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Summary
Hermione Granger always had something in her fucking mouth.
Fred Weasley had known Hermione Granger since she was eleven years old and for as long as he had known her, she’d always had something in her mouth. It was her nails when she was stressed out doing revisions at school, sugar quills when she was reading, on occasion her fingertip when she was thinking hard, any time silverware was near her, muggle pens in recent times when she was working on her articles for the Daily Prophet.
It never used to be a problem… until it was.