Fireworks (Fireworks Series #1)

Hermione paused for just a little longer at her dormitory window, watching the whirling pink Catherine wheels, silver-tailed rockets and green and yellow dragons cavort around the school grounds. They really were beautiful but somehow the sight of them made her feel sad as well as awed.

She gave a sigh and turned her back to the window, going down on her hands and knees to check under all the beds where the other Gryffindor fifth-year girls were apparently asleep, despite the occasional loud explosions the fireworks produced. Crookshanks wasn't a timid cat and it normally wouldn't worry her that she hadn't seen him all evening. However, his food was untouched and Hermione could remember how every November the fifth her grandmother's cat had always found the darkest, quietest spot that it could and cowered there until the skies were finally unbroken midnight blue and the night's stillness was broken only by the swish of an occasional passing car.

The velvet hangings on all the beds made for lots of dark corners where the cat might hide, but within five minutes she was convinced that Crookshanks was nowhere in the room. She picked up her robe and slipped it on over her shortie pyjamas as she made her way downstairs to the common room.

The room was almost empty. Most of the lamps had been extinguished except the one on the table where Fred and George were counting up the money they had made on their advance orders for their firework creations.

"I thought you'd gone up to bed," Fred remarked, lifting an eyebrow in question.

"Crookshanks is missing. He hasn't touched his dinner."

Hermione could swear that the twins exchanged the briefest of glances before, with a yawn, Fred scooped up the sheaves of parchment and a money bag, no doubt full of Galleons, from the table. "Well, persecuting Umbridge is hard work. If I don't get some sleep, I'll never work out how we can irritate her tomorrow."

George, however, smiled in her direction as his brother departed. "I'll help you look," he offered. "If you're planning on going out of bounds without Harry's cloak, then you're going to need a Weasley guide."

Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly and she was glad that the room was mostly in darkness. "Well, we should probably check the common room first," she suggested in an only slightly embarrassed tone. She had almost managed to convince herself that she had imagined the warmth in George's gaze earlier when she had fought her way through the admiring throng to congratulate the Weasley brothers on their explosive success. It had seemed as if perhaps George's arms had held her a second longer than was necessary for a friendly hug, as if despite the crowd of people all around him he had wanted to talk to her. Certainly, Fred had been all business when he had cut in, quoting her prices, even as he scribbled down orders from the other pupils, but for a few moments she had had the impression that somehow her admiration of the brothers' wondrous creations had allowed her and the other twin to connect...

She lifted the cushion that decorated one of her, Ron and Harry's favourite armchairs, reminding herself that popular, troublemaking boys like the twins didn't think that way about their little brother's bushy-haired, swotty best friends.

"I don't think he's going to be hiding there," George teased gently before he knelt down to check under the various pieces of furniture that filled much of the room.

"What?" Hermione dropped the cushion back into place. "No, of course not." She looked this way and that as she made her way to the window, drawn again by the brilliant illuminations. 'Much safer,' she convinced herself, 'than watching George crawl along the floor.' She paused as a huge purple bat swooped past the window and, as it departed into the distance, she realised that the swish of its passing had been replaced by a low rumbling purr.

With the light show that had been provided that evening, no one had closed the curtains that normally helped to keep out the winter chill. Nevertheless, even pulled back as far as they would go, the heavy velvet hid over a foot of window at either side and, when she peered around their edge, she found Crookshanks lying on the windowsill, his paws tucked under his fluffy ginger body as he, too, watched the fireworks display outside.

"He's here!" she called out in a hushed voice, watching the silver trail of a rocket arcing out toward the horizon. "I think he likes the fireworks, too."

She pivoted backward to look for George, only to stumble into his arms when she realised that he had moved to stand just behind her shoulder.

Even after George helped steady Hermione on her feet, his hands lingered on the arms of her robe. "You know I didn't think you'd approve," he told her.

"Well, it's not as if it would be fair on people who have their OWLs or NEWTs coming up if these sort of things were to happen all the time, but if it gives that Umbridge woman something else to worry about other than following Hagrid everywhere or making up educational decree number seventy-two thousand three hundred and fifty-one, then I'm not going to complain... and they are pretty."

"Then why the sad look?" George asked.

There was a long silence before Hermione answered. "I guess because it means you and Fred really are going. I mean, so far, Umbridge is in the dark about who's behind it all, but this is just the beginning, isn't it?"

"We do plan to make Umbridge as miserable as possible for as long as possible before we go, you know," he remarked in a joking tone before he turned serious. "But it's good to know you'll miss us. I had thought you and the other prefects might throw a party to celebrate when we left."

"Of course I'll miss you," Hermione protested, belatedly stepping back and pulling out of George's grasp. "You're my best friend's brother. You're practically family. I do wish you would stay, at least until you take your NEWTs. If you can make those things, you could definitely get at least a few passes if you start studying now and your mum—"

"Mum'll come round once she realises that we know what we're doing... and exams results don't matter if you plan to be your own bosses." George stepped forward, closing the gap between them again. "As for being my brother's best friend, that's just because Ron's too much of a prat to see what's in front of his nose, but then we've always said he was the family idiot."

"George!" Hermione protested, leaning backward when her legs met the windowsill.

"I mean it. Ron might chase after Fleur Delacour or whoever but some of us would rather be with someone we actually like... and you can't use being Ron's best friend as an excuse when you've been giving Ginny tips on how to get Harry to notice her."

"But you don't like me..." Hermione asserted. "Do you?" she finished uncertainly. "I mean I'm a prefect and Ron said that you said only prats were prefects..." Her voice trailed off as if she realised that didn't completely cover it.

"Her-mi-on-e," George sighed. "You can be a little stiff now and again, but it's not as if you're Percy. You're brave and you're bright and you're prepared to fight for what you believe in and you're pretty. You just need to have someone around who can..." He gave a lopsided smile. "...encourage you to unwind now and again." He tilted his head down, his lips moving to within inches of Hermione's.

Hermione shook her head as if to clear it from the fog George's words had induced. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to kiss you..." George whispered, "...and if I don't get slapped for my trouble, then I'm going to talk you into sneaking down to the lake, so we can lie on the grass and watch the light show." Closing the last inch between them, George cradled one side of her face as he brought his lips down on hers. His touch was gentle to begin with, a soft, open-mouthed caress until Hermione found herself pushing up on tip-toe to deepen the contact. She was breathless and flushed when George finally stepped back and smiled down at her.

"So?" he asked. "How about that walk?"

Hermione's lip set in a straight line. "We can't. Umbridge would have a fit if she caught us out of bounds. She'd probably make you do lines with that awful quill of hers."

"It's a family tradition," George argued. "Dad still has scars from where the caretaker caught him... and he doesn't regret a single one."

Hermione shook her head firmly. "It'd be different if Dumbledore was still in charge but pigs will fly before I—"

A huge bang sounded at Hermione's back as two of the escaped fireworks collided. She jumped slightly before she continued. "Before I go down to the lake with you in the middle of the night."

George grinned back at her and then kissed her again. However, this time she could almost feel his lips trying to curve back into a huge involuntary smile and after only a few seconds she struggled her way loose. "I don't know why you're grinning like an idiot," she told him.

George placed a firm hand on each of her shoulders and spun her around until she faced the window.

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she looked at the pink-bodied, silver-winged herd of pyrotechnical piglets that were flying past the window.

"Some things are meant to be," George asserted smugly.