"Nothing's fair in love and war
In life, in love, this time I can't afford to lose
For one, for all, I'll do what I have to do"
- "Love and War," Fleurie
February 29th, 2004
Knightsbridge
"You sure you'll be alright on your own today?" George asked as he buttoned his waistcoat. Hermione looked up from her book (The Da Vinci Code, which George had bought for her on the recommendation of a gratingly cheerful salesperson at Waterstones), and nodded. It has been a week since their spontaneous engagement, and her rehabilitation was coming along nicely. George was, as usual, the ultimate cheerleader, and so Hermione began to encourage him to go back to work so that he could focus on his own goals. It had taken a lot of persistence until George finally (albeit reluctantly) acquiesced to going into the shop for several hours that Sunday.
"I'll be fine, I promise," she smiled. "You had me walk the entire house last night, I think I'll manage for a couple hours."
"Well, today's Sunday, so we do close early," he said, biting his lip, "but you promise you'll send a patronus if something if you need help?"
"George, you need to go to work. You've been out for nearly a month taking care of me," Hermione said firmly.
George crossed to the room to sit next to her on the bed. She closed her book and set it aside and gazed at his worried expression. She was planning on heading back to work the following day, and she wanted him to begin to resume his regular schedule.
"You weren't meant to be at home all the time," she said gently, lacing her fingers with his. "Go to the shop, I know how much you've missed it. Dean and Seamus are coming over for tea, I'll be fine."
George's expression relaxed, the worry lines softening. "Dean and Seamus are coming for tea? Why?"
Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. They owled last week and asked to meet with Harry and me for tea. I'll tell you about it when you come home."
He pulled himself closer to her and kissed her, running his hands through her curls, still in their state of morning unruliness. He began to kiss down her neck, whispering in her ear, his voice husky, "or I could just stay here, do work here."
She pushed him away playfully. "George Fabian Weasley-"
"Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Did you tell Harry we're engaged?"
"No," she sighed, "He'll be happy for us, just…"
"Just you're worried about stealing the spotlight from him and Ginny even though he's still dragging this out," George finished her sentence. "I'm fairly sure we're going to have to prank him into doing it at this point."
"Please don't take this as if I'm underestimating you, but how do you prank someone into getting engaged to their girlfriend?" Hermione asked, a small smile spreading across her face.
"I'll think about it," George shrugged. "Though I'm not the one to ask, because I had a whole proposal planned out and then we got engaged in a dark hallway."
"What did you have planned?"
"I'm not telling you. I'm planning on constantly proposing to you for the rest of our lives, just to keep you on your toes," he smirked. Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head.
"What if I say no? You know, just to keep you on your toes."
"Sorry, babe," he leaned in, smiling conspiratorially, "you're stuck with me forever. Speaking of which, I have something."
Hermione leaned back against the headboard to watch as George rummaged around in the topmost dresser drawer for something. Some days she would catch herself staring at George when he would be doing simple, mundane tasks, and she would be struck by realisation, all over again, that this was real.
He adored her and made it plainly evident every day. The advantage to knowing for someone for so long before you began dating, Hermione supposed, was that you learned how the person accepted and gave love. George would listen intently when she spoke, putting down whatever he was doing and giving her his full attention. He encouraged her without smothering her, and he treated her as his equal, his partner.
At some point in her teenage years, Hermione has resigned herself to the fact that the boys around her would always regard her as a know-it-all and they would constantly try to patronise or belittle her. However, in hindsight, Hermione realised George (and Fred) had never done that - in fact, they had been downright supportive and encouraging, and she suspected that George had tried to educate Ron in how to treat women. George turned her world on its head.
George sat back down on the bed with a navy blue folder. "I went last week to an estate agent to talk about buying a house."
Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "A house? Whatever for? We have my flat-" she gestured around the bedroom, "and you still have the flat above the store."
"The flat above the store is tiny. Fred and I could barely be in it at the same time without bumping into each other, and this flat - as nice as it is - is still your parents. We're getting married, we're starting a family, we need something of our own."
"We could probably find something here in the neighbourhood, but Knightsbridge isn't cheap-"
"We're 20 minutes away from Kensington, Hermione. It's a veritable tourist trap. What happens if our kids want to fly? Where are they going to do that without breaking a dozen laws, never mind that there's no space in the back garden ."
"Teddy seems to be fine in Grimmauld," Hermione pointed out. "Besides, you realise that these children have half of my genes and that means they'll most likely be rubbish on a broom?"
It was the first time they had really talked about children. Hermione knew that George really wanted children and that he was brilliant with Teddy, but George had carefully skirted the issue, most likely not to cause Hermione any undue anxiety. It was inevitable, but they had tried limiting talking about the future as much as possible.
"You're not rubbish on a broom, you're just comparing yourself to Harry, who is an exceptionally good flyer, and Ron, who had years and years of practice. You need proper lessons," he reassured her. "The agent found some country homes and some houses in the suburbs around London."
Hermione took the folder and opened it, silently perusing the various leaflets and pages. As a child, she found the London townhome overbearing and devoid of character. But after the war, she and Harry had made it a home - Teddy had taken his first steps in this very bedroom, said his first words at her kitchen table. She and Harry had gotten through the nightmares together, celebrated milestones. As she thought about it, knowing that George was right. They needed a fresh start, something that was specifically theirs.
"We should look through these together," Hermione said, looking up from a pamphlet featuring a photo of a rather charming country home with Ivy crawling up the side and large white shutters. "Not when you're supposed to be at work."
"I really can't distract you into me staying home," he said, almost mournfully (yet his eyes were still twinkling with mischief). "But I have one more thing."
"George-" she said, her tone hovering between amusement and warning. He fished in his trouser pocket for a second and then pulled out a small black box.
"I bought this when you were... in a coma," he said hesitantly. "McGonagall came and said some stuff that really set my head on straight. I took a walk, came across a store and..." he seemed almost nervous, and popped open the box. Inside was a ring unlike any Hermione had ever seen. A large emerald sat in the middle, surrounded by diamonds in an Art Deco pattern that was reminiscent of the sun. "And the sales keeper said that emeralds symbolise rebirth and love — and, well, that's how you make me feel."
Rebirth. Hermione turned over the word in her head, and realised how well it described their relationship. They knew each other for years, but the war had left them almost fragmented. But George made Hermione feel more like herself than she had been in six years, as if she was rediscovering her joie de vivre. And Hermione made George feel like part of a unit again, appreciated, understood, needed. They fit together comfortably and enhanced the light of the other.
"I love you," she said abruptly. "I know I don't say it enough, but I really do."
He slid the ring across her finger. "I can't wait to annoy you for the rest of our lives."
For a second there was silence, and then Hermione burst into laughter. George watched her, confused at what could have brought about this burst of hilarity.
"I just remembered," Hermione said, wiping away tears of laughter, "beginning of fifth year, Fred kept trying to convince me that you needed help with the products and he called himself the-"
"The sex appeal," George chortled. "And I tried to convince you to join me for magical experimentation."
"He also one time tried to get me to go with you to Hogsmeade and I said you didn't need a sitter," Hermione said, still laughing.
"I remember very vividly telling you, 'That's where you're wrong-"
"I require constant supervision," Hermione finished his sentence.
"Fred promised me that when we got together he would take the piss out of us every single day," George smiled, thinking of his late twin, the giant smile, the constant prodding of Hermione to get her to notice George.
"What do you think about getting a painting of him?" Hermione asked. "For the new house, of course."
George smiled at her gratefully. "Careful, or I might propose to you again if you keep being fantastic like that."
It was mid morning when Hermione heard the front door open. It was Harry, of course — Harry still had a key to the flat from when he lived there, and Hermione had made it perfectly clear that he was to walk in whenever he pleased. Two extra sets of footsteps accompanied him — Dean and Seamus, of course.
Harry's ever-messy mop of black hair popped round the door of the kitchen. "I brought some stuff from the bakery," he said by way of greeting.
"Morning, Hermione," Dean said brightly. Hermione moved to stand up, but he waved her off. "Don't get up, we've never been formal with each other, don't mess it up by starting now."
"How ya feeling?" Seamus said, holding an orchid. "Didn't know what to bring and the flower shop lady said these are really trendy. Who knew plants could be trendy? Feels like a Neville thing." He placed it on the kitchen island, while Harry busied himself with putting the kettle on.
"I love it," she said, admiring it from afar. "And I'm getting better, finally really able to walk the flat without help, so I'm going back to work tomorrow. What's new with you?" She slipped off her ring surreptitiously and put it in the pocket of her dressing gown. She wanted to tell Harry privately, not with Dean and Seamus around, and realised the ring would be a dead giveaway.
Dean poked through the pink bakery box Harry had brought. "Slammed at work, Prophet wants to run these pieces about the Act and who's getting married and stuff. Turned into a damn tabloid." He selected a blueberry scone, placed it on a plate Harry had handed him wordlessly, and passed it to Seamus, who had settled at the kitchen table, across from Hermione.
"There needs to be laws reigning them in," Harry said gloomily. "Elaine Francium cornered me last week in Eyelops asking if we could do an interview - aka Hermione and Ron and I - about the Act, but the way she framed it was straight Ministry propaganda."
"You didn't tell me that," Hermione said as Harry slid a cup of tea in front of her.
"No point," he shrugged. "You would have said no. But we're not going to be able to get out of it next time."
"Going to trot us out for morale," Hermione groaned. Dean and Harry sat down at the table, each holding various tea items. "Pretty sure the tabloids gave Princess Diana less coverage."
"You were already in hiding when she died," Seamus remarked. "Loads of girls in our year were really distressed about it."
"As were you," Dean laughed.
"I'm Irish, I did no such thing," Seamus said, acting horrified.
"Anyway," Dean said, "I went last week to the Office of Special Projects because Seamus and I finally found a surrogate, but they wouldn't let me register."
"What?" Hermione was shocked.
"Apparently, anyone who is using surrogacy now has to prove their ability to be parents, which is fine. But we were asked to demonstrate that we are upholders of 'correct magical tradition,' and now our application is delayed, pending review."
"That sounds like a euphemism for the Muggleborn Registry," Hermione said, aghast. "Who's in charge of OSP? They were still looking for a director when I was in the hospital."
"McLaggen," Harry said grimly. Hermione groaned.
"It's Muggleborn discrimination, for sure, but they can get away with it because we're gay and so we would have to do this, just to make sure Hogwarts letters came to the right place and the like," Dean shook his head wearily.
"It's not the first odd thing we've heard," Seamus said. "Michael Corner - we saw him in Diagon the other day — he's marrying a Muggleborn from Canada and they're delaying his marriage registration."
"On what grounds?" Harry asked.
"They didn't give him a reason. But they've been together for four years, and she's definitely a witch."
"What can we do?" Hermione asked. "I'm sure Harry or I can get your application sorted, but that doesn't solve the bigger problem."
"Hermione," Harry said slowly, weighing every word, "what's the likelihood that the Sacred 28 is planning something?"
Arthur Weasley had said it when the Act came to be: the structures that enabled the rise of Voldemort still existed. Pureblood supremacy sentiments still lingered, as did the small comments that reminded Hermione that no matter what she had done in the war, people would still see her as the sum of her Muggleborn parentage. The prospect that Lestrange and the other Death Eaters would be aided by this insidious ideology still being prevalent sent a chill down her spine.
"McLaggen's mum is a Fawley, and Vane is married to a Bulstrode," Seamus commented. "They're both pure-bloods, and they're both, well you know."
"Conniving, arrogant, and political," Hermione finished his sentence in disgust. "It's not a coincidence that this is happening while Lestrange and his buddies are on the rise."
"Right, but we can't just announce that we think McLaggen is working with dark wizards, we have no proof," Dean pointed out sensibly.
"I don't want to bring a baby into the world when we're possibly going into another war," Seamus said abruptly, and stared mournfully at his tea, and Dean took his hand.
Hermione and Harry exchanged glances. They knew the other was thinking the same thing: they were in the exact situation - or it could be even more precarious, considering their celebrity status and role in the war. Hermione thought of the conversation she had with George that very morning, and it felt like ages ago already. How were they planning on kids and a house when there was a strong likelihood they were going right back to fighting?
"I'm going back to work tomorrow," Hermione said. "Let me do some inquiries under the radar and see if I can find out something."
"I'll call for an Order meeting for this week," Harry thought aloud. "Seems like we're going to have to keep this out of the Ministry's reach until we know what's going on."
Dean and Seamus both nodded gratefully, and after a while, they departed. Hermione felt physically ill after the conversation.
"Are we going back into war again?" Hermione asked, standing up to clear the dishes. "Because at first we thought it was just the four Death Eaters and maybe some of their family."
"And now it feels like it's much deeper," Harry mused. "It's like the purebloods feel like they're being oppressed, like they need to claim their spot at the top back."
"Yes, we Muggleborns haven't been remembering our place," Hermione said bitterly. She pulled her ring out of her dressing gown pocket and slipped it back on her finger. "Speaking of tainting bloodlines, George and I are getting married."
There was silence in the room, and for a brief second, Hermione panicked. Maybe Harry would be annoyed that she and George got engaged before Harry and Ginny? But Harry had never been petty, and she watched him expectantly.
"I couldn't be happier for the two of you," he said, an ear to ear smile stretching across his face. "Am I terrified of the children you're going to have? Absolutely. However, they will make mine look like perfect angels, so there's that."
"Why do you assume they're going to be troublemakers and not fastidious rule followers?"
"Because as much as you like to think it, you weren't a fastidious rule follower. You set Snape on fire first year, you started a secret army in fifth year, you brewed a fairly complex and problematic potion in the girl's toilet in second year." Harry retorted.
"I was not that bad," Hermione protested.
"Nope, you were worse. Because you had this weird facade that you were keeping the rules so professors thought how could Granger do bad things, and that let you get away with more."
Hermione laughed, and sat down at the table. "Now you're making me concerned."
"No, but my kids can copy your kids' homework, so that's also comforting." Harry and Hermione erupted into peals of happy laughter. Hermione dabbed at her eyes as she felt tears of mirth began to trickle down her face.
"Was the idea that you could see your ring from space," Harry asked, motioning to her engagement ring. "George always did have a flare for the dramatic."
Hermione looked down at her hand. "He bought it when I was in a coma. Apparently McGonagall came to talk to him and that's what made his mind up." She shrugged. "He does have an odd relationship with money, though. This morning we were talking about buying a house. He had gone to an estate agent and brought back all these pamphlets and adverts for homes and they're all huge and expensive."
"The Weasleys have always been extremely generous with everything, even when they had nothing. I think George isn't sure what to do with his money, and also wants to make sure his kids don't have the childhood he had. Ginny's the same way — she won't talk about being frustrated about the way she grew up, but she's definitely made a point of giving Teddy whatever he wants and mentioned the same thing about our kids." Harry sighed. "I remember when I first found out I had money of my own, I just wanted to spend it to compensate for when I didn't have money. I bought the entire trolley on the way to Hogwarts first year."
"I didn't think about it that way," Hermione admitted.
"You were always trying to do the opposite - hide that you came from money."
"I was bullied in school before getting to Hogwarts," Hermione said quietly. "I was the only brown girl in my class, I was a bookworm and a teacher's pet, and I had wild, frizzy hair that I couldn't control. I used to get teased that with all of my parents' money they couldn't buy me better hair or a cooler personality. Everyone knew my parents had money and my father held a peerage and they always judged me first for that and not for me. So when I got to Hogwarts I just tried to hide all of that and have people focus on me for me."
Harry gave her a half smile. "Meanwhile, I got bullied in school for being me, and then when I got to Hogwarts I got bullied for being Harry Potter."
"Yes, but then you could have afforded all the chocolate frogs you wanted, so who cares?" Hermione laughed.
March 8th, 2004
Ministry of Magic
George had not been happy when Hermione told him about the conversation she had with Dean and Seamus. He was stony faced the rest of the evening, barely eating dinner, and excused himself to go to bed fairly early. When Hermione had gotten into bed, he was silent but pulled her close. For a week, George elected to be extremely quiet but held Hermione as close as he could, like he was holding on to a buoy for dear life.
"Tomorrow," Fleur said, sitting down in one of the armchairs in Hermione's sitting room, "you two need to go register your engagement at Special Projects. We have talked to Dean and he's going to tip off some reporters to watch you go in to the office and out. If they cause you trouble, you'll be able to speak to the press directly - everyone will want to hear what happened, and if you manage to register, it will work to your benefit in case something actually is happening and they want to cancel it."
Fleur had proven exceptionally talented at public relations over the years, helping George navigate the scandals the tabloids had covered, organising the Weasley and Order member's various interviews and media appearances. At the Order meeting that Friday night, she had proposed that they run a media assault first to see if public pressure would make a difference. The first step was for Hermione and George to test the waters. If the Office of Special Projects gave a pair of veritable celebrities a problem because of Hermione's blood status, it would mean that the problem was deeper than they thought. Denying Hermione would mean that they felt confident enough in whatever they were planning to risk the ire of the general public.
"George, they're going to try and compare you to five years ago, so make sure you look as much as a successful entrepreneur as you can and less-"
"Alcoholic who owns a joke shop, got it," he snapped.
Fleur shook her head but continued on. "You have to get the support of the public. You have declined every interview about your relationship-"
"Because it's bloody private," George interjected, but Fleur persisted.
"So you are going to have to do one of those. Hermione — mpeople already think you're standoffish, so make sure you are smiling the whole time and both of you need to look extremely in love and happy. Should not be a problem, should it?" Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"Really unsure how I became Princess Diana," Hermione grumbled.
"Princess Diana was likeable," Fleur shot back. "You do not engage with the public, and the public wants to hear more about you. They are interested and so when you do not sit down for interviews it makes it seem as if you are a snob. They are not going to continue being kind to you and they will paint you as elitist."
There wasn't much said after Fleur left. Hermione watched George for a while, hoping he would say something — but he was preoccupied and withdrawn. As they got ready to depart for the Ministry, George turned to her.
"You ready for this?" He asked.
She nodded, placing her arm through the crook of his. He pressed a kiss against her forehead.
"I love you. You look beautiful," he said, and then, they were sucked into the horrors of apparition.
Dean had done his work properly. By the time George and Hermione walked into the Office of Special Projects, there was a small gaggle of reporters waiting outside. Hermione slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed it. "Here we go," she whispered to him when they were out of earshot of the reporters. "Let's cause some trouble."
Two couples Hermione didn't recognise were sitting at desks signing paperwork. A blonde woman nudged a pale man with dark hair when they realised Hermione and George had walked in, and to Hermione's discomfort, they stared openly.
The paperwork was straightforward - their names, their addresses, agreeing that they were entering into the marriage willingly and they were supposed to have children, which left an odd feeling in Hermione's chest. The last step was taking it to the registrar on duty to stamp it.
Hermione recognised the registrar as a Slytherin the year above her, but she couldn't remember his name. He had a pale, pinched face and a nose that was oddly reminiscent of a hawk's beak. George handed him the parchment, and the registrar surveyed it carefully.
"Miss Granger," he said, looking up, "you need to demonstrate magical proficiency."
George's eyebrows shot up, but Hermione willed herself to maintain a calm demeanour. "Where do we do that?"
"Just you," the registrar said snottily. "You're a Muggleborn, are you not?"
"How is that relevant to the situation?" George said, his tone icy.
"Mr Weasley, surely you know that children of Muggleborns are more likely to be Squibs."
"Firstly," George snarled, "that is a proven lie. There is no evidence that the blood status of the parents - be it pure-blood or muggle-born - impacts the likelihood of a child being a Squib. Secondly, if our child is a Squib, that child will be loved and taken care of just as any other child. Lastly, I am sure you are more than familiar with Ms Granger's magical abilities, given you are one year younger than me, Finneas, and had the pleasure of spending six years around her exceptional skills and talents. She will not be demonstrating magical ability to you, especially since you exploded your cauldron in the middle of your Potions OWL and earned the legendary Troll mark."
Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a laugh. George truly did know everything that happened in Hogwarts, and his memory was phenomenal.
"What seems to be the problem?" A startlingly beautiful raven haired woman asked. She reminded Hermione vaguely of Sirius, with her high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. She smiled warmly at Hermione and George.
"Mr Finneas here would like Miss Granger to demonstrate her magical ability given that she's a Muggle-born since he believes — incorrectly — I might add that she has muggle parents we might have muggy children."
The raven haired woman put her hand out to Hermione. "I'm sorry for that, you have absolutely no need to demonstrate magical ability. It's only -" she looked over her shoulder at Finneas, "and only for foreign wizards who were educated by their parents, and given that you are both British and a graduate of Hogwarts, I can surmise that does not apply to you."
Hermione smiled at the woman as she shook her hand. "I don't think we've met," she said appreciatively.
"Astoria Greengrass, you were in my sister's year," the woman shook George's hand. "Finneas is just… well, he's an arse and quite stuck in the old ways. I'm normally in Magical Games but they needed a logistician now that things are picking up round here and - well, they picked the new kid," she said brightly, shrugging her shoulders. She grabbed Finneas's stamp and marked the parchment.
"Congratulations, you two," Astoria smiled, tapping the parchment with her wand. The parchment replicated and she handed the copy to Hermione. "Here, I'll walk you out."
As soon as they were out of earshot of Finneas, Astoria took a breath and whispered to the two of them, "there are a lot of irregularities lately — and well — that wasn't the first, nor the last. Something is wrong." She then straightened up, and resumed her bright tone. "I look forward to seeing the pictures of your wedding!"
Hermione and George had barely a second to recover from what she said before they walked out to the blinding light of flashbulbs and the din of reporters.
Knightsbridge
The pair had no time to talk privately after they left the reporters - George had a meeting in Hogsmeade and had to apparate as soon as they finished, so the morning's unpleasantness lingered in Hermione's mind, like a festering wound. She had never been more grateful to get home and see George was already there, wearing a ridiculous flowered apron and measuring flour.
"You should wear that more often," Hermione laughed as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
"I can also wear only this," he said, a twinkle in his eye as he leaned in to kiss her. "What happened after I left?"
"Nothing," Hermione shook her head. "The whole thing was so bizarre."
"It's more bizarre than you think," George said slowly. "When you were in hiding, there was a rumour that one of the families of the Sacred 28 were hiding Muggleborns. Everyone instantly thought it was us or the Abbotts, Boneses or Longbottoms — and the raided all of us a number of times but found nothing. Xavier Greengrass worked for the minister at the time and the rumours started kind of closing in on him, but nothing stuck. I never thought much of it, but now I think the rumour was true."
"Do you think Astoria knows more about what's going on?"
"I'd bet all my galleons on it. They're part of the old money Slytherins so she's probably privy to everything. I don't know them well — from what I understand they actually used to be neighbours with Harry's grandparents — but Dad said Xavier has been polite, which is more than you can say for most of the old money purebloods."
"And Finneas?" Hermione asked.
"Finneas is a tosser. He once snitched on me and Fred to Filch because we put Fulminating Figs in the Charms corridor which got us a weeks detention. He's not bright enough to pull whatever is happening off, he's just a lackey."
"And how did you know that his cauldron exploded?"
"Because Fred was the one who set up the explosion, as revenge," George laughed. "At the time I thought it was a step too far, but now I realise Fred, as usual, had the right idea."
"And he never figured out it was you?
"Like I said, he isn't very bright, he was the one who bet McLaggen to eat all those doxy eggs on a bet. They're probably pals still and that's how he got the job."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Truly the gem of Gryffindor, McLaggen is."
"Fred once put a Word Shifting Charm on him so that every time he would say his name, he would say just say foul words that started with C and M."
Hermione burst out laughing. "How did I miss all this?"
"At some point Fred realised I fancied you and decided to do less of our, well… meaner pranks around you, just to up my chances."
"It's too bad you weren't around when McLaggen was really pursuing me, I could have used your help."
"I would have glassed him, but from what Ginny told us, you handled him just fine," George shook his head ruefully. "Though I would have loved to see it."
"Speaking of loving to see it," Hermione pulled herself closer to George, "you destroying Finneas was… extraordinary."
"Oh yeah?" George cocked an eyebrow and placed his hand on the small of her back.
"When you get all angry and start defending me, it's definitely," Hermione bit her lip, "a sight to see."
"Someone has to put those idiots in their place," he murmured, moving her slowly so that are back was touching the island. "Can't have them thinking that you mess with my fiancée and get away with it."
His face was almost touching hers, she could feel the heat of his breath on her ear. She had him where she wanted him, lustful, needy, his eyes filled with desire. She loved tempting him, seeing how fast she could turn his attention. Baiting him and then letting him taking control was a much more enjoyable experience than she had imagined, and after his foul mood the preceding week and the spectacular performance he gave that morning, Hermione was more than happy to divert his attention.
"It is always so much fun to watch you let them know who's in charge," she chuckled.
"You are," he said gruffly. "You always are. I'm just the lucky bloke who gets to let them know." He cupped her face with his hand, staring directly into her eyes.
Hermione bit her lip again. "You know I'm not in control of you, right? You can do whatever you want."
George let out a low chuckle. "You have been in control of me for the past ten years. Every laugh," he kissed her neck.
"Every word," a small bite.
"Every breath," he kissed her neck again.
"You don't know how absolutely maddening it is," he worked his way up her earlobe so that his lips were pressed against her ear.
"When you're sitting there, all innocently at Sunday dinner, and I'm just watching you, wondering how you would look if I bent you over the table right then and there."
Hermione pulled her head away for a second. "That's what you were thinking about every time you asked me to pass you the mashed potatoes?" She knew she was dragging it out, she knew she was teasing him too much and that when he finally had his way he would make her scream, but she was having too much fun.
"It is ridiculous how much of me you've controlled for so long and you didn't know," George said gruffly. Hermione could feel his longing aching against her, his eyes wild with lust.
"Maybe," she whispered, pressing her forehead against his, "maybe you should show me you're in charge."
He didn't have to hear another word, and she was engulfed by the sensations of his lips, his hands, his teeth. The flour he had been measuring overturned on the island and the ridiculous flowered apron lay forgotten on the floor for a very long time.