Author's Note: Hey there everyone! I realize this is my first fic in a while, but I was struck by the sudden need to kill some time by writing some description - and so, you have this fic! :) Please review.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize from the world of Harry Potter.
Every morning, she awoke to the scent of cool spearmint and her boyfriend's loud snoring. Unwilling to leave the warmth of her soft bed, she stared around the room for awhile. Her eyes found the blazing red and gold banners, both for Gryffindor and the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team that her boyfriend so loved. She ran her fingers across the rich, flannel fabric of the nightshirt she borrowed from the boy sleeping at the foot of his own bed. She couldn't help but smile at the sound of his deep breathing and the sight of his mussed, ginger-colored hair. The boy was all arms and legs; his pale skin was offset by the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Actually, those tiny brown spots covered almost every inch of skin she'd seen – his knuckles, feet, even his chest.
She found it cute.
As her chocolate eyes roamed over his relaxed face, she couldn't help but stop and focus on every feature – his strange eyelashes, such a light red that they were almost white. His eyelids, which wrinkled when he dreamed and, when open, revealed eyes so blue that it was hard to tell what color they were from afar. His lips, always warm, soft, and eager.
She felt so lucky to have him, and yet, somehow thought he wasn't enough.
Hermione pondered this, leaning back against her pillows, delicate hands intertwined behind her head. If only Ron was quieter – his brashness made her cringe all too often. He was impolite, to put it bluntly – couldn't say 'please,' or even 'thank you,' to save his life. She frowned. Maybe it was just a guy thing.
Nonplussed, Hermione lifted her arms toward the ceiling and stretched, awakening each muscle and satisfying its need for movement one at a time. It was a long process, but it was her daily routine – followed by a jaw-cracking yawn and a hot shower, stretching began her day.
When she was halfway through tensing her quadriceps, one of Ron's older brothers, George, waltzed into their room, carefree as a swallow in May. Hermione felt like she should have become flustered – something any normal girl would have done – when he gave her a good once-over, but she felt a little proud; Ron's flannel shirt somehow managed to show off her curves in a way even her own clothes couldn't. Besides, George was Ron's brother – Hermione trusted him with her life. Even if she was only in Ron's shirt and her underwear, she knew he wasn't about to do anything to her.
Caught between a sigh and a smirk, she addressed the young man staring at her from the doorway. "Can I help you with anything, George?"
George shook his head vigorously. "I was supposed to get Ron to help Mum with breakfast, but…" He trailed off, and he and Hermione cast identical glances at the sleeping, snoring figure on the floor.
"You know what, George?" Hermione asked abruptly, running a hand through her hair. "If you'll let me get dressed really quick, I'll help you and Mrs. Weasley with breakfast."
George gave her a brief nod, his red-gold hair bobbing animatedly around his ears – almost a reminder of the humor that had once been part of him at all times.
She'd been expecting him to go back downstairs, or at least move. Clearing her throat a bit uncomfortably, Hermione said, "George?"
"Yes?"
"I need to get dressed."
George's lips parted, and understanding seemed to strike him. He lifted a finger as if he were about to say something, but furrowed his brow and let his hand drop. "Right," he replied. "I'll just be… going, then." With a bashful smile playing at the corners of his lips, George backed out of the doorway and began his descent down the many flights of stairs between Ron's attic room and the kitchen.
Hermione sat quietly in her bed for another moment or two, looking from the snoring boy on the floor to the open doorway, where a much more pleasant young man had stood not a minute before. Her face broke into a grimace. She'd slowly realized what could happen in the near future – she would have innumerable opportunities in the next few hours to discover whether or not Ron was a good guy.
And Hermione, ashamed as she was to admit it, would find this out by comparing him to George.
A twisted grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as an age-old line ran through her head.
May the better man win.