Mirrors

The Letter

Hermione
"'Mione?" asked a familiar voice.
Sighing inwardly, Hermione put down her quill. She had been writing a letter to the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical creatures, and had just come up with a very good sentence. She spun around to face a freckled, tousle-haired Fred Weasley. "No, I'm not interested in a Canary Cream," she said dismissively. "and I really don't think you should be selling-"
"Ah, Hermione," Fred sighed loudly. "How swiftly you dismiss what I say."
"Well, what is it, then?" She inquired, her mind already wandering back to her letter.
"First, I am not selling the creams because a) we ran out and b) feathers don't much suit you." Fred noted. "As for the message, it's from Dumbledore." He held out a crisp, white scroll of parchment, firmly bound with a thick red ribbon.
Hermione quickly untied the ribbon, unease settling in the pit of her stomache. Had Dumbledore found out that she had been helping Harry? But that wasn't fair to blame her. Yes, the Triwizard contestants were supposed to work out the clue on their own, but Harry was only 14, and she knew for a fact that Madame Maxine and Karkaroff helped their contestants. But what if that didn't matter to Dumbledore? What if he was expelling her? The thought was so horrible that Hermione nearly ripped the letter, such was her haste to disprove this theory.
Most fortunately, the letter did not admit her expulsion for Hogwarts. She breathed a sigh of relief as she read,
Dear Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley,
As she read, she heard Fred say in a voice oddly lacking its usual overconfidence, "So, Hermione, I was wondering, since, you know, the Yule Ball's coming up, if-"
"It's got your name on it," she interrupted.
"Huh?"
"The letter, I mean," she clarified. "I think Dumbledore wanted us to read it together."
"Mind reading it aloud, then?" He sat down before her, his legs crisscrosses.
The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could quite grab hold of them. "What, can't you read?" Immediately, Hermione wished she could take them back. Evidently, she had hit a sore spot.
Fred scowled, his face hardening and his tone icy. "No, I can't." He paused. "Some people can't read, or don't like to. But I suppose Little Miss Perfect Granger hadn't stopped to consider that before she started thinking she was smarter than everyone else."
She amended hastily. The words stung, but she knew she was at fault. "I'm sorry, I really am, Fred!" Stupid damn mouth, she scolded herself. "I shouldn't have, that was really insensitive-"
"Nevermind," The gruffness in his tone implied otherwise. "It's fine, just read."

How does one say it in the muggle television- "I have a mission for you, should you choose to accept it." And it is one mission of grave importance. I implore you two to come to my office at 6:00 the following evening, as I would prefer to give it to you in person, as to ensure secrecy. I have deemed you as the best candidates for this task, and I trust you will not disappoint.
Regards,
Professor Dumbledore
PS- The password is Bertie Blott's Every Flavour Beans

"What d'you think it is that he wants us to do?" Fred asked in a hushed voice, for they were aware the common room was still packed with people more than capable of overhearing their conversation.
"I-I don't know any more than you do. He's never asked me to do a task, it's always been Harry."
"Ah well, at least I don't get detention with Snape," he said airily. "D' you know what that-" he let out a rather colorful vocabulary of words that Hermione was certain he'd never say in front of Mrs. Weasley. "-is making me do? I have to clean out his whole effin potions supply closet! And then do detention for a month cleaning out everything!"
"What did you do? I know Snape's foul, but-" But there was no but. Snape was a foul, loathesome, biased bastard that embodied everything a teacher should never be. Hermione flinched inwardly as she was unpleasantly reminded of the time she had her teeth hexed by Malfoy, and how they extended, past her chin, to her collarbone. By the time she had made it to Madame Pomfrey, they had grown past her chest and she could hardly breathe, since, in addition to having teeth constrict her airway, she was crying. And what did the bastard do? Sneered at her, told her, "I see no difference." There was no "but"s for Severus Snape. Hermione clenched her fists in anger and thought longingly of how she could have jinxed him right then and there, her Furnunculus curse was excellent.
"Well, uh-" the skin of Fred's cheeks turned slightly pink. Hermione found the sudden, inexplicable urge to feel the flush of them under her fingertips. "When he told you, that you were an insufferable know-it-all in front of the class, I, er, got pretty pissed and set off a Dungbomb in his office," he stammered, his eyes downcast and looking at the floor.
"Oh, Fred," she said. "You didn't have to do that. Not on my behalf. It wasn't that big a deal." Something in her voice betrayed her, and she could tell Fred sensed it too.
"Yes, it was," he said indignantly. "A teacher- an authority figure- shouldn't do that. Snape deserves to be boiled in his own frog spawn."
She added. "And left to simmer in boiling heat."
"Perhaps tortured by having to shampoo his hair," he chimed perkily.
"And have it run into his eyes and burn." She felt quite a bit better at imagining Snape screaming as acidic shampoo touched and burned his eyes.
They continued in this fashion for quite a while, chatting animatedly about Snape suffering, not noticing that the fire was growing lower and lower as the Gryffindor common room emptied.
The talking ceased as they drifted off to sleep. The room became dark with the absence of the long-since extinguished firelight. Dimly, Hermione was registered that somehow, she and Fred had ended up leaning against a sofa, side-by-side, her bushy head resting upon his shoulder, and his vivid red head resting upon hers.