Fictionallizzy
A/N:
This chapter doesn't have any flashbacks. It was already long enough.
I think I'll probably add a flashback in the next chapter, although I don't want to focus too much on Hermione and Fred's relationship.
Song suggestions:
Sasha Alex Sloan – Faking it
Niall Horan – Small talk
Maroon 5 - Tangled
CHAPTER 4:
"Granger," Daphne Greengrass nodded in greeting as she waltzed into the reception area at St. Mungo's where their first day of Healer orientation would begin this morning.
When Hermione arrived at the reception desk earlier, the Welcome Witch had been as unwelcoming as usual when Hermione had reported for orientation. The grumpy witch had pointed to the rickety wooden chairs in the waiting area and barked, "Wait over there," before promptly turning her attention back to her crossword puzzle.
"I wasn't surprised when I learned you'd be joining the Healing programme as well," Daphne said with a smirk. "You always were the smartest in our year."
Blonde, perky and way too pretty for her own good, Daphne Greengrass would be a constant, albeit unwelcome companion for the next five years as they completed their training at St Mungo's.
When the orientation programme had been sent out by owl last week, Hermione had been disheartened to find her cohorts included a Slytherin witch.
She supposed it could have been worse—St Mungo's could have selected someone like Pansy Parkinson or Draco Malfoy. Daphne was simply the lesser evil.
And that's why, when the blonde held out a cup of coffee to Hermione, she hesitated before taking the cup and sniffed it to ensure there weren't any overt signs that Daphne was trying to poison her.
Daphne rolled her eyes at Hermione. "Oh please, Granger. I'm not your enemy."
Hermione scoffed. "My history with Slytherins suggests otherwise."
"Of all the witches and wizards touting inter-house unity at Hogwarts, I'm surprised to find you of all people so unwilling to let go of the past." Daphne shrugged. "Drink the coffee, or don't. Either way, I'm going to win you over. I'm not like the Slytherins you're used to. And I'll prove that."
Hermione felt properly scolded and fought to hide her embarrassment. She sipped her coffee, praying Daphne wasn't trying to kill her off to get ahead in the programme.
But the coffee was the perfect temperature, with one sugar and a generous amount of milk. Just the way she liked it.
"Thanks," Hermione said and offered an apologetic smile. "You're right. I'm being very hypocritical. I'm not trying to excuse my behaviour, but some memories and experiences linger far longer than others."
"I get it. But we'll be spending a lot of time together over the next five years, and I'd like to think I'm getting a new friend out of this, along with a Healer's certificate."
That was how Hermione became best friends with one of the last people she'd ever expected.
With time, it became glaringly obvious that while Daphne was peppy, she was even more snarky and hilarious; sometimes inappropriately so. It wasn't what she'd expected from a pure-blood witch.
They were the very definition of 'fast friends' and some days, Hermione was sure she'd have packed her bags and walked away from Healing if not for Daphne's constant support and encouragement. But Hermione had often done the same for Daphne.
They partnered up whenever they could and spent long hours together in the Artefact Accidents ward, consulting each other on cases, and often making fun of some of their patients whenever they were out of earshot.
The Healing programme was intense, and focused on one floor per year, starting with Artefact Accidents on the ground floor. Next year, they'd move up to Creature-Induced Injuries, followed by Magical Bugs, Potion and Plant Poisoning, and last but not least, Spell Damage in their fifth and final year.
Most of Hermione and Daphne's studying was done side by side, at either of their apartments, often ending with one crashing on the other's couch. They usually spent their time off together, whether shopping, occasionally going out dancing or having dinner at the Leaky. But more often than not, they would veg out on the couch in their pyjamas watching television.
The latter had been an amusing experience.
Daphne's reaction to television and even the cinema had been delightful. She'd enjoyed it so much that she'd insisted Hermione take her shopping in Muggle London for a "tellyvisor" of her own.
xxx
"What a dick!" Daphne complained while the two of them moseyed exhaustedly over to their assigned patients.
It was almost seven o'clock and they'd already decided to have dinner at the Leaky when their shift ended. Unfortunately, Merrick Stymie, their supervising Healer in the Artefact Accidents department, had decided to interrupt their well-deserved tea break with a case of anal boils waiting for Hermione in Bed 15. Daphne (the lucky bitch) got assigned to Bed 4 where a misfiring wand had resulted in bat bogies oozing uncontrollably from the wand owner's nose.
"This is my third case of boils today," Hermione muttered miserably. "I swear I can lance boils in my sleep by now."
After the day they'd had—not including their last cases for the day—they were in dire need of a drink. Butterbeer wouldn't cut it tonight.
In the break room at the end of their shift, Daphne sighed to herself and said, "Just three more days until we're lounging on the beach in Barbados, sipping cocktails and checking out the Barbadian wizards." She flashed Hermione a tired smile but waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
She pulled her bag from her locker, slung it over her shoulder and shut the metal door with a loud bang before tugging Hermione out of her seat.
"Three more days," Hermione concurred and sluggishly followed Daphne out of the ward. She nodded a stiff goodbye at Stymie who was finishing some last-minute paperwork and sped up in case he decided to ply them with more work.
Their examinations were over, and technically they were done with their first year at St Mungo's, but they had two more days of work before they left for Barbados by portkey on Monday morning.
There was a four-week holiday ahead of them before their second year started, and two of these weeks would be spent at the Greengrass summer home—or Mansion, if Hermione's suspicions were correct—in the wizarding part of Bathsheba.
She couldn't wait!
xxx
"Why don't you get us a table while I run to the loo quickly?" Daphne asked, practically vibrating on the spot. "I should have peed before we left the hospital, but I wanted us to escape before Stymie found a reason to keep us there longer than necessary."
"Fine," Hermione waved her off with a good-natured eye roll. "Should I order drinks so long?" she called after Daphne who was halfway across the room already, shuffling quickly but awkwardly toward the ladies' room.
"Yes, please!" she called over her shoulder, sounding almost panicked before she practically burst into the loo.
Just as Hermione turned toward the bar, not paying attention to her surroundings, she collided hard with another body.
Her breath left her in a whoosh, and she grabbed onto two strong arms to steady herself.
"As I live and breathe," the owner of those arms said, a smile evident in his voice. She knew that voice very well. "Hermione Granger."
Hermione squealed in delight when she looked up into the warm brown eyes of George Weasley and couldn't help the grin that followed.
Damn, he looked way too attractive for his own good, skin tanned, a short, well-groomed beard, and hair a little longer than she was used to.
"Hi," she breathed the word like an idiot, staring at him as if he might disappear at any moment. And then she flung herself at him, wrapping him in a crushing embrace. "Holy shit, I missed you, Georgie."
His arms tightened around her, and she could feel the way his body shook in her arms as he laughed at her excitement, but she didn't dare let go yet.
"I can't believe you're really here," she said in a muffled voice as her cheek squashed against his chest.
When she finally let go of him, he beamed at her, looking far more relaxed than the last time she'd seen him. His face was no longer gaunt, and his eyes were no longer cold. Gone were the dark circles under his eyes.
"Miss me, Granger?"
She shoved playfully at his chest. "Of course I missed you. It felt like you were gone for years."
He cocked his head to the side and took inventory of her, his bright smile softening to something tender that made her insides clench. "You look good," he remarked. "And I see you've decided on becoming a Healer, then?"
Hermione looked down at her lime green scrubs—St Mungo's had recently changed from robes to scrubs for practical purposes—and then back up at George, nodding. "Yeah. Seemed like the best fit for me."
"How's training been going?"
"Tedious," Daphne suddenly chipped in from behind Hermione. "We're just about sick of Artefact Accidents," she told George. To Hermione, she said, "I didn't know tall, red and handsome was on the menu," and followed it up with a lift of her brow.
"Ignore her," Hermione told George, rolling her eyes at Daphne. "She doesn't get out much."
Daphne huffed but didn't deny it. Unfortunately, the same was true for Hermione. Most of their first year had either been spent cramming for tests and examinations or working long shifts at St Mungo's.
"I don't know if you two have been properly introduced," Hermione motioned between Daphne and George. "But this is Daphne Greengrass."
"You were in Slytherin, right?" George asked, and Hermione steeled herself, hoping he wouldn't make as big a deal of it as Ron usually did.
Daphne bristled and lifted her chin defiantly. "Yeah, so?"
But Hermione's worry was for nought.
"Just surprised that you and Granger seem so close," he said evenly. "Her history with Slytherins during her school years wasn't great."
"If you're referring to Pansy and Draco," she pursed her lips and straightened her spine, "I'm nothing like them."
"Good," George nodded decisively. "I think you should keep her, Granger."
"I don't think I have much choice," Hermione mock whispered to George. "She's rather persistent."
"Oh please," Daphne scoffed. "You love me."
Hermione softened and winked at the blonde. "Yeah, I sort of do."
"Have you found a table yet?" George asked and nodded over at a table off to the back of the pub. "Because you're more than welcome to join us. Lee and Katie's here. Ron too."
"You up for it, Daph?" Hermione asked sceptically. Ron and Daphne did not get along in any way, shape or form.
For Ron, it was the mere fact that Daphne had been in Slytherin. For Daphne, it was because of his backwards attitude and the way he microanalysed everything she said and turned it around on her to not so passive-aggressively insult her.
Needless to say, whenever Hermione hung out with Ron, Harry and Ginny, she didn't invite Daphne along if she could help it.
"Just keep feeding me alcohol and I'm sure I can endure Ronald's delightful presence," she sighed and steeled herself for the inevitable clash.
"Fantastic," George grinned and ushered them to his table. "I promise to hex him if he gets out of hand," he assured Daphne over his shoulder.
"I get it now," Daphne whispered conspiratorially to Hermione as they squeezed through the gaps between occupied tables and chairs, the pub buzzing with the chatter of patrons who were all out on a Friday evening to take the edge off after a long work week.
"Get what?" she asked, nonplussed.
"Why you jumped his bones," Daphne waggled her eyebrows as they followed George. "He is scrumptious."
A sudden flare of jealousy made Hermione's jaw clench.
Daphne was the only one who knew about George. About what happened after Fred's funeral. Hermione knew she could trust Daphne with her secrets, and the fact that she wasn't directly or indirectly part of the Weasley family made her far more objective about the whole, sordid incident.
But she'd never anticipated that George would capture Daphne's interest.
"Oh, don't worry," Daphne placated. "I'm not going to make a move on George. I'm far too invested in how things will play out between you two now that he's back. Besides, you're my best friend and I'd never betray your trust or hurt you. I promise."
Hermione's jaw unclenched and her stomach unknotted.
She had no idea why, but the idea of George with another witch didn't sit well with her.
"He is not my love interest, Daph," Hermione scolded quietly while they stood just out of earshot of the others at the table.
"Fuck buddy, then. Whichever term you prefer." She waved away the issue and flashed an obnoxious grin.
"You are incorrigible," Hermione huffed. "Come on. Let's get a drink before I hex you for being too cheeky for your own good."
George cocked his head toward an open chair next to him, and she headed over, greeting Katie, Lee and Ron as she sat down.
"Ronald," Daphne said curtly as she pulled out a chair opposite him at the table and sat down stiffly.
Hermione knew Daphne desperately wanted Ron to like her. She liked being liked and was an easy person to be around. That's why Ron's antagonism towards her because of her Slytherin heritage grated on her nerves so much. It meant he wasn't prepared to give Daphne the benefit of the doubt and get to know her.
But on the few occasions Hermione's had the 'pleasure' of seeing Ron and Daphne interact, she'd always wondered if there was a hint of sexual attraction between them.
While Ron always tried to ignore Daphne and pretend to be oblivious to her presence, Hermione had seen how he looked at her friend when he thought nobody was paying attention.
"Greengrass," Ron pursed his lips. "How marvellous that you've decided to join us."
"I just told Hermione that what I needed after a long, shitty day, was to spend my evening in your warm presence," she retorted blandly but offered him a saccharine smile that oozed insincerity.
Hermione tensed next to George, anticipating a fallout.
"Are they always like this?" he whispered in her ear.
Fuck, he smelled good.
"Afraid so," she said, angling her face toward him to keep their conversation private. "That's why I prefer not to subject Daphne to Ron, if possible. No matter how delightful she is, he's not very tolerant of Slytherins."
"Hmm…" George hummed in her ear, and she shivered at the sensation.
Oh boy, this didn't bode well for her.
"I'm not sure he dislikes her as much as he pretends to," George nudged his head toward Ron, who stared dazedly at Daphne while she talked to Katie.
"…premium box seats for the entire season…" Hermione caught the end of Daphne's conversation.
Katie groaned, "So unfair. I wish Lee and I could get season tickets for the Tornados, but they're way too expensive."
"My father is friends with the Chudley Cannons' coach, and he always gets me season tickets even though he maintains watching the Cannons play is a waste of time," Daphne rolled her eyes.
"P-premium box seats?" Ron stuttered with surprise. "For the Chudley Cannons games?"
"I swear to Salazar I'll hex you with a pub full of witnesses if you make fun of my team," Daphne growled threateningly in Ron's direction, her look sharp enough to flay him on the spot.
"No, no," Ron protested passionately and straightened in his chair, giving Daphne his undivided attention. "I…just…they're my favourite team. But sometimes I feel as if—"
"As if you're their only fan?" Daphne finished for him. "Yeah, I get that." She nodded sympathetically. "But a true supporter sticks with their team, win or lose, right?"
"Yeah," Ron agreed, impressed. "That's exactly what I keep telling everyone."
And suddenly the tension between Ron and Daphne evaporated like mist in the sun, while they discussed stats and players like two old friends.
"Well…" George chuckled. "This certainly took an unexpected turn."
"I'm—" Hermione shook her head. "If I knew she liked the Cannons, I'd have introduced the topic the first day I brought Daphne along for drinks with Harry, Ron and Ginny. Would have saved us a lot of tension and bickering." She bumped her shoulder playfully against George's arm.
"How do you not know which team your best friend roots for?" he teased, eyes twinkling, and briefly brushed her thigh with his hand. "What kind of friend are you?"
Hermione's stomach clenched at the contact.
He probably meant nothing by it. But more than a year without sex, and this strange magnetism that perpetually existed between them was messing with her head.
Somehow, George caught her reaction and raised his brow questioningly. "You okay?"
Hermione couldn't help but blush and look away, biting her lip. She nodded awkwardly, and when she said, "Yep," it came out breathy and raw.
As the evening progressed, Daphne and Ron lost in conversation with each other while Katie and Lee chipped in occasionally, a dangerous tension was building between Hermione and George. The kind of tension that wasn't going to end well.
They stole 'innocent' touches as their conversation turned steadily more flirtatious.
As much as Hermione's mind screamed for her to put some distance between George and herself and engage in conversation with the others instead, her body had a mind of its own.
xxx
"This is a really stupid fucking idea, Hermione," she chastised herself while she waited for George in the ladies' room.
She pressed her palms against the cool surface of the marble top at the sink and dropped her head, unable to look at herself in the mirror.
That's if he even showed.
She had no idea if her subtle cock of the head toward the loo had been a clear enough invitation for George. Worse…she had no idea if he wanted this as much as she did. But the two glasses of firewhisky buzzing in her veins and the way he'd been flirting with her and touching her all night, had made her brazen enough to suggest he meet her here.
She had an itch that she needed him, and only him, to scratch. But there was no way the two of them could leave the pub together without their friends noticing. And this was not something she wanted anyone to know about. Except Daphne. She'd probably tell Daphne about this, whether it panned out or not.
Hell, she'd probably high-five Hermione for being brave enough to attempt this in the first place. She's been on Hermione's case to 'just find someone to hook up with for one night' for the last year.
Hermione couldn't stomach the idea, but George…was a different story, for some insane fucking reason.
"I'm really hoping I didn't misread your intentions," George suddenly spoke behind her, placing his hands on her hips. He leaned closer, chest pressing against her back as he whispered in her ear. "Otherwise, I've just made a massive fool of myself for following you into the ladies' loo."
Hermione looked up and met George's eyes in the mirror.
The intensity of his gaze made her stomach swoop and her pulse started racing with anticipation.
He sure as hell looked like he was on board with her ridiculous plan. And the hard-on pressing against her arse underscored his intentions in bright red ink.
Stuffing away all her fears, uncertainties and insecurities, Hermione turned to face him and boldly said, "You didn't."
"Good," he growled and stuffed his hands into her curls to tug her closer to him. With a press of his hips to hers, he pulled her in for a searing, unapologetic kiss that made her toes curl.
Her hands reached up without conscious thought and fisted in his shirt to pull him even closer. She wanted to consume him; wanted him to do the same to her.
As George broke the kiss to suck on her bottom lip and simultaneously slip his hand under her scrubs to roughly palm a breast, it was clear that they were very much on the same page. They were about to have sex, no matter the consequences. Nothing outside of this moment mattered but what they wanted from each other.
"Did you lock the door?" she asked and slipped her hands to his belt buckle. She unbuckled it with eager, trembling fingers.
"Mmhmm…" he hummed distractedly when he'd successfully divested her of her top and bra, lips closing around her nipple.
She moaned loudly and tipped her head back as his hot tongue swirled and sucked at her pebbled nipple, a hint of teeth tugging with just enough force to make her pulse throb between her thighs and her knees buckle.
Hermione's hands resumed their task of getting his trousers off. The button popped without effort, but the bloody zipper was stuck.
George released her nipple from his mouth and slipped her bottoms down first, and then her panties followed. He grumbled, "Can't believe you wear fucking lace knickers to work. I'll never not get a hard-on from now on if I see you in scrubs."
He tossed her thong onto the pile of her discarded clothes and pressed a kiss to her calf before straightening up. "I was never supposed to know what you wear under your work clothes, because that's all I'll be able to think about now."
Hermione smirked. "And now you've just given me ammunition to torture you with whenever I want to."
He smacked her arse in reprimand and curled his fingers into the swell of her hips. His lips pressed against her jaw, and he growled admonishingly against her skin, "That smart mouth will get you in trouble one day, Granger."
With one smooth move, he effortlessly deposited her on the marble surface behind her, lips searing against her skin and stubble chafing deliciously.
"Oh fuck, that's cold!" Hermione gasped, bucking reflexively against him.
"Sorry, sorry," he grunted against her neck as he kissed his way down her collarbone and resumed her forgotten task of unzipping his trousers.
But as had happened with her, George also couldn't get the bloody thing down. He cursed in frustration, hands shaking with restraint and desire; it took too long for his liking, and she was right there with him.
She needed him inside her right now. She didn't think she could bear to wait another second.
"There!" George practically shouted his delight when the zipper budged. He shucked his trousers and briefs down just enough to free his cock and fisted it roughly in his palm.
He was already leaking.
"Still on the potion?" he asked when he let his cock go and planted her feet on the marble top to spread her wide open for him.
His gaze dipped between her thighs to admire her bare pussy without a trace of apology or shame.
"No," she panted and yanked him toward her by the front of his shirt so she could kiss him. "There's a condom in my purse," she said against his lips, "But it might be expired. Or you could just cast the charm."
"What the hell's a condom?" he muttered and dragged the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip.
She puffed a laugh that he eagerly swallowed, resuming their ravenous kissing from moments ago.
His hand slipped between her legs to tease her clit, and her body jerked in surprise and delight.
"Forget the condom," she panted when their lips broke apart and he trailed fiery kisses down her neck. "The charm. Use the charm, Georgie."
He struggled for a moment to dig his wand from his pocket, then pressed it to her stomach and whispered the incantation. With a clatter, his wand landed somewhere on the sink, and then he bucked his hips sharply to enter her.
Hermione's mouth popped open in a silent cry, the stretch of her walls around him the best kind of pain imaginable.
"You okay?" he asked through clenched teeth, eyes wild.
She could see how much it was testing his control to hold still while he waited for her to answer.
"Yes, yes, fine!" she all but growled, bucking her hips into him to spur him into action. "Just haven't had sex since you."
"Good," he grunted in her ear and pulled almost all the way out of her. "Neither have I." And then he slammed back inside her, setting an unforgiving pace.
She looked down at where they were joined, fascinated by the way he stretched her every time he entered her; how his cock glistened from her arousal.
The lecherous sounds of their slapping skin and the slick noises her body made as he pushed into her over and over were driving her mad. But she needed him closer, even deeper, and hooked her legs around his hips to do just that.
"Fuck, Granger! You feel so good," George gasped, eyes rolling back when she started bucking her hips into him in tandem with his thrusts, relishing the way his cock stroked against that perfect spot inside her.
He was working her up, up, up toward a dangerous precipice, and she wasn't sure she'd survive the fall.
When his thrusts turned choppy and she wasn't sure she could hold back anymore, she dug her nails into his arse, tightened her legs around his hips and sucked on the stubble over his pulse point.
"Come on, Granger," he encouraged through clenched teeth. "Let me feel that pussy tighten around my cock."
Hermione's back arched, her eyes squeezed shut and her body trembled violently in his arms as her orgasm exploded low in her belly and shuttled out to scorch every nerve ending in its path.
George followed her over the edge, one hand slipping into her hair while the other gripped her hip deliciously tight, and then he captured her lips to groan his pleasure into her mouth over and over so no one in the pub would hear what was happening in the loo right now.
When the roar of blood in her ears subsided and both their breathing had slowed, George slipped carefully out of her and reached for his wand. With a simple Scourgify, he cleaned her up and pressed a tender kiss to the inside of her thigh before he took care of himself.
"This was a bad idea, right?" Hermione asked George when they stood side by side in front of the mirror, straightening their clothes and fixing their hair.
"Probably," he said, meeting her eyes in the mirror as he battled to get the creases out of his shirt. "But you don't need me to tell you that."
"Yeah," she nodded, breaking eye contact to slip on her panties. "So, this was a one-time thing, right? And it stays between us."
He chuckled, turning on the tap to wash his hands. "Other than the first time, you mean?"
Hermione wiped away the eyeliner smudges under her eyes and returned his smile, even as her stomach plummeted. "Exactly."
George had barely set foot in the UK, and already they've had sex. Again. After it caused them so much guilt the first time.
At least this time it hadn't happened right after they'd buried Fred. A pang of longing hit her at the thought of him. He's been gone for over a year, and not a day went by that she didn't miss hearing him laugh or feeling his arms tighten around her when he held her close.
It was easier now. The pain had dulled, but there were times when memories of him snuck up on her and almost crippled her.
Somehow, having George back made her feel better. The mere idea that he wasn't thousands of miles away was comforting.
But look at what his presence had done to her. She'd practically jumped him the first chance she got.
How was it possible to grieve one person—love him so much—but feel such an intense and inexplicable pull to another?
She wished she knew if this magnetism between George and her was somehow tied to grief, or if her feelings were normal. But how could it be normal, when even George knew what they just did—what they did after Fred's funeral—was wrong?
"Are you coming to Sunday lunch at my parents' house this weekend?" he asked, turning his body to face her.
"Can't," Hermione said, twisting her unruly hair into a bun, and securing it with her wand. She avoided his eye. "I'm working this weekend. And then I'm leaving for Barbados with Daphne on Monday."
George nodded and hummed his acknowledgement, but when she looked up, his face was blank. He didn't seem bothered that she was leaving, and it irked her for some reason. His disinterest should make the situation easier, and yet, she just wanted a reaction from him. Irritation or…gods…just something. Anything.
She hated feeling so confused and awkward around him.
"I guess I should head out first. Give you a moment to yourself before you follow," George said flatly, and without a backwards glance, he walked out of the loo as if he hadn't just screwed her brains out on the sink.
xxx
Hermione and Daphne arrived at the Burrow right after their shift had ended; tired and hungry but very excited for their four-week holiday.
Unfortunately, they were still dressed in their ugly lime green scrubs.
"I hope you don't mind, Mr and Mrs Weasley, but I brought along a friend," Hermione apologised as she ushered Daphne toward the kitchen where everyone was gathered and talking casually.
They hadn't started eating yet, which was a relief. Hermione hated being late.
Ron stopped talking midway through a sentence and looked up abruptly, completely ignoring Bill as he stared wide-eyed at Daphne's unexpected presence in his childhood home.
"Not at all, not at all," Mrs Weasley beamed and wiped her hands on her apron as she approached. "Arthur, darling," she turned to her husband. "Be a dear and summon another chair for the table."
"I'll do it!" Ron interrupted eagerly, shooting out of his chair. "Daphne, you can have my seat while I fetch another chair."
"How lovely," Mrs Weasley beamed at her son and then turned back to Daphne. "Do you and Ronnie know each other?"
Hermione winced. "That's a conversation we'd best have while sitting down, Mrs Weasley. But as Ron mentioned, this is Daphne Greengrass."
Hermione could see the moment the Greengrass surname registered loud and clear in Molly's mind. But she handled it more gracefully than Ron had, smiling politely at Daphne and shaking her hand.
While Molly's house, and more specifically her kitchen, was always spotless, they hadn't gotten by on a lot of money. Many things were bought second-hand, the Weasley children learned to share from a very young age, and their house wasn't exactly a mansion as Daphne was used to. But both Hermione and Harry had always felt at home here; cared for. Safe and loved. She just hoped Daphne would feel that too.
A year ago, Hermione would never have considered bringing Daphne, a pure-blood, to the Burrow. The Weasleys have been teased mercilessly over the years for their lack of wealth. But after getting to know Daphne, Hermione was certain her friend would not judge the Weasleys, make nasty comments about their home, or turn her nose up at them.
George suddenly rounded the corner, announcing, "Got the ghoul to pipe down. Are we ready to—" He cut off midsentence when he saw Hermione standing there.
After all, she'd told him she wouldn't be coming by today.
He did a double take before his gaze zeroed in on her scrubs and then dipped to her hips, lingering there for a moment. His mouth popped open as if to comment, and then his eyes, dark and intense, flicked up to meet hers.
She vividly remembered what he'd said to her while undressing her in the loo at the Leaky and shivered at the memory. "I'll never not get a hard-on from now on if I see you in scrubs."
The tips of George's ears reddened, and he promptly excused himself from the room. "Be right back," he said to no one in particular, almost running up the stairs in his haste to get away from her.
For some reason, this made Hermione want to grin and simultaneously apologise. Wearing scrubs to dinner had not been the plan. There simply hadn't been time to get changed after work if they wanted to be on time for dinner. Molly had already generously moved the traditional Weasley Sunday lunch to dinner time so she could be part of it; wouldn't take no for an answer when Hermione declined the initial invitation.
When George returned, he seemed more composed but studiously avoided looking at her as he handed her one of his hoodies.
"What's this?" she asked, taking it cautiously from him.
"It's a hoodie," he deadpanned, frowning at his feet.
"Yes. I figured that out for myself, Georgie. Thank you." She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at him. "But why?"
"You, er…look cold," was all he offered, wincing with embarrassment.
Hermione could feel Molly's eyes on the two of them and turned with a sweet-as-pie smile toward her. "Just…excuse us a minute. We'll, be right back." And then Hermione dragged George off to the side and out of earshot.
"I'm sorry for this…" she gestured to her scrubs. "It was unintentional, I swear. There wasn't time to swing by my apartment after my shift ended, but if you'd rather I went home to change, I could—"
"No," George cut her off gently. "It's fine, Granger. Really. The hoodie will do the trick if you'd just…" he motioned for her to put it on.
She shrugged on his oversized hoodie and decided then and there that George Weasley would never get it back. It smelled like him, and she had an overwhelming urge to sniff the material like a bloody pervert. "Good?" she asked instead, presenting herself to him.
He coughed a laugh. "Not good, no. But certainly better. Might leave me with enough blood for my brain so I'll be able to manage a knife and fork for the evening."
She slapped him playfully on the shoulder and grinned. "You're ridiculous, Georgie."
"And you, Miss Granger, look way too good in lime green than is fair."
xxx
"So, Daphne," Mr Weasley asked as he speared a potato with his fork. "How do you know Ron?"
Daphne grinned while Ron frowned at his plate of food and let slip what sounded like a mixture of a wail and a groan, his embarrassment evident by the flush of his cheeks. "It's a funny story, actually," Daphne started to tell Mr Weasley, offering Ron a wink and a wicked grin. "We went to school together. We were in the same year, actually. But..." she pouted playfully. "Ronnie here doesn't tolerate Slytherins very well. So, naturally, the first time Hermione asked me to come along to a night out with her friends at the pub, Ron was a bit..."
"Stand-offish?" Mr Weasley asked innocently and ferried the potato to his mouth.
"For lack of a better word—" she began but George cut her off.
"Dick," he announced. "That's the better word. Ron was a dick to her."
"Georgie! Language!" Mrs Weasley chastised, looking aghast.
"Nope," Ginny piped in. "George is right, Mum. He was rude and unfriendly and—"
"A dick…" Bill finished quietly from the far end of the table, raising an obnoxious brow.
Fleur snorted indelicately into her wine glass.
Mrs Weasley sighed in defeat and set her knife and fork down to take a large mouthful of wine.
"See, Mum!" George exclaimed passionately. "Everyone knows Ron can be pigheaded."
"I'm so sorry for the way my sons are behaving," Molly apologised to Daphne. "They aren't usually this crude."
"Oh please," Ron scoffed. "You think she's such an angel, but—"
Daphne shot Ron a scathing look before turning to Molly. "Ignore him, Mrs Weasley. I'm a fucking delight, even on my worst day."
Fleur was now having a full-on coughing fit while Bill tried to mop up the red wine as it spewed from her nose in fits and starts.
Mrs Weasley looked absolutely shocked for a minute, and a snickering Ginny leaned across the table to top her mother's glass off with more red wine.
Harry, George and Hermione were bent over their plates, trying to stifle their laughter. Even Ron and Mr Weasley couldn't help themselves but laugh.
Molly finally relented with a shake of the head and, while trying very hard to suppress a tractable smile, said, "You'll fit right in with this lot, dear," and nudged her chin toward her children.
"I like her already," Arthur announced placidly, winking at Ron.
"Will we be seeing more of you around here, dear?" Molly asked and glanced at her youngest son for a second.
Daphne looked at Ron too, and quirked an eyebrow in question. "I'm not sure, Mrs. Weasley. Ron? Do you think you'll be able to tolerate my presence for Sunday lunches from now on?"
"I'd like to think so," he said hesitantly, cheeks reddening. But he didn't break eye contact with Daphne.
"Well then," Daphne said, looking chuffed. "I suppose you will, Mrs Weasley. If that's all right with you?"
Molly clasped her hands delightedly and beamed at Daphne. "The more the merrier, I always say."
Hermione could practically see Mrs Weasley planning another wedding.
"And what have you been up to, dear? Besides studying and working yourself to the bone," she asked Hermione. "Have you been eating enough? You haven't got a single ounce of fat on your bones lately. I could pack up some food for you to take home?"
She huffed a laugh at Molly's motherly concern. "I sometimes forget to eat. Between the long shifts and the studying, I often come home and pass out on the couch before I can even cobble together a healthy meal. But please don't trouble yourself by packing food. I promise I'll try harder."
"And have you...been seeing anyone special lately?" Molly inquired curiously as if this was where the conversation had been heading from the start.
Hermione choked on her bite of chicken and coughed to clear her throat.
Her eyes immediately found George's.
Merlin… If Molly knew who Hermione had been 'seeing' on Friday night—the only wizard Hermione had 'seen' since Fred's death—she'd have a conniption.
"Er, no," Hermione rasped and reached for her glass to take a sip of water. "I haven't been seeing anyone."
George smirked devilishly.
"Prat," Hermione mouthed at him.
"That's a pity," Molly clucked her tongue good-naturedly. "I'm sure Georgie could always introduce you to one of his friends."
George's smirk disappeared and his fork slipped from his hand to clatter loudly onto his plate. "Not happening," he growled, but he wasn't looking at his mother as he said this.
The unfiltered fury in his eyes startled Hermione, and for a second, she swore she saw Molly smirk with self-satisfaction.
What the hell was Molly up to?
And why was George so angry at his mother's suggestion?
xxx
With sunglasses in place, a cocktail in one hand and a book in the other, Hermione was soaking up the sun on a recliner next to Daphne while the waves lapped gently at the shore a few meters from them.
After having the best time at the local outdoor beach club, they'd gotten home past four this morning and slept until midday before emerging for some well-deserved sun and sea.
Last night, they'd danced until their feet were throbbing, guzzled down as many cocktails as they could manage and ended up walking on the beach until the pre-dawn chill breezing in from the ocean chased them inside and into bed.
When she'd read the same paragraph distractedly for the umpteenth time, she set her book down and sipped from her cocktail, letting her mind drift freely to the other night at the pub…with George.
Daphne had been elated that Hermione had finally gotten "laid." Even if it had been with George…again.
Despite being a pure-blood raised to be a proper lady, Daphne had no qualms hooking up with random wizards to take care of her needs and strongly felt that Hermione should let her hair down and do the same once in a while.
But since Fred, there hadn't been anyone she'd felt like hooking up with for the hell of it, George being the exception. And while it could be said that she was doing it to get 'some part of Fred back', that just wasn't true. Because at the heart of it all, Fred and George were very different people in many ways.
She'd seen both being silly, happy, sad, angry, frustrated and aroused. And spending time with George (hanging out as friends during school and after they'd left, and being intimate with him twice now) had made her see how much more serious and intense he could be. How painstakingly neat and precise he could be. How he was more of a thinker, while Fred just threw caution to the wind and went for something as if there were no consequences to consider.
Fred's easy-going nature and light-heartedness had been a breath of fresh air for her. And yet, when she spent time with George, she felt like she was being more herself than she was with anyone else. It felt like they danced to the same beat. As if he understood her perfectly. Knew what she needed, even before she did.
And she hated knowing this because it felt like she was betraying what she and Fred used to have together.
Worse than the guilt she'd felt after Fred's funeral when she'd ended up in George's bed, she hated how confused she felt after having sex with him at the Leaky the other night. She'd thought this spark she felt whenever she was around George would dwindle with time and distance. And yet, it felt as if the spark was starting to catch fire…
She could not allow that to happen.
A\N:
Thoughts?