13 – Finally Singing

George poured some purple potion that Fred had told him was the liquefied head of a Voyaging Clare Pixie, and would somehow help the slow progress of the Message Tags, into the worn black cauldron on the desk in front of him. There was a hissing explosion, and George jumped back, swearing under his breath. The cauldron was steaming quite enthusiastically, but other than that, nothing seemed to be wrong. Maybe Fred really was onto something. Too bad he had a date with Angelina, otherwise he could've been there to slap a hi-5 with, and Georg wouldn't have had to slap the table in triumph instead.

Oh, he was such a sad person.

George stood by the cauldron for a while, watching the purple bubbles surface from beneath the sickly green concoction, wondering if anyone had heard the malevolent 'HA-KOOR' it had given off when it exploded. His ears strained for a moment, but when it seemed no one was coming to bust his ass for not only being in the Potions room without permission, but for brewing illegal potions too, he calmed down and sat back down on his stool. Grinning uncontrollably, George jotted down the results of the pixie head and then looked back up, placing the clipboard to the side and picking up the next vile, sure he almost had the remedy for their formerly lethal Message Tags. If this was right, Weasley's Magical Mind-Reading Message Tags would be on the shelves by next Saturday, just in time for the next Hogsmeade trip. Life was treating him good today.

George became a statue as he heard the gentle but quick padding of hurried footsteps in the corridor outside. Who would be here in the dungeons in the middle of a perfectly good Saturday? It wasn't Filch, whoever it was was moving too quickly, and he could hear distinct footsteps instead of Filch's shuffling. They were dangerously close to his door now, and George still didn't have an excuse as he realized they might actually come into the classroom. With his subconscious mind still listening to the approaching footsteps as his conscious mind focusing on excuses he hadn't used on a teacher before, George realized the footsteps were in fact too light to be a teacher's. Unless it was Professor Flitwick, but he was easy to delude into thinking that George had permission. Or George could just tell him the truth; Flitwick was a huge fan of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and would probably sit down to chat about the Message Tags, maybe suggest a few potions and charms himself. George relaxed as he realized it was most likely a student, and more often than not, he found that the students at Hogwarts were intimidated by him, whether it be by his height, age or absolute hotness, George didn't really care, as long as he intimidated them. Besides, whoever was coming to the Potions room in the middle of a perfectly sunny, class-free Saturday, was bound to be a nerd (never mind the fact that George was in that exact position, because he was there for totally un-educational purposes), and nerds were the easiest to intimidate.

As the door swung open, George was totally at ease – until he saw who it was.

Well, she was definitely a nerd.

Just not the kind of nerd he was expecting.

This nerd was beautiful and funny and cuddly kitten cute and a literal Aphrodite, complete with magical abilities.

Hermione stood at the door, just as frozen as George, her wand held loosely in her hand, as if she'd been expecting to use it very soon, just not now. A load of charms books were tucked beneath her arm and she wore a shocked expression on her face.

He really had to stop bumping into her like this.

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George smiled briefly, and Hermione's knees wobbled beneath her already weakened body. Oh Merlin, she was helpless. Even after being in another relationship (with Blaise freaking Zabini, might she add), she still felt giddy around George.



All she'd wanted was to find a secluded classroom to practice her charms in whilst everyone else was busy, and how more secluded can you get than the dungeons? No more, that's the answer. But apparently, even if she could find a deserted, people-free to practice, she'd never be George-free.

She really had to stop bumping into him like this.

George opened his mouth to say something, most likely hello – unless he was going to start prattling off the instructions to the Heimlich maneuver, just so that she couldn't be less protected, but before he could, Hermione decided she didn't need to practice her charms today. After all, it was a beautifully sunny day outside. Perhaps visiting Hagrid was a better idea. She wheeled around, her face still frozen in whatever expression it had turned to when she'd first seen George, but stopped.

And not because she'd wanted to.

No, it was because George's burning hot fingers were holding her elbow quite tightly, and she couldn't shake him off without being rude. Unless she wanted to treat him like another Tyler, just another person she had loved, and slap him. But she couldn't do that. Because she hadn't loved him. She did love him. No past tense about it. But she couldn't tell him that. She almost smiled at the thought of her confessing her feelings to Ron and Ginny's older brother, someone who looked at her the same way he looked at her younger sister. How embarrassing!

Now if only he'd let go of her arm.

'I'm not letting go,' George murmured from behind her, and Hermione flinched, wondering if somehow, he'd managed to clasp one of those Message Tags he'd heard him talking about to her clothing. 'You've been avoiding me for almost one and a half weeks now, and I've decided I want to know why.'

Hermione face burned with guilt as she turned to face George, and he dropped her elbow a few seconds too late so that it almost seemed reluctant.

'I'm not avoiding you,' Hermione mumbled, the hotplates she used to call cheeks burning mercilessly. 'I've been very busy…. N.E.W.T.S are just around the corner you know.' What had become of her? She used to be so confident in herself. Now she was a wreck.

George frowned, but soon after, so soon Hermione didn't even see the switch, he was beaming.

'I know,' he said cheerfully, his hands tucking in his pockets as he rocked on his feet. 'And I can see that you're preparing well,' he glanced meaningfully at the books under Hermione's arm and she grimaced, 'were you planning on practicing some charms in here?'

Why did he even ask when it was clear as daylight he knew she was? He also knew she now had no choice but to stay. Unless…

'Yes, I was,' she confessed carefully, 'but I just remembered – I forgot to feed Crookshanks this morning, and you know how he gets.'

George nodded seriously, but it was still very obvious to Hermione that he knew she was bluffing.

'Yes, I do,' he told her, just as carefully. 'But I'm sure I don't need to remind you, but, isn't that we have house-elves?'

Hermione glared at George. 'Yes, you don't need to remind me!' she snapped, mostly out of embarrassment. 'But do I need to remind you that I'm not very proud of that fact?'

George didn't even blink.



'No, you don't,' he told her in a friendly way. 'But do you honestly expect me to believe you forgot something as important as feeding cranky Crooky?' George shook his head supposedly at her folly, and Hermione blushed severely. 'I'm not that naïve, Hermione.'

Hermione didn't know what to say. Her hastily supplied bluff had been detected, and now she was out of options.

'I'm not avoiding you,' she blurted out, only because she didn't want him detecting that lie, too.

'You are a truly horrible liar.'

Hermione stared at George, full of indignation, and he stared back. His eyes were stubborn, as she knew hers were, and his expression patient. Seconds ticked by, and Hermione felt the blood begin to leave her heated cheeks, though surely his stare should have been provoking the opposite? She could no longer feel angry at the boy before her, because he hadn't really done anything purposely, so it wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault he didn't feel the same way about her that she did about him. But she couldn't bring herself to totally forgive him either.

Suddenly, George sighed and stepped back, his hand swinging up to comb through his shaggy red hair.

'I just don't get it!' he confessed unexpectedly, and when he looked back to Hermione, his eyes burned through hers. 'I just – I mean, there's really no other way to put it, but – all I really did was care about you… and – and look out for –'

But Hermione's anger had returned.

'Well what if I didn't need your care?' she cried accusingly so that George's eyes widened and he took another shocked step back. 'What if I never needed your protection, George? Did you ever think of that?' Her breathing was somehow calm and deep, though her heart raced with frustration that he still didn't get it. 'Did it ever occur to you that I can look after myself? I don't your protection, George; I don't need you to be my big brother! Because believe it or not, I'm not your little sister and I don't need that kind of care or protection!'

George's eyes were confused and alert, but mostly: shocked. Hermione's shoulders slumped helplessly as she realized still didn't understand and her fingers stretched for emphasis as she practically screamed at him through angrily gritted teeth.

'For crying out loud, George, I'm not Ginny!'

And then, something changed in George's face. The confusion disappeared, though the shock remained, and it was like something finally clicked.

'Is that – is that what you think?' He asked incredulously, and this time it was Hermione's turn to stumble backwards because, why yes, that was what she thought, and he seemed to think it was complete bullocks. He didn't let her answer, and his eyebrows shot into his hairline because his huge eyes took up the space they used to occupy. 'That's what you – Merlin, Hermione – I don't – I've never –' he stopped spluttering and seemed to take a deep breath, looking almost relieved. 'Listen, Hermione, I do care about you, and I do care about Ginny, but, that way I feel about you – Merlin – I know it's not that same way I feel about Ginny.' He looked like he was going to laugh. Because that was certainly what this kind of situation called for; a good ol', side splitting, laugh.

But what George was saying – it didn't make sense. Hermione realized she was slightly frowning as she struggled to grasp what he saying.

'Wh-what do you mean?' she asked, wondering if his laughter meant he thought it was preposterous that she'd even consider herself fortunate enough to be thought of as a sister, and instantly felt her cheeks flame. How could she be so vain?



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George stared at her, and she looked so adorable, so confused and vulnerable, he had that overwhelming urge to just grab her and kiss her. He'd even lunged forward a little bit, before realizing that he couldn't; not yet.

He'd been waiting so long to get the chance to corner Hermione and set things straight between them. Not necessarily to ask her out, but set things straight, because obviously something was wrong. She'd been subtly avoiding him for what felt like years and he needed to know why – what had he done? And once he'd straightened that out, then he could start snogging her. But only if she wanted him too, because he'd had enough of thinking like a rapist.

But here she was, accusing him of treating her like another little sister, and it filled him with such relief because that was just the stupidest thing he'd ever heard! She didn't know that his care was because he genuinely cared about her, that he loved her in the most unbrotherly way. She didn't know.

There was still a chance that she felt that same way, that she might feel an inkling of what he felt for her, but since he'd stupidly been giving out the wrong signals... But he had to make sure about one thing first.

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George suddenly took an enthusiastic step towards her, though it was more like a bound, looking inappropriately happy, but just as suddenly he stopped. Hermione had the strangest feeling as she looked into his eyes that he was struggling with something. He'd stopped only an arms length away from her, and Hermione found she was fighting the urge to close the small distance between them, stand on her tip toes and press her lips to his in a hungry, desperate kiss. Even if he didn't want her too.

But then, all urges vanished as George's eyes lost that excited sparkle, and he was rubbing the back of his neck impatiently.

'Wait,' he mumbled, 'are you sure you and Blaise are over?'

Hermione frowned, baffled. 'Yes.'

'And you definitely don't want to get back with him?'

Maybe it was because the question caught her of guard, and it seemed totally strange to Hermione that he wouldn't know, although no one actually did but for her and Blaise. But whatever the reason, Hermione found herself impatiently blurting out:

'I never liked him George!'

George's eyes widened again and he stumbled backwards, as if being electrocuted.

'You never liked him?' he gasped, his voice indicting. Hermione shook her head, guilty and surprised by his reaction, but it didn't seem that George noticed. He had his back to Hermione, his hands resting on his head, looking up at the ceiling as if waiting for his condemnation. Hermione thought she heard him muttering 'she never liked him' over and over under his breath but she couldn't be sure, because as a result of George's lifted arms, his shirt had ridden up and Hermione could see his simple bright red boxers peeking out cheekily from beneath his faded muggle jeans.

Oh yeah, she was a total pro at this whole 'getting over him' business. Absolute expert.

George whirled around, and Hermione's eyes snapped guiltily up from his underwear to his eyes, only to feel even guiltier by what they saw there.

'So then why the hell were you going out with him?' asked George and Hermione was surprised to see that he seemed angry.

'Well, b-because he was the only one who seemed interested in me,' she mumbled, humiliated, which wasn't a complete lie, either. George hadn't been interested, and Blaise had. Simple – right?

But then Hermione saw the unmistakable hurt in George's eyes, and thought maybe it wasn't that simple.

'Because I knew he'd never be able to break my heart, because he didn't love me,' Hermione found herself explaining quietly, not quite sure what she was doing. 'Because when I looked at you, it made me afraid, and when I looked at him, it felt easy.' When had she started confessing her feelings? Hadn't she agreed that would be embarrassing? But Hermione ploughed on, her eyes locked on the floor in front of George's still form. 'Because I knew that Blaise didn't love and I didn't even want love from him. He'd never be able to hurt me, like – like Tyler had…. and because, somehow, I knew that you could. Because Blaise told me that he was interested, but made it clear he didn't want anything serious – at least, not to begin with. Because I never knew how I felt about you or what I wanted from you, or what you felt or wanted from me, for that matter.'

Hermione, trembling, finally managed to look up from the floor to meet George's tight gaze and noticed that his fists were clenched and his jaw firm. Had she made a mistake? Of course she had. But she was glad she finally did, because now it would be over, and she'd finally be able to move on. Ignoring George's stiff expression, Hermione took a deep breath and continued, trying hard not to let her soft voice quiver, and not to look away from George's gaze.

'I guess, I was going out with Blaise, because…' Deep breath. 'Because a long time ago, you warned me of the consequences of being best friends with a prankster's brother, let alone the prankster himself, and I just don't know the consequences of being in love with one... Blaise was the easy way out.'

There. She'd said it. She was in love with George Weasley, and now he knew it too. Well, at least now he'd leave her alone.

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George stared at Hermione.

That's why he'd had to wait almost one and a half months for her? Because she was freaking scared? How selfish can one lone being get?

But George couldn't bring himself to be angry, mostly because he was trying to think of something impressive to answer Hermione with, one that wouldn't make her regret telling him that she.. that Hermione loved him.

But he couldn't think of anything. Nothing impressive. What were the consequences of Hermione being in love with George? There was only one that he could think of.

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'You'd be happy,' George suddenly answered, shrugging as if to say 'that's it.'

Hermione stared at him blankly; wasn't he disgusted? Why wasn't he laughing? Why weren't his eyes filled with pity? Why was he just staring at her?

'I'd make sure you were happy, Hermione' George continued softly; honestly, and Hermione noticed he was slowly moving forward. 'I just – did you just say you love me?'

Hermione's eyes widened. Had she?

'Yes. I think I did.' Her hands were trembling because George was now very close, and the feeling rushing through her body was by now, very familiar. 'Are you implying that you love me?'

But she'd just barely managed to get the last word out before George's lips crashed against hers with such force that she was pushed backwards, the only thing stopping her from toppling over being his large hands, pressing into her back, holding her tightly against his body. George's lips moved against hers hungrily and enthusiastically and all she could think was, Finally.

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Angels were singing the Alleluia chorus, the sun had somehow leaked into the underground dungeons and Hermione was finally in his arms, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. George felt her hands knot in his hair and whooshed his hand gracefully up to cup the back of her neck.

She loved him. She actually loved him back. Life really was treating him good today.

George's arm tightened around Hermione's waist instinctively and she made a surprised noise as he lifted her gently off the ground, loving the feel of her body against his. His lungs on the verge of bursting, George reluctantly pulled away from Hermione soft, heavenly, sweet-tasting lips.

'I think I might be implying something along those lines,' he managed to tell her, his breathing ragged as he stared into her surprised but definitely happy chocolate eyes. He'd been fantasizing about this moment for weeks, and finally, it had arrived. And yes, just like he'd predicted, the angels were still singing.