December 24, 1998
"Tuck in, everyone...time for a spot of breakfast! And there won't be any biscuits sneaking while waiting...I'm looking at you George Weasley..."
In the wake of Christmas eve, the sounds of clattering plates and scuffling footsteps carried throughout the house in response to Molly's call. Along with her voice came the warm aroma of pastries and casseroles being carried from the kitchen. All were clear signs of a bustling, warm home in the midst of the holidays.
Meanwhile, Hermione remained tucked away in Charlie's old bedroom, comfortably seated at the edge of the bed. Much to her surprise and relief, her arrival was well received by Molly and Arthur Weasley when she appeared through their floo two days ago. It provided her a breath of fresh air acting as if nothing happened.
As if her and Ron were still on good terms.
Arthur informed them Ron would be arriving later in the evening as he went to help George close shop for the holidays, and that they were unlikely to see either until Christmas eve. Now that the day had arrived, she grew noticeably anxious. The deathly grip on the book in her hands showcasing as much.
She found its heafy presence granted her a certain calmness. The edges remained sharp and the pages were still crisp somehow despite her having read it over a dozen times and bringing it with her wherever she went.
There were several readers who didn't think it a necessary addition to the well established series since the main plotline had already been brought to an appropriate end. Hermione herself, along with the overall majority, disagreed. Upon completing the novel, it had quickly become her favorite in the series. The book spelled out many unanticipated twists, creating wondrous and quintessential development for what were otherwise minor characters. It provided the good majority a well rounded happy ending.
Being said, that book had become her life vest.
When a light knock sounded on her door, she jolted. Causing the book to free itself from her clutches and plummeted to the floor with a heavy thud.
Mentally cursing her lapse of carelessness, she bent downwards to pick it up.
"Just a second, Ginny," she called out, glancing over the book to check for any damages. Like always, it remained in pristine condition.
"It's me."
In the span of a second, her gut lurched and her abdomen tightened, making it all the more difficult to breathe.
"Can I come in?" They said after a pause.
Taking a moment to gather herself, Hermione stood, placing the book back on the bed and opening the door with shaky hands as she braced herself for what was on the other side.
In an instant, she was thrown back many moons and for a moment, had completely forgotten the awkwardness at Kings Cross. Completely disregarded the months of uncertainty and wariness. Their last encounter in Hogsmeade was cast aside. Instead, she remembered the hours of struggling to grasp the advanced concepts of wizard's chess. She remembered the nights she spent excitably sharing knowledge acquired after a trip to the restricted section with him pretending to listen. She remembered the jabs they made towards each other's familiars. Until one of them turned out to be a treasonous murderer. If she tried, she could vaguely make out the nostalgic scent of freshly mowed grass and fresh parchment.
She remembered how much seeing Ginny daily reminded her of him.
"Hey," Ron smiled slightly. "Mum said breakfast is ready."
"Sorry, just woke up," she said effortlessly despite lying through her teeth. "I'll only be a minute."
He then gave her a lopsided grin and nodded towards the bathroom across the hall.
"There's a new tube of toothpaste in there. I erm — I used the last of it this morning," he said, scratching the back of his head.
"So I can properly grace your family with spearmint breath," she teased.
"Wintergreen, actually," he corrected. "Seems to work fine, though."
Hermione's smile fell.
"Why?"
He shrugged.
"Well no one's complained yet. I'm only assuming—"
"No. I mean, why did you change it?"
"The store near us doesn't sell it. All they had was wintergreen and this pink...bubblegum stuff," he sniffed, crinkling his nose. "Probably imported from America, I'd wager," he explained at the mirrored expression of disgust on her face. "It grows on you. The wintergreen, I mean. But really, I can only attest for two people."
"Two?" she echoed. Was he finally confessing to this mystery woman he'd been keeping from everyone? When they hadn't even addressed the lingering uncertainty between them? All because she asked about his toothpaste.
"Well sure. Me and Harry," he supplied, furrowing his brow at her. "Who else?"
She went tight-lipped as he stared at her curiously.
"Ron, Hermione, are you still up there? Are you coming down or not?" Came Ginny's voice from the flight of stairs below them.
For what could have been decades, they remained staring at each other. Waiting.
Eventually, Ron broke eye contact first. Then cleared his throat as he backed away slowly.
"I'll see you downstairs."
While Hermione ached for the familiarity of her own traditions with her parents, she was grateful for the hospitality and courtesy Ron's family always showered her and Harry with. No matter what, everyone was welcome at the Weasleys.
As she experienced earlier, being in close proximity to Ron wasn't as nearly as dreadful as anticipated. It helped that the crowdedness of the Burrow made it so they were never the only two in a room. No one questioned the pair of the, either. That, she was immensely grateful for.
The rest of the day flew by as it was filled with festivities and feasting. After dinner, Hermione told Molly she would be heading to bed early. Something along the lines of being exhausted after all of the excitement from the day. Part of it was true; she was genuinely tired. Though it had little to do with the holiday and everything to do with her ability to sleep.
Or lack thereof.
A light rap on the door sounded, barely audible when muddled with the loud ongoings floors below.
Regardless, Hermione heard it. She glanced up from her spot on the floor, where she'd been reading in much needed silence.
"Hey," Harry said quietly, staying in place on the other side of the door.
"Hey," Hermione echoed, casting him an uncertain glance.
"Mind if I join you?" He asked, hopeful, gesturing to the spot next to her.
She nodded despite her hesitance, keeping her head in her book as he sat down.
"Were you looking for some respite as well?"
Harry chuckled lightly. "They're a lively bunch but I can't complain. It's loads better than spending the holidays watching Dudley open his presents every year."
"How is Dudley? You mentioned you were going to reach out to him in your last letter?"
"I sent him a card," he responded. "We'll see what he says."
Hermione nodded absentmindedly, eyes focused on unworn pages.
"I'm glad you were able to make amends," she remarked.
"Speaking of which," he turned to face her, "I want to apologize."
Sparing him a quick glance, Hermione shook her head.
"You don't need to—"
"Yes, I do," Harry countered firmly. "I can't imagine how you've been feeling all year and I acted like a complete tosser. I've always trusted your instincts. They've never led us astray before and I shouldn't assume any differently now."
"You hold me in far too high of a regard, Harry," Hermione said fondly.
"Ron and I wouldn't be standing here if it weren't for you," he said firmly. "You know that, right?"
"That doesn't mean what I think is always right. I'm known to make mistakes, too—"
"I never said you didn't—"
"—I'm notorious for overanalyzing. For overreacting," she continued, hating for thinking about his stupid face and his stupid lips and stupidly imagining of how they would feel against hers.
"You're human, Hermione. Not Merlin or anyone in the high order. You really need to cut yourself some slack—"
"I can't help it. I can't help but obsess over things I wish I could change, pondering the same moments over and over again—"
"Is that what's happening right now?" Harry interjected. The guilt sank further within her, fully aware that she can't tell him everything. Not when she was barely able to comprehend it herself. "With you leaving magic behind for the muggle world, I mean," He clarified.
"Oh," she breathed. "I-it was just a thought—" she tried to brush off but he wasn't having it.
"Well, I'd like to hear more about this thought of yours if that's alright?"
Eventually, Hermione gave in; abruptly closing her book, taking a deep breath, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly. Harry always cared too much. It didn't help that he practically wore his heart on his sleeve. Not like she could blame him. Or had it in her to fault him for it.
"Do you remember when we were younger, all the times we could spend being normal students and never getting in trouble for trying to do the right thing?"
Harry scrunched his face in bemusement.
"No."
"Exactly. We've spent most of our time in school in danger and in constant fear for our friends and family. As you saw with the last Quidditch match, there's still a lingering tension at school. You're constantly busy at work with cases you can't talk about even though I'm certain they are to clean up the mess the war left behind." At Harry's deafening silence, she knew she was right. "My parents are still in Australia with no memory of me. While I don't regret making the decision for their safety, I shouldn't have had to make it in the first place," Hermione admitted disdainfully.
"You know the muggle world isn't free of faults," Harry offered.
"I never said it was," she commented flatly. "Only it hasn't tried to kill me, yet."
"Do you really think you'll be happier there?" Harry implored curiously, scooting closer as she evaded eye contact.
"I don't know," she shrugged helplessly. "Like I said, it's just a thought,"
"I get it, you know. It's because of magic that my parents are gone. It's the reason why the only family left I had resented me. Why a lunatic did everything he could to gain power and immortality, even by means of killing someone he'd never met. But you know what else magic has done for me?" He emphasized and she finally looked at him. "Magic was how I went from living in a broom cupboard to having friends who are willing to die with me," he eyed her pointedly. "Magic was how I ended up here," he gestured to the home around them, "with people who treat me like family," he paused for a moment, letting the gravity of his words sink in. "Magic is more than a choice. It's a part of you; and I'm sure your parents will say the same when we finally get them back."
A smile etched its way onto her face.
"I miss having you around. Have I mentioned?" Hermione said gratefully. She settled into the nook of his neck, pressing into his side.
"Only a time or two," he replied, with a subtle sense of relief.
A few moments of silence passed before something unexpectedly came to Hermione.
"Wait," she quickly reached for his arm, grasping tightly. "Did you manage to find him?"
"Who?"
"Theo," she clarified. "Did you let him know we left?"
"Oh," Harry relaxed instantly, recognition dawning, "yeah, I did. I told him you were with me but he sort of nodded off on Slughorn's couch," he answered, a sense of uncertainty in his tone.
Hermione furrowed her brows at his change in demeanor.
"Harry? What is it—?"
"It's nothing," he quickly brushed off. Though Hermione wasn't entirely convinced. However instead of pressing, she slowly nodded in agreement.
"I should probably get going before they start searching for me. You, on the other hand," he trailed off, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small vial, "should actually try getting some sleep."
Her frown deepened as she read the label.
A mild sleeping draught.
Being kept up at night wasn't an entirely new prospect to Hermione. After watching Harry endure sleepless nights for years, one would think she would be prepared in the event it happened to her. Except that wasn't the case.
If she managed to fall asleep at all, her nights were often plagued with dreams. Dreams that she would quickly forget about the instant she woke up a puddle of her own sweat. When she wasn't thrashing about in her sheets, Hermione would remain wide awake. Staring up at the ceiling like it would provide the answers to all of her problems. While she'd been having these instances periodically throughout the semester, they've now reached a peak in their intensity.
Seemingly never-ending. Maddening.
"Is it that obvious?" Hermione retorted.
"No, not at all," he remarked, feigning innocence while eyeing the dark circles and evident fatigue on her face.
She scoffed, instinctively rubbing her tired eyes and he couldn't help but laugh.
"Get some rest. You'll need it for tomorrow. Molly said she managed to make multiple presents for everyone this year," he noted.
Begrudgingly taking the bottle from him, Hermione eyed the potion with unease.
December 25, 1998
"I can't believe mum made us matching jumpers," Ginny exclaimed in awe and amusement, alternating between holding up both for closer examination.
"She really outdid herself this year," Hermione offered, well rested, as she continued to examine her new books to add to her steadily growing collection. She had to admit, she was pleasantly surprised at the assortment presented to her. Only a few were duplicates this year and she had a hunch one of the wizards currently flying around the house on his broom had something to do with it. George was alongside him, breaking in the new Nimbus he received from Angelina in the mail with his parents were supervising them like they hadn't been flying for years.
Old habits die hard, she supposed.
Which left her and Ginny in the living room and Ron upstairs. Since everyone disbanded following opening presents, Hermione hoped for an opportunity to seek him out and start up a casual conversation. While the primary goal was to rid any lingering uncertainty between them, she hoped to assure him there were no existing romantic inclinations or jealousy. She hoped resolving their issues would make him comfortable to confide in her as to who he was seeing if he didn't feel that way with Harry. The thought of the pair of them making a conscious effort to discuss relationships, let alone their feelings, never failed to make her cackle.
Like that would ever happen.
"Guess that's what happens when all of your kids are gone," Ginny said, shrugging.
"Don't make that sound so depressing."
"Oh, it's not depressing in the slightest," Ginny chortled, tossing Hermione's jumper back onto her lap. "Let's just say I'm glad I spend most of my time at school rather than here being knowing what they're up to without child supervision."
Hermione grimaced at the mental images now freshly implanted in her head.
"It's a terrible thought, isn't it?" Ginny teased, grinning.
"You spend far too much time with the Slytherin boys."
"Maybe," she winked. "They've definitely made life at Hogwarts interesting."
"That's one word for it," Hermione muttered under her breath.
"I think I'll go see how Harry and George are doing," she said suddenly. Hermione assumed it had to do with Harry having to return to work tomorrow. "Want to come?"
"You go on. I'll catch up," she encouraged. Once she heard the front door close, Hermione stood from the couch and made her way upstairs. Instead of making a beeline to Charlie's room, she found herself standing in front of Ron's. With an iron stomach and an open heart, she raised a hand. But before her knuckles could make contact with the door, it was pulled wide open.
With Ron on the other side donning a mildly surprised expression.
"Hey," he said dumbly.
"Hi!" She exclaimed in a panic and began to babble, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, that is—erm—"
"Relax, Hermione," Ron gently reassured. "I was about to come find you, actually."
"Really?" She glanced up at him with hopeful eyes.
"Yeah. I have a, well, here—" he ducked his head down, revealing what he had hidden behind his back. A small wrapped package. "Happy Christmas."
"But," Hermione began, uncertain, "we already did our gift exchange—"
"I tried to give this to you for your birthday but couldn't get it in time," he corrected, holding it out for her to take while her stomach dropped.
"My birthday," she echoed slowly, a sudden dread beginning to build within her. She took the gift from his hands, too impatient to let the suspense carry on any longer. Unwrapping and opening the box, she felt her heart stop.
It was a book, one she'd wanted for months when the release date was announced. Trouble was, she already had a copy. On the dresser of the bedroom she was currently staying in.
An item she thought he'd given her months ago.
"Oh Ron," her voice wavered, which Ron likely mistook as being emotional. "How ever did you manage to get it?"
"I know someone who's into'm as well. Managed to snag it a few weeks ago when it came back in stock and they grabbed a few extra for me," he answered warily, unsure what to make of her reaction. Or lack thereof. "Is this not the right one?" He inquired, beginning to panic internally, "I thought this was the series everyone's mad about these days—"
"It is!" She interjected. "I love it, I just, I-I don't know what to say." Quite honestly, she didn't.
"Think I might know of something," he hinted, watching her with careful eyes. Almost as if he expected her to react poorly given his words. Taking in his hunched posture and nervous hand fiddling, she knew she didn't want to miss out on what he had to say.
"Go on."
"Well, I know things have been sort of…weird lately. After we left things off the way we did at King's Cross and the Hogsmeade incident," Ron trailed off, blushing a bright red, "I want to know that we're okay," he blurted. "I want to know that despite everything that's happened between us that we can move past it." He walked up to her, taking her hands into his.
How strange.
Gone were the butterflies and nerves she used to get when he did this.
In its place was a sense of tranquility. Like the calm after the storm.
"I told you once that you were one of the best things that happened to me, Hermione. And I meant it. You've always been one of my best mates. And I'd like to keep that going if we can," he explained earnestly. How could she deny him when it was everything she's wanted since their parting nearly four months ago; an end to their romance, but a continuation of their friendship.
Unable to contain herself, she launched herself at him, enveloping him in a tight embrace. She allowed a second for him to reciprocate before pulling back slightly and smacking him on the arm.
"Oi, what's that for?" He pouted.
"You arse, Ronald Weasley! You could have responded to any of my letters! Or at least had the decency to read them—"
"I did."
She faltered.
"You what?"
"I did read your letters," he clarified. "I read all of them."
Then why didn't he ever say anything?
"Hermione? Are you up here?"
Without taking her eyes off of Ron, she hollered back.
"In here, Ginny."
"Christmas is just a never ending holiday for you, isn't it?" Ginny joked when she stepped in, eyes darting back and forth between them and catching the book in Hermione's hands. The redheaded witch took a second glance, eyes widening with recognition. "Hang on, isn't that the book—"
"—that I've been wanting for ages? It is!" Hermione cut in excitedly, giving her a side eye glance. Then, Ginny's words clicked. "Wait. What do you mean 'never ending'?"
"This just came in the mail for you," offering her a sympathetic look, she held out a small box. Neatly wrapped and topped with a delicate red velvet bow.
"What?" Hermione said, astonished, hesitantly taking the slim box from her.
"What is it?" Ron pondered.
"Clearly, it's a box," Ginny replied smartly.
Their rising voices faded into the background as Hermione unwrapped the box. There was no name. No signature. No indication that it was for her. But Ginny was insistent.
"Well go on, Hermione. Open it," Ginny urged, eager to see what was hidden in the box.
Mutually curious, Hermione opened the lid.
A light gasp escaped her lips when her eyes fell on the item; an elegant, magically crafted quill.
One of the finest she'd ever laid eyes on.
"It's beautiful," Ginny said in awe while staring. "Must have taken an awful lot of time to make this."
"Who gave it to you?" Ron asked.
After giving the box and pen a thorough examination, Hermione was drawing a blank.
"I haven't the faintest idea," she admitted.
Hours later, when everyone had gone to bed, Hermione found herself sitting upright in bed, entranced by the new quill in her possession and pondering who the anonymous gifter could possibly be. Deciding on a change in scenery, she took a seat at Charlie's old desk and reached into her bag. Opening an unused notebook to the first page, Hermione quickly dipped her new writing instrument and let a droplet of ink drip onto the notebook.
Patiently, she watched for it to fade or showcase any changes.
Instead, the drop of ink simply bled into the page. As ink often did.
Then, she drew out random squiggles.
Nothing.
She wrote out one of her favorite quotes.
Still nothing.
Sighing with disappointment, she quickly scribbled her name and she closed the book, placing the pen down so she could prepare for another sleepless night.
But just as she turned away, she heard it.
A faint tingling sound coming from the desk.
In an instant, Hermione yanked the cover open as her eyes frantically searched for any changes that transpired. Her ink blot, scrawled lines and quote had all vanished. Only one thing remained of what she'd written;
Property of Hermione Granger.
But what followed shocked her to her core.
Words are meaningless without intent and follow through.
Happy Christmas
A new passage, written in a penmanship that was not her own but was somewhat familiar to her. Her eyes kept being drawn to a characteristic in particular.
The L's...and the way they were looped.
Staring at the words, Hermione dropped the quill and fell back onto the chair behind her, unable to stand. It wasn't long before the shock quickly transitioned into rage.
The nerve of him.
Just when she'd figured things out with Ron and could finally start to enjoy her holiday, that prat had to throw himself back into her head. Especially after the stunt he pulled that night at Slughorn's party.
Unable to look at the present any longer, Hermione stood with an angry huff and headed down to the kitchen in search of anything to clear her mind.
"...what a complete arse...who the hell does he think he is?!" she growled under her breath as she encroached down the stairs and through the dining area. "—rotten git thinks he can charm his way out of everything..."
As she downed her second glass of water, a throat cleared. Gasping sharply, Hermione turned around where she saw George watching her from the living room with an amused smirk.
"Not trying to drown ourselves, are we? You know that won't get you out of knitting your own sweater tomorrow."
Slumping her shoulders, she shook her head.
"I know what I signed up for. Though I don't suppose that's the worst option."
"Ah. Already tired of all those wizard boys chasing after you, eh?"
Grimacing at the sleight hand of truth, Hermione sighed with dejection.
"Something like that."
"I understand completely," he said, grinning smugly as he settled into the couch, cockily lacing his fingers behind his head. "Sometimes it's hard being so irresistible."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Angelina. Even if she is on an all male Quidditch team," she quipped dryly.
George merely snickered with amusement.
"Angelina is giving them a run for their money. I think they're all scared of her."
"Speaking from experience, are we?"
"Now now," he tutted. "You're not trying to deflect, are you Granger?"
"I'm here to drink," she said, raising her glass to make her point.
"At two in the morning?"
"I'm not the one behaving suspiciously and hiding in dark corners," she countered.
"I'll have you know, I'm strategically placing screaming yo-yo's under dad's chair," he answered matter-of-factly.
"How is—" Hermione pursed her lips together tightly. "On second thought, it's probably better I don't ask.
Gaping at her, he stared in disbelief.
"Hermione Granger stopping herself from asking a question?" George exclaimed, affronted. "I knew something was off with you the minute you neglected to laugh at one of my jokes this morning."
"I rarely find your jokes to be funny, George."
"Everyone laughs at that joke, Granger. Everyone," he emphasized firmly. "Now what's got you so out of sorts?"
"I'm not out of sorts."
"Really? Could have sworn I saw you scowling and chug down two pints of water just now."
"Couldn't sleep," she said easily.
"Is that why you've been moping about, then?"
"I'm not moping," Hermione defended unconvincingly.
"Right. You're just looming in silence every chance you get. It's the holidays, Granger. Lighten up. You really know how to kill a mood."
Floored, Hermione hadn't realized someone was paying close attention to her strange behavior. That person being George of all people.
"Harry and Ginny haven't said anything—"
"Seriously? Those two are wrapped up in each other every chance they get," George concluded with a knowing grin. "We'll be lucky if they don't start birthing triplets after this week."
Hermione wasn't sure what to be more mortified over. His crass or the imagery.
"Makes you sick to think about, doesn't it?" he continued. "Imagine being in the room next to them. Sounds like erumpants mating in heat on Valentine's Day—"
"Oh, stop it," she groaned repulsively, "we have to sit with these people in the morning! Let alone, with your parents! What's more, that's dreadful."
"Thought you'd be used to this by now. Ginny fancies this sort of talk," George smirked, bemused.
"I've noticed," Hermione admitted, refusing to recall the number of times Ginny kept trying to bring up Malfoy. Especially now when she was cross with him and refused to see the validity to her words after all this time. "Think I liked it better when she never did it before."
"Obviously she wouldn't," George said dryly, rolling his eyes. "You were dating our brother."
"Do you all do this? Tease each other about your significant others? I can't imagine someone as well-mannered as Percy doing that."
At that, George barked a laugh.
"Shows what you know. Percy was the worst about it. Ron was the only one who didn't do it. He's always been in his own little world, off on adventures with the Chosen One and their best friend who he was a fool for. He still looks up to you, you know. Regardless of whatever happened," he pressed, his expression suddenly forlorn.
"He still hasn't told me who he's seeing," she admitted dutifully.
"He hasn't told any of us," he corrected, much to her surprise.
"And you don't find that to be strange?"
"Reckon he's trying to keep a low profile for the exact reason his last one didn't work out," he shrugged, watching her warily. "I don't think I had a single customer come in that month who wasn't there for the gossip."
Horrified, Hermione's jaw fell as she hadn't considered their break up having an impact on others in such a way.
"Oh no. George, I'm so sorry—" she attempted but he shook his head, smiling.
"Don't be. Thanks to your failed love life, I was able to close shop for a week and still get Angelina a hefty birthday present," he winked. "Besides, not your fault people are nosy sods."
"I didn't mean—I never wanted it to turn out like this," Hermione admitted, exasperated as she plopped herself into the armrest of the couch. For anyone coming in, it would have looked like Hermione Granger getting a therapy session from George Weasley. Thankfully, it was two in the morning and everyone was asleep upstairs. Except perhaps Harry and Ginny. "It's not like we went into it expecting it to fall apart mere weeks later. We both wanted it to work—"
"Clearly, he's moved on," he clarified. "What about you?"
"What are you implying?" She asked with a not-so-subtle tone of defense.
"I'm not implying anything. Just asking if you're happy or not."
Hermione was at a loss for words. Somehow, someway, George Weasley, of all people, managed to conjure how she'd been feeling since the war's conclusion. She'd retreated to the safety of her books and the comfort of lectures. She returned to the familiarity of her home away from home.
But was she happy?
"Look Granger," George began with hesitance as he sat upright, "I'm not really one who's cut out for this kind of talk. But after working with Angelina through bad days and coming from a bloke who hates all things serious, I think you should take every chance you get to move on. And if that means not being with Ron, then so be it."
"So you're not upset?"
He snorted. "I hardly think my opinion should matter."
"You're like family to me, George. Of course it matters," she reassured softly.
His jaw clenched, likely to refrain himself from poking fun at her corniness. Much to his credit, he really had grown up. Even if it wasn't entirely by choice.
"I had some words with him at first. Thought he completely mucked it up though that's obviously not the case."
"I hope you didn't give him too hard of a time," she laughed nervously.
George snickered, "Course I did. I'm his brother."
"And what of your parents?"
"Mum was disappointed in the beginning. She knew you would care for him like no one else. But more than anything, she wants you to be happy. Dad's the same way. They fought in the war too, you know. They saw what you went through. They get it," George answered with a sad smile.
"That's kind of you."
"It's like you said, we're family," he said with a obvious grimace, to which Hermione smirked.
"This is killing you to say, isn't it?"
"You have no idea. I've never been cut out for this sappy mush," he complained, sighing heavily. The way it seemed to pain him to talk about such sentiments almost reminded her of—
No.
Stop thinking about him, Hermione.
You're mad at him, remember?
Then George, out of nowhere, said; "I suppose now's as good a time as any to tell you Freddie fancied you?"
At a loss of words, Hermione blinked aggressively at him.
"You're joking," she eventually replied, dumbfounded.
"You know when we joke, Granger. It's never about boring things like feelings."
"He never mentioned anything," she muttered to herself.
"Did you honestly expect him to? Until now, everyone thought you and Ron were it for each other," he remarked dully. "But then again, Ronnie never stood a chance, did he?"
In an instant, her eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened.
"I'm not sure I like what you're implying," she said lowly.
"Come off it, Granger. We both know he couldn't keep up with you." Then, he stopped, and drew his eyes up and down her figure. "There's someone else, isn't there?"
Shit.
This was the last thing she wanted to discuss right now.
"George, it's not like that—"
"Okay, so you're not together," he tapped his finger on his chin, trying to piece everything together. "But you do fancy someone. Someone who isn't Ron. Is it Krum?"
"Viktor's engaged."
His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.
"He is?!"
"Shush, he's keeping it private!" Hermione hissed, pleading him to keep quiet. "Look, it's nothing. It's only a minor infatuation from spending so much time together on a school project—"
"Are they fit?" George asked, waggling his eyebrows.
"Gods, you're worse than Ginny!"
"Runs in the family. Do keep up, Granger," he waved off dismissively. "Now answer the question."
"I—" she faltered. "Yes. Very."
"Do they have your best interests in mind?" George asked.
Hermione scoffed a laugh, fully prepared to list off a bunch of reasons why the answer was no.
Then that night in Hogsmeade flashed across her mind. Where he offered to watch their potion so she could go on to make amends with Ron, someone who he still openly detests.
Where the last thing she saw before passing out were his silver eyes, riddled with concern and focused solely on her.
She thought it was all a dream. Until the following morning.
Not to worry, Princess. He slept on the floor like a true gentleman and made sure no one bothered you.
Draco was going to take you to your room but didn't have access. So he brought you here instead.
"I...I suppose he does," she exhaled sharply.
"Does he make you laugh?"
What came next were visions of them hunched over at the waist, while holding back tears laughing as they exchanged stories.
She couldn't get that laugh out of her head for weeks.
"More than I have in a long time," Hermione exhaled shakily.
His lips twitched upward.
"Do you miss him?"
"George—" Hermione tried to plead.
"Answer the question, Granger," he cut off firmly.
Her gut lurched at the lighthearted demand in combination of the use of her surname. Her heart pounded as she thought of Malfoy addressing her in a bored or annoyed tone. How she enjoyed riling him up at times and reveled at how productive they could be when they worked together, even in the midst of bickering.
Regardless of what happened at the party and how mad she was with herself for letting her feelings get carried away, he was still her friend. And as she does with all of her friends when they were absent for a period of time, she misses them.
"Yes," she said quietly. "I do."
"Then what's stopping you?"
"He's with someone else," she winced. "Sort of."
"'Sort of?' What does that even mean?"
"It's complicated."
He gave her an unimpressed look.
"He's betrothed."
George nodded slowly, jaw clenching.
"My, my. That is complicated."
"But even without the impending engagement, it wouldn't be possible. The sentiment isn't reciprocated," Hermione spat distastefully, refusing to think about the way he was wrapped up by her.
"Now I find that hard to believe. After everything you've accomplished, I'm surprised every single bloke hasn't come up to you asking for your hand. It's not like the bloke you're after is Malfoy."
He snorted in a joking manner but silence only followed. At Hermione's disheartened reaction, his smile disappeared.
"Oh."
More silence.
"Oh no."
"He's changed," she defended hastily before shifting from vulnerable to defensive. "You can't tell anyone. Especially Ron. Or Harry. They'd take the mickey out of me if they knew." But his next words shocked her.
"Personally, I don't see how it's any of their business."
Astonished at his candor, she couldn't help but respect him further.
"Thank you, George."
"Course, I wouldn't be saying the same if you hadn't told me first," he quickly added. "I, too, would be taking the mickey out of you."
"Thank you, George," she repeated dryly.
"Listen, as a bloke who has no romantic attachment to you and thinks highly of you, I am going to do the mature thing and tell you to strive for what you want. Settle for nothing less."
When she showed no change, he continued.
"I could have died," George said plainly. "It could have been me who got hit with that curse instead of Freddie, but it wasn't. I get the chance to live on, as do you. You've seen how easily it can be taken away from us. So why stop at getting what you want all because of a few minor complications?" George asked, like being betrothed was only a 'minor complication'. He had a point. Even if she didn't end up with Malfoy, she was glad they managed to change things between them into some form of amity.
But like everything she tried so far, it wasn't enough.
"I appreciate the sentiment, George. Though I don't think what I want is an option anymore."
"Life's too fragile to be afraid, Granger. You know, Freddie and I often debated on why you weren't sorted into Ravenclaw."
She turned to face him. This wasn't an uncommon topic for her friends to discuss. Her thirst for knowledge and wisdom wasn't discreet and easily created this separation between what house she truly belonged in. Most of them agreed that she would have been extraordinary in Ravenclaw. "What?"
"It's true. He always thought you belonged in Gryffindor."
"Why is that?"
"He never did say," he answered sadly. "You've brought this upon yourself but I'm bringing my dead brother into this," he sighed, leaning forward on his knees with complete focus on her. "Are you going to let Fred be wrong about you? I know he'd be exhuming with disappointment from his grave. Are you going to let life get the best of you all because you were too scared so you let your precious ferret slip from your hands?"
She glared at him.
"I can't believe you would bring Fred into this."
Grinning smugly, George leaned back in the chair and adopted his original position with his hands behind his head.
"It's like I said, Granger. You brought this upon yourself."
.
.
"Ah—"
Her breath was forced from her lungs as her back hit the wall forcefully. Then she was pressed into it by a warm body.
Persistent lips applied pressure just where she needed it. She felt herself falling and being consumed. It was an addictive feeling. An exhilarating sensation she never knew.
And she never wanted to end.
"Please—" she heard herself say.
"Tell me," a deep, raspy voice rumbled against her throat. "Tell me what you want."
She felt a warmth pool between her legs, an ache that only intensified with his touch.
Once she realized the figure was indeed a man, she noted he had to be of magical descent. She could faintly feel bits of their magic lingering with each other, the sparks setting off currents of electricity as they moved together.
The sensation was sinful. Addictive. And she wanted—
"More."
The wizard happily obliged, dipping his head down and letting his hands wander freely over her clothes she suddenly felt prudish for wearing.
She leaned into the other person's touch, grinding into him, exhilarated when he let out a guttural groan and tightened his hold on her hips.
This person was intense, hardened. Distinct.
He knew what he was doing and he made it very clear what he wanted.
Her.
"Oh gods—" a hand slipped between her legs to where the ache was the greatest.
She failed to withhold a whimper when she felt him work his way through the fastening of her jeans. With swift movements, he slid his hand beneath them.
Reaching under and further.
He pulled away just enough for her to see the moonlight to shine on the lower half of his face. His jaw was chiseled. His features sharp. She could tell the rest of him was beautiful, hauntingly so.
He pressed against her.
She gasped.
Then he pressed harder.
She whimpered, unable to contain her desire any longer and heard herself pleading for him to be closer. On top of her.
Inside her.
Her heart threatened to leap from her chest when she saw his lips shift upwards.
Hermione jerked awake in a heated sweat, holding her covers to her chest. She wiped the sweat off her brow, trying to ignore the ghost of the man's touch she could still feel burning into her skin.
Normally, she would awaken without any recollection of her dreams. But now, she couldn't shake off how easily she fell into the person's administrations. She never got to see the man's entire face but she knew he was far from a stranger when she saw him smile, no—
She saw him smirking.
A smirk she easily recognized after seeing it nearly everyday for eight years. Only to come to the horrifying conclusion that she'd been having dreams about the same person for what was now months. And when it wasn't his condescending voice ringing in her ears, it was Ginny's.
He's gotten into your skin, and not because he forced his way there...
You let him in.
There was no denying it any longer.
She was completely and utterly fucked.
A/n: Thank you all for your patience! I'd also like to do quick shoutout to One Percent who left a review on every single chapter in one go. Thanks for refreshing my memory on the previous chapters (LOL) and for showcasing your thoughts and feedback! See you all at the next one! - E