Author's Note: Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews, guys! I read and appreciate every single one of them.
I am going to be starting a new story collection based off of the "30 Day OTP Challenge" from tumblr, and voting is finishing in an hour on what pairing I will write about, George/Hermione or John/Sherlock. So keep your eyes open for that new project. Best, Cat
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They had been having a lovely evening. Hermione had made a hearty beef stew she had loved when she had visited France, and they had been at the table for what seemed like hours. They had been having so much fun, not having had much time lately to actually sit down and talk to each other about their lives, that they hadn't noticed the time fly by or the wine bottles empty. Finally, after eating through a good half of the dessert (an apple tart Hermione had also favored on her trips to France) and knowing they would regret that in a few hours, they retired to the couch, woozy and in good spirits.
George laughed as Hermione told a story about some stupid old coot at the Ministry being caught with his trousers down in the loo, and how his wife had stormed into Hermione's office and demanded that she actually print the story, shouting that everyone needs to know what kind of person he is, and that trollop better be in the story too, full name and the lot! George wrapped his arm tightly around Hermione's shoulders as she imitated the woman's high screechy voice, although it kept dropping lower as she laughed.
Hermione finished and rested her head against his shoulder, tilting her head up to smile at him. They just looked at each other, George smiling at her, at the comfort that had filled this whole night. Her warm breath on his neck, the pleasant drowsiness the wine had given him, her soft hair cloaking his arm. She moved her head back a little, tilting her face up more towards him as she gave him a soft, slow smile. Her hand rested on his leg and his on hers. There wasn't any room in his mind for thoughts, for contemplation of right and wrong, of opportunity and motive; there was only a warm, light feeling that made him think that everything was not only possible, but brilliant. He started to slowly move forward and he saw her eyelids start to flutter closed. He was less than a centimeter away, their lips about to brush, when he heard the handle turn in their creaky door.
Hermione shifted in his arms and George turned his head. A man walked in the door and Hermione jumped out of George's arms with a happy squeal.
"Oliver!"
Oliver looked up from where he had dropped his bag and smiled before a shocked expression appeared as Hermione ran forward and threw her arms around his neck, planting a huge kiss on his lips. Surprised but obviously pleased, Oliver kissed back, his arms wrapped tight around his girlfriend's waist. On the couch, George squeezed his eyes shut and cursed under his breath. He didn't know who he was more upset at, himself for almost kissing his mate's girlfriend, or Oliver for preventing him from doing just that.
"You're here!" Hermione babbled happily, her arms still tight around Oliver. Thankfully, the snogging seemed to be finished, for now. "I thought you had that press conference you had to be at."
"I did," said Oliver, "but I left as soon as all the interviews and pictures were done. The team went out for drinks, but I said I had to get home to my girlfriend."
Hermione beamed and kissed him, if possible, more passionately than the first time. Oliver kissed her back, but broke it off, much to George's pleasure.
"Have you been drinking, love?" asked Oliver warily.
"Jus' a little bit," said Hermione with a giggle.
Oliver finally looked over at George, and George was both pleased and, oddly, a little frustrated to see there was no hint of suspicion in his gaze, just innocent curiosity mixed with humor. They nodded slightly in hello to each other, George trying to keep his emotions off his face.
"How much has she had to drink?"
"At least a bottle of wine," said George.
Oliver stared at him. He blinked. "Hermione drank a whole bottle of wine?"
"At least."
"Blimey," said Oliver, looking back at his girlfriend, who was still happily draped on his chest. "We need to get you into bed then, love."
"Is that a proposition?" giggled Hermione, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
Oliver chuckled. "Not when you're drunk enough that you might not remember it. C'mon."
With that, he unwound her arms from around him and turned her around, towards her bedroom. She took a few steps and wobbled. He caught her and shot a bemused glance at George, who grinned back, wishing he didn't wish Oliver wasn't there, being the good guy. Oliver shook his head and scooped Hermione up as if she weighed nothing, rolling his eyes in amusement as Hermione burst into raucous laughter and buried her face in his shoulder. He carried her into her bedroom, the door shutting halfway behind him.
George slammed his head back against the top of the couch and groaned. What bloody hell had he just done? He knew he had drunk quite a bit, but he was nowhere near how tipsy Hermione was. He knew how to hold his liquor, which seemed to make what had almost happened even worse, because he was far more in control of himself than she was. He knew he should be glad Oliver walked in when he did, the quintessential good boyfriend, to interrupt before his girlfriend cheated on him with their best friend. He should be glad that Oliver had refused Hermione and went to take care of her instead. He should be glad that her lips had never met George's, and that that one kiss hadn't led to inevitable further actions that she hadn't even gotten to with her own boyfriend.
He should be glad. But he sure as hell wasn't.
He was royally pissed.
Oliver walked out from Hermione's bedroom, adjusting his cloak, which was askew, as if someone had grabbed it, pulled him forward, and snogged him heartily. He ran a hand through his newly-mussed hair and sat down in the armchair across from George. He grinned and looked around.
"Well, now we know what kind of drunk Hermione is – she's randy!" laughed Oliver. George laughed, but was cursing internally. "So, how was dinner? I'm sorry I missed it. It seems like it was eventful, what with getting Hermione to actually drink, and whatnot."
"It was delicious," said George. "You can probably steal some of the leftovers, though. And yeah, we ended up talking for a long time. Didn't realize how much we had drunk."
"Apparently, our Hermione can't handle her alcohol," Oliver laughed. George tried not to cringe at how accurate that our really was.
"I can tell why she doesn't usually drink. So, how was the press conference?"
It was several hours later when George was just about to get into bed, having just pulled on his pajama trousers and pulled off his shirt, when there was a slight tap on his door. He turned, his brow furrowed in confusion, and pulled open the door. Hermione stood in his doorway, slightly hunched over, in one of his old WWW shirts and some trousers, clutching her stomach and looking queasy. She swayed slightly, still clearly drunk.
"George?" she asked in a small voice.
"You feeling ill?" he asked softly. She nodded sadly, and George immediately pictured a little Hermione, all bushy curls and buck-teeth, clutching a teddy bear and telling her parents she was sick. It was such a sweet image and he immediately wanted to hug her, so small in her oversized pajamas. "Go get into bed. I'll be right there." She nodded again and padded slowly back to her room.
George headed to the bathroom, pulled out the right potion, and grabbed a glass of water before he headed into her room. She was curled up on her side, clutching her pillow and looking a little green in the moonlight fighting its way through the gaps in her curtains. She sat up and drank the potion, making a face before downing the entire glass of water. She immediately started to look better and he was starting to leave when he heard behind him a soft Stay. He turned and her wide, sad eyes begged him silently. He sighed and laid under the covers she had thrown back next to her, his torso partly propped up by her array of pillows. She wiggled over and rested her head on his chest as she clutched her stomach, still waiting for the nausea to go away. He rubbed circles on her back and held her close, wondering how he was going to explain this in the morning, or if she'd even remember.
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"So, how was last night?" asked Lee as he moved about the shop, checking the shelves and waving his wand silently, products soaring around him, restocking themselves.
"Oliver didn't show." Lee turned and looked at George, confused. "I mean, he showed, like four hours late. But I got up there and 'Mione was just crying on the couch. He had a press conference at the last minute or something."
"Well, then what happened?"
"I stayed with her. And she cried a lot and then we had dinner–" Lee's eyebrows raised. "– and talked and we ended up going through two bottles of wine, most of which she drank– "
"I'm sorry, what? Hermione finally got drunk and you tell me a day later? Some friend you are!" huffed Lee. "You know Ginny, Ron and I have bets about what kind of drunk she is!"
"Forgive me," said George sardonically. "I was too busy dealing with it to owl you."
"So?"
"So we...we almost kissed–" Lee grinned in a self-satisfied way but said nothing. "–and Oliver walks in and interrupts it, and she hauls off and plants one on him and then proceeded to proposition him."
"I knew it!" shouted Lee gleefully. "I knew all that pent up energy would come out some way! I knew it! Just like I knew about the dreams!"
George rolled his eyes and continued fixing the more battered boxes of Skiving Snackboxes. "You shouldn't be happy about this, Jordan. You should be telling me I'm a horrible person."
"Why?" asked Lee. "Oh, the whole She's dating Oliver and he's our best mate thing. Oh, sorry." He frowned hard at George and shook his finger like a chastising school marm. "You, George Weasley, are a terrible person. You should not go about snogging other bloke's girls. How dare you!" He paused. "Is that better?"
George smiled wanly and sat down on the counter. "I mean, what was I thinking, Lee?" he said, frustrated. Lee was suddenly and strangely reticent as he picked up his broom and started examining the end of it for bent twigs. George sighed and buried his face in his hands. He said something muffled, that came out like ifikifcanyhmnmneey. Lee still said nothing. George sighed again and finally looked up at Lee, his jaw set and his eyes troubled. "Lee, I think I fancy Hermione."
Lee snorted and burst into laughter. George looked at him, shocked, but Lee was now clutching his sides and leaning against a display of Disposable Hangman (Spell it or he'll swing!).
"What the hell, man?" shouted George.
Lee snorted loudly several times more before he was able to choke out a few words. "Big. Surprise. There."
"What?"
Just then, the floo was heard from the back office, and Harry and Ron walked out into the front of the store, grinning.
"You lot ready for the match?" asked Harry, broom in hand.
Ron's mouth was twisted between a frown and a grin. "What's his problem?" he asked George as he pointed at Lee, who was holding onto his broom for support as he clutched a stitch in his side.
"I don't know but he's being a real tosser," snapped George, fetching his broom from its place by the stairs.
"George just informed me," said Lee in a falsely-shocked voice, "that he thinks he might fancy Hermione. What do you lot say to that?"
Ron started sniggering and Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head, shooting George a pitying look.
"What?!" cried George, completely missing what everyone was on about.
"You're just figuring this out now?" asked Ron. "And you said Percy was the dim one of the family."
"It's really obvious, George," said Harry in amusement.
"What is? That I fancy her? How can it be if I just figured it out?" cried George, thoroughly frustrated now.
"Well, think of it this way, at least you're not the last to know," said Lee with a grin. "Both Hermione and Oliver haven't realized it."
George groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. How long had he been like this? How long had he felt this way about Hermione and didn't realize it, or passed it off as something else? And what the hell was he supposed to do now? If last night's events said anything, hell, if the past year's events were accounted for, there was a good chance that Hermione felt the same way he did.
So now what the bloody hell was he supposed to do?
"So," said Lee, watching him with a kind and knowing expression, "what are you going to do about it?"