I Really Love Steve Rogers

Oh, oh, I wished you'd write a fic where Fred would often make very dumb statements or draw stupid conclusions just so Hermione wouldn't bat an eye and correct him like the moron he's being on purpose because he totally enjoys it.

“And that,” Fred finished, “is why Arithmancy is essentially no different from any other kind of Divination.”

Hermione Granger could never fail to be amazed at how he made these grand, sweeping statements with all the confidence of a well-researched, confidently clever person. He made things sound so reasonable, or if not reasonable, perhaps just credible.

But Fred Weasley was not a credible person.

And she simply couldn’t help herself.

Hermione turned in her seat, shutting her heavy numerology text—a text on a branch of the very subject he’d so effortlessly begun to expound upon during her study session—with a dusty thump. The sound startled several first years nearby and prompted a hissing hush from Madame Pince, but the young witch didn’t notice; her glare was fixed on the boy sitting one table behind her, who sat like a king among his gaggle of impressed-looking friends.

His shoes were on the table. Why didn’t Madame Pince hiss at him for a change?

“You’re wrong,” she pronounced, using an admirably level tone.

It was like Fred had only been waiting for her to reply. “Am I?” he asked, smiling a little.

“Arithmancy implements quantifiable metrics—data points,” she emphasised, “to predict possible outcomes based on real world past events. Divination relies on fallible human instincts, outdated tools such as crystals and tea leaves, and—most commonly—cold reading.”

Down came his feet. That was something, at least.

“Is that what you were doing over there? Cold reading?”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione stood up from her chair. There was no point in continuing the conversation, so she endeavoured to speed things along, attempting to shove the rather heavy text into her messenger bag.

“Very funny. Cold reading is a technique employed by various hacks and would-be soothsayers to gather quick, readily-available information from a person who wants their fortune told. It’s just high-probability guessing.” She huffed a little and shrugged the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “For example, it’s how I can tell that you’re probably going to do poorly on your Transfiguration exam tomorrow.”

Beside him, Angelina laughed. “That doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure out, Hermione.”

“No, just a little observation. For example,” and she had tried—she really had—but Hermione felt herself stepping closer, until her bag nearly bumped the edge of their table. “You’ve got shadows under your eyes, indicating an extended period of sleep-deprivation, which, based on the scorch mark on your left lapel, you’ve probably spent working on a project unrelated to your exam. Unless you’re attempting to Transfigure your brain into something useful, like kindling.”

His grin didn’t budge. “Very good, Granger. It seems you can predict the future. And see the past, apparently.”

He sounded entirely too earnest.

Her shoulders straightened. “It’s a simple technique. That’s why even idiots who want to look like prophets can use it. But do you know what really gave you away, Fred?”

“What, Hermione?”

“You’ve been holding your textbook upside down.”

Around him, Angelina and George and Lee all began to snicker.

And, with a final glare, Hermione turned on her heel and left the library.

Back at their table, Lee reached across the desktop to smack the upside-down textbook out of his friend’s hands. “Guess all that wank got her attention after all,” he teased.

“Good thing, too,” Angelina sighed, turning to shoot a wink at her boyfriend. “You’ve been going on about bloody Divination for half an hour. You don’t even like that stuff.”

“What do you think you’ll be wrong about next, Freddie?” asked George.

Fred hardly noticed their ribbing. His eyes were on the witch currently stalking out through the library’s massive double doors, her hair floating behind her in an indignant cloud.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, still smiling. “But I’m sure I’ll think of something.”