A few streets away, George sat before the fireplace in the flat he had once shared with his twin brother. Fred had been gone from here for a long time. But George couldn't be angry at his brother, not when he saw how happy he was with Angelina, not when he held his nephew and knew he was born from love.
"Love. That elusive passion we all chase," George said solemnly to the empty room. The fire crackled and he took another sip of his drink. It was becoming an alarmingly frequent tradition; home alone, drowning in his loneliness.
Hermione had been right. Again. And again and again. He didn't know why she still put up with him. He'd begged her for help and then insisted he knew better at every turn. The few women he had let her set him up with had all been nice, funny, beautiful. One had been perfect, a girl version of himself with everything he could hope for in a woman and more but…
His thoughts trailed off as her mentally evaluated all the women he had dated over the past six months since he had enlisted Hermione's help. Most were beautiful, a few truly stunning, some funny, a couple of real disasters, like tonight. He had endured every type of women, from both ends of the spectrum and the only constant among them was Hermione's amused face in the background, watching him fail miserably.
He had been to restaurants, cinemas, parks, Quidditch games and football matches, theatres, cafés and bars. Nothing; next to no success. Certainly with none of the woman he had chosen for himself. The only women who he had shown any interest in were the ones Hermione had picked for him.
George sighed and turned to his owl, Randolph. "What do you think? Let her have complete control?" he asked the owl. Randolph looked up at him for a moment before tucking his head back under his wing. "Thanks," George said sarcastically. "You were really the deciding factor."
Randolph simply buried deeper under his wing and continued to ignore George. Acting before he could change his mind, George quickly penned a note to Hermione and roused the unhelpful bird. Though upset at being disturbed, Randolph accepted the letter and took off into the night.
Feeling he had at least made the first small steps towards seriously attempting to find a match, George stripped off his elegant evening attire, leaving them where they fell in a messy path to his room and climbed into bed, naked. The cool sheets felt wonderful against his overheated skin, the alcohol and the fire having warmed him.
He wondered who Hermione would set him up with next as he listened to the occasional footsteps in Diagon Alley and the fire crackling in the other room. He had told her to do anything she wanted with him that she felt would prepare him best for finding a suitable match. He had completely turned himself over to her care.
George sat up as he heard the fire flare into renewed life and someone step through into his flat. He silently picked his wand up off the bedside table where he had left it. His eyes widened in surprise as Hermione pushed his door open and slid silently into his room.
"Hermione," he croaked before clearing his throat. She was a vision. Through the open door, he could see the flames dancing in the fireplace in the main room behind her, making her skin glow. Her hair flowed over her shoulders, a beautiful mahogany brown. Her silk nightgown clung to her skin and the knowledge that she was a beautiful, desirable woman hit George like a sudden punch to the gut.
"You said you put yourself in my hands. I'm to do with you what I wish? Hand you over to whichever woman I feel would be best suited to you?" she asked. George nodded and shifted in his bed, uncomfortably and delightfully aware that he wore nothing beneath the covers and she wore little more in front of him.
"I can't," Hermione said, drawing his attention away from her glowing skin to her full mouth. "I'm too selfish. You can't give yourself to me to give to someone else. Ask someone else to do it. I can't for one minute more in good faith put other women in your path. I know with perfect clarity that I would deliberately set about to betray that trust and keep you for my own. Don't ask it of me."
He stared at her a moment longer, processing her words, what she was telling him.
"Come here," he demanded, his voice lower and huskier then he remembered it ever being.
Hermione obeyed as if under a spell. George shifted slightly, making room for her on the bed. She sat delicately on the edge, the creamy fabric of her gown falling against her thighs. She licked her lips and her eyes dropped to his naked chest and lower where the sheet tented in that particular way.
George's hand came up to sweep the hair that had fallen over her shoulder back out of the way, revealing the supple skin of her chest. His hand trailed down over the swell of her breasts, his fingers brushed over the rosy nipple visible through the thin silk. It tightened instantly in response, standing erect against his fingertips.
He lingered there only a moment though, as he continued down to where Hermione's hand lay against the sheets. Her breath remained steady and even as he picked up her hand and placed in against what was making the sheet tent so. George leaned forward, his breath warm against her cheek as he brushed his lips in a trail across her cheeks to her lips.
"I don't take it back," he said softly, cupping her cheek before pressing his lips firmly against hers. Hermione moaned in pleasure as George's lips moved against hers, his thumb stroking against her rapid pulse at her throat, sending delicate shivers down her spine.
His mouth moved over her cheek, his breath warm and sweet, until it came to rest at her ear. His teeth captured the lobe and Hermione could feel him moist tongue as it danced across her sensitive skin. Her body trembled at the different sensations, the sharpness of his teeth, the softness of his tongue.
"I'm putting myself in your hands," he whispered harshly in her ear before reclaiming her lips.
Beneath her hand, she felt him stiffen further as she gently caressed him to fullness. His lips continued to move against her, coaxing open her willing mouth. His tongue flicked out, sampling her taste before fully entering her mouth.
Hermione luxuriated in the taste of him; Firewhisky and some heady aroma she identified as just being George. Something she had only smelt and dreamed of poured concentrated over her senses as his tongue plunged into her mouth, exploring every sweet corner. Their tongues encountered each other, tasting, dancing, swaying together. Hot and sweet and everything a kiss should be.
His body pressed hard and firm against hers and Hermione pressed back. She could feel the long lean length of his body against her. His taut muscled chest rubbed against her sensitive breasts, eliciting another moan. George shifted slightly and Hermione didn't resist as he pushed her back into the soft mattress.
The feel of his body against her was nothing to the feel of it over her. The weight of him as he pressed her into the bed ignited a deep longing in Hermione. It began deep in her belly, spreading out into every crevice of her limbs, but always radiating from that distinctive area.
Hermione wondered how his mouth on hers could set her whole body on fire. And it was. Every inch of her that touched him was aware of his firm, warm flesh. Her hands roamed freely over his back, memorising the muscles and skin. She gasped in surprise when she encountered no waistband or material over his backside.
"You're naked," she accused as his mouth travelled over her jaw and across her neck.
"Indeed," he answered, barely pausing. "You should be too."
His hand tugged at the thick strap of her nightgown, lowering it over one shoulder. He kissed the exposed flesh, moving from one area of her body to the next in smooth fluid motions. Confidence and smugness seeped from him as Hermione writhed and moaned beneath him.
"Wait," she gasped, her words contradicting her actions; as George tried to pull away, her fingers dug into his buttocks, her hips rose to ground into his.
George groaned and dropped his head to her shoulder, lightly nipping the skin their. He kissed the red flesh he had just bitten and rolled onto his back. Absentmindedly he pulled the sheet over his erection before propping himself up on his elbow to study the panting, flushed girl beside him.
"Are you trying to kill me?" he asked. Neither his tone nor his face showed anger but Hermione felt a stab of guilt none-the-less.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's just … I mean I've never… I don't want it to be…" She fumbled over her words as she tried to explain to George that she didn't want to be another notch on his belt, not that she thought he would think like that. But she was a virgin and didn't want her first time to be a random thing. She cared too much about George and about herself to do that. Instant gratification was all well and good but would it outweigh the doubtless more months she's going to spend mooning over him? Was one night of passion enough for her if she was never allowed to touch him again? If he saw this as nothing more then a physical release after a stressful night and cast her aside in the morning, was it worth it?
"I can't do this," Hermione said quietly. She turned her eyes on George to find him watching her intensely. She lifted her hand to place on his cheek and offered one last soft kiss. "My heart can't take it."
Wordlessly she rose from the bed and left without a backward glance. George stared after her, his head a jumble of thoughts, his body screaming for release.
"'My heart can't take it?'" he repeated to the empty flat. Slowly, George climbed out of the bed and made his way back to his former seat by the fire. His erection slowly died as he poured himself a drink and directed his thoughts to what had just taken place, the words Hermione had first spoken when she came into his room.
'I can't. I'm too selfish. You can't give yourself to me to give to someone else. Ask someone else to do it. I can't for one minute more in good faith put other women in your path. I know with perfect clarity that I would deliberately set about to betray that trust and keep you for my own. Don't ask it of me.'
George's brained worked with unprecedented speed as it jumped from one conclusion to another. Hermione at the very least crushed on him, probably really liked him, and maybe even loved him. She had continued to set George up with women despite her own feelings because he had asked her to. Tonight, though, had been her breaking point. She couldn't do it anymore. When he had tried to be with her, make love to her, she had seen it as something physical and wanted more then that. She wasn't willing to wager her heart against what both their bodies obviously wanted.
And with all these stunning revelations came the crystal clear thought that she was perfect for him. She wasn't the most beautiful, she wasn't the funniest, she was definitely the most intelligent, the bossiest, the strongest, the most suited to counterbalance him and match him in the most important ways.
His mind wandered over his memories of the bushy haired woman and with his new eyes he saw a goddess. Everything he had been looking for and a whole lot more that he hadn't. Even the memories of fights, when she had completely pissed him off, he couldn't deny that the fiery spark in her eyes turned him on nearly as much as her soft willing body had.
"I like Hermione," he said to his owl, which was once again back on his perch, a mouse now clutched in one claw. He hooted at his owner. It was a mocking noise. Obviously Randolph had known this for some time. "What to do?" he asked the room. "Flowers? Chocolates? Romantic dinners and walks in the park?"
George stood up suddenly and paced the length of the flat's main living area. Outside, the sky grew light. His mind quickly ran through and discarded several plans. If he knew Hermione, and he sorely hoped he did, anything he did would have to be true and honest. Anything less, anything more and she would think he just wanted her back in his bed. Which he did but he wanted her there in the morning and the next night and the next morning too. Now that his heart and his mind were made up he wanted Hermione more permanently in his life with a yearning that was almost painful.
He steps stumbled slightly. 'Hold on,' he thought to himself. 'A few hours ago you were on a date with another woman then Hermione shows up and you suddenly love her? You, my man, are foxed. Go to bed, get some rest and see what happens in the morning.' George nodded then realised he must be drunker then he thought he was; he was talking – and agreeing – with himself. Yes, time for bed.