Carpe Noctem (Fireworks Series #2)

Hermione scowled at her fuzzy white slippers. "Remind me again how I came to agree to this," she muttered under her breath. The instant the words were out of her mouth she knew she'd made a mistake... a huge mistake.

Black leather lace-ups suddenly appeared in her field of vision, framing the white fluff that had once belonged to a pair of white rabbits, and forcing her eyes to travel up the length of the tall, lean body that was once again right in her personal space. A large hand reached out, took one of hers before she could stumble back and placed it palm down on the centre of his chest, right over his heart. A heart that seemed to race as hard and as fast beneath her fingers as her own was suddenly beating, adding to the pounding pulse in her ears.

She stared hard at her traitorous hand in its unfamiliar resting place before she tilted her head back to see the wholly-mischievous, slightly-awed expression on the face of her best-friend's and sort-of-crush's elder brother. She caught only a glimpse before his lips met hers again and the confusion and resentment of moments before was temporarily swept away.

By the time George stepped back again, she had trouble catching her breath.

'Bad Hermione! Bad! Bad! Bad!' she told herself, resuming her perusal of her footwear.

"Because you want to know everything... including why exactly being this close sends both our hearts into overdrive. Because you need to probe..." His eyes flashed with sinful amusement. "...And examine until you work out what it all means and where we go from here and because the middle of the common room where anyone, including little Ronnikins might walk in on us isn't the place to do it." He drew his wand from a trouser pocket and, before Hermione could regain her senses enough to protest further, he tapped her sharply on the head.

Hermione shivered as the cold feeling travelled down her spine, not sure how much of the chill was from whatever magic George had performed and how much was guilt at her shameless behaviour. However, when she looked down at her legs they had taken on a cabbage rose pattern much like the upholstery of the armchair beside which she was standing. Her brows knotted into a frown. "But the Disillusionment Charm isn't even on the NEWT syllabus?" she half-enquired half-protested, obviously perplexed by George's command of what was relatively advanced magic.

George gave her a wide grin. "Good job we know so many people with Auror training then, isn't it?" He tapped his wand against his own head, his skin, hair and clothes changing colour to match the wall behind him. "Fred convinced Moody that it would make it a lot easier for us to slip in and out of Grimmauld Place without anyone seeing us if he taught us the spell. It's not quite as good as an invisibility cloak, but in the dark it should do the job if Filch is prowling about."

Hermione gnawed at her lower lip for several seconds and when George had carefully replaced his wand in the back pocket of his uniform trousers and took her hand, she remained stock still. Her resistance brought George spinning back to face her.

The camouflage effect of the charm that he had cast made it nearly impossible for her to read his expression and she more than half expected a frustrated tirade at her hesitance, but instead a gentle hand reached out to cradle her face. "We're not going to get caught, Hermione," George crooned.

"I know," Hermione admitted. She'd known that as soon as George had cast the charm so successfully on her.

"Then?" His voice was soft, sounding concerned, and she wished she could see his eyes properly.

"I'm sixteen, George!" She realised she had blurted out the words before her brain could sort and categorise all the misgivings that kept her pinned to the spot.

Two sweater-draped arms wrapped loosely around her, one hand cradling the back of her head and pressing her face into his shoulder, so that she found herself inhaling a clean, cool scent that she recognised as being one of the aromatic bubble-baths from the prefects' bathroom, though how George came to smell like that brought up a whole new set of questions. "And you'll still be sixteen when we come back," he told her so soothingly that she knew he hadn't just heard the words but understood the thoughts behind them, even if he couldn't quite keep the amusement out of his tone. His hold on her tightened briefly, but then he stepped back, letting his hands run down Hermione's arms until he could take each of her hands in one of his own.

"Look, for now, the only thing you need to work out is this... Do you think I'd ever hurt you?"

For a second it felt to Hermione as if her heart just stopped beating. "No..." she answered with only a slight waver in her voice, but the longer she thought about it the surer she became. "No, you wouldn't." The twins might often infuriate her with their pranks, and, even then, she thought George was more of a collaborator in their most outrageous schemes whereas Fred tended to be the instigator, but they weren't hurtful or malicious. In fact, underneath the teasing, they were the kind of guys who... She found herself struck by at least a dozen memories. The twins laughing and joking through a family meal at The Burrow. Talking about Percy, so obviously upset at the pain their brother had caused both their parents. 'Just happening' to turn up at the right time to add their jinxes to the hail of magic Malfoy and his sycophants had more than earned. Taking a few seconds to help some first year get their trunk onto the train when others had already walked on past. Her recollections were rudely interrupted by the man in front of her.

"Too damn right, I wouldn't!" George confirmed vehemently. "I saw Marietta Edgecombe and I'll have you know that I have no intention of walking around for the rest of my life with 'total git' written on my face in purple pustules." He loosened his grip on her right hand and pulled gently on her left.

This time she responded to the pressure, letting him guide her toward the portrait hole. "I wouldn't worry too much about that," said Hermione lightly, having decided she might as well give as good as she got. "Your life wouldn't be very long once your mum found out."

Hermione sighed and gave a rueful grin as a winged piglet made up of pink and silver sparks looped around her head before swooping off across the lake.

"Are you sure you didn't make those?" she asked George just one more time, still finding the appearance of the previously unseen breed of pyrotechnic highly suspicious.

George just smiled an irritatingly smug smile. "Would I tell porkies about something like that?" he asked, patting the space beside him on the red tartan picnic blanket that the castle's house-elves had more than willingly provided to go with the picnic basket that Fred had insisted they should stop off in the kitchen to procure.

"Yes," answered Hermione, smiling at his bad pun despite her best efforts not to, "and then if you got caught you'd probably say something like 'All's fair in love and war' and charm your way out of it."

George's face took on an expression of exaggerated hurt, but then he tipped his head slightly to one side, pursing his lips together before straightening back up. "All perfectly true, I'm afraid... except for the part about conjuring the piglets, but at least I got you to admit I have charm. Now, sit down and let me get rid of that Disillusionment spell."

Hermione hesitated. Her head had almost begun to clear as they walked down from the castle, George draping the blanket over his shoulder and using both hands to carry the small picnic basket that held a few bottles of butter beer and some fruit, trying to keep it steady enough to prevent the bottles from clinking together. She'd been able to keep enough space between them to regain her wits, wits that told her it was foolish to let George infatuate her this way when only this morning she'd been sure that it was Ron who held her interest. He and Fred might be thrown out of Hogwarts in only days and after that they wouldn't see each other except when she was at his home as his brother's guest... and, if Mrs Weasley had been standoffish when she'd thought that Hermione had betrayed Harry, how would she react if whatever this was ended badly or if Ron started treating George the same way he had treated Viktor? In the end, however, as George had predicted, curiosity won the day.

Hermione carefully positioned herself on the blanket, keeping a good six inches between herself and George.

With another sharp rap on her head, George removed the charm that he had cast on her earlier and she watched as the camouflage effect of the spell seemed almost to drain off her skin and clothing, leaving them looking pale against the darker background of the blanket.

Goosebumps decorated her lower legs where they stuck out from under her robe and short pyjamas, and it seemed that she wasn't the only one who had noticed. Before she could protest, Hermione found herself scooped up and set back down again, only this time she was sitting squarely in the centre of the blanket, with one long leg on either side of her.

"You are—!" she protested, squirming slightly in his embrace, until she realised that, if anything, the movement was making her even more aware of every bone and muscle in the body behind and around hers.

"Debonair, charming and doing my best to stop you catching hypothermia." George lifted the top corners of the blanket, wrapping it around both of them like a shawl and then, holding them in place with one hand, that just happened incidentally to leave one firm arm wrapped around Hermione's waist, he used his other hand to flip the bottom corners over their legs.

"I was going to say 'in grave danger of facial pustules'," retorted Hermione. "You could at least have warned me."

"And if I had, you'd have insisted you were okay or conjured up one of those pretty blue fires of yours. I like this way better."

Hermione wanted to argue but the part of her that wasn't wondering how on earth her world had come to be standing on its head liked it better this way, too, and she knew that George would somehow wheedle that embarrassing confession from her if she tried to say otherwise, so she clamped her mouth closed, fixed her gaze on the fireworks that lit up the heavens and willed herself to relax. She made it a whole seven seconds before she leaned over to her left and twisted her head around so she had at least a partial view of his face. "Why?" she asked tentatively. "Why now?"

"Miss Granger, if you keep asking 'why?' I'll be forced to conclude that you're fishing for compliments but just one more time for the record... I like you. In fact, as I'm pretty sure you should be aware I like you like you. I know you'll probably give me a hard time... but I don't want it any other way. It's easier to see myself in a relationship that works the way Mum and Dad's does than to imagine myself with someone like Fleur, gushing about how wonderful I am every time she opens her mouth."

Hermione gave a quiet snort. "No one is going to gush about how wonderful you are." She softened her words with a smile and a gentle squeeze on the hand at her waist.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence! But, actually, I seem to recall dozens, if not hundreds of people, including you, doing exactly that earlier tonight."

"I said your fireworks were wonderful," Hermione insisted with a teasing grin. "Totally different thing."

George grinned. "Yeah, but you looked so damned happy when you said it that I wanted to kiss you right there and then. I mean the girly swot thing is just the way you're wired and being best friends with Harry adds its own responsibilities. It was good to see you looking less serious for once and it was even better to be at least half to blame for that smile. Made me want to make you smile more often."

"So this was just a spur of the moment thing?" Hermione asked, hating the way her voice trembled slightly.

"You really think I'd mess with your head because of a whim?" George countered. "If we hadn't been working so hard on the joke shop... and if you weren't a very sweet sixteen, and if I was still going to be around to make sure that you didn't do something stupid like go out with my ickle bro' even though it would never work."

"What?" Hermione squeaked in surprise.

"You and Ron. Anyone who really watched the pair of you can see you've been dancing round each other for years... but it'd never work."

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

"For one thing it'd screw up the way things work with you, Ron and Harry and that alone would probably be enough to doom it before it started and, then, when the inevitable messy implosion's been and gone, you never know whether you'd be able to pick up where you left off. And, in case you hadn't noticed, Ronnie has a tendency to sulk when he doesn't get his way... Look at what happened with the Scabbers thing and with Harry's Firebolt. He'd spend half his time agreeing with you just to get you to shut up and the other half not speaking to you and the third half, which I do know is one half too many, trying to convince you to do his homework for him... And the only time he'd make you laugh would be when he made a complete prat of himself, which brings us back to the whole sulking thing." He gave a decisive nod as if that settled the matter. "You see, Ron has such a hard time living up to his vastly more entertaining elder brothers that he needs someone who thinks he's God's gift and will keep telling him that until he's half-way convinced. And you, what you need is a handsome, intelligent, slightly older man, who knows what he wants, appreciates a challenge, who might disagree with you now and then, but who wouldn't let it get in the way of snogging you senseless at every opportunity..."

His hand came up to rest under her chin, drawing her face to his, and the arm around her waist loosened, supporting her back where her spine was twisted to allow their lips to meet. His lips brushed hers lightly, teasing caresses that left her wanting more.

Instinctively, she twisted in his arms and pressed his shoulders back, so that she faced him now, her upper body pressed on top of his so that she could deepen the kiss.

The hand that had held her chin slipped into her hair and his other hand moved down to cup one smoothly rounded butt-cheek through far too much terry towelling. As he hoisted her a few inches further up his body, she suddenly realised what part of him was pressing against her thigh.

She froze in shock, reminded just how out of her depth she was when it came to a subject that none of the books in the Hogwarts library could teach her about.

George reacted instantly to her change of mood, dropping his head back to rest on the grass, his eyes opening to meet her panicked gaze, asking without words what was wrong even as he let his hands drop to his sides. When she didn't pull away, he reached up slowly to rub soothing circles on her back.

"Too fast?" he asked.

Hermione bit at her lip, but then shook her head. "Too out of control." She dropped her head down until her cheek rested against his shoulder, tilting her head forward so that she wouldn't have to look at him. "I kissed Viktor, but I always..." She ran her lower lip under her teeth again. "He didn't... I mean, it wasn't. You haven't crossed a line. It's just..."

"Incredible... and scary," George finished for her. "Especially when you know I won't be here much longer and you'll be left to pick up the pieces... and, even if we write to each other and even if I manage to talk you into sneaking into Hogsmeade once in a while to meet me, maybe we just won't have anything in common any more... or maybe you'll meet someone else, or maybe I will..."

Hermione put her hands on either side of his shoulders and levered herself up, bringing herself to look him in the eye again. "I don't want to come between you and Ron," she admitted. "It's not worth the risk. Not unless we know we've got something real. Long distance relationships are hard... and there's your mum and dad, too. If it all went wrong..."

George grinned. "She'd probably disown me for being stupid enough to let you slip through my fingers."

"I'm serious. Your parents make me feel almost like part of the family and I don't want to lose that. I've probably spent as much time at The Burrow and Grimmauld Place these last few years as I have with my mum and dad."

George used a knuckle to brush away a tear that squeezed its way through Hermione's eyelashes. "This feels real to me."

Hermione sighed. "Why now? Why like this?"

"I wanted to wait. I know you probably think this joke shop idea of ours is just a pipe dream—"

"Not after I saw those fireworks," Hermione interrupted.

"I guess I wanted to prove that we could make it. Far easier to sweep the girl off her feet as a successful entrepreneur than a schoolboy with aspirations of grandeur... but, tonight, I guess I knew I couldn't take the chance that while I was off trying to strike it rich someone else might get there first."

"So where do we go from here?" Hermione asked. "I don't want Ron to start treating you the way he treated Viktor, but he probably would."

"Simple. We don't tell him... Or Harry. Or Mum or Dad. I think Fred already knows but he'll keep his mouth shut if I convince him and if you want to tell Ginny I think she'd be okay with it. We can take it slow for now. I figure we'll save the next big stunt for after the Easter holidays. No point doing it when the school's nearly empty and everyone's studying for exams, so we have a few weeks to see how things go... It's not like Ron and Harry aren't used to you going off on your own to the library or being the last one to leave the common room at night... and after that we can write to each other."

"And if we can make it work when we're apart, then maybe when we do tell them..."

"He might think it through before he goes off in a strop," George suggested.

"And if it does fizzle out, then they never need to know."

"It won't..." answered George, "but, yeah..."

"And we'd still be friends?" Hermione asked.

"Always."

Hermione reached over to the picnic basket and pulled out two butter beers before she settled back into a sitting position between George's legs. She passed one of the bottles back to George before she uncorked her own. She wasn't surprised in the least when, after just enough time had passed for George to open his own bottle, he tidied the blanket so that it once more wrapped around them both like a plaid cocoon, wrapped his free arm around her waist and rested his cheek against her hair.

"So..." she asked him, pointing at a low-flying pyrotechnic. "What do you call the dragons?"

George took a swig from his beer before he replied. "That, my dear, is a Weasley Wyrm, with a 'Y' not with an 'O'. Weasley Worm with an 'O' is what we call Percy."

Hermione gave him a gentle prod in the ribs with her elbow. "And the Catherine Wheels?"

"Weasley Wonder Wheels."

Hermione gave an amused snort. "Canary Creams, Skiving Snackboxes, Weasley Wonder Wheels? Has anyone told you that you have an alliteration fetish?"

"Heyy!" her brand new boyfriend protested. "That's not a fetish. That's a trademark. Now, if you want to talk fetishes... we'll have to talk about shortie pyjamas and white fluffy slippers..."

Hermione decided not to ask any more questions after that. It was enough just to be in such a beautiful place, watching amazing fireworks with her best friend's big brother to keep her warm. An hour might have passed like that or maybe even two before she reluctantly decided that they needed to go back to the castle before they fell asleep, but, nevertheless, she couldn't quite force herself to move if it meant bringing the night to a close. "So we're officially going out?" she whispered.

"Definitely dating."

"But we're keeping it to ourselves?"

"Super secret."

Hermione couldn't help her mouth twisting into a smile. Once might be coincidence. Twice meant he was definitely teasing.

"Nice night!" remarked a gruff voice from behind them, a direction where there was nothing except The Forbidden Forest. Hermione was pretty sure she wasn't the only person who jumped. "Hermione. George." Hagrid nodded to each of them in turn, not waiting for them to recover sufficiently from their shock to reply, before he continued on his way back to his cabin with only a slight limp.