Curiousity Treats

Hermione Jean Granger sat at the foot of the stairs, her hands clasping the cold metal rails. She couldn't pin point exactly whether the emotion required was awkwardness or curiosity to be quite alone in the twins' room. It was quite clean, surprisingly. Her hands found their way down her silk nightgown as she gingerly swatted dust particles off her. On her lap she delicately handled a hardbound book, one that she suspected might give her a head's start for this year's O.. Slumber didn't seem much a choice now that there was too much to occupy her mind.

Fred Weasley and all his drowsily reckless glory walked up to his familiar doorstep, beside him stood George Weasley whose eyes were completely closed despite his moving body. Incredulous, Fred Weasley snorted and turned the doorknob.

She stood there at the foot of their temporary staircase, and despite the fact that she was aware of him glancing at her, he proceded to stare. Maybe it was her high messy ponytail with spare strands sticking out in such a chaotic manner that struck him as charming, or maybe it was that silky nightgown that flowed off her body quite well, softening the curves and complimenting her rosy skin. Or maybe it was how unsurprising a book nestled on her lap that brought himself to notice the little things.

Bloody hell.

How absurd was he today? All the butterbeer starting to wreck his nerves a little, he reckons. Must be the slight subconscious yearning for a woman to hold. Oh, now that sounds very uncharacteristic, now the words "yearn" and "woman" will forever strike him as that odd phase of his adolescent life.

"My eyes are closed but I sense your disturbance," George mumbled softly, one eyelid opening in slight amusement.

"There's an odd smell in our room," Fred said, not meeting Hermione's eyes. He wasn't lying, not completely, there certainly was that aroma of fresh roses and vanilla in the room. He didn't exactly indicate whether or not he liked it. But even so, he wrinkled his nose.

"It-it must be me," Hermione stood up, slightly flushed, "I shouldn't have put out my mother's-"

"Odd, meaning, unfamiliar, not unpleasant," Fred did meet her eyes this time, he threw her one of his familiar smirks and proceeded to raid his closet.

"Sleepy, love? Better head on upstairs." George yawned.

"Actually, you seem a lot more slumber-deprived than I am." Her eyes flickered to George's dark circles under his eyes.

"You're going to sit by the stairs all night until we fall asleep, is that it? Sing a lullabye, I suppose." George threw himself lazily on his bed, his eyes still shut, yet his face conveyed his familiar "i'm-silently-having-an-inside-joke-with-myself" little grin.

"Have cookies with us, love," Fred said nonchalantly.

Hermione eyed him in curiosity. Fred was indeed holding a platter of warm baked cookies. She proceeded to show him no response of admiration.

"If you're wondering, our room possesses many wonders, child," George mumbled, eyes still shut. Fred and Hermione simultaneously threw him a look. If the git were as drowsy as he proclaimed, he might as well stop talking.

Hermione reached out reluctantly to get a piece of warm chocolate delight.

"Nope, we're playing a game." Fred swatted her hand away.

"But you offered-"

"You looked reluctant. How can I offer only the kings and queens of cookies to one who is reluctant? If you really crave as you proclaim, you undergo the obstacles."

A smile was playing on his pale lips and Hermione unsurprisingly felt the strong urge to punch him.

"What game?" She asked, slightly tired and incredulous to her actions.

"One that unlocks your door, apparantly. You come out of it once and the second time you try to enter, it seeks a password." Fred munched on a cookie messily. Almost instantly, his mischievous eyes lit up in anticipation as all signs of his slight drowsiness passed in light speed.

Hermione scanned his face quickly, attempting to target any signs of humor, idiocy and deceit. Concluding that she would spot these signs on a daily basis, she turned her head and marched upstairs, her feet heavily trodding the ground.

"Wake up all the neighbors, eh?" George's irritated voice rose from below.

Hermione ignored him and stared at her door. A small carved dragon settled smack in the middle, one that she hasn't seen before. One would be unwise to question Hermione Granger's memory. This dragon was new. Holding her breath, she slowly turned the doorknob.

"PASSWORD, LITTLE GIRL WHO REFUSES TO READ INSTRUCTIONS AND INSISTS ON WAKING UP POOR INNOCENT CREATURES TAPED ON HER DOOR. PASSWORD OR THE RAGE OF MYSTICAL FIRE WILL UNLOCK THE-"

"Oh bloody hell!" Hermione gasped and tripped on her own feet, resulting to another heavy thud. George groaned once again, covering his head with a pillow in frustration.

"All who doubt me suffer a trip or two," Fred, who had guessed the circumstance despite not watching the scene, shrugged his shoulders.

"SINCE WHEN WAS THERE A BLOODY PASSWO-"

"Mum and dad set it up, it was to keep us out but you disappeared before Ginny could hand to you the note. Must've misplaced it, little Ginny," Fred tried to lower his tone to indicate sympathy and innocence, although it was as clear as daylight on his face that a simple misplacement by the youngest Weasley was too far a reason.

"Hand it over, Fred." Thunders arose as she marched down. She was bloody well pissed now, any act of slight admiration she held for them a moment ago flashed away like the blinking of lights. He may look dashing now, she thought miserably, but once a mindless, deceitful git, always a mindless deceitful git. She was never one too patient for their little tricks.

It must've been a sudden change of anger-clouded expression for Fred's face seemed to flicker in second thought. "If you're as clever as you think you are, you'd be up in no time. It's a simple game really, you can ask me any question and i'll reply with a yes or no."

She sat down now, exasperated. Putting her pride and dignity at risk, she looked him in the eye.

"Is this related to magic?"

"No, surprisingly. Well it could, if you wanted it to be."

Hermione gave this a second for thought.

"It's muggle-related then?"

"Not exclusively, but it can."

"Is this edible?"

Fred paused. "If one were dying of hunger, perhaps."

She threw him a look and he winked. "Not a lie slips my lips, Granger."

"You said you'd reply with merely a yes or a no."

"I always was a rule breaker."

Rolling her eyes and finding no comeback for this, she proceeded. "Do I see this everyday?"

"I would like to think so."

"It's essential for daily life then?"

"It bloody well should."

"Books." She quipped.

"That answer only applies to a very small demographic, try again." He said, as if he expected this answer.

"Knowledge?"

"Yes, because you can certainly eat knowledge if you were dying of hunger."

"You could've meant it metaphorically!"

"I could've meant every answer metaphorically and this game would end nowhere and you'd have to proceed to sleep here which would be unsuitable for the three of us."

"Does it come in many sizes?" She tried.

"Yes."

"I can hold the biggest size with my hands?"

"This is assuming there aren't any new sizes, for you really never know what muggles come up with these days"

Hermione released a short breath in annoyance. "It's essential to daily life, not edible, and quite portable or so I assume. Is it a kind of clothing?"

"Last I checked, no."

"Shoes?"

"That is quite racist of you, for there may be parts of other countries not introduced to the concept of feet protection."

"Racism refers to discrimination of-" She started.

"New question, Granger."

Hermione paused. "Is this usually found in the living room?"

"No." He smiled.

"Dining room?"

"Unless you prefer it to be there, I suppose."

She shot him a look. "Bedroom?"

He grinned idiotically, "Depending on the circumstances, I suppose. But usually, no."

"Bathroom, then?" She sighed desperately.

Fred paused for a while. "Yes."

"Oh!" She put her hands up in the air and collapsed on his bed as she smiled slightly despite herself. "Well that certainly narrows things down."

Fred watched her curiously as she rocked herself on his bed in tiresome glory. "Well are you going to end this game, or-"

"SOAP!" She exclaimed quite loudly.

"GOOD LORD." George sat up, completelely exasperated, his face clouded with unmistakable annoyance. He threw a pillow at Hermione ruthlessly. She merely caught it, smiling.

"I'm sorry, George. I'm going to bed now." She whispered.

"Hang on, I didn't say that was correct." Fred cocked an eyebrow.

Her face fell, and despite himself, Fred's eyes crinkled in mocking delight. "Ugh, shampoo, then? Unless this is specific, I've always prefered lemon-scented shampoo, next to this would probably be strawberry-"

"Yes love, shampoo. Now go to bed. You've wasted a precious hour of my supposedly slumber-filled night." He yawned.

"The brilliant password that kept me up was SHAMPOO?" She shook her head, incredulous. Not waiting for a remark in response, she sat up.

Hermione sprinted to the banisters, taking two steps at a time as she did so. One last step before finally reaching the top, she shot Fred a very Hermione-ish look. "Also, don't you dare accuse me of depriving you of sweet slumber, you dragged me to this game. And why 'shampoo?'"

"You know dad, fascinated with many things. And you gotta hand it to him and mum, we never would've guessed it as a password. Well, good night." He gingerly waved his hand, as if dismissing her.

With a slight scowl, she muttered. "Well, good night."

As Hermione Granger disappeared into the chamber upstairs, Fred Weasley sprinted himself and recklessly searched his drawer for a notepad.

Lemon-scented shampoo, he lightly wrote.