[1] one year post battle for hogwarts
So here they are, George and Halle, stood in the greenhouse at Hogwarts.
Outside, the rain pours down, drumming against the enchanted glass pains, little raindrop shadows dotting the space below.
George, brittle and gentle, angry and tender, lovely George with his warm brown irises and freckles that scatter his cheeks. Their hands are entwined, fingers laced and palms pushed against each other. His eyes watch her hungrily. They follow down the line of her neck, the curves of her breasts, the muscle in her thighs and then flick up to linger at her lips.
It's a weekend. Halle is supposed to be meeting Professor McGonagall. George is supposed to be at the shop.
But here they are.
He lifts a hand towards her cheek, trailing a finger over her brow bone feather light and cups her jaw, fissions of warmth blooming where he touches. She licks her lips.
"We shouldn't keep doing this." He breathes, even as he leans down to meet her. His mouth is soft and pliant and warm, and she wants to kiss him breathless until his toes curl.
His other hand flutters down her spine and stops at the small of her back, and Halle trembles.
In turn, she reaches up to pull him close, hands in his hair until there is no more space between them, chest to chest, rib to rib. His knee slips between hers until there is no space between them at all.
She peppers tender kisses along his jawline, nips at the column of his neck, she wants to rush. She wants to have him fast and rough and desperate…and yet, she pretends like she has all the time in the world. As if it's just languid kissing and the passing of breath to breath.
George looks beautiful. A rose flush crawling up his neck, as if she's fourteen to his fifteen and swapping kisses behind Mr Weasley's shed over summer hols. He smells like whiskey now, peaty and earthy, and heady smoke. It's different now, but it still feels like coming home.
She sighs into his mouth, as he finally relaxes. His arms wrap around her and –
A chime rings through the air.
In her arms, George freezes. And then he's shoving her away hard enough that she lands on her back on the hard floor. In another time, he might have rushed to her aid, or teased her for being clumsy; in another time, there would be another boy here with them, intertwined.
He lunges for his discarded jacket and whips out his softly glowing mirror.
"…Hello." He says as it activates.
From her place on the floor, she can hear Angelina's laugh. "Hullo!" His fiancée parrots back.
George's face breaks out into a fond smile.
Halle looks away.