Inconsequential
Title: Inconsequential
Author: oops_pig
Disclaimer: We all know that none of this is real…
Pairing: George/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hermione just won't admit that she's really in love with him.
Genre: Romantic, Smut
Author's Notes: This is for lowlands_girl. I think I may have scared her last time we spoke. Sorry about that love. I must have been on crack. Unbeta'd
Word Count: 6,471
Hermione Granger sat at her desk contemplating the state of the world. More specifically she was contemplating the state of her world, but really it is the same thing.
She had held down the same job for the past five years and, as much as she loved it, she could feel herself growing bored. Which is funny, because she doesn’t think of herself as the sort of person who can be easily bored. But there it is, she muses, her life has come down to this. A job.
Once, she thinks, she was actually happy. When she was a child everything was a lot easier. It was books and school and her parents. Then she received the letter that changed everything. The letter that turned her into a war heroine and gave her the one thing she only ever dreamed of having. Life-long friends. One did not just stumble upon them, she thought, but then again maybe one did. That had certainly happened to her, hadn’t it? She was minding her own business, helping Neville find his toad and then all of a sudden it was the end of first year and she was promising to write to Harry during the holidays. It was funny how life worked, really.
Hermione’s musings had began a few days ago when she’d received the invitation for Harry and Ginny’s wedding anniversary in the mail. She’d known it was going to happen of course, but actually seeing Harry and Ginny’s names on the pretty pink paper had been a shock to her system. Especially the line right at the very top: Hermione and Guest.
That’s what hit her the most. She was Hermione and Guest. The single friend too immersed in her work to realise she is missing out on love. And she thinks she’s finally realised that.
*~*~*~*~*
The dim morning light that falls through the gap in the curtain illuminates the face of one Hermione Granger. The year is 2001 and the war has been over for a total of one year, three months and six days. Hermione is 21 years old and living in a youth hostel somewhere in Greece. Harry understood her need to go away somewhere, preferably warm, to balance out the darkness they had seen for such a long time. Ron, also rather understandably, threw somewhat of a temper tantrum and refused to talk to her.
Greece was exactly what Hermione expected it to be. Warm, sunny and happy. The wizarding community in the city accepted her immediately, because everyone knew who she was. Voldemort’s havoc stretched all over Europe, after all. Three days later she was sick of the attention and had staked her claim in a cheap bed in a dingy youth hostel. She’d never felt better.
On this particular morning, however, Hermione was cursing the hot sun streaming in through the flimsy curtains. She awoke slowly, her head pounding and her muscles screaming in pain as she stretched slightly. She sat up too fast, her head reminding her that it was a bad idea as a wave of nausea and dizziness hit her. She groaned and turned to get out of the bed. Only there was a body in the way. She groaned again as she flopped back down, which did nothing but churn up her stomach more. This was the last thing she needed, a stranger in her bed. She sat herself back up slowly and, leaning on her elbow, turned to look at the body next to her.
Hermione was in no way a virgin. She’d lost that to Ron a handful of months into the war. In normal times she didn’t think it would have happened the way it did, but with the war raging around them as it was she felt the need to do something loving. There was enough killing going on. She and Ron had had a relationship for most of the war. It had taken her a while in the early days to draw out what, if anything, he felt for her, but once she’d gotten him to open up they’d been fine. In fact, he’d fallen so in love with her that he was over-stifling. So much, in fact, that he had told her she wasn’t allowed any part in the final battle. That’s when she broke up with him.
In the year or so since the end of the war Hermione had slept with quite a few different men. She didn’t consider herself a slut at all. She just wanted to act her age in a way she’d never been able to while at school. She was still Hermione, devouring books at a rate so fast peoples heads spun, but she’d changed just like everyone she knew who’d been around the death and destruction. Ginny had told her that she and Harry had an awful lot of sex, even more than for people of their age, just so that they could feel like they were doing something good instead of evil. Ginny confided that she understood why her parents had had so many children.
So Hermione was hardly surprised when she awoke next to a male body. She was just annoyed because she didn’t remember the night before and that was something Hermione hated. She hated not having any idea who she was waking up next to.
So when she rolled towards the body, intent on studying the man until he awoke or she left, whichever she decided would come first, she was surprised to see two grinning blue eyes staring at her. Her gaze dropped to the mouth which held a pair of swollen lips, curving up into a smirking grin. The face was covered in freckles and the mouth was surrounded by red stubble. A shock of red hair fell into the blue eyes and was tousled messily around broad, muscular shoulders.
Hermione, upon recognition, covered herself up quickly and squealed, “Oh Merlin. Please tell me I didn’t have sex with you.”
The cocky grin grew wider, “You don’t remember love? You were spectacular. I never would have picked you for a screamer.”
Hermione tugged on the sheet wrapping it around herself more securely and wormed her way to the bottom of the bed, standing up when she reached the floor, “I think you should leave.” She demanded.
The shoulders shrugged, “Ok love, if you wish.” He got out of bed, still completely naked, bits swinging wildly, and started pulling his jeans on. Hermione could see the blush of a hickey on his right collarbone and she couldn’t believe that she’d been so wild with him of all people.
He threw her a grin as he exited the door and said cheekily, “I’ll see you back in London.”
From that day on Hermione never got drunk again. And three days later she was back at her parents house, dreading facing Ron again after what had happened.
*~*~*~*~*
Hermione and Ginny are sitting having lunch together the day after Hermione receives the anniversary dinner invite and makes her revelation. She is decidedly glum. In fact, she thinks to herself, she feels a bit like Eeoree. Ginny is trying her hardest to cheer her up.
Being a Friday she has ordered a bottle of champagne and they both plan on going back to work slightly tipsy. Hermione has ordered her favourite salad, and Ginny is prattling on about arrangements for the dinner. Its not that she doesn’t care, Hermione thinks, I just don’t think she’s noticed that I’m not myself. Not surprising, of course, considering their relationship has mostly consisted of Ginny talking to, or rather at, her friend.
Hermione’s thoughts are off in space and Ginny stops and looks at her friend oddly, “What do you think?”
Hermione startles out of her reverie as Ginny asks her a question, “What? Oh, Gin, I’m sorry. My thoughts were a million miles away.”
Ginny shakes her head, “What‘s wrong Hermione. You’ve been a million miles away all day. Its not like you. Normally you at least listen to me.”
She shakes her head slightly, “You and Harry have been married for five years next week. Five years that I have done nothing with my life.”
Ginny sighs, “You’re lonely.” She states.
Hermione sighs back in reply, “trust me, I know what loneliness is and this doesn’t feel like it. It feels different somehow.”
Ginny takes a sip of her wine and flicks her long red hair over her shoulder, “The last time you were lonely was when you were eleven and had no friends. It’s a different type of loneliness and you know it. You want a man. You want someone to feel close to in a different way. A man,” she stops to think for a moment, “Who do I know that’s single? Well, obviously Ron wont work. It didn’t last time so I assume it wont again. Harry is mine. Bill and Charlie are married. Percy, well, he’s just a git. Fred’s shagging Angelina still, as far as I know. What about George?”
Hermione reeled back as if her friend had slapped her in the face, “George?” she repeated, her face heating up, “Your brother George? What about him?”
Ginny peered into her friends face suspiciously, “well, he’s single, good-looking, funny, smart (although don’t tell him I said that, because he’d get a big head) and he needs a good strong woman to teach him a thing or two. And, from what I hear,” she shivered a bit in disgust, “he’s good in bed.”
Hermione’s blush spread down to the back of her neck as she got more and more embarrassed, “I don’t think any good would come from that.” She said, looking down at her hands.
Ginny rolled her eyes, “Why ever not? He’s perfect I tell you. Besides, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s the same way Harry used to look at me during the war. Like he wanted me, but for whatever reasons he knew he couldn’t touch me. Merlin knows what George’s reasons are, but he must have some or he’d be all over you.”
Hermione looked into her wine glass, “I know what his reasons are. They’re good enough reasons for him to not want to be with me, trust me.”
Ginny leaned forward, “You knew! You knew he likes you and you’re holding him at arms length. That’s his reason; he doesn’t want to be played!”
Hermione shook her head, “I wish it was that simple.”
*~*~*~*~*
The day after Hermione arrived back in England she was holed up at her parents house, nursing a bad case of jetlag. She’d flown back, still sick of the attention she was receiving, even a year and a half after the fact. She was half-asleep in her fathers hammock underneath the lemon tree, when Ginny came bounding into the backyard holding a baby in her arms. The baby was hers; James Potter the second. Three months old; as stubborn as his mother, and looked exactly like his father. Hermione smiled as Ginny sat down opposite her, her feet swinging over the sides of the hammock, the baby in her lap, “Aunty Hermione,” she stated, “meet your first nephew. I’m sure he’ll be one of many.”
Hermione sat up slightly and smiled, taking the baby and tickling him under the chin. She was shocked when she received a look of disgust that had emanated from Ginny’s face many times.
Ginny smiled, “I heard you finally got back. I know we flooed you, but I just thought you might like to meet him for yourself.”
Hermione realised, at her friends words, how selfish she’d been, “I’m so sorry Gin. I know you don’t understand why I left, with everyone celebrating and you married and everything. I should have come back for James’ birth. It was really selfish of me not to think of you.”
Ginny raised her hand, stopping her friends flow of words, “Don’t say sorry. You needed to be away from all the shit. I understand that. Harry understood too. He understood more than any of us. The only reason we cut our honeymoon short was because I was throwing up so much I could hardly get out of bed. We understand, and its not like he’ll ever remember knowing you this young anyhow. I’m just glad you’re back. You need to tell me all about it, so that I can envy you totally.”
Hermione laughed and leaned back, the baby between her legs, “it was wonderful. Sea, sand, sun, booze, cute guys with no shirts on. I read about a million books and did pretty much nothing. Worked as a waitress for a while when I ran out of money. Lived in a world where no one knew who I was. I mean, there were random wizards that came up to me and thanked me, but living in a muggle world it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. It was like living in a dream world half the time. I feel very odd knowing that I need to find a job and somewhere to live. And, also, after being in a Muggle world I feel a bit funny knowing that I need to go back into the wizarding world. Its been so long, Gin, that I don’t know how I’ll cope.”
Ginny smiled at her friend, “Come home to Mum for a while. Nearly everyone has moved out now, although Merlin knows we’re all there enough. It’ll be a good transitional thing for you. And besides, you were the smartest witch in your year. You wont have forgotten anything, I guarantee it.”
Hermione smiled, thinking, “I don’t know if the Burrow is a good idea, but I get your drift. Maybe I could find something else.”
Ginny looked a little confused, “You love the Burrow”
“Yes, but I don’t want to be a strain on Molly. She has so many people to worry about already that I don’t want to be another bother.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, “My mother loves bother. She thrives on having people around her. And it wouldn’t be forever. Just a couple of months until you get some Galleons for a place of your own. I’d offer you a room at ours but we’ve got two bedrooms and I’m still trying to get James to sleep through the night. I’m barely getting enough sleep myself, and I wouldn’t want to subject you to that too. Besides,” she grinned, “I already told mum you were back and I think she’s expecting you.”
Which is how Hermione came to be standing in Ginny’s old room at the Burrow with Molly Weasley fussing around her. She’d been spending all her spare time practising all the spells and charms she could think of off the top of her head, and it scared her a bit to find that the ones she could readily remember were the horrible things they’d all used during the war. She knew she wasn’t the only one who had occasional nightmares about the things they’d seen and done.
Everyone was praising her on how well she looked. How happy, relaxed, tanned she was. Hermione was none of these things (except maybe tanned). On the inside she was a huge bundle of nerves. She knew it was inevitable that she see him sometime; after all they were supposed to be friends, but she just wanted it to drag on for as long as possible. She’d heard Arthur ask Molly where he was earlier and Molly had mentioned something about a buying trip to Spain, so she wasn’t too concerned about running into him immediately.
Which is why it was a huge surprise to her when she walked into the kitchen the next morning to find him sitting at the table eating bacon and eggs lovingly prepared for him by his mother. She took one look at him, smiled at Molly and said “I think I might take a shower before I eat” and walked out of the room again.
She’d just about reached the bathroom door on the third floor when she felt a hand on her elbow and a voice in her ear, “Love I wont bite. Although,” and he paused and grinned suggestively, “you seemed to like it last time.”
Hermione shook off his arm and glared, “You took advantage of me George Weasley. What were you doing in Greece anyway? Stalking me?”
He actually looked mildly offended, “No. I was on a buying trip. I’ve just got back actually. Went all over the place. I wasn’t specifically seeking you out. When I found you in that bar you were already pretty gone, and you just threw yourself at me. I took you back to your room, you passed out on the bed and I slept next to you so that you wouldn’t choke on your own tongue or something. We never had sex. I just cant sleep with clothes on. I take them off in my sleep, and you started getting naked before we even got back to your room. Nothing. Happened.”
Hermione looked confused, “But, what about you not caring that I saw you naked, and the hickey on your neck? And all the innuendo?”
George chuckled and leaned against the door beside her, “I don’t care who sees me naked, the hickey was from this fine Spanish girl I’d met the night before and I’m a male. Innuendo is my specialty.”
Hermione sighed, “You put me through all this worry for absolutely nothing? I shouldn’t have even bothered coming home, but you freaked me out so much.”
“I’m sorry I upset you. If its any constellation if you hadn’t been drunk and throwing yourself at me I’d have been perfectly happy to fuck you. You look amazing love. You’re glowing, and not just with tan. Sex with you would be heavenly.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, “How’d you know I was a screamer?”
George chuckled again and lifted her chin a little with his thumb, “The quiet ones always are.”
“Well, it would be nice to prove you wrong.” She said defiantly, shaking her head mentally at the balls she had, flirting with a man who was practically her brother.
He moved in closer and almost whispered in her ear, “Any time you want to love, you know where I live.” He smiled at her in what she thought was a seductive way and sauntered back down the stairs.
*~*~*~*~*
She found herself finally telling her friend all this while they were shopping for shoes the next day.
“So you’re hung up because you flirted with my brother. What’s the big deal? A little harmless flirting never hurt anyone did it? I flirt with the butcher when I get the meat on Saturdays and he doesn’t seem to mind a bit. Harry doesn’t even seem to care.”
Hermione sighed, “I don’t really know why I made it into such a drama, but at the time it seemed to be something huge. Because, Gin, the truth is I did have sex with him. Sex that was better than any other sex I’ve ever had, and I know you don’t want to hear it, but oh your brother has a gift. And alone we seemed to get on so well! I know the twins always annoyed the shit out of me, but alone I could handle George. He seemed like a completely different person. Not as cocky, much more loving. And we had intelligent conversations! About books! Did you know that your brother has read nearly every Muggle classic there is! He was even recommending books to me.”
“So what was the problem?”
Hermione’s shoulders seemed to slump a bit, “I don’t know. I could never figure it out because he was such a great guy. We saw each other in secret, you know, and I never wanted to tell anyone. Then I got my job and we saw each other less, and then it was just at family gatherings, and now its like we hardly ever see each other except special occasions. Its like that old saying, you don’t know what you have until its gone.”
Ginny nodded, “I know where you’re coming from. But I meant what I said about him looking at you the way he does. I cant explain it, but I think he fell in love with you a long time ago and I think he’s as lonely as you are. I’m not saying that loneliness is the only reason the two of you should be together, but if you fit then why don’t you go for it?”
Hermione shook her head, “Ginny, you cant just fuck with peoples emotions like that. I cant turn around and say, five years after the fact, ‘oh I want to be with you and tell everyone and shout it to the rooftops.’”
Ginny rolled her eyes, “I never suggested that. I’m just saying, it seems like you’re very unhappy and lonely. So is he. It makes sense in my mind for the two of you to at least try to get things back on track. How did you start sleeping with him anyway, if you didn’t do it drunk?”
*~*~*~*~*
Hermione was back on her feet within a month. When the Minister for Magic, the fairly newly appointed Terrance Schrage, found out through the grapevine that Hermione was looking for work he offered her the newly created job of under-secretary to the Minster. Within a few weeks of starting she had enough money for a small flat in London and some left over to fully furnish it. She stood in her new living room the night of the move and wondered when she grew up.
The next day, a Sunday, she awoke early to finish unpacking boxes in the kitchen. Her mother had been so excited she’d gone out and spend hundreds of pounds on kitchenware. She had boxes and boxes of pans, glasses, dinner-sets and entertaining dishes. All these things and very little cupboard space. It was times like this, when she could use her shrinking spells, that Hermione loved being a witch.
It was as she stood amidst a rapidly growing pile of paper and empty boxes that she heard the ‘crack’ of Apparation in her living room. She called out hello but heard no noise. Standing in so much clutter she really couldn’t move too far, but a few seconds later the red-head of a Weasley twin popped round the doorway. George grinned a little self-consciously and raised one hand in greeting, “Mum told me where to find you. She sent a ham.”
Hermione looked a little perplexed, “A whole ham? Really?”
He nodded and held the dish out, “A whole, honey glazed ham. It’s almost Christmas and she said you’ll be too busy sorting out your flat to remember.”
Hermione grinned and gestured around her, “Well, I’m definitely a bit busy.”
George looked at his feet, “I want to apologise for what happened in Greece, Hermione.”
She looked at him startled, “What do you mean, apologise? You said nothing happened, so why do you need to apologise.”
A sheepish look, on Hermione thought she’d never see on this face, flitted across, “Well, I lied about that. You see, you seemed so pissed at me. Really upset about it. So I thought I’d save you the stress and tell you nothing happened. Everything I told you at mums was true anyway. Apart from the us not sleeping together. We did that.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes, “George Weasley, you mean to tell me that you took advantage of me, and then lied to me about it when you knew full well I didn’t remember?”
He sighed, “You remember. You remember everything. You just chose not too. Because,” he took a step towards where she was standing with each word he uttered, “You just chose to forget about it so that you don’t have to deal with the fact that you enjoyed it.” He was so close to her he could lean over and whisper into her ear, “Quite a bolt from the blue isn’t it?”
She glared at him, “What’s a bolt but a glorified screw?”
He leaned back slightly, “Was that all it was to you, Hermione? Just a quick screw?”
*~*~*~*~*
“Wait,” Ginny held up a sauce-covered ladle, “You do remember sleeping with him? You knew he lied to you?”
Hermione squirmed slightly, “Not at the time. Bits and pieces came back to me later.”
Ginny leaned forward over the stovetop toward her friend, “Well? Was it just a quick screw?”
Hermione shook her head, “I don’t know. At the time, probably, yes. I mean, he looked so good in his shirt and tight jeans and he was glistening with the heat. I was intoxicated and when he leaned over to hug me hello I could smell him. He smelt so good, Ginny. He always smells so good. Every time I see him, at anything, if I get one whiff of that smell I’m gone.”
Ginny sighed, “That’s how I feel about Harry.” She smiled over at her husband, who lifted his head from his newspaper and gave her a questioning look. She waved him off with a smile. He went back to his paper, but not before bending down to place his youngest daughter on his knee.
“I still maintain you’re in love with him,” Ginny continued, “I mean, I know that my brothers a prick most of the time, but you tend to overlook that when you love someone.”
“I’m not in love with him, Gin, I told you that.”
She rolled her eyes, “Ok, well, get back to it then. How’d the sex start again.”
“Well,” Hermione glared, “It started again that night.”
*~*~*~*~*
She glared at him, “Fine. No, you weren’t. Are you happy now? The sex was fabulous, you felt wonderful, and I haven’t had an orgasm like that, ever. I wish it hadn’t happened under the influence of alcohol, okay?”
Before she could even think another thought his lips were on hers and all the air in her lungs had disappeared. The soft, pink skin was rubbing against hers and his tongue was softly licking her lips. She opened her mouth to let him in and moaned slightly as his tongue flicked over hers. He slammed her against the counter as his hand twisted into her mass of curls and he gripped her head tightly, pulling her harder into him, kissing her as if his life depended on it.
He deftly unzipped her sweatshirt and, slipping his hand inside her bra, twisted her nipple between his fingers. Hermione let out a sigh and her hips bucked upward involuntarily. She shucked her top off and it fell amongst the paper. His other hand weaved itself out of her hair and snaked around to undo the clasp of her bra, which soon joined her top on the ground. George’s shirt joined her clothing moments later.
He picked her up and placed her on the bench top, sliding her sweatpants off and throwing them across the room. He groaned at the long legs and pink cotton underwear before him.
“This went way too fast last time,” he breathed on her bare skin, “This time I’m going to savour every little bit of you.” He began to kiss his way up her left leg starting at her foot and ending at the apex of her thighs. He then did the same with her right, and when he reached the top he kissed her over the fabric of her underwear. One long, male finger wormed its way to the elastic band of her knickers and brushed the top of the hidden curls. She arched her back slightly and as her hips left the counter he took the opportunity to slip the fabric off her. She was sitting completely naked, one leg swung to either side of his body and he was standing in between her, grinning cheekily.
In one sudden movement his tongue was inside her, right up against her G-spot and she was writhing and moaning as his right hand dropped to her clitoris and his left hand curled itself into her hair. She came quickly, violently, body shuddering over his face underneath her, her hands in his hair gripping, moans cascading from her lips. George began to kiss her way up the sensitive skin on her stomach as she was coming down, taking one nipple in his mouth and the other between his fingers. With no time to properly recover her body is super-sensitive and she is once again moaning his name over and over, an erotic chant. He grins and looks up at her, eyes glistening with lust and happiness, opaque in the dim kitchen sunlight.
Her own eyes are glazed, blind with passion and she pants, “George, I need you in me.”
He grinned, “I was hoping you’d say that.” He dropped one hand to his belt buckle and pulled it off quickly. Her fingers stroked their way down the soft trail of red hair leading down into the waistband of his underwear, which was just visible at the top of the dark denim. Quickly, deftly, she undid the silver button and let the pants fall onto her new kitchen floor with a heavy thud. She reached over and stroked the swelling bulge in his underwear lightly, two fingers up and down. George grinned down at her and kissed her, linking his arm around her neck and pulling her into him hard and fast. She freed him and wrapped her hand around him, dancing her finger around his leaking tip. He pulled away from her, resting his forehead on hers, “You ready babe?” he whispered gently.
She nodded and arched her back, “More ready than you’d think.”
And then he was in her, pulling her hips onto him, sliding her down his length. Her mouth opened into a slight oh, and drew all the breath out of her lungs. They began to move slowly, her fingernails digging into the muscles in his back. She could feel his shoulder blades moving with every inward stroke, and she closed her eyes as exquisite bliss took over her whole body. George was moaning softly with every movement, and she was soon joining in as her body gave into the bliss. Their moans made a chorus of sound, floating to her painted white ceiling.
His movements grew faster and jerky as he began to climax, she falling over the precipice with him. Each jerky movement sent shockwaves of ecstasy to her brain, which was screaming as every sinew in her body short-circuited. Then she was screaming as she came, her vocal chords rasping with the joy. There was a vague thought somewhere back in her head that she’d be embarrassed later, as she felt George come too, slowly riding out her orgasm.
*~*~*~*~*
“Then we locked ourselves in my bedroom and didn’t come out all weekend,” she finished forlornly.
Harry looked at her in shock from over the table, “You had sex with him how many times?”
She shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe a dozen the whole weekend. Six times a day at least.”
Ginny was also staring at her in shock too, “I know women are good, but he can seriously go for that long?”
Hermione nodded into her food, “Apparently. I miss that.”
Her friend sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, “And when did you realise you were in love with him?”
“I never said I was in love with him!” she exclaimed, holding up her hands in protest.
Harry raised an eyebrow, “Even I can tell you love him, and that’s bloody saying something.”
*~*~*~*~*
Hermione realised that she was in love with George on a Sunday in June. The sun was streaming in through her living room window, heating everything up wonderfully. She was lazing on the couch, lapping up the sun like the cat that was lying with his head on her knee was. George was wandering around her bookshelves, shirtless, his skin gleaming gold in the light. Every so often he would lean down or stretch up to flip a book off the shelf and, after he’d scanned the back, the book would go back up and he would carry on.
She could still remember the exact moment her heart skipped a beat. He’d stopped for longer and, turning around with a grin on his face, told her, “I always loved Walden.”
Her heart actually literally skipped a beat and she was quite sure that her jaw dropped onto her chest, “You’ve read Henry David Thoreau?” she squawked.
He grinned that lazy grin at her and nodded, “Sure. You know, I’m not a completely uneducated pureblood Wizard. I actually paid attention in most of muggle studies. I didn’t mind it actually. Great Expectations was always a favourite of mine.”
She pushed the cat off her lap and stood up, moving so that she was standing in front of him, leaning in towards him, “I always thought you were the perfect man.” She told him.
*~*~*~*~*
“George reads books?” Ginny was in shock, “Like, actual books with pages and letters and black and white print.”
Hermione nodded miserably, “Yes. He loved them. There’s an awful lot more to your brothers than you realise Gin, you know.”
Ginny ran a hand through her daughters hair, “Yes. I know. I just never expected George and books.”
Harry chuckled from where he was lazing on his armchair, “You should pay more attention love.”
She glared at him, a look that was very reminiscent of Molly, “I have enough to cope with here, thank you very much.”
Harry grinned at his wife in amusement, “I know dear. I’m just teasing you, you know.”
Ginny looked back at Hermione, “Are you still in love with him?”
She nodded slowly, “Of course. Just because I haven’t even had the chance to touch him for a year. I’m very much in love with him.”
Ginny nodded and smiled at her, “How did it end?”
*~*~*~*~*
It didn’t exactly end. More, one moment George was spending all his time at Hermione’s flat and then he was making excuses as to why it was impossible for him to come for dinner, how he wasn’t able to stay over because he and Fred were getting up early to go to the Quidditch. Then she was busy at work and Ginny wanted her to go out for a girls night and the baby needed to be looked after so she and Harry could go for a romantic meal. Gradually, through life and the things around them they were barely able to get a minute for themselves, alone.
Then, George surprised her by telling her, in a rare moment that they were actually in bed together, that he wanted to tell his family about them. She froze and he took that as a sign she didn’t want them to be together. That was what Hermione figured anyway, because the next time she saw him was at a family gathering where he barely even looked at her.
*~*~*~*~*
“And that is the end of it,” Hermione sighed, resigned, while they were sitting under a shady tree in the garden at the Burrow the next afternoon.
“The end of what?” said a familiar voice from behind them, making Hermione jump and Lily scramble off her mothers lap and jump into her uncles arms.
“Georgie,” she rubbed her face over George’s five o’clock stubble, “Auntie Hermy told mummy that she lubs you.”
George looked at the little girl in surprise, “Did she really? Is that why her pretty mouth is so sad?”
Lily nodded solemnly, “She told mummy that you don’t lub her. Why don’t you lub her Georgie?”
He bent down with the baby in his arms and sat on the grass, “Who said that I don’t love her?”
“Auntie Hermy,” she sighed, frustration evident in her voice, “She said you don’t lub her anymore. Is that true?”
George was staring intently at the baby’s face, as if Hermione wasn’t just sitting two feet from him, “it’s not true at all. I love Auntie Hermy very much.”
Lily threw her little arms around his neck and hugged him, “You should marry her and then I could wear the pretty dress that mummy wont buy me. You think she’d buy it for me if you were marrying Auntie Hermy?”
George kissed her on the cheek, “I’ll buy it for you even if Auntie Hermy doesn’t marry me.”
Lily frowned, “You should marry her anyway. People in lub get married. That’s what daddy said. He told me that you cant have a baby unless you’re married and in lub, and you have to have a baby for me to play with. James wont play with me, and he’s ick anyway.”
He chuckled and shot a look at his sister, “What have you been talking about with this child?”
Ginny shrugged, “Blame Harry. He’s the one educating them early.”
Hermione, who had been watching this exchange quietly, embarrassed, got up off the grass and, smiling awkwardly at Ginny, made to head up to the house. George handed the baby back to his mother and, leaping up, followed Hermione across the garden at a jog, grabbing her elbow as he reached her. Swinging her round to face him, he raised an eyebrow at the tears that were filling in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t realise that she heard that much. She’s only a baby,” Hermione was practically sobbing.
George smiled at her and tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ear, “Don’t be too sorry. If you hadn’t spilled your guts to Ginny I never would have known any of that.”
Hermione laughed bitterly through her tears, “Heard that I’m in love with you from a baby who has no real concept of what that means?”
“On the contrary,” he said, “She probably has more of a concept of what that means than either of us. She’s been loved unconditionally by so many people ever since the day she was born.”
She dashed away an escaped tear that was rolling down her cheek, “You know what I mean.”
He nodded, “I know what you mean.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again and turned to leave.
“What if I told you I was as in love with you as you are with me.”
She stopped in her tracks and, with her back still to him, replied, “You don’t know how in love with you I am.”
“I’ve seen it in your eyes,” he said, “And its enough to want to spend the rest of your life with me.”
*~*~*~*~*
Author: oops_pig
Disclaimer: We all know that none of this is real…
Pairing: George/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hermione just won't admit that she's really in love with him.
Genre: Romantic, Smut
Author's Notes: This is for lowlands_girl. I think I may have scared her last time we spoke. Sorry about that love. I must have been on crack. Unbeta'd
Word Count: 6,471
Hermione Granger sat at her desk contemplating the state of the world. More specifically she was contemplating the state of her world, but really it is the same thing.
She had held down the same job for the past five years and, as much as she loved it, she could feel herself growing bored. Which is funny, because she doesn’t think of herself as the sort of person who can be easily bored. But there it is, she muses, her life has come down to this. A job.
Once, she thinks, she was actually happy. When she was a child everything was a lot easier. It was books and school and her parents. Then she received the letter that changed everything. The letter that turned her into a war heroine and gave her the one thing she only ever dreamed of having. Life-long friends. One did not just stumble upon them, she thought, but then again maybe one did. That had certainly happened to her, hadn’t it? She was minding her own business, helping Neville find his toad and then all of a sudden it was the end of first year and she was promising to write to Harry during the holidays. It was funny how life worked, really.
Hermione’s musings had began a few days ago when she’d received the invitation for Harry and Ginny’s wedding anniversary in the mail. She’d known it was going to happen of course, but actually seeing Harry and Ginny’s names on the pretty pink paper had been a shock to her system. Especially the line right at the very top: Hermione and Guest.
That’s what hit her the most. She was Hermione and Guest. The single friend too immersed in her work to realise she is missing out on love. And she thinks she’s finally realised that.
*~*~*~*~*
The dim morning light that falls through the gap in the curtain illuminates the face of one Hermione Granger. The year is 2001 and the war has been over for a total of one year, three months and six days. Hermione is 21 years old and living in a youth hostel somewhere in Greece. Harry understood her need to go away somewhere, preferably warm, to balance out the darkness they had seen for such a long time. Ron, also rather understandably, threw somewhat of a temper tantrum and refused to talk to her.
Greece was exactly what Hermione expected it to be. Warm, sunny and happy. The wizarding community in the city accepted her immediately, because everyone knew who she was. Voldemort’s havoc stretched all over Europe, after all. Three days later she was sick of the attention and had staked her claim in a cheap bed in a dingy youth hostel. She’d never felt better.
On this particular morning, however, Hermione was cursing the hot sun streaming in through the flimsy curtains. She awoke slowly, her head pounding and her muscles screaming in pain as she stretched slightly. She sat up too fast, her head reminding her that it was a bad idea as a wave of nausea and dizziness hit her. She groaned and turned to get out of the bed. Only there was a body in the way. She groaned again as she flopped back down, which did nothing but churn up her stomach more. This was the last thing she needed, a stranger in her bed. She sat herself back up slowly and, leaning on her elbow, turned to look at the body next to her.
Hermione was in no way a virgin. She’d lost that to Ron a handful of months into the war. In normal times she didn’t think it would have happened the way it did, but with the war raging around them as it was she felt the need to do something loving. There was enough killing going on. She and Ron had had a relationship for most of the war. It had taken her a while in the early days to draw out what, if anything, he felt for her, but once she’d gotten him to open up they’d been fine. In fact, he’d fallen so in love with her that he was over-stifling. So much, in fact, that he had told her she wasn’t allowed any part in the final battle. That’s when she broke up with him.
In the year or so since the end of the war Hermione had slept with quite a few different men. She didn’t consider herself a slut at all. She just wanted to act her age in a way she’d never been able to while at school. She was still Hermione, devouring books at a rate so fast peoples heads spun, but she’d changed just like everyone she knew who’d been around the death and destruction. Ginny had told her that she and Harry had an awful lot of sex, even more than for people of their age, just so that they could feel like they were doing something good instead of evil. Ginny confided that she understood why her parents had had so many children.
So Hermione was hardly surprised when she awoke next to a male body. She was just annoyed because she didn’t remember the night before and that was something Hermione hated. She hated not having any idea who she was waking up next to.
So when she rolled towards the body, intent on studying the man until he awoke or she left, whichever she decided would come first, she was surprised to see two grinning blue eyes staring at her. Her gaze dropped to the mouth which held a pair of swollen lips, curving up into a smirking grin. The face was covered in freckles and the mouth was surrounded by red stubble. A shock of red hair fell into the blue eyes and was tousled messily around broad, muscular shoulders.
Hermione, upon recognition, covered herself up quickly and squealed, “Oh Merlin. Please tell me I didn’t have sex with you.”
The cocky grin grew wider, “You don’t remember love? You were spectacular. I never would have picked you for a screamer.”
Hermione tugged on the sheet wrapping it around herself more securely and wormed her way to the bottom of the bed, standing up when she reached the floor, “I think you should leave.” She demanded.
The shoulders shrugged, “Ok love, if you wish.” He got out of bed, still completely naked, bits swinging wildly, and started pulling his jeans on. Hermione could see the blush of a hickey on his right collarbone and she couldn’t believe that she’d been so wild with him of all people.
He threw her a grin as he exited the door and said cheekily, “I’ll see you back in London.”
From that day on Hermione never got drunk again. And three days later she was back at her parents house, dreading facing Ron again after what had happened.
*~*~*~*~*
Hermione and Ginny are sitting having lunch together the day after Hermione receives the anniversary dinner invite and makes her revelation. She is decidedly glum. In fact, she thinks to herself, she feels a bit like Eeoree. Ginny is trying her hardest to cheer her up.
Being a Friday she has ordered a bottle of champagne and they both plan on going back to work slightly tipsy. Hermione has ordered her favourite salad, and Ginny is prattling on about arrangements for the dinner. Its not that she doesn’t care, Hermione thinks, I just don’t think she’s noticed that I’m not myself. Not surprising, of course, considering their relationship has mostly consisted of Ginny talking to, or rather at, her friend.
Hermione’s thoughts are off in space and Ginny stops and looks at her friend oddly, “What do you think?”
Hermione startles out of her reverie as Ginny asks her a question, “What? Oh, Gin, I’m sorry. My thoughts were a million miles away.”
Ginny shakes her head, “What‘s wrong Hermione. You’ve been a million miles away all day. Its not like you. Normally you at least listen to me.”
She shakes her head slightly, “You and Harry have been married for five years next week. Five years that I have done nothing with my life.”
Ginny sighs, “You’re lonely.” She states.
Hermione sighs back in reply, “trust me, I know what loneliness is and this doesn’t feel like it. It feels different somehow.”
Ginny takes a sip of her wine and flicks her long red hair over her shoulder, “The last time you were lonely was when you were eleven and had no friends. It’s a different type of loneliness and you know it. You want a man. You want someone to feel close to in a different way. A man,” she stops to think for a moment, “Who do I know that’s single? Well, obviously Ron wont work. It didn’t last time so I assume it wont again. Harry is mine. Bill and Charlie are married. Percy, well, he’s just a git. Fred’s shagging Angelina still, as far as I know. What about George?”
Hermione reeled back as if her friend had slapped her in the face, “George?” she repeated, her face heating up, “Your brother George? What about him?”
Ginny peered into her friends face suspiciously, “well, he’s single, good-looking, funny, smart (although don’t tell him I said that, because he’d get a big head) and he needs a good strong woman to teach him a thing or two. And, from what I hear,” she shivered a bit in disgust, “he’s good in bed.”
Hermione’s blush spread down to the back of her neck as she got more and more embarrassed, “I don’t think any good would come from that.” She said, looking down at her hands.
Ginny rolled her eyes, “Why ever not? He’s perfect I tell you. Besides, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s the same way Harry used to look at me during the war. Like he wanted me, but for whatever reasons he knew he couldn’t touch me. Merlin knows what George’s reasons are, but he must have some or he’d be all over you.”
Hermione looked into her wine glass, “I know what his reasons are. They’re good enough reasons for him to not want to be with me, trust me.”
Ginny leaned forward, “You knew! You knew he likes you and you’re holding him at arms length. That’s his reason; he doesn’t want to be played!”
Hermione shook her head, “I wish it was that simple.”
*~*~*~*~*
The day after Hermione arrived back in England she was holed up at her parents house, nursing a bad case of jetlag. She’d flown back, still sick of the attention she was receiving, even a year and a half after the fact. She was half-asleep in her fathers hammock underneath the lemon tree, when Ginny came bounding into the backyard holding a baby in her arms. The baby was hers; James Potter the second. Three months old; as stubborn as his mother, and looked exactly like his father. Hermione smiled as Ginny sat down opposite her, her feet swinging over the sides of the hammock, the baby in her lap, “Aunty Hermione,” she stated, “meet your first nephew. I’m sure he’ll be one of many.”
Hermione sat up slightly and smiled, taking the baby and tickling him under the chin. She was shocked when she received a look of disgust that had emanated from Ginny’s face many times.
Ginny smiled, “I heard you finally got back. I know we flooed you, but I just thought you might like to meet him for yourself.”
Hermione realised, at her friends words, how selfish she’d been, “I’m so sorry Gin. I know you don’t understand why I left, with everyone celebrating and you married and everything. I should have come back for James’ birth. It was really selfish of me not to think of you.”
Ginny raised her hand, stopping her friends flow of words, “Don’t say sorry. You needed to be away from all the shit. I understand that. Harry understood too. He understood more than any of us. The only reason we cut our honeymoon short was because I was throwing up so much I could hardly get out of bed. We understand, and its not like he’ll ever remember knowing you this young anyhow. I’m just glad you’re back. You need to tell me all about it, so that I can envy you totally.”
Hermione laughed and leaned back, the baby between her legs, “it was wonderful. Sea, sand, sun, booze, cute guys with no shirts on. I read about a million books and did pretty much nothing. Worked as a waitress for a while when I ran out of money. Lived in a world where no one knew who I was. I mean, there were random wizards that came up to me and thanked me, but living in a muggle world it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. It was like living in a dream world half the time. I feel very odd knowing that I need to find a job and somewhere to live. And, also, after being in a Muggle world I feel a bit funny knowing that I need to go back into the wizarding world. Its been so long, Gin, that I don’t know how I’ll cope.”
Ginny smiled at her friend, “Come home to Mum for a while. Nearly everyone has moved out now, although Merlin knows we’re all there enough. It’ll be a good transitional thing for you. And besides, you were the smartest witch in your year. You wont have forgotten anything, I guarantee it.”
Hermione smiled, thinking, “I don’t know if the Burrow is a good idea, but I get your drift. Maybe I could find something else.”
Ginny looked a little confused, “You love the Burrow”
“Yes, but I don’t want to be a strain on Molly. She has so many people to worry about already that I don’t want to be another bother.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, “My mother loves bother. She thrives on having people around her. And it wouldn’t be forever. Just a couple of months until you get some Galleons for a place of your own. I’d offer you a room at ours but we’ve got two bedrooms and I’m still trying to get James to sleep through the night. I’m barely getting enough sleep myself, and I wouldn’t want to subject you to that too. Besides,” she grinned, “I already told mum you were back and I think she’s expecting you.”
Which is how Hermione came to be standing in Ginny’s old room at the Burrow with Molly Weasley fussing around her. She’d been spending all her spare time practising all the spells and charms she could think of off the top of her head, and it scared her a bit to find that the ones she could readily remember were the horrible things they’d all used during the war. She knew she wasn’t the only one who had occasional nightmares about the things they’d seen and done.
Everyone was praising her on how well she looked. How happy, relaxed, tanned she was. Hermione was none of these things (except maybe tanned). On the inside she was a huge bundle of nerves. She knew it was inevitable that she see him sometime; after all they were supposed to be friends, but she just wanted it to drag on for as long as possible. She’d heard Arthur ask Molly where he was earlier and Molly had mentioned something about a buying trip to Spain, so she wasn’t too concerned about running into him immediately.
Which is why it was a huge surprise to her when she walked into the kitchen the next morning to find him sitting at the table eating bacon and eggs lovingly prepared for him by his mother. She took one look at him, smiled at Molly and said “I think I might take a shower before I eat” and walked out of the room again.
She’d just about reached the bathroom door on the third floor when she felt a hand on her elbow and a voice in her ear, “Love I wont bite. Although,” and he paused and grinned suggestively, “you seemed to like it last time.”
Hermione shook off his arm and glared, “You took advantage of me George Weasley. What were you doing in Greece anyway? Stalking me?”
He actually looked mildly offended, “No. I was on a buying trip. I’ve just got back actually. Went all over the place. I wasn’t specifically seeking you out. When I found you in that bar you were already pretty gone, and you just threw yourself at me. I took you back to your room, you passed out on the bed and I slept next to you so that you wouldn’t choke on your own tongue or something. We never had sex. I just cant sleep with clothes on. I take them off in my sleep, and you started getting naked before we even got back to your room. Nothing. Happened.”
Hermione looked confused, “But, what about you not caring that I saw you naked, and the hickey on your neck? And all the innuendo?”
George chuckled and leaned against the door beside her, “I don’t care who sees me naked, the hickey was from this fine Spanish girl I’d met the night before and I’m a male. Innuendo is my specialty.”
Hermione sighed, “You put me through all this worry for absolutely nothing? I shouldn’t have even bothered coming home, but you freaked me out so much.”
“I’m sorry I upset you. If its any constellation if you hadn’t been drunk and throwing yourself at me I’d have been perfectly happy to fuck you. You look amazing love. You’re glowing, and not just with tan. Sex with you would be heavenly.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, “How’d you know I was a screamer?”
George chuckled again and lifted her chin a little with his thumb, “The quiet ones always are.”
“Well, it would be nice to prove you wrong.” She said defiantly, shaking her head mentally at the balls she had, flirting with a man who was practically her brother.
He moved in closer and almost whispered in her ear, “Any time you want to love, you know where I live.” He smiled at her in what she thought was a seductive way and sauntered back down the stairs.
*~*~*~*~*
She found herself finally telling her friend all this while they were shopping for shoes the next day.
“So you’re hung up because you flirted with my brother. What’s the big deal? A little harmless flirting never hurt anyone did it? I flirt with the butcher when I get the meat on Saturdays and he doesn’t seem to mind a bit. Harry doesn’t even seem to care.”
Hermione sighed, “I don’t really know why I made it into such a drama, but at the time it seemed to be something huge. Because, Gin, the truth is I did have sex with him. Sex that was better than any other sex I’ve ever had, and I know you don’t want to hear it, but oh your brother has a gift. And alone we seemed to get on so well! I know the twins always annoyed the shit out of me, but alone I could handle George. He seemed like a completely different person. Not as cocky, much more loving. And we had intelligent conversations! About books! Did you know that your brother has read nearly every Muggle classic there is! He was even recommending books to me.”
“So what was the problem?”
Hermione’s shoulders seemed to slump a bit, “I don’t know. I could never figure it out because he was such a great guy. We saw each other in secret, you know, and I never wanted to tell anyone. Then I got my job and we saw each other less, and then it was just at family gatherings, and now its like we hardly ever see each other except special occasions. Its like that old saying, you don’t know what you have until its gone.”
Ginny nodded, “I know where you’re coming from. But I meant what I said about him looking at you the way he does. I cant explain it, but I think he fell in love with you a long time ago and I think he’s as lonely as you are. I’m not saying that loneliness is the only reason the two of you should be together, but if you fit then why don’t you go for it?”
Hermione shook her head, “Ginny, you cant just fuck with peoples emotions like that. I cant turn around and say, five years after the fact, ‘oh I want to be with you and tell everyone and shout it to the rooftops.’”
Ginny rolled her eyes, “I never suggested that. I’m just saying, it seems like you’re very unhappy and lonely. So is he. It makes sense in my mind for the two of you to at least try to get things back on track. How did you start sleeping with him anyway, if you didn’t do it drunk?”
*~*~*~*~*
Hermione was back on her feet within a month. When the Minister for Magic, the fairly newly appointed Terrance Schrage, found out through the grapevine that Hermione was looking for work he offered her the newly created job of under-secretary to the Minster. Within a few weeks of starting she had enough money for a small flat in London and some left over to fully furnish it. She stood in her new living room the night of the move and wondered when she grew up.
The next day, a Sunday, she awoke early to finish unpacking boxes in the kitchen. Her mother had been so excited she’d gone out and spend hundreds of pounds on kitchenware. She had boxes and boxes of pans, glasses, dinner-sets and entertaining dishes. All these things and very little cupboard space. It was times like this, when she could use her shrinking spells, that Hermione loved being a witch.
It was as she stood amidst a rapidly growing pile of paper and empty boxes that she heard the ‘crack’ of Apparation in her living room. She called out hello but heard no noise. Standing in so much clutter she really couldn’t move too far, but a few seconds later the red-head of a Weasley twin popped round the doorway. George grinned a little self-consciously and raised one hand in greeting, “Mum told me where to find you. She sent a ham.”
Hermione looked a little perplexed, “A whole ham? Really?”
He nodded and held the dish out, “A whole, honey glazed ham. It’s almost Christmas and she said you’ll be too busy sorting out your flat to remember.”
Hermione grinned and gestured around her, “Well, I’m definitely a bit busy.”
George looked at his feet, “I want to apologise for what happened in Greece, Hermione.”
She looked at him startled, “What do you mean, apologise? You said nothing happened, so why do you need to apologise.”
A sheepish look, on Hermione thought she’d never see on this face, flitted across, “Well, I lied about that. You see, you seemed so pissed at me. Really upset about it. So I thought I’d save you the stress and tell you nothing happened. Everything I told you at mums was true anyway. Apart from the us not sleeping together. We did that.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes, “George Weasley, you mean to tell me that you took advantage of me, and then lied to me about it when you knew full well I didn’t remember?”
He sighed, “You remember. You remember everything. You just chose not too. Because,” he took a step towards where she was standing with each word he uttered, “You just chose to forget about it so that you don’t have to deal with the fact that you enjoyed it.” He was so close to her he could lean over and whisper into her ear, “Quite a bolt from the blue isn’t it?”
She glared at him, “What’s a bolt but a glorified screw?”
He leaned back slightly, “Was that all it was to you, Hermione? Just a quick screw?”
*~*~*~*~*
“Wait,” Ginny held up a sauce-covered ladle, “You do remember sleeping with him? You knew he lied to you?”
Hermione squirmed slightly, “Not at the time. Bits and pieces came back to me later.”
Ginny leaned forward over the stovetop toward her friend, “Well? Was it just a quick screw?”
Hermione shook her head, “I don’t know. At the time, probably, yes. I mean, he looked so good in his shirt and tight jeans and he was glistening with the heat. I was intoxicated and when he leaned over to hug me hello I could smell him. He smelt so good, Ginny. He always smells so good. Every time I see him, at anything, if I get one whiff of that smell I’m gone.”
Ginny sighed, “That’s how I feel about Harry.” She smiled over at her husband, who lifted his head from his newspaper and gave her a questioning look. She waved him off with a smile. He went back to his paper, but not before bending down to place his youngest daughter on his knee.
“I still maintain you’re in love with him,” Ginny continued, “I mean, I know that my brothers a prick most of the time, but you tend to overlook that when you love someone.”
“I’m not in love with him, Gin, I told you that.”
She rolled her eyes, “Ok, well, get back to it then. How’d the sex start again.”
“Well,” Hermione glared, “It started again that night.”
*~*~*~*~*
She glared at him, “Fine. No, you weren’t. Are you happy now? The sex was fabulous, you felt wonderful, and I haven’t had an orgasm like that, ever. I wish it hadn’t happened under the influence of alcohol, okay?”
Before she could even think another thought his lips were on hers and all the air in her lungs had disappeared. The soft, pink skin was rubbing against hers and his tongue was softly licking her lips. She opened her mouth to let him in and moaned slightly as his tongue flicked over hers. He slammed her against the counter as his hand twisted into her mass of curls and he gripped her head tightly, pulling her harder into him, kissing her as if his life depended on it.
He deftly unzipped her sweatshirt and, slipping his hand inside her bra, twisted her nipple between his fingers. Hermione let out a sigh and her hips bucked upward involuntarily. She shucked her top off and it fell amongst the paper. His other hand weaved itself out of her hair and snaked around to undo the clasp of her bra, which soon joined her top on the ground. George’s shirt joined her clothing moments later.
He picked her up and placed her on the bench top, sliding her sweatpants off and throwing them across the room. He groaned at the long legs and pink cotton underwear before him.
“This went way too fast last time,” he breathed on her bare skin, “This time I’m going to savour every little bit of you.” He began to kiss his way up her left leg starting at her foot and ending at the apex of her thighs. He then did the same with her right, and when he reached the top he kissed her over the fabric of her underwear. One long, male finger wormed its way to the elastic band of her knickers and brushed the top of the hidden curls. She arched her back slightly and as her hips left the counter he took the opportunity to slip the fabric off her. She was sitting completely naked, one leg swung to either side of his body and he was standing in between her, grinning cheekily.
In one sudden movement his tongue was inside her, right up against her G-spot and she was writhing and moaning as his right hand dropped to her clitoris and his left hand curled itself into her hair. She came quickly, violently, body shuddering over his face underneath her, her hands in his hair gripping, moans cascading from her lips. George began to kiss her way up the sensitive skin on her stomach as she was coming down, taking one nipple in his mouth and the other between his fingers. With no time to properly recover her body is super-sensitive and she is once again moaning his name over and over, an erotic chant. He grins and looks up at her, eyes glistening with lust and happiness, opaque in the dim kitchen sunlight.
Her own eyes are glazed, blind with passion and she pants, “George, I need you in me.”
He grinned, “I was hoping you’d say that.” He dropped one hand to his belt buckle and pulled it off quickly. Her fingers stroked their way down the soft trail of red hair leading down into the waistband of his underwear, which was just visible at the top of the dark denim. Quickly, deftly, she undid the silver button and let the pants fall onto her new kitchen floor with a heavy thud. She reached over and stroked the swelling bulge in his underwear lightly, two fingers up and down. George grinned down at her and kissed her, linking his arm around her neck and pulling her into him hard and fast. She freed him and wrapped her hand around him, dancing her finger around his leaking tip. He pulled away from her, resting his forehead on hers, “You ready babe?” he whispered gently.
She nodded and arched her back, “More ready than you’d think.”
And then he was in her, pulling her hips onto him, sliding her down his length. Her mouth opened into a slight oh, and drew all the breath out of her lungs. They began to move slowly, her fingernails digging into the muscles in his back. She could feel his shoulder blades moving with every inward stroke, and she closed her eyes as exquisite bliss took over her whole body. George was moaning softly with every movement, and she was soon joining in as her body gave into the bliss. Their moans made a chorus of sound, floating to her painted white ceiling.
His movements grew faster and jerky as he began to climax, she falling over the precipice with him. Each jerky movement sent shockwaves of ecstasy to her brain, which was screaming as every sinew in her body short-circuited. Then she was screaming as she came, her vocal chords rasping with the joy. There was a vague thought somewhere back in her head that she’d be embarrassed later, as she felt George come too, slowly riding out her orgasm.
*~*~*~*~*
“Then we locked ourselves in my bedroom and didn’t come out all weekend,” she finished forlornly.
Harry looked at her in shock from over the table, “You had sex with him how many times?”
She shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe a dozen the whole weekend. Six times a day at least.”
Ginny was also staring at her in shock too, “I know women are good, but he can seriously go for that long?”
Hermione nodded into her food, “Apparently. I miss that.”
Her friend sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, “And when did you realise you were in love with him?”
“I never said I was in love with him!” she exclaimed, holding up her hands in protest.
Harry raised an eyebrow, “Even I can tell you love him, and that’s bloody saying something.”
*~*~*~*~*
Hermione realised that she was in love with George on a Sunday in June. The sun was streaming in through her living room window, heating everything up wonderfully. She was lazing on the couch, lapping up the sun like the cat that was lying with his head on her knee was. George was wandering around her bookshelves, shirtless, his skin gleaming gold in the light. Every so often he would lean down or stretch up to flip a book off the shelf and, after he’d scanned the back, the book would go back up and he would carry on.
She could still remember the exact moment her heart skipped a beat. He’d stopped for longer and, turning around with a grin on his face, told her, “I always loved Walden.”
Her heart actually literally skipped a beat and she was quite sure that her jaw dropped onto her chest, “You’ve read Henry David Thoreau?” she squawked.
He grinned that lazy grin at her and nodded, “Sure. You know, I’m not a completely uneducated pureblood Wizard. I actually paid attention in most of muggle studies. I didn’t mind it actually. Great Expectations was always a favourite of mine.”
She pushed the cat off her lap and stood up, moving so that she was standing in front of him, leaning in towards him, “I always thought you were the perfect man.” She told him.
*~*~*~*~*
“George reads books?” Ginny was in shock, “Like, actual books with pages and letters and black and white print.”
Hermione nodded miserably, “Yes. He loved them. There’s an awful lot more to your brothers than you realise Gin, you know.”
Ginny ran a hand through her daughters hair, “Yes. I know. I just never expected George and books.”
Harry chuckled from where he was lazing on his armchair, “You should pay more attention love.”
She glared at him, a look that was very reminiscent of Molly, “I have enough to cope with here, thank you very much.”
Harry grinned at his wife in amusement, “I know dear. I’m just teasing you, you know.”
Ginny looked back at Hermione, “Are you still in love with him?”
She nodded slowly, “Of course. Just because I haven’t even had the chance to touch him for a year. I’m very much in love with him.”
Ginny nodded and smiled at her, “How did it end?”
*~*~*~*~*
It didn’t exactly end. More, one moment George was spending all his time at Hermione’s flat and then he was making excuses as to why it was impossible for him to come for dinner, how he wasn’t able to stay over because he and Fred were getting up early to go to the Quidditch. Then she was busy at work and Ginny wanted her to go out for a girls night and the baby needed to be looked after so she and Harry could go for a romantic meal. Gradually, through life and the things around them they were barely able to get a minute for themselves, alone.
Then, George surprised her by telling her, in a rare moment that they were actually in bed together, that he wanted to tell his family about them. She froze and he took that as a sign she didn’t want them to be together. That was what Hermione figured anyway, because the next time she saw him was at a family gathering where he barely even looked at her.
*~*~*~*~*
“And that is the end of it,” Hermione sighed, resigned, while they were sitting under a shady tree in the garden at the Burrow the next afternoon.
“The end of what?” said a familiar voice from behind them, making Hermione jump and Lily scramble off her mothers lap and jump into her uncles arms.
“Georgie,” she rubbed her face over George’s five o’clock stubble, “Auntie Hermy told mummy that she lubs you.”
George looked at the little girl in surprise, “Did she really? Is that why her pretty mouth is so sad?”
Lily nodded solemnly, “She told mummy that you don’t lub her. Why don’t you lub her Georgie?”
He bent down with the baby in his arms and sat on the grass, “Who said that I don’t love her?”
“Auntie Hermy,” she sighed, frustration evident in her voice, “She said you don’t lub her anymore. Is that true?”
George was staring intently at the baby’s face, as if Hermione wasn’t just sitting two feet from him, “it’s not true at all. I love Auntie Hermy very much.”
Lily threw her little arms around his neck and hugged him, “You should marry her and then I could wear the pretty dress that mummy wont buy me. You think she’d buy it for me if you were marrying Auntie Hermy?”
George kissed her on the cheek, “I’ll buy it for you even if Auntie Hermy doesn’t marry me.”
Lily frowned, “You should marry her anyway. People in lub get married. That’s what daddy said. He told me that you cant have a baby unless you’re married and in lub, and you have to have a baby for me to play with. James wont play with me, and he’s ick anyway.”
He chuckled and shot a look at his sister, “What have you been talking about with this child?”
Ginny shrugged, “Blame Harry. He’s the one educating them early.”
Hermione, who had been watching this exchange quietly, embarrassed, got up off the grass and, smiling awkwardly at Ginny, made to head up to the house. George handed the baby back to his mother and, leaping up, followed Hermione across the garden at a jog, grabbing her elbow as he reached her. Swinging her round to face him, he raised an eyebrow at the tears that were filling in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t realise that she heard that much. She’s only a baby,” Hermione was practically sobbing.
George smiled at her and tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ear, “Don’t be too sorry. If you hadn’t spilled your guts to Ginny I never would have known any of that.”
Hermione laughed bitterly through her tears, “Heard that I’m in love with you from a baby who has no real concept of what that means?”
“On the contrary,” he said, “She probably has more of a concept of what that means than either of us. She’s been loved unconditionally by so many people ever since the day she was born.”
She dashed away an escaped tear that was rolling down her cheek, “You know what I mean.”
He nodded, “I know what you mean.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again and turned to leave.
“What if I told you I was as in love with you as you are with me.”
She stopped in her tracks and, with her back still to him, replied, “You don’t know how in love with you I am.”
“I’ve seen it in your eyes,” he said, “And its enough to want to spend the rest of your life with me.”
*~*~*~*~*