“Are you okay?” George asked as they reached their room.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Hermione frowned.
“Because you look as if you’ve been crying, and you’ve been a bit strange with me today?”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t think you’d notice,” Hermione replied, swiping away the wet beneath her eyes, “and I’m sorry, it’s Ron’s portrait, it’s been playing on my mind a lot recently, in fact, Ron has been playing on my mind a lot recently.”
“Of course I’d notice,” George said, “and I thought that was the case, look, I’m sorry, I thought you’d be happy about it, I even asked-”
“Ginny about it, yeah, I know, she told me, and I thought I would be too, in fact I was until I fell asleep that night and everything I’d blocked out about Ron came back to me.”
“You were crying in your sleep that night,” George admitted sheepishly.
“I’m sorry, I know you meant the best, I’m really touched that you did such a thing for me,” Hermione smiled.
“I was just trying to repay you for all the things you’ve done for me recently,” George sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and looking down at the floor, “I guess I’ve just made it worse though, haven’t I?”
“No, no, not at all,” Hermione consoled him.
“Is there anything else?” George looked up at Hermione, his gaze quite intense, “anything else I can do to make it up to you? To make you happy?”
“There is one thing,” Hermione nodded.
“What?” George gulped, the look on his face making it clear that he would be willing to do anything.
“Be my friend, make me laugh, smile, all the things you’re good at, and listen to me when I start babbling about stupid things,” Hermione smiled.
“I can do that,” George nodded.
“Good,” Hermione replied.
George leaned back and grabbed two pillows from the bed before chucking one of them to Hermione. Hermione caught it and gave George a confused look.
“Pillow fight,” George raised his eyebrows expectantly, “have you never been to a sleep over before?”
“You’re serious?” Hermione laughed, “fine, but be warned, I’ll beat you.”
George stood and swung the pillow hard, hitting Hermione on the waist. Hermione gasped, not expecting such a hard blow, but swung the pillow over her head and downwards, letting it collide with the top of George’s skull. George let out a war cry as she pulled the pillow away and launched himself at Hermione, the pillow pressing against Hermione’s chest and pushing her back up against the wall.
“Got you pinned,” George winked.
“Don’t think so,” Hermione replied, taking her wand swiftly from her back pocket and throwing a spell into George’s stomach, sending him staggering a couple of yards backwards.
“Hey, no magic allowed!” he yelled. Hermione gave him a quizzical look but put her wand down on the dressing table next to the wall by which she was still stood against. She then swung her pillow again, advancing towards George and hitting him on the shoulder. George chuckled and swung his own pillow, hitting Hermione in the side of the head.
“Hey, that hurt!” Hermione shrieked, “you’re getting it now!”
Hermione swung her pillow, aiming for George’s chest, but he blocked the blow with his own pillow and went on the counter attack, pushing his pillow into Hermione again so she fell backwards onto the bed. He started a barrage of attacks, hitting every open spot on Hermione’s body. Hermione tried her best to block the shots but George was too good. She threw the pillow aside and grabbed at George’s shirt, pulling him on top of her. He landed heavily, the pillow separating the two of them.
“Can’t handle it?” George grinned down at her.
“I couldn’t get a shot in, needed to stop you somehow else I would have ended up looking like a bruised chicken,” Hermione smiled. George glanced down at the pillow that was stopping their bodies from touching. It had burst slightly, duck feathers sprouting out of the tear that had formed.
“Oh, I never even noticed that I’d broken it,” George said, turning his gaze back to Hermione.
“Too busy beating me up,” Hermione replied.
“Something like that,” George nodded, “come on, Round Two.”
“You saying you won Round One?” Hermione gaped.
“What do you think?” George chuckled. He stood up and buffed his pillow slightly. A couple of duck feathers fell out and landed on the bed but otherwise the pillow looked ready for another brawl. Hermione grabbed her pillow and, in an attempt to catch George off guard, she swung it round and hit George in the stomach. George doubled over and Hermione struck him on the head, causing him to fall on his hands and knees. Hermione stood up and nudged him with her foot before making her way over to the end of the bed.
“That all you got?” George smiled as he pulled himself upright, his face a rather red colour.
“No,” Hermione grinned. George advanced, Hermione tried to dart sideways, but the pillow was well aimed and hit her right in the chest. Hermione let out a yell as the pillow burst completely, duck feathers spraying everywhere and falling around them like some sort of weird dream. Suddenly the door to the room sprung open.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Molly’s voice said sharply, anger filling her words. The feathers fell to the floor and Hermione caught sight of her, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, looking very much the woman that had killed Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione glanced at George, he was looking rather sheepish.
“Sorry Molly,” Hermione gulped, “we were just-”
“Don’t you worry Hermione dear, this isn’t your fault,” Molly smiled warmly at Hermione before turning sternly back to George, “but you George, how old do you think you are? Ten? A pillow fight, dear me, and my best pillow, you’ve ruined it!”
“Sorry Mum, we were only having some fun,” George said guiltily.
“I don’t care, this isn’t acceptable, I’ve had both Victoire and James come downstairs and say you were keeping them awake.”
“I’m sorry, we’ll stop making such a racket now,” George nodded.
“I should hope so,” Molly nodded, “goodnight Hermione.”
“Goodnight Molly,” Hermione smiled. Molly gave George one last quick glare then exited the room, closing the door behind her as she left.
“Whoops,” George smiled as Molly’s footsteps sounded down the stairs.
“Whoops indeed,” Hermione nodded, still looking at the door.
George leaned down and picked up Hermione’s pillow and passed it to her.
“So where were we?” he grinned.
“George, you heard Molly,” Hermione frowned.
“When have you ever seen me listen to Mum?”
“On many occasions.”
“Whatever,” George laughed, taking his wand from his pocket and pointing it at the door, “Muffliato.”
“I don’t agree with that spell.”
“I don’t really care.”
George repaired his pillow quickly with his wand and picked it up, readying it for the fight.
“Round Three?” he smiled.
“Suppose I haven’t really got a choice,” Hermione said, raising her eyebrow.
“No, I suppose you don’t,” George said, giving a cheeky smile then hurling himself forwards, the pillow pressing against Hermione and stopping her from moving her arms. She stumbled backwards and hit the wall again, her back pressed up against it and this time unable to get free.
“Why would you look at this, I’ve got you pinned again,” George smiled audaciously.
“Looks like it,” Hermione nodded.
Hermione caught George’s eyes, they were shining brightly, even in the darkly lit room, and his smile was infectious. Hermione grinned. George couldn’t help himself; he bent his head and let his lips collide with Hermione’s. Hermione allowed him this time, in fact she welcomed it. The pillow fell to the floor between them.
“We take this slow,” Hermione whispered as they came up for air.
“We take this slow,” George repeated.
“No funny business.”
Hermione kissed George again, this time her lips lingering and then becoming more persistent, pressing against George’s with an intense passion that George had not expected. George slid his hand up to Hermione neck and then into her hair, his fingers wrapping themselves in the thick tuggy mess. He’d always thought Hermione’s hair was a tool she used to hide away, to sink into the crowd, but now he saw it as something that showed her off to the world, that revealed her deep brown eyes and her stunning smile in a wonderfully attractive fashion. He’d wanted to do this for so long, to let Hermione know what he truly felt for her, and this seemed the prime opportunity. After all, actions spoke louder than words.
George attempted to pull his fingers from Hermione’s hair but they caught, wrapped up in the thick strands. George broke his mouth away from Hermione’s and looked at his hand, lost in Hermione’s mane.
“Well this is awkward,” he laughed.
“Just slightly,” Hermione grinned, trying to stay quite still to make it easier for George to get his hand free. George reached up with his other hand and disentangled his fingers, flexed his hand then looked back at Hermione. She was chuckling, patting down her hair slightly.
“Maybe don’t try that again?”
“Maybe not,” George grinned, “where were we?”
“You were kissing me?”
“Oh right, yeah.”
George reached in again and revisited Hermione’s lips with his, kissing them tenderly and then, as before, becoming more wild. He broke his lips away and began nuzzling at Hermione’s neck, his lips caressing the point where her pulse drummed against her skin. He felt Hermione gulp and it sent him further over the brink, made him want to caress her, feel her naked body against his. He heard her hands hit the wall behind her, felt her body tense slightly, her back arch. George continued pressing his lips against her neck, tracing his tongue against her skin, feeling the goosebumps erupt at his gentle touch.
Hermione let out a soft mew, she hadn’t done this for a long time, hadn’t allowed it, she had never wanted to move on from Ron, never wanted to be intimate with anyone other than him, but now she felt differently. The awareness of George’s body, so close to her own, seemed to have unravelled her. She let it.
George pulled his lips away from Hermione’s skin and reached down with his hands for the bottom of Hermione’s shirt. Hermione allowed him to grab at it and pull the fabric over her head, revealing the black bra and perspiring skin beneath, the movement wasn’t as smooth as it should have been though, the shirt caught at Hermione’s neck, the head hole not quite fitting over her head. George yanked slightly and the shirt came off a bit further, the head hole now reaching her nose.
“A little help,” George murmured.
“I can’t, I can’t see anything and my hands are up in the air,” Hermione muttered back.
George yanked again and the shirt came free.
“That’s your massive brain you know, making your head so big that your shirt can’t get past it,” George laughed.
“Shut up,” Hermione grinned, her eyes twinkling. George threw the top to the floor and pressed forwards again, pushing Hermione’s body back up against the wall. She gasped at the force with which he did so and the way he pulled her right leg up around his waist.
“George, slow, would you?” she breathed.
“Don’t worry Hermione,” George replied, his mouth finding hers again and his tongue pressing against her lips. She let him in and their tongues collided. George ran his hand up Hermione’s stomach and along her back until he met the strip of fabric that ran horizontally below Hermione’s shoulder blades. He unclipped the fastener deftly and Hermione’s bra fell from her body. She heard her heart begin to pound louder in her head, could feel the blood flooding through her veins like a raging fire. George moved his head downwards, his lips finding her breast.
Hermione gasped and looked up at the ceiling, trying her best to stop a moan from escaping, and desperately trying to hold on to any rational thoughts that she had still floating around in her head. It was as though she’d reached Cloud 9 and everything that had been putting her down had suddenly vanished into a dark dungeon, never to bother her again. Even all thoughts of Ron had gone and had been replaced by thoughts of George, only George. His cheeky smile, his twinkling eyes, his knowing looks, the way he made her laugh, everything about him filling her mind, leaving no room for anything else.
“George,” she warned. George didn’t reply, only moved upwards, his lips reaching Hermione’s collarbone and caressing it, tickling the skin and causing Hermione to feel a wave of pleasure erupt through her, her pores releasing a salty sweat that tasted sweet on George’s tongue. Hermione reached down and pushed George away.
“What’s wrong?” George frowned, his eyes burning with a fervent passion Hermione had never seen from him before.
“Nothing, nothing’s wrong, you’re just going a bit fast for me,” Hermione managed, her breathing erratic and her heart hammering against her ribcage.
“This is me taking it slow Hermione,” George said.
“Well I prefer it slower,” Hermione replied.
“Okay, if I’m going too fast just let me know, okay?”
“Okay,” Hermione nodded.
“Okay?” George smiled, rising his eyebrows questioningly. Hermione nodded again.
George stepped forward again but before he could lay his lips on Hermione once more Hermione rested her palms against his chest and began unbuttoning his shirt. George watched her intently and once she was done he shrugged the shirt from his back and wrapped his arms around Hermione’s waist, pulling her upwards so she was in a carry that others would probably call a baby lift, one arm wrapped underneath her arms and the other under her knees. She was quite heavy and her jeans were rough against George’s skin but he didn’t really mind, all he wanted was to show Hermione how he felt. George moved away from the wall and lowered Hermione to the bed.
Her brown eyes stared back up at him, a longing in them that he had only ever seen once before, on her wedding day, when she had gotten married to Ron. That had been just before he ran away. George blinked, removing himself from his reverie, and propped himself on his hand next to Hermione’s head. He used his other hand to tilt Hermione’s chin before leaning in and giving her a short peck on the lips.
“I love you,” he whispered as he pulled away.
“I love you too,” Hermione replied, and she desperately meant it.