To One Thing Constant Never

PART THE THIRD (the rehearsals)

"George Weasley, you - are - IMPOSSIBLE!" Hermione shrieked after the red-haired prankster had trodden on her foot for the seventh time that evening.

The cast of "Much Ado About Nothing" was rehearsing the Act II party scene, and George and Hermione seemed to be having the most trouble of any of the pairs.

In an instant the music the actors were dancing to had stopped and McGonagall had materialized beside them (not literally of course - dear me, no - for it is far more trouble for one to apparate ten feet across a room rather than simply walk).

"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" the professor inquired with eyebrow raised.

"It's my foot." Hermione gestured to said appendage. "George has stepped on it several times during tonight's rehearsal alone, and it's beginning to feel rather painful - I'm not sure I'll be able to walk on it tomorrow!"

George shrugged.

"Well then," McGonagall suggested, "perhaps the two of you should work on being able to waltz without one or both of you sustaining an injury outside of rehearsal so we can concentrate on other, more significant things during the small space of time we have together? Does that sound agreeable to the both of you?"

The pair nodded solemnly.

"All right. Then, on to your lines."

Hermione straightened immediately, becoming the proud Lady Beatrice. "Will you not tell me who told you so?"

                    * * *

Late the next evening - which just so happened to be a Friday - Hermione and George sat practicing their lines by the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"I do love nothing in the world so much as you," George recited dully. "Is not that strange."

Hermione frowned. "No, no, no. That will never do. You have to put more emotion into it or they'll never believe you mean it." She paused. "Try again?"

"I do love nothing in the world so much as you. Is not that strange?" This time his voice was deep and burdened with emotion.

"Better. I could almost have believed then that you really did love me." Hermione smiled before continuing the scene. "As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you, but believe me not, and yet I lie not, I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing."

"By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me!"

"Do not swear and eat it."

George raised one hand to brush the hair from her eyes, then to trace the line of her cheekbone. "I will swear by it that you love me, and make him eat it that says I love not you."

Hermione fought the urge to pull back, reminding herself that this was merely a rehearsal. *But why is he looking at me like that?* she wondered to herself.

"You have stayed me in a happy hour," she breathed. "I was about to protest that I loved you."

He smiled slightly, running his fingertips along her cheek. "And do it with all thy heart."

"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest."

Hermione's head swam as George slowly leaned towards her, trying to rationalize what was happening. But all was forgotten when his lips brushed hers for a second. Against her will, she felt herself leaning into the kiss before . . .

"Wait!" She pulled back abruptly.

The look on his face was one of sheer confusion. "What?"

"You . . . I . . . You . . . We just . . . " She fumbled for words, feeling a flush creep up her neck and spread across her cheeks.

*And you liked it,* a small voice in her head was saying. *You liked it a lot, and you know it.*

"You all right, 'Mione?" George's eyes softened as he reached for her hand.

"I . . . I'm just fine. I just . . . I . . . " And without finishing her sentence, Hermione snatched her hand away from his and fled, red-faced, to the girls' dorms.

*You liked him kissing you,* the voice taunted. *You liked it, you liked it, you liked it . . . *