A Bloke to Consider

A Bloke

Hermione Granger had spent the last four years of her life in utter frustration. She'd been attending Hogwarts academy since she was 11 and the school itself was wonderful. She even made friends for the first time in her young life. The problem was, well, boys were dumb.

"Ronald!" She had taken Ginny up on her offer of visiting at the Burrow for the summer but was naturally regretting before dinner. "Don't you continue with that line of conversation. You'll not like what my right hand'll do to you."

The boy in question was going rather red in the face, having just been thoroughly slapped. Her left hand remained in the air, just the moment before having landed solidly on his cheek. The topic of snark and immature jibes, her cat, was watching from the arm of the couch with a small purr of satisfaction being the accompaniment to the ticking grandfather clock in the otherwise silent room.

"Hell, 'Moine. I heard that from over here." Harry broke the silence, a nervous chuckle and audible gulp breaking his poor sarcasm. "Ron didn't mean anything by it."

She whirled in his direction, certain from the cry of shock that her hair had gotten Ron as she turned. "You, too. Both of you lay off Crookshanks or there will be no peace for either of you."

Then Ron opened his mouth, once again. "Oh, like it gets worse?"

Hermione felt herself bristle and her cheeks heat with her frustration. "I'm going for a walk." Harry began to rise from his place on the window seat, ready to set his holiday curriculum aside and go with her. "Alone."

She left as calmly as she could, marching straight passed Molly and Ginny in the garden. She walked, humid summer air clinging to her exposed arms and making her hair frizz more than usual. She walked until the Burrow was a only an ant sized figurine in the distance.

Then she screamed. She knew they could probably still hear her, anger making her outcry shrill. As the angry tears began to build up, though, she found she didn't care.

"Damn, you Ronald."

"Agreed."

"Here, here."

She froze, rage turning into a hard lump in her stomach. "Oh." She turned, surprise making her almost lose her footing in haste to face her unwanted companions. "Fred. George. How, um-?"

"Nice?"

"I think she meant, "wonderful," George." Fred smirked and nudged his brother who mirrored his expression. "Summers gonna be a good one now that the handsome Weasley's are home, right Granger."

"No. I'm quite done with Weasley men for the summer thank you." She began to turn from them but stopped. "I thought you were spending the rest of the summer with Lee? Doesn't matter. Why are you lot such prats? Like, utter bastards! Be honest."

The boys shared a look before George took her left arm and wheeled her around so the three of them were now moving away from the house. Further up the field they went, Fred following his brothers lead and looping her right arm with his. They walked for a moment in silence as the twins seemed to be having a psychic conversation she could never be privy to.

"What has Ickle-Ronniekins done now?"

She huffed at the simultaneously asked question, two voices becoming one surround sound assault. "He's been on me all morning. I got in last night. He and Harry were both pleasant and we were getting on great. Today, though, he's been in a right twist. First my hair, then my clothes, then that I got my summer course work done and so on so forth. I was handling it fine-"

"By that you mean you virbrating-"

"-blood trickling out of your ears-"

"-But he decided to have a go at your cat." She gave a growl of frustration and they nodded in unison. "Sounds about right."