Title: This Was Not Part of the Plan (But Baby, You Were a Blessing in Disguise)
Category: Harry Potter
Genre: Drama/Romance
Ship: Hermione/Fred
Rating: High T
Warning(s): Sexually Suggestive
Prompt: This was actually part of a prompt I found, but I can't find it… Meh. Just go with it.
Word Count: 5,684
Summary: See, the potion could not – would not – turn blue. No, because if it did, and it wouldn't, then Hermione Granger – very much unattached – would be pregnant. With a Weasley.

This Was Not Part of the Plan (But Baby, You Were a Blessing in Disguise)
-1/1-

Hermione paced. Back and forth. Left and right. To and fro. All the while muttering under her breath, chewing her lip, and counting the weeks, the months; calculating whether this was all just pointless.

See, the potion could not – would not – turn blue. No, because if it did, and it wouldn't, then Hermione Granger – very much unattached – would be pregnant. And that was— That was unacceptable. Not the unattached part, and really she was all for woman's rights, if a witch or muggle wanted to raise a child on her own, all the power to her. Hermione was a strong, independent woman who didn't need a man to help her with, well, anything. Though she did rather miss the warmth of a body next to her, the strength of arms wrapped snugly around her, the contentment that came from feeling their breath skittering against the back of her neck as they snored. But those were just physical things, really. Small comforts that she missed when she went home to her very empty bed each night.

If perhaps, on occasion, she missed having a hand to hold while she strolled through Diagon Alley then it was natural with spring causing a parade of all the happy couples to rub it in. And if there were times that she wished she had somebody to make her laugh or to listen to her work stories or to just kiss her hello each morning or when she got home from work, that really wasn't so much to ask for.

But this… This was not something she had anticipated. This wasn't something she was even sure she wanted. She loved children, of course, but she hadn't planned on having them any time soon. That was why she and Ron hadn't worked out; he wanted to get married and have kids and she wanted to finish her schooling and have a career. She was happy to note that Ron got what he wanted, with a witch that made him very happy, and she too was doing exactly what she had planned for her life… Only she was doing it alone. Now, that was nothing against Ron, because she certainly wouldn't change their circumstances. He belonged with Luna and Hermione's feelings for him had long faded. But there were times, especially late at night, when she admitted to herself that she wanted a wizard in her life on a semi-permanent basis. She wasn't asking for marriage, exactly… Although, she wanted the chance of that to be in their future. But she did want somebody who wouldn't put restraints on her and her drive; who would see that her career and all her hard-work was not an idle hobby to be tossed away when she found her husband, but something that she valued greatly and would continue to do for the rest of her foreseeable life.

Now, did that life eventually have children in it? Yes. Yes, it did. In fact, if she were being honest with herself – and what better time than now? – there were occasions when she held Ron's children, both of whom were under five, and she wondered what it would be like to hold her own son or daughter. If they would look at her and feel her love simply radiating off of her. If they would idolize their mummy and beg for her to read just one more bedtime story each night when she put them down. If they would have her hair or her eyes or her love of school. But then she looked around and she realized her only partner in life was her work and that wasn't going to miraculously impregnate her.

But now, here she was. She was waiting on a potion to show her whether or not a very unexpected shag with a very unexpected wizard was going to produce what her heart rather yearned for while her head was going mental. She hadn't even spoken to the wizard that may or may not be the future father of her yet to be proven real child. It had been a misunderstanding, see. There was firewhiskey involved and laughter and a good lot of harmless flirting, which was to be expected when Hermione was anywhere near a Weasley male that was currently unmarried. And, all right, that really only left Fred, George and Charlie, and she would happily admit to flirting with each of them at one time or another, but one in particular was her favorite. Which was what led to them shagging four times over the course of the evening, each time better than the last, before a slightly mortified and far more sober Hermione quickly fled the scene.

He hadn't owled.

She didn't want to be disappointed, but she was.

It wasn't entirely his fault, obviously. She was the one who saw fit to turn tail and flee. But she had hoped, being who he was, he would at least confront her over her cowardly behavior and, perhaps, even ask for a date so they could see if there was anything more than incredible sexual chemistry. But nothing, nada, not one ink-touched post from him, and she had decided that she would stop waiting for it. She would not be the witch who pined away for a one-night-stand that obviously was never meant to be anything more than it was.

Until the bubbling potion on her desk told her that it was decidedly meant to be a whole lot more… Much sooner than she ever expected too.

"Oh, this is awful," she complained, shaking her head, sending frizzy, bushy brown curls flying everywhere. "There's nothing to even say I'd make a good mum!" She quickened her pacing. "I could be dreadful at it!" She stopped suddenly. "I don't have any books on this subject; not anywhere…" She was actually appalled at her lack of planning; though it would have seemed a mite unusual if she had actually collected a large number of books on pregnancy or child-rearing when it wasn't in her plan to do either for some time. But now all she could think of was all the time she could have spent studying the subject and hadn't.

The timer she put on her wand suddenly rang with an authority that made her stumble, lead filling her stomach. Wincing, she turned, stared worriedly at the potion, and with a deep breath finally stepped forward to peer down into the contents and find out whether her life had just taken a very different turn.

It took her three steps to find out what her future held.

And twice as many seconds to know where she had to go and who she had to see.

The cheerful and exuberant inner workings of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes should have been a pick-me-up, and any other day it might have been. But in the state of shock she was in, Hermione hardly noticed the wide variety of things flying about or the shrieks of shock or laughter of patrons. She simply walked right through the door and across the floor, hardly noticing people as she maneuvered around them and the lively store displays before eventually finding herself at the front desk. She took one look at the brightly grinning Weasley behind the desk and knew he wasn't the one she was looking for.

"Is he around?" she asked in a plain, emotionless voice.

The smile dimmed quite quickly. "Yeah… He's in the back. I can get him if you want. I just need to—"

She waved a hand to stop him. "I know the way," she said faintly before turning on her heel and walking away.

"Wait, 'Mione…" He took a step toward her as she paused and looked back at him. "You… all right? You look a little…" He frowned. "Sickly."

She might've admonished him for his poor choice of words – they weren't exactly flattering – but she was far too distracted to even waste her time. Shaking her head, she turned back around and continued toward the back room, where he was no doubt dealing with dangerous potions or ingredients.

The sign on the door was askew; a warning that any who entered were liable to be burned, maimed, or never seen again. She knocked, waited for his voice to reply, and then shoved the door open and walked inside.

He was standing over the work desk, muggle goggles on, and had three separate potions brewing, each at a different stage. She kept close to the wall partly because the smell was absolutely disgusting and partly because if any of them were about to blow up, she felt suddenly very protective of her body and what it was currently growing.

"If you read the sign, you non-verbally agreed to take any grievous injury upon yourself at no cost to me or the rest of my team," he called out to her cheerfully, not yet looking up.

"Rather brilliant idea," she admitted, lifting a shoulder. "But then, not everybody reads everything put in front of them… In fact, I'd wager Ron didn't."

"Quite right," he agreed, suddenly looking up and staring at her as he realized who it was that had entered his den of brilliance. "I… wasn't expecting to see you 'round these parts…" He checked his potions and then stepped away from the desk, rubbing his hands on his robes. "Fact, you haven't been anywhere near here in a few months."

She swallowed tightly, hearing a noticeable change in his tone. "Yes, well, it's not as if I visited your place of work very often, so it's not all that surprising, really…"

"Maybe not often… Weekly, though…" He ground his teeth and glared. "I seem to remember spending a number of lunch hours with you. 'Specially when you were chuffed with your co-workers…" He raised an orange brow. "How are Celia and Joseph?"

She dabbed her lip with her tongue as her eyes fell and she felt decidedly rude for not having visited. "Still arguing over stupid things…" She smiled suddenly, a light laugh leaving her. "I got fed up with it last week and I finally just told them to shag and put the rest of us out of their misery…" She rolled her eyes at her own behavior and the shock it produced from her co-workers. Perhaps he had more influence on her and her life than she had anticipated.

"Good… They take your advice?"

Her nose wrinkled. "Unfortunately, no… In fact, they fight more."

He shrugged. "Well, when they finally go at it, they'll probably blow each other's minds then…"

She nodded, focusing everywhere but on him. "Perhaps the only upside to the whole thing then…"

A long, agonizingly silent moment passed wherein neither of them said anything and the tension grew thicker and thicker.

"You just pop by for idle chit-chat, then?" he asked, sighing, shoulders slumping.

She finally looked at him, noting the defeated expression she was certain should never be on any Weasley, least of all one of the twins.

"I—I—No… No, that's not it at all, actually… I—I have some rather big news and I thought—"

"What?" he asked, scoffing. "That we could just go back to what we were… You'd ask me out for lunch and I'd listen to you prattle on about work and life and then we go our separate ways and pretend like everything's fine…" He threw a hand up. "Maybe you got a raise or another big project or, hell, maybe you finally found the bloke of your dreams and you just had to tell good ol' reliable Freddie about how great he is. How you finally found the wizard you always wanted…" He shook his head, licking his lips. "Don't work that way, love. Soon as we shag, we stop sharing light-hearted banter…"

She winced, chin trembling. "Right… I-I don't know what I was thinking…" She blinked hurriedly. "Imagine, Fred Weasley being friends with a witch he slept with. The horror…"

He strode across the room, pinning her against the wall with his stare and wagged a finger at her. "You don't get to play the victim here, Granger… You left me!"

She glared up at him, her teeth grit. "I was scared!"

"Of what?" he demanded, his voice hoarse. "We spent the whole night together! I-I've never seen you so carefree!" His hand slammed against the wall past her shoulder. "You let me hold you the whole night through and when I woke up you just… You slipped away. Like it was nothing… Like— Like I was something you were ashamed of…" His jaw ticked. "Was I not the right Weasley? Hair not red enough? Foot not far enough in my mouth?"

She sniffed. "This has nothing to do with Ron!"

"No? Then why? Why the hell'd you bugger off like it was nothing? Why not stay and talk it out? 'Cause Merlin knows I was expecting to have my ear talked off while you laid out all the rules behind how we were gonna work…" He lowered his head so their noses were nearly touching. "You weren't complaining when I was fucking you so deep you forgot your bloody name, witch!"

She flushed crimson. "Must you be so coarse?"

"I seem to remember you liked being talked dirty to…" He stepped closer, until his firm body was pressed so tight she could feel every breath he took. His hips rocked, knocking against hers, and she leaned back, flattening against the wall.

Despite the anger radiating off of him, the sneering in his voice, there was a noticeable heat creeping along her skin, swirling in her belly and flashing in waves between her thighs. She shook her head, trying to find focus once more, and closed her eyes. She drew in a deep breath, readying herself to begin a long speech. However, she was immediately flooded with his scent and whatever words she'd thought to say fled her. Opening her eyes, she raised them to meet him.

He was angry. He had every right to be upset because, for all of her Gryffindor bravery, she had snuck off on him and let this—this uncertainty hang between them ever since. But she had not come here because she wanted to make him feel better or to explain herself. Even if he deserved both of those things. "Fred," she began, lifting her chin.

His hand rose and cupped her cheek, his callused palm swamping it. He had such large hands, with long fingers, and speckled with freckles that she remembered spending a long time connecting. She was briefly distracted as she remembered how those hands had worked their way over her body, how they'd deftly taken her to new heights, waking up the desire she'd had pent up inside.

Hermione hadn't had many lovers. In part, because she worked as much as she did and had little time or energy to put toward romance. But also because, to her way of thinking, sex was something deeply personal. She did not feel comfortable with herself enough to just shed her clothes and hop into bed. It was not who she was, though she held no ill will toward other witches who felt differently. Perhaps it was leftover insecurity about her looks or, and she had given it considerable thought, it may have more to do with trust issues. Over the years, the Wizarding world had been both a blessing and a curse. She had seen the absolute worst of it and the people who lived in it. Yes, they had won the war, but she still felt suspicious of everyone she met, questioning their motives and where their allegiances had lain.

Since she and Fred had slept together, she let herself question the why behind her actions. She let herself wonder if whether it was always leading up to that point or if it was simply an act of circumstance. They had been drinking and they were comfortable with each other. She trusted Fred nearly as much as she did Harry and Ron. And Fred was so… He was different with her. He was still a prankster, he still valued humor over all else, and he liked to poke fun at her when she was being "too stuffy." However, she also knew that he was intelligent and warm, he was brave and dedicated, and he would do what was right when the time called for it.

She stared up into his brown eyes and she felt her heart stutter. Much like it had when he reached for her that night, crossing the space on the sofa until their bodies were touching, the heat of his thigh pressing against her own. They had been laughing, about what she couldn't remember; not then and not now. But tension had fallen upon them, a moment they could no escape and neither did they want to. It had been long in coming by then.

He turned to her, his eyes washing over her face, pausing at her parted lips, a shaky breath escaping between them. And then his hand was on her knee, his thumb rubbing back and forth, gentle and soothing, and he leaned toward her. Their noses brushed and she remembered staring down, counting the freckles across the bridge, before finally his lips touched the very corner of her mouth. Her heart leapt up into her throat and lodged there. She felt his breath skitter over her lips as he moved slowly, his mouth hovering so close and yet so far. Her eyes fell closed in the same moment their lips met completely, warm and firm. And then it was just hands; reaching, kneading, sliding under clothes. And lips; slanting, swiping, heavy, panted breaths meeting in between.

They were not as drunk as she might have tried to believe they were. And even if they were, it had long worn off by the time she'd woken in the morning, arms and legs twined together. Eyes still crusty with sleep, she climbed into his lap, pressing kisses to his chest as he drowsily reached for her, fingers tangling in her hair. She was sober. She was aware of what she was doing when they came together in the filtered light of the early morning. When she kissed the cluster of freckles over his heart and guided his length inside her, taking her time, slowly savoring every second of it. When she threw her head back, her hips rocking, fingers tangled with his on her thighs as she shouted his name.

She'd panicked when she woke, not because she thought he might turn her away but because she thought he wouldn't. Fred was loyal, dedicated, and he would not have been with her if he hadn't considered the future. Yes, of course, he had a habit of doing insane things just for the explosion factor, but he would never put his relationships with his family or Harry at risk by hurting her.

Truth be told, she knew that there were feelings between them, beyond just sex or friendship. There was a reason she hadn't explored them though and that was because she knew that to do so would mean taking it all very seriously. It meant truly looking at her life and her decisions and making room for Fred, not simply as an outsider looking in, but as a real part of her life. It meant fewer late nights at work and instead planning for dates. It meant telling Molly that they were dating, which would inevitably lead to her getting a head start on planning their wedding, regardless of how they felt about it. And she hadn't been sure she was ready for that. She thought she was content with work, or at least, comfortable with it when she wasn't holding Ron's baby or rubbing Ginny's swelling belly, searching for a kick under her palm.

This… This was not how it was all supposed to come together, though. When she finally came around to telling Fred that she was ready, that she wanted them to explore something, it was not supposed to be because she was carrying his child. That was supposed to be far down the road, after dating and trading 'I love you's' and marriage. This—This felt like trapping him. The mere idea brought tears to her eyes.

"Hermione," he said, his brow furrowing.

Her lips trembled and she shook her head shortly, closing her eyes. She just needed to tell him and he would back up, he would see that this was different. This was no longer about them. She had no idea how Molly would feel about her son having a child out of wedlock or that her he was not in a relationship with the mother of said child, but she would just have to accept it.

Hermione was already trying to smooth out the details in her head. Fred still lived atop the shop in the flat he shared with George. He would need somewhere more permanent for when their child visited. Much as she applauded Fred and George's brilliance and their business, they did have a habit of exploding things, and she would rather their child not be an unexpected casualty of it. And Fred could visit, of course. Perhaps, in the beginning, she would move back home for a short period, and have her mother help her out. He would have floo access and he could come and go as he pleased. She promised herself that he would always be invited to spend time with their child. He would always be involved. She knew Fred and, while immature had certainly been a word she associated with him often, he would be an amazing father. He would be doting and loving and he would likely teach them many things that would scare Hermione out of her wits, but she would trust him too. She would have to.

"You're scaring me," he murmured, watching her worriedly.

"I… Everything that happened, how I behaved, I am sorry for that," she offered. "But it doesn't matter anymore. It's not… It isn't important. What is important is—"

"Bollocks," he interrupted.

Her lips pursed; she did hate it when people interrupted her. It was simply in poor manners and this was not the time! "Excuse me?"

"That's bollocks! It is important. You ran off on me after we had an amazing night together." He shook his head. "You're not sweeping it under the rug."

"No, Fred, you don't understand. I—"

"You can't tell me it hasn't been headed here the whole time," he continued, shaking his head. "Hermione, we've been dancing around this for ages. I think my brothers have a betting pool going. One, I'm fairly certain, George won when he saw you sneaking out in the morning. Not that he really needed proof since we shagged the entire night away and you probably woke half the block…"

"I—I…" She stuttered, feeling her face flush bright red. "That is completely ridiculous! I—I'm offended that they even—"

He snorted. "Don't act surprised. Pretty sure Ronniekins is the one who set the whole thing up."

Her mouth fell open in silent outrage.

He grinned. "Can't really blame them. No use in ignoring the obvious. Better to make a buck than play ignorant." He raised an eyebrow down at her.

Huffing, she glared. "If you could stop insinuating that I'm simply ignoring our chemistry, I would really like to say something."

"Not so much insinuating as outright telling you that's what you're doing. You've been the one pushing me away the whole time. I was all for jumping in, broom first, no more excuses. You're the one who ran off, breaking my heart as you went."

She took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. "Don't you think you're being just a tad dramatic?"

"If I was, I'd be magnificent at it, but I'm not." He stared down at her. "Tell me you didn't feel something that night…" He smirked then. "Something besides complete and utter satisfaction."

She bit her lip to keep a laugh from escaping. "Fred…"

He cupped her chin and pinched it affectionately. "You said it just like that when I was kissing your legs. You remember, when I found that spot on your knees that's ticklish..."

She turned her eyes away and tried not to remember, but it was all too vivid in her mind. Clearing her throat, she told him primly, "I didn't come here for this. Honestly, I— I have something very serious I need to tell you and—"

"Well I have something you need to hear," he argued, taking a step back from her and crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly.

Hermione was momentarily surprised by how disappointed she felt when she no longer had his much stockier frame pressed so close. "Fine, but after you say what you have to, I must insist you listen to my news."

He nodded agreeably and she waved a hand for him to continue. It was only right that he get a chance to relieve any burden from his chest seeing as she was about to change his life entirely.

Taking a deep breath, he led with, "You were a coward."

Hermione rolled her eyes, tapping one of her feet as she stared up at him. Honestly, that was how he wanted to do this? This was going to be a terrible story later, when their child asked how their dad found out.

"Let me finish," he said, waving a hand. "You were a coward," he repeated. "But so was I."

Oh. She hadn't been expecting that, as proved by her furrowed brow.

"Hermione, I… I've liked you for years… I liked you back in Hogwarts, when you only had my knucklehead of a brother on your mind… I liked you even when you were ruining some of my best pranks or scolding me worse than a howler from mum."

Her lips twitched, helpless against a stab of amusement.

"But I did the gallant and selfless thing…" he sighed, showing his over-the-top nature. "I knew Ron liked you and even if he is a blockhead, he's my brother…" He laughed then. "The thing is, you two never made sense to me… I don't think you made much sense to you either, which is why he's off with Luna and, somehow, those two just work…" He stared at her then, his hands on his hips. "You make sense with me, Hermione… I think you're just the witch to keep me on my toes and I'm just the wizard to knock you off your feet."

She smiled faintly, her eyes falling. "Fred…" Her throat closed up with emotion.

"Just wait…" He waved a hand. "Look, I… I can write you an essay on all the ways we work, if you want. You'll probably want to correct it and I'll hand it in late, but if you really need solid proof of my affections, I can get it. But…" He stepped toward her once more. "I think you know we make sense. I think you know that I… I'm half-way in love with you, and I'm ready to be all the way." He reached for her and took her hands in his, squeezing them. "So I propose you give me a chance… No firewhiskey this time, just supper, me and you… Whattya say?"

She swallowed thickly. "That… That sounds… lovely," she told him, nodding.

He grinned, relieved.

"But…" She tugged her hands free of his and twisted her fingers together.

His face fell, shoulders slumping.

"F-Fred, I…" Her eyes filled with tears once more, quivering at the edges before finally streaming down her cheeks. Her breath hitched before she finally murmured, "I'm pregnant."

He stopped, his body going completely still. Slowly, he raised his chin, his eyes searching hers. "A few months, I'd reckon."

She nodded, biting her lip, watching him for a reaction.

He let out a shaky breath, his brows hiked high, and raised a hand to run it through his shaggy red hair, dropping his gaze to the ground.

"I…" She swallowed thickly. "I want you to be involved. I… I'll help you tell Molly, of course. And… You'll always be welcome at my flat. I was thinking I might stay with my mum when the baby's first born, just for support, but you'll have floo access. And you can come with me to the medi-witch appointment if… if you feel comfortable doing that."

He continued to stare at the floor, silent as she'd never seen him before.

Wringing her hands, she started to fidget. "Fred, I need you to say something. I know this isn't something you expected and I—I don't want you to think I planned for this because I didn't. I… I thought I'd be married and have time to plan and I don't know what I'm doing or h-how I'm going to do this on my own. I just—"

He kissed her. His lips slanted across her so abruptly that she stumbled back into the wall and grunted. But then his fingers were in her hair and his mouth was moving against hers. It wasn't the feverish, rough, passionate kisses of their night spent together. It wasn't the soft, sleepy, affectionate kisses of the morning after. It was something else, something heavy and intimate. When he finally pulled back, he was panting, and their foreheads were pressed together.

"I'm going to be a dad," he said, before laughing, a thick, robust sound that started in his chest and shook his whole body.

She smiled slowly, a spark igniting in her chest at those words. "Yes, you are."

He kissed her again, once, twice, three times; just short, quick, happy kisses.

And she was crying again, a little because it felt good, it felt comfortable and warm and them, and a lot from relief that he wasn't upset about it. She didn't know what to expect, but she hadn't thought this would be the result.

"Wait 'til mum hears…" He brightened then. "Wait 'til George hears!"

"Fred, I…" She frowned. "I think we should discuss the details of this before we start sharing it with everyone. We really don't know much about this. I… I haven't done any research, I only just found out myself. And there are appointments to be set up and we should have some kind of warning system. I mean, I want you to be able to come and go as you please, you'll always be invited to see them, but we should still be courteous with each other. And… I'm afraid you'll have to have a place away from the shop." She pursed her lips. "I just don't think it's safe. I think you'll want to have the baby stay over with you, especially when they get older, and if they're anything like you, they'll get into everything. I just—"

"Hermione, he's not even born yet and you're already trying to baby proof my shop," he interrupted.

She raised her eyes to meet his and winced. "I know, I'm just… I'm nervous."

Nodding, he tugged her closer, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her to his chest. "We'll get a house, a big one, and I'll try my best not to bring home anything explosive… And if I do, I'll just put it out of reach."

She slapped his arm. "Out of reach is not a plan!"

He grinned, stroking his hand up and down her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine. "Fine, I'll keep the explosive stuff at the shop."

"You'll keep everything suspect at the shop," she decided. "And I'll know if you don't, Fred. I'll search the house top to bottom on every visit."

"I don't want visits, Hermione. I want a home."

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"We have a lot to work out," he admitted. "I'm still pretty sure you're iffy on dating me, but I want this… I want you and I want our baby."

She leaned back from him, tipping her head back to look at him searchingly. "That's a very big decision, Fred. We haven't even really dated and—"

"So we have six months to date, figure things out, but I know what I want… I know that we can make this work." He nodded at her before offering a half-grin. "And I'm pretty persistent when I want to be."

She snorted at the understatement. His flourishing business was absolute proof of that. "I still think—"

"You think too much," he argued, chucking her chin lightly.

She sighed at him, exasperated.

Chuckling, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. "We can do this," he promised.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she nodded faintly and closed her eyes.

Maybe they could. If nothing else, it was worth a try. She had feelings for Fred long before they slept together and he'd expressed his before she'd even told him about the baby. This was worth exploring. She was still scared, still uncertain, and this was not how she had imagined her life playing out, but… Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise or, as Fred would later put it, the kick in the arse they both needed. So Hermione let her guard down and picked up Fred's hand.

"You said something about dinner…?"

He grinned. "I did."

"Are you busy tonight?"

"If I was, I'm not any more."

Smiling, she poked him in the chest. "Then you, Fred Weasley, have a date."

"Brilliant."

Indeed.

Six months later, Viola Weasley was born and brought home to the house her parents shared. Four years after, she would be flower girl at their wedding. She would also be the one setting off illegal fireworks she found on a high shelf in her father's shop, with the help of a magicked broom and her Uncle George, of course. She was, after all, the product of two very brilliant people; trouble was in her nature.

[End.]

Author's Note: Wow, go easy on me, this is my first Harry Potter fic! /hides from mob with rotten fruit