Fictionallizzy
A/N:
Sorry I made you wait for chapter 7. Life happened. Also, I had a tough time with this chapter, for no particular reason.
The song suggestions are a little more old-school than usual, but still worth a listen.
Roxette - How do you do!
The Cure - Pictures of you
Sheryl Crow - The first cut is the deepest
CHAPTER 7:
"Incredible!" he whispered to himself. To Hermione, he said, "Up until now I was still convinced you've been taking the mickey. But this is an actual sex shop."
"Where did you think I was taking you, then?"
"Honestly?" he shrugged. "No idea. I haven't thought that far."
Up until a year ago, Hermione had never been inside a sex shop, but Daphne had convinced her to go as a lark. She hadn't purchased anything, but Daphne had gotten herself a rabbit out of curiosity. To this day, she maintains it's the best gift she's ever bought herself.
Before then, Hermione had always imagined it would be dimly lit, with shadowy corners and creepy salespeople lurking just out of sight...watching.
Surprisingly, this particular shop was bright, and the sales lady was very perky and eager to assist.
Hermione watched George browse the products on display, finding his reaction more fascinating than the products themselves.
His mouth hung open while he inspected the different-sized dildos and vibrators with a sort of reverence, eyes wide.
He reached for a monstrous purple rubber dick, scrutinising it with a cocked head, before lifting his eyes to meet hers. He scoffed. "Well, I don't know about other women, Granger, but this would never in a million years fit you. It'd tear you in half."
Hermione blinked, a crude, painful image flashing in her mind's eye. She squeezed her thighs together at the mere idea of trying to get that...thing...inside her. George was very well endowed, but this dildo made it look like he was toting around a Vienna sausage in his trousers.
"How would you even begin to—" he started to ask, but the sales lady interrupted.
"Oh no, Sir," she huffed a laugh and playfully smacked George on the shoulder. Was she trying to flirt with him? "That is way too big to use on your girlfriend. I can tell by your expression that this is very new for you. It takes time and practice to play with these dildos. Perhaps it would be best to select a toy in line with your actual size and work your way up from there."
"Oh, not to worry," George casually waved away her comment. "I'll be using this one to spank her," he winked at Hermione. "She's rather cheeky and needs to be reminded of who's boss occasionally." He grinned. "Isn't that right, darling?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, and turned away, trying to fight a blush. This was a little out of her comfort zone—discussing sex and toys with anyone other than George or Daphne.
When they made it to the more palatable sex toys, browsing side by side, George murmured from the corner of his mouth, "This place is feeding my fantasies in the worst way possible. I mean...the things I could do to you..." He carefully adjusted his trousers, and the sight made her stomach flip with excitement.
Was he hard right now, just from browsing?
"Good. This is your chance to bring some of those fantasies to life. You get to decide what you want to do to me for the remainder of this weekend. I'll let you choose anything you want, as long as it doesn't go in the back door."
George puffed a laugh. "Don't worry, Granger. Back doors aren't really my thing."
Good to know.
She had no idea what he'd gotten up to with the witches that had come before her.
"This one is the exact opposite of the monster dick..." George observed as he picked up a small box with a tiny pink vibrator. "I find it hard to imagine how it could provide any sort of pleasure."
Hermione took it from him with a smirk. "This is a bullet vibrator, Georgie. Not a micropenis." She leaned closer and whispered, "It's used to stimulate the clitoris or nipples. Any erogenous zones, really."
"Sold!" he announced in a raspy voice and plucked it from her hands. Without another word, he continued his perusal while Hermione stood there, lost in fantasies of what he'd be doing to her later.
While inspecting a pair of fluffy handcuffs, George turned to Hermione and said, "You know...I could always make a mould of my penis for the joke shop products. As a baseline. Modify the toys' size and shape according to their purpose." He chewed his cheek. "Do you think we should conduct market research to find out what our potential buyers might prefer?"
"You are not making a mould out of your own penis, Georgie. I mean," she lowered her voice and furtively glanced at the sales lady who was hovering just out of earshot, "You have a beautiful penis, sure, but you'd basically be sharing it with the entire wizarding world."
"Don't be jealous. You know I'm in the business of spreading joy. Hopefully, this will be a thigh-spreading business, too. It would be selfish of me not to provide pleasure wherever I can. Take one for the team, so to speak."
"Might as well open a brothel and let them have it straight from the source then," she muttered testily.
The idea of other witches getting to experience the wonder of George's magical cock wasn't sitting well with her. She felt rather territorial about this particular appendage of his.
George cupped her cheek gently, but his eyes darkened. Lazily, he dragged his thumb over her bottom lip and tutted quietly, "That smart mouth, Granger. Keep going and see what happens when we get home."
"Is that right?" she challenged. "Going to spank me, are you?"
He chuckled forebodingly. "Oh no, Doll. That hasn't proven very successful, has it? You're still mouthing off. I think I'll have to find another way to keep that impertinent mouth of yours occupied."
Hermione's skin prickled with anticipation, and she licked her bottom lip. "What are we still doing here then?"
"Fuck..." he dragged a hand over his face and once again, adjusted the front of his trousers. "You need to stop distracting me. I have research to do. And may I remind you that it was your brilliant suggestions for a new product line that brought us here today?"
"Fine," she pouted and continued her perusal, albeit sulkier than when they'd first arrived. She didn't want to waste time with research right now when he'd just hinted at filling her mouth with his cock.
George selected a box from the shelf before him and opened it carefully, producing a...pocket pussy.
Godric.
"Well, well, well," he laughed, delighted with his discovery. "This is certainly...unexpected." He lewdly stroked a finger over the rubber labia. "This is the perfect starting point in creating toys for single wizards."
"Merlin's nuts," Hermione groaned with mortification. "What's the matter with—Oh, sweet Salazar! You're really going for it, aren't you?" she gasped, watching with shock as he pushed his finger into the sleeve.
"Hmm..." he hummed to himself, frowning. "Doesn't feel the same as yours, at all."
"For the love of god, George." She smacked his hand. "Stop this madness right now! The sales lady is about to have a heart attack."
And she was. The woman was staring at George with a mixture of horror, admiration and arousal, mouth hanging open, while he literally fingered the pocket pussy right there in the open like a fucking pervert.
"I'm just trying to wrap my head around the texture. See if I can figure out a way to make it softer and warmer. More lifelike." He cocked his head, brows knitting in concentration as he pushed his finger deeper inside and curled it as if looking for an invisible G-spot. "I like how deep it is. I think it's important to ensure that the whole penis is enveloped. No point in it only covering half. It would detract from the experience, don't you think?"
Hermione, half aroused, and half mortified, ripped the pocket pussy away from George, stuffed it into its box and handed it roughly back to him. "Enough!" she whispered heatedly. "I swear to Merlin, I'm never taking you shopping for sex toys or condoms again. This has been the most embarrassing day of my life to date. Now..." she pressed her hands into her hips. "Move onto something else, or I'm leaving you here."
George tapped two fingers against his lips as he scrutinised her for a moment, then placed the box back on the shelf. Holding up a finger, he indicated to the sales lady to excuse them for a moment, tugging Hermione after him toward the back of the store.
"Where are we—" Hermione started to ask, but George cut her off.
"Hush, Doll. In a minute." He continued past the BDSM paraphernalia at the back of the store, giving it nothing but a cursory glance.
When they reached the dressing rooms, he pushed her into one of the cubicles, locked the door and cast a silencing charm under his breath. Turning back to her, he calmly said, "I can see you're anxious to get home to continue our weekend in bed, but I just need you to be a good witch for another hour or so. Until I've gotten everything I need for this 'project' of ours. That being said, we'll take the edge off so that you're more patient while I browse."
"What are you talking about?" She gaped at him. "What do you mean 'take the edge off'?"
George smirked devilishly and, from his pocket, produced a small, familiar box. It was the pink bullet vibrator.
He calmly opened the box, took out the small device and switched it on.
The sharp buzz of the little bullet, combined with the ravenous look in George's eyes made her shiver.
"Take off your trousers and knickers, for me, Granger," he ordered in a no-nonsense tone.
She scoffed, taken aback. "You're kidding, right?"
"Do I need to do it for you?" he threatened.
"We can't just..." she struggled to find the right words. Merlin, she didn't even know what exactly he was planning. "...you know...fool around in a dressing room with a toy we haven't even purchased."
"Yet..." he emphasised the word. "We haven't purchased it yet, but we will."
He gently stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Now, take off your bottoms like a good girl."
She huffed, but started undoing her jeans and pushed them down along with her knickers because she liked it when he called her a good girl. Maybe she had a praise kink.
"We're going to get caught, George. The sales lady is probably waiting right outside this door for us."
"The cubicle is silenced," he assured her. "You can be as loud as you want, Doll. She won't hear a thing. Now, turn around," he demanded.
She kicked her clothes to the side, rolled her eyes at him and turned around to face the full-length mirror. "Keep rolling your eyes at me. We'll see how brave you really are when we get home," George challenged.
Without another word on the matter, he nudged her legs wider apart, took one of her hands and placed it against the corner of the mirror.
He dropped the bullet vibrator into the palm of her free hand and whispered a sticking charm to keep it secured.
With two fingers, he gently parted her lips and placed her hand between her legs.
Her body jolted when the bullet connected firmly with her clit.
She looked up with a moan, pinpricks of pleasure shuttling through her core and into her limbs while George watched her in the mirror with a self-satisfied grin.
He leaned closer and murmured in her ear, gaze locked with hers. "That feel good, Doll?"
It was difficult to focus on his question while the bullet buzzed so deliciously against her clit. She managed only a nod; not sure she could speak right now.
"Good," he acknowledged quietly and whispered another sticking charm. Her hand, with the bullet vibrator, was now stuck to her pussy, pleasure coursing through her body in delicious waves.
She couldn't do anything but take it.
He let go of her wrist and stepped back to unbuckle his belt while she watched him in the mirror, fighting not to shut her eyes and give herself over to the glorious vibrations of the bullet.
"I want to hear you scream, Granger," he told her while he unzipped his trousers and took his cock into his hand, giving it a couple of lazy strokes. The sight made her blood simmer with arousal. "I need to know when it feels good."
And without further debate, he stepped forward and slipped a finger into her core, testing to see if she was ready.
He pumped his finger into her a handful of times, chuckling darkly at the slick noises her body made, and suddenly, he replaced them with his cock in one swift thrust.
She cried out in surprise at the sudden intrusion, her body clenching sharply around his shaft in response.
"Holy shit!" he growled, curling his fingers firmly into the swell of her hips to hold her steady. He pressed his lips to her shoulder blade and praised, "So fucking good."
She was tender, but her pussy was so used to him after two days in bed with him that her walls yielded instantly to allow his thrusts.
He pumped his hips roughly into her, forcing her pelvis against the mirror with every push. The added pressure made her clench involuntarily every time, and it was clear she wouldn't last long.
While George murmured curses into her skin, she tried to keep her eyes open so she could watch him. And he was beautiful like this, eyes wild while he held her gaze in the mirror, jaw clenched, and cheeks flushed.
His pace was almost brutal, and even while she tried not to be loud, the intensity of what he was doing to her was overpowering her senses. She babbled, cried out and praised him while he fucked her against the mirror, rapidly beckoning her orgasm closer, until seconds later, he followed her over the edge.
They climaxed together with loud exaltations, her legs shaking precariously as she tried to remain upright through the onslaught of sensations.
The thrill of getting fucked in a dressing room, the vibrations of the bullet against her clit, the punishing jerks of his hips and the spreading warmth as he spilt his cum inside her made for one incredible orgasm.
When he'd slipped out of her, he helped her into her knickers and whispered in her ear, "Don't you dare clean up. I love the idea of you walking around this store with my cum leaking from your pussy, while your every move reminds you of what just happened."
As expected, the sales lady waited for them outside the dressing room, arms crossed, and lips pursed when they unlocked the door. "Sir," she straightened her spine and narrowed her eyes, "We do not allow our products to be tested in our dressing rooms. I should—"
Unruffled, George cut her off, opening his palm to reveal the bullet vibrator. "We're not done browsing, but consider this little beauty sold."
The blonde gaped at him, and then at Hermione, stunned to silence. "Works like a charm," he continued, glancing at Hermione. "Isn't that right, Doll?"
All Hermione could do was nod. Her body felt lax and sated, limbs heavy and brain sleepy thanks to the spirited sex she and George just had. She couldn't even muster up a single morsel of embarrassment right now.
"Fine," the woman conceded begrudgingly, gritting her teeth as she spoke. With a finger pointed at them, she warned, "But if this happens again, I'm throwing you out of here." She turned on her heel and stalked off toward the till, parking herself on the stool behind the counter to watch them like a hawk.
"I refuse to believe this is the first time anyone's had sex in the dressing rooms," George told Hermione with a grin while he continued his perusal, her hand firmly clasped in his. She wondered if he realised they were holding hands like a couple. "This is a sex shop, for Godric's sake. It's only natural for the customers to get turned on with all these products on display. And why have dressing rooms if you won't allow your customers to blow off some steam in private?"
"Mmhmm..." she concurred lazily, still floating on an endorphin high. "Too true."
He turned to look at her, smug, and whispered, "I like you this docile and agreeable. Who knew a good shag in a dressing room was all it would take?"
xxx
George had kept his word.
He'd bought a lot of toys for 'research purposes' and used most of them on her for the rest of Sunday until she was incoherent and boneless.
He finally let her get some rest just after eleven o'clock, knowing she had to get up early on Monday morning for work.
It was the best sleep she'd had in a very long time, head on his chest while he'd wrapped his arm tightly around her. What she wouldn't give to have him like this for the rest of her life.
She woke him around three in the morning for slow, sleepy sex that felt very much like they were making love, but she relished every touch and kiss.
Every gasp and moan from him while he worshipped her body, bent her to his will, consumed her, was ripping her heart from her chest until she could hardly breathe without bursting into tears. Because very soon, their time would be up and she'd no longer have him this way.
She was in love with George Weasley.
But having him meant losing everyone else in her life. And it might mean the same for him.
xxx
The next morning, Hermione brought George coffee in bed while he lounged sleepily against the headboard.
There was something so innately sexy about seeing him in her bed, naked, bleary-eyed and dishevelled, almost vulnerable.
"Do you want to shower before me?" she asked.
He waved away her offer. "No, that's okay. I don't have clean clothes for work, so I'll have to swing by my place anyway. Might as well shower there."
"Makes sense," she acknowledged and headed to the bathroom for a long hot shower.
Every single part of her body hurt after this weekend, and it felt amazing. She was sticky from more than just sweat and hoped the hot water could soothe some of the tenderness.
Despite sleeping well, she felt like she could use a day just to recuperate, but unfortunately, duty called. Besides that, work would keep her mind off the fact that things had to be different between George and her from now on.
They'd had three days to fool around, and now that their time was up, she couldn't help but wonder if this weekend had been a mistake. To her, it felt as if they'd achieved quite the opposite of what they'd initially intended when devising this plan.
George hadn't left the bed to get dressed while she'd been in the shower, and as she selected a set of practical underwear and a pair of scrubs, his eyes followed her every movement.
It felt comfortable getting dressed in front of him; they'd seen each other naked too many times to count by now. And yet, she wondered if she should have taken her clothes to the bathroom with her since they were supposed to maintain a platonic relationship now. This was probably why friends were never supposed to cross certain lines. Things became blurry and awkward, and it fostered self-doubt.
It was her turn to stare when he slipped out from under the sheets and reached for his briefs and trousers. She knew the dips and swells of his abs so well by now. The curves of his hips as they cut sharply into his pelvis like an arrow that pointed toward treasure. Knew exactly what that firm arse of his felt like under her palms as it flexed and relaxed every time he thrust into her. She'd explored every inch of his body in the most explicit ways possible and in return, she knew what those hands, strong arms and thighs, and that very lovely cock of his was capable of in (and even out of) bed.
Seeing him so exposed made her want to drag him back to bed and forget about work.
He quirked a brow at her and tried to suppress a smirk when he shrugged on his button-down, but she knew he liked the attention from her.
He strode over to her, stuffed his hands into her hair, and pulled her lips to his. With a scorching kiss, he momentarily made her forget about everything else that existed outside this moment. And she wished they could remain in their bubble of bliss forever. But his words when he broke their kiss ripped the rug right out from under her.
"I'm in love with you, Granger. And I know you're worried about the consequences, but if we give everyone time to get used to the idea, they might come around."
"Georgie," she sighed and looked away from him. If he could see how much she wanted to say yes, how close she was to giving in and shunning everyone from their lives by being selfish, he would never give up on this. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that."
"Hermione," he pleaded, tipping her chin up with his index finger. "If—"
"No," she said, more firmly. "A relationship with you means we might have to sacrifice friends and family. Your family. And I won't take the risk. It'll hurt a lot less if we simply go back to being friends."
What if George chose her over his family, and they cut him out of their lives? Or what if he resented her one day for costing him everyone important to him? She would not come between him and his family.
"If Fred and I never—" she continued, but he winced and held up a hand to stop her.
"I get it, Granger. You don't have to say anymore."
"Look..." she reached out to squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry. Maybe this weekend wasn't such a bright idea after all."
"Right," he nodded sharply and offered a bitter smile. "Well, I guess that's my cue to get going then." And without another look at her, he gathered the rest of his things and headed out the door.
Never in her life has she felt like a bigger arsehole than right now. And that included the first time she'd slept with George.
He was such a good guy, the perfect man, and she'd hurt him. Disappointed him after he'd told her he was in love with her.
She'd suspected it for a while now, but she hadn't expected him to admit it. Not when she'd thought they were on the same page regarding the infeasibility of their relationship and the consequences of having one.
xxx
For almost two weeks, she didn't hear from or see George. And during that time, she hadn't reached out to him either. It was clear they needed some time apart to absorb everything that had happened between them. But by Friday, with an entire weekend off from work looming ahead of her and nothing to distract her from the mess they'd made, Hermione decided to pay him a visit at the joke shop.
It was time for them to talk.
She missed him. Craved his company.
As usual, Weasleys Wizard Wheezes was packed with customers. And just like the day she'd walked into the joke shop after they'd slept together for the first time, George Weasley seemed less than delighted by her presence.
Nevertheless, she bulldozed her way through the shoppers, heading straight for him.
His shoulders sagged, but his eyes remained firmly locked on her as she approached.
Seeing it was disheartening since she usually had the opposite effect on him.
"Glad to see you're still alive and kicking..." she greeted and folded her arms.
"Could say the same for you." He pursed his lips. "Why are you here?"
"Oh good, straight to the point," she groused. "Then I suppose you could tell me why you're avoiding me."
He sighed and dragged his hand over his face as if he found her tiresome. Good. She'd annoy the fuck out of him until he told her what his problem was. "This isn't a good time. As you can see," he indicated to the packed shop. "I'm busy."
"Can you ring up your customers and talk at the same time, then? Because I'm not leaving until I've gotten what I've come for."
"And what's that?" He watched her with thinly veiled irritation.
"Firstly," she bristled. "Can you stop looking at me like you detest my mere presence?"
He tipped his head back and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he offered. "That wasn't my intention."
He turned to find Lee working the floor and whistled loudly.
Lee looked up, quirking a brow.
George indicated he needed a five-minute break and took Hermione into the storage room where they could talk privately.
The walls of the storage room were lined with packages wrapped in brown paper, the desk was barely visible beneath a mountain of paperwork and on top lay a half-written missive, addressed to her. An ink bottle and a glass paperweight held the parchment open.
He noticed her looking at it, and with a swift wave of his wand, vanished it.
He rounded the desk, intentionally putting some space between them.
The action stung, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and put on a brave face. "Well?" she stuffed her fists into her sides. "Are you trying to avoid me?"
He bit his bottom lip and broke eye contact. "Yeah," he nodded. "I was...am...trying to avoid you."
She was surprised by his brutal honesty. She'd expected him to be vague or dismissive. Deny it even. "Why?"
He barked a derisive laugh. "Why?" He glared at her. "Really, Hermione?"
"Don't use my name like that," she snapped. "You make it sound ugly."
"Jesus, you're being difficult. What do you want me to call you, then?"
A sudden hollowness settled in her stomach. Why was he being like this? Cold and disconnected. It felt as if she was losing him. She could feel the inevitable crash and burn looming behind his words, and she wasn't sure she could take the blow.
In a small, brittle voice, she said, "Granger. You always call me Granger. Or Doll. And now, after all these years you want to call me by my first name like you're trying to punish me."
Another cold laugh. "No. Doll is reserved for the witch I'm in love with. The one who shares my bed. The one I thought I could have a future with. And I don't see her here. Do you?"
She recoiled as if he'd slapped her, and her eyes welled with tears. "We bloody agreed to be friends." She slammed her fist on the desk between them, frustration bubbling to the surface. Louder than she'd intended, she continued, "You said you were okay with it, George! God dammit, you know we can't be together! And you fucking AGREED! But now you suddenly want to change the rules."
"Yes, Hermione! I want to change the fucking rules! I never wanted to be your friend. I want more! I want everything or nothing, and since you're not offering everything, I'm finally walking away." He lifted his hands in surrender, shoulders sagging defeatedly.
"What?" she gasped, chin wobbling as she fought to suppress her tears. When one escaped, she wiped it away with a shrug of her shoulder.
"I'm done," he shrugged evenly. "It's time for us to part ways as friends. Or part-time lovers." He huffed a laugh. "Or whatever the hell we were."
"N-no!" she challenged, squaring her shoulders. She took a step towards him. "No, George. You can't do that."
"That's not up to you, Hermione. I've made up my mind." He winced and dragged a hand through his hair when another tear rolled down her cheek, followed closely by more.
She was done fighting her tears when it felt like her world was caving in.
"Don't cry. Please? You're killing me."
"And you're killing me, Georgie," she choked.
"I'm sorry," he shook his head, looking pained. "But I don't think I can be around you and pretend I don't want to have a future with you. Move in together. Marry you. Have kids and someday spoil our grandchildren rotten. Love you more and more each day, even when we're old and grey."
She pressed her hands to her face as she broke down in front of him like the pathetic idiot she was.
George cursed under his breath and drew her into his arms. "Granger, please. I'm begging you not to cry like this. You're ripping my heart out."
"Okay, sorry. I'll stop," she apologised but started sobbing even harder.
She was so in love with him.
If she'd fallen for him instead of Fred, things would have been so much easier right now. No one would have been upset, angry or disgusted with her. No one would wonder if her feelings for George had more to do with having Fred back than with George himself. No one would judge her for jumping between brothers. She wouldn't have to worry about losing the Weasleys.
"Maybe being around you will get easier with time, but right now it's hurting more than helping," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair before stepping away from her. He produced a tissue and handed it to her. "I have to get back." He grimaced. "Ron's on lunch, so Lee's manning the shop by himself right now."
"Would you mind?" She indicated toward his floo. "I really don't feel like walking out of here looking like a mess."
"Of course, you can," he nodded and took the pot of floo powder from the mantle, holding it out to her.
"Thanks," she said and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
"You'll still see me sometimes for Sunday lunch at the Burrow, okay?" he placated weakly.
She tried on a brave smile that immediately fell flat. "Right..."
With a handful of floo powder, she turned her back on him and tossed the powder into the grate.
"Take care of yourself, yeah?" he said in parting just before she stepped into the fireplace and called out her address.
Within seconds, he disappeared from her sight.
She didn't think she could stand any more empty words from him. Not after everything that had just been said.
Their friendship was over. And now she's officially lost both Weasley twins.
xxx
Hermione wallowed in her apartment for the rest of the weekend, unable to summon up the will to drag out her books to begin studying. She didn't clean, she didn't cook and didn't even shower. She'd planted herself in front of the telly, barely paying attention to what she was watching.
All she could think was: This is your own fault.
He'd told her he loved her. Wanted to have a future with her. And she'd shot him down even though she wanted to tell him she loved him back. But admitting it while knowing a relationship with him held too many obstacles—posed too many risks—would have been cruel. She'd rather he kept believing she wasn't in love with him, instead of knowing the truth.
What good would it do when she couldn't choose him?
Sunday lunch at the Burrow was a special kind of torture.
She'd vacillated between going and staying home until a quarter to twelve this morning. But one of the reasons for not choosing George was because she needed the rest of the Weasleys in her life. She needed a loving, supportive family. A place where she felt safe and accepted. And so, she'd hurriedly showered and dressed, dragging herself to the fireplace even when she knew she'd probably have to face this new version of George who was cold, detached and wanted to cut her out of his life as a friend.
He'd been as distant as she'd expected.
Molly and Arthur had instantly picked up on the tension between them, aka the lack of their usual banter.
Daphne wasn't even there today to 'hold her hand' throughout the meal while George studiously kept his eyes trained on his plate, pretending she wasn't there. Whenever he had to engage in conversation, it was brief and did not include her.
"Molly and I thought it would be nice to celebrate our anniversary with a little party this year," Arthur said when Molly bustled out of the kitchen with dessert. "You're invited, of course. As is Daphne."
"You'll come, won't you dear?" Molly took over from Arthur. "There will be a dance floor, and a tent, just like the one we had for Bill and Fleur's wedding. Finger foods and champagne. You could bring a date if you'd like—"
George's knife slipped with a loud scrape against his plate, making everyone around the table shudder.
He looked up, mumbling a half-hearted apology before turning back to his plate.
"Or..." Mrs Weasley hesitated. "I'm sure Georgie would love to be your date for the evening."
Oh boy.
George stiffened in his seat but still didn't look up at Hermione.
"Of course, I'll be there," she said, dodging the topic of dates altogether. Luckily, Molly didn't push the issue.
When lunch was over, Hermione almost ran for the floo before Molly could address the tension between George and her. What would she even say if Mr and Mrs Weasley asked what was going on with them?
But when she got home, she gave herself a mental pep talk and started cleaning her apartment. She needed to begin studying for pre-exam tests, and an untidy apartment would distract her. At least studying would keep her thoughts from drifting to George.
xxx
Hermione would never begrudge Daphne a relationship with Ron. Things seemed serious, and there was talk that Ron wanted Daphne to move in with him.
She was happy for them, truly. But this was the first time Hermione had to study for tests without her best friend beside her, books spread out on the bed in front of them.
It sucked.
Not even George was here to keep her company.
A tidy apartment and his delicious, home-cooked meals had been a bonus, but his presence and support had been what truly mattered.
The times when Daphne did pop over, it was to drag Hermione away from her books for an hour or so, just to take a break.
Right now, they were lounging on the couch, watching Holby City and eating popcorn while Daphne pointed out how many surgical procedures could have been avoided if the fictional characters had magic at their disposal.
"Have you and George made up yet?" she asked, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth in a very unladylike manner. For some reason, Daphne was convinced George would come to his senses eventually and give his friendship with Hermione another go because he couldn't 'live without her.'
Hermione wasn't so sure of that.
George had seemed resolute when he'd said he was done.
"Listen," Daphne said and muted the telly. She turned to Hermione, looking somber. "As your friend, there's something that I feel honour-bound to tell you."
Hermione's stomach churned. Judging by Daphne's expression, the news would probably be hard to hear. "I'm afraid to ask."
"I'm just going to rip off the band-aid, as the Muggles say." Daphne took a deep breath. "George is seeing someone." She grimaced. "It's very new. But I have it on good authority that he's going to bring her to Arthur and Molly's anniversary party."
Hermione didn't say anything—couldn't formulate an appropriate response. The news was like a punch to the gut, even though she'd expected it to happen eventually. But considering it's been just shy of a month since their disastrous weekend in bed together, she'd sort of expected him to take another month or so before he started dating.
He couldn't have been as in love with her as he'd claimed if that's how quickly he'd found someone else.
"Are you okay?"
"Not really, but eventually I will be. As long as he's not dating Angelina." No matter who it was, it still hurt. But Angelina was more of a threat because she had a history with George. They knew each other intimately and used to have feelings for each other once upon a time. Perhaps they still did.
Daphne winced and squeezed Hermione's hand. "I'm sorry, love."
"Unbelievable..." Hermione scoffed. "Why am I even surprised?"
"I know how badly she's treated you in the past. And if it's any consolation, neither Ron nor I think she's right for him."
Hermione's heart lurched at the thought that Daphne had shared Hermione's secrets with Ron.
Couples obviously tell each other everything, and Hermione could appreciate that. But the only thing she's ever made Daphne promise not to tell anyone about was her history with George.
"Ron doesn't know about George and me, does he? You haven't-"
"Of course, I haven't told him. You know I'd never betray your trust," she vehemently assured Hermione. "But I'm pretty sure Ron suspects something."
Hermione opened her mouth to ask why but was cut off.
With a mouth stuffed full of popcorn, she replied almost inaudibly, "He asked me once if I noticed how you and George look at each other when you don't think anyone's watching."
"And what did you say?"
Daphne swallowed and shrugged casually, "I told him it's probably because you two are such close friends."
"Okay," Hermione nodded, puffing a sigh of relief. "Thank you."
"No problem." Daphne winked. "You know I've got your back. But..." she chewed her cheek for a moment. "There's a good chance others have picked up on it too. I mean, Ron's not exactly the most observant person, if I'm honest."
"Yeah, well..." Hermione sighed warily, kicking her feet onto the coffee table and leaning back against the couch, "The way things are going right now, I don't think George and I will have to worry about rousing any more suspicions. He's with Angelina now."
xxx
GPOV
Hermione Granger looked like Katrina, his sister's favourite porcelain doll.
That was the first thought that had popped into George's head during Fred's and his sixth year when she'd tried to bully them into signing up for S.P.E.W.
It had been the first time he'd noticed how pretty she was. Before then, she'd always been his youngest brother's annoying, bushy-haired best friend.
Fred had called her Persnickety Granger behind her back during her first year at school. And while true initially, it had faded into a more subdued intelligence with time once she'd found her place in the wizarding world.
With the smoothest, creamiest skin, wild brown curls and whisky eyes, she was the spitting image of Ginny's Katrina-doll. The only difference was that Katrina's left eye often got stuck, and she would end up staring at you with one eye open and the other at half-mast. Granger never creeped him out like that. But she'd completely stolen his heart that day.
From then on, he'd referred to her as Granger-doll in his head. Only in his head. There were times when 'Doll' lingered on the tip of his tongue, begging to be spoken out loud like a deep, dark confession.
But she'd never be his Doll when her heart belonged to his twin brother.
He remembered the day he and Fred had received word that Harry, Ron and Granger were heading home after their Horcrux hunt. He'd gone to the Leaky, alone, to get piss drunk after Fred had pulled a ring box from his pocket and explained that he was going to propose to Granger the next time he saw her.
But still, he kept loving her even though he knew how pathetic he was.
There's a saying: Good things come to those who wait.
He used to believe that. Now? Not so much.
He's been waiting years for Granger to notice him. Fall in love with him. Choose him. And so far, nothing good has come of it.
While sex with Granger had been an almost religious experience, the intimacy of the act meant nothing when he couldn't have her heart. That has been the most painful part of loving her all these years.
Seeing her with Fred had hurt, but her not choosing him now that she was unattached, was way worse. It meant she had never wanted more from him than friendship and the occasional romp between the sheets.
He'd made himself available to her, he'd been easy, and that was his own fault. But how could he not offer himself up unconditionally when he loved her so fucking much?
She's been the only person he's felt comfortable talking to about how hard it was to get by without Fred. How it felt as if he were living with a phantom limb. Still looked for his twin whenever something funny or completely absurd happened so they could trade looks, have conversations without saying a single word, or contrastingly, finish each other's sentences.
And now he was grieving another loss.
On Saturday at his parents' anniversary party, George noticed three things at once when Granger walked in.
One: She didn't bring a date, even though he had.
Two: She looked thinner than when he'd last seen her. Like the way she had before he'd started taking care of her. She tended to get lost in her own world while studying, and cooking for her and reminding her to eat had helped her gain some much-needed weight. Now, they were back to square one.
Three: She looked fucking beautiful in her long-sleeved wool dress, hair pinned up into perfect disarray atop her head. Her silky curls looked almost golden under the fairy lights.
He hadn't seen her again after lunch at the Burrow two weeks ago. He supposed she'd been too focused on studying to carve out time for any social activities, but for the first time since then, it felt like he could breathe again.
How fucking pathetic was he?
"Want to dance?" Angelina asked, sidling up to him where he was standing at the drinks table, eyes following Granger as she greeted everyone at the party. She slipped her warm hand into his and squeezed gently. It felt at once foreign and familiar.
The moment he'd agreed to a date with Angelina after running into her for a second time, he knew it had been a mistake. He didn't have any feelings for his ex-girlfriend, and it was a dick move to string her along when he knew nothing would come of it. But he needed to start dating and thought it easier to dip his toe into the dating pool by doing so with someone more or less familiar to him.
"Sure," he agreed, turning his attention to his date.
So far, Granger hadn't given him a speck of attention, and he supposed that was his own fault. He couldn't cut her out of his life and expect her to keep hanging around him.
But after years of loving her, and then being intimate with her, he found it harder to suppress those memories and keep his distance than he'd expected.
Certain situations, like this one, or lunch at the Burrow would, unfortunately, bring them into each other's orbit time and again, but he reckoned the less they interacted, the easier it would be to see her. And he fucking prayed it would hurt less with time, because her presence was gutting and simultaneously breathing life back into him right now.
At first, he'd been angry with her for not choosing him. But how could he fault her for needing his family?
"Do you want to go to my place after the party?" Angelina asked suggestively as they swayed on the dance floor to a slow song.
Tonight was Angelina's and his third date, and he supposed that meant sex was officially on the table. But just considering being intimate with anyone else after having Granger made him sick to his stomach. It felt like cheating, even if she wasn't his and never really had been.
He'd mentally and emotionally prepared himself for the fact that he'd always be her second choice after Fred. A consolation prize of sorts, because she couldn't have who she truly wanted. He knew he couldn't do anything about that and had still been willing to compete with a ghost for her heart. Apparently, that wasn't necessary. She didn't want him. Refused to risk everything else. And he loved her enough to accept that.
"I-" he looked away from Angelina's probing stare and shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?" she pouted. "I could do that thing you used to love so much. Help you relax a little." She slipped her hands over his shoulders to massage the muscles. And it felt so fucking good: the pressure of her thumbs as she worked the tension away; the touch of someone who was interested in him.
To be honest, he couldn't remember exactly what he'd 'loved so much' back then, because his enthusiasm in the bedroom had solely been to rile Granger. As despicable as it was, he'd always purposefully neglected to cast silencing charms whenever Granger had stayed over with Fred. He'd always been more 'enthusiastic' and vocal while he and Angelina had sex, just to annoy Granger and make her wonder what it would be like to be with him instead of Fred.
It hadn't been fair to either witch or his brother. But he never claimed to be a saint.
Just having Granger think of him, with irritation or otherwise, had been good enough for him back then.
"Maybe another time," he eventually answered. "Let's just take things slow for now."
Over Angelina's shoulder, George could see Granger talking with Daphne.
"Does it have anything to do with Hermione?"
George jolted, the question like a slap to the face. He'd hoped he hadn't been too obvious while watching Granger. "Of course not. I just don't want to rush things with you."
This seemed to appease Angelina for the time being, but what if he started running out of excuses not to have sex with her?
Later, while Angelina was off talking with Ginny about Quidditch, George headed over to the food table to grab a bite to eat.
The fact that Granger and Daphne were talking nearby happened to be a coincidence. He wasn't spying.
But then, Granger said something that he was simultaneously shocked and glad he overheard.
"Here," Daphne said to Granger, pushing a champagne flute into her hand, "Have some bubbly and relax. Enjoy the party. You're way too wound up."
"I don't think it's a good idea right now, Daph." she declined vaguely.
Daphne scoffed and jokingly said, "What? You're not pregnant, are you?"
George froze, and so did Granger.
Fuck!
He took a step closer, and then another, straining to hear as Granger lowered her voice.
"I'm a week late."
"Oh, shit! Are you serious?" Daphne gasped, and suddenly looked up from over Granger's shoulder, catching his eye as he walked closer, unable to help himself.
Her period was a week late?
Granger swung around, surprised to find him standing behind her. With comically large eyes, she whispered, "George..."
"Would you mind giving us a moment alone?" he asked Daphne, who almost dropped her glass of champagne in her haste to escape.
If she was a week late, that meant they'd somehow fucked up with protection.
He wracked his brain to figure out exactly when that could have happened...and remembered the dressing room in the sex shop.
He'd been so preoccupied with getting inside her as soon as possible, having walked around the shop with a hard-on almost the entire time, that contraception had slipped his mind.
Her hands had been occupied, so the responsibility had been his. And he'd messed up.
A hundred conversations transpired between him and Granger as they shared one look.
He could see she was terrified. So was he, but at the same time, the thought of having a baby with her seemed like the best news ever. He'd give up everything for this. For a family with her, even if she didn't love him back. They could co-parent, move in together or even get married if she wanted to. His parents would probably expect the latter.
"How much did you hear?" she asked, even while he could see she knew he'd caught every word.
"I think I got the gist," he explained. "You...might be pregnant."
"I'm not sure yet," she shrugged with feigned indifference. "My period is a week late...but it's not the first time it's happened. Except, it's never been after I'd had sex."
"In the dressing room of the sex shop, I forgot to—"
"...cast the charm," she finished for him, sighing resignedly. "Yeah. That's the only time I couldn't remember if we'd been safe."
"I'm very sorry," he offered with genuine contrition. "But I promise I won't let you go through this alone. I'll be as involved as you'll let me."
"Nothing's for certain yet, George. It might be due to stress and a poor diet, or my hormones might just be messed up. Like I said, this has happened before. But I still need to take a test to confirm."
"Want me to be there when you do?"
She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again and shook her head.
"I don't want you to go through this on your own. I can only imagine how stressful it must be."
Granger barked a derisive laugh and rolled her eyes. "Alone? Oh, please. You told me you wanted nothing to do with me, and now you want me to believe you've suddenly had a change of heart?"
"Well," he bristled. "The fact that you might be pregnant with my child changes things. A lot."
"Look...I was waiting it out, hoping I was worried for nothing. But I'll take a test tomorrow and let you know. For now, just keep a lid on things and relax until I'm sure. Worry about your date, instead." Granger tipped her head in Angelina's direction. She was glaring at them, arms crossed and jaw tight. "She looks rather upset."
He supposed Granger was right. Ginny had moved on, leaving his date to wait by herself while he completely ignored her.
"Fine," he agreed begrudgingly. "But the moment you know, I need you to owl me. This is my business, just as much as it is yours."
xxx
Hermione cried the next morning when her period arrived shortly after she'd returned from the coffee shop with a hot chocolate and a muffin.
This meant there was no need for a test.
At first, she'd been incredibly relieved that she wasn't pregnant. But after talking with George last night, a small seed of hope had started sprouting in her heart. Having his baby, no matter how much it would complicate everything else, meant she'd have him back in her life for good.
He'd make an amazing father.
On the other hand, she never wanted him to feel trapped because of one slip-up. That would be unconscionable.
But realising that she would gladly have accepted the consequences and would have dealt with everyone's reactions just to keep him and their baby, had given her pause.
If she'd been prepared to accept the fallout when everyone discovered what she and George had secretly been up to, why couldn't she step up and fight for the man she loved without a baby in the picture?
She and George deserved to be happy together, didn't they? They were allowed to fall in love just as much as the next person.
She hadn't asked to lose Fred during the final battle. Nor did she intend to fall in love with his twin. And for that matter, if the people she was so afraid of losing truly loved her as much as she loved them, shouldn't they be supportive now that she's been given a second chance for a happily ever after? No matter with whom.
The only problem right now was that George was dating Angelina. Even if she doubted George harboured any significant feelings for his current girlfriend, it still wouldn't be right to interfere.
Which meant she had to bide her time. Hope he'd see Angelina wasn't right for him.
She wouldn't be making any declarations about love just yet. Nor would she get into a catfight with Angelina over George. She'd owl him to let him know she wasn't pregnant, and then she'd wait.
Good things come to those who wait, right? Wasn't that the saying?
A/N:
As I said, this chapter was harder to write than expected. Hope I did it justice.