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Love: An Irresistible Desire by magical words
Chapter 6 : You Never Know When Youíre Finished
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 12


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Quotes at bottom as always. I love you reviewers!

Enjoy!

Sincerely,
magical words


                           Chapter Six: You never know when you’re finished

To the two invented in this deadly deception, time seemed to stand still. To the two who knew that the two involved in this deadly deception, time kept going. And they knew that there was no way that whatever the two involved in this deadly deception were doing would work. To put it simply, Harry and Ginny knew that Fred and Hermione weren't telling something quite vital to their friends. But that is beside the point. Actually, only a little beside the point. But anyway. 

As the kiss ended, the kiss Fred and Hermione shared, was by far one of the best kisses they both have ever had (though it wasn't really a "real" kiss in terms of relationship kisses). 

As the kiss ended, Fred and Hermione had opened their eyes and were breathing quite dramatically.

“Ehmmm. We got that first mountain climbed, eh?” 

“Mmm…indeed we did.” 

“Alright then.” Fred grabbed Hermione’s right hand in his left (their connected hands). 
“You ready to do this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Hermione replied. 

And they walked out of Hermione’s bedroom, hand in hand, shaking in their boots (or in Fred’s case, his brown and carolina blue Pumas and Hermione’s pink rounded-toe Prada pumps). They met the Potters in the living room of Fred’s flat. Both Potters were sitting angelically on the overstuffed, puce coloured, but incredibly comfortable couch. 

“Why, hello Fred and Hermione.”

“Hello Ginny and Harry.”

“Hello Harry.”

“Hello Hermione."

Harry and Ginny remained sitting, staring at the other two. Fred and Hermione remained standing, staring at the other two. 

“Well, this is all wonderfully uncomfortable,” Ginny commented. “Why don’t I just blurt out our news, eh?”

“Fine by me,” Fred shrugged. It could only be good news after all. 

“Sure, I already know. Hearing a second time would be quite alright,” Hermione told truthfully.

“Alright, well, I’m pregnant!” Ginny exclaimed.

Fred’s face melted into a smile. “Congratulations!”

He walked over to hug his baby sister, letting go of Hermione’s hand to hug Ginny. Hermione quickly rushed to Fred’s side so no one would notice their predicament.

“Come here, Harry,” Hermione motioned to Harry. It was obvious that he was ecstatic. He came over to Hermione and she gave him a one-armed hug. Let’s just say it was quite an awkward hug on Hermione’s part. 

It was even more awkward when Fred tried to give Harry a hug. One of his arms was all twisted, and so was Hermione’s, and it’s even just too painful to describe in words.
“Well,” Fred said after the Potters were congratulated, “Hermione and I have to tell you both something.”

“Really?” Harry asked, quite enthused.

“Yes. You see, Fred and I well, we’re-” Hermione stumbled.
 
“We’re dating,” Fred answered quickly. 

“That’s great! For a moment there, I thought you were going to say you were pregnant!” Harry laughed.

“Congratulations, you two!” Ginny said. 

Harry looked at his watch after he and Ginny gave the “new” couple awkward hugs. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to cut this celebration short. Ginny and I have to get ready to meet Ron and his semi-new girlfriend. Margaret Square or something. I can never remember her name. Some Yank. Ron says she’s a catch. Something about her chest.”

“No, her charm Harry,” Ginny fixed, chuckling. “She’s really very nice.”

“Oh right, her charm. Never could quite understand what he was saying. He was rambling on.”

“Well, congratulations again, Harry and Ginny,” Fred said. 

“Bye now.” And Harry and Ginny Apparated home. 

As soon as they were in the safety of their bedroom, both Harry and Ginny blurted out at the same moment, “I don’t believe them for a second!”

Back at Fred’s flat, Hermione blurted out, “They don’t believe us for a second.”

“Yes, I did get that impression myself,” Fred said. Then his whole mood changed. “A Potter kid!” Fabulous! I do believe that it will be twins. And I’m looking forward to corrupting them.”

“I thought that they were going to have twins too!”

“I’m hungry. And I’m quite bored doing nothing. I’ll make lunch, since it is quite impossible that you and Ginny ate lunch in the fifteen minutes that you were with her.”

“That is quite true.”

Fred attempted cooking with one hand, being that one hand was incapable of moving freely. He soon gave up, then decided against it and thought this time would be put to better use if he taught Hermione how to make fettuccini with a thick and creamy alfredo sauce. (This was the 15 minute fettuccini alfredo version.)

The recipe was quite simple and Fred had all the ingredients: 8 ounces cream, cheese – cubed, 3/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, 1 stick butter – softened, 1/2 cup heavy cream, 8 ounces fettuccini -- cooked & drained, and 1/8 teaspoon fresh grated nutmeg. The instructions, too, were simple: In a large saucepan, stir together the cream cheese, parmesan, butter, and cream. Heat, stirring, until smooth. Add hot, cooked fettuccini, and toss until well covered. Serve immediately, sprinkled with nutmeg.

Hermione was convinced that she would burn the pasta and botch the sauce, but she did neither. Fred encouraged Hermione and helped her some. The by-product was fettuccini with a few hard pieces and an edible alfredo sauce that actually tasted alright with some extra nutmeg and pepper. 

Though the fettuccini alfredo wasn’t made by any Rachel Ray or Emeril, it was filling and good. And Fred was quite satisfied with Hermione’s progress. 

“Hermione, that was nowhere near as bad as you said you cooked.”

“But Fred, you helped me.”

“That’s a minor technicality. Besides, I didn’t help you that much.”

“Hmm. Just a minor technicality.”

Fred and Hermione did nothing after eating for quite sometime. They had dealt with the pots and pans and kitchen counters, then they had gone and sat on the overstuffed, puce coloured couch.

They sat there for what seemed to be ages, but was really only forty minutes. They sat there in silence, next to each other, so close you couldn’t tell if they were touching or not. 

Fred, however, broke the silence.

“Hermione?”

“Yes Fred?”

“I have to use the loo.”

“The loo? You don’t need to alert the media.”

“But what about our situation?”

“Oh. I forgot about that.”

“Hmm. Well, come on.”

“Alright,” Hermione said, getting up. She followed Fred to the bathroom.

Fred, being a male, had no need to sit on the toilet, so Hermione was lucky in this aspect. Hermione stood behind Fred, facing the opposite direction that he was facing. She actually had a very nice painting to look at.

Fred finished, actually put the lid down and washed his hands like a good boy.
Hermione followed Fred out of the bathroom and back into the living room.

“Hmm. That was interesting. I haven’t quite done that before,” Fred confessed. “When you need to use the loo that might be even more interesting.”

“Oh hell. I’ll need to find a spell that will make that a little more private.”

Fred gulped. This was Hermione, a female, a private female. “Uh, Hermione, you’re not, well, dealing with female issues, now are you?”

“What?” Hermione had to think about this. “Female issues? Oh! No, that was last week.”

Fred sighed with relief. “Good. I’m not so good with that type of thing. Ginny used to constantly torment me.”

“Ginny, torment you? Never!” Hermione laughed and Fred joined in. 

“Soooo…….What do you want to do?”

“Well, I suppose I should make some progress on my article.” Hermione conjured some parchment and a quill. “So, I’ll ask you some questions.” 

“Fine by me.”

“Alright.” Hermione tapped the quill in her left hand on the parchment, and immediately, twenty-four questions popped up. “First question: What is your full name Fred?”

“The first question is what my full name is? That’s quite an easy question. It’s Frederick Nevan Weasley.”

“Fred, doesn’t Nevan mean “little saint”?” 

“Indeed it does. Wonderful, isn’t it?”

“More like ironic, but next question. What are your parents’ names?”

“This is ridiculous. What is with these questions? Do you know who came up with these questions?”

“I honestly don’t know who wrote them. But if I did, I’d knock some sense into them. As if people don’t already know the answers. Amalia probably didn’t tell me for the safety of whoever this person is. Probably didn’t want me to strangle this person because of their stupidity.”

“Ha! That’s smart! Also, probably, so I wouldn’t strangle this person.”

“Most likely, yes. So, now it’s time to answer the question.”

“Arthur and Molly Weasley.”

“Now you have to name all of your siblings, your siblings’ significant others, and your nieces and nephews.”

“Oh bugger. This will take up some time. To make it easiest, I’ll start with the eldest and work my way down. There’s Bill and his wife Fleur. They have Adelie, Andre, Armelle, and baby number four is on the way. Charlie is married to this Romanian girl whose name I still cannot pronounce even after the three years he’s been married to her. But I do know that her name starts with an ‘N’.”

“Nadalyna?”

“Yes! That’s it! And they have a little boy Ceallach (pronounced Kay-lok). We just call him Cea (sounds like Kay!). Percy, last I heard, has been trying to pluck up the courage to ask his girlfriend of one hundred years, Penelope, to marry him. George is, of course, married to Alicia. They have hopes for kids in the future. Then Ron is currently attached to a very charming Yank, Margaret Box. She is, may I say, is quite charming and she has some…assets. Ron’s told me that he’s thinking about marrying her, but I think it’s just because he’s impregnated her. Not that I know that she’s pregnant or anything.”

Hermione stopped writing and looked at her left hand. She had a small, sad smile on her face. 

“Is Ron happy?”

“You know, Mione, I think he is. I’m sorry it never worked out for you two.” He looked absolutely sincere.

“Thanks. As much as I wished not to hurt Ron, I couldn’t fool myself any longer. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. We were on our outs.”

Fred held Hermione’s hand comfortingly; he gave it a squeeze and a smiled lightly. Hermione couldn’t help but smile back.

“I know you have some more family members, so let’s continue!”

“Gotcha. After Ron, there is little Ginerva, or rather, Ginny. But I suppose she isn’t that little anymore. She’s married to none other than Harry Potter, who she has had a crush on since she was ten. And they are expecting.” Fred paused; his brow furrowed. “When is this article being published?”

“February issue. For Valentine’s Day. It will be a very special special, my article.” 

“Good, then by the time it’s issued, all my siblings will have their own news known to the world?”

“They should. If not, we can ask them if it’s alright.”

“Okay. All’s well then. Ask me another question. I’m on a roll.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s another ridiculous one. What is your age?”

“Oh bugger, now I have to apply maths! Let me see: born April 1, 1978. That makes me almost 23. Next?”

“What is your profession?”

“I’m in sales…joke sales. I’m a prankster by profession.”

“Favourite colour?”

“Blue.”

“Favourite food?”

“Um…fish and chips.”

“Favourite animal?”

“Dragon.”

“Best friend?”

“George.”

“Favourite smell?”

“Rain.”

“Um…hat size?” It sounded like Hermione was questioning the question.

“Hat size? What the bloody hell is a hat size?”

“I’m not quite sure myself. We’ll pass that one. Who do you miss the most who
is dead?” 

“I’d have to say Filch. I loved bothering that man.” Fred chuckled. “To be honest, I miss Dumbledore the most. He always knew what to say. Even to my mum when I was in trouble. He was just a great chap.”

“Yes. I miss him too.”

The two sat remembering the man called Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. The man who was a grandfather to all, but so much like a child in his fascination of candy. They remembered his insightfully odd, yet oddly insightful, words of wisdom, for he had plenty of it. (He was one hundred and fifty-seven.) They remembered his half-moon glasses and twinkling eyes. They remembered the most powerful man that they ever knew. 

“What’s the next question?” Fred asked softly, quite aware that he was ruining the moment dedicated to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Hermione willingly checked her parchment.

“What is your favourite song?”

“Oh. That’s difficult. I like music. But…I’d have to say this song by the Muggle band Cartel. It’s called ‘Honestly.’ Quite good of a song.”

“Cartel? You like Cartel? How did you ever hear of it?”

“Yeah. You know Cartel too?”

“My cousin lives in the States and is married to the lead singer, Will Pugh’s, older brother Ben.”

“No bloody way! That’s amazing! Just goes to show that it’s a small world after all.”
“It truly does. Moving on, what is your favourite drink?”

“Whoever came up with these questions is a barmy old codger. Why, next I’ll be asked what my favourite weather is!”

“Er, you are asked what your favourite weather is, actually. But Fred, you could always make some answers up. Random ones.”

“No no. I’m going to be as honest as possible. So my favourite beverage is butterbeer, with Fire Whiskey following closely after that. Next.”

“Favourite place?”

“The Burrow. No question about that.” 

“How old were you for your first kiss? And with whom?”

“Thirteen, with Angelina Johnson.”

“Would you bungee jump?”

“Hell yeah.” 

“Favourite season?”

“Fall because the leaves match my hair.” A few laughs accompanied that comment.

“Favourite weather?”

“Thunderstorms.”

“Favourite memory?”

“When I was ten, George, Ron, Ginny and I put all of the gnomes in our garden in ballerina clothes. We even made them dance. It was all Ginny’s idea. Mum wasn’t too happy, but she still thought it was funny.”

“I would have loved to see that. This next question is interesting. What would your profession be if you were a Muggle?”

“I’d be a clown. I would most certainly be a clown if I were a Muggle.” 

“You probably would be. Now, name one thing that most people don’t know about you.”

“I love Muggle stuff almost as much as my dad. My favourite Muggle thing is those feather boa things. And also, I cry at chick flicks.”

Hermione smiled, and thought to herself, “It must be a Weasley male thing. Ron did the same thing.”

“Only two more questions. Where would your ideal date take place?”

“Truthfully, as long as we have good food, a good conversation, and good laughs, it doesn’t matter where we are.”

“Last question: What is your “type” of girl?”

“My type of girl, eh? She’d have to be smart, pretty, funny, slightly sarcastic, and she would absolutely have to have brown eyes... A nice smile too. Can’t forget that. This “girl” of mine would have to be able to put up with my experimentations for new products and when I’m making too many jokes. She’d also have to be on top of things. Not literally, but she’d also have to have good control. She’d just have to be able to deal with a big family and be very personable. And if we were ever to be married, she would have to want a very large family.”

Hermione wrote this all down. This girl of his sounded oddly familiar. 

Fred was rethinking his answer. This girl of his sounded oddly familiar.

“Well, that was fun. Is there anything else you can tell me about this article you’re going to write?”

“Yes, plenty.”

“Tell me all. I like to be informed about these types of things.”

“Okay. I have to fill pages 20 through 26 with Fred Weasley galore. I had to ask you those twenty-four questions, I have yet to write your daily happenings, and I have to evaluate my experience with the wizarding world’s most eligible bachelor. A ten question on Fred Weasley trivia quiz will have to be created. You can help me with that. And, there will also be an essay contest that you’ll have to judge about why this essayist should meet you. Well, it’s not really an essay, but a one hundred word paper or more.”

“Wow. Six pages of a magazine dedicated to me? I’ll never get a moments peace after this magazine issue is published.”

“Don’t worry. Security will be upped just a smidge. Thanks to Mystical Witch’s Fred Weasley sales.”

“But security is so annoying. they are always…guarding you. It might be easier if I wasn’t the most eligible bachelor. I mean, I love all the publicity for Weasleys’ Wizarding Whizzes, but it’s highly overrated.”

“Harry always told me that. Publicity has just barely died down for him. I’m quite glad that I don’t have that problem.” 

“Yeah, but if anyone finds out we’re attached, you’ll need to be protected. All of my previous girlfriends slash friends that are girls have gotten death threats form my super dedicated fans. And then, you’ll also be hunted down by journalists.”

“I can take ’em all. I did hex twenty Death Eaters in one go. And, I am a journalist. I know how they think. Dirty.”

“But I don’t want you to get caught up in all the hype of it.”

“That’s really sweet Fred. I’m sure that I’ll be able to handle it with your help if this does happen.”

“That is quite true.”

Their conversation ended there. Fred grabbed a magazine and Hermione began rewriting her notes and such into article form on the overstuffed puce coloured couch. For dinner, they ordered in; pizza. Hermione used the loo after she found quite an efficient privacy spell. Fred did too, since he drank twelve butterbeers. (Fred acquired an immunity to the slight alcohol in butterbeer from drinking quite a lot of it. Twelve butterbeers, in fact, have about two-thirds the alcohol as Muggle alcohol. And that’s quite a lot. Hermione would’ve been a little bit more than tipsy if she had four butterbeers.)

The two of them watched at least three Muggle movies following their loo trips until they decided at 11:30 that it was time to “hit the hay” as some country hicks would say.
It was decided that Fred’s king sized bed would be where they would sleep. Hermione was quite fine with this until she realized what that meant. 

Oh bugger bugger bugger! My bloody pajamas can’t quite be considered as pajamas!




AN:  If you are offended by the "country hick" thing, don't be.  I really don't think anything of it.

The quote, my dearies:
Doing nothing is very hard to do...you never know when you're finished.
-- Leslie Nielsen


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