Thanks Pamela RR!

Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this creation.

The sweet scent of apples mingled perfectly with the crisp cold air of the November night. He could hear the heathland band nearby, the chirpy rattling sounds of the crickets and grasshoppers. The music they created was soothing to his ears, only to be interrupted now and then by the "woohoo" of a tawny owl resting in a nearby tree.

George made his way to the center of the orchard, selecting a random tree to sit under. He lazily kicked the fallen apples to the side and exhaled once his bum met the soft, dampened ground. Despite the hour, the orchard was blanketed by the blueish wash of the full moon allowing him to stare at a gnome who had made his way out of the garden and into the orchard. He watched quietly as it gathered an armful of the fallen Saint Cecilia apples that adorned the base of the fruit tree.

"Those don't have rot," said George, pointing to the opposite tree. His voice startled the gnome causing the creature to comically toss the apples into the air and scatter out of sight within seconds. The scene caused George to laugh and shake his head at the absurdity of it all.

Positioning himself to get comfortable he suddenly stopped, noticing a familiar sound at this uncommon time of night. Pulling his wand from under his jumper he angled his body for a better view. He cautiously stuck his head out from beneath the branches, his eyes quickly focused on a dark silhouette gliding effortlessly through the starlit sky.

"Who is that?" he whispered to himself. He knew Ginny wasn't visiting the Burrow that week and he'd seen his sister fly since she could basically walk. No, this was someone else. George started to feel strangely hypnotic watching this person fly around his childhood home. And as this person started to slowly come closer into view, he, George Weasley, was at a loss for words.

He watched with bafflement as Hermione descended slowly with perfect positioning. She was effortlessly drifting through the orchard, flying low. She hoovered on her broom a few trees down from where he was crouched and laughed as she reached over and plucked an apple from the tree.

"It can't be, no bloody way," he spoke into the night, finally accepting his eyes were not playing tricks on him. He smiled when she placed the apple on her head then steadily raised both hands from the broom to stretch her arms out on each side to balance. The whole thing was quite impressive. Especially for someone who made it well-known that she absolutely despised flying.

He continued to watch as Hermione repositioned herself on the broom. His breath hitched when the witch steadily raised her legs and positioned her feet under her. She planted her feet on the thin broomstick and then slowly started to stand. He watched with anticipation as the broom wavered ever so slightly. With the use of her arms for balance she was able to fully stand and George let out a quiet sigh of relief. He continued to notice how Hermione used her feet to demand control of the broomstick, adding pressure here and there to change the height and direction of the broom without disturbing the apple that still rested on her head.

Moments later Hermione made her way off her broom and toward his way in the orchard. George could hear her teeth meet the flesh of the apple and the sound of chewing filled the space.

"Excellent ride," she said, slinging the broom over her shoulder.

"That's for damn sure - Argh, bloody hell," cried George, rubbing his forehead where the half-eaten apple struck him like a rogue bludger. "I thought these apples were ripe."

"George! I-I'm so sorry, you startled me," rushed Hermione, dropping her broom and trying to provide aid.

"It's alright. Heads hard enough."

"Please let me look," said Hermione as she pulled George's hand away from his head.

"It's nothing."

"George Weasley, let me look!"

"Alright, alright," said George, pulling his hand away. "See, nothing to-" The wide-eyed expression Hermione wore on her face caused George to panic.

"What? What?" asked George, feeling around his forehead for some indication of what she could only see. Suddenly, the witch started laughing, covering her mouth to damper her snicker. He quickly realized the joke was on him. "Ah, becoming a prankster are we?"

"No," replied Hermione, but when the time calls for it, I can't pass it up. Now can I?"

"Never," he smiled, still rubbing his head. Hermione stood closer to him casting a Lumos and standing slightly on her tiptoes to inspect his forehead. Looking at her, he noticed how lovely she was. Her hair was messy. Frizzy and big from the wind that tangled it. Her cheeks were also pink, a reminder of how she sailed through the cold air not too long ago. George pushed those thoughts out of his head. It wasn't as if they were bad or even wrong. Hermione was a single woman after all. He just never tried to do anything about it.

"It does look as though you may get a bruise," she said with a frown. Her face was only a few breaths away from his and he tried not to stare at her eyes. A shiver ran down his spine when her hand gently pushed his hair from his forehead.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her hand still holding his hair. He swallowed.

"Like I said, it's nothing," he replied with a shrug. "As long as I have my good looks, I'm fine."

"Right," smiled Hermione with a roll of her eyes. He watched as the witch picked up her broom and flung it back over her shoulder.

"So, my dear Hermione. Got anything new going on?"

"Umm-"

"In regards to the fact that you're carrying a broomstick and expertly flew around the Burrow in the middle of the night, not to mention you actually flew without your hands and stood on a broom in midair all while balancing an apple on your head."

"Hmm, no. Nothing new, really," replied Hermione as she made her way past him toward the house.

"What? Wait."

Hermione didn't wait and continued to make her way towards the house with George on her heels.

"Goodnight, George. Pleasant dreams. Oh, and be sure to put some ice on that bruise. After all, we don't want any damage to those good looks of yours," she smiled, then placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek.

Once again, George Weasley was at a loss for words.