And now, friends, the moment you've all been waiting for - the Harry
reaction. I've been listening to a lot of Radiohead lately, and not the
friendly proto-emo of The Bends, so this might be a little more abrupt and
a little more violent, but who doesn't want to see my Harry get it?
Honestly, if I could think of a way to do it, I would've killed his ass off
three chapters ago. Six, even.
Okay, rant over. Apologies that this isn't OotP compliant, alas, because I've mentioned the twins leaving Hogwarts in the last few years in a chapter passed. So, m'bad. I'm so not going back and fixing it. I'm laaaaazy.
I'm really looking forward to writing this. Jazzed up to do it, even. And, furthermore, I'm really super-looking forward to all of you showing me some love even though I've been gone forever. Honestly, you can ask, I've been moping because I just couldn't get anything to happen with my creative processes. It's all been blocked - no working on the collection of short stories, no painting, no guitar. I'm begging and pleading for your forgiveness. It's divine, you know. And look for updates on my other stuff, too, and email me if you're interested in a girl to write a story about you or play some blues at your next party. *grin*
Anyway, no sleep 'til chapter eight, right, ladies and gents?
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8
"yeah, no one likes a smart ass, but we all like stars"
-radiohead, "myxomatosis"
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8
Hermione wove her way out of the party, ducking and weaving through the crowds of people laughing and drinking and generally having a good time. Heeding George's warning, she moved quickly as to avoid another confrontation with The-Boy-Who-Snogged-And-Ran and get home in time to get some sleep before her huge day tomorrow. Which she couldn't get out of her mind. She still couldn't believe that George Weasley was magically bound to accompany her to a potions reception, basically, and that he'd responded favorably when she had impulsively hugged him.
Alas, it wasn't meant to be, apparently, due to the hand that reached out and grabbed her shoulder from behind in a semi-deserted hallway. Fred and George really had created a rather labyrinthine house and she had somehow gotten turned around. Sure that it was a well-meaning friend trying to catch her to say goodbye, she pivoted with a vague smile on her face to cover the bit of annoyance she was feeling at being interrupted during her escape and musings.
Only to come face to face with the absolute last person she wanted to run into.
Harry Potter was, once again, looking rather drunk, the same glossy sheen to his normally bright green eyes, making them look positively luminescent, the same vague odor of alcohol. Hermione took a quick look around, just to see who was around and found to her dismay, that Susan, by virtue of not being attached to Harry's side, had apparently already left the party. That was one hope of rescue gone. And most of the party was already settled into a location for drinks and chatting for the rest of the evening, as these things often do. So that was another avenue of escape gone. She had just decided to brazen it out and brush him off when Harry opened his mouth first.
"'Mione, you're looking good. Who put that sparkle in your eyes tonight, sweet girl?"
Hermione looked at the hand he still hadn't removed from her shoulder pointedly and removed it before speaking. "Harry, how are you?"
He leered at her. "Obviously not as good as you are tonight. C'mon, who is it? Malfoy? No, he's here with Ginny. Can't wait until the Weasleys break his legs for that. Longbottom? I saw 'im around here somewhere. Bloke like that's your speed."
Hermione gasped at the sheer audacity of his statement. "My speed, Harry? "My speed"? What is that supposed to mean? And don't you say a word about Draco to me. Ever."
"Umm," Harry stalled, possibly realizing a bit late that he'd gone too far, "Neville's a nice guy, Hermione. Safe. Couldn't break your heart with a hammer, 'Mione. It'd take someone special to do that." And he puffed out his chest a little. "But even I can notice that you're a right bird these days. Something had to cause that. You certainly weren't before. A little extra motivation, maybe?"
Hermione, for her part, was steadily becoming more and more outraged. She was actually a breath away from reaching for her wand. He realized what he'd done to her earlier this summer, the bloody git. He knew he'd broken her heart, and here he was taunting her with it. This, obviously, was not the Harry she'd known, she couldn't believe the things he was saying and therefore, she had no problem with her next action.
Taking one step back, she half-turned from him. "Harry? I'm going to go now. When you decide to pull your head out of the bottle and come back up with the rest of us, I'll be here. Maybe. I'm not quite sure I can forgive you for what you just said, flimsy Firewhisky excuse or not. In fact, I'm going to have to say that I'll be in touch, no need to bother, Potter."
Having said that she turned around again, intending to continue her walk out the door. She was stunned when once again, Harry stopped her, this time with a hand a little firmer on her shoulder. She started twitching her hand towards where her wand was, but stopped, remembering all the times she'd told him and Ron not to resort to violence. Her patience was being sorely tested, but she couldn't actually hex him. It was still Harry and she was still very powerful. And he was drunk and it wouldn't be fair. She wouldn't, couldn't, curse him. So she simply turned back to him again. She couldn't believe his nerve.
"Harry, take your hand off of me. I have a busy day tomorrow and I need to go home and sleep."
"Oh, this is fine. Hermione Granger, telling me she doesn't have time. If I told you Susan and I were over, wouldn't you have some time? Sweetheart, I promise you I'm a lot better than your current options. Anyone's options, really. Ask Witch Weekly."
"That's it! You are the stupidest, most selfish person I know! What happened to you? What is wrong with you? You're a drunk and you've been trading in on being the great Harry Potter since we graduated. Before we graduated. You used to have some dignity, something better than this! And you're. . .you're propositioning me like I'm some common Quidditch groupie! Harry James Potter, I was your best friend for seven years. And I don't care if you are Harry Potter, dammit, because I'm Hermione Granger! No girl should have to deal with this and I am certainly not going to." She tilted her chin defiantly, daring him to say more.
"Oh, 'Mione, my best friends these days are Ron, whisky and Susan, in that order. You were handy, but you just don't understand anymore."
That was the last thing she could possibly take. She didn't notice the small group of people who had been attracted by the noise she had made during her tirade. Neither one of them did, actually, both concentrating on the other. It was like an old-fashioned Malfoy-Weasley showdown, except it was Harry, who used to be her Harry, wearing that ugly smirk that Malfoy had traded out for a smile. She almost couldn't breathe, she was so angry. Her much-touted brain was having a hard time registering the things she was hearing out of the mouth of her former best friend, much less figuring out how to react to them. She did the first thing she could think of, which was stop thinking and figure out how to just get away, successfully this time.
She was going into the swift motion that would result in her wand being out, realizing that Harry was too drunk to see it coming and hoping to cast a sobriety charm (she still remembered how quickly it'd gotten rid of him last time), when a hand stilled her arm and a body inserted itself into the situation. She angrily pulled her arm out of the grasp of whomever was attempting to come to her rescue when she looked up to see. . .it was George. And he was giving her a significant look, one that said to back off, that he would take care of this.
How inappropriate, she thought, before wondering how he had gotten there. Looking around, she noticed a small crowd had gathered. How terrible, that the last of her friendship with Harry had to be played out in front of this audience. By tomorrow morning, it'd be on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Not for the first time, Hermione wished she weren't newsworthy, that Harry wasn't newsworthy. She briefly wondered at the consequences of this at her new place of employment before deciding that she'd pull a trick she'd learned from Dumbledore and brazen her way through it. In the meantime, she had to make a decision. Let George Weasley, of all people, be the knight to her apparent damsel, or curse Harry Potter unrecognizable. She was angry, but not that angry, she realized, standing up, dropping her wand hand, empty, to her side. George would handle this in a diplomatic fashion and, as a guest, she really should cede the situation to her host. Cocking her head at George, she dropped her eyelids, causing her eyelashes to sweep gracefully over her cheeks, signifying her wordless acceptance of his assistance. It was a still nod, confirming that she trusted him enough to get her out of this situation.
George, for his part, had been worried something like this might happen and had been in motion the second he heard the first whispers of an issue beginning to drift through the party like so much flame. Hermione was certainly by no means incapable of handling herself, but he wasn't sure he trusted the new Harry to handle the situation well. He'd been talking quietly to Ginny, Malfoy having gone to the loo, when Fred had come up to him and mentioned that perhaps one of them should go check on the situation developing in their hallway because rumor had it that Hermione was involved and Harry was there. Actually, what Fred had said, exactly, was that he was giving his brother first shot at whichever git was harassing his girl because Harry was probably too cabbaged to deal with whatever was the problem.
Not taking the time to correct his brother's misuse of the term, he had turned away from his little sister in an instant, flowing through the party to get to where the whispers seemed to be coming from. He completely missed the look that passed between his other siblings in his haste to find out what the problem was and solve it before the Ministry showed up again. The groups had gotten quieter and quieter as he sped through their maze of a house and he was getting more and more worried. He realized the one thing that his brother didn't - as opposed to Harry simply being unable to deal with whatever was happening, he probably was the cause of it. And he remembered the broken Hermione he'd seen in her bedroom, all the fire in her cinnamon eyes dampened by the boy who was consistently losing George's respect. By the time he reached the place where the altercation was happening, quickly moving through the witches and wizards who were stepping aside to let the host deal with the problem, he'd decided that he was going to banish Harry to someplace cold where they didn't have Quidditch. Russia was an ideal spot, he thought to himself, grimly appraising the situation.
Harry and Hermione were in a hallway, Hermione was looking angry, as opposed to upset. Part of him wanted to cheer and the other part of him knew that things must be really bad. Hermione had always been like this with Ron, but never, not ever, with Harry, unless it was in that well- meaning fashion she used in attempts to get him to realize something. Furthermore, George heard the last thing Harry had said to Hermione and realized that the assembled crowd, who were all trying to look like they just happened to be there, had gasped at his harsh words. Frankly, George was shocked. Harry never used to be this vindictive. He could only begin to imagine what Harry had said to Hermione earlier. It made him angry, more than angry, but he was the calmer of the two. He was almost thankful for his brother's misconception. Fred would've been too shocked to do anything and then he would've restrained Harry in a less-than-friendly manner. George was going to at least attempt to handle this in a family manner, getting Harry out of the public eye before he took a strip out of him.
In the split second after he'd gotten there, though, and decided he was glad he was taking care of the situation, it almost looked like it was going to get out of hand. He recognized the same motion Hermione had used in her bedroom and realized he had to move quickly to get to her before she got it out. She had quick reflexes, his Hermione (no time to wonder where that came from, he mentally chided himself) did. So he had to move quicker, calling upon his Quidditch-trained reflexes to get between her and the bludger, so to speak. Moving forward, he placed a gently restraining arm on her wrist, attempting to communicate that he was here to help and that he didn't blame her for wanting to kill Harry right now, or at least permanently disfigure him. He wasn't sure he managed to communicate that in a single touch, but he did know Harry was going to be doing a lot of "product testing" in the future.
He almost sighed out loud when she came up without her wand, he was so relieved. Hermione was upset and clever and could've really done some damage that she would regret later. He was also proud that Hermione, the most capable person he knew, the smartest witch any of them knew, this clever girl. . .well, he couldn't get out of hand, here, he had other things to deal with. But, as it was, she'd let him take over for her. She'd placed her trust in his hands. Now he had to figure out a way to take care of this, of her. Noticing his twin had moved into the area, he exchanged a significant look with him after tearing his eyes away from Hermione's rapidly calming expression. It was easy to be fascinated with the way her high color just seemed to be melting off her face like so much running paint. Fred seemed to get the message he'd been trying to send to him with just that glance and moved off. Sometimes he swore that he and his closest sibling shared a brain, they thought so much alike once in a while.
Being reassured that Harry would soon be taken home and either beat or tucked into bed after some tearful recriminations, depending on who Fred got on the Floo or found at the party. Either way, Harry was leaving. And someone was coming who would get him to do it without a fight. He just had to keep him busy until that person got there. Right. He could do that.
"Harry, old chum! What's this? You and Hermione practicing? The battle's been long over, as I know you know." George chuckled, his eyes boring into Harry's, sending him telepathic messages to back off.
Harry looked a bit shifty for a moment, then seemed to notice the crowd. His thoughts, though a lot blurrier, were in the same vein as Hermione's. The last thing he needed was to get called into the manager's office again. Harry Potter harassing a girl, his female former best friend, no less, was sure to make the papers. Best to minimize the damage, then, and talk to her later. No, forget that. He didn't need Hermione Granger. All she'd been doing was riding along with him. He didn't need anyone but Old Ogden and Susan. And Ron, he belatedly added in his drunken haze. He hadn't really been spending that much time with Ron this summer, since Ron actually had to work and Harry didn't. He still stopped by the store, but got tired of being drafted to help. George had been particularly insistent that Harry help test products lately, which he wasn't too fond of.
He finally pulled himself out of his reverie long enough to put on his most charming grin and look around. "It's always good to be prepared, you know."
"Yes," George started, "but surely you can find less attractive targets to work on than the divine Miss Granger." He winked to the crowd, tipping his eyes to where a blush was just starting to form on Hermione's face and then sliding them just as quickly back to her, silently saying to play along.
Harry started to open his mouth and then closed it as he saw the look that passed between Hermione and George. He may have had a few drinks, but he wasn't stupid. So this was what was happening. George. George Weasley was why Hermione was looking so good lately. She'd never had that sparkle for him, that's for sure.
Never mind that he hadn't deserved it. The thought simply didn't occur to Harry and then Ron was there, taking him by the arm and the moment was gone before he could do much than smile boyishly at his former and current friends. It was a smile that he traded on regularly, his "everything's okay, I'm Harry Potter, I have the scar" smile. Hermione noted it sadly. He never used to be like this, she repeated to herself. But she couldn't change it and it wasn't her fault, and the best thing she could do was toddle off and never look back. She should send him a note thanking him for seven, no, six years, she thought to herself, hardly noticing that Ron was leading Harry off until she noticed Alison, Caitlin and George were surrounding her, looking concerned. Alison and Caitlin were talking a mile a minute in sharp tones but George was just looking at her.
". . .can't believe he would do such a thing!" That was Alison, looking for all the world like she was going to go after Harry herself.
"I know. I don't care how famous you are or how many baddies you've beaten. He had no right." Caitlin looked just as scandalized.
Both of them realized belatedly that Hermione was still among them and turned to her, clucking over her pale face and the tired look that had suddenly appeared on her face as the adrenaline levels in her body dropped.
"Oh, sweetie, let me walk you home. I can walk you to the building and then come back." Alison was looking directly at the exhausted girl now, examining her closely for any signs of trauma.
For the first time since getting rid of Harry for the moment, George spoke, looking tired. "No, I'll take her. You have a date and I believe that Oliver changed his mind and decided to come after all, Caitlin. I can walk Hermione home."
And over all three girls' protests, he proceeded to do just that. Sketching a gallant bow to Hermione, who had been saying she could see her own way home, he took her by the arm and led her away from the two girls. Neither of them spoke until they were out the door, having been given a respectable distance by the other partygoers, who were noticeably quieter.
"You know, George, you're still a trickster and I still don't know what you're going to do half the time, but you handled that really well. Thank you."
George, not thinking of much beyond the fact that Hermione had tucked her hand into his arm in a companionable manner, responded in a quiet voice. "Oh, 'Mione, it was the least I could do. I'm still, I think, the only one who knows about earlier this summer. I'm just sorry that had to happen."
Hermione looked up at George appraisingly. "I still can't believe that this is you, you know. I keep waiting for you to throw a dungbomb at me."
"Nah," he grinned at her, "I only do that to the girls I really like."
"So you don't really like me?"
Hermione instantly regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. She didn't mean to say them, but she was tired and her guard was down. She simply hadn't thought before she spoke, which was possibly the second time she'd ever done that. Honestly. That kind of blatant searching was for the likes of Lavender and Pavarti. It definitely wasn't her style. On the other hand, she mused, it wasn't like she had a style. Maybe she could develop one.
George watched the play of emotions across her face and decided to wait a bit. Fortunately, they were at Dumbledore Park. "Hrm. It would appear that we're ready to Apparate to Puddlemere, my 'Mione." And with that, he simply sent them both spinning through space to reappear at the Apparation point in Puddlemere.
Both of them walked in silence for a while, until they were almost to her house. Hermione had a nervous air about her, like a string that had been pulled too taut. He couldn't resist, though. A few times she seemed like she was about to speak, but didn't. Seeing Hermione discomfited like this was almost worth it. Besides, he'd put her mind to ease. They were actually turning onto the tree-lined street that her building was on when Hermione broke the silence.
"I seem," she said a little sardonically, "to be a bit more exhausted than I thought I was. That was rather forward of me."
George smiled and then swung her around so that he could place both his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. She froze a little, at first, nervous at the contact, and then relaxed.
"Nonsense, 'Mione. It was a question. I have an answer."
And with that, he did the only thing he could think to do, the thing that he'd been thinking about since she'd hugged him. She wanted to know if he really liked her. Well, before he started thinking about how lucky he was that she seemed to care about the fact, he'd have to do something about it. Loosening the hug, he drew back a bit.
Just enough to change the angle of their bodies so he could press his lips to hers easily. And Hermione didn't even think about it. Later she would wonder if it was because she was tired or because George had come to her rescue or because she was just starved for affection. And the answer would be the same as the sensation she felt now. That George was right for her, period. That she felt comfortable with him. That she had no reputation to uphold around him, that she'd known him forever, that he was sweet and funny and kind. It was partially because she was tired and her defenses were rapidly disappearing - she just wasn't as scared as she normally would've been. It was because George had come to her rescue. He hadn't needed to do that, and sure it was just as much for his sake as hers. But the look on his face when he had looked down at her didn't say "I'm trying not to have Aurors knock on my door tonight", it said "Let me help you." And the fact that she had let him didn't hurt matters. She just had this weird innate trust in him.
But for now there was just the night and a light breeze and the moon shining down on a quiet Puddlemere street where two people seemed to be joined at all the important points. Her arms were draped around his neck, his hands at her waist. It was a classic pose, and neither of them felt the least bit conscious of it. Nothing that felt this easy could be anything else.
When they finally broke apart after what seemed like forever, they were both smiling. George had a wide grin on his face and Hermione a dreamy sort of smile. She actually reached a slender hand up to touch her lips.
"That really happened, didn't it?"
"Yeah. Much better than dungbombs, in my opinion. This is what I do for girls I really really like."
The teasing seemed to draw the sleepy Hermione back to the situation and she raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I suppose I'm in a long string of them, then." And she faked a deliberate sigh before smiling up at him and turning to open the door to her building.
"Don't go fishing, Miss Granger. After all, you won't see them. Much." If possible, his grin got broader at her small snort. He couldn't see if she was smiling, as she was walking up the stairs in front of him, but he heard the warm tones of her voice that indicated he would if the angle was different.
"Tomorrow. We should talk tomorrow, then." She seemed reluctant to be the voice of reasons, but was cognizant of the fact that they were standing in her hallway the night before her introduction to all of her future peers. And that if they stayed there, she could possibly have a long night ahead of her. "I have to be Hermione Granger, after all, so I need some sleep. Brain sleep, my dad used to say. . ."
George, for his part, was relieved to see that she had a sense of humor about the expectations that came along with being one third of the Dream Team, as opposed to Harry and Ron, who let it go straight to their heads.
"Funny, I thought I could try being Hermione Granger tomorrow." He affected a high-pitched voice, playfully mocking her. "I'm bloody brilliant, didn't you know?"
"Ha, ha. I am not amused." He smiled at the fact that she wasn't angry and then sighed as she put up a hand to hide the yawn that stretched her delicate features and her expression turned serious. "We will talk tomorrow, then. But I have to go now. And you should get back to your party."
"I know, I know. Good night, fair princess." And once again, he sketched a bow and this time, kissed her hand. He didn't realize it, but he was unconsciously answering the question Hermione had asked herself mere days ago. All he knew was that she seemed to smile like he had given her the right question to a problem she'd presented him as a test.
"Good night, George. Thanks again. I'll see you tomorrow. Besides, don't you know you can't be the princess and the witch?" He looked confused and she almost explained but the moment passed when she tipped her face up a little, to look straight into his eyes and he couldn't help dropping a kiss onto her upturned nose. Smiling, he indicated that she should open her door and step inside.
She did and turned for a moment, looking strangely elfin, with her slight nose and big brown eyes and luminous smile. She tipped her head at him sleepily.
"I'm glad you won the fight. One more thing - was Oliver really there?"
George immediately recognized that she was talking about the minor battle over who would take her home and smiled. "Pure intimidation. And the Oliver thing. So I guess a few lies." The smile slid straight into a broad, slightly lopsided, grin.
"That's horrible. Good thinking. Sweet dreams."
"You, too. I'll be here at five."
"Make it four and I'll throw in some pre-banquet snacks. The food at these things is always awful."
"Deal." And George reached out and touched her cheek, softly, quickly.
She looked up at him and smiled before closing the door.
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It's now five a.m.. Look how devoted I am. This may not be as carefully checked because I don't really beta and I'm far too tired and too eager to get this out to you, my beloved fans (ha, I do love you, but that sure was arrogant of me to assume), as soon as possible. Sorry this was mostly description, but there was action. And a smooch! A real smooch! No good post-smooch thing, except for maybe some witty rapport. Am I making my George too good? I don't think so. Okay. Let me know.
Anyway, post-kiss reactions next chapter. It's time for bed for this happy author.
Okay, rant over. Apologies that this isn't OotP compliant, alas, because I've mentioned the twins leaving Hogwarts in the last few years in a chapter passed. So, m'bad. I'm so not going back and fixing it. I'm laaaaazy.
I'm really looking forward to writing this. Jazzed up to do it, even. And, furthermore, I'm really super-looking forward to all of you showing me some love even though I've been gone forever. Honestly, you can ask, I've been moping because I just couldn't get anything to happen with my creative processes. It's all been blocked - no working on the collection of short stories, no painting, no guitar. I'm begging and pleading for your forgiveness. It's divine, you know. And look for updates on my other stuff, too, and email me if you're interested in a girl to write a story about you or play some blues at your next party. *grin*
Anyway, no sleep 'til chapter eight, right, ladies and gents?
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8
"yeah, no one likes a smart ass, but we all like stars"
-radiohead, "myxomatosis"
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8
Hermione wove her way out of the party, ducking and weaving through the crowds of people laughing and drinking and generally having a good time. Heeding George's warning, she moved quickly as to avoid another confrontation with The-Boy-Who-Snogged-And-Ran and get home in time to get some sleep before her huge day tomorrow. Which she couldn't get out of her mind. She still couldn't believe that George Weasley was magically bound to accompany her to a potions reception, basically, and that he'd responded favorably when she had impulsively hugged him.
Alas, it wasn't meant to be, apparently, due to the hand that reached out and grabbed her shoulder from behind in a semi-deserted hallway. Fred and George really had created a rather labyrinthine house and she had somehow gotten turned around. Sure that it was a well-meaning friend trying to catch her to say goodbye, she pivoted with a vague smile on her face to cover the bit of annoyance she was feeling at being interrupted during her escape and musings.
Only to come face to face with the absolute last person she wanted to run into.
Harry Potter was, once again, looking rather drunk, the same glossy sheen to his normally bright green eyes, making them look positively luminescent, the same vague odor of alcohol. Hermione took a quick look around, just to see who was around and found to her dismay, that Susan, by virtue of not being attached to Harry's side, had apparently already left the party. That was one hope of rescue gone. And most of the party was already settled into a location for drinks and chatting for the rest of the evening, as these things often do. So that was another avenue of escape gone. She had just decided to brazen it out and brush him off when Harry opened his mouth first.
"'Mione, you're looking good. Who put that sparkle in your eyes tonight, sweet girl?"
Hermione looked at the hand he still hadn't removed from her shoulder pointedly and removed it before speaking. "Harry, how are you?"
He leered at her. "Obviously not as good as you are tonight. C'mon, who is it? Malfoy? No, he's here with Ginny. Can't wait until the Weasleys break his legs for that. Longbottom? I saw 'im around here somewhere. Bloke like that's your speed."
Hermione gasped at the sheer audacity of his statement. "My speed, Harry? "My speed"? What is that supposed to mean? And don't you say a word about Draco to me. Ever."
"Umm," Harry stalled, possibly realizing a bit late that he'd gone too far, "Neville's a nice guy, Hermione. Safe. Couldn't break your heart with a hammer, 'Mione. It'd take someone special to do that." And he puffed out his chest a little. "But even I can notice that you're a right bird these days. Something had to cause that. You certainly weren't before. A little extra motivation, maybe?"
Hermione, for her part, was steadily becoming more and more outraged. She was actually a breath away from reaching for her wand. He realized what he'd done to her earlier this summer, the bloody git. He knew he'd broken her heart, and here he was taunting her with it. This, obviously, was not the Harry she'd known, she couldn't believe the things he was saying and therefore, she had no problem with her next action.
Taking one step back, she half-turned from him. "Harry? I'm going to go now. When you decide to pull your head out of the bottle and come back up with the rest of us, I'll be here. Maybe. I'm not quite sure I can forgive you for what you just said, flimsy Firewhisky excuse or not. In fact, I'm going to have to say that I'll be in touch, no need to bother, Potter."
Having said that she turned around again, intending to continue her walk out the door. She was stunned when once again, Harry stopped her, this time with a hand a little firmer on her shoulder. She started twitching her hand towards where her wand was, but stopped, remembering all the times she'd told him and Ron not to resort to violence. Her patience was being sorely tested, but she couldn't actually hex him. It was still Harry and she was still very powerful. And he was drunk and it wouldn't be fair. She wouldn't, couldn't, curse him. So she simply turned back to him again. She couldn't believe his nerve.
"Harry, take your hand off of me. I have a busy day tomorrow and I need to go home and sleep."
"Oh, this is fine. Hermione Granger, telling me she doesn't have time. If I told you Susan and I were over, wouldn't you have some time? Sweetheart, I promise you I'm a lot better than your current options. Anyone's options, really. Ask Witch Weekly."
"That's it! You are the stupidest, most selfish person I know! What happened to you? What is wrong with you? You're a drunk and you've been trading in on being the great Harry Potter since we graduated. Before we graduated. You used to have some dignity, something better than this! And you're. . .you're propositioning me like I'm some common Quidditch groupie! Harry James Potter, I was your best friend for seven years. And I don't care if you are Harry Potter, dammit, because I'm Hermione Granger! No girl should have to deal with this and I am certainly not going to." She tilted her chin defiantly, daring him to say more.
"Oh, 'Mione, my best friends these days are Ron, whisky and Susan, in that order. You were handy, but you just don't understand anymore."
That was the last thing she could possibly take. She didn't notice the small group of people who had been attracted by the noise she had made during her tirade. Neither one of them did, actually, both concentrating on the other. It was like an old-fashioned Malfoy-Weasley showdown, except it was Harry, who used to be her Harry, wearing that ugly smirk that Malfoy had traded out for a smile. She almost couldn't breathe, she was so angry. Her much-touted brain was having a hard time registering the things she was hearing out of the mouth of her former best friend, much less figuring out how to react to them. She did the first thing she could think of, which was stop thinking and figure out how to just get away, successfully this time.
She was going into the swift motion that would result in her wand being out, realizing that Harry was too drunk to see it coming and hoping to cast a sobriety charm (she still remembered how quickly it'd gotten rid of him last time), when a hand stilled her arm and a body inserted itself into the situation. She angrily pulled her arm out of the grasp of whomever was attempting to come to her rescue when she looked up to see. . .it was George. And he was giving her a significant look, one that said to back off, that he would take care of this.
How inappropriate, she thought, before wondering how he had gotten there. Looking around, she noticed a small crowd had gathered. How terrible, that the last of her friendship with Harry had to be played out in front of this audience. By tomorrow morning, it'd be on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Not for the first time, Hermione wished she weren't newsworthy, that Harry wasn't newsworthy. She briefly wondered at the consequences of this at her new place of employment before deciding that she'd pull a trick she'd learned from Dumbledore and brazen her way through it. In the meantime, she had to make a decision. Let George Weasley, of all people, be the knight to her apparent damsel, or curse Harry Potter unrecognizable. She was angry, but not that angry, she realized, standing up, dropping her wand hand, empty, to her side. George would handle this in a diplomatic fashion and, as a guest, she really should cede the situation to her host. Cocking her head at George, she dropped her eyelids, causing her eyelashes to sweep gracefully over her cheeks, signifying her wordless acceptance of his assistance. It was a still nod, confirming that she trusted him enough to get her out of this situation.
George, for his part, had been worried something like this might happen and had been in motion the second he heard the first whispers of an issue beginning to drift through the party like so much flame. Hermione was certainly by no means incapable of handling herself, but he wasn't sure he trusted the new Harry to handle the situation well. He'd been talking quietly to Ginny, Malfoy having gone to the loo, when Fred had come up to him and mentioned that perhaps one of them should go check on the situation developing in their hallway because rumor had it that Hermione was involved and Harry was there. Actually, what Fred had said, exactly, was that he was giving his brother first shot at whichever git was harassing his girl because Harry was probably too cabbaged to deal with whatever was the problem.
Not taking the time to correct his brother's misuse of the term, he had turned away from his little sister in an instant, flowing through the party to get to where the whispers seemed to be coming from. He completely missed the look that passed between his other siblings in his haste to find out what the problem was and solve it before the Ministry showed up again. The groups had gotten quieter and quieter as he sped through their maze of a house and he was getting more and more worried. He realized the one thing that his brother didn't - as opposed to Harry simply being unable to deal with whatever was happening, he probably was the cause of it. And he remembered the broken Hermione he'd seen in her bedroom, all the fire in her cinnamon eyes dampened by the boy who was consistently losing George's respect. By the time he reached the place where the altercation was happening, quickly moving through the witches and wizards who were stepping aside to let the host deal with the problem, he'd decided that he was going to banish Harry to someplace cold where they didn't have Quidditch. Russia was an ideal spot, he thought to himself, grimly appraising the situation.
Harry and Hermione were in a hallway, Hermione was looking angry, as opposed to upset. Part of him wanted to cheer and the other part of him knew that things must be really bad. Hermione had always been like this with Ron, but never, not ever, with Harry, unless it was in that well- meaning fashion she used in attempts to get him to realize something. Furthermore, George heard the last thing Harry had said to Hermione and realized that the assembled crowd, who were all trying to look like they just happened to be there, had gasped at his harsh words. Frankly, George was shocked. Harry never used to be this vindictive. He could only begin to imagine what Harry had said to Hermione earlier. It made him angry, more than angry, but he was the calmer of the two. He was almost thankful for his brother's misconception. Fred would've been too shocked to do anything and then he would've restrained Harry in a less-than-friendly manner. George was going to at least attempt to handle this in a family manner, getting Harry out of the public eye before he took a strip out of him.
In the split second after he'd gotten there, though, and decided he was glad he was taking care of the situation, it almost looked like it was going to get out of hand. He recognized the same motion Hermione had used in her bedroom and realized he had to move quickly to get to her before she got it out. She had quick reflexes, his Hermione (no time to wonder where that came from, he mentally chided himself) did. So he had to move quicker, calling upon his Quidditch-trained reflexes to get between her and the bludger, so to speak. Moving forward, he placed a gently restraining arm on her wrist, attempting to communicate that he was here to help and that he didn't blame her for wanting to kill Harry right now, or at least permanently disfigure him. He wasn't sure he managed to communicate that in a single touch, but he did know Harry was going to be doing a lot of "product testing" in the future.
He almost sighed out loud when she came up without her wand, he was so relieved. Hermione was upset and clever and could've really done some damage that she would regret later. He was also proud that Hermione, the most capable person he knew, the smartest witch any of them knew, this clever girl. . .well, he couldn't get out of hand, here, he had other things to deal with. But, as it was, she'd let him take over for her. She'd placed her trust in his hands. Now he had to figure out a way to take care of this, of her. Noticing his twin had moved into the area, he exchanged a significant look with him after tearing his eyes away from Hermione's rapidly calming expression. It was easy to be fascinated with the way her high color just seemed to be melting off her face like so much running paint. Fred seemed to get the message he'd been trying to send to him with just that glance and moved off. Sometimes he swore that he and his closest sibling shared a brain, they thought so much alike once in a while.
Being reassured that Harry would soon be taken home and either beat or tucked into bed after some tearful recriminations, depending on who Fred got on the Floo or found at the party. Either way, Harry was leaving. And someone was coming who would get him to do it without a fight. He just had to keep him busy until that person got there. Right. He could do that.
"Harry, old chum! What's this? You and Hermione practicing? The battle's been long over, as I know you know." George chuckled, his eyes boring into Harry's, sending him telepathic messages to back off.
Harry looked a bit shifty for a moment, then seemed to notice the crowd. His thoughts, though a lot blurrier, were in the same vein as Hermione's. The last thing he needed was to get called into the manager's office again. Harry Potter harassing a girl, his female former best friend, no less, was sure to make the papers. Best to minimize the damage, then, and talk to her later. No, forget that. He didn't need Hermione Granger. All she'd been doing was riding along with him. He didn't need anyone but Old Ogden and Susan. And Ron, he belatedly added in his drunken haze. He hadn't really been spending that much time with Ron this summer, since Ron actually had to work and Harry didn't. He still stopped by the store, but got tired of being drafted to help. George had been particularly insistent that Harry help test products lately, which he wasn't too fond of.
He finally pulled himself out of his reverie long enough to put on his most charming grin and look around. "It's always good to be prepared, you know."
"Yes," George started, "but surely you can find less attractive targets to work on than the divine Miss Granger." He winked to the crowd, tipping his eyes to where a blush was just starting to form on Hermione's face and then sliding them just as quickly back to her, silently saying to play along.
Harry started to open his mouth and then closed it as he saw the look that passed between Hermione and George. He may have had a few drinks, but he wasn't stupid. So this was what was happening. George. George Weasley was why Hermione was looking so good lately. She'd never had that sparkle for him, that's for sure.
Never mind that he hadn't deserved it. The thought simply didn't occur to Harry and then Ron was there, taking him by the arm and the moment was gone before he could do much than smile boyishly at his former and current friends. It was a smile that he traded on regularly, his "everything's okay, I'm Harry Potter, I have the scar" smile. Hermione noted it sadly. He never used to be like this, she repeated to herself. But she couldn't change it and it wasn't her fault, and the best thing she could do was toddle off and never look back. She should send him a note thanking him for seven, no, six years, she thought to herself, hardly noticing that Ron was leading Harry off until she noticed Alison, Caitlin and George were surrounding her, looking concerned. Alison and Caitlin were talking a mile a minute in sharp tones but George was just looking at her.
". . .can't believe he would do such a thing!" That was Alison, looking for all the world like she was going to go after Harry herself.
"I know. I don't care how famous you are or how many baddies you've beaten. He had no right." Caitlin looked just as scandalized.
Both of them realized belatedly that Hermione was still among them and turned to her, clucking over her pale face and the tired look that had suddenly appeared on her face as the adrenaline levels in her body dropped.
"Oh, sweetie, let me walk you home. I can walk you to the building and then come back." Alison was looking directly at the exhausted girl now, examining her closely for any signs of trauma.
For the first time since getting rid of Harry for the moment, George spoke, looking tired. "No, I'll take her. You have a date and I believe that Oliver changed his mind and decided to come after all, Caitlin. I can walk Hermione home."
And over all three girls' protests, he proceeded to do just that. Sketching a gallant bow to Hermione, who had been saying she could see her own way home, he took her by the arm and led her away from the two girls. Neither of them spoke until they were out the door, having been given a respectable distance by the other partygoers, who were noticeably quieter.
"You know, George, you're still a trickster and I still don't know what you're going to do half the time, but you handled that really well. Thank you."
George, not thinking of much beyond the fact that Hermione had tucked her hand into his arm in a companionable manner, responded in a quiet voice. "Oh, 'Mione, it was the least I could do. I'm still, I think, the only one who knows about earlier this summer. I'm just sorry that had to happen."
Hermione looked up at George appraisingly. "I still can't believe that this is you, you know. I keep waiting for you to throw a dungbomb at me."
"Nah," he grinned at her, "I only do that to the girls I really like."
"So you don't really like me?"
Hermione instantly regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. She didn't mean to say them, but she was tired and her guard was down. She simply hadn't thought before she spoke, which was possibly the second time she'd ever done that. Honestly. That kind of blatant searching was for the likes of Lavender and Pavarti. It definitely wasn't her style. On the other hand, she mused, it wasn't like she had a style. Maybe she could develop one.
George watched the play of emotions across her face and decided to wait a bit. Fortunately, they were at Dumbledore Park. "Hrm. It would appear that we're ready to Apparate to Puddlemere, my 'Mione." And with that, he simply sent them both spinning through space to reappear at the Apparation point in Puddlemere.
Both of them walked in silence for a while, until they were almost to her house. Hermione had a nervous air about her, like a string that had been pulled too taut. He couldn't resist, though. A few times she seemed like she was about to speak, but didn't. Seeing Hermione discomfited like this was almost worth it. Besides, he'd put her mind to ease. They were actually turning onto the tree-lined street that her building was on when Hermione broke the silence.
"I seem," she said a little sardonically, "to be a bit more exhausted than I thought I was. That was rather forward of me."
George smiled and then swung her around so that he could place both his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. She froze a little, at first, nervous at the contact, and then relaxed.
"Nonsense, 'Mione. It was a question. I have an answer."
And with that, he did the only thing he could think to do, the thing that he'd been thinking about since she'd hugged him. She wanted to know if he really liked her. Well, before he started thinking about how lucky he was that she seemed to care about the fact, he'd have to do something about it. Loosening the hug, he drew back a bit.
Just enough to change the angle of their bodies so he could press his lips to hers easily. And Hermione didn't even think about it. Later she would wonder if it was because she was tired or because George had come to her rescue or because she was just starved for affection. And the answer would be the same as the sensation she felt now. That George was right for her, period. That she felt comfortable with him. That she had no reputation to uphold around him, that she'd known him forever, that he was sweet and funny and kind. It was partially because she was tired and her defenses were rapidly disappearing - she just wasn't as scared as she normally would've been. It was because George had come to her rescue. He hadn't needed to do that, and sure it was just as much for his sake as hers. But the look on his face when he had looked down at her didn't say "I'm trying not to have Aurors knock on my door tonight", it said "Let me help you." And the fact that she had let him didn't hurt matters. She just had this weird innate trust in him.
But for now there was just the night and a light breeze and the moon shining down on a quiet Puddlemere street where two people seemed to be joined at all the important points. Her arms were draped around his neck, his hands at her waist. It was a classic pose, and neither of them felt the least bit conscious of it. Nothing that felt this easy could be anything else.
When they finally broke apart after what seemed like forever, they were both smiling. George had a wide grin on his face and Hermione a dreamy sort of smile. She actually reached a slender hand up to touch her lips.
"That really happened, didn't it?"
"Yeah. Much better than dungbombs, in my opinion. This is what I do for girls I really really like."
The teasing seemed to draw the sleepy Hermione back to the situation and she raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I suppose I'm in a long string of them, then." And she faked a deliberate sigh before smiling up at him and turning to open the door to her building.
"Don't go fishing, Miss Granger. After all, you won't see them. Much." If possible, his grin got broader at her small snort. He couldn't see if she was smiling, as she was walking up the stairs in front of him, but he heard the warm tones of her voice that indicated he would if the angle was different.
"Tomorrow. We should talk tomorrow, then." She seemed reluctant to be the voice of reasons, but was cognizant of the fact that they were standing in her hallway the night before her introduction to all of her future peers. And that if they stayed there, she could possibly have a long night ahead of her. "I have to be Hermione Granger, after all, so I need some sleep. Brain sleep, my dad used to say. . ."
George, for his part, was relieved to see that she had a sense of humor about the expectations that came along with being one third of the Dream Team, as opposed to Harry and Ron, who let it go straight to their heads.
"Funny, I thought I could try being Hermione Granger tomorrow." He affected a high-pitched voice, playfully mocking her. "I'm bloody brilliant, didn't you know?"
"Ha, ha. I am not amused." He smiled at the fact that she wasn't angry and then sighed as she put up a hand to hide the yawn that stretched her delicate features and her expression turned serious. "We will talk tomorrow, then. But I have to go now. And you should get back to your party."
"I know, I know. Good night, fair princess." And once again, he sketched a bow and this time, kissed her hand. He didn't realize it, but he was unconsciously answering the question Hermione had asked herself mere days ago. All he knew was that she seemed to smile like he had given her the right question to a problem she'd presented him as a test.
"Good night, George. Thanks again. I'll see you tomorrow. Besides, don't you know you can't be the princess and the witch?" He looked confused and she almost explained but the moment passed when she tipped her face up a little, to look straight into his eyes and he couldn't help dropping a kiss onto her upturned nose. Smiling, he indicated that she should open her door and step inside.
She did and turned for a moment, looking strangely elfin, with her slight nose and big brown eyes and luminous smile. She tipped her head at him sleepily.
"I'm glad you won the fight. One more thing - was Oliver really there?"
George immediately recognized that she was talking about the minor battle over who would take her home and smiled. "Pure intimidation. And the Oliver thing. So I guess a few lies." The smile slid straight into a broad, slightly lopsided, grin.
"That's horrible. Good thinking. Sweet dreams."
"You, too. I'll be here at five."
"Make it four and I'll throw in some pre-banquet snacks. The food at these things is always awful."
"Deal." And George reached out and touched her cheek, softly, quickly.
She looked up at him and smiled before closing the door.
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It's now five a.m.. Look how devoted I am. This may not be as carefully checked because I don't really beta and I'm far too tired and too eager to get this out to you, my beloved fans (ha, I do love you, but that sure was arrogant of me to assume), as soon as possible. Sorry this was mostly description, but there was action. And a smooch! A real smooch! No good post-smooch thing, except for maybe some witty rapport. Am I making my George too good? I don't think so. Okay. Let me know.
Anyway, post-kiss reactions next chapter. It's time for bed for this happy author.