Inevitability

So maybe you could walk with me a while

And maybe I could rest beneath your smile

Everybody stumbles sometimes and needs a hand to hold

'Cause it's a long trip alone

And I don't know where I'd be without you here

'Cause I'm not really me without you there

Suddenly, before Hermione was really ready for it, September was gone and Hogwarts started again. For the first time in a month, Hermione didn’t get to see George regularly; she felt the separation keenly, and she was glad when Christmas rolled around and it was time to go back at the Burrow. Not wanting to completely ignore her parents, she was planning to spend a week and a half with them in Australia. She had fixed her parents’ memories just a month after the battle of Hogwarts, but they had fallen in love with Australia to such an extent, that they had decided to stay there. As a witch, it was easy to drop by whenever she wanted to, so it was mutually agreed that they would stay where they were.

She loved being back at Hogwarts, learning again and being with Harry and Ron, but things had changed, and no one could deny it. Harry spent most of his free time with Ginny, while she and Ron were spending most of their time together. Strangely enough, while they seemed to grow closer, friendshipwise, there was also a part of them that was growing apart. Hermione knew it had to do with the way Ron felt about her. She wished so much, every night before she went to bed, that he wouldn’t feel the way he did. Sometimes, when they were alone in the Common Room, in front of the fireplace, studying, she felt his eyes on her.

The night before they were to leave for the Burrow, the inevitable happened. He asked her the question that she was dreading, and did the thing she was even more wary of.

Hermione looked up from her Charms book, unexpectedly meeting Ron’s eyes. She noticed that his Potions book lay forgotten in his lap, and his blue eyes had a determined look. She knew that determination very well, and it was unsettling to know that it was aimed at her.

“Ron …what?” she asked, her heart suddenly racing as he covered the distance between them on the sofa.

Then her thigh was tingling on its own accord as his own thigh brushed up against her. He was leaning towards her, and she nearly jumped out of her own skin when she felt his hand, large and warm, on her thigh. And then, before she could say anything, his lips were wrapping hers. It certainly wasn’t a bad kiss;, in fact, she would recall later, when not quite so mortified, that it had been a very good kiss. But the simple fact remained that it wasn’t George’s, and that was the only one she really wanted.

While George was playful, teasing her until she couldn’t take it anymore, Ron was thorough and slow. It was like he was savoring her, much like she had seen him do when eating his favorite desert. She was horrified at the odd mix of arousal and queasiness in her stomach. If she had to be honest with herself, she didn’t expect it to be like that, for his kiss to be that good. But it still felt very wrong, even if it was a good kiss. She pushed him away just as he moved to deepen the kiss, his hand still on her thigh and squeezing gently, making shivers go up her spine.

His breathing was heavy as he stared at her, and Hermione noted that his eyes had darkened, turning a pure, perfect shade of sapphire.

“What?” he asked breathlessly, licking his lips slowly, savoring her taste on his tongue.

At the sound of his voice, she jumped again, her legs feeling like jelly as she stood up quickly. His voice, his raspy voice didn’t sound like her friend’s anymore, it sounded like a man’s; a man that wanted her, and the thing was she had heard George using the same voice before. She had never noticed how similar they sounded until that moment.

She buried her hands in her hair and stared at him, her mind racing for something to say. She watched as the first flicker of doubt entered his eyes. She cursed herself then: she hated that doubt, but there was no other way. She didn’t want him to doubt himself, she loved him, albeit only as a friend, and she didn’t want him to be insecure.

“Ron, I…” she began, wondering if she would have the guts to spill the whole truth, but he spoke before she could go on.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed it so hard, so fast. It’s just that you look so good,” he murmured, standing and walking towards her.

His thumb ran across her bottom lip, and he stared at her intently. Hermione watched him, dumbfounded, as he cupped her cheek and then ran his hand down to her shoulder. Was that why he had waited so long? Because he hadn’t wanted to push her?

“When we come back from Christmas, will you go to Hogsmeade with me?” he asked, his voice wavering just a little nervous.

She didn’t know what made her do it, but in the end she replied: “Yes.”

Her mind was screaming at her not to, that it would only make things worse later on, but the idea of him hating her, of never speaking to her again was more than she could take right then.

Ron gave her a soft kiss goodnight and she left, walking up to the girls’ dorm on shaky legs. After changing into her pajamas and crawling in her four poster, she dragged her bed curtains and placed a quick silencing charm around her. That night she cried herself to sleep.

****

George had spoken of inevitability, and Hermione knew that the time was approaching when the truth had to be told. They couldn’t keep it a secret forever, and it was becoming more and more difficult to do so when it wasn’t just sex and pleasure. There were feelings there too, deep feelings that Hermione couldn’t ignore.

The morning after the incident with Ron, Hermione levitated her trunk down to the Common Room after breakfast, and waited for the rest to finish packing. She felt oddly alone even in the packed room, as she sat by herself, her mind going over what had happened with Ron. It had been unexpected, but at the same time predictible; she knew that it had to come, but she had hoped with all her heart that George had been wrong and that Ron was not in love with her.

Hermione sighed and clenched her hands in her lap, realizing that they were shaking. She was nervous about so many things. That morning she had received a letter from George and it had unsettled her; she often received letters from him, most were just about how much he was missing her and how the shop was going, but this one had been different. Yes, he went through the “I miss you”-s and the usual pleasantries, but then he had gone into a territory that they had never been in before, and had written: “I feel that I am nothing without you.”

He had never shared quite that much of himself before, and it made her deliriously happy; but, at the same time, it made her nervous. What did it all mean? And most importantly, what were they going to do about Ron? It couldn’t be ignored anymore, and the longer they waited without doing something about it, the worse it was going to get.

She turned and watched as Ron and Harry came down the stairs, chatting, grinning and generally happy. She couldn’t help having the thought that she was going to ruin it all. It had crossed her mind that maybe she should end the thing with George, that maybe the close friendship she had with the boys was more important, but she knew she could never do it. It was already engrained in her to love him, and the idea of him ending it made her heart crack.

“Hey,” Ron greeted, grinning at her.

“Hello,” she replied, hating the fact that her face heated up a little.

The three of them chatted for a few minutes, before Ginny appeared, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, sporting a grin for Harry when he kissed her on the cheek.

“Oi! Do you have to do that in front of me?” Ron asked, rolling his eyes good naturedly before standing up.

Ginny scowled at her brother, grabbed the back of Harry’s neck, and brought him down for a passionate kiss. At the bland look on Ron’s face, Hermione laughed good and long, holding her stomach as she heard Harry moan lowly. When Ginny pulled away from Harry, she walked away, a pronounced swing of her hips as she headed over to say goodbye to one of her friends. Hermione chuckled as Harry swayed on his feet, his green eyes unfocused. Ron rolled his eyes and slapped Harry on the back.

“You’re not going to faint on me, are you?” he asked, grinning and looking a little unnerved at the fact that his little sister could kiss like that.

Harry shook his head and pushed his glasses up so that they sat properly on his nose.

“I’m fine,” he croaked.

They made their way down to the train after that, and for a while, Hermione was able to push her secrets and problems out of her mind, and just be happy with her friends.

The train ride was uneventful, and Hermione read through most of the trip. Ron pulled out his mobile chess set and challenged Harry to a game. Ron won brilliantly, and Harry lost miserably, as it was always happening.

“One of these days I’m going to win, you know,” Harry told him, looking disapprovingly at the board as one of his little peons made a rude hand gesture at him for making them lose.

Ron shook his head and laughed. “Not in this lifetime.”

Then Ginny challenged him to a game, which she lost anyway, but at least it wasn’t quite the slaughter that Harry’s had been. Ron put the board away and dosed for the rest of the journey, not seeming bothered at all by the constant bouncing of the train,like a ball on tracks.

When they arrived at King’s Cross, they were greeted by what Hermione realized was nearly all of Weasleys. Arthur had somehow received time off from work, and he was there to hug his youngest son when Ron stepped off the train. Even Bill and Fleur were there , and Hermione smiled when she saw the pronounced baby bump that tented the French woman’s robe. Percy was there, too,  but he was talking animatedly with who Hermione recognized as being Susan Bones’ father. And then there was George. Her eyes found him amongst the sea of red heads, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw him. He seemed to be looking at her only, and a shiver went up Hermione’s spine when she saw his hand flexing against his denim-covered thigh. She knew then that he had waited. She hadn’t asked him to, though the idea of him being with another woman made her sick She swallowed hard, and her eyes moved away from him when she gave Mrs. Weasley a warm hug.        

Then they Apparated at the Burrow (Ginny had passed her test after turning 17). Mrs. Weasley started dinner preparations, while Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way upstairs to deposit their trunks in their rooms.

Dinner was ready quickly, and all of the Weasleys sat down to eat at the enlarged table. Somehow, George had arranged it so that she sat next to him, and the feeling of his body next to hers was enough to make her feel lightheaded, and her stomach swarm with butterflies. She found that she couldn’t eat a great deal, and in the end she was glad that no one seemed to notice that she ate far less than usual. When she felt George’s hand on her thigh, she bit her lip, but was proud of herself that she didn’t jump and draw everyone’s attention to them.

He slowly moved it up under her skirt, and she nearly whimpered when his fingers darted out to touch her knickers. And then, with a great deal of stealth, he moved his arm just enough to get into the right position to push the crotch of her knickers aside. When his fingers touched her clit she nearly jerked out of her seat. She could almost see his grin at the fact that she was already wet and wanting him. The man could be truly infuriating when his mind was at it.

As he touched her, she tried to take a few more bites, but she found that she couldn’t even manage to swallow a gulp of water. She pushed his hand away and stood up, her legs shaky. She excused herself, saying that she suddenly wasn’t feeling well; she rinsed her plate in the sink and stepped back in the dining room, noting with a shiver that George’s seat was now empty. She said goodbye to the rest of the Weasleys, and told them that she was going to lie down for a nap. She walked up the stairs, her knickers wet and her breathing just a bit heavy.

On top of the stairs she saw Molly’s linen closet open just for a crack, then George’s hand beckoning her inside. She hurried in and shut the door behind her. George locked it and sound-proofed it before kissing her. She moaned against his lips and clawed at his belt buckle impatiently, pushing him back against towel covered shelves.

“Missed you so much,” he groaned as his lips left hers to nibble on her neck.

“Need you …” she gasped, thinking that it had been three bloody months since she’d last been able to touch him.

Somehow she got his belt undone and his trousers and boxers pushed down, and when she wrapped her hand around him he hissed and bucked forward. She ran her thumb across the tip, smearing precum as she began to stroke.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he groaned, finding her lips again.

As they kissed, her other hand pushed her knickers down; they pooled at her feet and she kicked them away. She stopped stroking him, and turned them around so that her back was against the shelves. He lifted her up, his hands under her arse and her legs wrapped around him; he sheathed himself inside her in one thrust.

“Yes,” she hissed as he began to move, breathing heavily in her ear.  

“Been thinking about this since you left, baby,” he groaned, suckling a little on her ear lobe, making her whimper and clutch at his shoulders.

Her head spun and her throat clenched in desire when he lifted her higher, the new position causing him to slide in deeper and move faster. She hadn’t realized how much she had been missing him until that moment, and she knew that three months was really way too long. Her hand sneaked down between them and found her clit, stroking it until she cried out and came hard around him, waves and waves of pleasure rolling through her, making her toes curl.

Her breathing was fast as she lifted her head off his upper chest, so that he could kiss her again. She buried her hand in his red hair and gasped against his lips as he began to thrust harder, his orgasm approaching fast. When she became lightheaded, she stopped the kiss so that she could breathe, and when she opened her eyes she saw a sudden flash of color and light. For a moment, she didn’t understand what she was seeing, her mind so full of foggy ecstasy and pure pleasure. But when she did understand, her heart dropped and her stomach lurched. Ron stood in the doorway to the linen closet. His mouth was open, and his eyes were wide; he was staring at them like the world had just ended.

Before she could react, George reached his climax, thrusting in deeply half-a-dozen more times, and spilling inside her. When he groaned her name and threw his head back, Ron took a horrified step back, finally admitting what was happening. He had understood before; he had understood the moment he had seen his brother and the woman he loved up against a wall of tall shelves, but he hadn’t let himself believe it. No, oh God no, this can’t be happening.

And then he was gone, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He was down the hallway in a blink of an eye, then he flew down stairs, passed the dining room, and out through the front door. He barely heard his mother’s cry of “Ron, what in the world?” There was only one thing on his mind besides the gut wrenching thing he had just seen: to get as far away from it as possible.

He stopped in the middle of the field between the Burrow and the road to Ottery St. Catchpole and fell on his knees, his trousers immediately damp from the light dew on the grass. He gasped for breath and buried his hands in his red hair; he pulled at the red strands hard, wondering if the pain would make him forget the sight of Hermione crying out George’s name as she came. No, it’s a nightmare, I’m hallucinating.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him, and whirled around. George stood there, his hair ruffled and his shirt untucked. Behind him, clustered around and just outside the front door were the rest of his family, still completely oblivious to what was going on.

“Ron …let me explain,” George started, but was cut off by Ron’s cruel laugh.

“Explain?” he hissed, standing on his feet and facing his brother, but it wasn’t George he was seeing anymore, it was just the man who had ended his life as he knew it.

“Please don’t do this .”

“Explain to me what the fuck you were doing rutting against the damn wall with Hermione. You explain that to me!” Ron yelled, his voice cracking.

George visibly flinched, and the group of Weasleys behind them gasped. Ron looked over George’s shoulder and saw his mum at the front of the group, her hand over her mouth in shock. He looked away from them, back to George.

“Ron, I’m in love with her. We’ve been together since September. We were going to tell you when the time was right,” George stated as calmly as possible, considering the circumstances.

Ron inhaled sharply at the word love, and buried his face in his hands. Tears built at the back of his eyes as his heart cracked and then shattered. From a distance, he could hear his mum murmur in horror: “No, not again.” She could see her family, the family she would kill for, cracking right in the middle again, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“This can’t be happening,” Ron groaned, his face lifting from his hands.

“Please, Ron, I never meant for this to happen, you have to understand.”

For the first time, anger clouded over the pain and he saw red.

“Fuck understanding. You knew I loved her! I went to you for help, and you stabbed me in the back,” he roared, lashing out at George, not really seeing his brother’s pain-filled face.

The others cried out as George hit the ground, Ron’s right hook connecting with George’s jaw. As George groaned and rolled over onto his hands and knees, he spit blood on the grass. Ron stared at his still clenched fist, unable to comprehend what he had just done. He had never, not in his life, hit one of his own brothers, not like that.

George got to his feet and turned to face Ron, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, a smear of blood remaining behind.

“I deserved that,” George whispered, staring at his younger brother. “I tried to quit, I really did, but I can’t give her up, even for you.”

Ron shook his head, hating the fact that every time he blinked he saw them together. He looked over George’s shoulder, scanning the crowd of red heads for one particular brunette, but Hermione wasn’t there. Could she not even face him? He thought of the night before, and of the kiss he and Hermione had shared. He had asked her to go to Hogsmeade with him, and she had said yes. He didn’t think Hermione had ever lied to him before, and it was at that moment that he solely blamed George. He tried to justify it in his head, reaching for straws and in the end grasping nothing. Maybe he had taken advantage of her…. No, he had watched her enjoy it, knowing that they had obviously done that many times before. It was odd to him that even in his pain and anger-filled mind, the idea of George taking advantage of her hurt far more than having to see the two of them shag. He never wanted to think such a thing of his brother.

He didn’t want to fight, making George bleed had given him little pleasure in the end. All he wanted to do was to sleep and wake up to find that it had all been an extremely bad nightmare. And if he couldn’t do that, he wanted to curl up in a ball, alone, and cry.

“I don’t want to do this with you right now,” Ron whispered, his voice hoarse with restrained tears.

Then he started running again, away from George and away from his mother’s tears. He ran to the north, and, as it happened into the same part of the coppice where George had told Hermione he didn’t want to lose another brother. Ron sat down, his back against a tree, his long legs splayed before him, and he welcomed the first hot tear that ran down his freckled cheek.