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If You Can\'t Shag Your Friends...	By : BirdofFire Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 22204 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I am responsible for all that you have read and enjoyed in... Oh, wait, wrong disclaimer. Ahem. All rights for the creation of the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling. I do not make any profit from them or this work of fiction.

Chapter List
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So, Now What?: (The Aftermath)

Part III

05:37am

Hermione leaned against her bedroom door, sighing in relief. How she had managed to sneak out of there without waking either Fred or George was beyond her, but she wasn’t about to question her first bout of good luck in what felt like years (admittedly earth-shatteringly good sex aside).

After the three of them had returned to earth (Hermione having fainted and only coming round ten minutes later), they had managed to convince her that staying the night was a good idea. And so she’d slept the best sleep of her life on George’s silk sheets, wrapped up in their warm, brawny arms and intoxicatingly male scent.

Unfortunately, that had only lasted until she had emerged to a rude awakening just ten minutes ago. With consciousness came her conscience, admonishing her for her foolish, reckless ways and urging her to leave before they woke up and were made uncomfortable by her continued presence. After all, it couldn’t be clearer that they had only asked her to stay out of some sense of chivalry; no son of Molly Weasley’s was going to boot a woman out of bed in the middle of the night – they’d been taught better than that.

But morning would come and, with it, rejection.

Hermione wouldn’t – couldn’t – face that, so, call her a coward, but she had gathered up her clothes (finding her knickers hanging halfway out of the window was not exactly a shining moment, let her tell you) and gotten the hell out while the getting was good.

Now she just had to get them out of her head. She had a sinking feeling, though, that that was going to prove to be a lot harder.

………………

Monday

There was little Hermione hated more than being late, but there she was: over an hour late for a mandatory meeting with her team. How would she face the knowing, judgemental looks when she walked into the conference room?

Ugh.

Turning the corner and thanking the Heavens for the lifts up ahead (stairs, though healthier, were just not an option today), she quickened her pace, heels click-clacking against the polished floors. Ministry workers, long accustomed to seeing Hermione racing down hallways, dived habitually out of her way, a few clucking affectionately at her antics.

But, just as she was about to line up behind those waiting for the lifts, she caught a glimpse of distinctive red out of the corner of her eye. Heart plummeting to her mules, Hermione turned to her left to see a certain flame-haired pair walking with their balding father in her direction.

Judging by the fact that they hadn’t hollered halfway across the entrance hall to attract her attention, neither Fred nor George had spotted her yet. Silently thanking whoever was listening up there for small mercies, Hermione turned and ran in the opposite direction.

The stairs it was.

………………

Tuesday

A small, instantly recognisable owl flew through Hermione’s open office door, landing on the perch beside her oak table. It stuck out its straw-coloured leg and the brunette accepted the offered letter, too ruffled to pat the bird on its head as it had come to expect over the years.

Barely glancing at the envelope, she crossed over to her stone fireplace, gingerly holding the letter out at arm’s length, as if afraid of its contents. A moment later, the missive was hurled unceremoniously into the fire, the three letters on the embossed symbol the last thing to turn to ash.

………………

Wednesday

Badly in need of coffee and knowing that nothing other than an offering from muggle-store Starbucks would do it, Hermione turned into Convent Garden, hips swaying in a red, long-sleeved dress.

At the sight of a pair of burgundy wizarding robes waiting in line at the counter, she took off back down the street.

Coffee-less.

………………

Thursday

Closing her eyes and savouring the fragrant taste of Ecuadorian coffee beans (cocoa was off limits, for obvious reasons), Hermione flicked her remote at her television, turning it on. Settling down with a hot drink and some trashy reality television was her guilty pleasure; something she gave up for nothing and no one.

Without warning, her fireplace flashed green and a pair of large, boot-clad feet emerged from it, followed by a head of red hair.

When the fire’s former occupant turned around, all they saw was a shattered mug and brown liquid spreading into the sheepskin rug.

………………

Friday

Hermione screamed into her sofa cushion with frustration. Why couldn’t they just get the point? She didn’t want to see them (preferably never again, but she’d take just a month’s distance at this point).

It had been a week since their – encounter- and Hermione hadn’t been able to carry out her usual routine undisturbed, having to fend off several letters, unannounced floo calls and visits, and having to dive into random stores just to avoid them (and then having to make unwanted purchases just to avoid disappointing shopkeepers).

She hadn’t successfully finished a single piece of work, her hair was back to being as out of control as it was in her Hogwarts’ days, and her office was a disaster site. She refused to live like this any longer.

An evil glint entered her brown eyes as a permanent solution to her problem came to her. That was it! She’d just have to kill them! Or at least leave them with injuries that would take several months’ bed rest to heal completely.

The sound of the doorbell ringing brought Hermione back from her imaginings of all the ways she could bring the twins to a nasty end. Perking up, the brunette left her living room and walked to her front door, grabbing a tenner on the way to pay the delivery man. She swung open the door, polite smile at hand, not to the sight of a large pizza box and a non-descript deliverer, but to two tall, muscled, flame-haired men with eyes like cold blue chips.

Without a pause, Hermione slammed the door shut and ran down the hallway to grab her wand, skidding along the wooden floorboards as she did so.

BANG!

Heart racing, Hermione whipped around to see her front door hanging on its hinges. Fred stood there, wand outstretched; George was beside him, but also, apparently, beside himself with anger. Gulping, she instinctively stepped back. The twins walked in unison right over the smoking door and into the hallway, radiating sheer fury. They came to a standstill in front of her, glaring down at the petite brunette who, after initially having been taken aback at their uncouth actions, was glaring right back at them.

   “How dare you?” Hermione seethed, fists clenched and almost trembling with fury. Her wavy hair swayed around her slender form and she missed the small light of appreciation that entered both brothers’ eyes at the sight. “Get out!”

    “Oh, no, love,” Fred sneered, his mouth curling into a snarl, body rigid. “We won’t be leaving unrewarded. Not this time.” Blinking at their sheer nerve, Hermione allowed her anger to bolster the resolve that had wavered slightly on seeing them full on for the first time in a week.

   “You will be leaving, Fred Weasley,” Hermione snarled back, placing a hand on her hip, indignantly. “Because this is my home and I say so. Now, get the Hell out.” She turned on her heel and made to head up the stairs, only to be pulled back by a strong arm.

   “We don’t think so, sweetheart,” George was the one to speak this time, searing his words right into her ear. Unable to withhold a shudder at his closeness, she pushed away from him. He let her move away, only to forcibly whirl her back around to face them. “You’ve been avoiding us and we want to know why.” Hermione’s head drew back.

   “First off, I haven’t been avoiding you. And second, even if I were, it doesn’t give you the right to – to bombard your way into my home and blast my door down!” Hermione’s eyes were narrowed, tone cutting despite her racing heart. And the latter wasn’t only down to her rage.

Fred and George exchanged disgusted glances.

   “So, what do you call diving into stores every time you see us?”

   “Leaving work early every day this week-“

   “Ignoring our floo calls-“

   “Burning up our letters-

   “How do you know that?” Hermione blurted out, before clapping her hand to her mouth to prevent any more words escaping. Shit. The twins didn’t utter a syllable but their expressions said it all: ‘Really, Hermione’?

   “Okay, fine, so maybe I have been avoiding you,” Hermione finally muttered the admittance after several long moments, eyes edging away from them for the first time. She noticed that the hallway skirting board needed repainting.

   “Why, Hermione?” George sounded surprisingly hurt and her hurt thumped hard in her chest when she looked back over to see both men looking at her in disappointment, their mouths downturned, eyes clouded. “What happened? Did we do something wrong? Did we – did we hurt you in any way?”

Hermione’s head was shaking its refusal before she even realised it, looking to reassure the two people who could always be counted on to be upbeat, no matter the place or circumstances. Hadn’t they all learned about their seemingly endless good humour during the war, even when Fred had been seriously injured right towards the end? George had slept in his hospital room day after day for over a month, keeping his brother’s spirits up with improvised pranks and reminding him of their good fortune in surviving when so many had fallen.

She couldn’t stand to see them look so upset, so disappointed in her.

   “No, no, you didn’t hurt me,” Hermione said, softly, eyes wide. At their clear disbelief, she rushed to reassure them, “You didn’t! I just knew that things would be awkward if I stayed and even more awkward if we saw one another before things had time to blow over-“

   “Why would it be awkward?” Fred’s question was quiet and would have seemed rhetorical to one who didn’t know the twins very well. But Hermione did.

   “Because of what I practically forced you into doing!” She screeched, hands coming up to pull at her hair in frustration. “You know you wouldn’t have slept with me if I hadn’t guilted you into it!” For the first time, Fred and George looked bemused, as if they weren’t sure just what Hermione was rambling on about.

   “’Guilted us into it’?” Fred was incredulous, shaking his head. “That’s what you think?”

   “Hermione, love, you didn’t make us do anything we didn’t already want to do,” George released a disbelieving laugh. “When has anyone ever managed to force us into anything?” Hermione was still. She had just realised the true reason behind her continued avoidance of the two men – the relentless guilt from that night’s events pursuing her even in her dreams - and now they were telling her that it was all for nothing? That she could have had her coffee and drunk it too? Hermione could have almost cried with anger.

   “Oh, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione,” George laughed, coming forward with a smile that lit up the room. “Why do you think we asked you to stay? Do you honestly believe we’d do that with just any woman?” Hermione shrugged as Fred followed behind his twin, a smirk coming to his full lips.

   “I thought you were being polite,” she murmured, eyes on the floor and another flush flooding her cheeks. The two brothers threw their heads back and almost cackled.

   “When have you ever known us to be polite?” Fred asked when they’d calmed, a tear clinging to his eyelashes. Hermione raised a hand to brush it away without thinking, and he beamed at her, pleased. He took hold of her hand, George clasping the other one in his big mitt, and the two pulled her closer to them. Helpless, she allowed it, too entranced by their dancing eyes and the return of their good humour to do much else.

   “But-“

   “But, what, Hermione?” George asked, gently, lifting her hand to his lips and brushing his mouth across her fingertips, sending tingles down her arm. Her breath hitched at the knowing glint in his eye. “We’ve wanted you for some time. Quite a long time, if we’re being honest.”

   “Sure, we’re friends, but we’ve always wanted more, love. We were just waiting for a sign that you were even a little interested,” Fred continued, mouth warm against her cool palm. Mind reeling, Hermione tried to sort through what they were telling her. They wanted her – correction, had wanted her for a while – and she was only finding this out now?

   “Why didn’t you say anything?” Hermione slipped her hands from their seductive grasps and slapped both men lightly. “Do you know how many awful dates you could have kept me from?” Hermione folded her arms in irritation at the years she’d spent subconsciously thinking she’d never have the two men she’d always secretly wanted. That she’d have to spend the rest of her life with pale, second rate imitations. They just grinned at her.

   “We were waiting on you, love,” George smiled, stroking a lock of hair away from her forehead, fingers lingering. “Aren’t you the ‘all-knowing Hermione Granger’?” His humorous teasing earned him another light slap.

   “You should have said something,” Hermione’s bossy tone was back, hands on her hips once more. “I thought you only had sex with me out of pity.” George dropped a searing kiss on her pouting mouth.

    “Enough of that, minx,” Fred waved her morose words away, tugging her so she stood in between him and George. “We want you, we’re assuming you want us as well…” he trailed off, searchingly, and Hermione nodded a definite confirmation. “So, there’s nothing more to be said.”

   “Now, where’s your bedroom”? George took up, that mischievous glint of his returning to his blue eyes. Hermione laughed, breathlessly, delighted warmth flooding through her system. If you’d asked her a fortnight ago where she’d be at this very moment, she would never have guessed correctly.

And she’d never have been happier to be wrong.

   “Why?” She asked, playfully, standing on tiptoe to drop kisses on both their freckled yet patrician noses. As Fred grinned down at her, stooping to place another intoxicating kiss on her open mouth, George rolled his eyes.

   “We haven’t shown you all we can do,” he said, matter-of-factly. “How are you going to know if you want to keep us if you don’t properly – try us out?” Hermione glanced up at his saddened tone but his twinkling eyes gave him away.

   “Ugh, do I have to?” She played along, feigning a long-suffering tone.

   “Yes, you do, cheeky minx.”

   “Indubitably!” George spoke over his brother’s laughed remark, eyebrows drawn together in mock-concern. “You didn’t allow us to really show off.” At his exaggerated wink, a giggle bubbled up from Hermione’s throat, her eyes dancing. The twins stared down at her, entranced.

   “Fine, let’s go,” her words ended on a squeal as Fred swung her up and over his shoulder into a fireman’s lift, taking off up the stairs, jostling her with every step. As George bounced along behind them, tweaking her hair and smirking naughtily as they ascended the staircase, Hermione caught sight of her minimalist, monochrome living room.

Hmm… she really should think about redecorating that place. It wasn’t her at all.

....

THE END
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If You Can\'t Shag Your Friends...