Dancing in the Rain

            It was springtime at Hogwarts, Hermione mused, and everyone was quite 'twitterpated'. Everyone, that is, except Hermione. Harry and Ginny were off doing some serious "studying" in the Astronomy Tower, as were Ron and his latest snog partner, some flighty Hufflepuff fourth-year whose name escaped Hermione at the moment—it was probable Ashley or Bridget or Claire—you know, a name that sounds like a cosmetic brand.

            Outside, it was about to rain, the humidity making Hermione's hair even more frizzy than usual. As it was, the Gryffindor table was deserted except for Hermione and her rather unsavory lunchtime partner, George Weasley, whose egregious table manners were beginning to drive Hermione mad.

            "Honestly George," she said, looking disgustedly at him, "What are you doing to your ice-cream?"

            "Making chocolate soup," he beamed, continuing to mix his delectable with great care, as though he was some famous French chef. As he blended vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup, his spoon clanked noisily against the side of the bowl, obviously more than what was necessary. Hermione looked to George as if she was going to blow a fuse.

            An evil grin spread across his face, "Why Hermione, whatever is the matter? Do you need to borrow some of Ginny's PMS potion?"

            Just as Hermione was about to tell George off, thunder cracked, shaking the castle walls, and she could hear rain start to pound on the castle roof. A look of absolute glee spread across George's face, and he stood up, grabbing Hermione's arm and pulling her out of the Great Hall.

"George!" she shrieked, "Where are we going?"

"Outside!"

"But it's raining outside!"

"Thank you, Captain Obvious, but that is why we're going outside."

"But—But—We could catch a cold! Or develop Hypothermia! Or get struck by lightning, or worse, expelled."

"Jesus 'Mione, can't you just be spontaneous for once?" a happy glint flashed in his very brown eyes, "Life isn't just homework and grades and studying."

Before Hermione knew it, she was free from the stale, muggy castle air and out in the fresh, albeit frigid, May breeze. Funny, she had spent so much time fussing over N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s that she had forgotten what rain smelled like.

George dropped her arm and started jumping in every puddle he saw, splattering muddy droplets of water everywhere. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest with a defiant 'hmph;' she would not succumb to such puerile behavior.

"Miss Granger," George said after he was sufficiently dirty, "May I have this dance?"

Before she could say no, he grabbed her and began twirling her around. As much as Hermione hated herself for feeling so, the sensation was really quite enjoyable. Dizzy and wet, the world silvery-blurred from the rain and the spinning, she forgot about schoolwork for the first time since, well, since she was born. Suddenly, though, Hermione slipped on the wet grass, falling with a thud to the ground, causing George to land on top of her. They just laid there, frozen for minutes that felt like hours, their eyes locked. George, however, suddenly realized that he and Hermione were both rather underdressed for the elements; there was nothing between their bare skin but thin, wet, clingy fabric. Her grew flustered and rolled off her, helping her up.

"I think the water's starting to seep into my underpants. What do you say we go in now, 'Mione?"

Hermione sneezed as they made their way into the empty Gryffindor common room.

"Aw, hell, 'Mione, I should have known you'd get sick. I mean, last year Fred 'n me caught Percey skinny-dipping (God knows why). We stole his clothes, and he had to run back to the house, very cold and very naked. He caught a cold so bad that he was too hoarse to talk about cauldron bottoms for a whole week! Ah," he sighed, "That was the happiest week of my life."

Hermione laughed, which immediately sent her into a coughing fit.

"G-George," she said faintly, wobbling, "I'm cold."

He caught her just as she was about to fall and guided her over to a couch, sitting down next to her. She flopped her head onto his chest, letting him smell the brown tendrils of hair that cascaded over his shirt.

"You're eyes look like chocolate," she said, smiling deliriously up at him.

He took another whiff of hair.

"She's my little brother's best friend, dammit," he thought to himself, "But she smells so nice…And she looks totally hot in those wet clothes."

Before he knew what was coming over him, he kissed her.

My apologies if your name is Ashley, Bridget, or Claire. Normally my ship of choice is R/H, but it was getting…I don't know, a bit boring. So I hope you like this.HaHH