Day 22: In battle, side by side, and on the desk
A loud cry, one that he recognised, distracted George from the Death Eater he was duelling. A bright green light raced past his cheek, and for once, he was grateful that he didn't have an ear; otherwise, the spell would definitely have hit him. George ducked and swept his arm out, flicking his wand at the Death Eater and sending him flying into a wall.
The man slammed into Fred on the way and sent him stumbling to the side. A second later, the wall behind the man crumbled and fell on top of him.
For a few moments, silence reigned.
The realisation that he had just saved his twin brother from dying a horrible, painful death hit him like a Bludger.
"George, duck!" Hermione suddenly screamed.
George followed her command without hesitation. He fell to his knees, his wand ready in his hand.
An AK curse flew over his head, courtesy of Rodolphus Lestrange. And then, the Death Eater was rolling on the ground, curled up in a tight ball, with an enraged Hermione standing over him, her wand pointed at his chest.
George was stunned. Was she…No, she wouldn't, would she? She wouldn't use a Cruciatus on Rodolphus…Right? But when Rodolphus began screaming and writhing on the floor, George scrambled to his feet.
"Hermione, he's not worth it," he yelled, rushing towards her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her up.
She kicked her legs in the air, trying her level best to escape his grasp. "Let me go, George! He deserves to die! I'm going to kill him!"
George's heart thundered so loudly that it almost beat right out of his chest. He glanced at Rodolphus on the ground and shook his head. Tightening his grip on Hermione, he strode away with her still yelling and cursing.
The whole castle was in upheaval. Students were rushing around, screaming and ducking stray spells while shooting off several of their own. Teachers were yelling instructions and hexes at once, guiding the younger students to safety. Death Eaters stormed through the castle's defences, their robes billowing about their feet, their wands lit with Dark spells.
George didn't care about any of that right now. He didn't care that Fred had just survived a fatal blow—well, he did care, but he couldn't pay any attention to it for now. All he cared about was getting Hermione alone so he could calm her down.
Filled with adrenaline, George kicked down the door of a classroom and strode inside. He deposited Hermione on the teacher's desk and stood in between her legs. Wrapping his arms around her upper body, he dragged her into a fierce hug and buried his face in her shoulder.
She smelt like smoke, ash, and blood: a combination that scared the hell out of George, but he couldn't help but inhale the scent and commit it to memory.
"George, why did you stop me?" Hermione demanded, shoving his chest and trying to push him away.
George didn't let her go. He squeezed her even tighter, and she gasped and arched into him. He nuzzled her neck and pressed his lips over her pulse point. "Hermione, he's not worth it…"
She shoved his chest once more, and he finally pulled back. He gazed down at her flaring nostrils and dark glare, and his heart melted like butter. His blood raced right down into his abdomen and pelvis, making his cock twitch.
Down, boy. Can't go around thinking about that now. It's not the right time.
But Hermione looked so damn fuckable. Her hair was a complete mess, her clothes half-ripped and bloody (not that George had a blood kink or something), and there was a dark smear of mud on her cheek. She looked like a warrior queen, hell-bent on saving her kingdom. She was straight out of one of those Muggle fantasy novels Ginny and Charlie liked to read so much.
George had already been half in love with her since he'd met her back in his third year. The way she had shoved her hand in his face and forced him to shake it and tell her his name had been downright adorable. At that age, George had had a couple of crushes before, but when he had looked into Hermione's bright brown eyes that were speckled with gold, he had known right then and there that this was the witch for him.
And now she had saved him from imminent death and tortured a man right in front of him. George would never love anyone like he loved her.
At that realisation, he cupped her face in his hands, pressed their foreheads together, and murmured, "Do you really want to go to Azkaban for killing a man?"
"If you're safe because of it, then yes." She glared at him as if he had personally offended her.
George chuckled and tilted his head to kiss the tip of her nose. Kissing her forehead, he closed his eyes and prayed that he was strong enough to stop himself from shagging her right there on the desk. It wasn't the right time, he reminded himself, but his body refused to listen to him. His cock rubbed against the zip of his jeans, demanding to be let out like a good little doggie.
He snorted at the comparison, and Hermione pulled back to look him in the eye. She scowled and demanded, "What's so funny?"
George shook his head and placed his hands on her bony shoulders. They were so small, so frail. Trying not to think of how she'd been on the run with his little brother, he pulled her to his chest and murmured, "I don't want you to go to Azkaban for me."
"But he could have killed you!" Her words were muffled against his chest. "I couldn't let that happen. Not to you…Not to you."
Overwhelmed by the love threatening to shatter his heart, George ducked his head and kissed her hair. "I'm fine, Sweetpea. I'm just glad you're safe."
Hermione didn't reply. Instead, she sniffled and tried to subtly wipe her nose. "George…"
George chuckled and kissed her head again. "Hey, I didn't mean to make you cry. I just don't want you getting hurt—or worse—because of me. I care for you too much to let that happen."
She looked up at him, her eyes watery and nose red. "You're so nice. I just tried to murder someone, but you're not scared of me."
"How can I be scared of a witch who looks like she attached a broomstick on her head in the morning?" he teased, running his fingers through her hair. When her eyes widened and she immediately tried to pat her hair down, he grinned and stopped her. "And yes, I've seen you trying to comb your hair before everyone wakes up at the Burrow."
Hermione ducked her head and blushed, mumbling something indecipherable. A few moments later, she squared her shoulders and looked up at him. "We should go and help the others."
George glanced over his shoulder at the closed door; he didn't want her to leave. If she did, he might not ever get an opportunity to do what he'd always wanted to do.
To hell with it.
Before she could step away from him, George wound his arm around her waist, twirled her back into his chest, and dipped her low. Her hair tumbled out of her thick braid, trailing down to the dirty classroom floor.
She gasped and clutched his collar with both hands. "George, what are you—"
George silenced her by kissing her.
Fireworks burst behind his closed eyelids, the colours blooming like rosebuds, tulips, and sunflower petals. His heart beat double time to make up for the sudden lack of oxygen. Cornish pixies danced a jig in his stomach, delighting in the wonderful sensation of her lips moving against his. His knees buckled when she slipped her tongue into his mouth, and he held himself up by placing his hand on the desk behind her.
Hermione pulled back after a long, intense amount of time, her fingers still twisted around his collar. Two thin strings of saliva connected their mouths together, and the absolutely filthy sight aroused George to no end. He groaned and dipped his head to kiss her again, but she swerved to the left.
The vein on the side of her neck throbbed visibly, and her chest heaved. She choked out through loud gasps, "George—the battle—"
George clutched her tighter. He didn't want to let go now that he'd finally got to kiss her, but she was right too. The others needed them for now.
"Meet me here afterwards," he pleaded, peppering quick kisses on her face.
She nodded fervently, still holding onto him. "I promise. Promise me you'll stay safe."
"I promise." George closed his eyes and kissed her forehead one last time before letting go.
He would count the minutes until they were together again.
George stalked Hermione into the classroom exactly ninety-three minutes and forty-one seconds later. The moment the door closed behind him with a soft thud, she was on him before he could say, "Hell yeah!"
She attacked his mouth with hers and began yanking his shirt up. George pulled back just enough to pull it over his head, toss it behind him, and then reattach himself to her mouth. She panted and cupped his face, her lips moving furiously over his. George gripped her waist and dragged her up his body, and her legs automatically wound around his hips. She arched into him, refusing to pull away from his mouth—not that he'd want her to anyway.
"Hermione," he grunted, lurching towards the desk. His knee banged against the corner, and pain ricocheted through his body like a ping-pong ball. Stumbling, he grasped the table's edge and dropped Hermione onto it like a sack of potatoes.
She laughed at him and clung to his shoulders. Her eyes shone and her lips glistened in the dark. George had absolutely no control over himself anymore. He tilted her chin up and ran his thumb over her lower lip, gazing into her eyes. "I don't deserve you."
"Don't I get to decide that?" she demanded, gripping his collar and yanking him closer. His nose bumped into hers as she slammed their mouths together. It was a painful and messy kiss, their arms flailing as they grasped for purchase, but George wouldn't change anything about it for a second.
They were both alive. And together. And nothing in the world would be able to distract him from the missile-like heat in between her legs. He fisted her shirt, rolled it up, and tucked it under her bra. Then he unzipped her jeans, shoved them down, parted her legs, and fell to his knees before doing what he had been dying to do since he was fifteen. He buried his face in between her thighs and squeezed her legs shut around his head. Inhaling deeply, he let out a guttural groan that reverberated around the empty room.
Her head fell on the desk with a loud thud, and although George wanted to cushion her from the pain, he was too distracted by the scent of her cunt. He nuzzled his nose against her pubic bone, puckered his lips and wrapped them around her clit. He sucked lightly, testing the pressure she could stand, and she rewarded him with a swift tug of his hair.
George grinned.
He repeated the motion, this time using his tongue to press flat over it, and she cried out his name.
"Merlin, where's my wand?" He felt his pockets for the stick and pulled it out. The wand slipped through his fingers and fell to the ground with a clack. Snarling, he picked it up and cast a Contraceptive Charm on her. He hesitated for a moment before climbing to his feet.
"George!" Hermione cried out, "Why did you stop?"
"As much as I'd love to feel you come on my tongue or fingers, I'd rather feel you wrapped around my cock first," he stated, busy tugging his jeans down. He shimmied them down his thighs and let them pool around his ankles. If someone walked in right then, they'd literally find him with his pants down.
He snorted at that thought, and she frowned at him. "Are you laughing at me, George Weasley?"
"No, just thinking what people will think if they see us right now," he said, grinning down at her.
She rolled her eyes and said, "They'll regret it if they interrupt us now. I'll make sure of it."
She had a dark streak, and George just loved her all the more for it. He leaned over her body, rested his hand by her side, and slowly pushed his cock inside. She was warm and soft, and her cunt wrapped around him like a vice, while her tentacle-like arms squeezed his shoulders. He didn't know whether he should laugh at how tightly she was holding him or cry at how overwhelming the sensation of being inside her was. He opted to bury his face in her shoulder and let out a breathless sob. And then, his lips parted and words tumbled out like empty barrels down stairs as he thrust his hips again and again.
"Merlin, how I've longed to taste the sweat on your skin while I'm inside you, to feel your nipples hardening under my thumbs, to feel you clenching around my cock. I want to shag you so hard that I leave bruises on your thighs—does that make me a bad person?"
"Just…makes you…passionate," Hermione choked out as he sped up his thrusts. She shook her head, her hair spilling on the desk and getting caught on the sharp corner. "George, more, please…"
"Yes, love," he breathed out against her neck and followed her demands. She lifted her hips to help him along, but he held her down and did most of the work. All Hermione had to do was lie there and cry out his name in that oh-so-pretty voice of hers. He loved hearing his name spill past her beautiful lips. It made him harder and more desperate to wring out her orgasm.
He nipped at her pulse, tasting the beads of sweat pooling on her skin, and groaned loudly. "Merlin, you taste so good."
"I'm…sweaty, you idiot," she panted, but her muscles clamped down on him and made him shudder with pleasure.
He laughed breathlessly and fucked her harder. The desk screeched under their combined weight and slid away from him. Scrambling after it, George wished he'd cast a spell on it; he didn't want it to break while they were getting hot and heavy. It was too late to charm the desk now, so he just mentally crossed his fingers and hoped nothing bad would happen.
As if he had just summoned his bad luck, the table's legs creaked. Shuddered. And then…
Hermione squawked and wrapped her legs tighter around his back as the desk suddenly collapsed. Eyes widening, George flailed his arms, but he couldn't grab anything sturdy. He crashed on top of Hermione, where she was lying on top of the broken table. She groaned, this time in pain, and dug her nails into his shoulders.
George was silent as he gathered his bearings. His cock had slid out of her and was now bobbing uselessly near her arse. His hands were on either side of her head, while her legs bracketed him. Hermione's brown eyes were wide and gleamed in the dim light streaming through the cracked window.
And then, her shoulders trembled and she scrunched her eyes shut. A strange sound escaped her mouth, and she covered her face with her hands.
Terrified that she was hurt, George scrambled to his knees and tried to pull her hands down. "I'm so sorry, Hermione! Are you hurt? Shit, are you bleeding? Did the fall break something? Please, say something!"
Hermione lowered her hands. George did a double-take when he found her lips stretched up in a wide smile. Her shoulders vibrated again, and another sound broke past her lips. She sat up, still grinning, still shaking as if…
"Are you…laughing?" George asked, stunned.
"Trying not to," she admitted, her body trembling with suppressed laughter.
George groaned and dropped his head into his palms. "Damn it, I didn't even get to make you come."
That broke the dam. Hermione burst into peals of laughter, and the delightful sound echoed through the room. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and bent over, her head bumping against her knees. She cackled, "Merlin, your face—! I can't—I can't—You were so shocked—Oh, George!"
It was her banshee-like shriek of, "Oh, George," that had him wheezing. He tumbled to the ground, ignoring the broken shards of wood sticking out from under the table, and leaned against her shoulder. Their combined laughter boomed throughout the classroom. If anyone had walked through the hallway then, they would have been offended by the jovial sounds after such a serious battle.
Hermione rested her head on top of his, still laughing. George turned his head to gaze at her. He reached his hand up and gently wiped away her tears, and her laughter trailed off slowly. Her beatific smile was still on her face when she said, "There's never a dull moment when you're around, George, and I absolutely love it."
George's cheeks warmed. He knew he wasn't as enthusiastic or outgoing as Fred, but the twins had often pretended to be each other so no one had bothered to learn the differences between them…until Hermione.
Somehow, this slip of a witch always knew who he was no matter how much he went around claiming to be Fred. He had never been able to dupe her into thinking otherwise.
Now, as she gazed at him, her eyes soft and smile softer, George understood. The realisation warmed him from the inside out, and he couldn't stop himself from cupping the back of her head and bringing her closer for a sweet kiss.
Somehow, Hermione Granger loved him too.