Dungbombs and S-P-E-W II

At first, when Hermione entered the girl's dormitories, she saw nothing amiss-most odd, considering gifts from George almost always caused some form of chaos-not that Hermione would have changed that for the world. So what if the things he made had a way of exploding or imploding-it was more fun that way, loathe as Hermione was to admit it, and besides, it worked wonders for the relationship. Nothing like a swimming pool that turned into an ice skating rink to keep the relationship alive.

Searching the room from top to bottom, and even venturing near the horror that was otherwise known as Lavender's set of drawers and mirror, (in turn also known as the place that looked as if an entire trainload of makeup had been dumped on it-and then stamped on in turn by a two ton elephant) Hermione still could find nothing. Not a trace of a present within the girl's dormitories.

Not insomuch as one small length of ribbon, a card, or even a wrapped box. Though, it was true none of those things were exactly George's style-his style would have had said box exploding with the force of a thousand dungbombs, preferably from somewhere behind the unknowing and naive "victim" so that the effect the object had on the person was magnified tenfold.

Remembering just this, Hermione preceded with caution (and curiosity-what could he have possible gotten her this time?) Much good any of her tentative searching did. George's present still managed to have what Hermione was quite sure was its intended effect.

Her pulling back an innocent enough looking pillow from her bed had the result of at least thirty or so flowers flying up into the air, assaulting her in a flurry of flora and fauna. The delicious smelling fragrance of them filled the air (along with the petals, who apparently were naturally adept at talking and flattering-both of which they were doing a mile a minute) as from the twirling of beautiful greenery, there dropped an envelope.

An envelope of such a size that Errole probably would have died of a heart attack if he dared to try and carry it. That was if he ever made it into the air in the first place and didn't just collapse on the spot. The envelope was stuffed to the absolute limit with--well, presumably paper and some strange, small sized, lumpish object.

Picking the envelope up from where it had drifted to the floor, Hermione pulled out two separate things; a golden box-albeit squashed-and a letter. She decided the rather thick collection of papers looked the more inviting of the two and opened it according to preference. It read thus...

"Dear Hermione, we've been dating for six months now and you know every self respectable guy gets his girlfriend flowers and chocolates for this kind of thing-" (Here, Hermione, eyeing the still airborne flowers and the golden confectionary box, gave a knowing grin.) "-It's the norm. But I thought I'd do something a little different from the norm. Consider it a special present for a special gal."

" P.S.=The poem included is not my own, I admit it, but the "additions" to it certainly are."

"P.P.S=The flowers are the newest invention of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. What do you think?"

"P.P.P.S=The chocolates aren't meant to be eaten (right away, that is.) No, they aren't miniature bombs waiting to explode, don't worry. Just break them in half before you eat them, okay?"

The first page of the letter being put down on the top of Hermione's quilts and her seating herself in a similar fashion, she began reading the next page of the letter. As George had written on the previous page, there was a poem. A poem that would have seemed to ordinary but for George's added comments. The comments were written in the untidy scrawl next to the lines of the poem he had cut and pasted (Hermione winced for the poor book destroyed, but only briefly. The overall effect was touching.)

"The maiden is the most beautiful in the world," it began.

"She radiates with a glow, like the sunlight that streams upon her hair, turning it to a most seemly gold."

"The gold reflects unto her face; a perfect oval of peachy perfection."

"With lips as red as the reddest rose's."

"She enchants me-"

"-as I do her."

Beat the poet at his own game again! Well, no, not really. Just wanted to give you a little something to show Lavender and Parvati so they stop thinking I'm going to blast you to smithereens on accident or to use as a bookmark in a book somewhere to glance at when you're feeling down-or overstudying (and yes, you do too.) >

The amused look on her face having grown steadily with each paragraph, Hermione stuck the letter inside her pillow case. Lavender and Parvati would tease her endlessly when they found out, but who cared. Hermione had seen more than condemning picture of Ron in several various "hidden" places on several various occasions. Hermione picked up the gold box, tearing off the merry red ribbon covering it.

Row upon row of chocolates of every shape and size-except chocolate frogs, for some strange reason (perhaps George had remembered when Hermione had gotten one stuck in her hair and had had to have it cut out by a pair of scissors, after all.) Doing as George had requested in his letter, Hermione did not eat the chocolates until she had broken each in half first and pulled out the note contained inside each one.

And a good thing she did too. She wouldn't have seen the message that they formed when combined. George had been counting on her being able to figure out the message- put two and two together- and naturally, Hermione had. She left the room, the flowers shouting behind her "That's right, smile! You look lovely!" and a book hidden behind her back.

Her intended present for George, on the other hand, wrapped and bedecked with a ribbon and card, still lay on top of her dresser, there for all roving eyes to see (namely, Parvati and Lavender) along with the chocolates and letters in them Hermione herself had received.

If Hermione had thought it over a bit more, she would have deposited the notes from the chocolates in the trash, or at the very least, the interior of her dresser drawer instead of on the exterior. With them currently spread out so, Lavender and Parvati could have read them over easily, followed the clues, and done some more of their quality spying. (Or, as they jokingly preferred to call it, "It's not our fault we're always around when anything intresting happens!")

Luckily, Lavender and Parvati were currently busy at their other hobby-gossiping over breakfast, and, in Lavender's case, chatting with Ron while doing so.

***********

Following the note's instructions down to the last letter, Hermione walked across Hogwarts' grounds, which were still a wintery maze of snowmen, and students whizzing by on varied methods of transportation, of which sleds were the most popular. But for those few desperate souls without a sled, sliding down the hills on your bum worked just as well-even if you ended up sitting down standing up for a good while afterwards.

Not far from Hagrid's hut, under the lone tree thus located, something stood that was out of place-even among the oddities that were commonplace at Hogwarts. Nothing less than a penguin stood there; a penguin wearing a bow tie, at that. At first, Hermione figured it was Hagrid's newest pet, following the lines of "Fluffy" and "Norbert", but then she saw the red hair peaking out from behind the penguin's wings. (And unless the penguin was some sort of illegitimate relation of the Weasley family's, Hermione was sure that the penguin was somehow George's doing.) Just as long as it didn't explode.

As she neared the penguin and George, Hermione's fingers tightened around the book behind nervously. She had not left her present for George behind on accident. It had been her decision. Her gift had just seemed so-ordinary-compared to what he had gotten her. And if there was one thing Hermione was, it was a perfectionist. George had helped that trait to lapse somewhat, Hermione was more laid back than she had been-but still, her tendency to try and please everybody remained.

It was mostly the fault of this (and partly because of other things too) that Hermione was fretting, a death grip on her book. Would George like it? What would he think? He might like it. It wasn't his style, but--

Then again, maybe he would understand it, and the reasoning behind it. He knew her. The real her. More than Ron or Harry-no, that wasn't it, not more, just more of a different side of her, perhaps. Ron and Harry had trouble seeing past her intellectual side. With George, she could goof off, no pressure to do elsewise or to always be the smart, calm, rational, and mature one.

He was subtly changing her by accepting her for who she was, and this was her way of saying she saw the other side of his as well; just as he saw past her serious side, she saw past his humorous side.

**********

Little did Hermione know that as nervous as she was the nearer she got to the penguin underneath the tree, George was just as much so, if not more. And for somewhat the same reason. How had she liked his present? What did/ would she think? It was a bit different, admittedly, but then she deserved it. He'd never felt this way about anyone but her. Of course, he'd never say as much to her-not yet. It sounded silly even in his head.

Maybe, a skeptical part of him thought, because he hadn't dated anyone else before. But just the same, he'd never enjoyed himself around anyone as much as he did her. She, well, she understood what he was about.

Nervousness if not overcome, at least temporarily misplaced (it was just George, anyway) Hermione leaned over to talk to the penguin. She wouldn't be surprised the slightest if it talked back. Hermione addressed the animal seriously, pretending she could not see the figure trying desperately to hide behind it.

"Hello, have you seen George?"

George's voice spoke from behind the penguin. "Nope, no George here. Just me, uh..Bob the penguin."

"Really, Bob. And have you always had orange hair growing out of your armpits?"

"Oh yes, it's a terrible affliction. Alas, even Merod's Maniacal Mane potion does nothing, it just turns it green. Got made fun of for weeks. I never want to hear the word 'seaweed' again. Embarrassing."

Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow and snickered. George, unable to remain hidden any longer, stepped out from behind the penguin. As soon as he did so, the penguin opened its beak and began not to talk as Hermione had figured it might, but to sing. Singing opera, of all things, with a vengeance-and an earsplitting soprano of a voice to carry said vengeance.

"So what did you think of my gift?" George shouted over the racket at Hermione.

"The poem was wonderful," Hermione shouted back. "I'll keep it with me always."

"What, stick it down your robes? Are you entirely sure that's a good idea?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, silly. I mean I'll keep it with me mentally; memorize it."

George gestured sheepishly towards the penguin, whose arms were now clutched to its chest as it sang. "I figured it was better than me trying to sing any opera to you myself, so..."

"A dying cat would sound better than you, George," Hermione cut in. "No offense. I like you that way. Otherwise, you would make my skill at singing look bad."

"Your skill at singing, that if I remember correctly, evolves belting out songs into a can. Think highly of ourselves today, do we?"

"Yes." Hermione grinned.

"So do I."

Hermione purposely misinterpreted George's words. "That's good. Self esteem is important-missing in so many teenagers today."

"You know exactly what I mean." George leaned over to kiss her, but Hermione stopped him.

"No, not yet. You still have to open your gift from me first." She shyly took out the book from behind her back and unceremoniously handed it to George, anticipating (and dreading) his response and biting her lip, as was her worst habit (an evolved form of her other habit of biting her fingernails.)

She looked so unsure there that George could do nothing but assure her with a kiss and inform her "I've never had a gift that means this much. Well, except for the fake spider on my second birthday."

"Aha! I knew there was a reason Ron was afraid of spiders." Then, almost worriedly. "You really like it?"

"Of course I do! Going to take me the rest of my life to read," George kidded. "But it'll be worth it. Besides, now I can figure out just exactly what was with that Wendelin the Weird fellow-heard he played some great pranks in his day."

He smiled at Hermione. "I'm just glad you didn't get me a rubber ball for a nose." He was half kidding, but Hermione took him seriously. "You aren't just a clown, you know that."

"You're not just a 'bookie' either." Sure, that meant something to Hermione, but she didn't feel comfortable showing it (any more than George felt comfortable saying it.)

"I'm not? Then what am I, then? A bookish clown?"

"Nah. More like witty and funny."

"Same with you." That was it. No matter how squeamish or unused to those sort of emotions she was, Hermione enveloped George in a bear hug anyway-the kind best friends would be prone to give each other. George's voice came muffled from over her shoulder. "If I end up squashed flat as a pancake, it's all your fault."

Hermione just hugged him tighter, only letting him go when she got a good look at his watch, as she was ever conscious of the time-that and of the growling noises her almost empty stomach was making. "You know, if we hurry, we can still make breakfast."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"Just so you know, I was terribly disappointed when I saw that penguin under the tree-," Hermione informed George as they began walking back to Hogwarts (and away from Hagrid, who had been privy to a good deal of what had gone on from the view of his window and had been quite amused by it all.)

At Hermione's words, George's face turned panicked (rather like Harry's when he had found out he got Cho the Bearded Blisters instead of the Weird Sisters.) "-From the way you talked earlier," continued Hermione. "I thought I was going to find you with a bow wrapped 'round your middle."

George laughed. "And just so you know, I'm also terribly disappointed. I was hoping for a piggy back ride. 'Grandma' George's bones are brittle, after all."

"More like 'grandma' George is just lazy," Hermione harumphed. "But you're in luck. That's the other part of my gift!"

George paused. "Wait a minute, 'Mione. I wasn't serious..."

"Oh come on. I'm stronger than you think." And that was the truth, though many thought it otherwise. Hermione leaned over enough so that George could clamber upon her back. "Jump on!"

"Or try to choke me," Hermione added ruefully as George did just as she said, hopping on and practically causing her to tumble over sideways. George wasn't a beater for nothing-while not overweight by any means, he certainly wasn't under, either. Especially not for Hermione, whose previous experience in using her biceps and back muscles had been limited to lifting heavy books (and occasionally throwing them and punches out with deadly accuracy at whoever was unfortunate enough to tempt her wraith-just had to ask Malfoy to prove the truth in that.)

However, Hermione did somehow manage to carry George across the grounds, admittedly after stumbling side to side on the lawn for a bit and only narrowly miss running head first into a snowman (the buggers were animate and kept on moving hithro across the snowy landscape.)

"Lead the way!" shouted George with glee, his reservations about getting a piggy back ride evidently gone-as was Hermione's eyesight, seeing as he was greatly impairing it by having his hands gripped 'round her face (in a manner similar to a miser's around gold.) Hermione stated this with a grumble. "I can't when your hands are over my eyes."

"Oh. Woops." George promptly removed the offending appendages, but it was too late, Hermione was already veering off course. "Whoa! Watch out for that tree!"

"That's a twig," pointed out Hermione, looking at the ground. Looking at the ground instead of what lay on a direct path in front of them. A couple of minutes, a dented tree, and an entire branch wrapped around George's head later, they were back on their way to breakfast again.

**********

The penguin "Bob" trailing behind them dutifully, a considerably more tussled and beaten up Hermione and George emerged in the Great Hall, just as Dumbledore was rising from his gilded chair to make his usual morning announcements (or perhaps unusual was a better word, as Dumbledore's announcements were hardly what you would call usual.)

Fearing McGonagall's or one of the other professor's searching eyes would seek them out and cause them to get an admonishment for being late, Hermione and George; who had only just ceased his piggy back ride outside the hall's doors, snuck past the other three house tables, crouched over as low as they could be without dropping to all fours.

But neither George nor Hermione need have bothered. The students'-and even the teachers', for the time being- attention was diverted by the boy (Lavender and Parvati would have protested that he was a "man") standing at the front of all the tables, Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder.

George and Hermione found their respective seats at the Gryffindor table-her next to Ron and Harry next to Lavender and Parvati. George normally would have sat next to Fred and Lee, but apparently their recent morning excursion had left them fatigued-either that or their excursion was venturing on past breakfast, which was a possibility considering Angelina and Alicia were mysteriously absent from their usual spots at the table, as well.

Ron seemed to have temporarily taken over Hermione's usual role as he hissed at both her and George, "you're late!"

"We are not. You're just early," counted George.

Ron, one of the few not goggling at the new kid in the front, chose to goggle instead at Bob the penguin, who seemed to have permanently attached himself to Hermione's shadow. "What the hell is that?"

"Oh honestly. What does it look like?" asked Hermione as she helped herself to some oatmeal.

Ron shrugged. "I dunno. A toddler gone rampant with finger paints on a clone of George?"

Hermione glared. "NOT funny."

"Sorry," Ron quickly apologized, his bout of jealousy gone as quickly as it had come. "But that penguin sure is."

It was at that moment, with everyone's (or almost everyone's) attention focused on the boy, who was waiting as the sorting hat and chair were brought to him, that the penguin decided to open its beak and let loose (not literally, it didn't throw up-though Ron would have argued that point from the eye shadow Lavender was wearing that morning.)

Just as instantly, those near the penguin put their hands over their ears, with the exception of Neville, whose pink set of earmuffs were doing the job quite nicely.

"There's a way to turn it off, right?" Parvati asked Hermione. Hermione looked at George as if it was all his fault. "George?"

"Nope. How on earth could it have an off button? It's an animal, not a toy."

Lavender, who had obviously not been listening to the conversation whatsoever, was temporarily distracted from staring at the boy at the front of the room by the sheer noise of the penguin's oratorio. "Doesn't it at least have a volume control? Turn it down!"

Hermione sighed. "Need I remind you what George said? It's not a toy." But Lavender, having contributed her one comment, went back to staring.

"Guess we can't break it in that case," muttered Ron, following Lavender's gaze to the new boy.

"Looks like he wants to break something besides Bob, if you ask me," whispered Hermione to George.

"Yeah. Hope that guy is wearing plaited iron underwear, because Ron is going to seriously damage him as soon as he gets near enough," he whispered back.

The penguin, meanwhile, was growing progressively louder. Loud enough in fact, that it could almost be heard over the usual hubbub that took place during breakfast (and that included the three howlers that were going off at the same time and the chair being scraped across the floor for the new boy.)

"Ouch! Get me something, anything to shut him up!" said Hermione desperately to no one in particular.

"Anything? Got to be a bit more specific. Otherwise Ron's liable to throw in that new guy's disembodied head." pointed out Parvati.

"No, I wouldn't. Just his arm," said Ron angrily as he watched the new guy waving jovially over at Lavender, who shyly waved back, flushing scarlet.

"Specific? Fine, anything that fits in his mouth." Hermione then grabbed a protesting George's arm, held it in front of Bob, and watched Bob's beak clamp down on it--hard.

"Yeeow! What was that for?" asked George, freeing his arm and rubbing the spot where the penguin had hit it gingerly.

"Well, I told you I needed something."

"Beg your pardon? My arm is not a something, it's part of a someone!"

From Harry's direction, a napkin came sailing through the air and fell neatly into Hermione's lap. "There you go, that should do it."

As Harry had said, it worked perfectly-the penguin at last shut up and everyone went back to the matter at hand; the new boy, or so he must have been to be getting sorted.

"QUIET!" yelled Professor McGonagall above all the noise. When the noise level had lowered to her satisfaction, she placed the battered old sorting hat upon the new boy's blonde haired head. "Gryffindor!" it stated, to which Hermione and George began, with the rest of the Gryffindors, shouting and clapping-even Harry with his injured ankle from the Quidditch game just yesterday, did as much, though it seemed to him a bit silly to be clapping enthusiastically for a boy he didn't even know. But then others had done the same for him when he was new, after all he, remembering how nervous he'd been on his first day, (though this guy certainly didn't look nervous as he blew kisses to the various girls) would do no less.

Only Ron refused to stand--until Lavender pulled him to his feet with a frown. "Evidently, me and Hermione missed something," said George as they all sat back down and resumed eating. "Who's the dandy?"

Ignoring the "dandy" comment, Parvati spoke, not as entranced by the new guy as Lavender was. "Not missed something. Several somethings."

"Such as?" asked Hermione.

"Well, the announcement of the Yule ball, for one thing."

"And?" pressed Hermione before George could get his wits together, figure out what Lavender had just said, and ask Hermione to the ball. (She did not want to be asked in a manner similar to Fred's abrupt style of asking Angelina last year.)

"And Hagrid's teaching home economics," said Harry with a grin-such a grin that Hermione, who had never considered Harry much of the joking type, thought he had to be kidding. "Are you serious?"

"No lie," Harry told her. "You just missed another one of Dumbledore's speeches, or you would have known he said so himself."

"Hagrid teaching home economics? But that's not right. Like Malfoy teaching fashion," said Hermione, horrified. "Or Snape teaching hair care," added George.

"Or," began Ron, but Harry put up his hand. "I think I get the point."

"By the way, the new kid's Will Pierre," said Parvati suddenly to Hermione. "You know, the guy from the Weird Sisters that Lavender is all moony over? He transferred from some other school, apparently."

"Lavender? I thought it was you," said Hermione, somewhat confused.

"Not anymore. I stick to his pictures," said Parvati.

"That's disturbing," commented George.

"Moony? More like spoony," muttered Ron. Silence. Parvati shook her head at him. "You play too much of those Muggle game videos, Ron."

"It's video games," Ron corrected her before going back to glaring at Will Pierre. Will, who quite unexpectedly appeared behind Hermione with a chair he had dragged from who knows where. "Can I sit here?"

George didn't say a word, but instead coughed from across from Hermione, as loud as if he had swallowed an entire cake whole (actually, that wasn't far from it. Ron had downed his glass of orange juice in one gulp out of shock.)

However, Will didn't take the hint from George's loud cough and began moving his chair to fit in beside Hermione's.

"You can't sit there," spoke George suddenly, not knowing what possessed him.

"What George means is umm..breakfast is about to be over. Besides, I don't think there's room for another chair, and why don't you go sit with Ginny and Neville instead? They are nearer to the door so it'll be easier to avoid the stampede of students after breakfast ends. Not that you would have trouble, but..."

Gah, I'm babbling, realized Hermione, mortified. It was impossible to think with those dark blue eyes and just him in general so near. Evidently, Lavender thought the same, as she was now blushing more than ever.

"It's okay. I understand," Will told her, not a trace of a french accent. In spite of his last name, he was obviously not of that origin. He glanced at George, winked, and then went off to go sit by Neville and Ginny.

"Which one of you would like to give our new student a tour?"

McGonagall had quite out of the blue, appeared at the Gryffindor table. At her plea, several students (suspiciously of whom at least more than half were girls) began announcing they would or waving their hands about wildly, Lavender among them much to Ron's chagrin.

Lavender was also the one that Professor McGonagall saw. "Lavender, why don't you show Will Pierre around?"

Lavender looked as if she were suppressing a squeal (it was to her credit that she didn't let it out.) "I am soo lucky," she said in half a whisper-Hermione wasn't even sure she knew she was saying it out loud.

More like unlucky, thought George-and he was not just thinking of Lavender as he thought as much, either. Will and Lavender left, Will turning around to smile for a long time at Hermione (George did NOT take this favorably) before they went.

"Remind me to destroy shamrocks from now on," groaned Ron.

"If he ever tries that again, I'll sit on him," grumbled George.

"Ouch," said Parvati. "Wrestling? I have a sudden image of you two in unitards."

"That's because you suddenly became very sick," snapped Hermione, causing Parvati to get a bit of a surprise of her own. Not as surprised as Hermione was. She wasn't sure if she was more aggravated over the reference to Ron or George-the weird part was it seemed to be both.

Hermione shook that wayward thought out of her head in a hurry. She and Ron were just friends. She and George were more. That was all.

But things were never as simple as they sounded-especially not when you were a teenager with hormones enough to fill a lake.

"Isn't he just gorgeous? He's related to Fleur," said Parvati confidentially to Hermione as they walked out of the Great Hall to their first class.

Not confidentially enough. "Ooh, that's rich. Family members have traits in common," said Ron from behind them.

"So you think Will's pretty too?"

"No," said Ron shortly. "Stupid." He looked so sad and furious there, catching up with Lavender and Will walking ahead. Hermione shook her head after him.

"It's kind of rude of you to egg him on like that. You know how jealous he gets. Maybe you don't understand because you're more laid back."

Depends, thought George, but didn't say it. "So, what do you think of the Will Pierre guy so far?"

Hermione laughed. "What do I think of him? That's silly. I don't even know him! What, I'm supposed to form my opinion based on three seconds?"

"Sure. Why not?" George's voice sounded strained.

"Because--George, you don't have to worry or get all jealous. I think he's about as three dimensional as a piece of paper."

"Oh."

"I'm not jealous-," said George. Lie one. Arrgh. I can't even let one weird nuthead talk to Hermione without turning into Ron? Well, no, my nose isn't long enough for that, but just the same..

"I am," said Ron.

"No reason to be jealous. Just--" Hermione started and began to walk ahead with Ron, leaving George behind unwittingly.

"But-"

"But nothing. Trust her or everything falls apart." Hermione gave a little smile remembering past incidents. "Including the furniture."

George began falling further and further behind, until Hermione put a stop to her conversation with Ron to turn and speak to George. "Where are you off to?"

"To defend the last thing that needs defending from Ron," said George wryly. "As you said, the furniture."

Ron gave a sort of grin in spite of himself. "Too bad Will doesn't have a doll made of him like Krum does. I need something to vent on."

"Actually, there is a doll of him," said George. "Uncanny how much it resembles Goldilocks with a mullet when you take him for the spin on the fan."

Ron's eyes lit up. "I think I'll borrow that doll for a bit."

"Another words, Will Pierre's doll is about to become a pin cushion," said George. "Why can't you just vent in a nice, normal way? Like by seeing how long you can scream before someone screams back or something, such as, oh say, getting a couple of detentions."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Nice, normal way? Your priorities are completely twisted."

"Not as much as Lavender's," said Ron. "Will should stick to his own species, like toads-"

"Someone had better warn Trevor," pointed out Hermione. "But really, Ron, Lavender isn't-"

She went back to talking to Ron about Lavender with only one backward glance at George. He looked-jealous? No, couldn't be. The Weasleys must have been born with excesses of the jealous gene and the handsome gene, concluded Hermione as she walked beside two members of that family. She then felt mortified when she realized this observation was not specific to George. How could she find both George and Ron handsome?

And Hermione walked along confused.

And George was unsure, for the first time in a long time, usually he was so sure of himself-he had been sure he would go to the dance with him, sure of her affection--'till now. He was overreacting, he knew.

But he also knew Hermione would go with Ron at the slightest provocation. And this Will Pierre guy and Lavender combined seemed to be well on the way to becoming the slightest provocation. George had always been second choice to Ron. Not just him, but everyone knew that. They had seen Ron's jealousy in the fourth year over Krum just as much as he had. Hermione had only gone with him because Ron was taken, a tiny part of him said. Or had she?

And George became as confused as Hermione. Soon enough, he wouldn't be jumping to conclusions, but simply just realizing the truth. Better sooner than later, right?

But perhaps things wouldn't unfold the way he was thinking they would. He hoped not.