Choices

Falling slowly, eyes that know me

And I can't go back

Moods that take me and erase me

And I'm painted black

You have suffered enough

And warred with yourself

It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home

We've still got time

Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice

You've made it now

It was hard to face the truth, to accept the decisions she had made; most of them had been reckless decisions, made entirely with her heart and desires, and not her head. Thinking about it made her want to cry, but she had cried so much over the last two hours that she didn’t think she had any tears left.

After George had realized that Ron had caught them shagging in the linen closet, he had almost immediately told her to go back to his flat. She had argued, of course, not wanting to leave when such a big issue had occurred, but in the end she had relented. His argument that he couldn’t deal with Ron when she was there had made sense to her then, but now she wished that she hadn’t left. She was alone, depressed, and worried. 

Alone like she was, the silence pressed down upon her, smothering her and making it hard to breathe. She wished George was there to at least lay his hand over hers; he wouldn’t have to say anything, just to be there would be enough. But he wasn’t there, and in the back of her mind she wondered if he would even be coming home. Could he not face her? It was a choice that they had both made, there had been no forcing or coercing into bed, and Hermione wanted so much to believe that everyone would be able to get through this. While she thought about George a great deal, mostly she thought about Ron.

Everything they had been through, everything they had conquered together. Was it all over? She wanted with every fiber of her being for their friendship to hold on, and hoped that maybe it would. She loved him so much and she hadn’t realized just how much until there was a chance that he was gone out of her life forever. There was a small part of herself that knew that she could love Ron the way he loved her if the feelings for George hadn’t crept up they way they had. She was in love with George though, and she couldn’t help but wonder what life without him would be like. But what about a life without Ron? Both sounded like the fiery pits of Hell, both made her ache, and both made her sick in her stomach.

While sitting alone, she continually pictured the look on Ron’s face when she had finally noticed that he had even walked in on them. It was gut-wrenching, terrible, and Hermione knew she would never forget it. She would take that look with her and it would haunt her until the day she died. Oh God, how long had he been standing there? How much had he seen?

The tears came again and she buried her face in her hands, weeping for Ron, for George, and finally for herself. She had made such a mess out of everything; had ruined the beautiful things in her life as surely as a flower carelessly stepped on. All ruined, because of her. She thought this over and over again, falling into a despair she had never felt before.

She barely noticed when a hand gently touched her back. A voice said her name, but it sounded strangely distant, and when she lifted her head, it spun around and around and she knew she was going to be sick. Somehow she made it to the loo before she retched. All the while George held her, making sure her hair was out of the line of fire as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl.

Hermione fell back against him when she was done, and he cradled her tenderly as her tears subsided slowly. It made her feel slightly better that he had finally come back, that he hadn’t abandoned her as she so stupidly had feared.

“Have you been at the Burrow all this time?” she asked when she finally found her voice.

“No, I was only there for a short time; I took a walk in London for awhile. I …I’m sorry I left you here, I needed some time to think,” he answered, clutching her tighter involuntarily.

Hermione nodded against him and turned around, looking at his face for the first time. She wasn’t surprised to see the bruise on his jaw and she knew that she wouldn’t have to ask any questions about what had happened with Ron; that bruise was answer enough. But her stomach lurched at the sight of his eyes: they were so sad and ever so beautifully blue, that she felt like crying all over again. She pushed the impulse back though, knowing her system probably couldn’t take much more anguish.

His hand stroked her hair and she settled against his chest, his heart beat sure and steady against her ear.

“No matter what happens, I want you to know that I love you more than anything,” George whispered softly, almost too quiet for her to hear.

Tears burned but she sniffed them away.

“Love you too.”

****

George woke up next morning with his body curled around Hermione’s, spooning into her until their bodies were like one. Love and sadness swamped him and he felt his breath hitch when she made a little moaning noise in her sleep. He kissed her bare shoulder and caressed her hip softly, savoring the feeling of waking up with her. While she had spent the night many times before, they had always woken to the alarm, telling them that it was time for Hermione to go back the Burrow; they had never woken up naturally.

The bed felt warm and comfy with her lying there, and, for a moment he was able to forget Ron as he slowly woke her with his hands. He softly touched her breasts, tracing their curves with his fingertips before circling her nipples. He moved down to her tummy and felt her warm and soft beneath his hands before he moved down to her thighs.

“George …” she murmured before he was rolling her onto her back.

Still half asleep, she stared down at him blurry eyed as he kicked the blankets away and scurried down the bed. George spread her legs and settled down between them, the musky scent of her making him groan and his cock twitch. He kissed the inside of her thighs softly, his early morning beard scraping a little on her sensitive skin. When he spread her folds she gasped and he felt her hand in his hair, clenching and desperately asking for more.

He licked her slowly, teasing her until he heard her soft whine and his name fall from her lips as she pleaded. He obliged and slid two fingers inside her, watching as her back arched and the muscles of her thighs tightened in anticipation. George ran his tongue around her clit for a few moments as he began to move his fingers in and out, the wet popping sounds they made making him moan against her. He began to suckle her urgently, as her breathing became more and more heavy and more wetness coated his fingers.

She came with a cry and her fingers tightened in his hair until he was gasping. When the last flutters of her orgasm had stopped, he pulled his fingers out and he sucked them clean, his eyes closing at her taste. When he opened them again he saw her looking at him hungrily. He moved up her body and kissed her passionately. He heard her moan in his mouth as he shared her taste with her.

“Need you, want you inside me,” she whispered against his lips, pulling away from him to speak.

He nodded and moved back so that he was sitting on the back of his legs. He grasped her hands and pulled her up with him, her skin golden and shining with sweat as they kissed, his hands in her hair. She straddled him, sitting on his thighs as she guided him to her entrance. When he slipped into her, her head fell back as she gasped and he kissed her exposed neck, her skin salty under his tongue.

When he was inside her to the hilt she began to rock back and forth, his hands guiding her movements as he clutched her arse and hips.

“God, you feel good,” he growled as she began to move faster, her breathy cries making his stomach clench and his fingers dig into her skin.

Hermione’s back bowed and her fingernails dug into his shoulders as he dipped his head down to suck on her nipples. When he felt her hand between them, brushing against his coarse red hair and buried in her own wet curls as she stroked herself to completion, he came with a whimper and a grunt as he emptied himself deep inside her. She came a few moments later, her hand working furiously and her lower lip between her teeth. He watched her as she came, blown over by the fact that she was his.

She collapsed against him, her head on his shoulder and her face buried in his neck. George wrapped his arms around her and held her until her breath evened. She kissed his shoulder and neck softly, placing open-mouthed kisses on his skin until she heard him sigh.

“I love you,” she whispered against him, her fingers trailing down his back as goose bumps erupted all over him.

“I love you too,” he responded, mirroring her movements as he trailed fingertips up and down her back.

They were silent for several minutes, content in each others embrace, until reality wiggled its way back into Hermione’s conscience.

“George, should I stay here?” she asked softly, her hands flat against his back, pressing herself as closely as possible to him.

He blew a puff of air on her still heated skin and clutched her hips to him as he moved his legs and lied down flat on his back, bringing her down with him. His cock still nestled within her.

“Always want you with me,” George answered, cupping her left breast softly.

“That’s not what I meant,” she began, threading her fingers with his.

“I know what you meant,” he uttered, watching her face as she bit her lip. “Why wouldn’t I want you with me all the time? I like the idea of coming home to you.”

One single tear fell down her cheek, but she stubbornly brushed it away, hating herself for crying.

“I don’t think I can go back to the Burrow, at least not until Ron has cooled off.”

“I want you with me,” he stated before bringing her down for a kiss.

They kissed and cuddled until the bright sun filtering in through George’s curtains, demanding that they get out of bed.

“Come on, we’re going to go take a shower and then I’m going to cook some breakfast for us,” he said, giving her one more kiss and rolling out of bed, stretching his back and yawning. “You’re wearing me out, you know, and a man needs his strength.”

George watched as she rolled her eyes and sat up before finding her discarded knickers on the lamp shade, balling them up, and then throwing them at him with all of her might. He caught them easily and he laughed; he found his robe and slipped it over his shoulders and tied it at the waist before stuffing the knickers in the pocket and giving her a cheeky grin.

“You start the shower, love, and I’ll start the coffee.”

George walked out the bedroom and into the living room, just as Hermione got out of bed, heading to the shower. He opened the curtains as she went and looked down over Diagon Alley; the place was already bustling with people, and right down below he could see a group of four kids waiting for Weasley Wizard Wheazes to open. Most mornings George counted on Lee to open up the shop and take care of the morning business, and that morning was no different; so, George figured he had at least another hour before he had to go down.

He turned to the kitchen as the shower started and pulled the coffee maker out; he pointed his wand at the black little object and said a few words, and almost immediately the appliance began to make hot coffee, filling the room with the smell of its brewing. Pleased that the coffee would be done by the time the two of them were ready in the shower, he turned to leave. But he was interrupted by a knock on his door.

Apprehension filled him like a wave as he turned around, looking at his front door like it might burst into flames any moment. He knew it was one of his family members without even having to really think about it. He had been hoping to spend another carefree hour with Hermione, but, apparently that was going to be impossible. When he opened the door, he wasn’t surprised to find his father standing on the other side, his hands jammed so far down into his pockets that Arthur’s pale, freckled collar bone was exposed.

“Hey Dad,” George murmured, running a hand through his hair, knowing that it was sticking up in all directions.

Arthur nodded, a small smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I have to leave for work in a half-an-hour, but I came over here first so that we could talk,” he said, his blue eyes never leaving his son.

George nodded too, and stepped out of the way so that his father could enter the flat. Arthur was wearing his Ministry robes, and the formalness of them looked out of place in his flat with the dirty clothes strewn about on the couch and the floor. George breathed in deeply and looked down at himself, now wishing that he had tugged his pajama bottoms on instead of just a bath robe.

“How are you, George?” Arthur asked, turning to his son and placing a warm, wrinkled hand on George’s shoulder.

“I feel like shit,” he answered honestly, not wanting to pretend that everything was okay.

Arthur didn’t flinch at George’s words, instead he nodded in understanding, and the hand on the younger man’s shoulder tightened.

“I wanted to talk to you, George, about yesterday and about Hermione and Ron,” he began, taking a deep breath and hoping that he could do this right. “I know things happen, that some things can’t be stopped no matter how much we try to stop them. Your Grandpa Prewett tried to stop me from marrying your mother, and in the end he couldn’t do anything to prevent it, it was inevitable. I knew from the moment I saw her that Molly was the one for me.”

“Your mother and I didn’t sleep much last night, we thought about you and Hermione and Ron, and we tried to understand how it had all happened and why. We are never going to pass judgment on you or Hermione, for that matter, but we just want to understand.”

George swallowed hard and looked away from his father for a moment, his eyes and throat burning with restrained emotion. He was surprised when he saw Hermione standing in the doorway to his bedroom, her hair wet from the shower, silent tears falling down her face. She had found one of his warmer robes and it fell to her ankles, making her feet look tiny in comparison to the thick fleece of the robe.

“I love her,” he croaked, affection filling him until he felt like he was going to choke on his own tongue.

Arthur’s face softened when he turned and followed George’s gaze to Hermione.

“I’m glad to hear this, son, because in someway it has to be worth it. It’s important to understand what you have done, that your actions are going to change not only yourselves, but everyone else as well.”

“We know that, Dad, and we never meant to hurt him, I never wanted to. I don’t want to lose Ron, I don’t want him to hate me,” George finished softly as he toyed with the long sleeve of his robe. “I knew what I was doing …we knew what we were doing when we started this.”

Arthur nodded, understanding. He watched as Hermione stepped forward, her arm shaking as she hooked it through George’s, as if to cement their bond. She stood and faced Mr. Weasley, her face sad but determined. She had made her decision months ago, and now it was finally the time to face the facts just as they came, they couldn’t be sugar coated any longer. This was it and it was the time to take the plunge. Everyone knew that she and George meant something, but she also wanted them to understand that it wasn’t just sex, that there were feelings there too, feelings she had never had before. It was important to her for everyone to understand this, perhaps not accept it, but at least understand.

“I want you to know, Mr. Weasley, that I love George, and that I wouldn’t risk so much if I didn’t. I always meant to tell Ron, because I knew how he felt and I didn’t want to drag it out. In the end … I didn’t have enough courage to tell him when it counted, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. I’m sorry for all the problems I caused,” she finished, wiping her eyes.

“It takes two, Hermione, nothing is ever just your fault,” Arthur responded gently, watching as George bent his head down slightly to kiss the top of Hermione’s head.

“How do I tell him I’m sorry?” she murmured, her voice thick with tears.

Arthur wondered if an apology was ever going to be good enough for his youngest son, but he didn’t voice his doubts, because there was still a faint glimmer of hope within him that they could make it through this. Ron and Hermione were friends, first of all, and he knew that they had been through a lot together; perhaps it was possible.

“I’m not sure, Hermione, but I am sure there is a way; I would suggest following your heart. I think that if you talk to him honestly, he may come around.”

“But things are never going to be the same though, will they?” she uttered.

“No, probably not; but nothing ever stays the same forever,” Arthur finished, knowing that he had said what he had come to say and that he now had his answers.

His heart sank when he thought of Ron, because he knew that his broken heart was strong and real, the haunted look in his blue eyes speaking for itself. His heart ached for his sons and the woman who was like a second daughter to him. He hoped once more, as fervently as he possibly could, that the three of them could work it out, because he didn’t think he could bare another rift in his family. He left then, leaving them to their own thoughts as he Apparated to the Ministry.

George sighed when his father was gone, and he could feel Hermione still and silent beside him, her side pressed to his. He knew that she tried to put up a strong front, but that inside, her heart could be easily cracked. She was brave, strong, smart, gorgeous, and tender, and he loved her for all of those things and more. He’d first fallen in love with her smile, he decided; it had been the wide grin that had first made him realize that it wasn’t just desire and lust.

He took her shoulders in his hands and turned her to him, wanting to see her face. She wasn’t crying, but she looked exhausted and emotionally drained, and he brought her to him, wrapping his arms around her and wanting to hold her forever. He had never known that he could feel so strongly for someone, that this affection could make him throw caution to the wind and just feel. He had never been the most out-going Weasley brother, Fred had been far more “balls to the wall” than George. When it had come to the joke shop, George came up with the ideas and Fred worked on them tirelessly until they were realized.

Thinking about Fred made him hug her tighter and he kissed her hair, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her shampoo. Suddenly it occurred to George that they were free, everyone knew and they no longer had to worry about being caught. He could take her anywhere now; they could hold hands and kiss in public and be in love like any other couple. He could love her the way he wanted to love her, completely.