Once upon a time there was a ball, at which Ron/Hermione was obvious, Rita Skeeter was evil, and Snape's loyalties were ambiguous. Well, no surprises there. But Angelina Johnson arrived at the Ball with one Weasley twin and eventually married the other, so perhaps her night was a little more surprising.

This story is based on a prompt from lifeinabox66 which read "Gryffindor Common Room. Safety pin. Hilarious charms related facial injuries." Make of it what you will.

As far as the gossips were concerned, the Yule Ball had been a resounding success.

In addition to providing a clear month of discussion on the topic of dance partners, the dance itself had left the rumour mill of Hogwarts with enough fuel to last through the winter. The younger attendees might have been content to return to their dormitories at midnight, but some of the sixth and seventh years had a rather different idea of what constituted a party – although many were probably now regretting it.

Fred Weasley was thoroughly enjoying the speculation surrounding all those who had been caught out of bed. Of course, the mere identities of those who accounted for the severely-dented house point totals were not nearly as interesting as the locations and situations in which they had been discovered.

For instance, it was widely known that Roger Davies had managed to lose 20 points for Ravenclaw, but various gossips would have you believe that he had been caught out in the Beauxbatons carriage, on board the Durmstrang ship, or atop the Astronomy Tower, loudly singing "God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs" whilst in possession of a large bottle of Firewhisky and a total lack of robes. Personally, Fred's favourite was the latter, if only because it had taken him nearly twenty minutes to invent.

However, the one person whose night Fred was most interested in was also the one for whom the gossips seemed to have no explanation whatsoever. All that anyone knew was this: that, of the whole of Hogwarts, only two students seemed to have evaded detection in their night-time pursuits; that these two had stumbled into their respective dormitories at approximately eight am and fallen instantly asleep; and that, despite the best efforts of their curious roommates, they had remained resolutely unconscious for the entire day thus far.

It was getting ridiculous. So, as the last stragglers departed the Gryffindor Common Room for dinner, Fred started up the boy's dormitory stairs, intending to wake his twin and finally find out precisely what George had been doing with Angelina Johnson until eight o'clock in the morning.

Technically, Fred realised he should have been more angry that his brother had stolen his date, but he had only really asked Angelina because she was a laugh and he had wanted to prove a point to Ron and Harry. Besides, he couldn't complain when Alicia Spinnet had arrived at the Ball with George, and had ended the evening with Fred, being ordered out from under the mistletoe at midnight.

No, what Fred was more concerned about was what had taken the pair of them so long to arrive back in Gryffindor Tower. A couple of hours out of bed in the middle of the night could be filled in all sorts of interesting and life-enriching ways, but eight seemed excessive for any activity he could care to name – not to mention utterly exhausting after an evening of dancing.

Well, Fred thought as he extracted a Fainting Fancy antidote from his pocket, I'm going to find out, and I'm going to do it now.

But just as Fred reached the door – antidote already in hand – George walked through, blinking sleepily and straightening his robes.

"Fred," he yawned. "What are you doing here? You're missing dinner."

Fred laughed. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm making sure you don't miss dinner."

"Oh. Right. I'm awake now. I'll meet you there."

Fred frowned. George clearly wanted him to leave, which meant he probably should. But he was increasingly worried about what had happened to George after the Ball.

"Why don't you come with me now? You can tell me all about last night."

George hesitated. "I'm still tired… I'm going to try an Awakening Charm. I'll be there in five minutes."

Fred could hardly keep a straight face. "That's NEWT level Charmwork. Right now, you look like you couldn't levitate a feather."

"Oh, really? Just watch me." George turned back into the dormitory, waving his wand. "Wingadrium Levi-"

There was a rustling noise and a sudden burst of wind that made Fred's eyes water. When he opened them again, every piece of paper in the room was attached to George's face.

"Ow," George said thoughtfully. "I think I have a paper cut."

Fred knew he shouldn't laugh, but that knowledge really didn't help much.

"Want some help?" he asked when he had recovered.

"I can do it if you give me a minute, I just –"

"George? Are you there?"

Fred's eyes widened. "That's Angelina," he hissed. "You wanted me to leave because you arranged to meet up with her while everyone was at dinner! You could have just told me…"

"I'll be down in a minute!" George called down the stairs. Then he turned to Fred and whispered, "I don't have time to fix this. You have to switch with me."

"What? No way! I'm not pretending to be you, not if you two are together now. Besides, why can't you just go talk to her?"

"Looking like this? She'll think I'm an idiot!"

"She's known you for six years. I'd say she's already worked that one out."

"After last night… I want to make a good impression. Go!"

"No!"

George glared at him through the paper, reminding Fred of one of their many trips to the Restricted Section. "I didn't want to have to say this, but…"

Fred already knew what he was going to say.

"You owe me for last summer with Aunt Muriel."

Fred grimaced, but he knew he couldn't argue with that. George had put up with Muriel one-on-one for well over an hour so that he could sneak out for a date – and that kind of debt couldn't be reneged upon.

"Five minutes," he said begrudgingly. "That's it."

When Fred entered the common room, Angelina looked barely awake, watching the fire from one of the sofas.

"Sorry," he said, perching on the arm next to her. "I only just woke up."

Angelina jumped to her feet, glaring at him. "I'm not surprised, after what you put me through." She punched him in the arm, hard enough to sting.

"Ow!" Fred rubbed his arm. "What was that for?"

"What was that for?" she echoed incredulously. "You nearly got us both killed! What was all that with the centaurs? I don't even want to know where you got the Polyjuice Potion from!"

Fred didn't know what to say.

"I –"

"I mean the Hog's Head was bad enough, but you owe me big time for the doxy venom."

"But –"

"You can make it up to me next Hogsmeade weekend." Suddenly, Angelina smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. "I hear Madam Puddifoot's is nice."

"Sounds good to me," Fred ad-libbed.

"Oh, and thanks for this." She tossed him something. "Things would have gone a lot worse without it."

Fred looked down at his hand. She had passed him something small and metallic – one of those Muggle artefacts his dad had drawers full of. What was it called – a protection needle? No, that wasn't it. It was a safety pin.

Where, and more importantly why, had George got one of those?

"Just remember, you can't breathe a word of what happened to anyone. Not even Fred. Promise me."

"I won't," Fred said honestly, deciding quickly not to mention this part of the conversation to George.

Angelina grinned. "Want to head to dinner? I'm starving."

"Sure, just let me grab something from my room."

He darted back up the stairs.

"How did it go?" George's face was now free of paper and a long, thin cut on his cheek was rapidly healing.

"She punched you, and then asked you to Madam Puddifoot's next Hogsmeade weekend. You said yes, and now you're headed to dinner."

George grinned. "Brilliant. You'll take the passage behind the Distressed Dragon tapestry to beat us there?"

"Of course."

George turned to leave.

"Wait," Fred insisted. "George – what happened last night?"

George grinned. "Fred, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"But – why did she give me this?"

He handed George the safety pin, but George just smiled and shook his head.

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."