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Pink Elephants by Zyii
Chapter 7 : Teal Lambs
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 3

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Teal Lambs

Reference of alcoholic consumption

Mild Language


The lights of the karaoke bar drifted into silence, the voices became distant sounds, all Hermione could see was the detailed face of George, his eyes sparkling bright, his mouth smirking deviously, his head bent towards her own. Millimetres apart, Hermione could see every inch of his face, their breath mingled with each other, time stopped.

Their foreheads touched, just another step and…

Hermione felt George’s lips mould against her own, she’d never had a kiss that awoke so much fire and passion inside of her and she doubted she would ever be able to forget the feeling of this kiss again. George was soft but insistent as he kissed her with all his worth. A kiss is a powerful thing when fuelled by emotions, and there were a lot of emotions in this kiss, all those pent up emotions that hadn’t been explored were now releasing themselves as Hermione and George kissed. Wolf whistles surrounded them from occupants of the karaoke bar that had seen the couple lock lips, and the kiss seemed to go on forever, neither wanting to end it. However, there comes a point when breathing becomes essential, and (far too soon for Hermione’s liking) they broke the kiss and came up for air.

Hermione’s face was blushing red and George had a look of hunger in his eyes. Perhaps it was the alcohol affecting their minds that had made them drop all barriers and commit to their emotions but either way, there was no room for regret at this time.

As George rested his palm against Hermione’s cheek, she leaned into it, desperate for any contact he would give.

‘Let’s go home’ he whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her back.

She merely nodded, not quite certain she could speak yet.

The cold night air outside the bar broke the intimate situation that Hermione and George had gotten themselves into, they returned to their hyper alcohol induced personalities, shouting and giggling about this and that. They ‘tried’ to be quiet when they returned to Grimmauld Place, knowing the other occupants of the house would be asleep but it was far too amusing knowing they had to be quiet that they ended up making a lot of noise. It didn’t help that George was belting out random songs at the top of his voice, or that Hermione was shouting at him to shut up.

They retired into the library, the fire was still on but fortunately there was no alcohol present for them to drink. George’s mind was running rampant with questions, ranging from bizarre to serious.

‘Why do cows moo Hermione?’ he asked, ‘What is a games console Hermione?’, ‘Why are lots of muggles all pasty and white?’ and ‘Why do muggles celebrate so many days Hermione?’

Then he hit a question that had potential alarm bells despite their loose minds.

‘I think I would like to marry you Hermione, would you like to marry me? No will you marry me?’ asked George.

Hermione spluttered as her brain tried to take in the question, she was confused, was the question something serious? Or was it a George joke. ‘I urh, I’ she muttered most annoyingly.

‘We could have lots of children, imagine that your smarts and my red hair’ he continued.

Hermione’s brain was still struggling to comprehend what was being said but she managed to reply all the same, ‘Not too many children I hope’.

‘That’s the spirit’ said George, ‘Knew you wanted to marry me’ he said cheekily.


The rest of the conversation was lost on the both of them as their rambling increased and all sense of proper talk disappeared. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that the thought of bed was finally uttered, Hermione disappearing – still quite out of it – and George (slightly more sober) and remembering what they’d been talking about, hoping to all God’s in the high heavens that Hermione didn’t remember and panic.


They call it the morning after for a reason. Sometimes they call it the walk of shame – but please! Hermione had some dignity. Her head was throbbing though, and her memory was somewhat impaired except for the embarrassing moment when she seemed to have thrown herself at George and snogged him senseless. What he must think of her behaviour – she didn’t dare think. She was mortified and now George knew without a doubt that Hermione had feelings for him, she dreaded the thought of seeing him again. And the thought of remembering something else from last night made her shudder. When it came to alcohol, Hermione was not strong, she was a lightweight, she tended to become very giggly and tell all her secrets.

She was very glad that she’d woken up safe, alone and completely dressed. Sure George was a gentleman but everything goes a bit squiffy when alcohol was involved. Hermione wished she’d had the foresight to brew a hangover potion, as it was she hadn’t and had to resort to plain old paracetamols to help cure her thumping head. Oh and she just realised she was supposed to be al the shop an hour ago – oh well, Clara had the keys to open up and was perfectly capable on her own.

It was a slow moving Hermione that made her way down to the kitchen, moaning occasionally in pain. She had hoped the kitchen would be empty so that she could suffer in silence but fate chose not to grant that request.

‘Here rises the partying girl of last night’ said Harry.

‘Shut up? You’re talking too loud’ came Hermione’s response.

‘Bit hungover?’

‘Don’t mock me Harry, I can still hex you six ways from Sunday’ she growled.

‘Where’s George?’

Hermione groaned, ‘Don’t know’.

‘You guys were definitely having fun last night’ said Harry.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You woke Charlie and me up when you returned, kept shouting about the wedding you were going to have along with how many children’.

‘We did not!’ she cried.

‘Did too! Though I managed to fall asleep again after you started to name all your future children’.

‘That’s it, I’m going back to bed!’

‘Later Mione’ said Harry, chuckling at her retreating figure.

Hermione lay on her bed feeling even more embarrassed. It was one thing to kiss George but quite another thing entirely to have reached a level of drunkenness to start talking of weddings and children – Hermione really hoped that George didn’t remember that part of the conversation. She didn’t think she’d ever felt this mortified – well except for that one date she’d had with Cormac McLaggen.

Hermione stayed in her room up until lunchtime when her stomach started to protest about being empty. She felt her risk of meeting someone was slim at this point of the day but oh how wrong she was. Standing in all his cheeky glory was George making himself a ham salad sarnie.

‘Mione’ he whispered, his voice cracking. Somehow he seemed in a better shape that she was – he’d probably had accept to a hangover potion.

‘George’ she replied her voice just as cracked.

Then the mother of all awkward silences began, the two on opposite sides of the kitchen table just stood, eyes locked, staring at one another.

Hermione felt over heated, her heart was working overtime and her palms were sweaty. She desperately wanted to say something – anything.

‘George’ she uttered and at the same time he said, ‘Hermione’.

‘You go first’ he said.

‘No you’ she replied.

‘Did you have fun last night?’ he asked.

‘Yeah’ she replied.

‘I confess I don’t remember much but…’

‘Me neither’ she blurted out, not seeing the hurt was over George’s face.

‘Oh’ he said, ‘well better get back to work’.


Hermione watched him go with a heavy heart, perhaps she shouldn’t have lied so blatantly, this was such a pickle.


It was a pickle that went on for near to two weeks and it drove Harry and Charlie up the wall, instead of the kiss between Hermione and George forcing them to admit to each other what everyone else had realised, they’d used it as an excuse to head in the opposite direction, bury their emotions even further and avoid each other completely. Well, Harry and Charlie thought that enough was enough, it was unpleasant to live in the same house as the two other occupants, conversations were strained and the state of cooking had become unbearable to live with. It was time to take drastic action, Harry and Charlie had refrained from meddling for so long, they could no longer stand by and let nature take its course. If they waited for fate to lend a helping hand, they may well have become old and ragged, nearing deaths door before those two idiots finally realised what was standing before them.

Clara was worried by the scheming going on between Harry and Charlie; they had cornered her in the shop on Hermione’s day off and asked if she wanted to join them in their meddling. She had pointedly refused, knowing for a fact that their meddling never worked and she didn’t want to be on Hermione’s bad side when everything hit the fan. Part of Clara did want to warn Hermione but in the end she decided to remain quiet, even if Hermione was mad at what Harry and Charlie were thinking of doing, it would at least – hopefully – end this dancing around broken glass act that they’d all been doing.

It was actually far easier to capture both Hermione and George; Harry reckoned that they had spent so much time – while avoiding each other – thinking of each other that they weren’t really in their own minds. Whatever the reason for their lack of common sense and thinking, Harry was immensely please with it, for it made stunning the two all the more easy.

After that it was a simple job of moving both Hermione and George into one of the many broom closets, locking the door and placing a variety of enchantments upon it. The most unique of all was the charm that would eventually open the door if only Hermione and George would realise it…


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