Harry Potter – Hermione enjoys the Weasley Twins by hassett fuka

“Drowning her sorrows in … butterbeer?” Fred said over her shoulder. “Is that pathetic or sweet?”

“Sweet,” decided George over her other shoulder, a playful angel to Fred’s smirking imp. “But it’s going to take her some time that way. Sorrows don’t sink very fast in butterbeer, do they?”

“Nah. Sugar-to-alcohol ratio is the wrong way around.”

“Who’s saying I have any sorrows to drown?” she snapped, her head whipping from side to side as she tried to glare equally at both of them. God, the one night she really wanted to be alone and she had to be discovered by these two.

“Let’s see. Night of the second anniversary of U-No-Poo’s demise. Every other witch and wizard, including your best mates, out in the streets or filling up the big taverns, or on the way to the Burrow for the celebration. And here you are in the best-hidden cranny of the smallest pub on Diagon Alley, hiding with your nose in a book about …”

George squatted down to take a look at the book’s spine. “A Comprehensive History of the Upkeep of House-Elves in the Smaller, Middle Class Household,” he quoted, and grinned as he opened the book to her page again. “Well, that is just a wee bit pathetic.”

“As it so happens, this book, which I’m reading as background material for my current Department of Magical Law Enforcement report, has a very interesting final chapter — touching upon the socioeconomic aspect of the origins of the cloth-giving tradition,” she ended in one rushed breath, sticking her chin up.

Fred gave a soft whistle. “There’s a good, grown-up word, George. Thesocioeconomicaspectoftheoriginsofthe– er…”

“–oftheoriginsoftheclothgivingtradition, Fred. Pay attention.”

They smirked at each other, then at her, shook their heads, and sat down on either side of her.

“Hermione, love. You can tell us.”

“What?”

“Why you’re not with Harry, Ron and the rest. Nor, for that matter, with your parents, as Fleur says you’d told her.”

She cringed at the stray thought that they might have guessed at her reason, which she felt was indeed a rather pathetic one, but covered her discomfort with a put-upon sigh. “There is no big why. You aren’t with the rest either, and do I pester you for your mysterious reasons?”

“Maybe you should,” said Fred with a wink. “Our mysterious reasons might be of relevance to yours.”

She carefully closed her book. “I can see that I won’t have any peace and quiet until you’ve achieved whatever you’ve come for, so why don’t you spit out what’s on your mind? Minds. Whatever.”

George shook his head. “First off,” he said, “it seems clear to me that you need to toast freedom and peace with something more happy-making than butterbeer.” He called up to the surly looking bartender. “A bottle of your best champagne, please.”

That earned him nothing but an offended twist of the mouth, and a dusty green bottle unceremoniously plonked down on the table. “‘Fraid the house white’ll have to do, sir.”

George already had his wand ready, and waved it over the bottle with a cheerful “Effervescentum festivitas!” He transfigured the three tumblers into champagne flutes, popped the cork and filled the glasses with bubbling pale-gold wine.

“That’ll cost you extra,” said the man and retreated, thoroughly disgruntled.

Hermione studied the glasses, then took the one in the middle and raised it with demonstrative flair, looking from Fred to George and back as they raised their glasses too. “So. To peace, victory, friends present and absent, and … and … whatever it will take for you to leave me alone?” She quickly helped unknot the tightness of her throat with a swig of the bubbly wine, which was actually quite decent.

“You know, Fred, she’s got the wrong end of the stick entirely,” said George.

“Yep. She’s not asking the pertinent questions. And how unlike her that is.”

“It may mean she’s scared of the answer she’ll get.”

“I’m not scared,” she bristled. “If you think you can get a rise out of me that easily–” She stopped, realizing her temper was quite undermining her intended meaning. “Well … I suppose then you’ve managed. So now you can leave,” she said, looking away.

“I’m starting to feel unwanted — not to mention misunderstood,” said Fred, with a twitch of his mouth and a sad tilt to his head. But George leaned across the table, and took her hand with disarming gentleness.

“Come on now, our own clever love. Ask us the right question.”

Meeting his friendly, earnest gaze, she gave up. She had no heart for a quarrel and perhaps they really would go if she cooperated. “Why are you here? What do you want?” she said, resigned.

“Ah. That’s two very good questions. First one first, yeah?” He pressed her hand firmly, as if to ward off anger. “We’re here,” he murmured, “because I heard you and Fleur talking in the shop yesterday. I heard what you said.”

She tore her hand back, a blush scalding her face as she pushed her chair from the table and got up. “You and your bloody Extendable Ears.” Her voice was shaking, her stomach churning with her mortification. “You had no business–“

“It was my own ears,” George broke in, catching her hand again and holding it more firmly. “And it was literally my business; I was shelving some new products and you two happened to be standing in the next aisle.”

“So what do you want? I suppose you’ve come here to make fun then, but those were just things I said, just –” She flailed, and blinked as tears threatened to rise in her eyes. “Just — things! Stupid things.”

Fred and George exchanged an alarmed glance. “We’re not making fun!” said Fred hastily. “We swear.”

“I just bet that you solemnly do.” She bent to retrieve her bag from the floor, but two pairs of hands landed on her back and shoulders and pressed her back down into her chair.

“We understand, that’s the point,” said George intently. “Because we’re a unit, too.”

“Just as tight as you and Harry and Ron were. We understand how it must feel that they’ve gone and broken it up.”

“I wish the best for them both,” she insisted with high-pitched vehemence.

“Of course. They’ve done nothing wrong. That doesn’t make it feel any better from your end, does it?”

Taking in their unusually solemn expressions, her mind spun to remember exactly what she’d confessed to Fleur the day before, explaining why she wasn’t going to the big celebration party at the Burrow.

She’d bumped into Fleur at the twins’ shop, predictably finding the sophisticated Gauloise perusing the shelves labelled “adult merchandise” with a gleam in her eye that promised good things to come for Bill. And it had seemed a good idea to ask Fleur to explain her absence from the coming night’s party, since Fleur was about the only member of the Weasley family who’d simply accept her wish and not pressure her to change her mind. No pressure hadn’t meant no prying though, and confiding to Fleur — as Hermione had learnt over many waking nights during the war — was actually not only easy, but tempting, because she was both unshockable, irreverent and watertight.

“It’s turned out so different, that’s all. Harry and Ginny are expecting, and now Ron’s all over this Irish girl he’s met, and I just … I miss them, I miss how it was, and I’m not able yet to feel gracious about it.”

“Per’aps you ‘ad ‘oped that you would always be three? An ‘appy ménage a trois?” Fleur asked with her most worldly-wise mien, enunciating the French as gorgeously as she nonchalantly mangled the English.

“Of course not! Well, not like that, but … maybe I did, some way or other. I don’t know — when Ron and I broke up I assumed we’d just go on like before. Sometimes I even miss the war, the way we lived–” Breaking off there, she glanced down and added with a rueful laugh, “That’s really crazy, I know. I … I’ve tried dating too, but I just don’t fit. I’m so used to fitting with them, to there being two of them, and one of me–“

“Well, there are always the terrible twins to consider if you would like to keep it that way. I ‘ave always suspected that they fancy you.” Fleur had broken into a wide smile as Hermione sputtered. “Oh, ma petite, you are blushing! You should not be ashamed; I doubt there ees a single young witch in London ‘oo ‘as not ‘arboured this fantasy…”

Fleur had only been teasing her, raising the elegant arch of her eyebrow with a telling glance in the direction of the counter, where George had been helping customers when Hermione arrived, but Hermione had stammered and protested like her suggestion had been seriously meant, and, oh God, why was she still sitting here? Surely they must have come to poke fun at her, or at least in some horribly misguided attempt to cheer her up. Because the only other reason that came to mind was …

Unthinkable. Impossible.

Quickly, she took her glass and emptied it in three long swallows, ending with a tiny burp. George smiled, and filled her glass again. Her toes curled in her shoes, as the bubbles seemed to prickle out in her blood, warm and strange. That must be a potent spell George had used on the house wine.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” she stated finally, deciding that a dignified, reasonable tone was her only resort. “Fleur was teasing me, of course. It’s true that I miss Harry and Ron, now that they are busy with … with … others. But I don’t begrudge them being happy, and I manage. I’m not that sociable anyway, and unless I really click with people I’d just as well spend time with a good book.”

“What about sex?” asked Fred with studied mildness, and she gaped, snapping for breath.

“You click with us,” said George. “You always have. Whenever we talk with you, it’s one click after another.”

“You don’t talk with me,” she retorted, narrowing her eyes. “You tease me!”

“And you like it,” grinned Fred. “Because deep down you know damned well that you are the Queen of All Things Serious and that you need two court jesters to tilt your crown a bit. Answer my question. What about sex?”

She scowled, stung by the description precisely because she recognized its aptness. “What about sex?”

“Hard to click that way with a book, isn’t it?” asked George quietly. “Do you miss it?”

“I manage,” she choked out. She had no idea why she hadn’t got up to leave the moment the sex word was mentioned. She blamed it on George’s wine. Yes, that was it. The wine. Must be.

“Is it with sex like it is with company in general?” said Fred. “Do you like to be three?”

“Was it like that? You, Harry and Ron?”

Her gaze jumped from one to the other of them, and she put her hands to her face, dizzy and outraged. “No, I … of course not,” she whispered. “It was me and Ron. Only Ron.”

“No wonder you don’t miss it, then,” smirked Fred.

For some reason, that got her furious more effectively than anything else they had said. “Oh no, you don’t get to rag on Ron, not about that,” she hissed. “He was … he was just … We were new to it together, and I was so uptight but he was really gentle and sweet about it, he made me relax and realize that sex could be fun!”

Two sets of blue eyes studied her knowingly. She couldn’t believe she’d said all that. In a half-panic, she reached for her glass and took another few swallows.

“Fun.” George looked like he was tasting the word, gauging the flavour.

“Blimey,” said Fred, shaking his head with narrowed eyes. “I think she’s telling us he didn’t make her come.”

“The only lover you’ve had.” George’s voice was gentle, and held a warmth that she couldn’t wrap her mind around. “That’s a crying shame, Hermione.”

She drew a careful breath and got to her feet with hard-won dignity. “I have no idea what you two think you’re up to. But unless you stop pulling my leg and start talking sense, I’m going home.”

“Wait.” They reached out in perfect synchrony, and took one of her hands each, but she’d had enough. Mocking her lack of experience, that was the final straw. She tore her hands free, snatched up her shoulder bag and marched to the bar, taking her purse out of her pocket and putting some coins on the bar counter. “Thank you,” she said tightly to the bartender.

She made it only barely out the door. Before she had time to Apparate, she had arms around her, from the back and from the front, and there was no way she could get home without risking taking random bits of the two of them with her. She slumped there, defeated, staring down at her shoes to hide the tears suddenly swimming in her eyes. “There are funny pranks, and there’s cruelty,” she said. “I’ve been silly enough to believe you knew the difference.”

Fred actually laughed. “You think we’re pranking you?” She felt a hand stroke away the hair shading her face and tuck it behind her ear. “You’re such a swotty little wonder about everything under the sun, yet you can’t bring yourself to believe that we actually want you?”

She was trembling now, from cold or shock or something else, she didn’t know. But no, looking into his amused eyes, she really couldn’t believe that even they would take a prank this far. They’d never taunted her about anything like this and there had been innumerable times when, separately or together, they’d shown themselves as true friends to her.

“This comes right out of the blue,” she countered. “You can’t blame me for finding it all rather strange and sudden.”

“Not sudden at all.” George’s voice came close to her cheek, his breath warm over her skin. “But you were dating our little brother, weren’t you? And we come with our own set of complications.”

“All right.” She took a breath to steady herself. “All right. Let’s see if I can ask the pertinent question this time. What set of complications would that be?”

“That of being a unit,” said George softly, “that doesn’t want to split up. Believe me, we’ve both had our share of screaming break-ups with women who hated to share either of us with the other. Someone both of us fancy, who’d also fancy both of us — that would be ideal.”

“I doubt that can pose much of a problem,” she said stubbornly. “I bet there are plenty of women who’d find that … interestingly kinky.”

“Maybe so. Do you?” asked Fred directly, and winked. “We’re not asking you to pledge your heart here, gorgeous. So, Ron showed you that sex can be fun. Great. God forbid we rag on ickle Ronniekins.” He ran his thumb over her lips in a way that made her stomach drop in a dizzy, longing fall, and lowered his voice. “Why don’t you come home with us tonight, and we’ll show you that sex can be orgasms.”

His words made a hot, quivering excitement stab through her. She swallowed, and looked at them by turn. “What is this? Good cop, bad cop?”

“I think you lost us there,” said George, shaking his head in good-natured confusion.

“Cops, it’s like Muggle … Aurors, I guess.” Her mouth turned up into a smile she hadn’t even known was coming. “In some TV shows, cop shows, when they’re trying to break a suspect in custody, one of them is kind and understanding while the other is crass and blunt, even brutal…”

George grinned, and Fred looked like he was trying very hard not to do so as he said, “I think I’m insulted. I think she means that I am kind of like Mad-Eye Moody.”

“You’re the wicked one, and George is the sweet one,” she asserted. “Everyone says that.”

“Everyone thinks that I am the wicked one, and George is the sweet one,” said Fred. “But sometimes we turn it about. The important thing to remember if you’re caught in the middle, is that we keep it in balance.”

George leaned forwards to brush his lips over her temple. His voice was naturally a little deeper than Fred’s, one of those tiny differences that let her tell them apart, and now it fell to a seductive timbre. “So, Hermione … would you like to get caught in the middle?”

Her natural caution warred with undeniable temptation. She still could barely believe what they were suggesting, and the jump looked as scary as a leap from a cliff into uncharted water. She nervously pressed her nails into her palms. “God, it’s just so… if I go with you, can we … just try it a little bit and, if it doesn’t feel right, you won’t try to make me–“

“Does this look like the face of a ravisher of unwilling women to you?” asked Fred conversationally of George, who cocked his head smirking.

“Kinder and more righteous features I rarely saw.”

“I don’t mean that,” said Hermione. “Prat. I know you won’t. I’d like to see you try! Just, just so you know I’m … unsure about this, and don’t get the wrong impression–“

“I suppose we’ll just have to work on being convincing,” said George, an intriguingly speculative gleam in his eyes.

“You have to understand,” added Fred, “the point is not to be such bastards that you slam the door leaving and never want to try it again.”

As they smiled at her, each of them offering a hand, it was hard to say who was more wicked and more sweet. Hermione realized, her fingers curling around theirs, that she’d made her decision. She took a deep breath, squeezed their hands, closed her eyes and thought of the little flat above Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

“Apparate!” she said, and was whirled away.

***

The flat was suspiciously tidy. She looked around. “You planned this.”

“In lurid and wicked detail,” confirmed Fred proudly.

“We discussed it last night,” George amended, “and decided to ask you. We weren’t at all sure you’d agree.”

She stood in the middle of the living-room, holding her bag pressed self-consciously to her front, at a colossal loss what more to do or say. The twins were standing to each side, having let go of her hands, seeming to await their cue from her. But she couldn’t meet their eyes, and her heart was hammering crazily in a belated fight-or-flight response.

“I … don’t know what to do,” she admitted, scarcely able to put voice to the words, and it seemed that her awkwardness, excruciating as it felt to her, was as good a key as any to unlock the situation. Fred coaxed her shoulder bag out of her death grip, and George slipped her coat down her arms, and then they turned towards her as one.

“There’s nothing you need to do, love, no right or wrong way,” said Fred with that always-latent, sweet intensity that belied the wicked smirk of his jester’s face.

“Just let us take care of you for starters, if that’s easier,” added George, taking her hand and kissing her palm. “Say if something feels wrong. We’ll listen. You don’t have to worry about that.”

She looked in the direction of their bedroom doors, her stomach churning. “Do we …”

“Nah, come and sit down here first,” said George decisively, leading her by her hand to the big, soft couch in the corner. He sat at one end, and tugged her down next to him, and Fred joined them at her other side.

“Would you like a drink?” asked Fred. “Could take your nerves down a notch.”

“No thanks,” she whispered. “I’m still a bit woozy after the wine I had. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Have you done this before? I mean … the two of you together, with a woman?”

They exchanged glances past her, and then George nodded. “Yeah. A few times. Two different women.”

“Was it …” She swallowed and gave a tiny, sheepish chuckle. “I don’t even know what I really want to ask. I mean, did you like it? How did you … um–“

“First woman we shared,” said Fred, “it was great. It was me dating her at first, but she soundly seduced us both once when we were all drunk. It became a steady arrangement for a couple of months. But she wanted to choose after a while. That was … unacceptable, once we’d taken that step.”

Hermione nodded, noting the way his jaw clenched at the memory. It must have felt like being played against each other, and she could imagine how little the twins would have appreciated that. “And the other woman?”

George shook his head. “That didn’t work out so well. She was keen to try, but when we got around to it, she freaked out. Said it was too intense, two blokes at once. I think she found it weird that we were brothers, too.”

“And that’s a thing you might care to know,” added Fred. “George and I, we don’t get off on each other, we just want to share you. And we do get off on the sharing.” He grinned. “You’re the focus. That means there’ll be more demands on you — but the rewards will be proportionate.”

And that had answered another of her questions, so clearly that it left her flushed and out of breath, heat pooling between her legs at his bluntness. “So you … it’ll be both of you at once, not each of you by turn?”

George raised his fingers to her face, stroking her hair away from her cheek. “Instead of forming a committee to discuss it, why don’t we simply show you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but leaned in and kissed her, a light brush of lips over her own that deepened when she gasped and closed her eyes. His palm lay over her cheek, his thumb caressing her temple as he took advantage of her parted lips and let his tongue glide into her mouth.

Hermione gave a shuddering sigh, meeting his advance with the tip of her tongue, pushing off the back of the couch a little. Immediately there were hands on her shoulders, sliding down her arms, that she instinctively knew weren’t George’s. The hands brushed up and down her sides, grazing the sides of her breasts, and she squirmed, warm and restless, her interest already enticed by the matter-of-fact discussion. She was leaning into George’s kiss, one hand on his shoulder, and worried about whether it would make Fred feel left out, so she arched into his hands with more of an invitation than she’d really felt prepared to give right away. When Fred responded by running his thumbs slowly over the crest of her breasts outside her shirt, rubbing ever so gently at the tips, she moaned, arousal shooting through her from the touch.

“Oh yes.” Fred spoke low, his breath audible in his voice. “You feel that, sweetheart, don’t you? All curious and eager. Knew you’d be.”

As George kissed her with languorous care, his tongue dipping in and out, teeth nipping on her lower lip occasionally, Fred kept up the caress, weighing her breasts in his palms, thumbs busy stroking her nipples until they tingled hard and aching. She had very sensitive breasts; had used to love it when Ron touched them and sucked on them, and the thought of Fred putting his mouth there almost made her pass out with the intense wave of want it brought, like her stomach was tilting and contracting with some unbearably pleasurable hunger. Whimpering a plea, she pushed into his hands, her free hand twining into the soft, long hair at the back of his neck in a shy suggestion.

Instantly, there were fingers moving down her shirt, brushing her skin as they slipped buttons free. She sighed into George’s mouth, then returned the kiss with even greater ardour as she felt his hand alight just above her knee, on her inner thigh, fingertips moving in circles on her skin as they pushed her skirt up. The tension and energy coursing through her made her break off the kiss and throw her head back, gasping. Her heart beat fast and hard as she took stock of the situation — she was sprawled against the sofa’s back rest, one hand at Fred’s neck and one arm around George’s shoulders as George’s warm fingers continued their northwards progress, rucking up her skirt, while Fred slid his hands under her shirt at her shoulders, tugging the material down to her elbows.

“Oh, brother mine,” sighed Fred, his gaze fixed on the gentle, modest swell of her breasts above her unadventurous white bra, sensibly bought on the New Year’s sales at Marks & Spencer. “You have to look at this.”

“I’m not even risking a blink,” chuckled George.

Hermione held her breath, arching her back to help as Fred reached around to snap open the clasp at the back. She wished she’d happened to wear a sexier bra that morning — although when did she ever? — and she was watchful of their reaction, knowing her breasts were definitely on the small side, scarcely handfuls for the two of them. But they didn’t look too disappointed, did they? Fred pushed her bra up and out of the way, smiling in what she had to categorize as a non-disappointed sort of way, and George kept stroking her hair back from her warm cheeks, his gaze moving from her face to her breasts with the softest expression.

“Smallish,” she offered, then immediately felt like kicking herself because it sounded like she was fishing for compliments, when she really only wanted a mite of verbal reassurance.

George shook his head, wonder lighting up in his eyes. “Not worried, are you? Merlin, your tits are beautiful. So soft and …” he smiled, skimming the underside of one breast with his palm — “…pert.” He ran his thumb over the raised, flushed nipple, his eyes darkening when she bit her lip on a moan and turned her head to the side.

Fred bent his head, licking at the tip of the other breast, then sucked it into his mouth, pulling gently on it, and she squirmed at the intense sensation, gasping and whimpering. And then, with a naughty quick smile up at her, George dipped to her other breast, giving it the same attention, and she had never thought anything could feel as good as having both her nipples sucked at the same time, while eager hands ran up and down her thighs, fingers skimming closer and closer to her knickers.

God … she was wet there. Already, so wet. It would be complete mortification when they found out. She tried to clamp her thighs together, but one hand pushed smoothly, gently against the resistance and parted them again, and then there were fingertips pressing against her clit outside her knickers, unerringly finding the best spot and rubbing.

“Oh,” she whimpered, her mouth dry, head tossing. Her thighs fell open, then closed to keep the hand in place. “Oh, that’s so … oh!”

Soft purring and humming sounds reverberated against her breasts. George gently bit down on her nipple, tugging it lightly between his teeth. She looked down, her eyes glazed. It was Fred’s hand between her legs while he suckled her, and George was watching it with narrow eyes, his expression … hungry.

God, they were both fully dressed still, barely a hair out of place, while she looked completely debauched, thighs and arms spread and clothes pushed away, and the contrast made her feel vulnerable in a way that was both unbearably arousing and a little scary. Fred’s fingertips were moving faster over her clit, and a burning heat starting to flush her face, and when her thighs began to lock and tremble, she realized that within a few seconds she was going to…

She scrambled up onto her knees and hands on the sofa, eyes wild and unfocussed as she pushed their mouths and hands away, curling her knees against the deep unsatisfied ache between her legs. A whimper escaped her — her body was not thanking her for snatching away its prize at the last moment.

The twins were both staring at her, part predatory, part surprised, like startled tigers. She was panting like she’d run a mile, and she felt like an idiot.

“Wait,” she gasped. “Wait–“

“It’s all right.” George put a hand on her shoulder blade and stroked her back much in the way of calming a highly-strung thoroughbred. “See? We’re waiting.”

She took a shivery breath of relief. “I — I was going to come.” Her face felt on fire.

Fred exhaled in a soft laugh. “That was the general intention.”

“But — look at you! I was about to come and you’re still cool and in control and, and I look such a mess — a proper mess,” she stammered.

Fred’s mouth curved up further. “A gloriously improper mess, I’d say.”

George eyed her thoughtfully, then took hold of his sweater and pulled it over his head, revealing hard, well-defined muscles and a dusting of ginger hair running down the centre of his stomach. One hand smoothed the side of his pants front down, a bit of a laugh in his eyes suggesting that he was quite aware of how that accentuated the erection trapped there. “Somewhat better?”

And now her throat was dry, just by looking at him. “Better,” she got out. She turned to Fred, reaching for the edge of his sweater and tugging it upwards, too. He gamely raised his arms to help her, his gaze hooded and lazy. Easing the garment up and over his head, she saw the tufts of hair in his armpits, dark copper and musky smelling, and she had to resist burrowing her face there. She’d honestly had no idea that armpit hair could be appealing.

“Now you, Your Glorious Messy-ness.” George reached around her, easing the shirt down and off her arms, and next her bra. Meanwhile, Fred found and pulled the side zipper of her skirt, pushing it down her thighs, then hooked his fingers inside the waistband of her knickers and tights and pulled them down to her knees before she had a chance to react. She squeaked and reached down for them instinctively, and he caught her hand with an inscrutable smile, exchanging a look with George before he flipped her over.

She landed on her back lengthwise on the sofa, legs kicking, her skirt and knickers and tights tugged off her in an instant. Fred straddled her on all fours, tilting his head as he regarded her.

“I think we need to get the baseline established,” he murmured. “We’re seducing you here, sweetheart. Which means that you naked and coming is a part of the plan, not something to worry about.”

“Think of it this way.” George nuzzled her neck, a smile in his voice. “If we let you stay clothed and not coming, wouldn’t that be a grievous disappointment?”

“Tell us no, if that’s how you feel,” offered Fred, more seriously. “A ‘no’ will be respected. Irrational anxieties about the messiness of achieving an orgasm will be disregarded.”

They hovered over her, regarding her with such playful solemnity that she nearly got cross-eyed trying to meet both their gazes.

George murmured, “So? What will it be?”

She swallowed, thought about it for a minute, and said meekly, albeit a bit vexed, “Yes, please. Just don’t be such prats about it.”

Fred grinned a very tiny, very wicked grin. “You will not regret this.”

With that, he sat back on his heels, then placed a warm palm on her inner thigh just above her knee and raised her left leg, hooking it over the back of the sofa. With alarming suddenness, she lay wide open, both twins studying her private parts, their eyes gleaming with a heady mixture of tender awe and rapt greed. Hermione, despite her best intentions, made a small hiccup of self-consciousness and tried to sit up, but fell back with a resigned whimper when two pairs of hands coaxed her gently in place.

“Beautiful,” murmured George, licking his lips. “Do you know what a sweet pussy you have, Hermione?”

“Pink,” whispered Fred. “Swollen…” He closed his hand over the ankle on her raised leg to hold it in place, then brought one hand between her legs, and stroked a fingertip up and down the parted lips of her sex, smiling when she bucked and whimpered at the feather-light touch. “And so soaking wet.”

“So lonely for company.” George shook his head in sympathy, slowly stroking Hermione’s hair away from her face, his fingertips feeling cool on her flushed cheek.

“I think, George, that this pussy needs love.”

“I love it already,” said George sincerely.

“Mmm, me too, at first sight.” Fred lowered his head, rubbing his nose into the sweat-damp curls on her mound and inhaling deeply, and she couldn’t help how her thighs wanted to spread even further, straining as she moaned, “Fred!” Then, remembering that there never was any talking to Fred once his mind was set on something, she whispered, “George…”

George lay down alongside her, his thigh coming heavy over her right leg and pinning it, his lips teasing over her ear. “Right here, love.”

Fred moved lower, the sudden warm slide of his tongue in her slit making her throw her head back and gasp. He licked her in long, slow, sure strokes, from her opening to the base of her clit, and there’d never been a sensation remotely like it. She was only half aware that she was clinging to George’s shoulders, nearly hyperventilating from shocked pleasure and the strain of anticipation. George whispered, “Easy,” and licked the rim of her ear, snaking the tip of his tongue inside, then withdrawing again, while Fred wouldn’t quite touch her clit, only barely push his tongue to the base on each upstroke. She squirmed under their teasing mouths, and tried to angle her hips to catch Fred’s touch better, then turn her head to escape the half-tormenting delight of George’s licks in her ear.

“Does she taste as sweet as she looks?” George didn’t allow her escape, and his voice had taken on that husky depth, sending shockwaves into the sensitive hollow of her ear.

“Mm-hmm.” Fred’s hum reverberated, too, a light vibration through the small, hard tap of flesh he was denying full contact. Hermione groaned softly.

“Please, stop teasing –“

“But teasing is our way, love. You should know.” George probed deep, silky-soft with his tongue in her ear and the sensation of being touched there while she ached for the same caress over her clit was so maddening that she cried out, desperate, near tears with the intensity of wanting it.

“Please, please don’t tease me anymore!”

“For pity’s sakes, Fred, have you a heart of stone?” sighed George.

She could hear Fred’s smile in his voice. “Not so stony it can withstand a plea like that.”

The sensation that followed was so intense and rich and everywhere that she couldn’t process it at first, just open her eyes and her mouth in wonder as she tried to take it in. She raised herself on her elbow, whimpering as she saw Fred’s red head nestled between her thighs, his eyes lust-glazed and wicked, cheeks hollowing, lips pursed tight around her —

She squeaked. Fred was suckling her clit. Milking it, in firm continuous pulls that she could see as she felt them, his tongue rolling gently over the tiny pearl he held captive, and it had to be the most exquisite feeling she’d experienced in all her life. A liquid burning pleasure spread from the small point of contact, thrumming deep in her stomach and along her limbs, her spine, but most of all right there where he had her caught, sensation coiled hard and tight as he made her clit pulse to the rhythm of his mouth.

There was someone making sound in the room, moans of such indecent abandon that they made her look around shocked for the source, and then she realized it was herself and shook her head in bewilderment, struggling half-scared to regain some control.

“No, it’s fine,” crooned George in her ear. “You’re gorgeous, love, so bloody hot, singing to us like that …” He’d moved to sit behind her, and was kissing her neck, massaging her shoulders, her upper arms. He brought his hands around to her breasts, squeezing gently and tugging on her nipples, rolling and pinching them. She felt a burning wave of heat flood her face and neck, and cried out. She was so close, poised to fall, and she didn’t know what she needed to get there–

Fred never let go, but she saw him exchange a glance with George over her head, felt George’s nod where her head rested on his shoulder. Fred sucked on her clit in a harder, more intense rhythm, in firmer, faster pulls. George trailed one hand down her ribcage to her hip, reached beyond Fred’s mouth, and pressed two long fingers inside her, curling them and rubbing in some fiendishly clever way.

It took only seconds before she flew apart shouting and sobbing, convulsing in Fred’s mouth and around George’s fingers, her hands grasping at Fred’s shoulders and hair as she twisted and rocked between the two red-haired devils who held her at their mercy.

Afterwards, with the aftershocks ebbing and shimmering away like traces of magic, she couldn’t bring herself to look at them straight away, breathing hard with her eyes squeezed shut where she sagged dazed over Fred’s head, George embracing her from the back.

Fred released her clit with a lazy lick and she could feel him moving up on his knees between her legs, before he drew her against his chest. “Hey, sex bomb.”

She gave a very quiet whimper.

“Hermione Granger, lost for words?” He breathed husky laughter into her hair. “I must have done a decent job of that, then.”

“Don’t brag,” said George over her shoulder. “I helped.”

“Oh, sure. And whose jaw took the strain?”

“In fact, I’d love to help more,” said George pointedly.

“I wasn’t really complaining.”

“Maybe not, but I’m insisting.”

And that did it. She clapped her hands to her face, shaking.

“Hermione!” The exclamation came from two voices as one, in a rush of concern. One of the twins carefully pried her hands away from her face. Red-faced with giggles, she took in their anxious expressions, feeling a surge of joyous affection at how fast they’d gone from their habitual equilibrist game to warm protectiveness.

“You two–!”

They beamed at her with delighted relief. “Yes? Go on,” invited Fred.

“You’re incorrigible, maddening, and — and–“

“Sexually skilled?” George sounded hopeful.

“I suppose we’re past the point where I could plausibly deny that.”

“Want to test our skill some more, then?”

She drew a deep breath, looking from one to the other of them. They looked so earnest, so playful, so … turned on. She was suddenly acutely aware of being caught not only between two men, but between two hard and ready ones, and while she had a fair idea what to do with one, the logistics of two had her distracted.

“What, worried about the maths?” Fred grinned. “Never mind, we have ideas.”

“Which you’ll love,” promised George in a seductive whisper against her temple.

“I … would like to be in a bed,” she said, biting her lip because it seemed a pretty pedestrian and yet presumptuous request. “In your bed … is that okay?”

Fred stroked her cheek. “In fact, it’s brilliant. Except we have two beds, you know, both of them too narrow for the three of us. I’ll just go and — hm. Make my bed large enough.”

“Not to mention make your bed,” scoffed George with a smirk, and Fred grinned again and shrugged.

“Come here, sweetheart.” George had her by the hand, pulling her up on shaky legs. She swayed into him, raised her head to look in his eyes, and at once found herself being kissed, with a tender, lazy thoroughness that made her press against his erection with renewed arousal. It still felt strange being naked when he was half-dressed, but it turned her on too, felt decadent and thrilling. And he winked at her, looking at her while they kissed, and teasingly thrust his pelvis back at her, mimicking her wanton rubbing against him which made her smile into his kiss. When their mouths parted, they were breathless and laughing softly.

“This … I mean, what we just did, all of us … it’s the strangest thing that’s happened to me since … the war, at least,” she confessed.

“But nicer than that, I hope.”

“Oh yes. By a long shot.”

“Good.” He smoothed her eyebrow with his thumb, an odd, careful expression in his eyes. “You know, you deserve it if anyone ever did,” he said softly. “To feel that good, to have someone see how beautiful you are, and show you.”

She blushed, a little unnerved by his seriousness, and uncertain what he meant. “I’m not–“

“You are.” It was Fred now, behind her. “Bedroom’s ready. Be my guest?”

He took her by the hand, and George had her other hand, and they walked her into Fred’s room as though it were a delicious surprise. And it was so lovely her breath hitched at the sheer forethought of it — the enlarged bed took up most of the floor space, and there were dark blue cotton sheets and a velvet throw, and a conjured vase of pale, full-blown roses shedding petals on the nightstand, and a myriad stars and a crescent moon shining in through the curtain-less window despite the overcast, rainy night.

“Not bad,” George admitted.

Fred looked a little too casual, but Hermione leaned in, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “This is one of those instances where you were sweet instead of wicked, isn’t it?”

“Of course, you say that without knowing what we plan to do with you in that bed.” But his cheeks were flushed, a little, and she knew that he had wanted very much to please her, and that he was chuffed that he’d succeeded.

“All right, done with discussing the decor,” George suggested. He gave Hermione a friendly pat on the rump, nudging her up on the bed. “You in the middle, my lovely.”

“Take off the rest of your clothes now,” she pleaded. “It’s not fair that you’re not even naked yet.”

“She’s got a point,” said Fred, put his hands to his waistband and shed his pants and boxers. George followed suit, and Hermione sat on her heels in the middle of the large bed and stared at two quite impressive, identical erections, and not only that, they were so similar in length and girth to Ron’s, set in the same landscape of coppery red curls, that she was thrown into a fit of nervous giggles.

Fred cleared his throat and exchanged a glance with his twin under raised eyebrows. “That’s … an interesting reaction.”

“No, no … I’m sorry,” she apologized, biting her lip to stop the laughter. “It’s just … I’m thinking that this must be the standard Weasley edition.”

“We don’t even want to know,” said George firmly, but he was fighting down a smile, she could tell. He put his hands on the mattress and stalked her on all fours. “Besides, this is the deluxe edition, nothing less.”

“It’s funny how all men seem to think that,” she said breathlessly.

“And how many men had you slept with again?” inquired Fred, getting into the bed on her other side. He smirked at her blush. “Maybe you’ve just been lucky.”

She bit at her lip, a small rush of nervousness churning in her stomach. As a matter of fact, Ron had been that big, and it had hurt with him, no matter how gentle he’d tried to be. But she’d been a virgin then, the first time, and they’d only done it a handful of times after that. Maybe it would be better now that she wasn’t sore from the newness of it, and her partner had more experience. Partners. God, this was strange.

“Stop that,” Fred admonished her with mock sternness. He lay down and pulled her down to lie beside him and touched a teasing finger to her lower lip where her teeth had worried it. Quickly, he leaned forwards to soothe the spot with a kiss. “It’s out of your hands now, wench. We will have our wicked way with you, so stop fretting.”

George’s hand ran over her waist and her backside in a gentle, lazy caress, as he lay down at her other side and kissed her shoulder. “Put a different way, it’s my turn now,” he said, smiling down at her. “And I won’t hurt you.”

“As if I would,” protested Fred indignantly, and George sniggered.

“Listen to him now. That ‘bad Auror’ act of his is rather shaky.”

“Shut up, both of you,” sighed Hermione and leaned in to kiss the closest of them, who happened to be Fred.

It all sort of fell into place then. Fred kissed her back with slow, sensual abandon, while George kneaded her breasts and let his hand drift down between her legs again, entering her with two fingers and moving them in and out of her slowly. And then Hermione turned to kiss George, and he slid his tongue in and out of her mouth like his fingers slid in and out down there, while Fred bent his head over her and licked the tips of her breasts into hard aching points. She moved between kissing the two of them, kisses that grew gradually more heated and sloppy as their arousal grew stronger.

And that was another thing. The twins weren’t in perfect control anymore. Fred’s breath caught in his throat on a soft fierce growl as she shyly took his cock in her hand, exploring with gentle strokes, then firmer ones when he closed his hand over hers and showed her how; George was moaning quietly as he thrust his cock against her hip, his fingers into her heat, his tongue into her mouth. She could tell, he wanted inside her so badly. She wanted him there too, her legs sprawled and bent at the knees, her hips tilted and rocking in time with the slick slow rhythm of his fingers.

“Please, please,” she whispered between kisses, her head thrashing, and they smirked at her, sighed over her, murmured to her, hoarse endearments designed to excite and inflame.

“Now who was it talking about my heart of stone?” inquired Fred at last. “Our little Hermione’s good and ready to fuck, George.”

“Are you?” asked George of her directly, tenderly, and she groaned.

“Yes, oh, now, please–“

“Up,” he told her, guiding her to a sitting position and then around with his large sure hands until she was on all fours, heart pounding with arousal and adrenaline, because this was different than she’d imagined, and nothing she’d ever done before.

Fred stroked his hand between her shoulder blades, then pushed down firmly. “Arch your back, thrust your arse out. Don’t look at me like that; it’s an easier angle for penetration. Spread your knees for him.” She obliged although her legs felt like water, all of a sudden, and he drew a sharp breath. “Yeah. Hell, you look delicious.”

George was behind her, one hand curving and closing over her hip as he used his other hand to part her labia for his cock. He slid the head back and forth in her wetness a few times, and then pressed it inside her opening in a deliberate firm push. Her breath left her in a stuttered exclamation and she hung her head. Already she felt stretched too far, opened too wide, her muscles clutching at him and holding in instinctive defence.

“Fuck,” George breathed behind her, his voice all but gone. “Sweetheart … relax. You feel so good. Velvet and honey…” He ran his hands up and down the trembling muscles of her thighs, managing to loosen her tension while he made several more shallow, careful thrusts. “Relax,” he whispered again, and then pushed the rest of the way in one smooth glide, stretching her so it burned.

Yet he’d kept his promise; it didn’t hurt. Of if it did, the discomfort was part and parcel of the sensual pleasure, pointless to distinguish from it. She whimpered while he held there, her body gradually adjusting around the unyielding fullness inside.

“Open your eyes, gorgeous.” She blinked, and looked straight into Fred’s gaze; blue on fire. He smiled at her, smiled brilliantly like a wicked Lucifer, all-knowing of sin. “You look incredible,” he whispered, “like the gods created you just for this.” He raised his hands to weigh her breasts in his palms, flicking his thumbs over the achingly taut tips, and then kissed her hard just as George made the first deep, slow thrust.

Her cry was caught by Fred’s mouth, and he pinched her nipples between his fingers, tugging at them rhythmically. She pushed back against George’s thrusts, whining in her throat because each impact felt better and more intense than she was sure she could stand. Scrambling with her hand she located Fred’s thigh and followed it up, found his erection and ran her thumb in a circle over the tip. It was wet and slick and Fred tore away from the kiss, gasping. She stared back in his hooded, bright eyes, panting in the rhythm of her and George’s fucking, and then she closed her hand over the head of Fred’s cock and slid her palm up and down, moving the foreskin, spreading the wetness.

“Fuck,” whispered Fred intently, his face shocked into a tense grimace and his eyes falling shut, squeezing tight. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

George leaned over her, his sweat-damp belly and chest curving against her back as he supported himself on one long, muscular arm and nuzzled her neck, pumping into her with hard, deliberate strokes. His long hair swept along her shoulder. “Eloquent bastard, isn’t he?” he offered hoarsely.

It probably said something about Fred’s predicament that there came no retort zinging back, just a faint, rueful twitch over the corners of his mouth as he rocked up into Hermione’s hand. The angle was awkward; it was hard for her to withstand George’s strong movements on only one arm, and she nearly buckled and fell. But she could think of something else to try, not that she knew that she was much good at it, but just the thought of doing it sent a hot shiver through her.

“Fred,” she moaned urgently. “Want you in my mouth.”

“Fuck,” gasped Fred again, and George laughed silently with his mouth against Hermione’s shoulder.

She doubted she could get any more flushed than she was already, but still she felt the prickle of embarrassment in her cheeks as she back-pedalled. “I mean, unless you think that’s not–“

Now Fred was laughing too, and she cringed, until he opened his eyes and she saw the raw, helpless lust there. “A vile and unseemly idea,” he drawled, getting up on his knees. “But since you insist…” He held his cock with one hand, and cupped the back of her head in the palm of the other. “George,” he said tightly, “if you can take things slow for a moment so we can do the introductions without her choking–”

George held nearly still, just rocking softly back and forth, moaning quietly at the changed pace, and Hermione opened her mouth around the flared head of Fred’s cock, rearing back a moment at the thick salty-sweet flavour, then inching back, swirling her tongue over him, learning the taste and topography. Fred’s breath caught sharply when she ran the tip of her tongue down the slit that leaked the sharp-tasting moisture. He rocked against her tongue, wanting in, needing more, and she tensed, realizing too late how vulnerable she’d be without her hand to guide how deep and fast to take him.

He raised her chin with a finger, his blue eyes boring into her anxious, dazed gaze. “Told you to stop fretting, didn’t I?” She shuddered, and he ran his thumb over her jaw, just a light stroke there to indicate his wish. “Let me in, Hermione.”

She relaxed her mouth, let him slide in, and Fred’s hands were both on her head now, guiding her while he thrust gently. She felt the heavy, hot glide of his penis over her tongue, between her lips, and pushed back against George again, moaning in signal for him to pick up the pace.

George groaned with relief as he withdrew and slammed back, quickly picking up a harder, faster rhythm than before. He was pushing her mouth onto Fred’s cock, but Fred deflected the impact, controlling it with a hand on her head and another around the base of his cock. Gradually he made her take more, finding how far she could let him without gagging, and the feeling of losing control, of leaving it in their hands flooded her with a wild relief.

They were all well past the point of eloquence now. George pounded her hard, grunting with each impact, his fingers digging into her hips. Fred was panting, groaning tender, dirty encouragement as she sucked him, and Hermione, mouth and body full, could only rock between them and feel the tension mount in her. Her clit ached for attention and she whimpered in grateful eagerness when George took one hand from her hip and brought it between her legs.

“Need this?” muttered George.

“Mmm-hm,” she managed around her thrusting mouthful.

“Going to jerk you off. Want you to come so hard for us. Want you to love this,” he told her tightly, and did exactly as promised, pinched her clit gently between slick fingertips and rolled and tugged on it, in the fast rhythm of his thrusts. Hermione cried out entranced and let Fred’s cock out of her mouth, panting fast for air into her lungs, feeling the coiling tension before a climax start to build.

“Fuck,” croaked Fred near despair, sliding his fingers deeper into her hair. “So fucking close, love. Use your tongue. Flick your clever tongue for me.” He pumped his cock with his fist, and Hermione summoned the concentration to lash her tongue in a fast blur over the head, moaning all the while and starting to shudder, as George’s fingers on her clit and his slamming thrusts brought her closer and closer to coming. Suddenly semen spurted on her tongue, spilled over her chin and neck, Fred grunting out loud and trembling and his hips bucking in erratic jerks against her. She lapped up and swallowed some of his come, kept swirling her tongue while her own climax broke and she stiffened, then rocked forwards in reflexive waves with drawn-out, shaky cries as George kept fucking her through her orgasm.

She fell to her elbows, dazed and spent, her head in Fred’s lap as he collapsed too. He gently raised her by the shoulders, draping her arms around his neck and kissing her, fierce and out of breath. “You’re amazing, amazing,” he murmured. He licked his semen off her chin, her neck and she shivered.

“Raise her up,” gasped George in a tone not to be argued with.

She hung on Fred’s shoulders while he got up on his knees again in a rather wobbly motion, bringing her up to sit on her knees too, which changed the angle of George’s thrusts so he hit something strange inside — the same sensitive place he’d rubbed with his fingers earlier. He was bumping into it hard now and even though she was getting sore that particular friction felt wonderful. She sobbed and shook her head in disbelief as she realized she was starting to build again already, except George seemed close to losing it now and she didn’t know if there was time.

George grabbed one of her arms from Fred’s shoulder and put it between her legs without ceremony. “You do it,” he ordered.

She reached back to her stretched entrance, touching his cock where it slid in and out of her, slick with her juices, feeling the slap of his balls, then rubbed with her fingers over her mound, too sensitive to take direct stimulation on her clit so close on the heels of her previous orgasm. Her back was flush with George’s front and her arm clutched over Fred’s shoulder and Fred was licking her neck and George pistoning inside her and someone had their hands on her breasts, and as George jerked hard in orgasm, she tensed and shook and shook on the edge, turning her face into Fred’s shoulder to muffle her cry as it all finally broke in streams of pleasure that seemed impossibly shivery-soft and gentle compared to the frantic motion that had set it off. George’s final thrusts pushed her hard against Fred, and through the haze of sensation she heard one or other of them repeat her name, slurred and sweet like in a fever dream.

They made it down onto the mattress in a tangle of sweaty limbs, George still behind her, Fred at her front, their hands stroking down her flanks, mouths brushing against her shoulders and palms as they panted and made wordless, low noises of satisfaction.

She felt so boneless and so astonished, she just lay there a sprawled mess and caught her breath, eyes closed, managing an occasional “mmmhm” in reply to their equally intelligent input. She thought she would have smiled if her mouth weren’t so dry.

An indeterminable period later she swam up to consciousness to the sound of Fred’s amused voice. “Do you suppose we may have inadvertently killed her with sex?”

Hermione raised a limp hand and swatted his chest, and felt George’s soft rumble of laughter behind her. “Am alive,” she muttered. “Am awake … I think?” She pried an eye open. Then another one. A feeling of sheer amazedness engulfed her at the content, sated look of Fred’s face in front of her, at the warmth of George’s arm around her.

Wow. They had really done that. She’d had sex with the twins. With Fred and George, both at once. And it had been just … whoa. Intense. Good, so good her body still hummed with the goodness of it.

Her sluggish mind kicked into gear, and a flurry of ‘what now’s and ‘what if’s and ‘but’s and ‘perhaps’es started beating their wings inside her head. Slowly, she sat up, hugging her knees, aware of two men watching her. A hand stroked slowly down her back.

“All right?” It was George asking.

“Yeah. I’m thirsty,” she said distractedly. She needed to pee, too, and she could tell that she was going to leak come all down her leg as soon as she got into a vertical position. For some reason, there being two of them made everything a bit more awkward. If there was one man, she would have just cuddled up to him and laughed off all the messy, clumsy parts that came after sex. But they were watching, and sort of anticipating her reactions, and–

Fred got his wand from the nightstand and conjured a pitcher of ice water and a glass. She held the cold, dew stained glass and drank greedily, handing it back to him next. He poured another glass that he and George shared, while she scooted over to the edge of the bed and put her feet on the floor. “Have to clean up,” she muttered. “Ai!” She winced and blushed as she felt the warm trickle down her leg. And damn it, she was going to have to walk out of the room stark naked. And was she expected to stay the night? Or to hang around for a little cuddle and then leave? And if she did stay? What was going to happen the next morning?

“Hey.” Suddenly there was an arm around her shoulders, and Fred leaned forwards to look her in the eyes. “You’re not allowed to leave the room unless you swear that it’s not an excuse to go and have a panic attack.”

She shook her head. “No. I have to pee. And take care of…” she gestured quickly to her lap — “this, and–“

George rolled over to the edge of the bed, too. “Right. We’re walking you there.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or get annoyed. “There’s no need for you to walk me to the loo!”

He took her hand, laced his fingers with hers. “Maybe not, but you look a little too close to scared for my liking.”

She remembered what they had told her earlier, about the girl who had indeed freaked out and dashed off once they tried the threesome, and realized they might have valid reason for their concern.

“I’m not scared,” she explained softly. “Just … shook up a bit, I guess, and a bit embarrassed about the … well, the sticky realities. And not sure what’s happening next. I liked what we did. A lot.”

Fred sat next to her on her other side, leaned in and kissed her cheek. “What happens next is something we figure out together. Hermione, don’t be embarrassed. About any of it.” He looked as serious as she’d ever seen him. “Maybe we’re not all that confident, either. It’s not as if this is something we’ve done before.”

She stared, as touched by his honesty as she was confused by the admission. “But you said you had–“

“That was different. Shagging and fun, and not much more than that. You,” said Fred quietly, “are the girl we could never agree on. The one we both wanted equally, so we made the tough, democratic decision, that neither of us could have you. Until my baby brother overheard you stammering to Fleur that you’d never dreamed of being with both of us, and got it into his head that you were protesting far too much.”

“I was,” she whispered. “But … those were strictly fantasies, you know, the kind that … stay between myself and my own hands.”

They both paused to look at her, raising their eyebrows and catching their breath. She gave a half-choked laugh, and admitted sheepishly, “Well, my amount of experience may not be impressive, but that doesn’t mean I lack practice.”

“That mental image is doing nothing to lessen the degree to which we fancy your sweet arse off,” said Fred in a husky voice, running his fingers into her hair at the back and giving it a playful tug.

“The thing is, it matters with you,” said George. “But we don’t want that to freak you out, either. Because we understand it’s complicated — to be in a relationship that would be generally frowned upon. But we’ll give it a chance, if you will.”

“On a lighter note,” said Fred, “the worst we would risk would be to suffer ridiculous amounts of really amazing sex.”

Her mouth quirked. “Right,” she said after a small pause. Truthfully, it was too much to process right away, and she wasn’t at all used to both of them being that serious for that long. Well, all things being relative. “Now, listen. I’m not freaked out. Nor running off anywhere. But I really need to pee.” She grinned. “Preferably without a chaperone. Please?”

They laughed then, and let her go with a gentle smack and a kiss on her bum, and somehow the little talk had calmed her nerves enough that walking naked out of the bedroom with George’s come running down her thigh didn’t seem such a big deal after all.

She used the toilet and found a clean towel that she wrung in soapy water in the sink and washed herself with, then quickly plaited her hair in a messy braid and went back to the bedroom. She came silently on her bare feet, and stopped short in the doorway and watched — they were lying on the bed, each propped on an elbow and facing each other, mirror images talking together in a murmur, and it made her smile to look at them. They were discussing something about the business, ideas and smart remarks bouncing off each other, but broke off when she entered the room.

Fred held up the bedcovers. “Get in here,” he suggested, and she crawled up to them and settled in snugly between them. And it turned out that it was quite possible to cuddle with two men at once, after all; with Fred’s knee slyly inserting itself between her thighs, and George’s warm body flush along the back of hers.

“So,” George said, kissing her neck. “Did our sinister plan work?”

“Depends. What was the sinister plan?”

“To sweep you off your feet, naturally.”

“You did show me that sex can be orgasms,” she said with a bit of a smirk into the pillow. “I freely admit that you made good on your promise.”

They beamed down at her, then at each other, then at her again.

“We can show you more!” offered Fred.

“Sex,” murmured George, running his tongue deliciously over her shoulder, “can be you waking up from both of us taking turns to lick you, until you’re stretching and purring like a cat in a sunny spot.”

“Sex can be breakfast in bed, and lunch can be you on the kitchen table,” said Fred with a promising wink that made her squirm against his thigh. “And incidentally, it’s my turn.”

“Sex can be a backrub and a cuddle if you’re not in the mood,” George reassured her.

Fred reached down and tenderly squeezed her bum. “Sex can be as wicked or sweet as you like it.”

Too tired for decisions, but feeling strangely optimistic about the untraditional arrangement they were suggesting, and very happy at the thought of being shown all this and more, Hermione simply reached to kiss each of them by turn.

“Then I believe,” she said, “that I’ll take half of one and fifty percent of the other.” She smiled up at them in mischievous reassurance. “Since it’s only fair, and I know that you do like to keep it in balance.”

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