Work Text:
“I spy an elf,” Fred says as he directs long strands of green garland to the eaves of the store. “Or would she be a gnome at her height?”
George laughs as he uses his wand to unravel the fairy lights that have somehow tangled in 10 month since he’s last seen them. “I think Clara would throw a right tantrum if she heard you calling her a gnome.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Her mother definitely would.”
Fred winces at the thoughts. “I think we should -”
“- Forget what you just said?”
“Right-o, brother dear.”
Another tiny face pops up in the window of the joke shop, identical to the first child. Even from the street, Fred and George can see their eyes light up in excitement.
“Should we give them a show?”
George smiles at the two children, who are waving excitedly at them. He makes the string of lights, now completely unraveled, move in front of the window, the glowing bulbs dancing as they blink off and on. The children’s faces light up and though it can’t be heard, George knows the shop is filled with the happy screeches of delight.
Their faces disappear from the window, and then the door opens.
“Daddy! They’re dancing!” It’s Olive who shouts out to him, though she crashes into Fred’s legs first. When she looks up, it’s with a dimpled smile. “Hi, Papa.”
“Hello, my little gnome.” Fred reholsters his wand and grabs the little girl up, throwing her in the air until she squeals.
“ What did you just call our daughter?”
“‘m a GNOME, Mummy!”
Hermione can only stare at the girl whose arms are wrapped around Fred’s neck, her tiny body hanging off of her beloved Papa. They give her matching grins that make her heart melt, but before she can respond to Olive, there is a tug on her coat.
“What about me? Am I a gnome? I don’t wanna be a gnome.”
“Come here, little one,” George calls out to her. She runs to him, Hermione following, and waits patiently at his side. He crouches down, still directing the lights to nestle amongst the garland. An arm wraps around Clara’s waist and he lifts her up to rest against his hip. She wraps her arms around his neck like a baby koala.
“Daddy, I don’t wanna be a gnome.”
“I heard.” George chuckles, the sound creating a harmony against Hermione’s laugh. “I know! What if I turn you into a fairy light?”
As the last light settles against the joke shop, George turns his wand to his daughter and murmurs a spell that makes glowing orbs of light. They float around her for a few seconds before finding places to rest - along the top of her head, on her shoulders, and down her arms. She lets out a high-pitched squeal and squirms to be put down.
“Olive, Olive, look at me! I’m a fairy!”
Fred immediately puts Olive down and the two girls rush toward each other. George waves his wand and Clara’s red hair lifts up until it looks like a pointy red hat.
“Just like Gamma Molly’s garden gnomes!”
“George!” Hermione tries to chastise him, but she’s laughing too much at the sight. “Her poor hair.”
“Personally, I think it looks dashing,” Fred says with an overtly posh accent. He spins Hermione into his arms and places a kiss on her cheek before turning her so she can lean back against his chest. His arms loop around her waist, fingers brushing beneath her sweater.
“Your hands are freezing !”
“So warm me up,” he whispers into her ear. She can’t help the shiver that runs down her spine and it has nothing to do with the temperature. Her head turns toward him and they kiss quietly, softly, with promises for more.
“Little eyes,” George says.
All three adults turn to the two little girls who have turned their attention to their parents. Hermione’s heart melts at the sight. They’re not identical twins, not like Fred and George, but they’re still so similar. Both have the Weasley red hair, curls that cause Hermione grief, though Olive’s hair is currently as straight as can be in its gnome’s hat. Clara’s eyes are the brightest blue while Olive’s eyes are the same honey color as her mother’s.
George reaches out and grabs Hermione’s hand. His thumb brushes over slightly chapped skin before Hermione fits her fingers in between his. Fred is still a solid presence behind her, an ever-present anchor. Both girls in front of them roll their eyes and begin chasing each other, bored with the adults already.
“We did good,” Hermione says in a soft tone.
She doesn’t know if Fred or George is the girls’ biological father. None of them wanted to know. They’re a unit, a magically powerful triad, and there’s no reason to wonder. The girls have two fathers - their protective Daddy who will do anything to keep them safe and their fun Papa who’s always ready for mischief. Both would die to protect their girls, and that includes their mum. Neither father has ever felt like the girls weren’t theirs. It’s just become fact that they are an entire unit, all five of them, though George’s hints recently are obvious he wants another child.
For now, though, Clara and Olive need to be ushered back into the shop, and up to the magically expanded flat above it so they can get ready for bed. Though their actual house is just a Floo trip away, decorating for the upcoming holidays is of the utmost importance and both girls have promised to wake up early to help.
Later, after baths and a snack, the girls are tucked into a double-sized bed, the comforter up to their necks. George and Fred are downstairs in the shop, separating decorations for the morning. They’ve already kissed their girls good-night. Hermione sits on the edge of the bed.
“Time for bed, lovelies.”
“I’m not sleepy,” Olive declares but a yawn breaks up her words.
“Really?” A smile plays on Hermione’s lips as she brushes a finger down her daughter’s nose and poking at the bottom lips pushed out into a pout. “I think you are.”
“Maybe a little,” Olive concedes. Her eyes are already falling shut.
“What about you?” Hermione asks Clara, whose eyes are wide.
“Night, Mummy,” is all she says before curling onto her side, facing her sister.
It doesn’t take long for both of them to fall into the land of dreams. Hermione leans over and kisses both their foreheads, lingering just a bit to breathe in their scents of fresh soap, a tinge of orange - she’s going to smack Fred for giving them sweets after they’ve cleaned their teeth, and a hint of the floral lotion all three of them use.
She goes to the door and whispers a Nox so that the room is bathed only in the little bit of moonlight that comes in through the parted curtains. She stands there for a few minutes, watching the rise and fall of the blanket over her girls’ chests.
“Good night, my starlings.”