Vengeance (Fireworks Series #7)

Hermione looked up from her Arithmancy essay and back to the clock above the common room fireplace. If it weren't for the fact that if she packed up her books Ron and Harry would both expect her to head for bed, then she'd have put everything away an hour earlier. Her mind was a million miles from her studies. Harry had been even more distracted and uncharacteristically quiet that day than the day before. He'd added teeth-grinding and quill-chewing to his repertoire of staring blankly into the distance. There was obviously something worrying him, but after yesterday's rebuffs she had decided that there was no point in trying to get him to talk about it. Either he'd tell them in his own good time, or not at all. Unfortunately, Harry's lack of attention didn't seem to be quite blatant enough to detract from Ron's extraordinarily vocal enjoyment of thrashing him at wizard chess.

Then, as if that wasn't enough, she just knew by the way the hairs at the nape of her neck were tingling that George was watching her... or Fred was watching her for him, which was just this side of creepy, but, either way, she knew that George was thinking about her, growing impatient as he waited for Ron and Harry to leave. She gave a slight smile as she wondered whether stage one of her reprisals had gone to plan that morning. She was sure she'd find out as soon as Ron and Harry absented themselves from the room. She was actually quite surprised that George had managed to keep any indignation to himself all day, though she did think she'd detected Fred having an occasional smirk at George's expense over breakfast.

There was no way that bedroom slippers on solid stone should have been able to make a stomping noise, and yet they did. A pyjama-clad Ginny appeared at the bottom of the staircase that led to the girls' dormitories, an irate expression on her face. "Ron, how many times have you beaten Harry tonight?" she demanded.

"Eh?" Ron spun in his seat to face her. "Dunno. Why?"

"Six," Fred was kind enough to inform his sister. "Seven, once Harry takes his hand off that knight."

In his surprise, Harry did exactly that.

"Because, brother dear," Ginny explained, "that's about five games past the point where all that shouting stopped being enthusiastic and started being obnoxious, even if you weren't keeping everyone awake."

"She does have a point," George chimed in.

Ginny gave a large yawn, only to be immediately followed by Harry, and even Ron reached up to cover his mouth as he shifted his rook into the same square as Harry's knight and the two began a noisy battle. "Checkmate," he announced, rather less vociferously than his earlier proclamations of victory. He cast Ginny a bitter glance as if she had somehow sucked any enjoyment from his epic conquest.

Harry stood straight away, pulling his bag out from under his chair. "Maybe we should head up."

Ginny tossed her hair in an almost Fleur-like manner. "Maybe you should," she echoed and stepped over to the doorway leading to the boys' dorms, pointing the way like a hostess at a housewarming party.

Ron scowled at his sister as he scooped his and Harry's chess pieces back into the box before Crookshanks could jump up onto the table. "You know, there are times when you sound an awful lot like Mum," he grumbled as he tucked the box under one arm and began trudging up the stairs.

"He means that as a compliment," Harry assured Ginny as, with a brief wave in Hermione's direction, he rushed off after his friend.

"And Sirius really was the lead singer with The Hobgoblins," Ginny added sarcastically, as she watched them both go. She flashed Hermione and the twins a conspiratorial wink.

"We owe you o—" George began once he heard the younger boys' dormitory door close behind them, but Ginny shook her head.

"You really could hear him in the dorms. Besides, Hermione's been doing whatever she could to keep Ron and you two out of my hair for years now."

George pushed his chair away from the table where he and Fred had been seated and pulled Hermione to her feet. Stepping behind her, he then wrapped his arms around her waist so that his cheek rested against hers. "You mean you've been conspiring against me, even before you sent that ginger fur ball of yours to upchuck something that looked like it belonged in the bottom of a drain onto my pillow?" he asked.

Hermione gave a slight smile. "You know no one can make a cat do anything it doesn't want to... and even if I could, maybe you deserved it."

"I was sleeping on it at the time!" George protested.

Fred smirked. "And we are talking about the cat that stole Neville's list of passwords for Sirius, so I don't think it's out of the question that someone put him up to it. Our boy must have done something pretty bad?" he suggested with a quirk of an eyebrow in Hermione's direction.

"Maybe Crookshanks thought you were going bald and could glue it on," Ginny suggested.

"Heyyy!" George did his best to sound annoyed as his siblings ganged up on him, but Hermione knew the irritation was feigned. "That'll come soon enough. No need to start ten years early. Don't I get any sympathy for being barfed on in my sleep? Or is it just open season on George?"

"Always," Ginny answered, "but I am actually tired..." She ambled a few steps back toward the staircase leading to the girls' dorm. "And I assume I got rid of those two for a reason."

"There may be plans afoot," George conceded.

With a flick of his wrists Fred urged Ginny toward her dormitory and the other two in the direction of the exit. "Shoo!"

"And what are you going to be doing?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Wouldn't you like to know, Little Miss Prefect," Fred responded, as George began to steer Hermione toward the portrait hole.

"He's hanging around down here until we get back so we can go up to the dorm together because, if people suddenly keep seeing us separately, then they'll know something's going on." George pushed the Fat Lady's portrait to one side and waited for Hermione to go through.

Hermione cast a suspicious glance at the table where the twins had been. "You're not planning more product testing?" she asked.

Fred picked up his book bag, his eyes twinkling with mirth as it made a loud clinking noise. "As if..."

Hermione's gaze shifted from one twin to the other and back again until finally she seemed to decide that her boyfriend might be the weakest link, or at least the more readily amenable. "George," she began.

"Don't worry," George cut in, years of experience with his mother having taught him that you don't let an irate female get into full flow. "It's safe. He'll be fine on his own. We've both tried it before. We're just doing the fine tuning on the formula."

"But, what if something goes wrong and there's no one here?" Hermione insisted.

The twins looked at each other and then back at Hermione. "I'll know," George stated in a calm, matter of fact tone.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and looked back and forth between the two brothers. "There are times I think that maybe Kreacher was right about you two."

Fred grinned back at her. "But we're your favouritest 'unnatural little beasts'," he growled in near perfect imitation of Kreacher's grumblings.

Hermione's lips twitched as she took George's hand. "True," she admitted as she finally stepped through the open portrait hole, "but, since the Patils are your only competition and they're nowhere near as unnatural as you two, that's not exactly saying much."

George followed Hermione through the opening, accompanied by the echoes of Fred's, "Sooner you than me, Bro'." He pushed the portrait closed and quickly cast the Disillusionment Charm on both of them before pushing his wand into a pocket. Still holding Hermione's hand, he set off at a loping run for the Room of Requirement, towing her after him.

"You're mad," she hissed under her breath. "What if we run straight into Filch or Snape?"

"I let go of your hand, you run in the opposite direction, and I make sure they follow me," George hissed back without breaking his stride.

"And you get kicked out now, instead of after the holidays," Hermione pointed out.

"Instead of when Montague gets his memory back, you mean."

They had reached one of the landings on one of the staircases that they needed to climb to reach the seventh floor and Hermione pulled hard enough on George's hand to bring him to a halt. Then, she pushed him up against the wall and proceeded to drag his head down to hers, kissing him as if her life depended on it. "Sooner than you need to," she whispered, as she loosened her hold on his neck and slipped back down to a flat-footed position. "So where's the fire? What's worth throwing away all those weeks for?"

"Because I haven't kissed you in more than a day and I wanted to see that look on your face when I did..."

"What look?" Hermione demanded as quietly as her impatience would allow.

His head shifting minutely to one side and then the other, George reached out with his hand so slowly that it took her a second to realise the changes in viewpoint were designed to help him accurately gauge her position despite the Disillusionment spell.

She wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he just tucked the strands of her hair behind her right ear and then leaned in so close that she could feel his breath against her skin as he whispered his reply.

"The one where your lips are swollen and your cheeks are all flushed and you're not thinking about anything else other than right here, right now." His lips tugged at her earlobe before he straightened up, and Hermione was no longer surprised to feel an immediate answering frisson in the pit of her stomach.

"And it didn't occur to you to kiss me when we were still in the common room?" Hermione sighed.

"That, my dear, is one image that I have no plans to share with Fred and definitely not tonight of all nights."

Hermione briefly wondered again what was in those bottles in Fred's book bag, but before she could frame the question, firm lips pressed themselves against hers again. Her lips parted, seemingly of their own accord, at the lightest flick of the tip of George's tongue against them, and all too soon Hermione felt her concern falling away. Her senses narrowed to the slow, sweet passes of his flesh against hers, the sharp taste of sherbet from a Fizzing Whizbee that had long since stopped fizzing, and the clean, ocean-fresh scent of George's skin and hair. Did he lift her or did she climb into his arms? She couldn't have said and she cared less, simply holding on with rag doll limbs wrapped around his neck and waist as George resumed the climb to the seventh floor.

The Room of Requirement looked almost exactly the same as it had the last time they were there, except that the hearth rug was buried beneath a riot of jewel-toned cushions. George sank to his knees in their midst and carefully laid Hermione down on her back before he threw himself down by her side. He propped himself up on one elbow and drew out his wand, dispelling the charms he'd cast on them both.

"That's the look I meant," he whispered, but even as he said the words Hermione's gaze became more focused. He leaned forward and brushed an almost chaste kiss to her lips. "Were you really so pissed off about a little handprint that you told your cat to vomit on my head?" he asked her.

Hermione gave a slow smile. "If I'd been really pissed off I wouldn't be here," she pointed out. "You just failed to take into account one minor character flaw of mine..."

"A flaw?" George gasped in mock-surprise. "You have flaws?"

Hermione couldn't help the way her smile widened at his joking. "Sure," she said, rolling onto her side and closing the gap between them. "I'm really not good at losing."

George drew her tight against him and then rolled onto his back. "It's not really about winning or losing, you know?"

Hermione braced her forearms against his chest, looking down into his face. She knew exactly what it was about. She'd known for years. Percy had never got it and Ron, overly sensitive as he could be, tended to think he was being victimised, but with all the other Weasley siblings it came as naturally as breathing. To an only child like Hermione, watching from the outside, it couldn't be more obvious that every insult and every trick said 'I love you' more clearly than any Hallmark moment. Only she wasn't on the outside any more. "I know... Just warning you that you won't have it all your own way."

George grinned. "I always thought there was a little bit of demon underneath that angel innocence."

"And, speaking of demons, what exactly is it that your brother is testing down there?"

George seemed to hesitate before he spoke. "I was sort of hoping it could be a surprise, when it's ready, I mean. It takes over a month to make a batch, so by the time we test these and refine the recipe some more and make the next batch, it could be August before we get into full-scale production."

"A nice surprise?" Hermione asked.

"Something that might make being apart a bit easier. It's not all fake wands and turning people into canaries," he assured her. "Trust me?"

Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "You heard what I said about not losing gracefully, right?"

"I did," George confirmed.

"So you know, if you're just trying to fob me off and stop me interfering, you will pay... in spades?"

"Spades?" George asked.

"Figure of speech," she interrupted before he could quiz her on how many spades there were to the pound or whatever else it was that his mouth had begun to open, ready to ask. She really didn't want to explain the rules of contract bridge at this particular juncture, not least because, while she'd occasionally filled in when one of her parents had been looking for a partner and had mastered the Blackwood bidding convention, she had never needed to learn how the game was scored. "Let's just say I'd make you regret it."

"You have worse things in mind than waking up the way I did this morning?" George asked archly, reminding Hermione of her plans for stage two.

There were definite advantages to being close friends with your new boyfriend's little sister, advantages like getting inside information on exactly where all his most ticklish spots were. According to Ginny, with a surprise attack, it was more than possible to reduce either of the twins to a helpless, giggling ball on the floor.

Hermione considered her options. Blazing fire, comfy cushions, cuddly yet pleasantly-muscled boyfriend. Vengeance could wait. Didn't they say it was a dish best served cold? If she eventually needed to take that path, or so she reasoned to herself, it would be so much easier if George was accustomed to being shirtless around her... Of course, that still left the vulnerable spots behind the knees covered, but one step at a time. And it was perfectly normal for most guys to wander around shirtless in public, perhaps not George or any of his brothers who peeled at the mere mention of sunlight, but Harry had, on occasion, stripped down to the waist when he'd been helping out in the garden at The Burrow. It wasn't as if she'd be seeing any more than would be on show at any beach.

"Let's just say that, right now..." She pushed herself up, her pleated skirt flaring out to cover both her hips and George's as she knelt over him, the way the rough wool blend of his school trousers chafed against her inner thighs lending a thrill of extra danger that hadn't been there when she'd been wearing jeans. She pulled her own sweater over her head, throwing it onto the sofa before she reached down to tug gently at the waistband of George's, prompting him to sit up and raise his arms over his head so that she could remove the offending garment as she continued. "...what I have in mind is a scientific investigation into whether playing the position of Beater over a number of years leads to asymmetrical muscle development in the upper torso."

George's lips reclaimed her own as she pulled his tie free of its knot, his hands ghosting up and down over her sides through the thin cotton of her blouse in a way that sent shivers down her spine. "Far be it from me," he answered as she pushed him back into the cushions, "to stand in the way of science."

Hermione flipped open button after button, feathering kisses onto each inch of skin that she exposed, revelling in George's quickened breathing, in the way he fisted his hands into the cushions and pressed his teeth into his lower lip. She gloried in the way that she could see in his eyes the instant his self-control gave way, and when he rolled them both over so that his hips pinned her to the floor the last thing on her mind was keeping score.