Hermione stared at George's retreating back, watched as the green flames swallowed him whole. She looked slowly around the room, then blinked suddenly, bringing the world back into focus.
What on earth had that been all about? George… George had kissed her, and she had kissed him back, gleefully. She touched a finger up to her lips, tracing the moistness. And then… and then he had fled, run off, without so much as a muttered explanation. God, was she really that bad a kisser? No, no she wasn't. She knew she was a good kisser, nothing wrong at her end.
Clenching her fists with new resolve she stepped into the grate where George had stood moments before and shouted "The Burrow!" angrily into the empty space, feeling the words reverberate around her head as she span back into the Weasley house. Spotting the back of a ginger head, she strode forward purposefully and tapped George sharply on the shoulder.
"What the hell was that all about?" she spat angrily as he turned around, facing her with shocked blue eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"What do you mean, what do I mean?" she shrieked, brushing a strand of hair impatiently out of her eyes. "You kiss me and then just… just run off? Ten out of ten for emotional maturity. God, and I thought you were different from those idiotic brothers of yours."
To Hermione's immense irritance, George merely raised his bowed head and issued a knowing smirk. "Maybe… maybe George is different."
Hermione frowned, worried at the state of mind of someone who freaked out over physical intimacy and then referred to themselves in the third person. It was like courting a Windsor. She was about to say as much when he grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her confidently towards him, planting two warm lips onto her own flushed pair. She felt the heat sear through her as he kissed her violently, forcing her lips apart. Her anger, now mixed with some other alien emotion, swirled confusingly close to the surface, fighting a battle of dominance. Yet before she could attempt to order her feelings George pulled away suddenly, sparkling eyes scanning her face excitedly before he leaned in slowly, his breath tickling tantalisingly against her nose. He lowered his face closer still, then slowly, gently, traced her teeth with his tongue, sending a delicious tingling through her body. His hands rose, cupping her face with his palms as his long fingers wove into her hair. The kiss intensified, spreading through her body with a sexual power absent from their first embrace.
"Th-that… was lovely," Hermione breathed when he finally pulled his lips away. "Lovely," she repeated, smiling into his face as his eyes stared intently into her own.
"Hope you didn't want any sugar." Hermione sprang apart from George as a male voice penetrated their moment of serenity. She looked up as Fred entered holding two steaming mugs.
"Oh." Spying Hermione he stopped suddenly, turning a comical shade of red as a violent blush spread up from his neck.
"Nah, that's fine, mate." George took the proffered cup from his twin, and took a long, grateful sip.
"Sorry, I, erm, didn't know you were here," Fred mumbled to Hermione's left shoulder. "Would you, would you like a cuppa at all?"
"No, I'm fine thanks." Hermione looked from one face to another, easily distinguishable for once due to Fred's unexpected display of humility. "Thought you were going into the village?" Hermione stared challengingly at Fred, hoping that he'd get the hint and just buzz off so she could sink back into those glorious arms. Her eyes flicked momentarily back to George's full lips before she returned her glare to a bashful-looking Fred.
"I left my wallet behind," a voice behind her chirped. George's voice. Except… George hadn't gone into the village, Fred had…
"Fred?" She span around in confusion to face the man she had been kissing only moments before.
"Hermione." He grinned happily, flicking his tongue teasingly across his front teeth.
"You're – you're unbelievable!" Hermione looked from one freckled face to the other in exasperation.
"Why thank you. Pray, Hermione, be a dear and settle a long running argument. Now that you've tasted the delights of both worlds, who's the better kisser?"
Ignoring Fred, Hermione turned to George's horror-stricken face. He looked quickly from Fred's grinning expression to Hermione's pleading eyes, before leaving the room abruptly without a word. Hermione made to follow, but was stopped by Fred's steely grip around her upper arm.
"Don't bother," he said lazily.
"Let me go! Why do you have to be so bloody insensitive! It's all just a joke to you, isn't it?"
"Yes, and an unusually pleasant one," he murmured into her ear, running his free hand slowly down the nape of her neck before pulling both his hands back from her body and taking a distancing step backwards. His tone of voice changed accordingly. "Word to the wise; leave George alone. He can't cope with romantic entanglements."
"And I suppose you can?" Hermione spat back angrily, reduced to feeling like a rebellious twelve year old.
"Oh, I most certainly can, Hermione. But I won't have any old flit messing about with my twin."
"I'm not trying to mess George about!" she cried back, stung by the implications of his words.
" But you will, sooner or later, whether or not you set out with that intention. Find someone else to play your mind games over Ron with and not our brother."
Hermione spluttered incomprehensibly, trying but failing to find words to convey her indignation.
"I don't mean to be rude, Hermione, but just stay away, okay?" Fred said softly, following in his twin's footsteps and leaving Hermione by herself in the centre of the room.
Gah! It was so unfair! Why could nothing in her life just be simple? She liked a boy, a boy seemed to like her, they had kissed… yet instead of skipping off merrily into the sunset she gets duped by his evil left twin and then accused of being some sort of serial seductress. And why had George freaked out like that? She wanted to run after him, try to talk things through with him and tell him that she had only kissed Fred because she had thought that it was him. God, what must he think of her now? But there was no question of explaining herself to George, not when Fred was buzzing around him like an over-protective hornet.
She tried to catch his eye when the family sat down to dinner later on in the evening, but his gaze remained firmly fixed on his plate of barely-touched food. Even Ron noticed his uncharacteristically subdued behaviour.
"What's up with grumpy over there?" he addressed Fred through a mouthful of half-chewed food.
"Oh nothing, he's just thinking about some random rubbish," Fred replied cheerily, the bitter undertone indiscernible to everyone except Hermione, whom he fixed with a pointed stare as soon as Ron turned his attention to his water glass.
"Here, are you two going out tonight?" Ron asked after he had gulped down his drink.
"We're going back to our flat after dinner," Fred replied decisively.
"Well, we're not quite sure yet, we-" George stammered quietly, briefly looking up at Hermione with an unreadable expression on his face.
"Well, it's in the pipeline," Fred interrupted brusquely.
"Oh, you can't go yet, you've only just got here!" Ginny whined. "At least come out for a drink tonight first?"
"We really should be getting back, work to do…" Fred trailed off, a wistful look clouding his eyes for a second. "But are they still doing that special offer on Rector's Ale?" He leant forward, addressing Ginny keenly.
"Course they are, not many red-blooded males in the Muggle world seem to appreciate being seen propping up the bar with a pint of strawberry flavoured beer." Ginny winked.
"Lucky we have absolutely no standards then. As long as it's alcoholic and doesn't induce blindness – that's the family motto that we Weasley's live and – occasionally – die by."
Mrs. Weasley frowned disapprovingly at Fred. "Will you stop trying to corrupt my youngest born? I'd rather you didn't introduce your sister to any more bad habits."
"Mu-um! I'm not a baby anymore, stop mollycoddling me." Ginny pouted, appealing to her father with large, round eyes.
"Now, now, Molly. I thought we agreed not to treat our daughter any differently from the boys. If Ginny wants to go to the pub then she's old enough to decide for herself." Mr. Weasley admonished his wife, before shooting Ginny a twinkling smile. He wasn't one for favourites, but he did only have one daughter, and far too many sons to control. Ginny, ruthlessly aware of her father's sentimentality, exploited it for all it was worth.
"So, we'll all go for a drink after dinner? Then you can decide if you still want to make the arduous trek down to London." Ginny looked smugly around the table.
"Er, think I'll give it a miss tonight, Gin," Hermione mumbled. She didn't think she could face pretending to be a happy smiling member of the Brady Bunch tonight.
"Very sensible, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said approvingly. "And I'm not sure Ginny should be going out by herself, just with the boys."
"That is so unfair! Dad, tell her it's unfair!" Ginny shrieked, appealing to her father once again. However, his wife had already beaten her to it with a piercing glare, causing him to sink lower into his chair as he attempted to avoid participation in the inevitable female conflict. "It's one rule for them and another for me, isn't it? You're so sexist!"
Hermione, trying to block out the unfamiliar bickering of family politics, was suddenly aware of something sharp digging insistently into her thigh. Slipping her hand discretely into her robe pocket she felt the unmistakable rectangular shape of Draco's diary. With all that had gone on today she had almost completely forgotten that she was supposed to be disposing of it. What she needed was to find Tonks, or at least find out when she would be back at Grimmauld Place. She couldn't risk returning there and bumping into Snape again; he would be able to sense falsehoods with considerably more skill than Mrs. Weasley.
Hermione had always been unnerved by his ability to forestall even his most devious students' plans without any apparent evidence, and Harry had been particularly vocal in the belief that Snape could read minds. It wasn't that Hermione believed such nonsense, but when she had found out that Snape was a skilled Legilimens… well, it had opened up some even more intrigueing questions about the hidden skills of Hogwart's resident Potions Master. She didn't want to risk running into him with no good explanation, a guilty expression streaked across her face and Draco Malfoy's diary tucked conveniently into her pocket. A small part of her inner self felt a thrill at the thought of locking horns with Severus Snape out of the constraints of Hogwarts, but an even bigger part – her common-sense – told her that there was no way she could win against such a dominating force, even on neutral territory.
Ron broke her out of her reverie with a well-aimed elbow in the ribs.
"Are you sure you don't want to come out with us?"
"Quite sure," Hermione said decisively.
Truth be told, she was actually looking forward to a night in by herself. She found the all-seeing, all-knowing atmosphere of a large family entirely endearing, but also claustrophobic. Usually she had her schoolwork to immerse herself in when she needed some solitary time by herself, but there was no such luxury to be had during the school holidays.
First she ran a hot bath and sank blissfully beneath the bubbles, feeling the immediacy of her troubles wash away. It was only when the regular top-ups of boiling water ran out that she reluctantly emptied the water away, much to the relief of the returned Weasley clan. She dried slowly, relishing the clean, tingly feeling of her salmon pink skin, before shrugging herself into a fluffy dressing robe. Feeling considerably better, she returned to her room and arranged herself elegantly on the small squishy bed, trying to decide what to read. She had only brought Hogwarts' textbooks with her, hoping that she would get some valuable revision done. Yet now, shining like a new penny, the pull of Grade 6 Transfiguration seemed much less forceful.
She rose from the bed and walked around Bill's small room, trying to locate some reading matter. However, the only thing she succeeded in uncovering was an empty chocolate frog wrapper, whose nutritional information table was not quite as riveting as she had hoped. Sighing, she flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
She was going mad. She had kissed two of Ron's brothers today. Rolling over she scanned the room frantically for something – anything – to read, to let her mind drift away into a fictitious world. She was just about to roll onto her back again when she suddenly remembered the slim, exotic book cosseted in her robe pocket. Draco's diary would certainly succeed in diverting her own thoughts. She got up and walked over to the chair she had draped her robes over, searching through the pockets until she located a hard, rectangular object.
Drawing out the leather-bound book she traced her finger slowly over the monogrammed initials, feeling a strange crackle jolt through her fingertips. It held a pulsing kind of beauty; something innately compulsive that dilated her pupils and quickened her breath. If she just looked at the first couple of pages, there couldn't be much harm in that, couldn't be anything too revealing. Trembling, she inserted her thumb tentatively into the crisp leaves, feeling it slot deliciously among the first few pages.
There was a sharp knock at the door.
What had she been thinking? She had been so close to trespassing on someone else's most private thoughts. She withdrew her thumb quickly, dropping the diary back into her robe pocket in self-disgust.
"Hang on a second!" she trilled as she struggled with the crudely fitted bolt. Muttering as she caught a fingernail on the rough edges, she opened the door to reveal a tall imposing figure, hidden in the shadows of the attic floor.
"Quick, let me in! Before someone sees!" he commanded, barging his way into the room and closing the door gently behind him.
Hermione looked in apprehension at the twin, unconsciously pulling the dressing robe tighter around her body. She waited for him to speak first and state the purpose of his nocturnal visit.
The silence lengthened. Hermione stared blankly at the twin staring down at his feet, until at last he coughed nervously and raised his head to Hermione's level.
"I, erm, just wanted to know if you still had the diary."
It had to be George. Fred didn't know about Draco's diary and George had seemed fairly adamant at keeping it that way when she had last raised the subject. She wasn't sure which twin she would have preferred –Fred was infinitely more annoying and hurtful, but at least she could use anger as a weapon, rather than mutual embarrassment.
"Yes," Hermione replied tight lipped, folding her arms protectively over her chest.
"Could I have it back please?" It was less a question than a tired statement.
Hermione startled him out of his emotionless state with the firmness of her answer. "No".
"Come on, Hermione," he pleaded gently. "Don't make our situation any more difficult than it already is."
"Me? Oh so it's all my fault now is it? I just forced myself onto you against your will?" Normally she was the sensible one, the peacemaker, but there was something about the atmosphere at The Burrow that freed her inner voice. Or at least something about the male Weasleys.
"Look, let's not talk about that," George sighed, raking a hand distractedly through his messy hair. "Can we just forget about it and pretend it never happened?"
"Why, so you can feel better about yourself for sweeping me under the carpet as just another one of your pathetic conquests? Get over yourself, I'm not going to be crying into my Cornflakes over a poorly executed romantic clinch with a gangly redhead." Hermione was one of those enviable souls whose anger facilitated eloquence, and there seemed to be an entire well of venom inside her, just waiting to escape every time she opened her mouth to address George.
"That's harsh, Hermione," George said quietly, walking past her and sinking down onto the bed. Hermione watched as he stared up at the ceiling, before placing his head in his hands and tugging his hair forcefully by the roots. She felt a huge pang of guilt, but also, if she was honest, a twisted sense of satisfaction over the impact of her words.
She hovered uncertainly over George, biting her tongue to cut off the torrent of slights and aggravations she wanted to add to his list of faults. She rarely got this angry with people, so angry that she wanted to see how much pain she could possibly inflict in order to break through their mantle of dignity. Now, finding herself in such a state, she almost wanted to savour the emotion, make the most of her heightened feeling. Not trusting herself to open her mouth, she continued to stare silently at the top of George's head.
After several slow minutes spent in mutual silence, George felt compelled to confess. Examining his large hands he spoke in a slow, controlled voice.
"I'm sorry to hear that's all you think of me, Hermione. I had hoped that we could at least be friends, but now I see that there's not even a possibility of that when you dislike me so intensely. It was never my intention to mislead you, but I'm new to all this. I've never felt so unsure and out of depth before as I did with you in Tonk's kitchen. I've-" George paused, closing his eyes and swallowing hard before continuing. "I've never kissed someone before." He looked up shyly at Hermione from underneath long lashes, waiting for the inevitable reaction of revulsion or laughter.
"Really?" Hermione ejaculated, jaw dropping in shock. She took a step closer, then slowly lowered herself onto the bed next to George, without taking her eyes away from him. "No way!" she finally exclaimed, looking at George in puzzlement
Surprised, but amused by her disbelief, George allowed himself a watery smile. "Is that really such a shock?"
"Well, I always assumed you were busy having it away left, right and centre at Hogwarts – Lord knows it wasn't work you were up to! I thought you were a proper little Romeo, always chasing after the girls and making them giggle."
"I just like making people laugh. I never really, you know, felt confident enough to approach the girl I liked. I have no problem talking to girls as honorary blokes, but when I like them I just fall to bits. And I have to like them, I don't believe in just going around kissing random people." George averted his gaze and began picking at a stray thread on the worn duvet cover.
"George," Hermione said softly, placing a warm hand on his bare forearm. "I do like you."
"Not as much as you like my twin. I know I have no right to be angry with you, but I just feel… foolish."
"George, listen to me," she pleaded, trying to catch his eye. "Sometimes what you see is only a snapshot of what's really going on. I only kissed Fred because – because I thought he was you. I never would have… ever!"
George looked up, a sad expression in his eyes. "You don't have to justify yourself, Hermione." He brushed her touch away and rose from the bed. "Look, I only came to tell you that we're going to Tonks' house on Wednesday, for her Christmas Eve party. We can hand the diary in then."
9