Monday rolled around much too quickly, and Tuesday even more so. Hermione had all but forgotten about her date that evening with George, and as such, was still in the office when he came to pick her up. Upon getting no answer at her flat, George had assumed correctly she would still be at work (everyone knew what a work-a-holic Hermione Granger was). It took him a little while to find her office, and when he had, he took a moment to lean against the door frame and just look at his future wife.

Hermione's hair was a mess, as usual, the curls tumbling from their hasty up-do in twisting tendrils. A pair of rectangular, metal rimmed glasses was perched on the end of her nose, and small diamond earrings glinted on her tiny ears. She was wearing a form-fitting, sleeveless cream turtleneck sweater, and George could see a suit jacket hanging on a wall peg. He followed the cable knit of the sweater down to her waist and below to where a tight black pencil skirt showed off her curvy hips. Her smooth, creamy legs ended in a pair of petite bare feet. Hermione was currently pacing around the office, muttering to herself and stopping every so often to scribble something down on a long sheaf of parchment. After admiring Hermione's curvy backside for a few moments as she was writing, George cleared his throat.

"George! Oh, Merlin! You scared me half to death!" Hermione was flushed, embarassed. "Ah, shite. It's past time to meet you, isn't it? My watch broke over the weekend and I don't have a clock in here, I'm so sor-"

"Hermione," George laughed. "It's fine. Are you ready to go, or do you need some more time?"

"I was hoping to go home and change, but I won't keep you waiting any longer."

"Are you sure? We can swing by your place."

"No, it's fine. It's been a long day, and if I go home I'm going to want to shower and crawl in bed."

An image of Hermione Granger crawling into bed fascinated George. But there would be time enough for that later on. "Well then, let's go. I have reservations a La Bonne Voisine for half-seven."

Hermione stepped into a pair of ankle boots and shrugged on her suit jacket, quickly followed by a long purple cashmere coat and a pair of supple gloves. She took George's arm after locking up her office, and George Apparated them away to the London hotspot.

As expected, the establishment was packed. George gave his name to the maitre d' and after taking their coats, he led them to a back corner. The table was covered in white linen, sparkling glasses ready for wine, and comfortable leather chairs. George pulled out Hermione's chair for her, and the two sat down. There was a comfortable silence as the two perused the menu – Hermione had always loved French food, and spoke the language fluently. Their waitress came and George ordered a bottle of wine. As the waitress returned with the bottle, Hermione observed George over the top of her menu. He was relaxed in his elegant clothing, and with his lean frame could pull off a vest like no one she had ever known. This one was emerald green, paired with a deep plum shirt and grey slacks. While it should have been a riot to the eye, he pulled it together quite nicely. Since he and Fred had left Hogwarts all those years ago, he had never displayed anything but great taste in clothes. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had seen him show up anywhere but to work in ratty or messy clothes. He smiled easily, and even if there were more wrinkles at the corners of his eyes than had been five years ago, he was handsome. He also had large feet and long hands, and Hermione found herself wondering if other appendages were as equally proportionate.

She blushed at these thoughts, but convinced herself that they were only natural. I mean, it wouldn't have been the first time she'd thought of one of the Weasley men in such a fashion. Usually, though, it was sparked when Bill or Charlie could be seen outside working shirtless in the garden on those Sundays when Hermione showed up for dinner early. In any case, she would shortly be married to this man, and it was fitting that she would find him attractive, considering they would be sharing a bed in less than two months.

George finished with the wine tasting, and as the waitress poured glasses for the both of them, Hermione's attention was drawn back to the present. The pre-dinner conversation was light, careless, and as they delved into their salads, conversation turned to work. George was fascinated by Hermione's research project ("I could use a few of those cleaners around the shop.") and Hermione loved hearing about the experiments he was working on ("I can't even imagine what I would have done!"). By the time the main course arrived, the two had started on their second bottle of wine and were easier with each other than they ever had been before.

Before dessert, conversation turned to families, and George listened sympathetically when Hermione told him of her decision to sell her parents' home. Hermione was surprised at the problems Molly was having with all of her children getting married, and George's gentle tone as he discussed Ron's issues was enough to keep Hermione from getting angry.

They fell silent as they started in on the crème de menthe mousse, and Hermione could feel George's eyes on her. She looked up from under her lashes to find George staring very intently at her from across the table.

"Hermione," he murmured.

"Yes?" she half whispered.

"I'd really like to kiss you right now."

Hermione blushed, looked into his deep hazel eyes, and nodded slightly. Hardly waiting for an answer, George stood up and leaned part-way over the table. He hesitated for a moment before capturing Hermione's lips in his. A hot, searing pleasure swept through Hermione, and she returned the kiss with fervor. George's hand crept up to her cheek, caressing her slightly before he pulled away. He sat back down, not breaking eye contact, and smiled broadly. The two finished their desserts without hardly a word, and nothing much was said until they left, George ignoring Hermione's protests about covering the cheque.

George Apparated her to the steps of her flat and walked her to her front door with a hand at the small of her back. Once she had let herself in, he bent over the hand bearing his ring, kissed her soft skin, and then stood up, brushing another kiss on the corner of her mouth. He left, and Hermione stood stunned for a few moments before she managed to shut the door behind him. She giggled to herself, and started getting ready for bed. George Weasley, a gentleman. Who knew?