I've always been a big fan of those episodes of television shows where randomly they do a "what if" episode, and so I wrote this one off. It's not brilliant, but I needed a buffer between the last chapter and what's coming next. It uses canon heavily, so a good portion of this is lifted directly from Order of the Phoenix.
Uncharted was specifically written because of the sheer amount of Dramione fics populating TikTok which is an abusive and toxic ship. Hermione deserves kindness and to be treated well, and Dramione is, at its core, abusive and toxic. It also bears importance to put emphasis that my Hermione is a Brown woman, and I've written her specifically as Brown.
As usual, I'll love you forever if you leave a review - and thanks to those who have made videos about my fic on TikTok. I'm unchartedfic there
"Right before I close my eyes
The only thing that's on my mind
Been dreamin' that you feel it too
I wonder what it's like to be loved by you"
- "Wonder," Shawn Mendes
September 4th, 1995
The Great Hall
It was the first day of classes, and sun streamed through the large windows in the Great Hall. Harry, Hermione, and Ron slid into one of the empty spots along the Gryffindor table, and Ron wasted no time helping himself to a large helping of sausage and toast. Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out schedules.
"Look at today!" groaned Ron. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts . . . Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted. . . ."
"Do mine ears deceive me?" said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing onto the bench beside Harry. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"
"Look what we've got today," said Ron grumpily, shoving his schedule under Fred's nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."
"Fair point, little bro," said Fred, scanning the column. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."
"Why's it cheap?" said Ron suspiciously.
"Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet," said George, helping himself to a kipper.
"Cheers," said Ron moodily, pocketing his schedule, "but I think I'll take the lessons."
"And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes," said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, "you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board."
"Says who?" said George, looking astonished.
"Says me," said Hermione. "And Ron."
"Leave me out of it," said Ron hastily.
Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered.
"You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione," said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet. "You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long."
"And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?" asked Hermione.
"Fifth year's O.W.L. year," said George..
"So?"
"So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw," said Fred with satisfaction.
"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s," said George happily. "Tears and tantrums . . . Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint. . . ."
"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" said Fred reminiscently.
"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pyjamas," said George. "Oh yeah," said Fred, grinning. "I'd forgotten. . . . Hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?" "Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," said George. "If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow."
"Yeah . . . you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?" said Ron. "Yep," said Fred unconcernedly. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."
"We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year," said George brightly, "now that we've got —"
He broke off at a warning look from Harry, who knew George had been about to mention the Triwizard winnings he had given them.
"— now that we've got our O.W.L.s," George said hastily. "I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat."
"We're not going to waste our last year here, though," said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. "We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand."
"But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?" asked Hermione skeptically. "You're going to need all the ingredients and materials — and premises too, I suppose. . . ."
"It sounds like you're trying to join the business, Hermione," Fred said, a teasing smile spreading across his face. But to Hermione's confusion, Fred was looking at George, as if the two of them had talked about this. George was studiously avoiding his twin's gaze, suddenly fascinated by the toast he was buttering.
"I- I am a prefect," Hermione spluttered.
"You might have mentioned it," Fred said.
"Once or twice," George chimed in, still not looking up from his toast. "Doesn't prevent you from magical experimentation."
"In fact," Fred said cheerily, "it might help you with your O.W.L.s, experimenting with magical boundaries. Who knows? The answer might be right in front of you."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "And you two are so kindly offering to tutor me in magical experimentation?"
"Not me," Fred said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Georgie here, he's the brains of the operation. I'm just the much more attractive and charming twin. The face. The sex appeal."
Harry guffawed, and Ron snorted.
"I think I'll take my chances on my own," Hermione snapped, standing up. "I'm off to find a good seat in History of Magic. And next time, /Fredric Gideon Weasley/,"-
Fred winced at the sound of his full name-
"Next time you try to pawn me off to one of your brothers for a prank, make it sound /somewhat/ appealing." Hermione looked at Harry and Ron expectantly, who hesitated for a second. She raised her eyebrows and they scrambled to get up, following her to History of Magic.
September 29th, 1995
Gryffindor Common Room
Fred and Lee Jordan were sprawled across the floor, playing an intense game of Exploding Snap, while George sat on the couch, paging through /Defensive Magical Theory/, pausing every so often to scribble something down on the roll of parchment in front of him.
"Are you going to come play?" Lee inquired of George. "Fred is lousy today."
"Oi!" Fred interjected. "You're cheating."
"He's not cheating Freddie, you're just terrible," George drawled while he wrote. "And no, one of us needs to do this essay or we're all going to get detention."
"And you're not constantly with your nose in a book because you're trying to impress a certain Gryffindor pre-" Fred clamped his mouth shut as he saw Hermione making her way towards them.
"Hey, Fred, George - Lee," Hermione said, nodding to all of them.
"We aren't doing anything wrong!" Fred burst out, and Hermione raised her eyebrows.
"No, no," she said hastily. "I wanted to talk to you about something else."
She looked around and then sat down next to Lee, and leaned in.
"I know we're all upset about Umbridge, she's dreadful. I'm poking around, gauging interest- I want to get Harry to teach us a class, you know, secretly,"
"I'll be there," George interrupted her quickly. After a second, he realised how eager he sounded and seemed slightly embarrassed.
"Oh, well then it's settled then," Hermione said brightly, looking at George. "People follow you two and I figured you'd be the first ones I should ask. I'll pass you the details tomorrow."
Hermione walked away, and a smile spread across Fred's face.
"What?" George snapped at Fred.
"Nothing, nothing," Fred chuckled. "Just absolutely /fascinating/how you still say there's absolutely nothing going on between you and Granger."
"It's Hermione, we have to support her," George mumbled.
"Mmmhmm," Fred said, not believing George.
October 1st, 1995
The Hogs Head Tavern
Hogsmeade
"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" said Zacharias Smith.
"Here's an idea," said Ron loudly, before Harry could speak, "why don't you shut your mouth?"
Perhaps the word "weasel" had affected Ron particularly strongly; in any case, he was now looking at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him. Zacharias flushed.
"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it," he said.
"That's not what he said," snarled Fred Weasley.
"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" inquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags.
"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this," said Fred.
"Yes, well," said Hermione hastily, "moving on . . . the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?"
There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, though perhaps this was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the instrument in George's hand. "Right," said Hermione, looking relieved that something had at last been settled. "Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week —"
George watched her, barely hearing the ensuing argument about meeting times. Her eyes were sparkling as she listened, planned, plotted. He could see the gears moving in her incredible mind, and he was overwhelmed with the urge to stand up, walk over to her, in front of everyone - in front of that tosser Smith and pompous but well meaning Ernie MacMillian - and kiss her. Perhaps Fred knew this, because he cleared her throat loudly and interrupted with a question, and Hermione nodded.
"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," said Hermione. "We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting."
She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something. "I-I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think," she took a deep breath, "that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge — or anybody else — what we're up to."
There was a moment of silence, and then George took the parchment from her hand. "I'd be happy to sign," and Hermione gave him a grateful smile. He signed, handed the parchment to Fred, and smiled back at her. It was like a moment of pure sunlight, where he and Hermione had shared something, just the two of them. The parchment made it's way around the tavern.
"Well, time's ticking on," said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. "George, Lee, and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later." They headed out into the village, where instantly Lee and Fred burst in peals of raucous laughter.
"Brightest witch of her age, my broom. 'I'd be happy to sign,'" Fred mimicked George's voice. "The fact that she can't see how bloody besotted you are is ridiculous."
"It's not going to happen," George said quietly. "You saw her, she's…" his voice trailed off.
"Riddle me this," Fred interrupted him. "Now that she's started her own rebel army to get rid of the old toad, you are absolutely in love and you refuse to talk to her? Because that is the most absurd thing we ever witnessed from anyone in Hogwarts — truly giving us a run for our money — and you think she won't look at you? That girl is dangerous, and you love it."
"I don't want to talk about this," George grumbled. Fred opened his mouth to protest, and then thought differently.
October 2nd, 1995
Great Hall
Overnight, a large sign had become affixed to the message board in the Gryffindor Common Room. Umbridge had banned all gatherings, and George had a suspicion there was a spy in the Hog's Head the day before. As Harry, Hermione, and Ron entered the Great Hall, their friends descended upon them anxiously.
"Did you see it?"
"D'you reckon she knows?"
"What are we going to do?" They were all looking at Harry.
He glanced around to make sure there were no teachers near them. "We're going to do it anyway, of course," he said quietly.
"Knew you'd say that," said George, beaming and thumping Harry on the arm.
"The prefects as well?" said Fred, looking quizzically at Ron and Hermione.
"Of course," said Hermione coolly.
"Here comes Ernie and Hannah Abbott," said Ron, looking over his shoulder. "And those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith . . . and no one looks very spotty."
The chatter resumed, and Hermione turned to George. "George - thanks for yesterday, for being the first."
He smiled at her. "I didn't do anything. But you - you were brilliant yesterday. How you pulled all that off… you never cease to impress me, Granger."
Hermione flushed slightly. "Oh, well, thank you," she stammered, looking around to Harry.
October 15th, 1995
Hogwarts Library
"Oi!" George exclaimed as Hermione accidentally walked right into him. "Granger, you alright?"
She bent down to collect her books and papers, looking at him sheepishly. "Sorry, George, "wasn't looking where I was going."
He knelt down to help her. "Don't be sorry, it happens to all of us. Lucky for me, I'm used to things hitting me at much faster speeds."
Hermione smiled weakly, and barely surpassed a yawn.
"You alright?" George asked, concernedly. "Fifth year's a gas, I know, but have you slept recently?"
"Why? Do I look bad?" Hermione asked, startled.
"You could never look bad," George said, shocked at how fast the words fell out of his mouth. "You just look tired."
"We'll there's exams, and homework, and-"
"And you're too busy to take care of Harry and my idiot brother to take care of yourself," George said kindly. He snatched the books out of her arms. "Go to bed, Hermione. I'll give these back to you tomorrow, after you've slept."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but nodded gratefully. "Thanks George," she said, and to his complete surprise, gave him a peck on the cheek. She walked off, and he stood there for several long minutes, revelling in the feeling of her lips on his face.
October 23rd, 1995
Room of Requirement
The first meeting of Dumbledore's Army was going along swimmingly, with the various members dispersed around the room, practicing disarming.
Harry moved off into the middle of the room. Something very odd was happening to Zacharias Smith; every time he opened his mouth to disarm Anthony Goldstein, his own wand would fly out of his hand, yet Anthony did not seem to be making a sound. Harry did not have to look far for the solution of the mystery, however; Fred and George were several feet from Smith and taking it in turns to point their wands at his back.
"Sorry, Harry," said George hastily, when Harry caught his eye. "Couldn't resist . . ."
Harry walked off, and several seconds later, Hermione walked behind George. "Nice one, he's a pretentious tosser," she whispered in his ear.
October 29th, 1995
Room of Requirement
Hermione soon devised a very clever method of communicating the time and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to change it at short notice, because it would look so suspicious if people from different Houses were seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other too often. She gave each of the members of the D.A. a fake Galleon
"You can do a Protean Charm?" said Terry Boot.
"Yes," said Hermione.
"But that's . . . that's N.E.W.T. standard, that is," he said weakly.
"Oh," said Hermione, trying to look modest. "Oh . . . well . . . yes, I suppose it is. . . ."
"How come you're not in Ravenclaw?" he demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. "With brains like yours?"
"Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting," said Hermione brightly, "but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So does that mean we're using the Galleons?" There was a murmur of assent and everybody moved forward to collect one from the basket.
"Ravenclaw," George snorted quietly, so that only Hermione could hear. "He doesn't know the first thing about you if he thinks you're anything but a Gryffindor."
"And what do you know?" Hermione grinned.
George searched her face, and he could feel the air around them thicken with tension. "I know a lot Granger, but that's because of magical experimentation."
Hermione was silent for a moment, and then the two of them burst of into laughter, the entirety of the DA staring at them.
November 1st, 1995
The Great Hall
Gryffindor and Slytherin were the first scheduled Quidditch match, and Ron looked positively green that morning at breakfast.
"Here," George grunted, passing Ron a pumpkin pasty and a small vial of scarlet liquid.
"What is this?" Ron eyed the happily bubbling liquid suspiciously.
"Pepper-Up potion, calm your nerves, you look like you're going to be sick."
"Ease up," Fred interjected. "You're doing well. One day you might make me and George proud."
"We even might start admitting we're related to you," George added.
"Something we've been denying for four years," Fred agreed. "I'm off to the pitch to warm up - George, you coming?"
The twins stood up from the table, George patting Ron on the back as they left.
"George has been rather kind lately" Hermione mused as she closed her book.
"That's George though," Ron said dismissively, spearing a sausage. "He's the hothead of the family, and that's saying something, but he gets angry when he things that are unjust and stuff."
"Really?" Hermione asked brightly. "I should ask him about SPEW-"
Ron groaned. "He already knows, he thinks it's brilliant. Reckon he'd go off and distribute the hats if you'd ask."
The match had been a disaster, and Harry's miraculous catch of the Snitch was the only thing that saved face and and gave them a miserable win over Slytherin.
"Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" Malfoy said to Harry. "I've never seen a worse Keeper . . . but then he was born in a bin. . . . Did you like my lyrics, Potter?"
Harry did not answer; he turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph, all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and was making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.
"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly — we wanted to sing about his mother, see —"
"Talk about sour grapes," said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look. "— we couldn't fit in useless loser either — for his father, you know —"
Fred and George had realized what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand they stiffened, looking around at Malfoy. "Leave it," said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. "Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little —"
"— but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" said Malfoy, sneering. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay —" Harry grabbed hold of George; meanwhile it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia, and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Harry looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack.
"Or perhaps," said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, "you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it, I reckon it smells exactly like your horrific, precious mudblood Granger—" Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting at Malfoy. He had completely forgotten the fact that all the teachers were watching: All he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible. With no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy's stomach — "Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO !"
He could hear girls' voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing, and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care, not until somebody in the vicinity yelled "IMPEDIMENTA!" and only when he was knocked over backward by the force of the spell did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach. . . .
"What do you think you're doing?" screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leapt to his feet again; it was she who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx. She was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other, her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background. "I've never seen behavior like it — back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now!"
Harry and George marched off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to each other. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the entrance hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps.
Harry became aware that something was still struggling in his right hand, the knuckles of which he had bruised against Malfoy's jaw; looking down he saw the Snitch's silver wings protruding from between his fingers, struggling for release. They had barely reached the door of Professor McGonagall's office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode toward them, looking livid.
"In!" she said furiously, pointing to the door. Harry and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside onto the floor.
"Well?" she said. "I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Two onto one! Explain yourselves!"
"Malfoy provoked us," said Harry stiffly. "Provoked you?" shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist onto her desk so that her tartan biscuit tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts.
"He'd just lost, hadn't he, of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you two —"
"He insulted my parents," snarled George. "And Harry's mother and Hermione Granger. He called her a Mudblood."
"But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you two decided to give an exhibition of Muggle dueling, did you?" bellowed Professor McGonagall.
"Have you any idea what you've — ?"
"Hem, hem." George and Harry both spun around. Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and smiling in the horribly sickly, ominous way that Harry had come to associate with imminent misery.
"May I help, Professor McGonagall?" asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice. Blood rushed into Professor McGonagall's face.
"Help?" she repeated in a constricted voice. "What do you mean, 'help'?"
Professor Umbridge moved forward into the office, still smiling her sickly smile. "Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority."
Harry would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from Professor McGonagall's nostrils.
"You thought wrong," she said, turning her back on Umbridge. "Now, you two had better listen closely. I do not care what provocation Malfoy offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behavior was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week's worth of detention! Do not look at me like that, Potter, you deserve it! And if either of you ever —"
"Hem, hem." Professor McGonagall closed her eyes as though praying for patience as she turned her face toward Professor Umbridge again.
"Yes?" "I think they deserve rather more than detentions," said Umbridge, smiling still more broadly.
Professor McGonagall's eyes flew open. "But unfortunately," she said, with an attempt at a reciprocal smile that made her look as though she had lockjaw, "it is what I think that counts, as they are in my House, Dolores."
"Well, actually, Minerva," simpered Umbridge, "I think you'll find that what I think does count. Now, where is it? Cornelius just sent it. . . . I mean," she gave a little false laugh as she rummaged in her handbag, "the Minister just sent it. . . . Ah yes . . ."
She had pulled out a piece of parchment that she now unfurled, clearing her throat fussily before starting to read what it said. "Hem, hem . . . 'Educational Decree Number Twenty-five . . .' "
"Not another one!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall violently.
"Well, yes," said Umbridge, still smiling. "As a matter of fact, Minerva, it was you who made me see that we needed a further amendment. . . . You remember how you overrode me, when I was unwilling to allow the Gryffindor Quidditch team to re-form? How you took the case to Dumbledore, who insisted that the team be allowed to play? Well, now, I couldn't have that. I contacted the Minister at once, and he quite agreed with me that the High Inquisitor has to have the power to strip pupils of privileges, or she — that is to say, I — would have less authority than common teachers! And you see now, don't you, Minerva, how right I was in attempting to stop the Gryffindor team re-forming? Dreadful tempers . . . Anyway, I was reading out our amendment . . . hem, hem . . . 'The High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions, and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions, and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members. Signed, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, etc., etc. . . .' "
She rolled up the parchment and put it back into her handbag, still smiling. "So . . . I really think I will have to ban these two from playing Quidditch ever again," she said, looking from Harry to George and back again. Harry felt the Snitch fluttering madly in his hand.
"Ban us?" he said, and his voice sounded strangely distant.
"From playing . . . ever again?"
"Yes, Mr. Potter, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick," said Umbridge, her smile widening still further as she watched him struggle to comprehend what she had said.
"You and Mr. Weasley here. And I think, to be safe, this young man's twin ought to be stopped too — if his teammates had not restrained him, I feel sure he would have attacked young Mr. Malfoy as well. I will want their broomsticks confiscated, of course; I shall keep them safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban. But I am not unreasonable, Professor McGonagall," she continued, turning back to Professor McGonagall who was now standing as still as though carved from ice, staring at her.
"The rest of the team can continue playing, I saw no signs of violence from any of them. Well . . . good afternoon to you." And with a look of the utmost satisfaction Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake.
Angelina was furious when George and Harry returned to the common room, and after a minute of her yells, he stood up and walked out. As he paced in the corridor angrily, his fists balled in anger, he became vaguely aware of a figure standing there, watching him.
"Hermione," he said quietly. She was still wearing her clothes from the match, and she looked windblown and worn. But her eyes were wild, bright with an emotion George had never seen before.
"Harry said you were defending me."
"Yeah, well, it was the heat of the moment-" George fumbled.
"You just got banned from Quidditch, your favourite thing here, because Malfoy was teasing again," she stated. "Why?"
"Well, he also insulted my parents… and Harry's mum…"
Hermione nodded. "I know - and it's not lost on me you were standing up for me, too."
George stared at her. "Why wouldn't I stand up for you? I would-"
And then without thinking, without even realising what he was doing, he closed the gap between them, cupped her face, and kissed her. She was rigid for a moment, caught off guard, and suddenly, he felt her soften against him, and suddenly - she was kissing him.
They broke apart suddenly. "I'm sorry," George stammered. "I shouldn't have done that - I know I'm not your cup of tea, you being a prefect and all-"
"I think I can decide what my own cup of tea is," Hermione cut him off. "I'm just not interested in being a passing fancy-"
George snorted. "It's not exactly passing, that would have made my life a lot less miserable."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
"I've fancied you forever, since the World Cup, but there was Krum, and then-"
"The World Cup?" Hermione repeated.
Their eyes locked. After a long pause, Hermione laughed softly, and kissed him. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her in so that she was flush against him. After several long moments, they broke apart, her face flushed.
"You should have said something earlier," she murmured.
"Yes, I should have," George whispered, tousling her hair, all thoughts of Quidditch and Umbridge completely forgotten.