A/N: Any resemblance to any person or situation, real or imagined, is surely entirely coincidental. Surely. Standard disclaimer: these characters belong to JKR et al, and I am merely expressing my creatively (and for no profit) in borrowing them for a bit.


Hermione was dimly aware of the coolness in the room, having been cocooned within her blankets and deeply sleeping until the warm body slipped into bed with her, but the coolness evaporated when the lanky, muscled body snuggled closely in behind her, spooning against her. She sighed just a bit and drifted back into a pleasant haze of half-sleep in the warmth of her husband's arms. This was infrequent these days, both in bed at the same time, spooned together, simply appreciating the intimacy of being held tightly to one another.

The arm around her ribcage twitched slightly, and though she made no move, Hermione was suddenly much more awake and aware. A hand moved a bit, slowly, and Hermione felt a hot flush of sudden tension. Something else that was infrequent these days suddenly filled Hermione with longing, and if it hadn't been clear that she was awake a moment, the hand moving to cup a breast made it clear that George knew she was not sleeping. Hermione's breathing became more shallow, and tension began to coil in her stomach as George played gently with her breast, kneading it, tracing her nipple, his touch light but oh, so arousing. His lips kissed her neck, then the spot behind her ear that made her weak in the knees, and she couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips when he pinched her nipple sharply. She unconsciously arched, pushing her bum into his stiffening erection, causing George to break the silence that had held until then.

"Gods, fuck, yes, Hermione," he said in a quiet voice. "D'you see what just being near you does to me?"

"George, mmmm, yes," she whispered in a needy, almost whining tone, now grinding against him earnest as he nipped at her earlobe and kneaded her breast almost forcefully.

It was the work of a moment to tug at her until she rolled onto her back, and then they kissed deeply, their bodies, too long starved of this intimacy, pressed together. Almost frantically, George withdrew to latch his lips round Hermione's rosy, peaked nipple as his fingers found her clit and began rubbing hasty circles around it. Hermione reached between them to grasp his erection, stroking him firmly.

"George, please, I need you, now, please, oh," she cried out.

"Shhhhh," George said, frantically kissing her again, and moving into place so that he could slide into her warm depths. "Oh Hermione, it's been too long."

"I know," she gasped, feeling stretched and deliciously filled, and oh god to be held like this again, to be with George this way -

Just as George could feel himself tightening, nearing his orgasm, as Hermione was beginning to shudder on the cusp of her own, a cry filled the air, and they froze in place, straining to hear. The cry continued, and after a minute became more pronounced.

George lowered his forehead to Hermione's with a softly muttered, "Fuck."

"She's not going back to sleep, is she?" Hermione whispered sadly. The cries increased in volume and insistence.

"Nope," George agreed, pulling out of his wife, and rolling onto his back. "Sorry, but I'm going to need a minute."

Hermione was already out of bed, pulling on a robe, scrubbing at her face. Her nerves were still tingling, she was still on edge, but her daughter's cries had her attention. She rounded the corner to find her daughter standing in her cot, eyes puffy, red curls sticking out at wild angles, tear tracks streaking her face. One hand grasped the railing, the other held a lavender fleece blanket closely.

"Rosemary, darling, what's wrong?" Hermione asked in a soothing voice.

The toddler merely cried harder, and reached out for her mother. Hermione scooped her up and the cries were muffled in her shoulder, and as she rocked her, they reduced to sniffles. She lightly smoothed her hair and murmured soft nothings, swaying in place. When the girl was no longer crying, Hermione moved her to the changing table and checked her nappy, which was soaked. In a matter of moments, she was clean and dry and rubbing at her eyes. Hermione located her dummy, which Rosemary popped quickly into her mouth and her eyes were drooping closed when Hermione kissed her forehead and laid her gently back in her cot. She hovered a moment, but Rosemary was fast asleep quickly.

Hermione slipped back into her bedroom, eager to resume her romantic liaison with George. Their sex life had taken a dramatic downward turn after Rosemary had been born. She was nearly eighteen months now, and slept through the night with no problem, usually, but work for both George and Hermione was frantic and between watching their spirited toddler (entirely George's genes, Hermione was heard to grumble), work, keeping their cottage clean, and family obligations, it seemed that the times in which they both had desire and energy time were few and far between. Their desire for each other had not abated, and things had been better of late, but even so, Hermione felt the time between interludes acutely.

She was not encouraged to find George snoring.

Feeling deflated, and unfortunately wide awake, Hermione tore off her robe, tossed it aside angrily, and collapsed back in bed with no regard for waking her sleeping husband. She might have felt bad, knowing how many hours he was working to keep stocked up while Fred was on honeymoon, but she was frustrated. In multiple senses of the term.

The jostling of the bed startled George awake. "Oh, bollocks. Sorry, love. Is she all right?" he said, trying to stifle his yawn.

"Yes," she said, unable to hide her petulant tone. "Not sure what woke her, but she was soaked."

"Go back down easily?" George rolled over, and used his long arms to pull Hermione against him again.

"Easily enough," Hermione said.

"What time is it, anyway?" he asked, snuggling closer to her. Hermione glanced at her bedside clock.

"About three. Why?"

"I've got to be in early if I'm going to get the owl orders sent out on time. I'd love to pick up where we left off, but it'll take some effort and I've got to be out the door in three hours."

"And you only came to bed after midnight," Hermione sighed, defeated.

"I know, love, I'm sorry. Fred has promised to babysit overnight when they get back," George said soothingly. "We'll go to the flat, just us. I'll get horrid takeout, and cheap wine, and it'll be just like it was when we were dating. We'll make love all night and go out for a full breakfast in the morning, eh?"

"It sounds nice," Hermione conceded. "I just miss you. I don't feel very desirable these days, and we're together so infrequently, and I miss having sex with you."

"I know love," George said softly, "but it's not a matter of want or desire. You are the sexiest, fittest, loveliest woman in the world. There is no one I want to be with more."

Hermione sighed again. "I know. I'm just tired of being randy and having no release, or falling asleep or being interrupted." Her voice was rueful, but even so, she couldn't help yawning.

"Yeah, but you wouldn't trade any of this for our old life, when we could shag whenever we pleased."

"No, but I am looking forward to a good shag," she retorted.

"Just a few more days," George mumbled. "Promise."

It was not long before he was asleep again, and Hermione closed her own eyes and relaxed into George. They may not have been able to finish, but at least they'd spent time in each other's arms. And despite the interruption, and the frustration she felt at her night being torn into half, knowing already that she would spend the next day feeling unrested and fatigued, and be too spent to try to seduce George or even take care of herself for the evening, despite the strain of reduced intimacy on their relationship, she knew George was right. She wouldn't trade the moments of her daughter laying her head on Hermione's shoulder and patting her arm in imitation of the way Hermione always patted Rosemary's back when she hugged her. She wouldn't trade seeing her daughter's face light up when her father walked into the cottage, or her chubby legs carrying her to him as fast as she could move, or the joy on George's face as he scooped her into his arms. Hermione wouldn't trade the sight of her small family snuggling in bed on a rainy morning, or joining in with the ever-expanding family at the Burrow. It was a wonderful, tiring, joyful, happy life.

She would, however, visit the stockroom on her next lunch break and see what new adult products George had that needed testing, because whenever it was that the stars aligned for them to actually be able to enjoy a satisfying shag, she would be ready.

That happy thought in her mind, Hermione joined her husband and daughter in sleep.