Yep, it’s the threesome, I know that I wrote it a long while ago, and I think I may have posted it somewhere, but I am sure it wasn’t here…in fact, checking through memories I know it wasn’t.
Needed something to do now that I have nothing left to read…
Hermione sat down at her cluttered desk in the cramped room that the trainee Medi-witches jokingly referred to as the office. Slumping back in the chair she brought her hands up to her face and desperately fought back the tears that threatened to fall. The last year had been exhausting, draining and terrifying, but that was nothing in comparison with the fear coursing through her now. She had no idea how long she sat like that, contemplating the fickle, fragile thing that was life. She was stunned out of her thoughts by the sound of something crashing on the floor, and an apologetic cough.
“We came as soon as we heard,” the stereo voices had always made her laugh in the past, it was like these two boys – no, Hermione corrected herself when she noticed the way that their deep burgundy Dragon Tamer uniforms moulded to their lean bodies, men – were really the same person split in two. “Are you all right?” George, Hermione had always been able to tell the two apart – Fred had a fuller top lip – walked into the office, ducking to avoid the low-hanging oil lamp that hung from the ceiling. He leaned down and wrapped an arm loosely around her shoulders, hugging her gently before moving away.
Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, and sniffling quietly, Hermione shook her head, attempting a mournful half-smile. “I knew that it could happen. I mean…we all knew, but for it to happen now, when it’s all so close to over. Why did he have to be there?” Her shoulders shook as she started to sob again, the glistening tears gathering on her long lashes. She frantically tried to blink them away, furious at herself for giving in to her emotions.
“Hermione, you know that Ron’s always wanted excitement, and wherever Harry goes he is sure to follow. The only reason you weren’t out there yourself is because they’ve banned women from the field.” Fred moved to stand next to his twin, and they both looked down at her with an identical expression of sorrow on their faces.
“Excitement?” she sniffed again, louder, and squeezed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger to ease the tension headache that was building behind her eyes. Today had been such a long day, she had lost four patients to the violent Unforgivables the Death Eaters were so good at. Coming back to her office to hear the news about Ron going missing in battle was enough to send her over the edge.
“Hermione, he wouldn’t want you…” Fred started, frowning a little.
“…To be sad,” George finished for his brother. They both nodded in agreement and then sat down on the edge of Hermione’s rather rickety desk, staring at her with their intent eyes. “Why don’t you get out of here for a bit?”
Fred reached out a hand to Hermione and squeezed her upper arm lightly, “You look like you could…”
“…Do with a break,” Hermione rolled her eyes when George finished yet another sentence for his brother. When they were younger she was sure she remembered this being a little bit amusing and rather cute, but now it was just irritating. She opened her mouth to say ‘No’, but her obvious reluctance was overridden when Fred and George flanked her, lifting her out of her chair and half-carrying, half-dragging her through the open door of her office. “That’s why…”
“…We’re going to take you out for a drink,” Fred grinned at his brother over the top of Hermione’s head, tilting his head in the direction of the only fireplace in the hospital that was still connected to the Floo Network. “There’s no point in saying no, Hermione…” Fred continued as he picked up a handful of the dark blue ‘Restricted’ Floo powder that was used for the new monitored journeys using the fireplace-based network.
“You go first, I’ll bring her,” George threw a shower of the blue powder into the low fireplace and pushed his brother into the flickering flames.
“Ottery One,” Fred coughed as some of the dust drifted into his mouth, he waved his hand in front of his face and vanished.
“Ottery One?” Hermione looked questioningly at George, waiting for some kind of explanation.
“Since Dad was promoted there have been a few attempted attacks on home, the Ministry told him that he would either have to move, or have the direct link to the Floo removed. He didn’t want to move,” shrugging, George threw another handful of powder into the low flames, and pulled Hermione into the fireplace, careful to ensure she didn’t bump her head. “Ottery One,” he mumbled, and then Hermione felt the all too familiar nausea as they were pulled towards their final destination, the mysterious ‘Ottery One’.
A few moments later, Hermione skidded out of a fireplace into a small, brightly decorated, windowless room. George followed quickly after her, his legs tangling up in hers as they fell to the floor. The wind knocked out of her, she pushed at George’s chest, desperately trying to ignore how firm the muscles were beneath his uniform, until he finally got up, roughly dusted off his robes and walked over to stand by his brother.
“Welcome to Ottery One,” they said together, indicating the small high-ceilinged room that they were in. Looking around Hermione realised that they were in the tower that was often visible from Ginny’s bedroom. The walls were painted a bright orange, obviously Ron’s handiwork, and the floor was covered with comfy-looking tatty cushions. The whole room crackled with the natural electrical current that Hermione always associated with strong spells.
“So how do we get from here to the Burrow?” She couldn’t see any door that could lead them outside.
“You mean you can’t see the door?” Fred grinned widely. “Did you hear that George? She can’t see the door?”
“No?” George returned his twin’s grin. “I thought that Hermione knew everything, but she can’t see the door.” Chuckling, George gasped when Hermione barged past him, knocking the wind out of him with a brisk elbow in the stomach.
“I’m sure I can find it.” She started walking along the wall, brushing her fingers over the rough plaster, up and down, searching for something, anything, that would give her clues as to where the, obviously secret, door was hidden. “There has to be a switch,” Hermione muttered under her breath as she continued her search.
“You mean this door?” Fred tapped his wand to a rather worn patch of wall, where the bright orange paint had faded to a much duller hue, then placed his palm on the now glowing spot.
“I think she does, you know, Fred!” George placed his hand on another part of the wall, and Hermione watched as the bricks shifted aside to reveal a staircase leading down into a dark tunnel. “Just follow the tunnel until you reach the end,” he placed a hand in the curve of Hermione’s back and gave her a gentle shove. She walked reluctantly down the stairs, her hands out in front of her as she always did when walking in unfamiliar territory.
When she finally reached the end of what felt like a neverending passageway, although it was probably because it was so dark, Hermione found herself faced with a solid brick wall. She tapped on it, and pressed the tip of her wand to it, but nothing happened. She waited a few moments and then tried again, rapping her wand against the slick, cold bricks in a sequence similar to the one that opened Diagon Alley, but still, nothing.
“No point in trying that, Hermione.” Hermione almost jumped out of her skin, her wand falling to the floor with a loud clatter that echoed through the tunnel.
With her hands over her chest, she turned around and glared at George, “Do you have to always do that?” She slapped him on the arm and then stifled a giggle as she was lifted off her feet and moved away from her place in front of the wall. Tapping one foot, leaning back against the damp wall, Hermione watched as the two brothers took what looked to be Muggle radio microphones out of their pockets. Placing one end against the wall and the other against their lips, they murmured something that she couldn’t make out, and the wall turned transparent, revealing the Burrow’s cosy kitchen, before the bricks just melted away. “What spell did you use for this?” She couldn’t help being curious, and was a little more than agitated when her question was ignored.
“Quick,” Fred ushered Hermione through the temporary doorway. “It only stays open for a minute.” George stood behind her, pushing her through hurriedly, aware that any time they took explaining all the security measures that Tonks and Moody had set up would eat up precious seconds. An explanation could wait a little while. Neither brother relished the idea of waiting in the tunnel, or the tower for the requisite two hours before they could activate the revealing charm again.
Standing in the cosy kitchen of the Burrow, Hermione looked from Fred to George and back again, tapping one foot softly on the floor, “So…”
“How about we have a drink…” Fred ushered Hermione over to a chair by the fire in the small living room, while George rummaged through the cupboards along the wall nearest the backdoor for his father’s fire whiskey and some glasses to drink it from.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably in the chair when she realised that Fred was staring at her. She didn’t like to be looked at so intensely, finding it was disconcerting. She looked up for a moment and met his eyes, but then turned her head quickly, deciding that she would be better off staring out the window. The way that Fred had started to look at her reminded her of the way that Crookshanks studied a mouse he wanted to play with.
“So how do you like your fire, Hermione?” George set the bottle and glasses down with a clatter, effectively cutting through the strange tension-filled silence that had permeated the room.
“My what?” Hermione turned to him with a confused smile on her face, the puzzlement clearing when she noticed the brown and gold label of the Ogden’s on the table. “We’re drinking alcohol?” she couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. “I thought that you were going to make tea or something…you know, for shock!”
“This sort of occasion calls for something much stronger than tea, don’t you think, Hermione?” Fred handed his brother a glass half-full of the amber coloured liquid, poured out an identical glass and then drank it down quickly. He winced as the alcohol burned his throat, smacking his lips and sighing in relief.
Moving out of her chair, Hermione walked over to the table and poured herself a finger-width of the strong whiskey. The smell of the drink always made her feel rather sick, but George was right, the occasion did call for something much stronger than a cup of sweet tea.
Tipping the glass, Hermione let it touch her lips, and then poked her tongue out to taste the whiskey. She grimaced at the harsh flavour, but realised that it wasn’t as bad as the smell made it seem, so she lifted the glass to her lips again and drank the small measure down.
“Another?” Fred lifted the bottle, and at Hermione’s brief nod, poured some more into her glass before refilling his own and handing the bottle to George.
Sitting back down in her chair, Hermione studied the flickering flames in the hearth as she nursed her full glass of fire whiskey. She wasn’t sure exactly what to say; the news of Ron’s disappearance still had her reeling. She felt sick to her stomach, although that could easily be the fact that she was drinking something she wasn’t accustomed to. “Do you think he’ll be all right?” Her voice was low, but was easily heard since the Burrow was much quieter than Hermione ever remembered it being.
George looked at his brother, then moved to stand in front of Hermione. He knelt down and placed one hand lightly on her knee, his eyes meeting hers, their gaze, for once, serious. “He’ll be fine…”
“He’s a Weasley,” Fred continued, moving to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders, kneading the tense knot that had built there. Hermione leaned back into the caress, a quiet moan escaping her lips as the younger twin grew a little bolder, his hands moving down over her shoulders, brushing lightly for a mere second over her breasts before returning to massaging her shoulders.
Hermione blinked as a particularly uncharacteristic thought entered her head. She lifted her almost empty glass and quickly downed the contents, holding the glass out for another refill. “More please,” she managed to garble, her ability to speak already obviously affected by the alcohol.
George refilled Hermione’s glass again, taking a swig from the bottle and wiping his mouth energetically before placing the bottle back on the table and handing Hermione her full glass. He was very careful not to slop any of the overpowering alcohol – which happened to stain material a rather bright pink – on his mother’s carpet. “Here y’are, Hermoney,” he said, almost incoherently, more than a little affected by the amount he had been drinking. He staggered just a little unsteadily to the chair set across from her, slouching down in the over-stuffed cushion, his brown eyes watching her intently.
Fred looked at his brother, then down at Hermione, a mischievous grin on his lips. “I’ve got an idea…” he frowned for a moment, as though concentrating really hard, struggling to get the thoughts through his befuddled mind. “Why don’t we play a game? It would get our mind off R…things.”
Hermione twisted in the chair to stare at Fred, she nodded her head eagerly, “Nooo, I don’t beli…er…think that’s a good idea at all.”
At the same time, George piped up with, “That’s a bril…favul…good idea,” he smiled widely, showing the other occupants of the room the minuscule chip in one of his front teeth.
Hermione moved to sit on the floor between the twins, both of who were already shrugging off their robes and making themselves comfortable, their legs crossed as though they were sitting in primary school assembly. She stretched her legs out in front of her, and rested back on her arms, rolling her neck and sighing as the tenseness eased somewhat. “So…” she started, blinking confusedly when she quickly forgot what she was about to say.
“I vote we play….um…Gred, what’s that game-thing you…uh…seen in Gin’s diary?” George looked through half-open eyes at his brother, a wide grin on his face, it appeared that he had lost all ability to talk sense.
“Druth and Tare…” Fred giggled girlishly, the sound strange coming from such a broadly built man as he was.
“Right…Druth and Tare…we should play that.” George nodded eagerly, his inebriated mind already wondering what he could dare the seemingly prim Hermione to do.
Rolling her eyes, Hermione finished her third, or was it fourth, glass of fire whiskey and put the glass down on the floor at her side, putting her hand out to prevent herself from falling over as she overbalanced a little bit.
“You in, Hermione?” Fred and George said the slurred words together, although still clear enough for her to understand.
Hermione thought for a few moments, and then finally, with a lopsided smile, she nodded her head. “I’m in.” Sure that she wouldn’t be caught out by either of the twins when they were in this state, Hermione felt pretty safe. She had played Truth and Dare a few times at school on those awful evenings when no one could go out because of the snow or rain, and it was always fun. “I’ll go first,” she lifted her hand to her mouth and giggled. “Okay…George, truth or dare?” Her eyes twinkled as she thought about the possibilities. Both twins were game for a laugh and she was sure she could come up with something pretty extreme for one or other of them to do.
Feeling a little bit cautious now he could see the expression of glee on Hermione’s face, George decided to play it a little bit safe, “Truth.” He sat up straight, or at least attempted to, and waited for the proverbial axe to fall.
Thinking on it for a moment, a huge smile on her face, Hermione turned over all the possible questions in her head. Finally the perfect question came to mind, she licked her lips and narrowed her eyes as she focused intently on George. “Who was the first girl you kissed?”
Groaning in relief that the question was a safe one, George released a long-held breath with a sigh, “That’s easy, Angelina.” He had been so sure that she would ask a question that he would be reluctant to answer, but she hadn’t. “Same question to you, Hermi,” he had given up trying to form the many syllables that made up her name whilst he had been practising the question in his head. “Truth or dare,” he smiled toothily at her, giving her the fraudulent impression that she could trust him to be sensible.
“Truth…no…dare…no, truth,” she giggled again, and flushed lightly when she realised how stupid and vacant she must sound.
“Is that your last answer?” George laughed, loudly. This was a new side to the brainy girl who had been a friend to their younger brother for nearly half his life, indecisive.
“Yes, truth…really, truth!” She closed her eyes and willed away the sudden nausea that had overcome her. Perhaps drinking so much in such a short period of time was a big mistake.
“And the final word is?” Fred chuckled, fascinated by the faint flush that had risen over Hermione’s cheeks.
“Truth,” Hermione said again, wondering what it was about alcohol that made people sound and act so stupidly.
“You’re sure?” George grinned at his brother, the expression making his dark brown eyes sparkle. “Okay, is it true that you have a picture of Gilderoy Lockhart taped to the inside of your school trunk?”
Blushing a flattering shade of rose pink, Hermione looked down at the floor, “Yes,” she mumbled, the flush deepening a little more.
“What?” Fred nudged his brother, both of them smirking at her.
“Yes…All right?” her voice raised a little when she realised that they were going to make her admit it again. “Yes, I have a picture of Gilderoy Lockhart. Look, I stuck it up there with Spellotape and it went all sticky and gooey when I tried to take the picture down.”
“Right,” Fred started, chuckling.
“Of course, we believe you,” George continued, one eyebrow raised, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips to catch a stray drop of fire whiskey from the corner of his mouth.
“It’s your turn, Fred. Truth or dare?” Hermione rolled her head, sighing with pleasure when she heard the crack that meant she had eased out some of her tension.
Not liking the look that had briefly crossed her face, Fred started twiddling his thumbs as he considered the two choices. “Dare,” he could tell from the joyful gleam in her eyes that this was the answer she had wanted from him.
“I dare you to play the rest of the game in your boxers,” biting her lip, wondering if perhaps she had dared him to do something really silly, Hermione watched, through unblinking eyes, as Fred stood up and shrugged off his robe. He slowly unbuttoned the fly on his body-hugging trousers and pushed them down his legs, to pool on the floor at his feet. Yep, definitely not a boy anymore. Hermione couldn’t help wondering if George looked exactly the same under his uniform.
Fred made a move to sit down, but Hermione shook her head, a wide smile on her face. “I think you forgot something, Fred.” She raised her eyebrows and made a show of looking at his shirt and then down at his shoes and socks. “I said boxers.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Fred bent down and pulled off his socks, then used his wand to undo the 30 or so small buttons on the front of his uniform shirt. Holding the shirt in one hand before dropping it casually to the floor.
“I’m guessing it’s your turn again, Hermione.” Crossing his arms over his chest, and flexing his muscles a little, Fred took a deep breath and focused all his attention on her. “So, truth or dare?”
Sighing, Hermione fought against the boredom that she was suddenly feeling. This game wasn’t anywhere near as fun as she remembered. “How about we play something else?” She was already starting to sober up, and the severity of everything she had learned today had started to overwhelm her.
“What? Are you feeling chicken? Don’t you want to get me out of my shirt, Hermione?” George shrugged off his robe and started to unbutton his own shirt, giving her a teasing glimpse of a chest very much like his brother’s.
“How about cards? We could play a game of cards…and can I have another drink?” She picked up her glass and held it up for Fred to refill it, eagerly taking a mouthful when the glass had been filled almost to the brim.
“Cards?” Fred questioned.
“Like poker?” George responded.
“Like strip poker?” Fred looked to Hermione with a huge smile on his face, he was already plotting how he would be the winner of the game. He had designed some brilliant playing cards, and they were perfect for this game of poker, would make it so much easier for him to win.
Hermione, again feeling the effects of the fire whiskey, giggled and tried to sit up a bit straighter. “Okay, if you want.” She was feeling a bit more accepting now, and strip poker sounded like it could be fun, she would far rather reveal her body than her inner thoughts.
With a subtle, secretive look at George, Fred stood up and walked over to the cabinet over the fireplace, using a softly muttered charm, the cabinet door opened, and a he reached in, took something out and closed the door again quickly.
George took the cards from his brother with a smile, “I’ll deal.”
Fanning the cards and then shuffling them expertly, George dealt five cards quickly to each of them, then set the pack down to look at his own hand.
Tapping his cards, and desperately trying to hide the fact that his hand was a good one, Fred glanced surreptitiously at his twin, and at Hermione, and then returned his gaze to his cards, three kings and two fives, a good hand. He could tell from looking at the other cards that no one would be able to beat it.
“I fold,” George huffed as he threw his cards down on the floor and took another healthy swig from the fire whiskey bottle. His cards were useless, all different and not even the same suit.
“Hermione?” Fred took the bottle from his brother and gulped a mouthful. After wiping his mouth on the back of one hand he turned his attention back to the matter at hand, winning a hand against Hermione. Everyone knew about her reputation as a total card shark. Hermione had beaten Ron so many times at the game that he had stopped playing against her, declaring it unfair when it was so obvious that she counted the cards.
“I’m in,” she placed her cards down on the floor and tapped the back of them. “So what are we using as currency?”
“I’ll bet my…well, I guess it has to be my boxers, against your shirt.”
Looking at the back of her cards, Hermione blinked, she was absolutely sure that she was going to win this hand, she had two pairs; two queens, two aces. There was no way that Fred was going to beat her. “Okay,” she nodded, feeling confident that her cards were better. “Two pairs,” she turned the cards over and smiled, watching as Fred took his time, turning his cards over one at a time.
“Then I guess I’ve just won the shirt off your back, Granger!” He turned over the last two cards to reveal the third queen and his second five. “Full house!”
Sighing, Hermione took her time unbuttoning her starched white shirt, in a way it was a relief to remove the item of clothing that she hated the most in her Medi-witch uniform, the starched collar making it most uncomfortable to wear for the long shifts she had to work. “Here,” she held the shirt out and dropped it on top of Fred’s winning hand. “But I don’t think it will fit you.” In fact, looking at the way the muscles played on his chest, Hermione knew that the shirt wouldn’t fit him, it was even a little tight over her less than ample chest, and both the twins looked as though they had been working out; a lot!
The game moved along quickly after Hermione lost her first hand. Soon they were all sitting in the middle of the living room wearing only their underwear, Hermione had managed not to lose her bra, and was hoping that this next hand wouldn’t prove to be the one where she did. She was embarrassed about the fact that her breasts had never developed much past her fourteenth birthday, and she relied greatly on a cushioning and plumping bra to make it look as though she wasn’t the b-cup she really was.
“How about we change currency?” George looked down at the boxers he was wearing and knew that Fred had this game tied up already. He didn’t mind parading in front of women, but Hermione was different, she was someone they had known so long she would likely look at him and not have anything overly flattering to say, especially in comparison with his twin. They may be identical in almost everything, but in the trouser department Fred was definitely the winner.
“To what?” Fred turned to his brother and raised an eyebrow in question. They had know-it-all Hermione down to her knickers and they were talking about changing currency?
“We could use dares?” Hermione piped up, taking another sip of her fire whiskey and grinning when George nodded in agreement. “Winner dares the loser of their choice…”
Wondering whether the fire whiskey had lost some of its potency as Hermione sounded far more sober than she should, Fred groaned and agreed, “Okay, dares it is.”
After dealing the cards, Hermione found herself concentrating more on what kind of dare she would use rather than the cards she had in her hand. They weren’t could, but then that hadn’t stopped George from winning a hand or two and demanding yet another piece of her dwindling clothing. She was lucky she was wearing anything at all.
“I’m in,” Fred and George said together, both having seen their cards, and wanting the chance at daring the other to do something outrageous.
“I’ll take one,” Hermione said after throwing a particularly crappy card down onto the carpet.” She picked up the top card from the pack and bit back a groan, this card was just as bad as the last one, but there was no way she wanted the twins to know this. As far as they were concerned she had the best hand ever dealt!
“So how do we do this then?” George finally asked, wondering how they would go about using dares as bets. Would the most outlandish and cruel ones be higher in value than the I dare you to kiss my foot ones?
“I bet you a taste of the newer Canary Cream if I win.” Fred put his cards back down on the floor face down and watched Hermione; he could almost see the thought process work as a sly smirk crossed her face.
“I’ll meet that bet, and double it. I bet you a pole dance.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she regretted them, but there was no way she could recant now, they’d know that she was bluffing. The bigger the dare, the better her hand was, right?
Groaning and wondering what he could possibly bet that equalled Hermione’s dare, George placed his own cards down and folded his arms, looking at her through narrowed eyes as if he were determining how much of a risk he was taking. “I’ll bet you some Parkinson Polyjuice.” He didn’t really have any, but he knew that there was no way anyone was going to beat the Royal Flush he had.
“I’ll take that bet and meet it,” Fred sucked in a deep breath and waited for Hermione to accept. A pole dance wouldn’t be such a bad dare to watch. “Hermione?”
“I’ll meet it.” She placed her cards face down on the floor as the other two had and waited for a moment. “So what have you got then?”
Fred started to turn his over first. “Two pairs, fives and sevens,” he shrugged his shoulders, knowing that his hand wasn’t the winning one anyway.
“I’ve got a pair, nines,” Hermione turned her cards over reluctantly, showing them both that her hand really was useless. “What about you George?”
“Royal Flush,” he turned the cards over slowly. “Hearts, ten through ace.” Lifting his eyebrows twice, a huge grin on his face, he gathered all the cards up and set them in a neat stack in the middle of the floor. “So, about that dance…”
Muttering under her breath about how both the boys had to have been cheating for her to get such a crummy hand, Hermione stood up, rolled her shoulders twice and contemplated what she was about to do. All right, so she had worked in a club for a few months before she had found a far more suitable job to get her through university, but she hadn’t enjoyed anything about it, even the money had felt tainted. She felt confident though, that she was a pretty good dancer, and it had helped her to lose all that remaining puppy fat.
Neither Fred nor George had actually believed she would go ahead with her dare, sure that she could, and would, find some way of talking them into another compensatory dare, but here she was, Swot Granger, curling herself around a magicked dance pole in the middle of their living room. She was dancing to some imaginary music that pulsed through them; making parts of them twitch that rarely twitched when they thought about the third member of the Golden Trio.
Surreptitiously adjusting himself, George closed his eyes and tried to think about something else. The way that Hermione was moving made him wonder what she would be like writhing beneath him on a bed, or the floor, or up against a wall, well, anywhere really, and he didn’t like the way his thoughts were turning. She was his brother’s best friend, and maybe at some point had been Ron’s lover.
Taking a sip of fire whiskey to stave off the rather unseemly thoughts he was having about Hermione, knowing that his twin was having similar thoughts, Fred stood up and moved so that he was standing behind Hermione as she did a rather complicated flip-like manoeuvre, “Did you ever sleep with Ron?”
Abruptly the music stopped and Hermione straightened, looking at Fred with amazement. “What?” She swallowed and wondered why he was asking her this; it was none of his business at all.
“Did you ever sleep with Ron? I mean, we all wondered…” George stood up and moved to stand next to his twin, a matching grin was on his face.
“No, we’re just friends. He’s in love with someone else.” She didn’t elaborate on that, wondering if the twins had any idea that their youngest brother had a huge crush on his other best friend, or that they had often shared a bed.
“Who is it?”
“Do we know her?”
Hermione found herself following the twins as she would a tennis match, unsure of who was going to speak next, and a little frightened of what they might say.
“You might,” she wished that she had never said anything, sure that neither twin would give up until she told them something.
“We could always make you tell us, Hermi,” George took a step closer to her, crowding her until her back was pressed up against the dance pole, her hands wrapped tightly around it.
“I am sure that we could persuade you,” Fred moved to stand closer, his warm breath stroking against the sweat-dampened curve of her neck.
Biting back a nervous giggle, Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of their skin and wondering why it was having such a strange effect on her.
“We have ways of making you talk,” they both murmured as they moved in for the kill, their lips brushing sensually over her bare shoulders as their hands joined over her naked stomach.
Sighing, her hands tightening even further around the dance pole for support as the sensual onslaught continued, Hermione wondered how they would make her talk, sure that she would enjoy their methods of persuasion. Maybe the fire whiskey’s effect was delayed, because now she certainly felt as though her head was fuzzy and she couldn’t concentrate.
“Shall we?” Fred asked his brother before leaning forward to press another biting kiss across Hermione’s shoulder.
“Oh most definitely,” George responded before covering Hermione’s mouth with a consuming kiss, stroking her jaw with his thumb until Hermione opened her lips and his tongue started to tease the sensitive roof of her mouth, brushing lightly over her slightly rough teeth until she started to respond, their tongues doing battle.
Fred watched his mirror image kissing Hermione and for a moment felt left out, then, with a gleam in his eyes, he reached behind her, undid the clasp of her strapless bra and watched it fall to the ground at their feet.
She wasn’t big, admittedly, but she was perfectly formed and, with a growl, he leaned forwards, opened his mouth and closed it over one dark hard nipple, sucking on it until Hermione released his brother and a loud moan escaped her lips.
“I think we’ll persuade her to tell us, George whispered in his brother’s ear, “But I really think we’ll do better at it if we move to our room.”
Hermione didn’t have time to protest, not that she could have done, her mind too filled with the pleasure that she was getting from Fred’s mouth on her breast. George wrapped one strong arm around Hermione’s waist, moved to stand a little closer to Fred’s back, and with a loud pop, the three of them apparated from the living room up to the room that had once been the home of all their tricky experiments.