Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and characters, places, people living or dead. I am merely using them for entertainment purposes only. Plot based loosely on Sabrina.
By: Kneazle
A True Love Story
Chapter Five:
"I hate her! I absolutely hate her!" I fumed to Harry and Ron as we sat on Ron's bed in his bedroom. We had snuck away from the party for an hour, gossiping. Sometimes, having two men, as your best friends were amazing. They picked up on things that we women don't.
"I can imagine," grinned Ron. "First, she insults your dress, and then where you live. How horrible!"
"Stuff it, Ron," I frowned. "I don't like her at all. She flaunts her wealth and the fact that she's engaged to George. It makes me wonder who did the actual proposing, the way she controls him around like a slave rather than her lover."
"Maybe she did," snickered Harry, dodging a pillow that I flung at him.
"Shut it, Potter! And just when are you going to propose to your girlfriend, or are you waiting for her to pick out a diamond ring from a catalogue and say, 'Harry, love, I like this one, and June for the wedding. Oh, and how about Samantha for a girls' name?'"
Ron snorted his laughter and dove under his bed covers, ineffectively masking his howls of laughter.
Harry raised an eyebrow at my sneered sentence, but then grinned and pulled me close. "Aww… c'mon Mione – you know that Laurel and I have a nice, easy-going relationship. Why muck it up with babies and weddings and in-law house calls?"
He then proceeded to wrap an arm around my waist before tickling my side with his free hand.
I started giggling like mad, shrieking out for him to stop. Ron was laughing from his side of the bed, more so when Harry lost balance and we fell to the floor with me on top of him.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" drawled a voice from the doorway. Looking up, we saw Deborah, George, Charlie and Oliver standing there, looking at us with amused expressions (all but Deborah, of course).
"Oh. Hello Weasleys!" said Harry, looking at them upside-down. "Did you get lost? I do believe this is Ron's bedroom."
"So it is. And just why are you two in it?" asked Deborah. I raised my eyebrows, before realizing what Harry and I looked like.
I shrugged, resting my elbows on the floor on either side of Harry's chest, before smiling. "What does it look like?"
Deborah bristled, while Charlie coughed. Stepping forward, she spotted Ron sitting on his bed, red-faced from trying not to laugh. She, of course, didn't know that.
"Oh. I see. Cheat on your boyfriend then, Ms. Granger. You apparently don't have any class, or any scruples of relationships."
I saw red. How dare she! Who the hell did she think she was? I stood, with Harry rising uncertainly beside me, looking back and forth between us. Ron, sensing my famous temper was rising, began jovially, "Now, Deborah. You don't know the whole story here—"
"Damn straight!" the boxy brunette snarled. She stepped further into the room, pointing a finger at Ron. Harry held me tightly around the waist as I struggled to reach here and claw her eyes out.
"All I see are you young men, with a young woman who has a handsome boyfriend, tousling around on a bed and then on the floor – their faces inches away from each other! Goodness knows what was going on!"
I let out a tiny shriek, my arms straining against Harry's, who had pinned them together with his arms wrapped around my stomach.
Oliver now entered, coming to stand in front of me. He whispered, in a loud enough voice so everyone heard, "I like someone who's feisty in the kip."
I stopped struggling out of shock, Harry's arms disappeared from shock, and Ron fell off his bed. George, I noticed, paled considerably from where I stood, his gaze locked on mine.
Charlie, noticing the tension, announced in a loud voice, "Deborah, have you seen the small grove of trees just behind the yard? No? Why don't we take a stroll? Ron – you know the area better than anyone. Come with us!"
"Yes, Charlie!" saluted Ron, sensing his brother's plan. "Harry, Oliver? You coming too?"
"Sure," the two replied with enthusiasm. That was where they played football all the time.
I stood there, watching as the men all left, leaving me alone with George for the first time in two years.
We stood in silence, the only noise coming from the door when it was shut, and the sound of a lock being put into place (I am sure, though, that Deborah wasn't around when they did this, or else we would've heard her screaming like a banshee).
Finally, I sighed and moved to sit by Ron's window, looking out over the front grounds. "It's been a long time, George."
He nodded, and walked towards me slowly. I watched him through the reflection of the window. With the light fading outside, the room became slowly darker and stars appeared outside, lighting the ground in a gorgeous array of soft moonlight and starlight.
"It has," he agreed, coming to stand beside me at the window. "How was France?"
"Wonderful. I'm returning there after the Christmas holidays," I said, smiling slightly as I turned to face him, looking up.
"What about this… this man you love?" he questioned, though I detected jealousy and anger and sadness escaping in his voice.
"What about him?" I asked.
"Is it Wood?"
"Oliver?" I shook my head. "Goodness no… we're just friends."
"You look and act more than friends," he said, bitterness creeping into his voice now. I raised an eyebrow, leaning one shoulder against the window.
"And…?" I trailed off, hoping he'd elaborate. He did.
"And, he's not right for you. He's a playboy, Mione, he'll end up loving you and then leaving you without a care in the world," spat George.
"You realize this is one of your friends you're talking about," I answered quietly.
George nodded. "I like me mates and all, but Oliver is a player, Mione." He then cupped my chin in his right hand, tilting my face up. "You deserve better."
"Who do I deserve?" I whispered, my eyes dropping to his lips before I looked at his blue eyes once more. God, I could drown in those sapphire orbs of his – twinkling there in the moonlight, a deep and fathomless pool of sparkles and promise of danger…
"Not Oliver," he breathed, his face coming closer to mine. I held my breath, tilting my head up more to meet him halfway.
When his lips brushed mine, I felt proverbial butterflies run amuck in my stomach, and fireworks go off all around me.
He deepened the kiss, pulling me flush against him as his arms wrapped around my waist tightly and mine threaded around his neck, pulling myself up to his height.
George then broke slightly away, looking at our entwined bodies and me. He closed his eyes, rested his forehead against mine and whispered, "Gods… I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have."
"No," I agreed, "You shouldn't have… but you did."
"Deborah… Mione, I'm engaged to her," he all but breathed into my ear. I shivered, from both desire and horror.
"I know. But the question is, do you love her, George?" I asked, breaking away from his arms. I walked to the door, twisted the doorknob and found that it had been unlocked. I stepped out of the room, and into the bright, lit, hallway, pausing only to see George's forehead against the window and his arm above his head.
I closed the door softly, and then walked down the hall.
We would see each other again soon. I knew it.
We – Harry, Ron, Oliver, Charlie and myself – sat in the living room in my parent's house later than evening, passing around a large bottle of imported liquor and taking swings from it.
My parents were out at a company party, so we had the house to ourselves that evening. We reside there, because not only was it more private than the Weasleys by far, it also served purpose that we conspirators were all together in one place at one time without anyone whisking us off somewhere.
"So what do you think of this Deborah chit, Hermione?" asked Charlie, taking a swig before passing it to Oliver, who sat beside him on the couch.
"She heinous. I think she's a control freak," I answered, watching Oliver take a drink, and passing the bottle to me. I took it, drank its liquid greedily, before passing it to Harry, who was on the floor.
"Good God," moaned Ron, from his spot on an armchair next to Harry. "She's bloody horrible! And I mean horrible with a capital 'H'! I know gay men who are less bitchy than her when backstabbed!"
We all chuckled, thinking of Ron's spectacular entrance from out of the closet earlier at the dinner table.
We had all been sitting down at the kitchen table, enjoying some small talk about my business, while glaring at Deborah of course, when there was a brief moment of silence. That was when Ron cleared his throat, and said, "I'm gay."
There was more silence before Fred turned to Bill, and said in a plain, bored voice, "You owe me fifty dollars."
Ron blanched, looking at Fred with curiosity in his azure eyes. "You were betting on my sexuality?"
"Oh yes," replied Molly. "For three years now."
Harry and I broke out into laughter, which effectively stopped Ron from hearing Deborah remark to George, "You have a freak in your family. That's just wrong."
I, of course, heard and bristled angrily. She was making fun of one of my best friends! My best friend! I opened my mouth to cut her down to a small size of mucus, when I felt Oliver's hand on my thigh.
He leaned close and whispered in my ear, "Leave it be. You can get her back later, Hermione."
I nodded mutely and he sat back, grinning at he listened to Fred explain a new joke for their shop.
"Still," I sighed. "I'll do anything to get George to notice that I've been in love with him since I was fourteen."
"Fourteen." Remarked a new voice. "That's an awfully long time, don't you think so?"
We all turned to see Fred standing in the doorway of the living room, leaning up against the timber, grinning wickedly.
"So, my dear friend," he continued, stepping further into the room, "you've been in love with my twin brother, and no one knew."
"That's not true," piped up Harry. "Ron and I knew. Gertie – Mrs. Granger – knew too. So some people did know."
Fred waved those people away with a wave of his hand, settling himself on the floor next to Harry. "Pfft. Family and best friends don't count."
I blinked, before shrugging. "Okay," I said, a bit slurrish. Oops. Too much alcohol, I think. "Wanna drink?"
Fred grinned, snatching the bottle out of Ron's hands. "Why, I don't mind if I do. So what's the plan? That you are all obviously involved in."
I groaned. "I'm sthooo obvious."
"And so drunk," mimicked Oliver, grinning. "Does she normally not hold her drinks well?" he addressed the last part to my best friends, who were grinning and laughing at me.
"Not at all. She can't take more than a couple of glasses before she feels it – and more in the morning. Someone should stay here with her," said Harry.
"But what about her parents?" asked Charlie.
"Hullo, I'm right here," I managed to get out of my mouth without sounding drunk. I waved a hand in front of Oliver's face, but he only caught it and held onto it while looking at everyone else.
"Well, I think I should say, if Hermione and her parents wouldn't mind," he said finally, and everyone agreed. "Let's at least brief Freddie here on Hermione's plan and love life."
"Lack thereof," piped up Ron, instead.
"Spoilsport!" I moaned, leaning my head on Oliver's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders to keep me up.
"Now, now, Mione, no name calling. Reserve that for Deborah," he said, after filling Fred on their plan. "That brings me to another point of our Hermione Dilemma. What do we do about Deborah?"
"We could lock her in a room while Hermione professed her love for George," suggested Ron.
"No," objected Charlie, "we tried that earlier today, but with Hermione and George locked in a room. Didn't go to well, actually."
I stuck my tongue out, not caring who saw or whom it was aimed for. I just felt like it, since my mind was a bit foggy at best and I was only catching parts of the conversation around me. My eyesight was going a bit blurry around the edges, and more than one I found myself nodding off.
Finally, darkness descended on me, and I began to snore loudly.
--//\\--
POUND, POUND, POUND.
Good god, what is that infernal noise? It sounded like someone was trying to knock the house down.
"Go 'way," mumbled another noise; a human, male's voice, right beside my ear. The hot breath tickled my sensitive skin, and when I rolled slightly, I saw Oliver sleeping on my bed, his arm draped lazily over my hips.
I liked that suggestion he made, so I placed my head back on the pillow, closing my eyes. My head hurt like hell (it was the alcohol), and the pounding hadn't stopped (I was going to sue), and I was bloody tired.
Ah. Finally, the pounding did stop, and then there was silence. Of course, until I heard another noise. It was the sound of a key being inserted in a lock.
That was silly, I reprimanded myself. Only Harry, Ron and my parents knew where our spare key was (on the ledge on top of the door), so I was beginning to think there was an intruder, or Harry and Ron coming to see me at the early hour of – I turned to see the time on my clock – nine am.
Wondering what was going on, I sat up slightly, immensely dizzy and feeling stupid for trying to move when I was still in pain. I swung my legs off the bed, leaving Oliver to snooze on the bed we shared. I wore my blue satin button-up shirt and baggy drawstring pants, and once again realized that Harry and Ron had changed me, and this time improved by not leaving me in my knickers (I'm guessing they changed me because they weren't going to leave me in a thong in bed with Oliver. They must have gotten Ron to put the clothes on me, because according to the playboy Ollie himself, no red-blooded English male could resist me!).
I crept to the door, holding onto a coca-cola glass bottle from the 60s before venturing out into the hallway, and then down the stairs, where I heard someone prowling about the living room, muttering.
Stepping into the doorway, I realized what they were muttering about; left over bottles of vodka, liquor, and beer were lying around the floor and tabletops, and blankets and pillows were scattered around the room.
But what shocked me most of all was who was in my house. It was no one other than Deborah – George's fiancée.
After the shock left my body, I screamed. That should have woken Oliver up, I thought before yelling (not caring about my throbbing head), "What the bloody 'ell are you doing here?"
She paled, looking at me from the toes up, before opening her mouth. Finally, the sound of footsteps thundering down my stairs reached our ears, and seconds later, a messy-haired Oliver appeared, his white button-up not done, and loose on him.
"What's going on, Mione?" he asked, his eyes settling on me, before swinging to Deborah. "How the hell did you get in here?"
"I'm wondering that myself," I agreed, crossing my arms, glaring. When Deborah didn't say anything, I motioned Oliver to the kitchen. "Call George and tell him we've picked up a stray, will you, love?"
Oliver nodded, mutely, before disappearing into the kitchen. I took three steps forward, pushing my face into Deborah's before hissing, "I don't know who you think you are, but breaking and entering is a punishable offence, and I plan on taking this to the police if you don't tell me what you're doing here in three seconds."
Deborah's mouth finally shut with a snap, when Oliver appeared. Finally, she tilted her head up, her nose in the air as she stared me down from the end of her nose.
I let out a shrill scream just as George came through the door, and it took him only a few seconds to catch me around my waist as I launched myself at Deborah. Witch! I thought, snarling.
She watched on with amusement in those eyes, glad that I was making a spectacle of myself. I didn't care. I just had to find out what she was doing in my house, snooping through our things!
George's arms tightened as I tried to yank myself out of his grasp. Instead of telling me to calm down, he turned his eyes on his fiancée. Sapphire glared at nondescript brown, as George asked quietly, "What are you doing here, Deborah?"
She didn't answer at first, so I continue to struggle even as knew it would be futile to leave George's arms. Oliver stood off to one side, watching the chaos around him. He seemed to take particular interest in the way George was holding me.
"Deborah?"
"I'm very sorry," she began, "but Hermione and I were supposed to have breakfast together and then go out shopping. When she didn't answer the door, I tried the knob and found it was unlocked."
"Bullshit!" I screamed, renewing my struggle to wring the bitch's neck. "Where are you getting this??"
"Hermione," growled George, "Let me handle this."
I didn't answer, still struggling but now not as much as before. I wanted to see George take this woman down! What on earth was he thinking when he asked her to marry him?
"I suppose it's because you drank so much last night," sighed Deborah. She wrinkled her nose. "I can smell it from here, you know… and you probably forgot that we spoke about this just before you left yesterday night from Mrs. Weasley's."
"I'd hate to interrupt," said Oliver quietly from his corner, "But that's not true. I was with Hermione as we left, along with Harry, Ron, and Charlie. They agree with me when saying that Hermione was never once alone, or speaking to Debbie by herself."
George nodded at his friend, before raising an eyebrow at his to-be wife. "Well, Deborah? How did you get in here?"
Sniffing, she folded her arms before whining out, "I saw Fred enter through the spare key. I wanted to come here this morning to speak to Hermione."
"About?" I all but sneered.
"Girl stuff," she said flimsily.
"Girl stuff?" I repeated. I started to laugh. "Excuse me, but you're more girl than I am… I just do what my friend says is feminine. I have no knowledge of girly things. Speak to your future sister-in-law if you must, but not I."
Deborah started, but then composed herself. "But I want to spend time with you!"
I blinked stupidly. "What?"
"Yes, with you. How about it? We'll get to know each other so much better. George has been saying so many nice things about you, I feel like we already know each other."
"That is so the oldest line in the book," I muttered. Oliver, off to the side, grinned and chortled jovially before setting himself on the couch, while George slipped his arms away from my waist, sure now that I wouldn't attack.
"Pardon?" she stumbled.
"Look," I began, "You don't like me. And I certainly don't like you. Apparently we're after the same thing, and I intend to kick your ass the whole way there because I will not back down. If you want to pretend that we're 'buddies', go right ahead. But I will not play along with your games."
I finished off by crossing my arms and glaring at her, waiting for her answer.
Finally, her brown eyes hardened, and she commanded, "Gentlemen, will you leave us alone for a moment, please?"
George and Oliver nodded, leaving to the kitchen, but not until I heard George ask, "Think they'll kill each other?" and Oliver reply, "Don't think so, but it would be worth the show to see."
As soon as they left, Deborah moved close to me and hissed, "Listen to me, you little wench – George is mine, rightfully! You may love him, but I claim him as my own, so keep your grubby paws off my man!"
"He's hardly yours until he says, 'I do', Debbie," I sneered deliberately. "So the play is vindicated. Sour grapes to you if you reckon you can't," I mimicked her, "keep your man tied to you – tough bloody luck. The game is in play, and the match is set. The point is all that is needed to win."
I then pointed to the door. "There's the door, and don't let it hit you on the way out. Don't come around here again, or I will call the police without a second's hesitance. Good day."
She nodded stiffly, calling out as she began to leave the living room, "George, darling? We're leaving now."
George and Oliver appeared, the latter seemingly disappointed that there wasn't a catfight, and the former relieved that we weren't hurt.
Nodding at his fiancée, George followed (like a puppy, I snorted) Deborah, pausing long enough to say goodbye to Oliver and to say, "see you later" to me. I smirked at Deborah when he wasn't looking.
She fumed.
Like I said before, I was going to win this fight for George's love, but sooner or later, I would have to tell him. If he said he loved Debbie dearest, then I would pack up and permanently move to Petit Perriou. If he said he loved me… well, that was an entirely different ballgame then.
I need consultation.
Immediately.
--//\\--
"Mercedes, I don't know what to do!" I wailed. There was some static in the background of my long-distance call, but the money was worth it. Mercedes laughed.
"Strangle the little puta," she laughed.
"That wasn't funny," I frowned, trying to not laugh over the phone. I sat in a booth in the Hog's Head by myself, calling a privy day from the boys, and I was sipping a margarita because I damn well wanted to. And because my life seemed to live off of alcohol lately and chocolate. Chocolate was good.
"Yes it was," giggled Mercedes. "Anyways," she continued, "She sounds horribly. Did you ask Fred what George saw in this little mirror reflection?"
"Pardon?" I asked, frowning. Mirror reflection? What was she saying?
"Did you speak to Fred—" she repeated slowly.
"No, no," I waved my hand about, feeling stupid because I knew she couldn't see me, "What did you say after that?"
"The mirror reflection part?"
"Yes."
"Oh, that."
"Oh, that, what?"
"Oh that, because you make her sound that she's you."
"WHAT?" I gasped out, sputtering on my drink. "What to you mean, she's me? We are completely different, Mercedes. I can't believe you ever suggested that!"
"The way you described her, mi amiga," soothed the Spaniards voice. "Brown hair, brown eyes, lithe figure… doesn't that sound remarkably like you, hmm?"
"You mean… George…" I trailed off. Mercedes filled in the blanks for me.
"George picked Deborah to be his wife because she reminded him of you… mi dios, Hermione, this man is head over heels. I almost feel sorry for Deborah. She can't compete with you, since you've had George's love from the beginning."
Two words swum through my brain when Mercedes finished speaking:
Oh my.
GLOSSARY:
Puta – whore
Mi amiga – my friend, feminine
Mi dios – my God
AN: Another chapter – Oooh… can't you just feel the tension? **grins** Leave a review and tell me what you think!
