Hermione awoke slowly, aware first of the comfortable warmth beneath the covers and then of the sea-spray scent of George's soap, the solid weight of his shoulder slowly rising and falling beneath her head and the texture of his leg hair against her thigh, where her leg was draped over his.

She gradually opened her eyes and observed her companion. His copper hair gleamed in even the small amount of light that penetrated her bed hangings, begging for her to run her fingers through it. His skin was paler than parchment over his chest, but darkened above the collar-line with a myriad of freckles over deeper pink. Even in sleep, his lips seemed to form a slight smile, as if he delighted in some secret. His nose, while not as long as Ron's, had a slightly Roman curve. It wasn't a classically handsome face. He wasn't tall or dark. Hermione knew that he'd probably be balding by the time he reached his mid-twenties, to judge by his dad. Realistically, she thought, his broad frame being inherited from his mother, he would probably put on weight, too. That just didn't fit with the frenetic pace she associated with him and his brother, though.

She gave a slight snort of amusement at herself.

Eyelashes fluttered, and a lazy drawl asked, "What's so funny?"

"Me," Hermione answered softly. "Just thinking how I would roll my eyes if I walked in on Lavender and Parvati trying to work out what some boy would look like in twenty years."

"Oh, and how will I look in twenty years?"

"Bald, maybe fat, but happy," Hermione replied.

George grinned. "I can live with that... if you can."

"Hmmm," Hermione pretended to consider. "Will you still make me laugh?"

"Naturally."

"Will you get bored of me?"

This time it was George who snorted, and it was far more loudly and less delicately than Hermione's gentle exhalation. "I'll never get bored of you," he answered, turning to face her and then rolling them both so that she lay atop him. "Never," he repeated, looking intently into her eyes.

Hermione's eyes began to sting, and she blinked rapidly to dispel the gathering tears before she smashed her lips to his. She couldn't help but be aware of his erection trapped between their bodies, warm and firm. It would be so easy, so very easy...

She shifted, parting her legs so that he was cradled at the apex of her thighs as she nuzzled his neck, alternately kissing and sucking. Her right hand slipped between them, fingertips questing beneath the elastic of George's boxers as his whole body arched upward and a hand grabbed her wrist. "Fuck! Hermione." George rolled them both, drawing her hands up level with their heads and pinning her in place with his hips.

"I was actually thinking wank, maybe even blowjob," Hermione countered.

A groan escaped his throat, and he met her gaze as if trying to read the truth in her eyes. "That's the hormones talking. You know it is."

"I want to," Hermione protested, her eyes bright. "I don't want you to leave without... something special."

"Being here with you is special," George insisted. "Waking up together is special. Don't do this because you feel you have to prove something."

"Even if it's to prove I care?" Hermione asked.

"Then let me. Your first time, it should be about you. Let me make love to you, Hermione. Let me make you come."

Hermione was transfixed for a second by the eyes still meeting her own, by the ferocity within them. Then, she nodded.

George let go of her wrists and rolled to the edge of the bed, scooping up his jeans from the floor and sliding them on.

"George?"

"Best not to tempt fate, don't you think?" he whispered as he peeled the covers back to the foot of the bed and joined Hermione once more on the mattress. "Now, just roll onto your front, relax, feel and leave the rest to me..."

"My front?" Hermione teased as she obliged. "And I thought you were a tit man."

George grinned as he swung one leg over her and settled into a kneeling position. "I am," he agreed, pushing her hair to the left, and bending forward to brush his lips against her newly exposed earlobe, "to an extent, but I'm more of a Hermione man."

Hermione let out a slow sigh, bringing her arms up so that she could rest her cheek on her forearms.

"You're so beautiful, my love," George whispered against her neck. "So very beautiful." He brushed butterfly kisses to the smooth creamy gold of her skin, working his way down from her jaw to the juncture between neck and shoulder. His fingers slid under the deep emerald satin of Hermione's bra straps and pushed them to the sides until they slipped over her shoulders.

Once the path had been cleared he continued the trail of kisses outward, feather-light touches from her neck to the curve of her shoulder. Then soft, open-mouthed caresses from there to her elbow. He swept her hair to the right and Hermione turned her head, allowing him to mirror his earlier movements on the left side of her neck.

His hands slid under the fall of her hair, gliding over her smooth flesh until he found small knots, and when he did, he brought both thumbs together, smoothing them away with gentle motions at first. Slowly, he increased the pressure as he bent forward again.

"You don't have anything to worry about, precious. Not a thing. I promise."

"I know. It's just..." Hermione sighed.

George stopped his massage and moved to lie beside her. He slid a hand beneath her cheek, lifting her head slightly, and wrapped the other around her waist, drawing her to him as she turned onto her side. "Just what? Hermione, if you're not one hundred percent sure..."

Hermione's teeth caught at her lower lip.

"And you're not, are you?" George asked softly.

"I'm ninety percent sure," she answered, just a little hesitantly. "If we had longer... I want it to be you, George. Maybe it's just nerves."

"Maybe," George agreed understandingly. "And maybe we should wait."

"Aren't you...?" Hermione's eyes dropped to below George's waistline.

"I always am when you're around. I can take care of that. We're talking about you."

"We're talking about us," Hermione answered, tilting her chin to bring her lips to George's. "We're talking about the fact that I'm being a stupid cock tease. And I don't want to be..."

"Technically, since I wasn't expecting my cock to see any action other than my own right hand, I'm not sure cock tease applies." George pressed his lips to her forehead. "I think you need to stop worrying about the destination and concentrate on the journey. We don't have a timetable."

"But we do," Hermione sighed.

"No, we don't," George replied softly.

"You know as well as I do that even if Montague doesn't rat you out when he gets his memory back, you'll get yourself kicked out sooner rather than later. You have a lease—"

George's finger came up to rest on her lips.

"I have to go, yes, but there's nothing that will stop me seeing you. Nothing. And there's nothing that will change how I feel. You're worth waiting for."

Hermione lifted her chin, letting her eyes meet his, and finding in their depths everything she needed. As she tilted her head to bring her lips to his, she used one hand to reach behind her back and unfasten the hooks of her bra.

His lips parted under hers and her name came out as a groan.

She cast her bra aside and pushed George flat to the mattress. "Forget about the destination," she advised him, as she kissed her way along his jaw to his ear and then down the tendon at the side of his neck to the collarbone, making him arch beneath her. "Concentrate on the journey."

"God, woman! D-Does this mean you've changed your mind?"

Hermione worked her way down his chest with a trail of butterfly kisses before she found a pebbled nipple and sucked. "It means that I'm open to persuasion."

"Oh, hell!" George reached out to Hermione's bedside cabinet and grabbed her wand from on top. "Accio Potions!" he gasped out, and two small vials flew into his hand as Hermione worked her way to the other nipple. Pulling the cork from one of the vials, George tipped a blue-tinted liquid into his mouth before he dropped the wand back into place and used his now-empty hand to lift Hermione's head and draw her back up to him. He pulled the cork from the second vial with his teeth and held it to her mouth. "Drink, love."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow.

"Trust me," George said in a throaty whisper. "Just a precaution."

Hermione took the container and drained it of its pale pink contents before letting it drop to the floor.

George tossed his own vial to join it and brought Hermione's mouth back to his before rolling them both so that he was cradled between her thighs again. As his tongue explored Hermione's mouth, he rocked his hips gently, pleased to find Hermione responding in a similar fashion. Propping himself on one elbow, he let his other hand softly stroke her skin, so smooth beneath his callused fingertips. He caressed her arm, her side, until her skin tightened into gooseflesh; and she trembled at his touch.

When he finally lowered his head to her breasts, laving them, bestowing feather kisses, nibbling at their rosy peaks and sucking, she panted out a string of swear words that would make a Jarvey blush. When he peeled off those green satin knickers and bestowed the same sort of kisses on her most intimate parts, only one word left her mouth. His name had never sounded sweeter than her final cry.