Author's Note: Not Rowling but please enjoy!
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"HERMIONE!" he roared. He stormed out to the living room, where Hermione was sitting up, rubbing her eyes and looking startled.
"What?" she asked sleepily. "Is it time to leave?"
He stormed over to her, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her up from the couch, dragging her to his room. He stopped in the doorway. "WHAT. IS. THIS."
She blinked twice before looking at him confusedly. "It's your room."
"What have you done to it?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level but failing. He could feel his neck and ears burning and knew they were bright red by now.
"I cleaned it," she answered matter-of-factly.
"And who said you were allowed in my room, let alone allowed to do this to it?" he asked, his voice steely.
"I need permission to come into your room? You come in my room all the time."
George's mouth fell slightly open as he stared at her in mingled shock and anger. "I-, you-, WHAT? I never come into your room unless you ask for help with the furniture or something. And why the bloody hell did you clean my room?"
"Balthazar was lost in here, and I couldn't find him because he was buried far under all of the filth in your room." She raised her eyebrow at him, a nonverbal challenge that George missed.
"Why the hell was your cat in my room?" he half-shouted.
"How the hell am I supposed to know? HE'S A CAT, GEORGE! You probably left the door open and he wanted to explore," said Hermione, her face now starting to turn red, an angry blush rising up her neck.
"Why did that give you authority to clean my room?"
"Honestly, I don't know what your problem is. It was a complete sty. You should be thanking me," said Hermione, crossing her arms across her chest.
"Thanking-? YOU CLEANED MY ROOM, HERMIONE!" he shouted, although he was only about half a meter away from her, as they were both standing in the doorway facing each other. "No, you didn't just clean my room, you organized it!" He strode angrily over to his dresser and pointed to each of the drawers as he spoke. "Shirts? Pants? Underwear? Not only did you go through all of my clothes, but you LABLED MY DRAWERS? And this," he said, striding over to closet, which was organized by article of clothing, then color, "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?"
"A closet," replied Hermione coldly, an angry look on her face. "I'm not surprised you don't know, as it was previously being used as an enclosure for dirty clothes and month-old trash."
Gorge took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, his lips pressed together in anger. "Hermione," he said quietly, "have you ever heard of organized chaos?"
"No, but it sounds stupidly paradoxical."
"It basically means that although it looks messy to everyone else, I know where everything is. How the hell am I supposed to find anything in here?"
"What? Everything is organized and labeled. You have to be a complete dunce to not understand that organization system. Oh," she said, giving him a cold look and pointing to his small desk, on which a small pile of articles lay, "and there are all the things your little one-night-stands left here. I'm surprised that they didn't run away when they saw this room, but then again, you don't seem to have a flair for picking ones with brains, now do you?" She gave him a cold smile as he could hear the blood pumping in his ears.
"Who the hell gives you the right to judge how I live my life? We made a deal that if you moved in here, you would be okay with my situation and-"
"I said 'I hardly expected you to change because I was here,' not 'I approve of how you treat these women,' no matter how dim-witted they may be."
George moved to say something as he raised his finger and pointed in her face angrily, but the words escaped him. "I just-, I'm not dealing with you right now," he said quickly, trying to control his anger. He started walking into the sitting room, but Hermione followed him.
"Oh no, you don't get to rudely point in my face and then walk away," she said, storming over to where he was pulling on his jacket from the coat rack by the door.
"Oh really? Because I just did," he said, glaring at her as he buttoned his coat and she pulled on hers. Noticing she was about to continue talking, he spun on the spot and landed right outside the Burrow's front door.
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Ron walked forward as Ginny and Harry stepped out of the fireplace, the emerald flames dying down behind them. "Hey," he said quietly, "I need to talk to you two and Mum before George and Hermione show up." They followed him into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was putting the finishing touches on her custard. "Okay, so it's been a fortnight, so what counts as them 'losing it'? Because we need to have that established just in case it happens tonight."
Ginny grinned and Harry laughed. "I almost forgot about that bet," Harry said with a smile.
"Well, it's got to be in front of us," said Ginny. "They'd probably complain about each other, right?"
"If you said 'losing it,' I would think that that would entail screaming and yelling," said Harry.
"Excellent," said Ron, rubbing his palms together. "So it has to involve yelling and complaining about the other person, right?"
"That sounds about right," said Ginny with a grin. "They're a bit late. Ooh, I wonder if they've killed each other."
"Ginny!" cried Mrs. Weasley, a reproachful look on her face. The three of them just laughed. "Harry, dear, could you-" The rest of her sentence was drowned out as two cracks were heard from outside the kitchen door, followed by angry voices shouting.
"Mum, I think they're here," said Ron sarcastically as opened the door to reveal his older brother and his best friend shouting at each other, both red in the face.
"HOW DARE YOU APPARATE AWAY WHILE I'M TALK-" Hermione was shouting, stopping mid-sentence as she realized most of the Weasley family was now watching her yelling. "Umm…hi there," she said quietly, slightly embarrassed. She smiled at the family, but it immediately slid off her face as George stalked past her silently, anger coming off of him in waves.
"What happened with you two?" asked Mrs. Weasley quickly as Hermione came in and hung up her coat on the rack by the door.
"Hermione happened," said George coldly from the table where he was now sitting. "She took it upon herself to go into my room and completely reorganize it."
"I lost the cat in that warzone you call a bedroom!" Hermione shot back as she walked over to where Harry was standing by the oven.
"Was it really necessary to fold all my underwear and label the drawer?" asked George, his voice rising.
"You could have killed my cat!"
"Fine by me! The little monster already tried to kill me. I'd say it's fair game!"
"MY CAT IS NOT A KILLER! YOU'RE JUST A MORON!" Hermione shouted as she strode over to the table until she was standing across from George.
"A MORON?" shouted George, standing up so quickly the chair fell backwards and landed on the wood floor with a loud crash. Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny, and Harry jumped at the noise, but Hermione and George ignored it, too wrapped up in their shouting match. "THAT'S RICH COMING FROM MISS HIGH MAINTENANCE HERSELF!"
"I'M NOT HIGH MAINTENANCE; YOU'RE JUST A SLOB!"
"YOU ARE COMPLETELY NEUROTIC!"
"WELL AT LEAST I DON'T USE WOMEN AND DISCARD THEM LIKE THE BLUEPRINTS THAT YOU HAD CRUMPLED ALL OVER YOUR BEDROOM FLOOR!"
There was absolute silence for a few beats as everyone stared at Hermione, who was breathing heavily, a victorious smile on her face, and George, who was clutching the back of a chair so tightly his knuckles were white, his blue eyes blazing with fury, every muscle in his body tense, like a rubber band about to snap.
"Well, at least I have a love life to speak of," said George quietly.
Now it was Hermione's turn to tense up, her lips pressing together into a fine, angry line, so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "You are utterly insufferable," she said after a moment.
"As are you," he said, returning her glare with one of his own.
There was another beat of silence before Mrs. Weasley said in an overly-chipper voice, "So, who's ready for dinner?"
As everyone filed in and sat down, George and Hermione sitting as far apart as possible, Ron spoke up. "So it's a tie?" he asked. Half of the table looked over at him in confusion while the other half buried their faces in their palms.
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DAY FIFTEEN
George was walking around his room, trying to reorganize his room to his liking, rather than Hermione's, where there was a knock at his door. He looked over, confused. "Come in." The door opened and in the doorway stood Hermione, her eyes flicking between the floor and George's face. "Yes?" he asked quickly.
Her eyes flicked up once more to his face before she spoke to the ground. "I'm sorry I cleaned and organized your whole room. I shouldn't have, even though your room basically ate my cat." George chuckled at her choice of words and Hermione's head shot up, her eyes searching his face. "And I'm sorry I said that thing about the women you date. That was rude."
…
"I think I more than made up in rudeness with the love life comment. It was harsh and honestly, I have no idea about your love life, so it was rather unfounded."
"'Unfounded?' Look at you using big words," she joked.
George grinned. "You'd be surprised. Under this handsome exterior is an intelligent man."
"Well, I wouldn't go that far…" She flashed him a grin.
"Oh, you don't think so?" said George. She raised her eyebrow as he walked closer to her, until there was only about half a meter between them. He raised his arm and rested against the doorframe, leaning into it as he watched her, a small grin playing around his lips.
"Don't you even try this with me, George. It won't work. I'm not one of your girls," she said, trying to sound stern although a small smile was tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Would you like to be?" he replied, his voice somewhat deeper all of a sudden.
"You know I have a nasty right hook…"
He immediately removed his arm from the doorframe and backed up. "You're quick, you know that?" he said in his normal voice.
…
She smiled at him. "So are we okay?"
He looked at her for a second before replying, "Yeah, we're okay. Neurotic."
"Moron," she called over her shoulder as she walked away, though George saw a smile on her face as she turned. He grinned as he watched where she had just been a second ago. There was a little jingle and George looked down to see Balthazar standing in the doorway watching him.
"You know, this all boils down to being your fault," he said.
"Mrow."
"Why am I even talking to you? You're a cat. You probably have no idea what I'm saying." Balthazar sat down and hissed at George. "You are trying to kill me, aren't you?" The kitten stood up and pranced away, the bells on his collar jingling merrily. "I'm going to take that as a 'yes'."