face.

“George!” her small, cool hands touched his face, his shoulders, his chest and stopped at his abdomen. “Say something!”

“Lower,” he grunted, forcing his lashes apart to peek into her tear-filled eyes.

“This is no time for jokes!” she scowled, sternly, but the flush in her cheeks contradicted her forcefulness. “Where does it hurt?”

His eyelids fell closed once more as he did a mental inventory of his joints. “Everywhere.”

“Oh!” she sniffled, her voice trembling. “You stupid man! What were you thinking?”

“Which time?” he grumbled, prying his lashes apart a second time to look into her distraught face.

“This isn’t funny!” she shrilled, sweeping a hand across her damp cheeks. “You could have been hurt! Or worse!”

“I am hurt,” he reminded her, and wanting to kick himself when more tears slithered down her face. “I’m fine, honest! Don’t cry!”

“I’m trying!” she snapped back. “But all I can see is you falling…you were so high.”

With more strength than he thought he possessed, he pushed up onto his elbows and wrapped her into his arms. “It’s just a bump.”

She held him tight, dampening the collar of his shirt. Her tiny figure lay so comfortably over his, as if it was made to be exactly where it was. The scent of orange and citrus filled his senses, temporarily easing his suffering before she drew away and peered into his face, anxiously.

“I should get my wand and make sure you haven’t broken anything.”

Something occurred to him when she made to get up. “Hermione?”

She stopped and glanced back. “Yes?”

“How did you know I was George?”

She visibly started. “What?”

With difficulty, he peeked at his watch, wincing at the effort. “I should still look like Fred for another fifteen minutes.”

Brows furrowed, she stared from his face, to his wrist and back as the pieces fell together inside her clever head. “You and Fred took a Polyjuice potion, didn’t you?”

He shrugged, looking away from her withering glower. “Possibly.”

“Why would you do that?” she hissed, all traces of concern gone, replaced with a look of absolute fury. “Was this all part of your stupid challenge to try and fool me? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice the difference?”

“But how did you?” he prompted, his need to know greater than his fear of certain death that her eyes promised.

If possible, her eyes sparked a darker shade of molten. “I am not forgiving you for a very, very long time, George Weasley!” she spun away only to come up against Fred. “Either of you!”

Shoving past the red-head, she stormed into the house, making certain to slam the door behind her for emphasis.

Fred looked down at his fallen brother, somber features mirroring his own. “We need to fix this.”

George nodded, eyes never leaving the direction Hermione had taken.