Coke Eyes

Rated PG (There's no swearing in the story. It's just me)

If you'd like to read the story, just read it. Don't read the A/N where I complain. Btw this is NOT post-OOTP

Summary: A fluffy, slightly corny fic that ships George/Hermione, cokes, and wedding cakes,

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the characters, something of WB is involved I think, and overall, I only have the plot

Chapter One

Hermione, more or less, was a girl that had learned that over the years, toleration of certain imperfections were a way of life. The more, stemming from that a girl, should not wander around boys' locker rooms in search of her fellow SPEW companions and not expect to be astonished by full frontal nudity when the sign, very clearly states that it is a boys' locker-room. In Hermione's case, this, before the entire nude package of Ronald Weasley, was completely irreverent when skipped SPEW meetings were at hand.

However, when signs and freckled Ronald Weasley flesh are not involved, Hermione Granger is very much the 'cow' indeed.

And currently, something that made her far angrier than the House Elf who named her the prude was occurring to her left.

A loud, torturing sound ripped through her sacred studying air and reared it's ugly head.

*SLURP*

It was crueler than nails on chalkboards.

*SLURPSLURPSLURP*

It was worse than banshees with unlimited karaoke minutes.

*SLUUUURP*

It was more appalling than getting only a 130% on her Charms Exam.

*BURBLE BURBLE BURBLE*

It was, none other, the apocalypse. Or rather, George Weasley slurping and blowing bubbles into his drink. Mercilessly.

But Hermione was calm, Hermione was wise. Hermione had an eye that twitched as if it had life of its own.

She sighed and put down her book. "George, what are you doing?"

"What?" George lifted his head up and smiled innocently at her. Hermione's eye-lid waved maniacally. "Wow. Hermione, love, no offense intended, but that's the coolest eye I've seen." He bit down hard on his grin.

Hermione suddenly wondered if she stared hard enough, the freckles on his nose would pledge war on him and keep him occupied.

*SLUUUURP*

And there and then appeared the thin fraying line where Hermione was so very near to ripping handfuls of her hair out and bunk bedding with Neville's parents.

"George! Can you please stop with all the cacophony?"

George stared at her. "Hermione, I would just love to answer that question once you start speaking English of what quackophony is."

"Ca-coph-o-ny." She sniffed. "It means noise."

George shrugged. "Well...yeah, okay if you says so Hermione." He went back to blowing immense bubbles in his coke.

From the corner of his eye he watched Hermione's hand wrestle with her left eyelid.

George stopped and raised a set of mental eyebrows. Then, loftily, "Me thinks, and it's only ol' Forgy saying this, but really Hermione, I think you need a break."

Hermione violently slapped her eye.

"Ah," George said a little more soberly. "What I mean, is that you came to the Burrow as a friend, and to have fun. But all you've been doing is hogging your textbooks--not that I mind you hogging at all, I think the hog's in enough already without me, thanks." He blinked and thought it over and snickered a little.

Irritated, Hermione attacked her textbook and flipped it back open.

"Short handing, you, Hermione Granger are the wettest rag of the bunch*. Have you ever done anything FUN in your life?"

Hermione glanced up and her eye jiggled. "And you, George Weasley, have you ever done anything SERIOUS in your life?"

George blinked and tilted his head to the side. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hermione didn't return the gaze this time. "You know perfectly well what I mean."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't."

"Yes you--George!"

"You have Coke Eyes." He sipped thoughtfully and quietly stared at her.

"You are the most...! I--Why can't you just be _quiet_!" She threw up her arms and gripped her head and massaged in slow bruising patterns. Insanity, thought Hermione. I'm going insane before I reach seventh year. That'd bode well with McGonagall. Lunatic Head Girl heading the revolt of freckles against George Weasley.

George leaned back into his chair and picked up the gallon bottle of Coke. "Pretty much the same color aren't they?"

Hermione ignored him. The book was wonderful, twelve hundred pages of lovely goblin-decapitating-wizards text. Much more charming than an inconsiderate prankster.

George looked up to the clock and saw that the other members of his family were not coming closer to home. He grinned and looked expectantly at Hermione.

"What?"

"Wanna help me cook?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well Mum's not coming back anytime soon. So how about it?"

Hermione pinched her lips across in a straight line. "Then will you leave me be?"

George swept a bow and extended his hand towards the kitchen. "This way then."

-----

"You're making a cake before the main course?"

Hermione sighed. She squinted at him unbelievably and even tried x-ray visioning George's head to support her theory of 'George; the first man to operate (inefficiently, more so) without a brain.' That is, until a small voice in the back of her head said that she really did blow a circuit.

"Naturally." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but closed it and rolled her eyes.

"George, do you even know how to make a cake? Especially from scratch?"

"There's a first time for everything." George took out a large package of flour and set it on the counter and he rubbed his hands together vigorously. After a dramatic moment that Hermione had been expecting George to start cooking with extreme vigor, George turned to Hermione sharply. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know how to make a cake?"

"..."

George grinned sheepishly. "George! You just said that I would help you cook...bake, whatever. But I'm not mak--"

He frowned slightly. "Well then, there has to be mum's cookbook here somewhere." He began wrenching cabinets open and throwing random cookbooks carelessly over his shoulder. Soaring blurs of blues and whites and blacks flew behind his ears and Hermione started muttering about the apocalypse again.

One of the books managed to hit Hermione squarely in the face and she started swearing colorfully, surprising George and herself. Impressed, George had asked her if she would do that again if he threw another book at her. She had laughed and picked up a book.

By the time Hermione, with an armful of books, returned them to all the cabinets, George had a very book-like indent on the side of his cheek. He shuffled—with more care— into another bookshelf and snatched a book.

"Found it! 'How to Make Wedding Cakes by Paisley Whitesmith.'" George grinned broadly and he blew the dust off the cover. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"Wedding cakes? George, you aren't seriously--"

"Of course I am. Now help me decide which to make before your eye pulls a seizure." George waltzed over towards Hermione and shoved the book under her nose.

Taking the book, she flipped through the pages to the pictures of rotating cakes. George watched over her shoulder and pointed out the extremely complicated ones to do until Hermione snapped at him to shut up. He did. And it was silent at first, but nice later, and they couldn't really explain what happened. They went from silently and slightly sullenly on Hermione's part, puzzling over the cakes, and then weddings, and then how nice George's laugh was and how many romance novels Hermione read.

"I wish Dobby and those other house elves were here. Then if I just pointed to one of these cakes they'd make it perfectly." George said when Hermione said more gently that they couldn't do the nearly two story looking cake.

"Well we want to start off simple don't we? Here, how about we do this three-layer cake? The lacing of the icing is sort of complicated, but I think we can do it." Hermione looked meaningfully at the sparser looking and small wedding cake.

George squinted at it and turned his head sideways. "Fine...I'll go get the eggs and mixing bowl. Can you grab the milk and measuring spoon things?"

"They're called teaspoons." Surprisingly, Hermione felt a little more lighthearted.

"Mmhmm. Whatever you say coke eyes." George reached into a lower cabinet and withdrew a large, silver mixing bowl.

"...You really do create cacophony a lot don't you?" Hermione's mouth quirked.

"But you said it meant-"

"...It also means chaos."

"Oh, thanks." George smiled inwardly and looked down at his reflection in the bowl.

*Thaaaat's right. I have no fucking clue what I'm writing about.

A/N: Yeah, ok. I wrote this thing around a year or two ago and I decided to revisit ff.net and I stumbled across this weird piece of shit. Anyway, when I read it, it was insanely and stupidly so, fluffy. I like a good fluff piece once and a while, but the fluff I like is sparkling, radiating, is a WHOLE different can of whoop ass fluff. This fluff was that crap you find underneath your bed. I tried to revise it. It got hideously boring. I haven't read a HP book in so long that I can't tell apart fanon and canon. In short, I tried to give it my best shot, was distracted, but, I think it's better.