George had barely reached the third page when the light from Hermione's wand faded into darkness. He waited a full five minutes, letting Hermione's breath even out to a shallow, regular rhythm before he closed the book, sliding it under her pillow. Carefully, he prised Hermione's wand from her loosened grip and placed it beside the book. He slid his arm under the covers, pulling them up over his shoulder and then, when his arm was as warm as those parts of him that had been under the blankets the whole time, he carefully draped it around Hermione's waist, his fingers splaying out over the soft flannel that covered her stomach. His reward was in the way she shifted, settling closer still in his embrace.

Flickering light from the fire found the narrow gap in the hangings. Alone, it wouldn't have been enough for George to continue reading, but once his eyes became accustomed to the darker setting, it was enough for him to see the way Hermione tucked her now empty wand hand under her cheek as she slept. It was enough to see the gentle smile that curved her lips as she slept and to be able to tell that when she relaxed the faint lines he was used to seeing on her brow disappeared.

He watched her long into the night, until the flicker of flame became only the glow of hot coals and finally died away. After all, he could get another couple of hours sleep after breakfast. Who knew when he might get another night like this one? Only when the darkness was complete did he rearrange his pillows and curl up with his head so close to hers that each breath he inhaled came with the citrus perfume of her shampoo.

---

Hermione woke the next morning and was assailed by the sensation of being in a foreign environment. The bedding smelled faintly of the detergent used in the school laundry, but there was also a fustiness in the air that told of disuse, slight but noticeable as if the linens had sat in a drawer or cupboard for years before they had been put to use. The bed was too wide. She stretched out her hand in front of her, but couldn't feel the edge. More than that, she wasn't alone. Unless she had turned into Shiva overnight, she didn't have enough hands to account for the one that was currently cradling her left breast, and she certainly couldn't personally account in any way, shape or form for what was pressing insistently against her bum. She froze in place, even as her memory provided the answer to the riddle, leaving her with a new question.

That she was still in the Room of Requirement and that she shared the massive four-poster with George was beyond dispute. The important question now was whether George was still asleep. Was it even possible for a guy to get like that and sleep through it? Her sense of fair play provided the answer to that one, reminding her that her dreams, especially of late, weren't always completely chaste. She slipped her own right hand underneath the cotton of her pyjama top, but before she could prise the fingers free, the quiet of the room was shattered by the harsh elongated dri-i-i-ing of a mechanical alarm clock.

For a fraction of a second the grip tightened, and then the hand pulled back as if scalded, George's weight rolling away from her. He tugged back the hangings, allowing the grey light of early morning to invade their sanctuary. Then, he reached down to the floor where he found a shoe, throwing it at the offending alarm clock, which sat on a side table at the edge of the room.

The clock tumbled to the floor but continued to ring, and George began to look through his discarded clothing at the side of the bed until he came across his wand and cast a Silencio with about five seconds to spare before the alarm wound itself down.

"Sorry," he apologised as he rolled back over to find Hermione propped up on one elbow watching him.

"Sorry for what?" Hermione asked, her mouth crooking into a gentle smile now that she was almost certain he had been asleep.

"The rude awakening," he answered, leaning in to kiss her good morning.

Hermione grinned as she shifted back out of reach. "If you mean the alarm clock, I was already awake. If you mean where your hand was and, well... other parts, apology accepted, but only because I think you were asleep when they got there." There was something immensely satisfying in watching the tide of colour that flooded George's face and made the tips of his ears turn a pink so dark that it was almost red, in knowing that, brazen as he might often seem, she could make him blush. She allowed him his kiss, slow, long and gradually deepening. Somehow, by the time Hermione reminded herself that she would have to get dressed soon, she found herself lying almost prone on top of George, except for the leg that was drawn up over his hip. Feeling very thankful for a double layer of flannel, she shifted her leg so they were no longer in quite such a compromising position. "You wouldn't do anything when I was asleep that I wouldn't let you do when I was awake?" she asked, when he finally drew away.

"Intentionally?" George clarified, waiting for her nod before he continued. "Definitely," he replied, grabbing her and pinning her arms in place at her sides, until she heard him out. "I am a guy and you are... Let's just say that me being around you is like Crookshanks playing in a catnip patch ...but it's a matter of degree. I might put a toe across the line here and there," he said, using one foot to stroke her leg from ankle to knee as he loosened his grip, "but I'm not going to push my luck too far. Of course, if I had woken up first and my hand just happened to be under your top when I did, then I might have had to leave it there in case I woke you up."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and gave him that glare, the one where he would swear she'd taken lessons from his mother.

"Or maybe not."

"How long have we got before Fred decides to join us?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

George turned back over to check the alarm clock, but it had landed face down. However, when he pushed the hangings back further he could see the clock that hung on the wall. "About twenty minutes," he told her, "give or take."

"What?" Hermione demanded.

"Well," said George. "I set the alarm to give us three quarters of an hour, but either it's slow compared with the other clock or we spent longer saying good morning than we realised."

Hermione was already out of bed, her first surprise awaiting her in the form of an old-fashioned washstand and water jug, with soap, flannel, a glass, toothpaste, mouthwash, a brand new toothbrush and a box of dental floss all set out on a small table beside the balcony doors. The second, and the one that made her stop in her tracks, was the view from their balcony. The little that she had been able to make out in the darkness hadn't done it justice. She opened the doors, telling herself that the spring chill would serve to wake them both up, and paused to watch the pink-tinged clouds that topped the nearby mountains.

She washed her face and used the flannel to do the best job she could of washing her upper body without taking off her pyjama top. As she brushed her teeth for the required number of minutes, she gravitated toward the balcony. Wary of being seen, she ended up standing just inside the doorway as she tried to absorb the details that she hadn't been able to make out at night.

George, now dressed in last night's shirt and trousers, his tie slung around his neck and his sweater balled up in one hand and held in front of his body just below waist height, came up behind her. His free hand wrapped around her waist and he nuzzled into her sleep-mussed hair. "There's a boys' bathroom just down the hall. I think I better go get myself a cold shower." Actually, what he intended was a nice hot shower, which he planned on imagining he was sharing with Hermione, but he had a feeling he might get another lecture if he said that.

Hermione turned in his arms, looked down at the toothbrush in her hands, licked her lips free of mint-flavoured froth and then stood on tip-toe to give him a peck on the cheek.

She gave a slight grimace as she noticed his tie, remembering that her own was safely in her dormitory, since she hadn't worn it last night.

"What?" George asked.

She rolled her eyes in response, wondering how he expected her to talk with a mouthful of toothpaste, but tugged at the strip of red and gold cloth around his neck.

"You don't have a tie?" he asked.

She shook her head.

She couldn't quite work out the smile he gave her as he pulled the tie from around his neck and placed it around hers instead. "I've got a free period after breakfast. I'll get my spare then."

He reached out, cradling the left side of her jaw in his fingers and brushed his lips against her forehead. "Back soon. And remember, if I'm carrying your books and wearing a tie when I get back, it's Fred, so no snogging."

Hermione gave him a playful push toward the door and went back to brushing.

There really hadn't been time for a lecture, George reflected as he made his way down the corridor, though it might almost have been worth it to see her blush and bluster and pretend to be outraged. He had a feeling that even though he wasn't the first to notice her, Hermione had spent too long as the buck-toothed 'ugly duckling' to really believe in her own beauty. If he was honest, he knew he appreciated the fact that those early years had left her without the veneer of affectation that a lot of pretty girls acquired. At the same time, he wished he could erase the doubts he occasionally caught in her sideways glances, the moments when he knew she was wondering why he would want to be with her, when she just didn't understand that it was him who was the lucky one. He had every intention of convincing her exactly how attractive he found her, but now was not the moment. For now, he'd settle for imagining what she might have looked like if there had been more going on between them last night than sleeping.

He pushed open the door to the bathrooms, picturing her with tousled hair, her flannel pyjamas discarded in favour of his own white cotton shirt, unbuttoned almost to the waist, though still hiding far more than it revealed, his tie resting on the curve of her breasts, the ends dangling free.

---

George was making his way back along the corridor when he spotted Fred emerging from a nearby stairwell and jogged to catch up. It didn't take much more than a glance at his twin's face to tell that Fred hadn't had a restful night, though he also looked rather pleased with himself, despite walking slightly awkwardly.

"Well, don't you look like shovelled shit this morning?" George suggested with typical brotherly charm, holding out a hand.

"Why, thank you, Bro'," answered Fred as he handed over Hermione's book bag, "and you're looking less than your normal perky self, if I might say so. I think love disagrees with you," he added with a wicked grin.

"Love agrees with me fine, and stop fishing. No details. Remember?" George raised an eyebrow as he glanced in his brother's direction. "And what's your excuse for looking like you haven't slept all night?"

"That would be because I spent most of the night in the prefects' bathroom... thanks to you."

"What do you mean thanks to me?" George demanded.

"It was your idea to add that horny goat weed to the last batch," Fred insisted.

"No, it was your idea to add an aphrodisiac. I just looked up the possibles," George corrected him.

"Well, let's say that, assuming there wasn't a misprint in that book where we got the quantities from, it must have reacted violently with the other ingredients. The bad news is, as far as Daydream Charms go, that batch is unsaleable."

"And the good news?" George prompted.

"If we register the formula with the Ministry and license it out to an Apothecary or two, we'll have the best-selling Patented Potency Potion on the market." Fred looked positively gleeful at the idea of the gold that was about to come rolling in.

"So, ehm, how are you feeling now?" George asked, not quite able to keep a smirk from his face, or his eyes from the front of Fred's trousers, which thankfully looked under no more strain than normal.

"Tender," Fred replied with a wince. "Very, very tender... and we're out of Murtlap essence."

Author's Note (additional): Nope, I didn't make up horny goat weed. It is, apparently, a herbal 'remedy'. Amazing what you can find on the internet.