To One Thing Constant Never

INTERLUDE (the aftermath?)

"Shit."

George Weasley ran one hand through his hair, wondering what on earth had just occurred.

He and Hermione had been rehearsing a scene for the school play. Got really into his character. And then?

He kissed her.

He had kissed Hermione Granger, his little brother's best friend.

And she had kissed him back - or started to, anyway.

George knew Ron would kill him if he found out. It was common knowledge among the residents of Gryffindor who had known his younger brother for any length of time that Ron Weasley had a gargantuan crush on Hermione Granger.

Why had he done it? He still didn't know. Was he attracted to her? Maybe. But was he willing to act on it?

*"You have stayed me in a happy hour. I was about to protest that I loved you. I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.*

George closed his eyes, visualizing Hermione as she'd said those words to him . . .

No. This wasn't right. Hell, she was his little brother's best friend. She was just a kid.

But her eyes, her lips, her hands, every curve of her face . . .

"No, she isn't," George Weasley told himself quietly. "Not any more, she isn't."

                    * * *

Hermione Granger was, for the first time in her life, speechless. She lay, staring at the curtains hanging from her bedposts, trying to rationalize what had just happened.

George Weasley had kissed her.

Kissed her.

KISSED her.

A thousand questions flooded her mind - Why had he done it? Did he mean it, or was he merely getting into character, and, if so, why had he not been that deeply in character during rehearsals? How was she supposed to react? What should she say to him if they happened to run into one another - which *was* bound to happen, really, as he was her best friend's older brother.

Oh gods.

Ron.

What if Ron found out. What would he do? What would he say?

"Hermione?" Pavarti Patil's sharp voice broke through her thoughts.

Hermione sat up sharply. "What?"

Pavarti and Lavendar Brown stood at the foot of Hermione's bed, examining her with curiosity and amusement.

"You all right?" Lavendar inquired.

"Wha - ? I'm fine." She shook her head, trying to clear it. "I'm fine. Why?"

Pavarti smirked. "All right. Who is he?"

"He?" Hermione feigned ignorance. "I don't understand what you're talking about."

The pair crossed to sit on either side of her bed. Pavarti raised one eyebrow. "Don't play innocent with us. We saw the way you were staring off into space just now. You're in love. Who is he?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. There is no he."

Lavendar leaned in, uncomfortably close, and Hermione drew back. "We know you're lying. C'mon, you can tell us."

Hermione stood up suddenly, startling both girls, and promptly exited the room.

The two girls sat in stunned silence for a moment, before Pavarti said, smirking, "What's got into her? You might almost think she'd fallen for one of them Weasley twins."

Both girls dissolved into giggles at the absurdity of the thought.

                    * * *

George Weasley had one foot outside the door, preparing to go to the Great Hall for dinner, when a sharp tug on his left arm drew him back inside the Gryffindor common room. "Ugh!" he exclaimed in suprise as Hermione Granger dragged him to the fireside and flung him away.

"Bloody hell!" He rubbed his shoulder tenderly. "You near pulled my arm out of its socket, I'll have you know."

Her face remained rigid and unmoving. "Listen, George, we need to talk."

"Talk? About what?"

"About what?" Hermione repeated incredulously, shaking her head violently in disgust or frustration - George wasn't sure which. "You know perfectly well 'about what!' You . . . you . . . " She seemed to be unable to get the words out, until she finally hissed in a low whisper, "You *kissed* me the other night and I want to know why!"

"Oh." His face fell. "That. Listen, 'Mione, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. That was just - "

She flushed angrily, brushing away the reassuring hand George tried to lay on her shoulder. "Just what?" she interrupted. "Just a joke? Just another one of those stupid pranks you and your *stupid* brother like to play on everyone?"

"Hermione - "

"You had a bet, didn't you? You and Fred and everyone made a bet that you couldn't . . . and you . . . God, I could throttle you right now! I could - "

"HERMIONE!" George placed one hand on each of her shoulders, steadying her. After her breathing had slowed somewhat, he continued. "Listen, it wasn't about them." He glanced around the common room to make sure it was empty. "'Mione, I . . . I . . . "

It took her a moment to realize exactly what George was attempting to say. But when she did . . .

"No." Hermione shook her head in disbelief, muttering to herself. "No, no, no, no, no."

"'Mione?" He gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Listen, I don't know why I did that. I'm sorry if I scared you with that, but I . . . " George's voice faltered slightly as he searched for words to say. "I like you a lot, Hermione."

She blinked a few times in shock, stepping back slightly to take in this newest development.

He shook his head. "I understand if you don't feel the same way, but I just thought you ought to know. Just in case you ever . . . " George had begun to turn away when he felt a small, soft hand slip into his larger, calloused one. He pivoted back around to see a small smile creep across Hermione's face.

Before George had time for his mind to register exactly what was happening, Hermione had raised herself up on tiptoe to meet his height. Her lips brushed his in a small, chaste kiss, and then, before he could respond, she lowered to her normal height, smiling self-satisfiedly.

"They'll be expecting us at dinner, I believe?"

Their fingers still entwined, Hermione turned and began to move toward the entrance of the Gryffindor Common room.