Content Harry Potter
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Author Notes:

In HBP, Hermione was left looking "like a panda" for more than a couple of weeks…from the day they got their OWL results to the day they went school shopping in Diagon Alley.   Why? Just so Draco could insult her about it at Madame Malkins? Does anyone think that Molly would allow that much time to pass if it was her precious little daughter whose eye was blackened?

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

oo00OO00oo

The fourth owl that swooped into the Burrow's kitchen window that morning didn't garner nearly as much attention as the first three…not that she cared. Hedwig landed on her human's shoulder and nudged the side of his head with her own.

"Good morning to you too, girl," Harry replied quietly. "How was the hunting?"

"BARK!" Hedwig replied, with a response that was far more characteristic of snowy owls than the pedestrian "hoot" used by other owls.

"Ssshh!" Harry hissed, nodding back over his shoulder towards Ron, his mum, and the Burrow's active floo connection.

"bark."

"No worries," Harry whispered. "Too bad about the hunt…thought you might have more success out here in the country."

"bark…bark!"

Harry snorted. "Well at least you didn't go hungry. Leave any room for some bacon?"

Hedwig's silent glare was the perfect answer for a ridiculous question.

"Right," Harry said with a quiet chuckle. "So…I think that I managed to hide a rasher or two from Ron. There's a breakfast tray still on my bed…check under the plate."

"bark!"

"Oh, and if you're up for it girl?"

Hedwig glared at her human, and nibbled on his ear.

"Fine…just trying to be polite!" Harry whispered, as his familiar launched off his shoulder and flew out the opened kitchen window.

Hermione stared at her best friend and shook her head in disbelief. She thought that her familiar bond with Crookshanks was strong, but the way Harry and Hedwig communicated was amazing.

"What did you just ask her to do?" she whispered across the table.

Harry smiled. "She'll take your letter after you've written it."

"What letter?"

"The letter that you are going to send to your parents letting them know about your test scores."

"Oh, yeah…I guess," Hermione said. "Doesn't have to be right now though. I mean...if you want to…"

Harry scrunched his nose and shook his head.

"Plenty of time for worries and plans," he whispered. "Besides, if you take after your mum and dad, they might be just as anxious and nervous as you were."

"Stop!" Hermione gently chided. "So what's up with Hedwig?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said that she didn't have much success hunting…but she didn't go hungry?"

Harry snorted. "Three mice and a small hare…no, she ate well last night."

"But what was she hunting for, then?"

The teenage wizard grinned. "The right guy to nest with."

It was Hermione's turn to snort.

"Really?" Harry asked slyly. "So how is your hunt going, then?"

"What?" Hermione hissed.

"Your reaction…you were thinking something like 'Aren't we all', right?"

Hermione's eyebrows arched towards her hairline. The fact that he understood her non-verbals as well as his familiar's was…disconcerting.

Harry's smile grew wider as he nodded towards the stairs.

"Go…grab some parchment and… if you don't mind, lend me a pen and paper as well?"

Hermione tilted her head.

"Headmaster didn't want Hedwig delivering letters from my Aunt and Uncle's," Harry explained. "I haven't sent Susan Bones my condolences yet."

The Muggleborn's eyes darted towards the stack of Daily Prophets that they had been sharing.

"Sure thing, Harry" she replied sadly, imagining his name written out in a ledger next to a column labeled "The Right Guy."

Hermione placed a check mark next to her caring, thoughtful friend's "Right Guy" tally as she rose from the table and headed towards the stairs.

"Where she going?" Ron asked.

The-Boy-Who-Lived swung his legs around the bench so that he could face the red-haired teen. For the last hour Molly had forced Ron to stand by the kitchen fireplace as she made one floo call after another, bragging to friends and acquaintances bout his OWL results. Every once in a while she would blindly reach out and literally drag him into the conversation.

"She's going to write to her parents," Harry replied, carefully keeping his gaze centered on Ron's face.

The last thing he wanted to do was let his attention drift towards Mrs. Weasley while she floo called from her hands and knees. It wasn't the first time that he'd seen Molly in this position, but it was the first time he had seen her bum in the air since she encouraged her husband to ride her like a hippogriff.

"Oh, right," Ron acknowledged.

Molly pulled her son's head into the flames before he had the chance to expand on these comments.

Harry chuckled to himself as he swung back towards the table. The pile of newspapers caught his eye again, and he sighed. The sheer number of Death Eater attacks and related disappearances over the previous two weeks was overwhelming. And while he was happy to see that Fudge had finally been sacked as Minister, that event was overshadowed by Amelia Bones' death. Harry had thought her to be the ideal replacement to Fudge, based both on his conversations with her niece, and how she had treated him during his trial.

The-Boy-Who-Lived began mentally composing the first few lines of his condolence letter while he waited for Hermione's return. He hoped that he wouldn't need to reuse these lines in other letters sent to grieving friends, but was realistic enough to fear that the sympathies might become boilerplate language.

oo00OO00oo

"Just a few more calls," Molly assured them, glancing over her shoulder towards Harry and Hermione.

He tried not to think about the view as he looked past Mrs. Weasley's bum and nodded.

"No worries," Hermione declared from the other side of the table.

Molly thanked them for their patience and grabbed one more pinch of floo powder. Before calling out her next address she glanced down at the clock that she had set on the floor. The clock face stared back unchanged…nine hands, all hovering over "Mortal Peril." She sighed, and literally dove into her next conversation.

"She said that an hour and a half ago," Ron whined to his friends.

"Well, it could have been worse, you know," Hermione stated.

"How?" demanded Ron.

"You might have spent less time sleeping in History of Magic, and allowed your mum to brag about eight OWLs instead of seven!"

"Yeah, yeah…don't hold your breath waiting for me to apologize for coming up short on that one," Ron said.

Hermione let out a short breath of exasperation and glanced towards Harry.

"No apologies here, either," he declared with an almost satisfied grin on his face.

"Bah! At least you had a good excuse, Harry," she muttered.

The Muggleborn caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

"What's up?" she asked Ron.

"I'm starving!" hissed the red-haired teen, as he gravitated towards the ice box.

"Ronald! Come back here!" Molly barked. "Emily Codswallower is waiting to congratulate you!"

The teenager froze, sighed, then retraced his steps.

"Yes, Mum. Coming, Mum."

Molly accepted her son's compliance with a curt nod, then turned towards Harry.

"Why don't you ask Ginny to make you something for lunch?" she asked, just before she dove back into the flames with her son in tow.

Harry turned towards Hermione, who was a little miffed at Molly's focus.

"You think that Ginny will make me some lunch too?" she asked.

"Don't think that Ginny will be anywhere other than her room, so long as she has that black eye," Harry said.

"Do you blame her? I know that I wouldn't want to be seen looking like a panda."

Harry chuckled, "Oh, I don't know, Hermione. You were a cute little kitty cat…bet you'd be just as cuddly as a panda."

The Muggleborn stared at her friend, trying to decide whether to be angry or pleased by this comment. She decided to avoid deciding, and stood back from the table.

"Come on, we need a break."

"Fancy an escape to the sitting room?" Harry teased.

"Hush!" Hermione hissed, pushing on his arm until he nearly lost his balance. She then pulled him back away from the table, and dragged him into the small scullery on the far side of the kitchen.

"Might as well earn our keep," said Hermione, using her full voice now that they were in the pantry and well away from the floo. "Mrs. Weasley will be upset once she realizes that the washing hasn't been done for the day."

Harry shrugged his agreement as he ducked under hanging bunches of dried herbs and walked past shelves of tinned fruits and vegetables. He'd seen Molly's daily routine enough times to know what needed to be done.

"Unless you'd rather talk about….?" Hermione asked.

Her best friend shook his head as he reached for the large two-handled wicker basket that sat empty on top of Molly's charmed washing machine.

"Like I said before…time enough to talk when Ron's with us," he reasoned. "And it would do me good to keep my hands busy…on chores, that is."

Hermione snorted. "Thinking of another way to keep your hands busy, Mister?"

"Maybe," Harry grinned. "Only saying that there are times – cough-sitting room-cough - when we just can't help where our hands go."

"You are a real prat sometimes," Hermione chided.

"Ah, but that's why you love me…right?" Harry teased.

Hermione shook her head slightly and sighed.

"I suppose…heaven help me," she admitted. "Now let's get going, before Ron or Molly realizes that the two of us are tucked away in the closest thing the Burrow has to a broom closet."

"You make that sound like that's a bad thing."

"Out!" Hermione growled, pushing Harry back towards the kitchen with both hands.

The smile on her face made it clear that she wasn't really upset. The smile on Harry's face made it clear that he was enjoying the banter, which Hermione thought was a really good thing, considering circumstances.

Harry and Hermione's exit from the pantry was met by a calculating gaze…Ron's face had cleared the flames again, and he had been searching for his two friends. Harry held up the large wicker basket, causing the red-haired wizard's shoulders to relax.

"Oh, right…good," Ron decided. "Mum can start straight away on lunch, then."

"You're so predictable," Hermione sighed.

Her red-haired friend smiled. "That's why you love me, right?"

"No."

Ron paused. "So there's other reasons, then?" he asked half-hopeful, as his friends walked past him towards the stairwell.

Hermione was polite enough to wait until she was halfway up the stairs before softly muttering, "None that come to mind."

Harry stopped and looked back over his shoulder at his best friend.

"We'll start at the top floor and make our way down," she stated plainly. "That's the most efficient way."

"Erm…right," Harry agreed, deciding not to offer up the teasing that sat on the tip of his tongue.

oo00OO00oo

It took far less effort to climb to the head of the Burrow's stairs now that someone had shaved a few layers off of the top. Hermione used the gathering of dirty laundry to give Harry a tour of the remodeled home.

The insides of the Burrow used to be just as strange and quirky as it looked from the outsides…a six-bedroom home with the bedrooms spread out over five different floors. Some levels had one bedroom, others had two. There didn't appear to be any bedrooms on the third level (Harry still didn't know what it was used for, even after all the time he'd spent at the Burrow). Nobody ever complained about the layout, or thought it strange or unnatural…like many things in the Wizarding World, the Burrow thumbed its architectural nose at logic and efficient design.

But Molly's acceptance of her home as "just the way it is" faltered after Voldemort's return at the end of Harry's Fourth Year. The Burrow's only Floo connection was in the kitchen, at ground level…too far away from a fifth floor bedroom if there was a Death Eater attack that necessitated a quick escape. Molly wanted her children to be as close to her as the family clock that she clutched continuously to her bosom… and that meant bedrooms much closer to the Master Bedroom.

It had taken the better part of a year to design, finance and complete the remodeling job. The work has started the summer previous…just after the Weasley family had moved into Grimmauld Place. The coincidence was striking for Harry. Not that he begrudged their long-term guest residence…that had been Sirius's decision, not his, and Hermione had been quick to point out safety advantages that went beyond Molly's occasionally irrational fears. For example, wards and security charms were much more effective and much less expensive to apply to a structure whose footprint was more symmetrical than eccentric.

Harry and Hermione started their self-assigned chore on the second floor (which would have been called the third floor by her cousins over in the States).

"This is the Master," Hermione noted, as they walked into Arthur and Molly's bedroom.

Harry had a look around the room. There were separate twin beds, but it was the same way in his Aunt and Uncle's bedroom, so it didn't strike him as odd, or particularly Victorian. Then he glanced up at the ceiling.

"Nice and quiet," he noted. "Do they still have an attic?"

Hermione chuckled. "Yes, they do…but no, they don't have a ghoul anymore."

"Probably didn't have much of a chance once he was clanking over Molly's bed, instead of Ron's."

"No, I don't imagine that he did," Hermione agreed, as she emptied the bedroom's clothes hamper into the basket. She glanced towards the bed and thought for a moment.

"Sheets were changed yesterday, so we don't need to strip the beds."

"Just as well," Harry grinned. "Wouldn't fancy having to handle Ron's linens after this morning."

Hermione crinkled her nose.

"Moving on, then…" she segued. "There's a new bath over this way, and Ginny's room is now on the other side."

Harry followed her into a small, but serviceable full bath, complete with a claw-footed tub. Hermione added a set of dirty towels to Harry's basket, then knocked on a closed door that was opposite to the one they'd used to gain entry.

"Ginny?" she called out.

"Go away!" a voice cried.

"Ginny, I'm just doing laundry."

"Don't care!"

"Ginny…you know how your mum gets when the dirty clothes don't…."

"Fine…Hold on, Phlegm's got a ton!"

"Ginny?" Hermione admonished.

There wasn't a response to this reproach…after a few moments silence the door swung open. The youngest Weasley appeared carrying a still-painful shiner and an armful of clothes. She took two steps into the bath, and was half-way through spitting "There…happy now?" when she spotted Harry standing behind Hermione with the basket.

"Eep!" the red-haired witch shrieked. She dropped the clothes, spun around, and darted back into her room.

"You didn't tell me that Harry was with you!" Ginny shrieked from behind the slammed door.

Hermione sighed as she squatted down to pick up what Ginny had dropped.

"What's wrong, Gin?" Harry called out. "I was there when it happened…not like I haven't seen something like…that…before?"

The way that the end of this sentence lost volume and faltered caused Hermione to look up at Harry. He was looking down…not at her face, but at the pair of black silk knickers that she'd just picked up off of the floor.

She smiled, and put one of her well-practiced sentences to good use.

"Oh, honestly, Harry…it's just a bit of dirty laundry. Don't tell me you've never seen a pair of knickers before?"

Harry gulped, thinking that "dirty" could easily describe the whiff of sheer silk in more ways than one. And in a flash he remembered that he had seen something exactly like those knickers...the night before, when Fleur was still wearing them. And he found himself wondering why they looked sexier, and more arousing, now that Hermione had them in her hand.

He panicked, not wanting to give her the chance to talk about how natural it would be if he got a stiffie. So he lowered the laundry basket so that it covered the front of his trousers, and reached for the brain-bleach.

"Never seen a pair like that when I've done laundry at my Aunt and Uncle's," he snarked.

Hermione's eyes went wide.

"Would you have wanted to?"

"Not really."

Hermione shivered her shoulders. "Gee thanks, Harry," she snapped, tossing Fleur's undies into the basket. "That image just made me throw up a little bit in my mouth."

"I learned to get over that reaction."

"Oh, Harry…I'm so sorry."

He shrugged. "All part of the package tour when you're a house elf on Privet Drive."

Having gathered up all of the rest of Ginny and Fleur's clothes off the floor (and it was easy for Harry to tell what belonged to whom), Hermione dumped them into the basket, then offered him a consoling one-armed side-by-side hug.

"Done with this floor, then?" he asked.

She nodded, then led him back into the Master Bedroom.

And the witch who had been eavesdropping with one ear pressed against the door frowned…not knowing whether she should be discouraged or relieved that Harry had made no mention of her plain-Jane unmentionables.

When Harry and Hermione reached the first floor they found themselves on more familiar territory. Percy's room on one end, the Twins' on the other, and a bath and Ron's room in between.

With Harry walking behind her, Hermione allowed a small smile to form on her lips as she walked into her bedroom. She hadn't planned on doing the laundry with Harry that day…if she had, then her skimpiest, sexiest, undies would have been waiting for retrieval. The navy blue polyester knickers and bra set was a pretty good alternative, though…and certainly better than the pairs of "mollypants" that she only wore on certain days of the month.

The Muggleborn had second thoughts about her dirty laundry when she suddenly remembered just how she had dirtied some of it. Hermione had broken into a heavy sweat during her morning spell workout…sweat that had left her knickers wet in all the wrong places (so long as she didn't want Harry to mistakenly believe that she'd soaked them during a heavy rub).

Did she dare allow him to jump to those conclusions? She waffled.

"Hope that my hamper isn't too disgusting," Hermione said, as she pulled her nightgown out of the bin. "I sweated like a pig when I did my workout this morning."

"No worries," Harry replied brightly, as he secretly tried to logic out the pattern of sweat stains on the nightgown. "You worked up that sweat casting spells then?"

Hermione decided to explore the outer limits of her plan as she casually tossed her damp knickers onto the top of the growing pile in Harry's basket.

"Are you thinking of some other way that I could have gotten these knickers this wet?"

Eyes widened when Harry risked a quick look down at the pile. He pulled the basket tight against his body to double check that it was concealing the right parts, then let out a deep breath.

Trying hard not to act his age, Harry tried to play it cool.

"Hmmm…I guess you could have gone for a swim?"

Hermione grinned. "Yes, that is one alternative," she replied. Then she reached for her brassiere and added it to the pile. "But how would you then explain the fact that my bra isn't wet?"

Harry arched an eyebrow. "You went topless?" he cheekily guessed.

His friend shrugged nonchalantly. "Wouldn't have been the first time…except this is the Burrow, not France."

A breath caught in Harry's throat. It was getting very hard to act more like a friend than a teenage boy.

"Now that is a vacation story that you've never shared with me before."

"Oh…would you like to hear it, then?" Hermione asked coyly, as she reached for the rest of her clothing.

"Might be a good distraction while we empty out Ron's hamper," Harry joked.

Hermione laughed.

"You got me there," she admitted. "Although, there is always a chance we'll be able to take the good with the bad."

"What chance is that?" Harry asked with disbelief.

Hermione smiled. "I want to see if Bill has gotten brave enough to wear the silk shorts that Fleur has had him wearing now that he's back at the Burrow."

Harry thought for a moment, then let out a low-pitched whistle.

"That would be rather ballsy with his mum doing the laundry," he stated.

"Language, Harry!" Hermione chided. "The correct term is testicles."

"Erm….Right. Sorry."

Hermione nodded, then led Harry out of the room. Her face betrayed a hint of self-satisfaction. His face betrayed more than a hint of confusion.

They made short work of collecting first the bathroom towels, then the contents of Ron's hamper. It turned out that Bill was still working his nerve, and the less said about his younger brother's dirty clothing, the better. Harry actually spent far more time examining Ron's room than his undies…marveling at how it was exactly the same as when it'd been on the top floor of the Burrow. Hermione picked up on this interest, and told him that from what she read, magical remodeling actually allowed for the cut and paste of entire rooms as if the house was a stack of building blocks.

Harry didn't think to worry about his own clothes hamper until Hermione took a look into it and chuckled.

"Harry…did you go regimental yesterday?" she asked conversationally, as she dumped the hamper into the basket in one go.

"No!" he hissed.

"Then where are your…?"

"Disappointed?" Harry teased.

"Well, it's only fair. You got to see mine," she mock-pouted.

"You'll have to peek under my robes, then," Harry replied.

"You're still wearing the same pair?"

Harry shrugged. "I only have one half-way decent pair…everything else is my cousin's hand-me-downs, and…well…there are some stains that don't come out no matter what you do…."

"Ugh…thank you for sharing that image with me."

"You're welcome."

Hermione shook her head.

"So when do you change your shorts, then?"

"I don't…just use cleaning charms every morning."

"Cleaning charms?" Hermione asked, her voice rising in pitch. "How could you…they're so…how do you handle the chafing?"

The teenage wizard shrugged. "Guess it wasn't an issue for me after a while."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said sadly. "Your poor skin…it must be so rough and dry!"

Harry grinned. "Are you volunteering to rub some lotion on me?"

Hermione's first thought was to call Harry a berk/git/prat. Her second thought was that Harry was being amazingly relaxed…almost cheeky. Just what she had hoped to accomplish!

Deciding it a shame to waste the opportunity, Hermione purred like a kitten, and said, "I've got a bottle of moisturizer in my trunk."

"You'd…you'd really…"

"What's the matter, Harry?" his friend asked. "It would only be for medicinal purposes…right?"

"Erm…right."

"Of course," Hermione continued, "We'd have to consider a permanent cure for the problem."

"We would?" Harry asked. "Got something in mind?"

Hermione smiled. "Yes, actually…I saw some green silk boxers in one of the mail-order catalogs that Fleur lent me."

Harry snorted. "Boxer shorts in a mail-order catalog? So is that where she shops for Bill, then?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Hermione replied matter-of-factly.

"So…why were you borrowing it?"

The bushy-haired witch's eyes flashed with mirth. "Well somebody has a birthday coming up…doesn't he?"

Harry snorted. "Yeah…I bet green would look good on Neville."

Hermione gave him a gentle nudge that set him a bit off-balance.

"Prat!"

"I'd say you love me anyway, but we've already established that point…haven't we?"

Hermione sighed. Harry pressed his advantage.

"So you think boxers over briefs, huh?"

"Yes."

"Is that a personal preference, or….?"

"Harry, if you don't want my help, then…"

"No, no…I do!" Harry replied.

"Good."

"Just so long as you let me return the favor," Harry joked.

Hermione chuckled, then pressed her advantage.

"Sounds good to me."

"Really?"

"Sure…it's just good friends helping good friends, right?"

"Absolutely."

"We'll just have to find a private time to look through the catalogs together," Hermione decided.

"There's more than one?"

"Of course, Harry," Hermione chided. "One to shop for Bill and you, the other for Fleur and me."

"So Fleur has a birthday coming up as well?"

"Harry!"

"Okay, fine. So…what's this about private time, then? We're doing this as friends, right?"

"Of course, Harry," his friend said with a smile. "But that doesn't mean that Molly…or Ron…wouldn't blow their top if they spotted us having a look through."

"Really?" Harry asked. "So just how racy are these mail-order catalogs, then?"

Hermione paused, thinking how best to answer. She pointed to the basket in Harry's hands, and smiled.

"Fleur says she orders most of her lingerie from them."

Harry immediately thought about the outfit that Fleur had flashed the night before…the outfit now sitting in his basket. And then he imagined Hermione wearing an outfit like that. And then he pressed the clothes basket even closer against his crotch.

"Private time it is, then," he stammered.

oo00OO00oo

Harry was very happy to see Molly back on her two feet when Hermione and he made their way back to the kitchen. Ron obviously shared that attitude as he sat at the table and watched his mum pull food from the ice box.

"Oh, there you two are," said Molly. "I'll take that basket, Harry…you don't need to be doing the wash."

"That's alright, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied. "It won't take but a minute for us to load the washer," Harry replied.

"No, you're a guest, Harry…I insist."

"Mum…but what about lunch?" Ron whined.

Molly sighed.

"Well, where is Ginny, anyway? She should have been doing one or the other."

"Dunno," said Ron. "I was with you all morning, remember?"

"We saw her up in her bedroom, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione.

Molly scowled. "Why would she be there at this time of the day?"

"She still has that black eye," Harry noted.

"What? I can't believe that," Molly snapped. "Used the strongest bruise removing spell in the book…it should have cleared up by now." Then she walked over to the base of the stairs and shrieked, "Ginny? Come down here!"

It took two rounds of shouting to coax the teen-aged witch out of her room and down to the kitchen. Her black-eye didn't look any better.

Molly huffed, and slammed the kitchen knife that she'd been using to prepare lunch down on the counter.

"Well, we'll have to get Fred and George to come here and straighten this out right away," she declared.

"Can't it wait until after lunch?" Ron whined.

"No! Now!" Ginny shouted.

Ron scowled. "Don't see why it couldn't just wait until we see them when we go to Diagon Alley for our school shopping," he muttered.

Molly stopped in her tracks, swiveled, and cuffed Ron on the head.

"Ouch!" he shouted. "What was that for?"

"For being so selfish and insensitive," Molly declared. "Why the very idea! Forcing your poor sister to live with that black eye…it could be weeks before the supply lists come out!"

"It was just a suggestion," Ron said defensively.

"And a horrid one at that!" Molly yelled. "What kind of mean-spirited person would even think of allowing such a thing to occur?"

Ron hung his head, and went with the rote reply of, "Yes, Mum. Sorry, Mum."

Deciding that the point had been made well enough, Molly nodded and reached for a pinch of floo powder.

Harry dropped his gaze to the pile of laundry in his hands as she got down on hands and knees and shouted, "Wheezes!" He kept his eyes diverted while she stuck her head into the green flames, and only looked up once it was clear that she was once again back on her feet.

"Why the nerve of those two!" Molly said in a very loud voice. "Charming some cardboard cutout of themselves to say that they can't come to the floo right now, and to give them my name and floo address…I'll give them something, alright!"

Ron caught his breath as he watched his mum open up her "special" cabinet and reach for the stack of "special" red envelopes.

"Oh, boy…they're in for it now!" he muttered.

Harry felt Hermione nudge his shoulder and turned towards her.

"Why don't we do that laundry now?" she asked softly."Sounds good to me," Harry replied.

He carried the basket into the pantry as she held open the door. She closed the door behind her.

"No need to hear that howler being made at full volume," she stated.

"Agreed," said Harry.

"I've never understood why the howler's magic can't simply amplify the voice of the sender," Hermione said.

"Where's the fun in that?" Harry snarked. "Wouldn't give Molly a chance to express her concerns in full voice."

"Good point," Hermione agreed, as she began to toss dirty clothes into the basin of Molly's charmed washing machine.

The device was a curious blend of magic and Victorian-era Muggle technology. The washer basin sat upright on four short legs, and was roughly the size of a 55-gallon barrel. Two rollers sat one on top of the other on one side of the basin; they were there to press the water out of the cleaned clothes after they were washed. Soon after Hermione dropped the first bit of dirty laundry into the basin, the cleaning water magically appeared and began to slowly fill the washer. The water level rose to just a few inches from the rim, reaching that point just as Hermione dropped in Molly's bloomers, which had been sitting at the bottom of the basket.

The wizard who was holding the laundry basket was (thankfully) thinking too much about the knickers that preceded Molly's bloomers to notice.

"Harry?"

He looked up.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"The basket is empty."

"Erm, right," he said sheepishly, as he placed the basket down on the floor (where it would catch the clothes after they'd been squeezed through the rollers).

When Harry straightened his back and turned towards his best friend he noticed a wry smile on her face.

"What?" he asked.

"Your's too, Harry," she said impishly.

"What?"

"Your shorts, Harry…toss them into the basin."

"But I'm still wearing them?"

"So you've told me," Hermione replied brightly. Then she turned her back to him and added, "There, I promise not to peek."

"But then I'll…what about while they are still in the wash?"

Hermione giggled. "I thought all wizards liked the chance to air out their privates?"

"But…you'll know that I'm…"

"Yes, Harry, I'll know you're going regimental," Hermione said plainly. "Not that I could see the proof of that, given the length of your robes."

"But…you'll know!" Harry hissed.

Hermione sighed. "Harry, it's not healthy to wear your shorts day after day, using only cleaning charms."

"But…"

"So how do you clean them when you are at your Aunt and Uncle's?" Hermione asked. "Don't you worry about getting underage magic use warnings?"

"I don't."

"You don't worry?"

"No, I do worry…which is why I don't. Use magic that is," Harry explained. "I sneak them in when I'm doing their laundry."

"Ah…and do you resort to wearing your cousin's then?"

"No, I don't."

"Don't wear your cousin's shorts, or don't wear any shorts, Harry?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"So what's the difference between going without underwear there and airing your privates out here?"

"Trousers."

"Ah, I see," Hermione replied. She smiled sympathetically and intentionally ignored the simple solution (that Harry just pull on a pair of trousers from his trunk).

"Would it make you more comfortable if I tossed mine in as well?"

"You already did."

"I meant the ones that I'm wearing right now."

"Oh...you'd do that?"

Hermione shrugged. "If that's what it takes…good friends helping good friends, going through things together…right?"

Harry thought for a moment, then shook his head.

"I would actually be a lot more uncomfortable if you went regimental with me."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "My robes aren't any shorter than yours?"

"Because I'd know that you weren't wearing knickers!" Harry said with exasperation. "And without my shorts, there'd be nothing to hold back my…reaction….to the fact that I'd know."

Hermione's eyes sparkled. She was delighted by this admission…delighted both in its contents, and in the fact that Harry actually voiced them to her.

"Well, I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable about displaying your…reaction," she said brightly. Hermione then turned her back and said, "So it's a solo mission, then."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd know."

"Yes, Harry, I've already agreed on that point. But why would that matter?"

"Because…because it would," he admitted.

Hermione nodded, and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. In the ebb and flow of her game plan, it was time to ebb.

"Fair enough," she said, dropping a cup of charmed detergent into the basin and closing the lid. "So long as you promise to change your shorts each day after we order from that catalog?"

Harry eyed her skeptically as the basin's legs came to life and agitated the mixture of wet dirty clothes and detergent by running in circles first one way, then the other..

"I get final say on what we order, right?" he asked.

Hermione giggled. "Sure, Harry…I can always order the man-thong birthday present separately."

He winced. "You are joking, right?"

"Maybe..."

Harry shook his head. "Don't know how anyone could be comfortable having a string stuck up in between their cheeks."

Hermione shrugged and playfully repeated something that he had said earlier. "Guess it wasn't an issue for me after a while."

A large breath caught in Harry's throat. Hermione smiled sweetly, and opened the door before he could voice a response.

The-Boy-Who-Lived waited a few seconds before following Hermione out into the kitchen. This allowed him to adjust the way that his shorts constrained his reaction to Hermione's implied admission. Not that anyone would have noticed, given all of the focus placed on the Weasley twin who had lost the coin flip and responded to his mother's howler.

"I can't believe you would be so careless, Fred!" Molly shouted. "Merlin knows what else you've left upstairs…if you don't march up there right now and clean your room, then I'll clean it for you!"

"Mum…what about my eye?" Ginny whined.

"Oh, yes," Molly said. "Fred? First fix your sister's eye, and then clean your room."

"Yes, Mum," her son muttered. He pulled a tub of ointment out of his pocket and offered it to Ginny.

"Here…dab some of this on, and the bruise should be gone within the hour."

Molly reached over and snatched the salve out of her son's hand. She unscrewed the top, and gave the thick yellow paste a wary look.

"Where did you get this?" she demanded.

"George and I made it," Fred replied. "With all of the product testing we've been doing, needed a decent bruise remover."

Ginny snorted loudly. "If you think that I'm going to be one of your guinea pigs…"

"No, we've done all the testing on it…it's perfectly safe!" her brother protested.

The red-haired witch frowned as she took the tub from her mother, held it under her nose, and gave it a good sniff. After a few quiet moments of thought, she set the tub down onto the kitchen table.

Then, without any kind of warning, she spun on her heel and violently punched the fleshy part of Fred's arm with a clenched fist.

"Owww!" he howled, turning away from Ginny and protectively covering his arm. "What did you do that for?"

"So that you can prove this stuff is safe," she said sweetly. "Now give us a look…might need another whack to get the right color."

"You're barmy!" Fred shouted. He then turned to the Weasley matriarch and whined, "Mum?"

Molly dismissed her son's protests with a wave of her hand.

"I don't want to hear it," she replied, walking up to Fred and pushing up the sleeve of his robe. "That can't have hurt any worse than getting punched in the eye, and if you hadn't left your dangerous pranks lying about, then…"

Molly shifted her focus from completing her sentences to the fist-sized bruise that was forming on Fred's arm.

"Well," she said, "the bruise isn't quite as purple as her black eye, but I think it will do."

"Are you sure?" Ginny asked, pulling her fist back and measuring out a second blow.

"Yes!" Fred protested, moving to place his mum in between him and his sister.

Hermione shook her head and sighed. "Ginny, you're more worried about nasty side effects than whether it will work, right?"

"No! There's no way that I'm going to walk around looking like this…"

Harry nodded. "I don't blame you, Ginny, but Hermione's right."

"Oh, you would think so, wouldn't you?" the younger witch whined.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Harry.

"Enough," Molly snapped. Using her free hand, she grabbed the tub of salve and held it in front of her son. "Well, get on with it, then," she ordered.

The red-haired wizard looked first at his mother, then at his angry sister's fist. He let out a deep breath as he dipped his fingers into the tub.

"Why couldn't you just trust me when I said that it was safe?" he muttered.

"Years of experience?" Ron volunteered.

Fred noticed that Hermione and Harry were both nodding their heads in agreement. He shrugged as he spread a dollop of ointment onto his bruised arm.

"It's a fair cop," he admitted.

The swelling and discoloration in Fred's arm began to lessen almost as soon as the ointment was absorbed into the skin. Ginny wasn't convinced by either the apparent efficacy of the product, or the apparent lack of immediate side effects, and insisted that they wait out a full hour before she treated her black eye. Fred complained, saying that there were a million different things to do back in their shop, but Molly agreed, noting that an hour should be more than enough time for him to clean his room.

Ginny retreated to her bedroom to wait out the hour, while Molly tried to get back into her daily routine after all of the day's excitement. This left Harry, Ron and Hermione to follow Fred up to his old bedroom.

"So how are you doing, Harry?" the older teen asked.

"Can't complain."

Hermione gave Harry an incredulous look, to which he shrugged in reply.

"What?" he asked. "I could have all of…that…over my head and still be stuck at my Aunt and Uncles."

"True enough," Ron agreed. "So what's all this stuff you left behind?" he then asked his brother.

Fred shrugged. "Prototypes, mostly. Here, catch."

Ron did the sensible thing and ducked out of the path of the cloth pouch that his brother had tossed his way.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake…it's just an expandable bag," Fred whined.

"Sure about that?" asked Ron.

Fred rolled his eyes as he picked the pouch up off of the floor.

"Geez…had it in my pocket…then pulled it out of my pocket," he muttered. Fred held the bag open under Ron's nose and asked, "Satisfied? Or do you want to crawl in and take a look for yourself?"

Ron snorted and shook his head as he grabbed hold of the open bag. "No, thanks."

"Is that like a magical tent, then?" Harry asked. "More room on the inside than there should be?"

Fred nodded as he grabbed one of the half-empty crates and dragged it in front of his brother.

"Century bag," he noted. "Holds up to one-hundred gallons of stuff, but never gets heavier than a few pounds."

"Dead useful," observed Harry. "Hey Hermione…how many books are there in a gallon?"

The Muggleborn witch sighed. "Well it would obviously depend on how big each book was."

"I suppose," Harry reasoned. "Still…has to be an improvement over the book bag that you haul from class to class."

Hermione snorted. "As if I'd trust any of my books not to go missing in one of those."

Fred chuckled. "And the love and trust just keeps on flowing around here, doesn't it?" He reached into the crate and retrieved a sheet-covered rectangular object.

"Oh...look! Forgot all about this experiment."

"What's that?" Ron asked.

Fred pulled the sheet away, and allowed the charmed mirror that had been underneath to answer for itself.

"What do I look like, you moron?"

Ron scowled. "A charmed mirror?"

"No…you think?" the mirror snarked. "Tell me…when they were passing out brains was your place in line behind the orangutans?"

"Be nice!" Fred chided.

"Says the ingrate who threw a sheet over my head and binned me…and how long ago was that? Can't be that long, since you haven't gotten that much uglier…"

"Right…buh bye, then," said Fred, as he covered the mirror back up.

"And it wonders why we left him here," he sighed.

"So what was that?" Harry asked. "Did you two change the mirror charms to make it insult people?"

"What?" Fred asked. "Oh…no. It was like that when we bought it."

"Why would you want a mirror that insulted you whenever you looked at it?" Hermione asked.

"Because it was cheap, and all we could afford at the time," Fred replied.

"What were you trying to do, then?" asked Harry.

"Modify our canary creams, so that they turn you into a mirror instead of a bird."

"Huh? What for?"

Fred looked at his brother and sighed. "Maybe not behind the orangutans, but not that far ahead…"

"Hey!" Ron protested.

"It's a prank idea," Fred explained, setting the shrouded mirror on the floor. "Let's say that you ate one of these creams, and turned into a wall mirror. Then you get Harry, here, to swap you out for one of the mirrors in a girls' lavatory?"

"Uh…then what?"

"Then you would get to make the snarky comments, Ron…instead of the mirror," Harry concluded.

"That's a terrible idea!" Hermione chided. "What if somebody replaced one of the changing room mirrors at Madame Malkin's? Or swapped out a mirror that faced one of the girls' dormitory showers?"

Fred offered up some mock indignation. "Hermione! We would never think of something that perverted and devious!"

"Right," she replied sarcastically.

A smile formed on Ron's face. "Oh…now I get it. Brilliant idea, Fred."

Hermione snorted, and shook her head. "You're such a…so Ron, what if Fred had stuffed one of these mirror candies down your throat, then snuck you into Umbridge's bathroom? Or what if your mum ate one, and replaced the mirror in your bedroom. Fancy the thought of what she might watch you do there?"

Ron's face grew pale. "Erm, yeah…not so brilliant, then."

Fred chuckled as he pulled his wand and vanished the mirror, rather than drop it into the expanding pouch. "Well, not to worry…we never were able to get the transfiguration part right."

"You were using transfiguration spells?" Hermione asked. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then shook her head. "I would have thought that illusion-based magic would be more appropriate."

"Huh…never thought of it from that angle," Fred replied. "Wonder if it would work that way?"

Hermione caught her breath, chagrined that she might have inadvertently helped the Twins with this kind of nasty prank. Her concerns were magnified when Harry offered his opinion.

"I'm pretty sure that it can, Fred…if it's anything like the spell I saw last night that made somebody look like an armchair."

"Really?" asked Fred. "And who was this somebody?"

"Horace Slughorn," said Harry. "He's going to be teaching potions this year."

The red-haired twin smiled as he pulled a small notebook and Muggle pen from a pocket and wrote himself a note.

"An armchair, you said? Thanks for the tip, Harry!"

"Fred!" Hermione scolded. "You are not going to invent that sort of thing!"

The prankster smiled. "Okay, Hermione…no mirrors. I reckon that a toilet is more like an armchair anyway."

"A…a toilet?" the Muggleborn witch hissed. "That's even worse!"

"Erm…Fred?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Why would anyone want to disguise themselves as a real toilet? I mean…I get the perv potential, but what if somebody sits down on you and…you know…?"

"What and why indeed?" Fred replied with a grin. "I was thinking of the prank potential…casting it on your enemies instead of your friends. Couple it with a Petrificus Totalis spell so that the victim is forced to just sit there, and…"

"I don't know what would be worse," Hermione muttered. "Getting…used…or being the user."

"No need for the user to know," Fred countered. "Unless…maybe we could build in a triggered Finite that cancelled the spell a few seconds after somebody dropped their drawers and took a seat...that'd be a rude surprise, wouldn't it?"

Hermione let out a huge sigh. "If only you two used your powers for good, rather than evil…"

"Now, now," Fred gently chided, pointing towards the pouch in Ron's hand. "I'll have you know that the Ministry just ordered a hundred of these bags from us."

"Really?" asked Harry. "What are they planning on using them for?"

"Something about cleaning up attacks on Muggles," Fred explained. "They can quickly sanitize a site without destroying magical evidence by dumping all of it into one of these bags."

"They should be spending more time trying to prevent Death Eater attacks, rather than worry about more effective clean-ups," Hermione spat.

"No argument here," Fred replied.

Ron's brother began transferring rubber chickens from crate to bag. Hermione immediately noticed the difference between these rubber chickens and the ones used in the Twins' prank wands…the heads were more streamlined and bulbous, and their necks both longer and thicker.

Fred spotted this interest, and waggled his eyebrows as he held the chicken’s head close to his lips and crowed,"Cock-a-diddle-do!"

The rubber toy’s long limp neck immediately stiffened up, and became rigid.

"Isn't it supposed to be doodle-do?" asked Ron.

"Not for these chickens," Fred grinned. He winked at Hermione as he tossed the toy towards her.  She caught caught it by its neck, with her fingers gripped just below the head.

Fred mock-whispered, "The activation phrase is 'Vibrato'."

Hermione glanced at the rubber toy and blushed.

Harry grinned. "Are you choking the chicken, Hermione?"

"Certainly not!" she replied hastily. Fred and Harry shared a good laugh as she quickly tossed the elongated object over her shoulder.

"I don't know what you're laughing about!" she said primly (but with a deepening blush that suggested otherwise).

"Me either," added a clueless Ron.

This caused the other two wizards to laugh even more.

Harry wasn't laughing so hard, though, to miss the fact that Hermione hadn't actually given the charmed chicken back to Fred. He marked its location as it rolled underneath the bed, and wondered if it might be retrieved by somebody later on in the day.

Hermione changed the topic of conversation before he could imagine how she might use the chicken.

"So, Fred…you've gotten a supply contract from the Ministry of Magic?" Hermione asked. "Why would they trust the effectiveness of anything sold by the same company that makes things like those chickens?"

"Ah, but they didn't award the contract to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," Fred said with a grin. He stood up straight and with a deep announcer's voice added, "When safety matters, trust only the best…Griffon's Nest!"

"What's that?" Ron asked.

"Griffon's Nest Security Ltd," Fred said, proudly adding, "Grins for short."

"Some kind of shell company?" Hermione asked.

Fred laughed. "Nope, we still sell sea shells out of our joke shop catalog."

"Huh? I don't get it," said Ron.

"It's like this, little brother," said Fred. "Harry had it right…nobody was going to take seriously anything sold from our original mail order catalog. But it turns out that some of the things we originally developed as gags can also be useful in other situations. So, George and I created a separate company with its own mail order catalog.

"And you call this serious company Grins?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"Just between friends and coworkers," Fred admitted. "It's worked out brilliantly, though. That contract with the Ministry? It was for a lot more than just these bags…you wouldn't believe how many witches or wizards out there can't do a decent shield charm." He smiled, and added, "Of course, they didn't have Harry here teaching them, but still…"

Ron arched an eyebrow. "You're selling your shield hats then?"

Fred nodded and began ticking off his fingers. "Shield hats, shield cloaks, shield gloves…half-dozen different kinds of shield shorts…"

"Why would you need six different kinds of shorts?" asked Ron.

"Boxers or briefs, little brother," Fred replied. "Then there are the more feminine options. We sell charmed bloomers, normal knickers, French-cuts and shield thongs…for the more daring witches."

Fred then waggled his eyebrows at Hermione, and with a conspirator's whisper noted, "They cost extra, though…harder to shield the entire bum when there's so little fabric to work with in the back."

"Fred!" Hermione protested.

"Shield thongs?" Harry laughed. "Sounds like you might be better off selling those out of a lingerie catalog."

"You've got it half right, partner," Fred said with a wink. "Got those for sale in the back pages of our WonderWitch catalog."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "That's another new company, I suppose?"

Fred smiled, and placed the side of his finger against his nose.

"Spot on," he said proudly.

"I was just joking," Hermione admitted.

"No, really…we've got a third company dedicated to catering to that type of customer. Surprised you haven't seen our advertisements in Teen Witch Weekly."

Ron snorted. "Oh, come on, Fred...What would Hermione be doing reading a girls' magazine?"

Fred and Harry each made strategic side steps away from Ron as Hermione glared at him.

"What?" Ron asked.

Hermione seethed, as Fred walked over to an unopened crate and kicked the lid open.

"Ah, thought this was the one," he said, reaching into the box and pulling out a pair of skimpy black briefs.

"Hey, Ron, these might come in handy if you plan to keep on saying dumb things like that."

"What?"

"Forget it, Fred," Hermione sighed. "I know that I'm planning to."

"Planning to do what?" Ron asked.

"Forgetting the idea of you wearing that style of shorts," she replied darkly.

"Hey!" Ron protested.

Harry tried to facilitate his own forgetting by changing the subject.

"So selling products through three companies and three different catalogs?" he asked Fred. "Must be keeping you two busy."

"Too busy, to be honest," the twin replied. "Between that Ministry contract and filling orders made for our existing product line…haven't had enough time to spend on new product development, much less get the brick and mortar shop ready for opening."

Hermione nodded. "But if the mail-order business is going so well…why even open the retail shop?"

Fred said, "Yeah, we considered that…but where's the fun in only selling out of catalogs?"

"It'd be safer," Harry noted. "Wouldn't be giving the Death Eaters another fixed target."

Fred shrugged. "Yeah, but if we didn't open up a retail shop in Diagon Alley, then we wouldn't need to rent the building. And if we didn't rent the building, we wouldn't have access to the two-bedroom flat above the shop. And if we didn't have access to the two-bedroom flat, then…"

"Then you could live here," said Ron.

The other three stared at Ron.

"What?" he protested. "It would be just as easy for them to move back here with Mum and Dad, and eat Mum's cooking, and fill the mail orders from here..."

Fred stared at his brother. "Are you serious?"

Hermione snorted, and gave Fred a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "No he's Ron…enough said?"

"Good point."

"Hey!"

"Is for horses, Ron," Harry said with a laugh. "So Fred…if you're so busy, why don't you just hire some employees?"

"We have, actually," the Twin replied. "Got a couple of lovely young ladies on the payroll. They're helping us get the storefront business ready, and will handle sales there once it opens."

"Couple of lovely young ladies, huh?" asked Harry. "So, how old are they, exactly?"

"Old enough, I'd wager," Hermione muttered. She then asked, "And are they working for straight wages? Or is room and board part of their compensation package?"

The blush on Fred's face was answer enough…for Hermione and Harry, at least.

"There's safety in numbers," he said defensively. "And they were burned out of their old place, and the Ministry says witches and wizards shouldn't go out at night if they don't have to, and…Felicity and Verity are doing a bang-up job."

Harry snorted.

"Well, they are!" Fred protested.

"So…these two witches…sisters, I suppose?" Hermione asked.

"Not twins, though," noted Fred. "Verity is almost two years younger."

"But still old enough?" asked Harry.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and asked, "Did you say that this flat has two bedrooms?"

"Yes," Fred cautiously replied.

"So you and George are still sharing a bedroom, then?"

"Why would they need to share if there's two bedrooms?" Ron asked.

Harry snorted, and gave Hermione a conspirator's wink.

"She's wondering if they're sharing, just not with each other, Ron."

"What he said," Hermione replied, pointing a finger towards Harry.

"I don't get it," Ron muttered.

Hermione giggled. "So are you getting it, Fred?"

"Please!" the twin said indignantly.

Harry nudged his best friend's shoulder with his own. "Not actually a denial, is it, Hermione?"

"No, it isn't," she agreed. "So, Fred…when are you and your brother bringing Verity and Felicity home to meet your mum and dad?"

"Erm…why would we…"

"Relax, Fred," Harry interjected. "Hermione and I are just giving you a bit of good-hearted grief…right, Hermione?"

The Muggleborn witch gave her best friend an evil-looking grin.

"Of course, Harry."

"Why would Fred deserve any grief?" asked Ron.

"Why, indeed," said Harry. "So, Fred…you've got the store covered. What about the production side?"

The red-haired wizard sighed, appreciating the chance to change the topic. "We've thought about subcontracting some of the work," he noted. "But…with everything else going on, we haven't had time to review our options…have to be careful about safety and quality control…we've got a brand name to protect."

Hermione chuckled. She saw where Harry might be heading, and picked up the line of questioning. "So how many of your products involve potions?"

Fred shrugged. "We've got a full line of love potions, and then there's the potions-based products like our Skiving Snackboxes…maybe twenty percent of our products, total?"

"Love potions!" Hermione said indignantly. "How could you be selling love potions?"

"We can sell them quite easily," Fred said proudly. "We've got the best range you'll find anywhere."

"But do they actually work?" Ron asked.

"Certainly they work," Fred replied. "But only for up to twenty-four hours at a time…a bit less if the boy is heavier than normal, or the girl less…attractive."

"I can't believe it!" Hermione spat.

Neither could Harry.

"Fred, I'm thinking that your investors might have some serious concerns about that specific product line."

"Really?" the Twin asked, genuinely surprised by Harry's reaction. "Why? It's not like we're selling Amortentia, or any of the other illegal potions."

"It's unethical," Hermione said firmly. "Tricking somebody into having feelings for a person."

"Oh, jeez, they only last a day…where's the harm?" asked Ron.

Hermione glared at her red-haired friend.

"Where's the harm?" she asked. "So let's say that they were sold to somebody like…I don't know…Romilda Vane? A fan-girl who has the hots for Harry?"

"She does?" Harry asked.

"Yes, she does," Hermione replied.

"But she's only twelve!"

"Thirteen, actually," said Hermione, adding, "Ron, my point is…Imagine that she spiked a box of chocolates with a love potion keyed to her and gave them to Harry. But then you got hold of them first, and ate half the box. Would you be okay with that?"

Ron thought for a moment, then asked, "What kind of chocolates?"

"Gah!" Hermione shrieked, pulling on her bushy-brown hair as if she were a cartoon character.

"What if it were your sister, Ron…fancy lusting after Ginny for twenty-four hours straight?"

"Yechh!" Ron spat.

"No worries, there, Hermione," said Fred. "We're not selling them to our sister."

"Why not?" called a voice from the doorway.

The teens all turned and spotted black-eyed Ginny, who was channeling her mum in the way that her fists were grinding into her hips.

Hermione and Harry both found it very interesting that the younger witch ventured out of her room and entered into the conversation at that exact point in time. They kept this observation to themselves, however, as they took a step back and watched Ginny and her two brothers argue over the number of boyfriends she might or might not have. Harry found the back-and-forth informative; he hadn't known that Ginny had even dumped her "bad loser" boyfriend Michael Corner, much less bounced back with his dorm mate Dean Thomas.

The strongest and loudest words were exchanged by Ginny and Ron, which immediately made them the focus of their mother's ire when she heard the yelling and entered the fray. Ron was dragged by the ear to his room, while Ginny was ordered downstairs (if she was well enough to be out of her room, she was well enough to help her mum do the daily dusting).

Fred didn't find the conversation any more enjoyable once he was left alone with Harry and Hermione, even though it was quieter and more civil. Fred seemed genuinely shocked to learn that his mum had brewed a batch of Amortentia… his brother George and he hadn't had much contact at all with their parents over the past few weeks.

Harry's opposition to the sale of love potions by any business that he had invested in was mitigated when Fred proposed that they sell love potion neutralizers, and give them equal shelf space and product promotion. The red-haired wizard also mentioned that his brother and he were working on a potion that would make it easier for a person to resist an Imperius curse and other types of controlling agents.

The-Boy-Who-Lived turned to his best friend and asked, "So what do you think?"

Molly didn't give Hermione a chance to respond.

"Fred? It's been an hour!" she shrieked from the kitchen. "Get down here and help your sister!"

The red-haired wizard looked back over his shoulder towards the doorway and sighed as he picked the charmed bag up off the floor. He looked towards his still-crated stuff and snorted.

"I've half a mind to leave the rest for her to sort through," he said quietly. "You two might get a laugh out of some of the ways she could be pranked."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Only if you're certain that you got all of those rubber chickens."

Fred grimaced. "Right, thanks for the lovely image,"

Hermione shook her head as she cautiously kicked the unsorted pile down to the point where she could see everything that was left.

"No worries, Harry… Fred has them all."

"Except for that one you tossed under Harry's bed," Fred noted with a sly smile.

"Oh, well…I'll take care of that," she said off-handedly.

Fred chuckled as Hermione reached under Harry's bed and retrieved the charmed chicken.

"Got a safe place to put it, then?" he asked. "A nice, cozy home?"

Hermione gave the wizard a fair approximation of a hag's evil eye.

"Think your mum would wonder the same thing about Felicity and Verity? Whether they are letting you two into their cozy homes?"

The wizard's eyebrows disappeared underneath his bangs, as he held up his hands in surrender.

"Truce?" he asked.

"Sounds good to me," Hermione replied.

"FRED! Do I need to send another howler?" Molly shrieked from downstairs.

Harry winced, and shook his head.

"Would anyone know the difference?" he whispered.

"We better head down," Hermione decided.

Harry and Fred agreed, and were halfway out the door before Harry turned towards his best friend and whispered, "Hermione?"

"What?" she whispered back.

"The chicken?"

Hermione's eyes shifted down to what she still held in her hand.

"Oh…right, probably should leave it behind," she decided.

Fred and Harry's eyes went wide when Hermione decided that the best place to temporarily hide the charmed chicken was underneath his mattress. But neither said anything as she led the way downstairs.

Fred held his tongue because he was mindful of the just-negotiated truce.

Harry held his tongue because he was "mind full" of naughty thoughts about sitting rooms and charmed chickens.

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