The Weasley Trap

It was really amazing how many shades of red Ron Weasley’s face could turn—There was carnation pink when he saw a pretty girl, the familiar crimson of embarrassment, the ruddiness of anger. At this moment, Ron’s face was nearly purple in a physical show of pure, unbridled ire. There was only one person who could cause this shade—Hermione.

“Insufferable bitch,” he muttered darkly, slumping into a comfy chair between his two twin brothers. Normally, the sight of the roaring common room fire and the familiar Hogwarts musk would make him happy, but after a particular spat with his bushy-haired friend, he was far from delighted.

“So where’s the little vixen now?” Fred asked, grinning.

“Who? ‘Mione? I wouldn’t call her a vixen. Stubborn mule is more like it…She’s in the library. Mind if I hide out with you guys until this blows over?”

“Mule? Not Hermione. She’s more like a--”

“Kitten,” George finished, “A sex kitten. I don’t think a mule could have as nice of a booty as ‘Mione’s.”

“Ugh,” Ron mock-gagged in disgust.

“Come on now, Ronny. Sooner or later you’re going to have to admit that your little girlfriend is really quite shagable,” George beamed, proud of his ability to push all of the right buttons.

“She is NOT hot. She’s Hermione. And she’s NOT my girlfriend! When will you two get that through your thick skulls?”

“Let me tell you a story, Ronniekins,” Fred said, wrapping his arm around Ron’s shoulders in a brotherly fashion, “Do you remember when Mum sent me and George to that wizard pre-school ‘cause we were such a handful? Well, there was this really pretty girl named…er…Let’s just call her Angel. Anyway, to let her know I liked her, I would pull her piggytails.”

“Right…And what do piggytails have to do with me and Herm?”

“Everything.”

“Huh?”

“Isn’t it obvious, little brother? You pull her piggytails, she pulls yours--”

“It’s all sexual tension, really,” George chimed in, admiring the way Ron’s face was quickly turning magenta with a mix of embarrassment and anger. Groaning, he stood up and stormed off towards the portrait hole.

“What’s his problem?” George simpered.

“Dunno,” Fred shrugged. “But it probably stems from a certain bushy-haired hottie—Hey! Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Georgey boy?”

“Wow! Are you thinking about Play Wizard playmates in Tahiti rubbing suntan lotion on themselves, too? It must be that psychic twin wavelength thingy!”

“Uh, not exactly…I was thinking about helping Ronny and Hermione on their way to eternal bliss.”

“You mean play matchmakers?”

“More on the lines of giving fate a helping hand.”

“Ah, and then the Tahitian babes?”

“Exactly.”

***

Hermione sat curled up in a quiet corner of the library, comforted by the mustiness of antediluvian volumes, hidden behind a mountain of books that balanced precariously on the table before her. Despite how hard she was trying to concentrate, she simply could not focus on writing her Potions essay. She would write a sentence, and then the thought of a certain redhead would float into her mind.

Curse that Ron Weasley! All she had said was that perhaps there were better uses for time than obsessing over Quidditch and that if Ron spent less time poring over Quidditch Illustrated, then he might make better marks…His voice echoed inside her head:

“God Hermione! You sound like my mum lecturing me about how I should be more like the great, almighty Percy! At least I have a life! All you have are books!”

As if! Hermione was proud of her top marks!

Ron could be such a dunderhead sometimes. But then there were those moments when—when…Hermione’s head swam just thinking about it. Some nights when they had to stay up late to study, they would sit close together in the empty common room, warmed by the fire’s flickering flames. She smiled as she recalled how every once in a while, their knees would brush—gently, casually—how she could hardly focus on her studying because of the nice clean boy smell emanating from Ron’s robes…Yes, there were moments that Hermione wouldn’t trade for all the gold in Gringotts…Damn him. He turned her life into a bad Julia Roberts movie.

Suddenly, two identical heads popped out from behind a shelf of books, shaking Hermione out of her disjointed reverie with their brash voices.

“Hullo--”

“There--”

“Hermio--”

“Ne!”

Not looking up from her work and in a dry voice, she responded, “What do you want, Forge?”

Wiping a tear, Fred announced, “World peace!”

George nodded and added, “A Tahitian Play Wizard playmate.”

Hermione shook her head, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like “Boys.”

“While we’re on the subject of wishes, there is a wish that you could grant. You see, Ronnie wants nothing more in the world than to make up with you.”

“Oh, how sweet!” she touched her hand to her heart and batted her eyelashes. “Tell him to eat bubotuber puss.”

Huffing, she slammed her Potions book shut and left.

“Man, getting to Tahiti would be easier than getting those two together.”

***

Huffing, Hermione returned to the crystallized comfort of the dormitory, finding a piece of pink parchment on her bed. At first she dismissed it as a misplaced love-letter for Lavender or Parvati, but curiosity got the best of her, and she opened it up.

Dear Hermyony,

You are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I like you a lot! Meet me secretly in the common room at 1:00 tonight!

Love,

Ron

***

As instructed, Hermione arrived in the dark, deserted common room, convinced that someone was playing a trick on her. She spotted Ron sitting by the fire and held the letter up for him to see.

“Nice spelling job on my name, Ron.”

“But that’s the way you spelled it on the letter you sent to me!”

It seemed that the top of one of the couches had sprouted red hair and was muffling snickers. Hermione’s eyes widened and she grabbed Ron.

“Oh Ron,” she declared in a melodramatic voice, “I’m so glad our feelings are finally out in the open!”

“What?” Ron looked confused. Of course, Ron always looked confused.

Hermione brought her lips to his ears and hissed, “It’s the twins! They’re trying to set us up! Just go with it!”

“Oh Hermione,” he said in a loud, gallant voice, “I’ve never seen you look so ravishing! You’re like a…brown-haired…rose!”

“And you Ron, are like a great, freckled…er…tiger—ready to conquer the jungle of my heart!”

“I love you!”

“I love you more!”

“No, I love you more!”

“No, I love you more!”

“No, I love you more!”

“Oh, don’t let us fight! Just hold me in your big…brawny…arms!”

He gave a sly grin, “My arms aren’t the only part of my body that’s big.”

The sofa groaned in disgust.

“Come on Ron, let’s go somewhere a little more…cozy.”

***

Hermione pulled Ron into the common room rec closet, where they were certain the twins would not disturb them. Since the closet was rather small, they stood close together, and Hermione had to remind herself that she was angry so that she wouldn’t swoon.

“Why can’t you have normal brothers?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. At least they’re not as bad as Percey…Insufferable git, always going on about those goddamn--”

“Why don’t we get even with them?”

As Hermione wasn’t exactly the original prankster, Ron was caught off guard.

“Come on, Ron. Somebody’s got to get those two one day…They tried to set us up! The nerve! The idea of you and me…it’s…”

Hermione suddenly realized that her face was inches from Ron’s, and she lost her train of thought.

***

Wearing a miniskirt and matching skank top from Aberzombie and Witch that she had borrowed from Lavender, Hermione awkwardly slunk into the common room, looking for George. Having a reputation for being the more “erotically charged”* twin, he was the perfect target for a prank—Granger style. That’ll teach him to mess with me again, she thought, hiking up her skirt a bit more.

Taking a deep breath, she said in a poorly attempted sultry voice, “Hey there, big boy.”

“Um, hi Hermione,” his voice cracked.

“Mmmm…you have the sexiest voice.”

Bracing herself and taking another deep breath, she hopped into his lap and started stroking his arm, reminding herself that it was for the good of humanity that the twins be taught a lesson.

“Wow! Your biceps are huge!”

George’s eyes widened. “Are you, by any chance, from Tahiti?”

She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Yes.”

Suddenly, suspicion flickered across George’s playmate-filled mind. Why was Hermione hitting on him when she loved Ron? But George, being George, could not place is finger on what was wrong. This was probably due to a recent bludger injury which had caused permanent brain damage…So George filled his empty head with thoughts of Tahitian babes in bikinis.

Suddenly, Fred stormed up, having noticed that George had a glazed-over look on his face and a scantily clad Hermione was on his lap, whispering in his ear.

“George! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Huh?”

“Get over here!”

He pulled George over in to a corner of the room and began to whisper excitedly, “What are you thinking, hitting on Ron’s girl?”

“She came on to me!”

“Don’t be silly, George.”

“No! Really, she did! I can’t lie to you because of the psychic twin wavelength thingy.”

“But why would Hermione go after you when she’s already got--”

“Because she’s discontent with Ron’s…performance, that’s why. She needs a nice, strong beater with a very large…club.”

“No, you great git! Don’t you--”

“Of course, it’s not the size of the wave but the motion of the ocean that really matters.”

“Would you just shut up and listen? I’m trying to say that the only reason why Herm would hit on you is that she knows about our little plan…However, they don’t know that we know they know!* So keep at it, boy! We’ll show them not to mess with Forge Weasley!”