Goodnight (Fireworks Series #10)

George inhaled softly, drawing in the fruity scent of the shampoo that Hermione used, storing the memory of it away along with those of the raw silk of her hair's touch against his bare skin and the red-gold highlights loaned to it by the firelight. In stark contrast to mere seconds earlier, Hermione seemed to have melted into a lethargic haze, as if the emotional outburst had sapped all her remaining energy, leaving her too exhausted for further conflict. A slight frown lingered on her lips and even while part of him ached to kiss it away, he was loath to disturb her. Their harsh words earlier made the implied trust of their position all the more precious. A few minutes and she would be asleep in his arms, her breath a soft whisper against his skin, her body a reassuring weight against his, every expression his to watch and treasure.

However, that elusive beast known as his conscience niggled at him, saying that she wouldn't be properly rested if she spent the night in a semi-upright position and she would probably spend the following day suffering from aches and pains. With a sigh, he reached out and tucked the riot of curls away from her face. "Honey," he whispered. "You can't go to sleep like that."

If anything, Hermione seemed to bury her face more securely into the crook of his neck, her reply muffled against his flesh.

"What?" he asked.

"Too tired to move," she protested, this time lifting her head just enough to make the words audible before she let it drop back into place.

"And if we were back at home I'd be more than happy to carry you upstairs and tuck you in," George told her, "but we're not, and, even if it wasn't for the trick staircase, I don't think Lavender and Parvati would be thrilled if they woke up and found me in the room."

"Don't want to go back yet," Hermione mumbled.

This time George whispered his acquiescence. "Okay, honey, you don't have to."

He slipped an arm under her legs, using it and the one that was already around her back to cradle her against his chest while he rose to his feet.

Hermione gave a soft, inarticulate moan of protest as he lifted her into a more comfortable carrying position and made for the door. "Don't wanna go," she grumbled again.

"Shhh," he comforted her. "We're just going to make you a bit comfier." After listening briefly with his ear to the door to check for the sound of anyone patrolling the corridors, he carried her out and closed the door behind them. After the first reversal of direction as he paced up and down in front of the tapestry, Hermione seemed to relax even further in his arms.

The table and chairs were gone, and in their place was a massive four-poster bed, dressed with hangings of midnight blue and draped with a matching coverlet. On each side of the bed were folded matching bundles of striped fabric, which George recognised as Poppy Pomfrey's standard issue pyjamas, a full set for Hermione, and bottoms for him. He set Hermione down in the middle of the bed, closing the hangings one by one until only one set remained open.

"Hey, gorgeous, are you going to manage to get changed before you crash out on me?" he asked her.

"Tired," Hermione answered, rolling over onto her side and cuddling down into one of the mounds of pillows.

"I know you're tired, but you'll be more tired in the morning if you have to get up in time to iron your skirt and you've had an underwired bra digging into you all night."

"Not going to sleep all night," she argued, and then some sort of understanding seemed to dawn on her and even though you couldn't say her eyes had narrowed, having been all but closed in the first place, there was a new tension in the muscles around them. "George, I am not going to sleep with you. I may not know a lot about dating but I know what people call girls who sleep with someone on their third date."

George tactfully refrained from blurting out 'hard to get'. "Hermione, you know that's not the sort of sleeping with that they're talking about, no one is going to know and you're going to be out for the count three seconds after you shut your eyes. I could set the alarm to wake you up in an hour or two but then you'd have to get back to sleep again later and there's more chance of you waking someone up. That bed's big enough that, if you want, you could put a line of cushions down the middle to keep me away, but all I want to do is hold you. Well, no, that's not really all I want to do but it is something I would love to share with you. Nothing is going to happen that you don't want."

Hermione seemed to shake off her weariness slightly and really focus on him for several seconds. "I can't," she answered with what sounded like genuine regret. "I'd need clean clothes and stuff for the morning. If I get caught sneaking in at first light to get changed, that's really going to give the whole game away."

"Well, I might have an answer to that," George suggested, closing the last of the hangings. "Dobby?" he called out into the room.

"George Weasley, if you're—" She paused as there was a loud crack, the all too familiar sound of apparition, something only house-elves were able to do inside the castle.

"Dobby," George welcomed the elf. "Now, I know you're a free elf and I can't give you any orders but I wanted to ask if you would do me a couple of favours."

"Anything, Mr Wheezy," Dobby replied. "Does you want some more food from the kitchens or maybe some butter beer?"

"No, Dobby," George answered. "I'm not hungry right now. I need you to take a message for me, and then I want you to fetch some things from the laundry."

"Yes, sir," Dobby answered, his ears perking right up as high as they could go. "What does Mr Wheezy want me to fetch for him?"

"I need you to get me some of Hermione's clothes. My mum was wanting to knit her a jumper for Christmas and maybe get her some other bits and pieces but she doesn't know the right sizes. Can you fetch me, say, a blouse, some socks and a set of underwear from the laundry. Then I can make a note of the sizes and tell Mum next time I write to her... Oh, and if you get them from the clean washing, then I'll get my sister to slip them into her trunk afterward so you don't need to wait for me to finish and take them back."

There was another loud crack.

"He's gone," George informed her. "You can yell at me again."

"Not when he could come back any second I can't," Hermione hissed.

George couldn't help grinning as he waited no more than a few seconds for Dobby, who was carrying an armful of neatly folded clothes, to re-appear.

"Here you go, sir. Everything sir wanted," the elf announced, with a bright smile.

George bent down to take the clothes from him, making a point to thank the elf for his help before he put the bundle down on the sofa. "Can you take that message for me now?"

"Of course, Mr Wheezy," Dobby answered eagerly.

"Okay, I need you to go to the Gryffindor common room. The other Mr Wheezy, not Ron, the one that looks just like me should be there. Ask him to meet me outside here at ten to seven in the morning and ask him if he could please bring the bag with all the books that I left in the common room with him."

"Mr Wheezy to meet the other Mr Wheezy outside the Come and Go Room tomorrow at ten to seven and he is to please bring your bag with the books," Dobby dutifully repeated to ensure he had got it correct.

"The books I left in the common room. That's it," George confirmed. "Thanks again."

"Dobby likes to help, Mr Wheezy, especially for friends of Harry Potter." With another crack the elf was gone.

"I can't believe you did that," came Hermione's immediate but somnolent protest from behind the bed's hangings. "Taking advantage of a poor house-elf to ogle my underwear."

"He wanted to help, Hermione. In fact, I deliberately asked for Dobby because he's the only one who could definitely have turned around and said no, so you can't complain about me forcing him into anything and, in case you've forgotten, your underwear has been hanging on a washing line right outside our bedroom window twice a week nearly every holiday for years now. I'm already intimately acquainted with them all... unless you got some new ones for Christmas that you've been saving for a special occasion."

There was a distinct pause before Hermione made any reply. "You are a sick, sick man, George Weasley."

"I'm an eighteen year old male. It's our duty to notice these things."

The hangings on the bed were pulled back and Hermione appeared, every feminine curve now disguised by striped flannel. "If you were planning on getting yourself an invite to this bed, you're going about it all the wrong way."

"And what would be the right way?" George asked before he was hit in the face by a pair of flying pyjama bottoms.

"Get changed and I'll think about it," Hermione teased, pulling the curtains closed once more. "There may be grovelling."

George pretended that he didn't notice the slight gap that Hermione had left, turning his back to the bed as he kicked off his shoes and bent over to remove his socks. "Are you telling me that you've never noticed my sexy Y-fronts on wash day?" he asked as he undid the fastenings on his trousers, waiting for her reply before disrobing further.

"You don't wear Y-fronts," Hermione replied with as much indignation as she could summon up. "You all have colour coded boxers. Ron always moans because his are all maroon. Yours are dark green and Fred's are navy blue."

"See," George pointed out, as he eased down his trousers and the aforementioned boxers inch by teasing inch, doing his best to give Hermione something worth watching without making it obvious that he knew that he had an audience. "I'm not the only one who's been eyeing underwear."

"I've folded your underwear," Hermione retorted. "We don't all treat your mum like the maid."

George picked up the pyjamas from where they lay on the floor and pulled them on, tying the drawstring in a loose bow. He turned around and pulled back the hangings once more, unsurprised that Hermione had already found her way under the covers, her hair spread out on the pillow behind her.

"So, this grovelling that I have to do?" he inquired, lifting an eyebrow.

Hermione pointed to her skirt, which was the only item of clothing that still lay on the bed. "You can start by putting that somewhere where it won't get creased."

George picked up the skirt and laid it over the back of the sofa, as an afterthought picking up his trousers and putting them alongside. "Yes, ma'am. Anything else, ma'am?"

"You can come here and give me a goodnight kiss," Hermione suggested, stifling a yawn.

"As you wish, milady," George replied with a slightly smug smile, and for just a fraction of a second Hermione's features took on a slightly puzzled expression before she gave her head a slight shake and beckoned him forward.

Hermione lifted the covers slightly as he approached, making it easier for him to slide in next to her. Their kiss was long and gentle. When they parted, George pressed his lips to her forehead in a last caress. "'Night, Hermione."

"'Night, George." She rolled over and George shuffled closer to her, only to be forestalled when she reached under her pillows and pulled out her wand.

"I'm guessing you missed Moody's lectures on wand safety," George suggested.

"I prefer his ones about constant vigilance," Hermione countered. "Accio book."

The hangings on the side of the bed nearest the bookcases were brushed aside, and a slim volume bound in green leather with silver tooling on its spine landed on the mattress next to Hermione's outstretched hand. She passed it to George without a word.

"Lumos," she incanted, making the tip of her wand glow with a soft blue light. Keeping her wand clasped in her right hand, she reached up with her left and pulled her hair clear of the nape of her neck, so that it cascaded over her left shoulder and fanned out in front of her when she lay down. She inched backward until she could feel George's warmth against her back. "When my wand goes out you can stop gro— I mean reading," she informed her boyfriend.

George propped his pillows against the bed's headboard so that they were high enough to let him see over Hermione's head when he closed the final inch or two that had separated them, and wrapped his arm around her so that her wand illuminated the pages of the book he held.

"Chapter One. It is a truth universally acknowledged..."

Additional disclaimer: The book Hermione summoned, as most of you no doubt recognised, was 'Pride and Prejudice' by Jane Austen.