Title: Everything in Disarray

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my aging laptop. I'm just having a little fun here.

Summary: This story is a sequel to In the Wee Hours of the Morning. I suggest you read that first. This fic begins when the Trio return from the horcrux hunt. It may have a plot…. I'm still working that out. But there will be fluff, and romance, and drama, and some smutty-ness, and that pesky war in the background. I think it will be enjoyable, in any case, but it is a sequel, and I'm not holding out any hopes that it will be better than In the Wee Hours. That's just the nature of sequels. :)

A/N: I had a hell of a time figuring out a title for this story. I'm usually pretty good at that sort of thing, but this one was tricky. I finally settled on Everything in Disarray, which refers to the world outside of George and Hermione. Namely, the war. So, our couple is the calm in chaos. I'll probably attempt to skim over the particulars of the war (as I know HP&tDH will probably make this story very AU no matter what I do) but the war will be there, and I'll have to deal with it eventually.

This is for Nayala, who asked ever so nicely, and I couldn't resist in any case. I love writing Hermione. Enjoy!


Hermione fell to the ground in relief. She wanted to just collapse here. Here where the grass was cool and green, and here where she was finally safe. The Burrow, looking cheerful and homey as ever, was a mere twenty yards ahead, but walking any further was not appealing. She was streaked with dust, could feel it caked on her skin and melting away in long sweaty rivulets. She felt disgusting.

Ron and Harry apparated next to her in two loud pops. She smiled weakly up at them, and Harry grinned back. "Up you get, Hermione," he said, pulling on her hand.

Ron's eyes were fixed on the Burrow, looking both glad to see it and anxious. "Mum's going to kill me," he murmured.

"We'll protect you, mate," Harry said, and clasped Ron's shoulder bracingly, but he looked nervous too.

Hermione smiled. It had been three long months since they had seen the Burrow. Ninety-four days of searching out horcruxes and destroying them. It was a miracle that they hadn't died in the attempt. There was still one left, but as that last one was Nagini, they'd have to wait until Harry was prepared to face Voldemort for the (hopefully) final time. They had been out of contact with everyone for those months, and knew that they had some serious explaining to do. Mrs. Weasley would not be happy with any of them, though Hermione hoped that she would feed them before she began to scold and rant. It had been at least twenty-four hours since they had eaten last. The sixth horcrux had been destroyed only hours before, and they had all agreed that it was now time to go home.

Home. The Burrow. Home cooked meals. Warm beds. Hot showers. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Ginny.


She bit her lip. Gods, but she had missed George. She had dreamed of him nearly every night since they'd left. Some she didn't remember, but woke feeling refreshed and happy, and others were as startlingly clear as that night had been, and some remarkably naughtier than that night. In reality, she had no idea where she stood with George. It had, after all, been only one night, and it wasn't as if they'd made any promises to each other. He could have moved on just as easily as she could have.

But she hadn't. After several tense silence filled days, she and Ron had had it out on the front lawn of Hogwarts while Harry had gone in to talk to Dumbledore's portrait. Ron had screamed and kicked at rocks, and said horrible things to her, and she had shot right back at him. The yelling had gone on for a half an hour, and they'd finally looked up to see Harry watching them silently from the front steps. He was smiling and shaking his head, and gestured for them to continue, but he had broken the tension and Ron had laughed and said, "We're better off as friends, aren't we?"

She had been surprised, and a little sad, but she had nodded and pulled him into a fierce hug. And that was that.

Hermione was pulled back to the present at the sound of the Burrow's kitchen door slamming against the brickwork, and Mrs. Weasley screeching, "Where have you three been!?" and then Ginny was pushing past her mother, running full tilt towards them calling, "Harry! Ron! Hermione! I was so worried!" She hurled herself into Harry's arms, and he whirled her around, kissing her madly. Hermione giggled and felt tears prick at her eyes. Harry had missed Ginny so much. Ron rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too.

"Come on," he said to her, "Let's get this over with." In a louder voice he called, "Oi! Mum! What's for dinner?"

"What's for dinner!? You must be joking Ronald Weasley!" and then Molly was off, ranting about how worried everyone had been, and what on earth had they all been thinking, and couldn't they have at least written, and on and on. Ron took in her words with a weird sort of half smile on his face, and then suddenly kissed her cheek and said, "I missed you, Mum."

Molly softened immediately, and patted his cheek. "Don't think you're going to get out of it that easily, young man. Now, all of you get in here. You look absolutely frightful. I've got soup on, and you must be starving."

The hour that followed was a lovely blur of hot soup and warm bread, and Ron attempting to field his mother's questions. Mrs. Weasley made several floo calls, organizing an emergency Order meeting for later that night, when they would finally tell everyone what they'd been up to. Hermione believed the story would go, "We had to do something. It's for the war. Dumbledore told us not to say anything. Sorry." She doubted it would go over well.

Molly ordered them to shower before the meeting, and put Hermione up in Fred and George's old room ("Ginny's trundle is broken, I have no idea how that happened…" to which Ginny and Harry blushed and looked away). Hermione collapsed on the bed nearest the door. She was oh-so tired. She resolved to just shut her eyes for a moment, and then she'd get up to shower. Just for a moment…

"Hermione…" his voice was coming from very far away. She frowned in her sleep, and heard him chuckle. Her eyes opened to find him sitting next to her on the bed.

"George?" she asked sleepily, "Am I dreaming again?"


She pushed herself up slightly, feeling very disoriented. Oh, that was right. They'd finally come home. And George was really here. She smiled at him.

"Look at you," he said with a smirk. He ran his finger lightly down her cheek and showed her the dirt there. "You're filthy." He smiled at her like he'd never seen anything so lovely.

"Oh no, I was supposed to shower. What time is it?"

"Nearly five. You've got plenty of time, the meeting isn't till eight."

"Good," she sighed, and laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. Sleep still clouded her brain, and her body wasn't entirely receptive to the thought of waking yet. She felt George shift to lie next to her. His hand cupped her cheek, stroking softly with his thumb. She leaned into his touch and sighed, "I've missed you," and immediately felt embarrassed.

"Me too," he said, and she opened her eyes only to slide them shut again when his lips brushed against hers.

She giggled when he planted kisses on each corner of her mouth, and said, "I'm covered in dirt." It was a very weak protest, but she had hoped to be clean and looking slightly pretty when she saw him again.

"Don't care," he said, kissing her cheeks, eyelids, nose, "There's a lovely girl in my bed, and I won't let such a golden opportunity go to waste."

Well, if he wasn't repulsed, she certainly wasn't going to worry about it. His tongue sought out hers, and she moaned. This was better than she remembered. How could it possibly be better? His arm wrapped tight around her waist and pulled her flush against him. She loved how he felt: the hard planes of his chest and his deliciously well-muscled arms holding her close… yes, she definitely had a thing for Quidditch players. Really, really good ones. She moaned again and threw her leg over his, arching against him like a contented cat. He made an appreciative noise, and moved his leg upwards until it was pressed hard against her center. Dear Merlin, he's amazing. And then he pulled back, frowning a bit, and she wondered if she would have to rethink that statement.

"Don't you think we should… I don't know… talk?"

She buried her face in his shoulder and suppressed a groan. "George?"


"Have I done something to upset you?"

He sounded very confused, "No…"

"Have I hurt you in some way?"


"Then why," she said, half-glaring and shoving him lightly, "are you torturing me?"

He laughed, and joked, "What? I thought girls liked to talk."

"There's a time and a place for such things, and you missed it," she pulled his head roughly to hers and he laughed against her lips.

A knock sounded at the door, "Hermione?" came Ginny's tentative voice, "Are you awake yet?"

The girl in question groaned and rolled away from the boy who had stopped kissing her once again. He called out, "Go away, Ginny! She's busy."

There was a surprised silence, and then, "George, what are you doing in there?"

Hermione, face burning in embarrassment, flew off the bed and opened the door. Ginny was wearing a knowing grin, and her eyes sparkled with the promise of a dishy conversation in the future. "I'm just—" Hermione stammered, "I'm going to take a shower."

She pushed past Ginny to race up the stairs, "Better make it a cold one, Mione." Hermione shot her a look and locked the bathroom door behind her, but not before she heard Ginny say, "Well, well, well, brother mine. What's going on here?"


A/N: If you're wondering why Hermione has suddenly become a little minx, I'll just say this: There comes a time in every girl's life where she just plain stops being shy about what she wants, and Hermione has reached the breaking point. And I don't think it's entirely out of character for her… I mean, at fourteen she was making out with an eighteen year old Hungarian Quidditch star, and in HBP she was letting Cormac McLaggen snog the heck out of her because she wasn't getting any from Ron, and she didn't even like Cormac. So yeah, I think Hermione wanting a little action with George is an improvement. :)

Also, the entire time I was writing the kissing and whatnot, I was thinking, "But you're disgusting! Go take a shower!" but George wouldn't allow it, and I can't deny George anything. So yeah, sorry if that grossed you out too.