Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and characters, places, people living or dead. I am merely using them for entertainment purposes only. Plot based loosely on Sabrina.

By: Kneazle

A True Love Story

Chapter Six:

          I arrived back at my parents' place before midnight, happily drunk and lightheaded. So many thoughts were running through my head: George, of course.

          I got out of the cab, paying him a generous tip too, and stumbled out, grabbing onto the stone wall that surrounded my house. I giggled at my clumsiness, and sighed.

          How on earth was I going to get George to notice me and dump Deborah? How, how, how?


          I jumped and whirled on my three-inch pumps, crying out softly as they caught in the gravel and stumbled forward.

          Strong arms caught me and cradled me to their chest. I inhaled, and sighed dreamily. George was holding me up.

          "Yes George?" I asked, my words not slurred – thank God I wasn't as far-gone as I had thought at first.

          His hands clenched and unclenched, before he wrapped his hands around my small waist and lifted me from the ground. He swung me into his arms, shaking his head.

          "Out drinking, have you?" he asked, glancing down at me.

          I nodded. "Not much."


          "George!" I laughed quietly, snickering. "You know me better than that! I don't drink that much without company!"

          At this, he stopped walking, glaring down at me. Instead of taking me to my front door, he spun on his heel and began to my backyard.

          "George? George, where are we going?" I asked.

          He didn't say anything until he deposited me on an ancient tire that we – Harry, Ron, George, Fred and myself – had hung on the old oak that grew in the backyard for generations.

          "Stay here," he ordered, before moving to the base of the tree. There, he scaled it, going into a small hidden alcove that had been hollowed out by us when we were younger. There, he fished out a small fold up chair that my mother was going to throw out and threw it to the ground.

          The metal made a clang and made me winch. George jumped down out of the tree next, skillfully, and unfolded the chair when he stood.

          He sat next to me (on the tire) and slowly began pushing it.

          "Were you with Oliver?"

          "George!" I admonished.

          He glanced at me from under his red fringe. "Were you with Oliver, Hermione? Drinking with him?"

          "No. The night before, yes."

          George stood suddenly, the chair flying backwards behind him. He stalked up to the tire, gripping the sides and trapping me in between his arms and the rubber.

          "What happened the night before?" he asked in a dangerous voice. How could I say that I had my collaborators over to suggest how to tell George I loved him? I instead took some pieces of information out.

          "Harry, Ron, Charlie, Oliver, and Fred were over. We were drinking a bit, that's all."

          "When did they all leave?" he continued in his dangerous voice.

          "Oh," I replied, frowning as I tried to remember. "I don't know. Oliver put me in my room before everyone left because I was falling asleep."

          His arms tightened on the tire, and I could see the strain of his muscles against the shirt he wore.

          "George? Is something wrong?" I questioned, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

          He had me out of the tire faster than I thought, crushed against him. My hands were trapped between us, and his chin was resting on my head.

          "Did Oliver leave? Why was he over this morning, Mione?" asked George, in such a voice I could only say that it was strained.

          "He didn't leave, George. He was over this morning because he stayed the night." I said this quietly, wondering what George's thoughts were. Did he think me a hussy? A slut that would sleep with any guy that came around? I cringed at the thought and tried to hold the tears that were threatening to fall. Hmm… must be near that time of the month.

          "Did you…" he cleared his throat and began again. "D-Did you d-do anything… with… him?"

          Startled, I raised my head and looked him in the eyes. "George! Do you honestly think that I would –? That I'd –"

          I blinked back the tears that were now swimming in my gaze, and buried my head in his shoulder. I tugged my hands from between us and wrapped them around his waist instead.

          "How could you think that? I'd never do something anything with someone I didn't care for!" I accidentally let that out, and was cringing when I felt George's hand lift my chin.

          "What do you mean, not care for him? Aren't you two dating?" he asked, looking into my eyes. I shook my head.

          "Your mother believed that because she wanted to. We never said anything. He was my date, that's all," I replied honestly and quietly.

          My breath floated up around the two of us in the cold night air, disappearing as soon as it appeared. I shivered, wanting to be inside.

          Closing his eyes, George tilted his head back and his features softened. Relief poured from him, and I began to think that there was something he wasn't telling me, just like I wasn't telling him.

          "Let's go inside," I suggested, taking his hand and tugging on it lightly. We walked towards the back kitchen door, with me standing on tiptoe to retrieve the spare key hidden on the top ledge of the door molding.

          George's hand went over my own sensually as he took the key and my hand down from the ledge. I glanced up at him, wonder in my eyes, but he only took the key out of my hand and inserted it into the lock, turning.

          We entered the warm kitchen, both shedding our jackets and boots as I motioned for him to follow me into the conservatory.

          In there, he sat in one of the whicker chairs surrounded by my mother's tropical flowers. The heat was unbearable, but I managed to ignore it as I sat cross-legged on one of the pot's ledges. 

          "What's wrong, George? Why were you so afraid that I had done something with Ollie?" I asked softly, watching him.

          He sat forward, his elbows resting on his jean-clad legs. His blue Weasley jumper was loose and dark, complementing his flame coloured hair wonderfully. I took my fill of him, his dark sapphire eyes on mine.

          "I didn't want you to make a mistake, Hermione," his voice came out as a whisper.

          "You know I wouldn't do anything I wasn't sure of," I replied to him, tilting my head sideways. "There's more."

          "Yes," he agreed, his eyes locked on mine. Silence ensured, and finally, after what seemed like hours, he stood and strode towards me with purpose.

          "George?" I questioned, standing up to meet him. Before I could say anything else, his hands cupped my face and his lips descended upon mine.
          I could hardly believe that he was kissing me again. This time, though, something was different. There was urgency in the kiss that there had never been; something feral and animalistic instead of slow and gentle.

          George pulled back before brushing his lips slowly across mine, letting a sigh escape. "I was jealous," he whispered.

          "Of what?" I asked, my mouth moving against his as I spoke.

          "That you were with Oliver, Hermione. I didn't want him to use you like he used all his other girlfriends. I didn't want you to be hurt," he explained, pulling me to him in a hug, before he began kissing my neck. "I was so scared that he would do something to you – and this morning… when he called to say that Deborah was here, and there he was in that rumpled shirt and looking disheveled…"

          He groaned, biting my earlobe. "I thought you gave yourself to him. I nearly died when I saw him there."

          "Why?" I breathed, tilting my head to the side.

          "Because I wanted to be him, the one looking like I had spent the night in your arms, kissing, caressing you. Not him. Not him ever."

          I pulled back, surprised by the passion in his voice. I searched his eyes, wondering if that was true.

          "Really?" I asked.

          "Really," he replied with a small, crooked smile.

          "But…" I sputtered, "What about Deborah? You're going to be married in a week!"

          George closed his eyes, pain etched onto his face. He buried his head against my shoulder, and groaned. "I don't know. I don't know, Mione. I've loved you since forever and I don't want to lose you again."

          My heart soared; he loved me! He loved me! He loved me! All this time, waiting for him, it wasn't in vain. Then, my heart crashed back to reality. Deborah.

          "Oh George," I sobbed, trying very hard not to cry, but the tears fell. "I love you too – but you're still going to get married. What about Deborah? She cares for you!"
          "But I don't care for her!" he replied hotly, his head lifting from my shoulder, his sapphire eyes ablaze with fury, passion, love, and gloom. "I love you! Not her! God, Hermione – I've been waiting and dreaming of this moment for ages, and here you are saying that I can't have you!"
          "I'm not saying that," I replied quietly, trying to keep my voice down, lest my parents heard. "I want you, badly, George, but is it fair to Deborah to be stood up? Shouldn't you tell her?"

          "I will," he said darkly, his eyes shifting away from mine.

          I sighed. "No, you won't. You'd leave it up to someone else to tell her, or that she'd find out on her own. Oh George… I've been waiting for years. Years and years and years to hear you say those three words… but maybe it isn't right."

          What? What was I saying? Were those words really coming out of my mouth? Good God, it must have been the alcohol talking.

          In all actuality, it was reality.

          George looked back at me, his eyes dark and full with confusion. "Why can't we be together? After being apart for so long?"

          I didn't know. I had no answer. Instead, he kissed me again, this time so full of longing and need that I couldn't refuse him.

          Soon we were on the floor, kissing, caressing, and soon I didn't feel anything other that him. George Weasley.


          A bird chirped and someone's car started. My eyes felt heavy and lidded – I couldn't open them. I tried to roll over to see the time, but couldn't. I was so sore, and something draped across my stomach had been snuggled close to them.

          Oliver? No, I realized with growing horror, George.

          I closed my eyes, swallowing painfully. A quick lift of the bedcovers solved my suspicion. In bed, with George Weasley, the man I love, naked, and extremely sore. Although I had a quick taste of heaven, I was now in hell.

          He had cheated on Deborah with me. He cheated on his fiancée with me. Oh God, I felt like I was going to die of shame.

          Tears leaked silently down my cheeks, and I tried to stop them. I kept my eyes tightly closed, trying to ignore the male presence beside me.

          Lips brushed the tears away, gently, and a comforting arm pulled me close to them. I opened my eyes to see George looking down at me with concern and worry.

          "Are you… do you regret what we did last night?" he asked, stroking a way-ward piece of hair behind my ear. With my chin resting on his chest, I glanced down and shook my head. How could I ever regret that my first time had been with someone I loved? Someone who was going to marry another? The tears started again.

          "What's the matter, Mione?" he asked, as his hand ran from my hair down to the small of my back. "What's wrong?"

          "You're still getting married. That's what's wrong. I slept with a soon-to-be-married man! I helped you cheat on your fiancée!" I wailed out, burying my face in his chest as understanding dawned on his face.

          He sat up, pulling me with him. Holding me close, he whispered harshly, "No. Don't think or even say that! I don't have a fiancée, not after today. You didn't sleep with a man that is going to be married, Hermione. You're pure and sweet and innocent, and certainly not a seducer."

          I didn't lift my head, not even as his lips kissed away my tears, and hopefully kissing away my worries. I couldn't do this, I suddenly realized.

          As I glanced at the clock, I noticed the time. "It's nearly nine… you should be going home. They'll begin to wonder where you are," I said quietly.

          George, taking the hint, nodded, slowly and sliding out of bed began looking for his clothes. I helped him with the chore, the bed sheet wrapped tightly around me as I did so.

          Finally, when he was dressed, he pulled me towards him once before, kissing me tenderly. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

          I nodded, still not looking at him, and waited until the front door closed. Then, I reached for my cell phone.

          "Mercedes?" I sobbed. "Can you do my a favour please? Can you send me a ticket so I can come home?"


          "Are you sure you have to go, Mione?" asked Harry, as he stepped back from a very tight hug. I smiled, a little wobbly, but nodded.

          "I'm afraid so."

          "Even though George said he loved you? You're forgoing your conquest?" he continued, his emerald eyes searching mine.

          "Yes," I sighed. "I was doing something wrong. I never thought that we'd… that anything would have…" I broke off.

          Ron came forward and hugged me again. "God, you're a wreck."

          I laughed weakly. "Thanks Weasley, that made me feel a lot better."

          Oliver stood off to the side, watching with his hands in his pockets. He smiled softly at me before stepping close and wrapping me in his arms.

          "I don't know how he'll take this, love. Second time you've done this to him," he said softly, his chin on my hair and his hands stroking my back, calming me.

          "He'll have you and the others to explain. You know I'm so righteous. I still can't believe what I did," I gave a dry sob. Stepping back, I forced a smile on my face and said louder than I meant, "If you guys are ever in France, here's my address." I handed Ron a folded piece of paper. "You will visit, won't you?"

          "Of course!" chirped Harry, grinning from ear to ear, but it flickered.

          "Train 489 from King's Cross to Lyon is now boarding. Train 489 from King's Cross to Lyon is now boarding."

          I blinked away new tears and gave the three most important men in my life one last hug.

          "See you guys around," I whispered, before jumping aboard the train that would take me back home to Petite Perriou.

          After twenty minutes, the train's doors closed, the conductor collected our tickets, and we began to move. I waved goodbye to Harry, Ron and Oliver, smiling and blowing kisses.

          Some things weren't meant to be, I realized. Even though George would forever be in my heart, I couldn't stand to witness Deborah's broken heart when George told her that he slept with me and therefore he wasn't going to marry her.

          No, I was going to take that to my grave – and so were Mercedes, Oliver, Harry and Ron – and I would never again hope to see him. My chapter with George Weasley was over, and a new one would begin soon.

          I hope.


          The train pulled into the station at Lyon promptly on time, and I jumped off with my duffle bag slung across my shoulder. I glanced around, wondering where Mercedes was. She did say she was going to be here, but where was she?

          I walked around the platform for a while, looking around for my Spanish beauty of a friend, swearing under my breath in French.

          Finally, the crowd parted as I reached the exit, revealing the most unlikely person I was going to see.

          George stood between the two doors, holding a red rose in his hand, twirling it around in nervousment.

          I stepped close to him, my mouth agape. How did he get here?

          Spotting me, he gave me his special crooked grin and strode towards me – our eyes were locked on each other and people walked by with knowing smirks and warm eyes.

          "How? When did you get here?" I asked, taking him in. Dressed in dress pants, a gray cashmere sweater and slick black jacket, George ran his free hand through his hair.

          "Did you know that a plane is much faster than a train?" he said sheepishly. He grinned, handing me the thorn-less flower. "Why did you leave again, love?"

          I took the flower and looked at it. "I was afraid. Afraid that you would just break your wedding off with Deborah because you slept with a virgin. Because you would feel obligated."

          George clucked his tongue at me, like his mother, and drew me close. "You silly girl you. How could you ever think that? I said I love you. Didn't you believe?"

          "I waited ten years for you to say those words, George, I thought I was just hearing them – making them up," I sighed.

          Kissing me lightly, George knelt a bit to my height and admonished, "You're crazy, Mione, and I love you. Past, present and future. Always. Forever. Do you believe me now?"

          "Yes," I breathed. He kissed me, the kiss the same as the one before – filled with love and need and urgency and want.

          Pulling back, I questioned, "Where's Mercedes?"

          George shrugged and gave a dashing smile. "I sent her off when I introduced myself. Actually, she called and told me who she was and where to find her. It seems like you have some explaining to do. What's this I hear about a plan that had my brothers in on your love life?"

          I blushed crimson. "You weren't supposed to find out about that," I muttered.

          George grinned and took my arm. Together, we strolled out of the train station, and down a couple streets to a small café. Entering, we ordered something warm to drink, and settled down for a nice long talk.

          A long talk that was the first of many.

AN: Although it was a quick ending, I didn't think that having Hermione and Deborah have a typical bad-girl-good-girl meeting (A.K.A., She's All That), and although it would have been interesting to work on the angle where Hermione announces in front of everyone that George shouldn't marry Deborah (Bridget Jones's Diary), I realized that it wouldn't be in character. Okay, so the story was an AU, but I still wanted Hermione to be a bit insecure, no matter how much she changed. Deep down, she was still that insecure, frizzball that worried that George wouldn't love her for her. Not because he wanted to, was obliged, or because he felt sorry, but because of her.

          The ending is a bit of a cliffhanger, but make no mistake that everything works out. There won't be a sequel, and there won't be a Deborah/Hermione catfight, even if it would have been nice to have.

                Thanks to: Gliniel de Silva Malfoy+Wood, Jade, KT, kdalemama, Tinuviel Henneth, Macy, Tracy 16, and Rory 14 (PS, Tracy, like your name – it's the same as mine!), merry_mary, Jessika Organa Solo, Cedric Finnegan, Alexandra, Rhiana Larsen, my dear friend Skeyeta, Gwendellen Snape, Angelgirl1, evelyn, Sunshine Stargirl, Jerica, Roxie Potter, b, jaxi, SleepieCareBear, Alice, Sith, Jamie, Xtreme Nuisance, Sayo, Whotookthatname, Shaye, cat, Majestyic, hudson, IceDragon, DazedPanda, Young Golden Unicorn, Shenaux, Strawberri, asdfsadf (you took math lately, haven't you?), Gwen Potter, Oliver, lady knight of kennan, i-SeLL-YeLLoW-sNoW (interesting name, doll – where did you get that from?), Lawwwren, and the one chapter Stoneheart (I don't blame you for not reading the whole thing – H/Hr all the way!); and to everyone else who read but didn't review. Thank you all! ~ Kneazle (June 8, 2003)