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"Hermione's Bucket List," she read aloud. "Harry, what is this?"

"It's a list of things to do before you die. You know… before you kick the bucket?"

"Harry, isn't that a little morbid?" She looked up, suddenly worried about her friend. "Is everything alright?"

"Honestly, Hermione, I'm not sick and I'm not about to kill myself. This is a life-affirming exercise. I did one for Ron as well."

Hermione read over the list of things to do. There were options such as bungee jumping and learning to fly. Something called zorbing turned up on the list about half way through, along with the words Paris in Spring. She was about to tell him how ridiculous this all was, but the barista brought their coffees over.

She watched Harry smile up at the swarthy man and the guy winked - winked - as he set the cups down.

"Harry, isn't that the waiter that was flirting with you last week?"

"His name is Vasili. He's Greek and on holiday." Harry glanced back over his shoulder at the retreating butt and grinned.

"Even in the Muggle world you pick up just like that." Ron clicked his fingers as he dropped into his seat. "I’m a hero, too. Why aren't I managing to snitch any snatch?"

"Honestly, Ronald, do you have to be so crude?"

"We're blokes, 'Mione. You should be used to us by now." Ron turned to Harry. "At least he isn't some blond, poncy Malfoy lookalike, like you normally go for."

That was a cue for their bickering to start and Hermione tuned out to concentrate on the lists.

Finally Ron took a moment to look at her. "Why do you have a list with my name on it? Hermione, we're not at school anymore. I don't have to follow your bloody study timetables."

"This is Harry's handwriting. And if you take a moment to read it you will see that it's not a list I'd ever write. It has 'have a threesome' on it."

"It does?" Ron snatched the parchment from her hands and proceeded to read it.

"Did you put threesome on all of the lists?" Hermione made a grab for Harry's but he pulled it away. She had to deploy her mother voice. "Give it here." A quick glance showed it was barely populated. "Why do you only have three things on your list?"

She passed it to Ron so he could read the three points: have a threesome, go zorbing and fall in love.

"What's zorbing?" Ron asked.

"Oh," Harry launched into an explanation. "You climb in this giant plastic ball and roll down a steep hill in it."

"Why?"

"Because it's fun, I guess. We'll have to try it and find out."

"Harry, you haven't answered my questions."

"Okay. Here's my idea. We're all twenty-eight now, and we've been done with school and settled into careers for a decade and despite winning that war thing, we haven't been having any fun."

"Except for you and barista boy," Ron said.

"And half the male population of England," Hermione added under her breath.

"Then, to be clearer, you two aren't having any fun. So when I saw this movie about these two old guys making a list of all the things they want to do before they die, I thought that we should do it too. Except, if we let Hermione write her list it will be full of freeing all the house elves and becoming a Master in Potions and Transfiguration on top of the Arithmancy and Ancient Runes masteries she already has. And Ron's would be completely sex and Quidditch focused. So, I thought we'd write each other’s." He grinned.

"But you still put 'have a threesome' on everyone’s?"

"You seem really obsessed with that threesome idea, Hermione. Anything you want to tell us?" Ron waggled his eyebrows and Hermione sent a silent, wandless stinging hex to his butt.

"Everyone should experience a threesome once in their life, Hermione. Ron's will be with two girls, mine with two guys and you can choose which combination of gender you want to experiment with."

"Very generous of you," she said and he chose to ignore the rather obvious sarcasm.

"I'm all for anything that means I can actively pursue two women at a time. Give me Harry's list, Hermione, and I'll add to it."

"Harry." Hermione sighed. She didn't like disappointing him, but honestly, she didn't have time for anything this frivolous. "I have too many other lists – serious lists – to complete to think about spending my time with this."

Both boys looked at her. Ron could do a commendable pout and something about those big green eyes behind the wire rims made Harry look like a kitten begging for milk.

"But we always have our adventures together, 'Mione," Ron said.

"And I've lost so many people that I want the ones I have left to be happy." Harry's not-so-subtle sniff only made the guilt trip more obvious and Hermione was determined to ignore it for once. Then he did that thing from the movie he'd taken her to a few years back. Big eyes and a slightly hopeful expression; the man was a human Puss-in-Boots. "Please?"

"Fine. But I'm going to put something serious on your lists."

"Aw, Hermione," Ron whined. "This is supposed to be fun!"

She growled as she grabbed his list back from him and began to add to it. She hated when they won.

Three weeks later she stared at the list again. Harry had made them all promise to make some progress before the month was up, and every week at brunch he sent her hopeful looks that quickly turned to a frown. Ron, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He'd taken a trip to Bray Lake to bungee jump and finally gone out clubbing with Harry, managing to hook up despite the fact it was a gay bar. He'd been so excited at the number of straight girls who went there to get away from scamming guys at normal bars that he'd started going with Harry every weekend. He was also planning a trip to New Zealand to tick off both travel by airplane, and visit a foreign country.

Hermione had gone with him for the bungee jump, but chickened out at the last minute. She'd planned to go with them to the club, but had to work late, and she'd looked at the broom Harry had loaned her and flat out refused to straddle it. She'd yet to tick off anything, and they were going to be unbearable if she turned up at brunch next week with nothing done. After all, she'd always been unbearable when they didn't tick off their assignments. To make it worse, Harry had added some stupid charm to the lists so that when they ticked something off, the other two would know about it.

She figured that desperate times called for desperate measures and went searching for someone able to help with what Ron and Harry called living and what she called a colossal waste of time.

She pushed open the door to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes five minutes before closing.

"Little Hermione Granger," said Fred.

"In our store! Is it the end of days, Fred?"

"Much more likely we've done something wrong, George. Have we done something wrong?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. I need your help."

Fred's hands leapt to his heart as if it had suddenly gone weak. "There's something we could do to help the great Hermione Granger?"

"I never would have thought it before. Perhaps she's in the market for a daydream."

"More likely she needs a way to get out of meetings. Grab her some puking pastilles."

George turned to the display cabinet behind him and carefully placed a purple box on the counter. "Guaranteed to get you out of any boring department gathering, and if taken at the right time you might vomit on the boss' shoes."

"I don't want puking pastilles," she said. "Nor any daydream charms. I need help with this." She plonked the list on the counter and Fred started to read it.

"What is it?" George asked as he returned the pastilles to their place.

"This bucket list idea of Harry's."

"Oh, he mentioned that at lunch last weekend. A lunch you didn't attend." George sent a glare her way. "Mum gets upset when you miss too many."

Hermione waved her hand as if shooing that particular problem away. "I'll be there this week. But I have bigger problems. Harry made Ron and I agree to this bucket list thing and they've started ticking things off and I've gotten nowhere. You two are…" She searched for the correct word.

"Charming?" Fred asked without looking up from the paper.

"Irresistible?" George added.

"Completely irresponsible," she said.

"Hey, we're respectable business owners now," George said. "Members of the Diagon Alley Chamber of Commerce."

"Your brother and his horrible friend want me to go out and have some fun, and you two seemed like the best people to help."

"Why can't they help?"

"Because then they'd know I can't manage to have fun by myself."

George snorted and looked to Fred to share the laugh, but he was still engrossed in the list.

"Hermione, just tell them to bugger off. You don't need to do what they say."

"It's a list. I have to check things off."

"Well, I don't think –"

"We'll help," Fred interrupted. He handed the list over to George. "Which points do you want help with?"

"Any. All."

"Have a threesome?" George asked. He waggled his eyebrows. "We can help with that right now."

"Oh, honestly." Hermione tried to snatch the paper back, but George climbed the ladder behind the counter so he could read it safely. "I wasn't talking about that one. I do want something ticked off before brunch tomorrow, though."

"Luckily for you, we can manage that." Fred waved his wand at the door, setting the wards for the night. "We'd be happy to have such a lovely young woman on our arm at the club tonight. Wouldn't we George?"

"Definitely." George handed the parchment back and led the way to their flat above the shop. "Floo back to your place and get dressed for a night out, love. We'll pick you up in an hour or so."

George pushed her through the Floo and she quickly showered and used the special potion on her hair that made it curl just so. After she put some make-up on, she had forty-five minutes before the twins were due. She opened her cupboard and stared at its contents. There were jeans there, for the days they brunched in the Muggle world, but most of it was work clothes and robes. She pulled on jeans that were a little tighter than she normally wore and began trying on every top in her wardrobe.

Forty minutes later, having tried everything more than once, she went back to a simple purple singlet with a v-neck that hinted at cleavage she didn't really have. She was going to freeze.

The Floo flared in the other room and she walked out to find identical grins on identical men in matching outfits and concluded that the Weasley twins really did scrub up well.

"You look rather delectable, Hermione, but don't you think you'll be cold?" Fred said.

"I can't find a jumper that goes. I guess once I'm dancing I won't notice the cold?"

"You guess?"

"Well, I've never been clubbing before." She grabbed her coat from behind the door. "That's why it's on the list."

She saw them exchange wide-eyed looks. "Hermione Granger, you're twenty-eight years old," Fred said.

"And you've never been clubbing?" George added in that speech exchange thing they often did.

She shook her head.

"Well, we'll be sure to make this a very enjoyable experience." Fred placed her hand on his arm and George took a position to the other side of her.

"Ready, Fred?"

"Ready, George."

"What if I'm not ready?" Hermione asked, but she was already spinning into nothingness. They arrived in an alley in Muggle London.

"Too late, love," one of them said, she wasn't sure who. "You don't get a chance to back away."

The club itself was dark and crowded and smelled of sweat, just as she'd always imagined. Being between two identical, gorgeous redheads did mean she was getting a lot of envious looks from women. And men, she noticed. "Is this a gay bar?"

"Yup," Fred murmured into her ear. "We're meeting Harry. What do you want to drink?"

"Vodka?"

He walked into the crowd and George pulled her onto the dance Floor. They were surrounded by people forcing them to dance close, and when Fred rejoined them carrying three bottles, she found herself with a tall, warm body pressed against her from both sides.

"What is it?" she yelled over the thumping music.

"Vodka and raspberry, all pre-mixed in a bottle for ease of transportation. Try it."

The drink tasted like a soft drink and she knew her parents would be horrified by the amount of sugar in this single bottle. Still, it went down easily and soon George was going for the next round. She'd finished three and was clinging to Fred to counteract her dizziness when Neville and Harry found them.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, looking to the twins for the answer as Hermione latched herself onto Neville and then him.

"We're dancing, of course. Why? Do you do different sorts of things at the club?" Fred added a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, leaving Neville blushing.

"There are far more comfortable places to do that than in a dirty, cramped toilet stall at a gay bar, Fred. Now, what have you done to Hermione?"

"Why has anyone done anything to me?" she asked, taking care not to slur her words, though she thought the sentence wasn't as eloquent as she normally made them.

"You don't normally kiss my cheeks five times in the first ten seconds you see me."

"She's just having fun, Harry." Fred wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder, leaving her feeling overly warm and very happy.

"Don't worry. I won't let her have anymore."

She frowned at George. He wasn't allowed to be the respectable one.

"I can drink if I want to. Have to pee first, though." She nodded decisively and started weaving her way towards the ladies, leaving the boys laughing behind her.

After she relieved her bladder, she stood at the mirror trying to decide if it was worth fixing her hair.

"You're the luckiest girl in the bar tonight, aren't you?" a girl who reminded her strongly of Lavender Brown said. "Two gorgeous redheads on your arm. Which one's yours? I'd like to try for the other."

"Oh, neither," she said, feeling a little confused.

The blonde rubbed her hands together. Actually rubbed her hands together. "Maybe I'll try for both."

"They're gay," she said quickly. "Both of them."

"Damn. What a waste." The Lavender-clone shrugged. "S'what I get for dancing at a gay bar, but usually my gaydar is better than that. Enjoy the rest of your evening, hon. And don't worry about your hair – guys dig the just-shagged look."

Hermione eyed her hair again, trying to decide if she looked just shagged or if it was still a rat's nest, before deciding she couldn't do anything about it anyway and she should just go dance with Harry.

Hours later she was standing in a circle with their little group, grooving away to music that was all drums and Abba lyrics. Harry and Neville walked towards the bar and she found herself between the two hot redheads again.

"We could go back to my place," she said directly into Fred's ear, knowing that the fake one George wore would pick up what she said. "I could cross that threesome off my list tonight as well." She rolled her hips and was gratified to feel hard erections against both her hip and arse.

George growled into her ear, but it was Fred who answered with a chuckle. "Hermione, love, I do hope you're the type who forgets their drunken ramblings. Because you will be mortified if you remember this."

"Not that we wouldn't love to take you up on it, gorgeous. The just-shagged thing really is a good look on you."

Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered that she was not the sort of girl who pouted, but it didn't seem to stop her from doing so. "Please?" She tilted her head back so she could meet George's eyes. "I'll be good."

"I'm sure you would be. But not tonight."

The two of them shared a look over her head and turned as one, guiding her towards the bar where Neville and Harry were still in line. Hermione wondered if Neville had had too much to drink as well, since he was leaning all over Harry the same way she had to lean on Fred.

"We're taking Hermione home," George said. "I think she's had enough."

"Okay. Make sure you set her alarm? We're due to have brunch tomorrow."

"Oh, you're a cruel man, Harry Potter." George suppressed a smirk.

"He is not!" Hermione interjected, determined to protect her best friend. "He's wonderful. He protected us all. You know. From what's his face."

Harry patted her hand. "Yes, but now you need to let Fred and George protect you. Okay?"

"Mmkay." She stumbled after Fred towards the alley, waving good bye over her shoulder.

A horrible buzzing noise broke through her consciousness and Hermione sat straight up, looking around for Satan. Unfortunately the sitting straight up made her stomach take notice and she made a bolt for the bathroom to empty it into the toilet. When there was nothing else left, she collapsed weakly to the floor, resting her cheek against the cool bathroom tiles. What in the name of Dumbledore's lacy g-string did she do last night?

She remembered going to the Wheezes and asking for their help with her list. She remembered they went to a club. She remembered fizzy red drinks that went down like soft drink but left her head reeling. There was dancing and… and writhing. And did she proposition the Weasley twins to a threesome?

Oh, Merlin. She was back over the bowl letting her stomach attempt to bring the rest of the alcohol up.

In her bedroom, the alarm on her wand was going off again and she remembered Harry telling George to set it. That shit.

She pulled herself to her feet using the toilet for support and downed two aspirin and four glasses of water. Then she brushed her teeth in an attempt to evict the pygmy puffs that had taken up residence on her tongue and drank another four glasses of water. After that she dealt with her bladder before gingerly walking back to her bedroom. Four flicks of her wand later, and the Floo was closed, the room dark, the alarm off and a bucket stood beside her bed.

She thought Ron had added 'experience a hangover' to the bottom of the list. She now had two things to mark off.

She felt human again on Sunday morning but she still sent her apologies to Molly. There was no way she could face Fred and George after Friday night, especially after concluding that they had also put her to bed. Thankfully, she knew there were spells for that sort of thing that they'd know from looking after their nieces and nephews. They didn't put her into pyjamas the Muggle way.

The Floo flared a half hour before lunch was usually served and a Weasley twin stepped through. A quick glance at his ear told her that it was George.

"You promised you'd come to lunch," he said, without any preamble.

"I'm so sorry about Friday night," she said.

"I told Fred you'd remember."

She could feel her face growing red-hot as she nodded. "Yes. And he was right; I'm mortified."

"Hermione, you were drunk. Obviously you're the friendly sort of drunk, which is quite lovely, really. Harry's the same, and he's propositioned us before as well. If you must know it was awfully flattering, but we knew if you were in your right mind you wouldn't have done it."

Hermione's patchy drunk memory supplied the feel of their erections against her body and she suddenly wasn't sure she'd agree with that assessment. But George was continuing.

"So, stop being embarrassed and come to lunch."

"Just let me get out of track pants and I'll be right with you."

Harry and Ron were waiting on the other side of the Floo. "So, two things marked off your list," said Harry. "And you didn't turn up to brunch. Feeling a bit under the weather yesterday?"

"You'll get yours, Harry Potter. Don’t think I don't remember who suggested setting the alarm."

The man was completely unrepentant.

"Why didn't you take a potion?" Ron asked.

"Since I've never had a hangover before, I've never kept any of that particular potion on hand. And now that it is ticked off my list I'll never drink that much again."

"That's a pity." Long fingers trailed across her arm and she shivered. It was Fred. "I was hoping we could take you out again."

"Maybe dancing. But no fizzy alcoholic drinks."

Molly bustled in then to tell her off for staying away for so long and they all settled down for a traditional roast. Soon after he finished eating, George stood and made his apologies.

"I need to get back to the shop, I'm sorry." He pressed a kiss to Molly's cheek and headed for the Floo. Soon after Harry was on his way out and Hermione moved to go as well.

"Yes, Hermione and I really must be off," Fred said and she sent him a look. She didn't like being used as an excuse for him to get away from Molly's nagging. "But we'll Apparate. Come on, love."

She waved over her shoulder at Molly and Arthur and allowed herself to be dragged past the anti-apparition wards that surrounded the house proper. As soon as they were able, she found herself Disapparating.

"I wish you'd warn me when you're doing that." She looked around. They were in the heart of London. "What are we doing here?"

"Ticking boxes." He kept hold of her hand as he stepped out of the shielded apparition point. "You're meant to ride a Ferris wheel."

They weren't very far from the London Eye and she followed him into one of the little capsules. He dragged her to the window and stood behind her, looking over her shoulder.

"So George and I came up with a plan," he said casually as the wheel began to turn. "To help you tick off your boxes, since we know if you don't continue to make progress on a list you'll go spare."

"A plan? Really?" She sounded sceptical.

"Yes. We're going to take it in turns on weekends to take you out and do things on your list. Like this, today."

"Why take it in turns?"

"We're responsible businessmen. Members of the Diagon Alley Chamber of Commerce. One of us needs to be in the shop."

"And you'll give up your weekends to drag me around?" She glanced over her shoulder and wished she hadn't; she couldn't read that look and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

"Yes," he said simply. It was wrong for Fred Weasley to look so sincere and she was glad when the cheeky grin split his face once more. "After all, we'll be getting adventures as well."

"And will I be getting more say in the experiences than I did today?"

"Of course not. You just be ready when we tell you and we'll organize the rest. Now, look out the bloody window, woman. You're not really getting the experience if you spend the whole time looking at my ugly mug."

As she sat at her desk on Friday morning an owl wearing the familiar purple delivery ribbon of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes flew in through a window.

"Ordering puking pastilles?" Terry Boot asked her and she glared at him.

"Why does everyone think I want to get out of meetings? It's just a letter from the twins." She gave the owl a treat before sending it on its way. She was half-hoping for an invitation to the club tonight, but the letter merely told her to be dressed warmly for a nine o'clock start on Sunday.

She thought back to her wardrobe tribulations of the week before and thought it might be time to get the shopping spree ticked off her list. She sent an owl off to George to confirm his plans and another to Harry to see if he'd be free the next day after brunch for a day of shopping.

Harry would never say no to shopping – Hermione thought it might be a reaction to having so little as a child – and after trying to convince Ron to come along with them, he dragged her off to one of those factory clearance neighbourhoods.

"If you're going to spree," he said, "You may as well get bang for your buck."

He ended up frowning a lot at her choices and swapping them for other things when she wasn't looking.

"Harry, they're my clothes."

"And you wouldn't have asked me to come along if you didn't want advice. Honestly, I should have put 'get a stylist' on the list."

"I remember when you used to wear oversized hand-me-downs, you know."

"Yes, and I looked terrible. Never again."

"Could you be any gayer?"

"I could have gone into musical theatre. Instead I'm in the very manly profession of law enforcement so please stop stereotyping me. Also, I've yet to get a decent haircut, so you can shut up."

It was a lie, of course. His hair was carefully styled so that he always had that 'just-shagged' look that she had discovered last weekend was all the rage.

"Now, those jeans are fabulous, dahling," he said, camping it up, "so try these ones next."

She rolled her eyes and went back into the change room.

"So, why are you clothes shopping?"

"Because you put it on my list."

"Liar. You would have kept putting this one off if you didn't suddenly think you needed a new outfit. Dressing to impress?"

"No!" Okay. It was possible it sounded like she was protesting too much. She heard Harry snort.

"I'm just wondering which delectable twin has sparked your interest." Harry's words sent the blood to her face and she was glad he was on the other side of the curtain. "Either one would be a good match for you. Loosen you up a bit."

Which twin? She remembered Fred's warm body pressed behind her on the Ferris wheel. George's gentle touch when he convinced her to come to lunch earlier that same day.

"Neither," she said shortly as she buttoned the jeans. She'd have to make it true; having a crush on both of them was only going to lead to heartbreak.

"That's a pity," Harry said as she came out. "But we'll go to the lingerie shop, regardless. I saw Ron put 'wear sexy lingerie every day for a year' on your list."

"Now, that was one I was going to ignore."

She had no idea what George had planned but she pulled on the most comfortable of her new jeans and a thick, ribbed jumper that was sure to keep the wind out. She had hat, gloves and scarf tucked into her satchel and she was ready for anything.

George stepped through the Floo with two broomsticks in hand. Anything but that.

"My brother's an idiot, you know?" he said, pressing his lips to her cheek.

"I know." Her eyes didn't leave the brooms. "Which one?"

"Ron, of course. 'Perform a Wronski Feint'. Who is he kidding? He can't even do one. But we'll give it a go. I thought at the Burrow before lunch."

"I can't fly, George."

"Love, if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you can do anything you put your mind to. Come on."

Three hours later she was still being outflown by Victoire Weasley who was desperate to make the Quidditch team in her first year at Hogwart's next September. Bill had his other kids out on the brooms as well and Hermione was sure even little Louis was doing better than she was, despite being barely able to walk and on a broom charmed not to go higher than his head height.

"I'm sorry, George." She hovered in the middle of the field, watching Victoire and Dominique dive around. "I don't think we're going to tick any boxes today."

"Have you had fun, regardless?"

Hermione thought about it, playing with the kids, feeling the wind in her hair even as she felt awkward and unsure. Usually she hated flying because she hated doing things she wasn't good at, but not having to be perfect was kind of exhilarating as well.

"I have."

"Good. Now go land."

She carefully landed on the ground and he touched down seconds later. He patted the stretch of broom in front of him and she stepped over the broom, leaving the other on the ground.

"Hold tight," he whispered directly into her ear as they climbed ever higher. "And try not to scream too loud."

Then they were diving and the wind was rushing past like she'd jumped out of a plane and it was only strong arms snaking under hers and gripping tight to the broom that was stopping her from panicking, though what she'd do if she wanted to panic she wasn't sure. She was screaming. She was screaming like a little girl and George bloody Weasley was laughing with delight directly into her ear.

"We're pulling up now. Lean back," he said as the grass grew impossibly large in her vision. She leant back as far as she could, pressing her spine into his chest and praying to Merlin and Circe and God for God's sake that they wouldn't die in the next five seconds. She screwed her eyes shut tight as she braced for a hard landing, but they were moving up and there were cheers coming from below and she realized she was alive.

"George Arthur Weasley, I can't believe you just did that to me!"

The horrible beast was still laughing and she felt arms tighten around her and lips press to the back of her head. They landed gently on the ground and he grabbed her as her legs buckled beneath her.

"That doesn't count," Ron was quick to say, having obviously shown up mid-feint.

"Shut up, Ron. Yes it does," Harry said. "It's like a tandem sky-dive. That was amazing, George!"

"Thanks, mate." George began to guide her towards the house, but she stopped him by flinging herself into his arms.

"That was amazing!" she breathed into his ear, feeling like she needed to run around or scream or fly. "Can we go again?"

Hermione quickly learned to love her weekend outings. Sometimes it was Saturday and sometimes Sunday, but every weekend for the next couple of months saw her playing bingo and learning to roller-skate and visiting theme parks and swimming with dolphins.

Sometimes she wondered if she was going to be able to cross 'fall in love' off the list as well, but she couldn't be in love. What she felt for George was exactly the same as what she felt for Fred, and you can't love two men at once.

Their owl, Puck, swooped in on Friday morning to deliver her regular instructions.

Our apologies, Hermione, the missive read. Verity is unwell and we'll both have to work this weekend. We hope you don't miss us too much. To compensate we have roped Ron in to working next weekend and you will have both of us at your disposal.

Fred and George.

She knew her disappointment showed so she swallowed it back down. They'd been very good giving up their weekends for her, and of course their business was more important. Unfortunately, she'd just realized she had no idea what to do with herself for an entire weekend that wasn't interrupted by a redheaded agent of chaos. She should probably visit her mother.

At lunchtime she walked out into Muggle London and took the phone from her pocket. Her mother had insisted on her buying it so that she could keep in touch. It worked in her flat, which was Muggle enough not to set it off, but if she was out or at work she had to wait until the next time she was in range.

"Hi, Mum."

"Hermione! You're alive!"

Hermione rolled her eyes; maybe it had been a while since she'd called.

"I was wondering if you wanted company tomorrow," Hermione said. "My weekend plans fell through."

"So nice to be the second choice. Unfortunately, I have plans tomorrow, sweetheart. Your father booked me into a spa day for our anniversary, and then we're going out for dinner." Their anniversary. She'd forgotten. "But maybe… It's a new place, so I might be able to get you an appointment as well. It will be a girl's day."

"That sounds great, Mum." It wasn't on her list, but a spa day really should be. "I'll stay somewhere reachable for my lunch break."

She indulged in fast food of the greasy, unhealthy kind not easily found in the wizarding world while she waited for her mother to call back. She was just finishing the last bite of a crispy strip of chicken when the phone rang. Her mother gave her a place and time and she walked back to the Ministry feeling much better about a weekend without her boys.

After four hours in the day spa and a facial, massage and new hair-do, Hermione and her mother were sitting beside each other getting a pedicure. The gentle foot rub that this included was divine and just added to the feeling of utter decadence that she was experiencing. Unfortunately, being so relaxed meant that she answered her mother's questions without really thinking.

"What have you been doing with your time, dear?"

"Work and this list thing of Harry's."

"List thing?"

Hermione gave her mother the abbreviated explanation of a bucket list.

"Harry said that he got his idea from some film."

"That was a Morgan Freeman movie. What sort of things are on the list?"

"Oh, a shopping spree, going to a club. Visit Venice during Carnevale and Paris in spring. Wear nice lingerie every day for a year." She rolled her eyes.

"That doesn't sound like something you'd put on there."

"Oh, we wrote each others. The boys said I'd be too boring if I did my own. I've put seeing Shakespeare in the Park on theirs. Along with the London museum and the Louvre."

"That makes more sense. Is there anything about falling in love and having a family?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly, her mother was obsessed with the idea of grandchildren.

"Yes, Mother. We put both those things on everyone's list." She decided not to mention the threesome that also made an appearance on all lists.

"And are you ticking anything off?"

"Yes. Fred and George have been helping me." She felt a smile grace her face at the thought of her boys, then blushed as her mother raised her eyebrows.

"Which one is helping you fall in love?"

"Mum! Neither." She felt her bottom lip make its way between her teeth and quickly released it. Her mother knew her tells. "I feel exactly the same way about both of them."

"Well, you can't be in love with more than one person at a time, so I guess you'll just have to keep waiting to cross that one off." She smiled and refocused on the woman at her feet. "I'll go with that beautiful light pink, I think. Same for you, Hermione?"

Hermione looked at the colour selections and quickly settled on a bright red. She may as well live a little. That was what this whole list thing was about, right?

Hermione was still at the Burrow the next night when Fred and George arrived to check-in with their mother. After the loss of Percy during the war, Molly had wanted to clutch tighter to the children she had left. She had relaxed in the decade since, but they all still happily indulged her weekly check-in rule if they were close enough to visit. Most of the family had left after lunch, but she had been regaling Ginny and Molly with tales of the day spa and they were making plans to visit on their own.

"We're here, Mum," George said, popping his head around the door into the kitchen. He grinned when he caught sight of her. "Ginny. Hermione."

"Fred, dear," Molly started.

"George," Ginny and Hermione hissed in unison.

"I'm sorry, George. Is Fred with you?"

An identical head looked around the door frame and grinned.

"Mum. Ginny." His eyes held hers and she felt a blush creep across her cheeks. "Hermione."

"Do you boys want to stay for dinner?" Molly asked.

"Oh, yes."

"Thanks, Mum. We were looking at three-day old leftover Thai."

"Girls?"

Hermione and Ginny both nodded and stood to help.

"Not you, Hermione. You only got those nails done today. And it's only leftovers. Keep the boys company and we'll join you in the lounge room shortly."

Hermione brushed past George, but Fred stopped her in the hall.

"Nails? I don't remember a bed of nails on the list."

"Have you been having fun without us?"

"Yes, I have. But you wouldn't have wanted a day of facials and manicures anyway."

Fred's lips twitched, ruining the stern expression he was trying to adopt. George's arm reached around her and lifted her hand up for his examination.

"Red? That's very daring. I approve."

Fred had picked up her other hand and taken a step closer and she was suddenly surrounded by their warmth. "Highly approve," Fred murmured before he pressed his lips to each finger he held in his hand.
Not to be outdone, George mimicked his movements, except that his tongue darted out when he reached her pinkie, swirling around the tip and drawing a shuddering breath from her.

"Molly!" Arthur's voice came from the front door. "Have the twins checked in?"

"We're here, Dad!" Fred called out, never taking his eyes away from her.

"We're staying for dinner!" George added.

"Come join me for a drink, then." By the time Arthur stepped into the hall both boys were a respectable distance away from her and looking completely unflustered. She followed them into the lounge looking forward to a glass of wine and the opportunity to gather her strength.

She was still feeling unsettled the next Friday when Puck arrived. "Dress for warm weather and pack for overnight. Include a bikini? What the hell are they thinking?" She dug around in her purse until she found the list and scanned everything on it until she paused on an activity that was often practiced in Polynesian islands.

No. That can't be what they mean. It was summer in the Antipodes; they were probably going zorbing in New Zealand. That must be it. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that they actually meant to take her fire walking.

They arrived at her apartment early the next morning in baggy shorts and Hawaiian shirts and she almost groaned.

"Good morning, love," Fred said with a grin. "Jeans won't do. You'll want a skirt."

"Should we pick one out for you?" George moved towards her bedroom. "Even shorts will do."

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise. Stop being a busy body and get changed."

George had unpacked her bag and started packing it again. He paused at her bikini. "Very suitable. The bikini matches her lovely fingernails, Fred."

"Delightful!"

Hermione glared.

"I already packed."

"But not very well. Put these on," he said, holding out a pair of three-quarter length pants Harry had bought her the summer before. They were the bright purple of Tonks' hair and she'd never worn them. "That t-shirt will do."

She changed in the bathroom since George was still in her bedroom and walked out to find her overnight bag closed again and both twins grinning.

"What did you do?"

"We just made sure that your clothing was appropriate. Walking shoes on and we'll head to the Portkey Office."

They had yet to steer her wrong, but she had a bad feeling about this entire expedition. Maybe the odd feeling was more due to that strange interlude at dinner the weekend before and the fact that both men were going along rather than any apprehension about the fire walking itself.

Before she could say anything to slow them down, they grabbed a hand and Apparated away. She appeared in the International Portkey Office and Fred walked towards a service desk with all their passports while George distracted her.

"It's fire walking, isn't it?"

"Wizard-style fire walking, but I'm not going to tell you where."

"And what, exactly, is wizard-style fire walking?"

"That would definitely be telling. You'll just have to wait and see."

At a signal from Fred, George hustled her to the far corner of the room. She barely had enough time to take a breath before she was spinning into the atmosphere. It was the longest Portkey ride she'd ever had to endure and she struggled to keep her breakfast down. Finally they started to fall again and each man had an arm clasped solidly around her waist as they floated towards the earth. Her legs buckled underneath her but the arms behind her back didn't falter; they kept her standing and she looked up at each of the twins with a grateful smile.

She looked around the light and airy Portkey Office and saw a large sign proclaiming "Welcome to Martinique!" At least she finally knew where she was.

It was still quite early in the morning when they arrived and Hermione confidently took charge as they moved through customs and out into the fresh air. She was the only one who spoke French, after all. However, as soon as they were out the doors, Fred took over.

"Charlie said to just get in a cab and ask to be taken to Mt Pelee," he said.

George hailed a cab and they shuffled Hermione into the middle, since she 'was the shortest', meaning she had to lean over each of them to look out of the window at the beautiful surroundings.

"Where are we staying tonight?" she asked.

"Dunno. Didn't organise that far ahead."

"Honestly!" She thought it was George who had spoken, but since both men had grown their hair out to purposely cover their ears it was sometimes difficult to tell. Still, she wasn't going to mention a name in case she got it wrong. "What if everywhere is full?"

"Then we'll sleep under the stars, love. Stop worrying." It was George; he always said 'love' with a tenderness she never expected. It had taken her a while to realize there was a quieter twin, that they weren't the same person in two bodies.

She glared at him and a grin split his face. He was too close to her and it left her suddenly breathless. She thought he was going to kiss her while she sat next to his twin brother. It was that sort of moment, a moment where their eyes met and desire seemed to spin into a web between them and draw them together.

Then the cab driver stopped and Hermione shifted back, bumping into Fred and looking up to see his eyes focused intently on his twin. They shared a moment where she wondered if they truly did have telepathy before turning in unison to the car doors.

She was at the base of a volcano and Fred hefted a bag on his shoulder while George paid the driver.

"I thought they usually did these sorts of rituals on the beach? Or have I been too trusting of Muggle movies?"

"I've no idea what Muggle movies say, but this is something a little different. Watch and learn."

Once the driver had cleared out, both men looked around them in search of Muggles. Then a quick wand movement, a murmured spell and a path appeared before them. "That's the correct direction, I'd say."

They walked along the path which seemed to curl around the mountain, Hermione exclaiming about the plant life regularly and wishing vaguely that Neville could see it. Then she heard a low rumble. It was terrifyingly familiar.

"This involves dragons?" she asked.

"Of course."

"We are wizards."

"But it's not as scary as it sounds. Promise." Fred took her arm and kept propelling her up the path.

They turned a corner and Hermione felt the wards ripple over her skin. Then she saw the large, black dragon sitting atop the volcano. He let out a roar and flame blasted into the sky, lava bubbling simultaneously. She turned around and began to walk back down the mountain.

"Oh, no! This is on your list, Hermione. We're going to do it." George had a hand on her elbow and she groaned. It was entirely too difficult to resist him.

"It's a Caribbean Noir," Fred said. "Charlie told me that there aren't many of them left."

He sounded awed, but all Hermione could remember was that terrifying flight from Gringott's, clinging to the back of an old and tortured Saxon White. She could feel her breathing becoming laboured as she remembered that last day of the war, but suddenly George was at her side, one strong arm around her back and his warmth pressed against her.

"Hermione? What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry. I was back in the war for a second." Dammit. This hadn't happened in years.

Fred moved to her other side and she was surrounded by freckles and heat and that scent of them which was potions ingredients and explosives and a subtle difference between each one – the citrus fruit that Fred snacked on incessantly and the sandalwood scented wood polish that George used when he took care of both twins' brooms.

"We're sorry, love. We should have thought of this." George spoke into her curls and pressed his lips to them afterwards, and she leant against him, glad of his strength. She felt her heart rate slow; it used to take longer to get herself under control.

"We can just enjoy our weekend in Martinique if you like. Or try to find a Muggle fire walking place." Fred waved away a man approaching them, protecting her privacy at the same time as George kept his arms tight around her. She liked the feeling of relying on their strength, but it wasn't her. She straightened her shoulders and looked up at the rise at the dragon perched by the volcano.

"I should face my fears, shouldn't I? It's not coals, obviously. What do I have to do?"

"Well, they train the dragons here. They're all tame."

"And properly tamed, not chained like at Gringott's."

"And what?" Hermione asked. "You walk over dragon fire?"

Both boys nodded, the grins back on their faces.

"Why don't we go have a look?" Fred said, stepping forward again. "We can always think about it overnight and come back tomorrow."

George kept a hand lightly on the small of her back as they followed him. As they neared the small hut a man stepped out with a smile on his face.

"Everything alright?" he asked with a lyrical voice. Hermione realized that this was the man Fred had waved away earlier. He smiled as they all nodded. "I'm Michel, and you are Charlie's brothers?"

"Fred and George," George said. "But we don't mind if you get it mixed up."

"And this is Hermione Granger," Fred continued. Michel shook hands all around.

"Charlie said you were hoping to do some fire-walking."

Fred and George nodded eagerly, the twin identity back rather than the two separate men she'd come to see over the last few months. She wondered for a second if the 'twin' was for other people and it was only those they trusted who got to see Fred and George rather than FredandGeorge. They were talking a mile a minute in that 'finish each other’s sentences' style they had and Hermione trailed after them, laughing silently at the confused look on Michel's face.

They paused at a good vantage point and she could see now that there was a suspension bridge spanning the top of the volcano. A man stood at one end of the bridge, posing for the small crowd as they cheered. He blew a raspberry at the dragon and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. But all the dragon did was huff, although just that sent a gentle flame licking under the bridge.

It was obviously a magically reinforced bridge since the flames did nothing to its structure. She tuned back in to the conversation beside her.

"So it's like the bridge isn't there?"

"That's correct. You're actually walking on the dragon flame."

"What happens if the volcano erupts?" Hermione asked.

"The dragons always know and fly away, which means that we always know. Martinique is safe because of these dragons."

"We thought we might just watch today, Michel," Fred started to say.

"No!"

"Hermione?"

"Let's do it." Hermione knew if she thought about it she'd never go through with it, and she was determined to turn up to the Weasley lunch next week with a story about walking on dragonfire. "Can we go all at once?"

"Of course."

Fred and George shared a grin.

"Great," said Michel. "Let's get your safety equipment."

Far too quickly for Hermione's peace of mind she was standing barefoot on the lip of a volcano, a bridge that was essentially air in front of her and only a thin, woven belt around her waist to protect her from the fall if she happened to trip. Her opinion of the so-called 'safety equipment' left a lot to be desired.

"Are you ready, Hermione?" George said. He stood on one side of her and Fred on the other, each clutching a hand.

"Not at all, but let's do it." The dragon let out a roar and a burst of flame lit the bridge in front of them. Hermione let out a squeal, and Fred and George both chuckled.

"Courage, young Gryffindor," said Fred. "Let's go!"

The bridge wasn't really wide enough for three, so Fred took the lead.

"This will probably ruin my toenail polish, you know," Hermione muttered.

"We'll re-do them afterwards."

"Promise."

Hermione stepped onto the bridge slowly, and then the fire licked the soles of her feet.

"Walk quicker, Fred!" George yelled from behind her and she started laughing as he pushed her forward. Fred lengthened his stride enough that Hermione had trouble keeping up.

She kept stepping forward though the pain and the fear of the dragon close by. The Noir snorted and fire flickered around them, heating Hermione's sides and sending her cringing back into George. Fred gave a tug on her hand and she closed her eyes and let him drag her along.

He stopped suddenly. "Fred, why did you stop?"

"We've reached the end of the road, Hermione."

"What?" She opened her eyes and saw that she was on the other side of the volcano. "We did it!"

She threw her arms around Fred and felt George's reach around her from behind. "We walked through fire!" Fred said and they all grinned. They'd done it before, but never quite so literally.

"Well done!" Michel was saying as he approached them. "Do you want to go back the way you came, or walk the long way 'round?"

"The long way 'round," they all said at once.

After a hard day lazing on the beach in a new bikini while she watched Fred and George splash around in the water, they found a hotel and arranged for two adjoining rooms and the twins convinced her to order room service, since it was a special weekend and who cared how much more expensive it was, it was delivered and they could eat it in their pyjamas.

Following dinner, they put on the movie and the boys sat at her feet with a small bag from the pharmacist.

"What are you two doing?"

"Only what we promised to do, young Hermione." They shared a wicked grin and set to painting her toenails.

Hermione settled back onto the pillows and watched Dustin Hoffman fall in love with Mrs Robinson until she found her lap full of feet.

"Do us!"

"I can only do one Weasley at a time." Fred sniggered at that and Hermione blushed. "Oh, grow up."

"Yes, Mum!" he said cheekily, ducking the pillow she threw at him. "Do my nails, and I'll do George's and Georgie can finish yours."

"They need another coat," George said seriously.

And that was how she came to be spending her night sprawled across a queen bed with Fred and George Weasley as they painted each other's nails and watched romantic comedies.

"I never had a girl's night like this before, guys. I was always one of the guys. Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Fred said, admiring his bright pink toenails.

"Do I get to see my toes yet?" she asked. George had not allowed her to look and had been very intent in his work; Fred and Hermione had finished their nail-painting an hour ago.

"Patience, Hermione. They're almost done!"

As she and Fred watched the end credits of Shakespeare in Love scroll across the screen, George sat back and looked at her nails with a rather large amount of pride. "All done!"

Fred immediately bent to look.

"All I can see is red hair, Fred. Move!" Hermione bent her legs so that she could get a proper look. "Oh!"

Obviously, some magic had been at work, because her big toes had perfect, miniature toucans on them and each nail was a different colour. They looked like something Luna would do, and for some strange reason she adored them. It was like the sexy underwear – no one would be able to see them, but she knew that she wasn't the staid Gryffindor librarian underneath the exterior.

"Thank you!" she gushed and she was surprised to see a light blush beneath George's freckles.

"I'm glad you like them," he said.

"You thought I wouldn't?" She looked at him sharply.

"Nah," he said as he flopped heavily back onto her bed. "I just thought you'd say you didn't like them."

She gave him a jab and he immediately started rolling around on the bed, screaming in agony.

"Hey!" He stopped suddenly, looking down at his feet. "When did my toenails turn orange?"

The next Friday Hermione sat at her desk, trying very hard to work, but failing somewhat dismally. She and the twins had fallen sleep in the middle of Sleepless in Seattle and when she'd awakened the next morning it was to long limbs tangled in hers and good-natured complaints about her hair trying to choke them as they slept.

She'd taken to setting too many warming charms in her apartment so that she could go around in bare feet and admire the art work on her toes.

She went to sleep thinking of Fred's wild grin and woke up imagining how gentle George's kisses would be.

She was definitely in trouble.

Hermione considered ignoring Puck when he flew in her office window, but realized she couldn't do that without somebody questioning why. If she was honest with herself she also knew that she wanted to see them, whichever one of them it was who would be taking her out.

Your outfit will be waiting for you at home. Be ready to leave by 1pm. – George

George. And an outfit. She smiled as she went back to her work. She was looking forward to it already.

By half past twelve on Saturday, Hermione was dressed as directed. She'd rushed home from work the night before to see what was waiting, and sure enough, a box was on her bed. She'd drawn out the beautiful dress and fallen in love.

It had come with a card.

The hand-writing was clearly George's – she'd come to realize that it was Fred's hand that sloped far to the right and often forgot to dot 'i's and cross 't's as if he was thinking too fast to keep up and George's which was more upright with a lazy sort of feel as if he had all the time in the world. A Midsummer Night's Dream. The Weasley twins kept surprising her.

Hermione had tucked the note into her mirror frame and glanced at it again now before concentrating on the finishing touches of her costume. The dress was cream and included a fitted bodice and flowing skirt. A light green overdress which included long, trailing sleeves completed the picture. She'd rushed out for fresh flowers first thing and they were woven into the curls that fell down her back. She'd discovered that the gossamer wings which attached to the back of the dress could be induced to slowly beat at a thought.

She was tucking a final daisy into the short braid keeping the hair away from her face when the Floo flared. Her Oberon stepped through and he was a sight to behold. Leather pants encased his legs, making them look even longer than usual, and a long, green coat sat atop it. The coat sat open, showing a toned chest with a light sprinkling of ginger hair that covered his pecs and tapered to a thin line ending in the low-cut pants. He was still brushing soot off his shoulders when she looked up to meet his eyes. They lit up as he took her in.

"Fair Titania!" he said, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

"Ill-met by firelight, proud Oberon," she replied and was surprised to see him grin. He obviously caught the reference.

"I was hoping you'd know the play. I thought you might be more a fan of the histories. Maybe King Lear?"

"A Midsummer Night's Dream comes a close second to Much Ado About Nothing."

"Next year we shall go as Beatrice and Benedick. Do you have your mask? We have a Portkey to catch."

"Are we going where I think we're going?"

"Quite possibly." That teasing smile danced around his lips and she quickly grabbed purse and mask and took his arm.

"Take me away."

Venice was everything she'd imagined it would be. Except more. So much more. She'd been in the magical world for longer than she hadn't, and still she found this place overwhelming. Men on stilts walked through the streets, their grinning masks covering any features. Couples in elaborate medieval dress had blank faces as they walked through the streets. And while her own mask did not cover her grin, she knew that George had managed to make her look and feel beautiful in a city renowned for beauty.

They were on a gondola and headed for a ball and Hermione wondered if she could feel any more like the fairy princess – no, Queen – she was dressed as.

"I thought that the balls were for locals," she said.

"This man is one of our suppliers. He sends an invitation for us each year."

"He won't mind that it's me with you and not Fred."

"I should clarify. He sends an invitation for each of us and our belle signore each year."

"Oh." She looked down at her hands. "There wasn't someone you wanted to bring instead of me?"

She looked up and saw a quick frown on his mouth; though between the dark and the mask she couldn't read his eyes. "No, Hermione. There is no one else I would rather be with." The gondola glided to a halt and he stood gracefully and held a hand out for her. "My Titania."

"Good Oberon," she said, putting her hand in his. He drew her to her feet and they carefully stepped out of the gondola and directly onto the property of his friend.

It turned out that his contact was a relative of Blaise Zabini, and there were a number of people she knew – Zabini himself was not masked, and Draco Malfoy's blond hair was rather distinctive. She even thought she saw Neville and Harry for a moment, but did not see the men dressed as Pan and the Oak King again, so she dismissed the thought. Thankfully, although George was recognizable as a Weasley, people were less clear of which one it was, and no one guessed who she was. The anonymity was delicious, and she allowed herself to be swept onto the dance Floor with a number of men, all unable to guess her identity. She asked them all to call her Titania.

She felt George's eyes on her the entire night and made sure to return to his side at the end of every dance. She was Cinderella at her first ball, and Hermione wasn't sure how she'd go back to normal tomorrow.

Finally, George pulled her into his arms just as a slow song started. His hand was warm against the small of her back and he pulled her close so that their thighs brushed with each step. She breathed in the smell of him and as she exhaled she relaxed against him, resting her cheek against the coat.

He stopped before the song did, and when she opened her eyes she saw he'd manoeuvred her to a dark corridor.

"George?"

"Yes, Titania."

"Where are we – "

"I was looking for a secluded place to steal a kiss. Is that alright?"

He let his lips widen lazily into a grin and leaned back against the wall, keeping his hands on her waist to draw her in.

"A – a kiss?"

He nodded and tilted his head, one hand moving to thread through her curls as the other kept her pressed against him. His lips moved slowly over hers, and when she moaned he took an opportunity to dart his tongue in before drawing away and grinning. He bent his head to kiss her again, but she drew back. What was she doing?

"I'm sorry, George. I can't do this?"

"What's wrong?"

"It's… it's Fred." She watched his face fall and felt her heart clench.

"You like him?" George asked.

"No! I mean… yes. I mean -" She looked rather miserably at her hand then dropped it abruptly when she realized she was nervously playing with his chest hair. "I'm sorry."

"What if I wanted to kiss you?" said a voice behind her. She spun and found herself facing a bare-chested Puck, who was dressed in leather breeches and not much else. His mask covered his entire face except his mouth and he pulled it off to reveal the familiar freckles.

"I wouldn't because of George," she said. "I don't want to give up our friendship."

She noticed Fred was giving George a rather significant look over her shoulder and then she felt lips at her ear. "What if I want you to kiss him?" George whispered and she gasped. Fred took that opportunity to capture her mouth, even as she was about to tell them it wasn't right.

Fred stepped into her, pressing her back against George's chest until she was sandwiched tight between them, one pair of lips on her neck as an identical set devoured her mouth. Her hands moved to thread through Fred's ginger locks and she could feel two hands at her waist and another two gently cradling her back. Fred pulled away to catch his breath and the two hands at her waist spun her around. George didn't give her time to breathe; he just pressed his lips to her mouth and his hands to her butt and pulled her tight against him so she could feel the hard line of his erection against her thigh. Fred's erection was against her arse and she wanted nothing more than to feel their hot flesh against her bare skin.

She pushed George's chest and he immediately pulled away.

"Sorry," he said, pressing his forehead to hers. Fred's chin rested against a shoulder and the breath of all three of them mingled in the small stretch of air that separated them. "We thought – we shouldn't –"

Hermione pressed a finger to his lips and smiled when Fred's hand moved up to join hers. "Do you have a room?"

Fred's groan brushed across her ear and George could only grin. They each grabbed a hand and walked further down the hall way.

"Should we be doing this?"

"We both want you, Hermione," George said.

"And we know you want us."

"There's nothing wrong with it."

"I meant wandering through this poor man's house without permission, you daft gits."

"Oh. We were offered a room for tonight. We're fine," Fred said.

"And you can't Apparate us there?"

"So eager, young Hermione?"

She stopped and pushed Fred against the nearest wall, cupping his cock with one hand as she took his lower lip between her teeth. "Yes."

Fred reached a hand behind her and she felt George anchor to them before they spun on the spot, materializing moments later in a large room. She stumbled, clutching at Fred to keep her balance.

"Okay, love?" George said from behind, and she nodded. She closed her eyes, still needing a minute to orient herself and someone guided her to the bed and urged her to sit down.

When she opened her eyes George had slipped his coat off. They stood shirtless before her in near identical skin-tight pants. "Oh, my." It's possible that there was such a thing as too much Weasley. Their arms were thrown around each other's backs and there was an identical wide grin on each face in a pose that was entirely too familiar to people who knew them. It usually preceded some bit of mischief. Of course, tonight she was the mischief, so she could hardly complain.

As she watched, they turned into each other, chests pressing together, and they kissed. Not a peck, or a gentle snog. They devoured each other, as if it were a battle that could only be won when the last bit of air had left someone's lungs. Hermione thought that she'd be the first one to call for mercy.

Fred broke away. "This is alright? Not too weird?"

She shook her head silently. No, not too weird at all. Hermione liked order and symmetry, and this was perfectly symmetrical; identical hands cupping identical cheeks as identical lips moved over each other as if one was kissing his reflection in the mirror. This was a vision she didn't want to end.

This time George broke away for air. "You're forgetting, brother mine; tonight is about Hermione."

"Of course it is." They turned to her and she felt her nipples tighten just at their heated gaze. "I love that dress, but I do think she needs to get out of it."

"Definitely."

They each put a hand on her shoulder and pressed her back onto the bed, pressing their mouths to either side of her neck. Their hands were on the buttons that ran down the front of her dress, not realizing that they were only for show.

Finally Fred looked up. "The buttons?"

"There's a zip on the back."

George groaned and moved so that she could roll onto her stomach. The zip slowly inched down her back and someone pressed a tongue to her spine sending shivers through her body.

"I think she likes that," Fred said as she moaned softly.

"Let me try, then." George started from the curve of her lower back, pressing soft, whisper-light kisses upwards until his mouth met Fred's and their tongues tangled together on her back for a moment. Fingernails ran softly up her sides and she clutched at the sheets under her as every nerve in her body suddenly came alive. Their mouths moved across her back, licking at the sides of her breasts as the dress fell forward.

"I wish she could have kept the wings," George said, sounding almost nostalgic.

Fred gave a bark of laughter and seconds later she heard a murmured sticking charm and felt something fasten securely to her shoulder blades. Hands on her waist pulled her up to kneeling. She let the dress fall from her arms as she sat up and felt her back press against a solid chest.

"You don't mind, do you, sweetheart?" She shook her head. "We'll have to leave the hair as it is, though."

George moved to kneel in front of her. His lips quirked into a half smile and he stretched a hand out to stroke her cheek. "So beautiful," he murmured and she felt herself blush.

"We need to figure out what she likes, George." Fred's hands had strayed from her waist and she was acutely aware of the thumb resting on the underside of her breast.

"Where should I start?"

Fred's hand shifted to cup her breast and lifted it, as if in offering. George's face took on an intent look as he bent to take her in his mouth. He started with soft kisses, then licks and nibbles, looking up at her face the entire time, gauging her reaction.

"Harder," Fred said and George obeyed by sucking her nipple into his mouth, the suction pulling a cry of both pain and pleasure from her throat.

"Yup. That's what she likes," George said and he moved to the other breast, leaving fingers to twist one nipple while he gave a nip to the other one. Fred had moved to where her neck met shoulder and latched on, leaving her squirming in his arms.

Her dress had pooled around her hips, and she wanted to take it off and feel bare legs under her thighs, or even the smooth stretch of leather, but the boys weren't giving her a chance to breathe, let alone ask for more. She decided to beg without words and reached a hand forward to caress the hard cock in front of her, still encased in tight, black pants.

"Fuck, Hermione," George said as his head fell back. He thrust his hips forward and she pressed harder, wanting him to want more. She shifted her hips until she was seated properly on Fred's lap and could feel his erection against her arse.

"More, please," she begged, pressing her thighs together tightly as she squirmed against him.

George suddenly pushed away from her, scooting back until he fell off the other side of the bed. She shook with Fred's chuckle and he pushed them both forward until they could peer at him over the edge of the bed.

"I'm alright," George said.

"Then why are you on the floor?" Hermione asked with amusement.

"I just needed a second. You've been teasing me all night with your smile and those brown curls and that long neck that I wanted to be kissing. Just, give me a second before I come in my pants."

Hermione was pressed face down onto the bed with Fred's weight pressing her down and leaving her breathless in more ways than one.

"So we just wait?" Fred asked.

"By all means, keep going." George shifted to his feet. "I'll just stand over here and watch." He took a position leaning against the wall and Hermione's lips quirked as he tried to be surreptitious about adjusting himself.

"Why don't you just take your trousers off? It will be far more comfortable."

"And give us a better view," Fred added.

"I will if you will."

Fred rolled off of her and the bed shifted as he struggled with the tight breeches.

"Do you need a hand?"

"Yes!"

There was more shifting on the bed until Hermione could peel the leather from his legs and when she was done she'd discovered that she'd left the dress on the other side of the bed. But she found she didn't mind with the way Fred was staring at her.

"They should come off as well," he said, pointing at the skimpy, silk underwear that had grown so deliciously damp.

She stretched her legs toward him. "I need help," she said, wiggling her toes.

He grinned and waved his hand and the pants disappeared. "I hope you didn't like those."

"I did actually."

"We'll buy you a new pair," George said from the wall.

Hermione turned her head to look at him and saw that without clothes it was only the missing ear that distinguished them. Their long legs were lightly furred with ginger and their cocks stood out proudly, though one listed slightly to the right and the other to the left. Lean muscles were almost completely covered in freckles and under her inspection equally smug grins graced their faces.

"Would you like to touch?" George asked as he moved a fist lazily over his cock.

"I would." Hermione turned to Fred and drew her finger in a line down his sternum until she hit his navel. She liked the way he hummed when he was happy. He fell on her and she was on her back on the bed again looking up into the warm, blue eyes. "You'll ruin my wings," she said so softly she was surprised he heard.

"They have a very good protection charm built in," he replied. "They won't get damaged. Shall we do something to protect your hair?"

"No."

"Good."

He had a look on his face, like he was going to kiss her, and she closed her eyes in anticipation. But his lips didn't meet hers. Instead they blazed a trail across her chest and down her belly before finally settling between her legs, leaving a line of fire in their wake. He pressed her legs wider and settled his tongue on her clit, the quick flicks sending a wave of pleasure through her body.

When he fastened his mouth around and sucked she arched off the bed, her eyes wide. She could see George watching them, his eyes flicking between Fred's face between her thighs and his butt which was pointing up into the air. Fred eased two fingers inside her and she could practically feel his grin when she pushed back onto them.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked George.

"Yes. Though I was just thinking that Fred should have dressed up as Bottom."

"Ha, bloody ha," Fred said, poking his tongue out until Hermione tugged on his hair and he bent back to his task.

"Does she taste good, Fred?" George asked. Fred's answering moan seared through her body. "I'll bet she does. I'll bet she feels good writhing against your face. But if only you could see her, Fred. Her chest heaves when she's breathing this heavily. Her face is flushed and her eyes are glazed and her mouth is open and it's giving me dirty thoughts, Fred. Thoughts about filling it. Do you think she'd suck my cock?" He met her eyes and wrapped his hand tightly around the base of it. "Just thinking about it makes me want to burst. But I want to see Hermione come first. Can you do it, Fred? Can you make her come?"

George's voice, his words, left her panting and she grabbed Fred's face, holding him still as she ground against tongue and hand until she screamed, the pleasure wracking her body until it had seared through her, leaving her feeling boneless and weak and pushing Fred away as the sensation became too much.

"Guess I can," Fred said rather smugly. He looked down at her. "How are you feeling?"

"Brilliant."

"Can you walk?"

"Maybe."

"Then I think you should go get Georgie before he starts feeling left out."

She struggled to her feet and walked across the room, the ends of her wings brushing the swell of her arse and sending new shivers through her body. She pressed herself against George, cradling his erection between her legs and he wrapped his arms around her to draw her even closer.

"Do you want me to come back to the bed?" he asked, looking down at her.

"We can stay here, if you like."

"I do like," he said, and before she could ask what he meant, she'd been lifted up to hover above his cock. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, marvelling at the upper-body strength. She was hardly a waif-like figure. "Alright?"

She nodded and George slowly lowered her onto his cock.

They both breathed out slowly as he sank to the hilt, his hands digging into her arse. She laughed breathlessly as the wings fluttered, still reacting to her thoughts and curving around their bodies as she thought of wrapping every part of herself around George Weasley.

The bed creaked behind them and then she felt Fred's warmth at her back. He hooked his arms under her thighs, adding his strength to George's and pressing as closely as possible to help keep her steady. His cock felt red-hot where it nestled between the crack of her arse and he groaned when she clenched her buttocks around him.

"Can we move?" George asked and she felt Fred nod against her shoulder.

Then they were moving, Fred and George using some sort of telepathic connection to find the perfect rhythm, despite the odd position. Every time her body rose and fell in their arms her clit rubbed against George's rough hair and her lips latched on to his neck, trying to stifle the cries she couldn't stop falling from her lips.

"Let go, Hermione," George whispered against one ear.

"We want to hear you," Fred murmured into the other one.

She tilted her head back to rest against Fred's shoulder and let each little whimper, each breathless moan escape into the air above their heads.

"Feel so good, Hermione," George was babbling. "So tight, so hot. Need -" His gasp cut off whatever he'd been about to say, and his hips began to snap up faster into her. She could feel Fred thrusting against her as well, but with slow, languorous movements. Undulating, she thought with a smile. The pressure inside her was building. So intense that she thought she'd break apart if it burst, except that she was being held together by the two men surrounding her.

"Fuck, Hermione. I can't – I'm going to-" George bit down on her neck and held her still as his cock pulsed inside her.

She was surprised when Fred lifted her straight off and let her slide down. "Close your legs," he whispered, and she found his cock trapped between her thighs as he thrust hard against her. George slid down the wall and Hermione braced herself against it. She could feel semen seeping down her thighs and Fred moved even easier against her. She tilted her hips back, looking for pressure against that spot.

She felt George nestle against her thighs and Fred let out a surprised yelp when the tongue she could feel must have touched the tip of his cock. George nuzzled against her clitoris. Every nerve seemed to end at the nub that he was lightly flicking.

"Please," she said.

Fred's chuckle tickled her ear. "You don't need to ask permission." He bit down on her shoulder, sending shards of pleasure right down to her toes. "Just come."

Her whole body tensed as waves of pleasure shot through her. She was shuddering, even as Fred's movements behind her became more erratic.

Her legs felt ready to collapse, but George's hands were firm on her hips, keeping her upright. Fred's fingers clenched and his loud groan echoed through the room.

Seconds – minutes? – later and the brothers were still holding her up.

"Can we make it to the bed now?" Fred asked and they crawled onto the large mattress. She felt a smile spread across her face as their arms wrapped around her. Between one heartbeat and the next, she was asleep.

The next morning Hermione woke in the middle of the two men with panic setting in. She crawled out of the bed, shushing Fred with a whispered 'loo' when he stirred. She did go to the bathroom to clean up and transfigured the bathrobe into serviceable wizarding robes. She stood at the end of the bed for a moment, looking down at the twins who had turned to each other in their sleep; with George's missing ear pressed against a pillow they once again looked like copies of each other.

There was a strange sound rushing through her brain and her insides were tied into knots. What had she done? The ache in her muscles told her exactly what she'd done, but she was more worried about the ache in her chest. George had held her all night long, his soft breath whooshing against her neck; Fred slept on his chest, sprawled as much as he could in the rather crowded bed, one foot hanging off the edge, the other tangling with her legs.

And she loved them.

Merlin, you couldn't love two people at once – that way led to jealousy and arguments and broken hearts, and they were twins. The closest two people could be, with their bodies tuned to each other and, she could see, their knees brushing under the sheets. They may not have minded her getting in between them last night, but things would be different in daylight.

They were brilliant and funny and drop-dead gorgeous, and they knew Shakespeare and how to get along in the Muggle world and she loved them.

It was time to stop the madness; no more owls, no more weekend dates. No more Weasley dinners, at least until she could look at them without the clenching in her heart.

She considered lingering long enough to press a kiss to each head of rumpled ginger hair, but realized she'd never go if she did that. She was on her way back to England before they woke.

Puck came with a letter after she missed lunch on Sunday. She sent him back without reading it. He came again Monday and Tuesday and by Wednesday he pecked her fingers before he flew off. His hoot sounded positively angry.

Thursday there was no letter, but Friday brought Puck swooping in at the usual time. She felt guilty when she sent him away. After she skipped brunch that week she decided it was time to close her Floo as well.

She ended her second week without the twins feeling just as miserable as the first, but at least she was alone in the misery without well-meaning questions and sympathetic looks.

Of course, she hadn't counted on Harry turning up at work. He was waiting for her when she got back from lunch on Friday.

"So, which one did you fall in love with?" he asked without pre-amble.

"What?"

"Your list has crossed off both 'have a threesome' and 'fall in love'. Since there are only two men you've been spending time with recently, and you're dodging everyone with red hair as well as me, I figure you fell into bed with both of them and don't know how to tell one of them that he's no longer needed."

"Merlin, if only it were that simple." She let her head fall to the desk, not wanting to speak it out loud; and if she had to say it, not wanting to face Harry when she did. She felt his hand on the back of her head and felt a little calmer.

"What's so difficult? Did you realize that you're in love with Ron?"

Her bark of laughter almost sounded like a sob. "No." She sat up and looked at the man who'd taken a perch on top of her paperwork. "I love them both."

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh. Well, that certainly seems a lot easier than only loving one of the Weasley twins." A smile played around his lips.

"Harry, could you please take this seriously?"

"Have you looked at my list recently?"

She frowned, but pulled the three lists from her bag. She spotted it immediately; they were the first two items on Harry's list.

"You, too? Who?"

"Um, Neville and –" Harry blushed. "And, uh, Blaise Zabini."

"That was you in Venice."

"Yeah. Sorry for avoiding you."

"But, Harry, you can't love two people at the same time."

"Why not? It's not the norm, though Nev and Blaise tell me that it's accepted more readily in the wizarding world, but why can't you love two people? I believe you have that much love in you. I certainly have that much love in me."

"Oh, of course you do, Harry."

"Then you're going to give it a chance?"

"What will people say? What will my mother say?"

"Your mother just wants you to be happy, I’m sure. As for everyone else, after what we've done for the wizarding world, I'd say we have the right to take our happiness where we find it. And tell the lot of them to stuff it."

They both looked around as an owl swept through the window. Hermione took the scroll from Puck before she could change her mind.

The note had just said 'dress casual' and had been signed 'F&G', so she had no idea what they were doing. She fidgeted as she waited; she was meant to be holding the parchment at 6.30pm, and it was now 6.29. She'd been holding it since quarter past.

The Portkey activated exactly on time and she felt the pull at her navel. She reappeared alone in the middle of a living room she'd never visited before, but which still looked familiar. The pictures on the mantle all featured redheads and Harry. There was one picture that was different; it was her, barefoot and in three-quarter pants, hair a damp mess and a grin on her face with a dragon in the background.

"Are you ready?" she heard from the other room. "She'll be here soon."

"I'd have been ready sooner if your new experiment hadn't turned my hair green. Nothing is working, and it really doesn't look good with the freckles."

"Well, she'll be able to tell us apart."

There was a miffed sounding snort. "Our Hermione's always been able to tell us apart."

Hermione realized that was true; she'd rarely had the problems that others did, and getting to know them better had only made it even easier to tell one from the other. They even spoke differently, though the finishing each other's sentences thing they did was largely designed to confuse, she was sure. For instance, she knew it would be George who came out with green hair.

"One of the many things that makes her perfect," the voice she knew was Fred, replied.

"Now we just have to convince her," George said, stepping into the room. "Oh." He stopped when he saw her and stumbled a little when Fred walked into him.

"Hello," she said shyly.

"Hi," they said in unison.

"I like your hair."

George twisted his lips ruefully as he lifted a hand to run through the green mop. "It's his fault."

"It's fetching," Fred said and just like that she was comfortable again. "We were going to cook, but there was an accident at work. So there's Indian take-away and A Midsummer Night's Dream with Michelle Pfeiffer."

"That's not on the list."

"We can do normal things together," Fred said.

George stepped to her side. "We want the normal things with you, Hermione," he murmured. "Not just the wild things."

He gave her a little push with the hand that was resting on her lower back and she followed Fred through the entrance hall to what they called their 'entertainment room', a warded room at the back of the house which was full of Muggle electronics. Bowls of saffron rice, Roghan Josh and Tandoori chicken sat on the low table in front of the large television.

She sat on the couch between them and found herself enjoying the food and the movie and the familiar feel of their warm limbs pressing into her sides. Somewhere along the line she'd leaned back into George, his arm heavy around her waist, and rested her feet on Fred's lap. Food and happiness made her drowsy and she'd slipped into sleep before Puck set things to rights.

She was woken with a soft kiss on her cheek. "We should send you home to bed."

"No!" she said and Fred froze. "I mean – can I stay here?"

"Here on the couch? Or here in our bed?"

"In your bed," she replied, noting with interest that ownership of the bed was a plural thing. Maybe this wasn't so crazy after all.

Fred lifted her out of George's arms and walked through the house to a room with the largest bed she'd ever seen. They held her close and she wondered if they'd been having trouble sleeping as well, because it wasn't long before their soft snores drifted around the room. She fell asleep to the sound, contentment curling through her belly.

She woke up first the next morning, and carefully crawled out from between the two men.

A hand grabbed her wrist. "Disappearing again?" It was Fred.

She shook her head. "I just want to get my list."

"I thought last night wasn't on it?"

"Ron added it, I think. Accio bag." She grabbed her hand bag out of the air and fished around for the familiar list, the parchment soft from being handled so often. She settled back onto the bed, her back against the headboard and started perusing it.

George was still mostly asleep and he rolled into her, using her thigh as a pillow, his arm clutching her close. Fred sat up to look over her shoulder.

"I can't believe Ron would add eating tandoori and watching Shakespeare to the list."

She just smiled because there it was. Right at the bottom.

She pointed it out to Fred. "Do you think we can do it?"

He grabbed a quill and carefully drew a line through it.

Live happily ever after.

Five Years Later…

Ron and Harry walked into Hermione's room, a bunch of flowers and a teddy bear between them. She accepted the kisses on her cheek and smiled rather tiredly as they sat in conjured chairs beside her.

"You must be nearly to the end of your list by now, Hermione," Harry said.

"Fred and George keep adding to it. I don't think it will ever finish."

"What did they add to it that caused this?" Ron asked.

Hermione blushed, because that had been on the Special List, or Sex List as the twins insisted on calling it, and had been rather filthy, if a lot of fun. "These things happen the normal way," was all she said.

"Do you need a diagram, Ron?" Harry asked and ducked out of the way of Ron's half-hearted punch. "Wasn't it a brilliant idea of mine?"

Hermione thought back to everything she'd done in the last five years: Shakespeare-in-the-Park, a visit to the Louvre, white-water rafting and zorbing. Quiet dinners, helping with experiments, watching movies. Falling in love, marrying two wonderful men. Living happily ever after.

"Possibly the best idea you've ever had, Harry."

There was a gurgle from the door and they all turned towards it. Two tall, red-haired men stood in the doorway, each cradling a tiny bundle of white fabric, with equally red hair sticking out from it.

"Ready to meet Uncle Ron and Uncle Harry?" Fred asked his bundle.

"Remember, ladies, these are the two you need to watch out for," George added, one finger clasped in a tiny hand. "They're bad influences."

As her daughters were introduced to the two men who would surely become their favourite uncles, Hermione fished a list from her bag. It was not the original one, which had run out of space three years ago and was ready to fall apart besides. This was list four, and she carefully crossed Have a child off of it. Just as when she'd fallen in love, she'd got double her expected joy.

She read the bottom line. Live happily ever after.

"Have you decided on names yet?" Harry was asking.

"Yes."

"No."

"I like Cordelia and Regan, but George thinks King Lear is too heavy for his baby girls."

"It is. What's wrong with Viola and Olivia?"

"Oh, I don't know. Twelfth Night is a terrible play?"

"What does Hermione think?" Ron asked, cutting through the bickering.

"Rosalind and Phoebe," Hermione said.

"As You Like It," Fred said with a smile.

"Yeah. Hermione did the work. It should be as she likes it," Ron said.

Hermione shared a smile with her husbands and set her quill to the final line. Every day was happily ever after.