Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: M15+ (to be safe)
Warnings: Sexual references and some coarse language. EWE, DH spoilers
Length: >2000 words, Oneshot
Summary: What had the poor bunnies ever done to Hermione! George had to save their innocent little lives.
There are a few things you should know about the world I am using in this particular story:
- Epilogue smepilogue!
- No one on the side of good is dead. No one! George still has his ear, Bill has his face and Dumbledore retired to Corfu. Even Cedric is off living happily ever after with his wife (I like to call her Gwen), having lots of gorgeous, perfect cheek boned babies.
- Some characters may seem a little OOC. Sorry bout that! I did try.
- Angelina on the other hand is ridiculously OOC. Completely intentional. It’s the only way I could tell the story I wanted. Sorry Angie!
- I can’t help it. It is genetically impossible for me not to pick on Ron. Don’t hate me, I do adore him. He’s just so open to torture.
- Writing in italics, in-case you don’t get it, is George’s inner monologue.
So without further ado, on with the story
It could never be said that George was one of the most observant members of his gender. Sure, he was more with it than his brothers. And his father for that matter. But that wasn’t saying much. He was positive Ron’s IQ was dwarfed by a turnip’s. As for Harry, subtle hints could steal his glasses, cha-cha in front of him wearing only them and a g-string with Snape’s name stitched into it and he still wouldn’t notice. Even though by normal standards George was clueless, he was at least a shining light amongst the dim bulbs that surrounded him.
Maybe that’s why he noticed the approaching shit storm when no one else did. He was sure that was the reason. It obviously wasn’t because he was staring at her. George Weasley was not a crazy stalker. Nor was he obsessed with the bushy haired brunette across the table from him. Keep telling yourself that and maybe one day the asylum won’t lock you up.
To be completely honest Hermione Granger wasn’t being all that subtle. George had never been gladder in his life that she had never really mastered the use of wandless, wordless magic. Because if she had, he was sure, by the death glare she was shooting Angelina, that they would be planning a funeral instead of a wedding.
The extended family had come together for that very reason. And as they sat around the table at the Burrow the atmosphere was full of life, joy and love. The sounds of retching filled the air. Yes, retching. That was courtesy of Ron, whose fingers down throat hand motions were directed towards the end of the table. There sat Fred and Angelina Johnson. And, if George wasn’t very much mistaken, Fred was trying to retrieve something from Angelina’s stomach using his tongue.
George knew why Hermione was mad. Okay, maybe mad was an understatement. He could almost see the steam shooting out her ears. He had to resist the urge to dive on the kissing couple and pull his twin out of the way in case Hermione’s curse missed Angelina. Super Weasley! But that would put him in danger and he was already in deep doo-doo. George really should have told Hermione about the wedding.
Since the war the gang had grown somewhat apart. Ron had run off with Lavender Brown to America, where they eloped and earned a living running the gift shop at the world’s biggest ball of string. Oh, Molly was pleased. Sarcasm rocks!
Neville and Luna had hooked up much to everyone’s surprise and now spent half the year in Africa searching for the peach toed, lime nosed something-or-other. Strange girl. Nice arse though. No engagement yet but George was sure he had seen Neville the other day looking at rings in a jeweller’s.
Harry and Ginny were still together and living, in sin as Molly called it, in a flat not far from the ministry. Harry now working as an auror and Ginny in the accidental magic reversal squad. When he had first found out about their living arrangements George, like the rest of his brothers, wanted Harry’s head on a stick. But now that he had come to terms with the fact that his baby sis was a grown witch who could make her own choices, he didn’t get why his mum was so pissy about it.
Seriously if Ginny was shagging anyone, it could be a lot worse than the hero of the wizarding world. George knew who he would turn gay for if he had to. Yeah, Harry or that guy that plays Allan A’Dale in BBC’s Robin Hood. His eyes are sooooo dreamy…….. Oh, I really need to stop watching muggle TV when I’m at Hermione’s. Anyway, George was sure the situation would be remedied to his mothers liking soon enough. The thieving, dancing, cross dressing hints that Harry had been missing was Ginny practically waltzing around their flat wearing a veil.
As for Hermione, well she had shocked most of the wizarding world when, while on track to become the youngest ever deputy minister of magic, she had resigned and took a year off to travel the world. Few knew that the cause of this sudden change of direction involved a blonde, a Las Vegas chapel and a copious amount of twine. She returned the same Hermione albeit with a more relaxed attitude. Although offered her old job back, she refused and was now the magical ambassador to the muggle prime minister.
Living alone in muggle London after a brief, passionate and incredibly sexually driven affair with none other than Draco Malfoy, she had lost touch with the Weasley family. That was until Fred and George had taken it upon themselves to right the wrong that little Ronnikins had committed.
Visiting her constantly and basically making a nuisance of themselves seemed to have worked. It didn’t take too long before her bossy voice was once again a familiar sound at the Burrow. To her credit she even managed to get along with Won Won and Lav Lav when there was a family gathering.
The tricky part was working out exactly when George had fallen for her. Yes, George Weasley was head over heels, madly, desperately in love with Hermione Granger. Somewhere between his idiot brother breaking her heart and finding out she could tell him apart from Fred, she had crawled under George’s skin.
He was also pretty certain it was after he had walked in on her and Malfoy, doing things that are considered illegal in some countries, entangled on her kitchen table. Haven’t eaten there since. That had only served to confirm the report from Ron that she was indeed a grown woman.
Hermione had become great friends with the twins and was the first (and only, I tell you) person to achieve the coup of telling them apart. She wouldn’t tell them how and try as they might they couldn’t get a thing by her. George had even tried tricking her once by walking into the Burrow and kissing Angelina. Hermione had responded by smacking him on the arm and telling him off for betraying his brother.
Fred spent most of his time with Angelina nowadays and George missed their group dynamic. Still with the whole Angelina thing it had meant that George could spend more time alone with Hermione. They were best friends. They told each other everything. I really should have told her about the wedding.
Instead here she was, cornered and surprised by a sea of redheads. When Fred had first informed her of his upcoming nuptials, George had seen the colour drain from her face. He had never seen her look more like a deer caught in the face lights. Muggle phrase dictionaries are fun! George knew Hermione loved Fred. Always had. And up until now she was content that he was happy with Angelina. That now seemed out the window.
George was seriously shocked that Angelina’s head hadn’t exploded or caught on fire. The heat exuding from Hermione’s normally beautiful eyes was intense. The two girls would never pass as the best of friends on a good day. Angelina was as vacuous as Hermione was clever. Angelina’s beauty was as manufactured as Hermione’s was natural. Still an uneasy peace had existed between the women. But George was positive, that if Hermione had to listen to one more of Angelina’s tacky ideas, he could sell tickets. Where will I get the jelly from? Then again mud is easier to come by.
George was sure he should be thinking about a tactful way to excuse himself and Hermione from the table. Give her some time to calm down and vent. But that would place him squarely in her line of fire, something he had so far avoided. He had seen Hermione’s temper in action enough times to be appropriately crapping himself at the prospect of alone time with her. He was rather fond of little George and the twins. Portable entertainment for one or more. Fun to play with and make references to.
Angelina had just mentioned the fluffy pink bunnies she wanted to carry the bridal train when George knew it was time to do something. He could see the carnage and bloodshed in Hermione’s eyes. He knew that Angelina had it coming but what did the poor bunnies do? They just wanted to twitch their cute little noses, feast on carrots and shag like rabbits….. I think they're on to something! The bunnies must be saved.
Hermione barely had time to open her mouth before George leapt nimbly around the table and clamped his hand over it. Making an excuse that sounded flimsy to his own ears, he led Hermione out of the kitchen and into the lounge room.
After removing his hand, it took several minutes before she could form a coherent sentence. George waited patiently, his hands strategically placed over his crotch. Constant vigilance! Finally the mumblings of vapid this, inane that and death to the fluffy pink bunnies stopped. Won’t someone please think of the rabbits! That was when he made his mistake.
When he asked what was wrong he was immediately sorry that he had lifted his hands to her shoulders. Something told George that he should have kept his trap shut. Hermione’s wand in his man parts was that something. Apparently he should already know what was wrong. And, damn it all, he did. He would have to talk to Fred. It would be awkward and make a mess of everything. But George loved Hermione too much to let her hurt like this. After settling her down and promising to fix it, he went to tell his brother how she felt.
Personally George couldn’t give a fat rats arse about his brother and little miss four-foot-ice-sculptures-and-fairy-floss-m
‘Hermione loves you but she can’t stand Angelina. And truthfully I don’t blame her. I mean really, fairies spelling out Mr. & Mrs. Weasley in the night sky!? Come on, that ridiculous even for us. Hermione was happy for you to be happy. But right now she’s miserable. And maybe you can disregard her feelings but I can’t. You know how I feel about her. So….so…. so stop this crazy wedding and fix things with her or I’ll….. I’ll punch you in the nose!’
To George’s immense surprise Fred laughed.
Hermione sat in the lounge room silently fuming. How dare George not tell her about this? She was going to jam her foot so far up his arse he would be able to taste her toenail polish. And surely Fred could tell how she felt. That insipid bint drove her batty. There was no way she was going along with this farce any longer. If George didn’t fix this, Merlin help her, she was going to.
She was just heading back into the kitchen to tell Angelina where she could shove her 60 ballet dancing gnomes when strong pale arms wrapped around her stomach. Slowly he dragged her back into the coat closet. Hermione was about to ask him just what he thought he was doing when he whispered the words she had wanted to hear for so long. Practically beaming with joy, she threw her arms around his neck.
As he lifted her to his height, their mouths met in an explosive kiss. Tongues tangoed as hands touched everywhere they could reach. Her fingers tangled in his soft red hair and if it was possible she pulled him closer still. His mouth moved to play with the sensitive spot just under her right ear. She barely had time to put a silencing spell on the closet before her breathe was stolen by his hands exploration under her peasant top.
At her gasp he moved back to look at her face. As his hand cupped her breast and his thumb lightly grazed her nipple, a mischievous twinkle entered his eyes. Hermione giggled, mesmerised by the deep brown eyes, full of the golden sprinkles that his twin didn’t have. She watched as he dropped to his knees and began to gather up her floaty skirt. Appropriately she asked whether Angelina would miss them. With a rebellious raspberry and the sexiest, cheekiest grin she had ever seen, he disappeared under the muslin.
An hour and a half later they emerged from the closet. Smoothing down clothes and fixing their hair, they re-entered the kitchen. Thunderous applause broke out amongst the Weasley men, Harry and Neville while most of the women surrounding the table grinned at Hermione enviously. Mrs. Weasley just looked slightly scandalized. Despite the crippling embarrassment Hermione was glad to see that Angelina was joining in with the good natured teasing. Apparently all was forgiven.
Taking their abandoned seats with cheeks blazing they couldn’t help but join in the fun. Still they cringed when Fred stood up to make a toast before the planning of the second wedding began:
‘To the “amorous” couple. (Giggle from Luna) To Hermione, who I love and who will make the best sister in law ever. (Plastic cups thrown by Fleur, Audrey and Lavender) OW! And to my dear slightly less attractive twin George. My beloved brother who leaves me to tell Bridezilla here (ducks bat bogey hex from Angelina) I mean my gorgeous future wife (Whipping sound à la Ginny) that the double wedding is off so he could have a quickie in the coat closet. (Narrowly avoids swarm of canaries) Watch it woman! Oh and by the way brother of mine, if that is your idea of a quickie, you seriously need (Petrified by Mrs. Weasley).’
Laughing as Fred hit the ground, George lent over the table towards Hermione. She lent forwards as well and their hands clasped in the middle. She lifted one to stroke the tiny darker freckle next to his left eye. Fred didn’t have one of them.
George was finally enjoying the evening. Hermione had for the moment forgotten about him not telling her about Angelina wanting a double wedding. No more violet tuxedos or joint honeymoons. He was surrounded by family and friends. The woman he loved. Bliss. Now all he had to do was convince Hermione to let him have the fluffy pink bunnies at their wedding too. I just can’t get enough of their twitchy little noses.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make money from this story. If I did would I be wasting my time posting fanfics on livejournal..... A clue: No!