A/N: prompts used- twilight, silhouette, chemical


Twilight fell through the tall windows of 93 Diagon Alley, giving the fresh green paint a garish orange shimmer. Hermione, Fred and George were nearly finished painting the new joke shop. The chemical fumes stung at Hermione's sinuses and were making her dizzy. Nonetheless, she diligently continued to make neat vertical strokes with her wand as Fred and George became noticeably loopier.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

BUMP.

"Nope, the ceiling's still wet!"

THUD.

"Oh, well. Looks like we'll have to paint it again!" Fred and George dissolved into laughter.

Hermione groaned. "We'll be here all night if you two keep 'testing' the ceiling!"

"Nah. I think we'll keep it like this." Fred, whose back was entirely green, pointed to an imprint on the ceiling. "Adds a little personal touch."

George, who was equally green, nodded. "I agree. I quite like the silhouette of the Fred head." The two held onto each other in laughter.

Hermione rolled her eyes and wiped her hands on her jeans. "I don't know about you two, but I'm bloody starving. I'm ready to break for dinner when you are. Still want to go to Salvatore's Spaghetti Shack?"

"Absolutely," George said, clutching his empty stomach. "Tuesdays are one-Galleon endless spaghetti nights. I might break my own record of six plates. What say you, Fred? Are we gonna put Sal out of business tonight?"

"Definitely." Fred inched closer to Hermione and put his hands around her waist. "But I, for one, am gonna need to save room for dessert." He ran two fingers through a curl of Hermione's hair.

Hermione giggled flirtatiously. She leaned closer to him, cocking her head to one side, her lips slightly parted. Fred's lips were inching closer, nearly brushing hers.

"In your dreams, George."

"I'm not George, honey. I'm Fred."

"No, you're definitely George. Fred doesn't call me 'honey.' He calls me 'sweet cheeks.' And Fred has a scar on his neck from when he made me test out a canary cream. You, on the other hand, have a rather ghastly-looking mole." She crossed her arms proudly. "Nice try, boys. Now, let's get to Salvatore's before he runs out of those meatballs."

Hermione briskly led Fred and George out of the shop and into the humid but refreshing August evening. The twins whispered behind her.

"Good job, Fred. It's rare you can find a girl who can outfox the infamous Weasley twins."

Fred chuckled. "She's brilliant; what can I say?"

George snorted. "And you call her 'sweet cheeks?'"

"Say that again and I'll hex your lips shut."

"Fair enough. I'm not missing out on endless spaghetti."