"If you're looking for Ron, he's not here," boomed his voice from behind the desk.
Her stride suddenly took a halt, startled. He wasn't even looking at her, yet she found herself asphyxiated with the mere thought of his deep blue eyes staring through her. Still standing a few feet away from him, she peeked at the stacks of paper on his working desk. She sighed. "Accounts," she blurted out.
"Yes, what's with them?" he looked up, finally. "As I've said before, Granger, he's not here," he said coldly before setting down his quill. With that, he looked at his watch, stood up and ambled past her towards the door.
"Just where are you going?" Hermione asked with wide eyes, horrified that he might just leave her there. She glanced around. There was no one in the store except the two of them.
He snorted. "Don't panic, I'm closing the shop, Granger. Unless you have nothing else to say, please leave now," he opened the door for her, faking a bow resembling a gentleman. "In peace," he added.
Except that he was a gentleman no more. Of course, he had never been a perfect gentleman with that notorious reputation as a prankster. But now, things had gone for the worse since Fred died. The first few months after the Dark Lord was vanquished, George became sullen. And then, suddenly, as if on impulse, he emerged out of hiding and proclaimed that he was as normal as a George Weasley once had been – cheerful, good-humored and always ready for mischief.
That was, before they realized what sort of jokes he would play, the cynical remarks he would give, or the troubles he would cause. George Weasley had transformed into a cruel, vindictive, cold-hearted man, as if it was another price to pay for destroying Voldemort. As if losing Fred alone wasn't enough. As if…as if…George himself would turn into…no. He couldn't possibly.
Mrs Weasley, in her fears of her son's sanity, had asked Ron to help George out at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Had it been a few years ago, Ron would have leapt at the chance. Who could possibly miss the opportunity of working at one of the most popular, vibrant stores in the Wizarding Community?
It seemed as if George had known how his communication skills were deteriorating rapidly. As it turned out, he did all the inventing and account-keeping, Ron reluctantly ended up taking care of the promotion and customer affairs department, while Verity the shop assistant (yes, she's still around), had to put up with George's ever-changing (but mostly foul) mood.
And then, she had started to show up. Hermione Granger, miss prim and proper, dropping by every now and then to check on her dear Ronald. Sending those cutesy little lunchboxes during lunch breaks, purchasing Pygmy Puffs and Daydream Charms along the way. George knew all this despite locking himself in the office all day, just because. There could be no other reason for Ron's dreamy expression every time after lunch, or his inexplicable good moods despite being yelled irately at. Out of curiosity, George had slipped out of his office to spy on the lovey-dovey couple and almost barfed at seeing Ron and Hermione feeding each other dotingly, with the former drooling constantly just by laying his eyes on the latter. It seemed to be a replay of an episode of the Ron-Lavender love story. Except that the leading lady was now Hermione. Her-my-oh-nee. Who would have thought?
She must have had sensed his unwanted presence in their little moment of privacy because her gaze had flickered, meeting his stare for what had seemed to be an eternity. Neither one could read the other's expression. 'Was she angry?' he had thought. Not that he would care anyway. 'What was he thinking?' she had wondered.
Her body had stiffened when Ron, who was oblivious to his surroundings, called out her name. When she had glanced back at where George had been, he was gone. She had never seen him again despite more-than-regular visits to the store. And she had been telling herself that it was Ron she had wanted to see despite searching covertly for signs of him.
When she had accidentally found an Extendable Ear expertly hidden under the counter and connected to George's office, she had to talk to him. Face to face.
Which led her to this awkward moment where George was too eager to kick her out from the store, but her feet were too stubborn to budge. She crossed her arms and told him fiercely, "The guy I wanted to see is right here and you know it." Casually, she walked to the counter, pulled the Extendable Ear out and slammed it on the table. "What's this?"
To her dismay, George's face remained deadpan. He closed the door; the unmistakable click meant that he had also locked it. Her breath caught when he took two long strides towards her and suddenly, his height was towering her. "It's an Extendable Ear," he growled. "And I thought that you are the cleverest witch I've ever met. Silly me," he chuckled devilishly.
Hermione's eyes narrowed. He was testing her patience. "You know well what I mean, George. Why did you spy on us?" she questioned bluntly.
By now, George's eyes had turned green. Was it jealousy that she detected rising within him? "I own this place, and I have rights to know what my employees are doing when they're supposed to be working!" he defended himself.
"Yeah right," she muttered.
"Well. You enjoyed it," he retorted.
Her ears burned. "Excuse me??" Thank Merlin for the dim lights or he would have seen her turn beet-red. "What did you just accuse me of?"
He grinned his infamous lopsided grin and bent his head near her temple so that he could whisper, "You knew I was spying on you," his fingers trailed down her left cheek, "and you enjoyed teasing me senseless with your seductive purrs," it made her shiver.
"I don't purr!" she exclaimed and pulled away from George's firm grip on her wrist. She was beginning to have regrets about coming here at all.
"Oh no, you didn't. Not until that day when you caught me staring, at least," he replied mockingly.
Her mind reeled with thousands of possibilities that she had been doing it unconsciously. A part of her was saying that George was just trying to get on her nerves, but the other half was telling her, "Yes, Hermione. You purr for the sake of him listening to you purring."
She took a step backward.
He moved forward, closer, closer.
"You enjoyed spying on us," she trembled.
"I enjoyed spying you. Not him, that ickle Ronniekins," he smirked.
Hermione Granger lost all her defenses when she stepped back and realized that she was trapped between the cold, austere walls of the store and a warm, wicked wizard in the form of George Weasley.
"You always get to say the last word," she tried to change the topic. "It's always been the case even with Fred around," she braved herself to speak his other half's name. She did not even realize it, but in her panic attack, she began to blabber. "He'd always start a sentence and you'd finish it off for hi--,"
He cut her off by placing a finger on her lips. "Here's what: A, I always get the last word. B, never say his name again, and C," he paused, "shut up, Granger."
He claimed her mouth with one swift motion and coaxed her gently to open up to him. She struggled against him, grabbing the front collar of his robe. He was sure that it wouldn't be long before she would push away and hex him. To his surprise, she pulled him roughly and shoved her fingers in his bright red hair, deepening the kiss. What he had initially prompted to be a spontaneous, slow seduction had now become wild and wanton. Instinctively, he cradled her derriere with his strong arms and let her wrap her legs around his waist.
And she purred like a kitten in heat.
As if wrecked free from her trance, Hermione tore away from George and slapped him. "What have you done to me?" she asked, touching her swollen lips. It tasted very much of blood, the coppery tang of it was evident. Her huge brown eyes were filled with tears, although she had no idea what caused her to even cry. Probably it was caused by fear of what George had done to her. But she was also utterly convinced that it was a mixture of guilt and shame over her response towards his advances. "What have I done?" she heard herself ask.
George rubbed his cheek mindlessly and shrugged. "I snogged you. You snogged me back. That was what we were doing. Snogging," he mused candidly. "Or making out, rather, but who's complaining?"
She ignored him. "Your mom wanted you to come for dinner tomorrow," she told him dizzily, not quite meeting his eyes. "That was why I came."
"I see."
She nodded awkwardly before Disapparating from the crime scene, back to the Burrow, where she thought she would be safe from the Weasley twin for at least another day.
But she would never be safe from her own treacherous self.