DISCLAIMER: I didn't, howeve much I love these characters, invent them. It was all JK Rowling's idea.

POV Switches

Enjoy!!

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George

Her fingers graze my lips as she turns over and yawns. Feeling me there, her beautiful eyes snap open, she registers me and screams at the top of her lungs.

Thinking quickly, but realising that seconds after I pull away the situation will have become infinitely worse, I slam my lips to hers and kiss her like there's no tomorrow. Saying that, the likelihood of me surviving the next ten minutes, let alone until tomorrow, is far less certain now.

When I pull back, she looks at me and blurrily, for I can still feel the effects of the multiple bottles of champagne and Firewhiskey last night, smiles and snuggles into my chest.

Oh the randomness of alcohol.

Katie

When I drag myself, somewhat reluctantly, from his warm, comfortable bed, I look around the front room of our flat, ever so slightly confused.

Lee has passed out on the sofa, still holding the half-full bottle of butterbeer in his hand, balancing it at a precarious angle. It's almost funny. All of a sudden I'm greeted with a flash of memory.

He's swigging the Champagne happily, but you're firmly on the Muggle Smirnoff ice. Fifth bottle, which means your sixth unit. Meh. You agreed on this party about a week ago, Ginny's graduation, which actually meant also the belated graduation party of you, George & Lee and Harry, Ron and Hermione, who is, incidentally, hooked on the whitish silver Smirnoff which you're kindly sharing with her. You sigh and realise there should be more people here, but there's nobody else. Most of them are dead, taken in the second war. It should have been Fred's late graduation as well. George was a little choked up earlier. You think he's just plastered now.

Molly and Arthur and all of the Weasleys are at home, probably panicking and worrying about Ickle-Ronniekins, and Ginny-winny, and you're drunk enough to apparate and invite them, but then George grabs you and hugs you tight. Obviously not drunk. He's never this nice when he's drunk.

"George!!" You roar over the din of the muggle music blasting from a speaker somewhere, you're not sure where, and he kisses you. Definitely drunk, then.

But suddenly, you're alright with that.

Clutching his head, no doubt hung-over, George pads in in yesterday's jeans and a largely oversized t-shirt. Sheepishly, he grins at the way I'm holding myself - there's a little pain in my midriff and it clearly shows, but as I pull his shirt off him and tug it over my underwear, I smack him lightly on the shoulder.

"You're a bit rough." But I'm grinning.

"So I've been told." He curls a strong, familiar arm around me, and his warmth is suddenly the only thing I care about. "You're not so sweet yourself. Little Miss-" as he leans forward and breathes the words into my ear, the simple words force an embarrassed deep red to cross my face - I only know because I catch myself in the hallway mirror, blushing like a humiliated teenager.

Somewhat guiltily, he offers to make me breakfast. I can't say no, especially when he leans down and kisses me so softly and sweetly that all the breath in me disappears suddenly and my heart races faster than an Olympic sprinter.

"Does this mean…" it's one of those things you don't dare ask, the rate he goes through girls is alarming, to say the least, but he knows the question. Does this mean we're dating? And, horrifically, for two seconds, he completely freezes. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

Then, he shrugs nonchalantly and allows me into his world by nodding ever so slightly.

"Good." I whisper, "because nobody does that to me, and gets away with it."

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A/N – OK, it's short, but there's more to come P

Hope you enjoyed?!

Please R&R and let me know!

xx