A/N: I own nothing, and thank you so much to wvvampire for betaing for me. You're awesome, Crystal!
Hermione trembled as she pressed cold fingers to her cheek. He had actually hit her. She had never expected that he would actually hit her. She winced as one of her fingers pressed too hard into the sensitive flesh, and quickly pulled her hand away. Now, she was stranded in the middle of Muggle London, huddled on a bench that was quickly being covered with snow, with no coat and no help in sight. Cold air whipped around her body, chilling her smarting cheek.
She knew that she could call for the Knight Bus, but such a last-minute mode of transportation tended to make her even more depressed. She also knew that she was only a few blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron, and from there she could comfortably floo to her apartment, but she didn't think her shock-weakened knees could get her that far. She was cold from the bite of the wind, as well as from the pile of snow that had fallen on her pants and had soaked into the fabric and chilled her skin. The Apparition Point was too far away to be of any use.
"Granger?"
Hermione looked up, surprised that someone was speaking to her, and scanned the crowd of muggles, looking for the speaker. She found him standing close to her bench, his bright red hair and twinkling blue eyes giving him away, along with the hideous orange sweater he wore. "George," she said, her voice slightly raspy from the cold.
Though it had not been a question, he nodded almost imperceptibly, a habit he and Fred had adopted over the years due to their family's inability to tell them apart. He noticed her crumpled face and sat down on the bench, charming away the snow without a word. Hermione looked around, hoping that no muggles had noticed, but everyone was too busy running from shop to shop during this Christmas season to notice the sudden lack of snow.
"What are you doing here?" he asked softly, and Hermione realized that she must stick out since she was wearing only a thin sweater and jeans while everyone else was tightly bundled up. She didn't answer right away, striving to find something witty to say, and she noticed George's eyes move down to her smarting cheek. Rage flashed momentarily in his eyes and he asked, "Hermione, what happened?"
Hermione was startled at the use of her first name, and memories of the ordeal she had just gone through came flooding back to her. She sighed, knowing that she couldn't hide the truth from George. "Ron broke up with me," she began, trying to hold back her shivers.
"Is that who did this to you?" George asked, his voice pitched dangerously low. His fingers reached out to touch Hermione's cheek, but he pulled his hand back quickly when she flinched.
"Yes," she said softly, the rest of her face coloring in embarrassment. She hadn't meant to flinch away from George, it had just happened. She could never be afraid of George.
"I'm gonna kill him," he promised, his normally congenial face darkening disturbingly as his hands clenched into fists, his eyes riveted on her cheek, which was starting to bruise.
Reaching out, Hermione grabbed George's hands and shook her head. "Don't," she pleaded. "He isn't worth it, George." She sighed again, and murmured to herself, "First my boyfriend, and now my job."
"What happened to your job?" George asked, turning towards her again, concern once more on his face.
Hermione gazed up at him and said, "I believe your brother owled them and told them that I no longer needed to be working there." She pressed her hand into her eye and tried to keep back the tears. "You know how important that job was. They owled me only a few minutes ago and told me that they would miss me, but that the job had been quickly filled."
"That…that…" George muttered, searching for the proper swear word.
"Don't swear," Hermione told him, her authoritative tone creeping back into her voice.
George seemed to be thinking for a moment, and Hermione could not help but notice how handsome he looked sitting on a snowy bench in muggle London, lost in thought. Snowflakes glittered on his eyelashes, and it was only when he blinked and dislodged the snow, that Hermione was jolted back into the present.
"You know," George said softly, leaning in so that the passersby wouldn't hear him, "Verity's off in holiday visiting her folks and Fred and I need a bit of help around the shop. You're welcome to the job if you want it. Might help you get back on your feet. Just remember that it's only for the holidays."
Hermione looked sharply at him in surprise, and then jumped up from the bench, whirling so that she could face him squarely. "Are you trying to help me?"
George couldn't tell whether Hermione was angry at his suggestion or not, so he nodded slowly. "Yes," he said and then shrank away from her teasingly. "Please don't hurt me, or turn me into anything nasty."
Hermione didn't. Instead, she threw her arms awkwardly around George's neck, landing unintentionally in his lap. Instinctively, George's hands came up to rest on her waist even as she hugged him and said, "That's the nicest thing anyone's done for me all day."
"Is that a yes?" George asked, his warm breath teasing her ear and making her shudder slightly. He forced himself to ignore the suddenly warmth in the pit of his stomach that came from holding her close, and instead focused on her answer.
She nodded, a curl bouncing over her cheek. "Yes," she told him happily.
George breathed out, causing Hermione's arms to shift and touch the bare skin on his neck. He pulled away in surprise. "You're freezing!" he told her, pushing her down next to him on the bench as he slipped out of his sweater and slide it over her body. The ugly sweater swallowed up her small frame and clashed with her coloring, but Hermione was grateful for the sudden warmth it provided.
"And it smells like George," she thought before she could stop herself.
George thought that her surprised, embarrassed look was because of his sweater, and he shrugged uncomfortably. "It's not exactly your color," he apologized.
Hermione smiled at him and waved aside his concern. "It's the thought that counts," she assured him.
He stood from the bench and offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation. "We'd better get to Diagon Alley," he said, and they started off in the icy roads, winding through London until they came to the Leaky Cauldron. George opened the door for her, something that Ron had never done, and they stepped inside.
"Sit here," he instructed, guiding Hermione over to a chair by the fireplace, his hand putting gentle pressure on the small of her back.
"Thank you," she said softly, enjoying the warmth that the fireplace put out.
"We'll get warm, and then we'll head off," George told her, rubbing his chilled hands together in order to get the circulation back in them. He whispered a warming charm and his hands returned to their normal coloring.
"Sounds good to me," Hermione said, slipping out of his sweater.
"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding alarmed.
"I'm giving you back your sweater,' Hermione told him, turning the sleeves of the sweater right side out. "Aren't you cold?"
The warming charm had not banished the cold's entire chill and George shrugged, but the nonchalant gesture was ruined by an untimely shiver. Hermione smirked and leaned toward him, guiding the sweater onto his body since he seemed in no hurry to help her. "There," she said softly when the sweater was back on the owner. She smiled. "This is like sweater tag," she said with a giggle.
She hadn't realized how close she had gotten during her struggle with the sweater, and the laugh died in her throat. His closeness chilled her and thrilled her at the same time before she mentally berated herself. She couldn't be falling for him! He was her ex-boyfriend's older brother, for goodness sake! She quickly pulled away from him, her face flaming. "Perhaps we should go now," she said quietly, not looking at him.
George, watching her carefully, shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts that were rapidly shooting to the front of his mind. When had Hermione Granger ceased to be just a kid to him? "When she landed so nicely in your lap," the sardonic side of his mind whispered to him. "No," the softer side shot back. "It was when she broke up with your pathetic excuse for a brother and you were the one to comfort her." "Perhaps," he said. It was only when he spoke the word aloud that he realized the triple meaning that single word held. He stood and ushered her into the store room.
Diagon Alley soon opened before them, and George hastily hurried Hermione into the warmth of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes since she refused to take back his sweater. Color, she assured him, had nothing to do with the matter, though. As they stepped inside, Hermione was met with a myriad of sights and smells. Apple spice, cinnamon, and pine scents wafted up to greet her. Bright gadgets, whirling mechanisms, and festive garlands hanging from the rafters met her eyes.
"Wow," she breathed as she looked around, unaware of George's anxious gazes. "It's beautiful! Who decorated it?"
George, relieved that she approved, but still wondering why he cared so much about her opinion, didn't have a chance to respond. "That would be me," said a voice, and both Hermione and George turned to find Fred coming down the stairs, holding a heavy-looking box. "I did it all," Fred told Hermione proudly, carefully taking one step at a time, "since some prat wasn't here to help me."
George rolled his eyes. "I was doing something constructive," he argued. He gently pushed Hermione in front of him. "I've found us a worker over the holiday." When Fred raised a curious eyebrow, no doubt wondering why the woman who usually protested so violently to their pranks would want to work in their prank shop, George quickly explained what had happened. Hermione tried to look busy scrutinizing the floor.
"I'll kill him," Fred growled, and Hermione smiled at the similarities between the twins' reactions.
"Please don't," Hermione said, repeating what she had told George. "He's not worth it."
"But why would he dump you?" Fred questioned, conveniently ignoring her statement.
The twins watched as Hermione's face turned an unbecoming shade of red. "I-I wouldn't s-s-sleep with him," she stuttered, mortified. "I wanted t-to wait for marriage."
George's ears turned red and Fred's face darkened. "That's it?" he cried explosively.
Hermione nodded, turning even redder, and George reached out to touch her arm. "You don't have to be embarrassed," he told her. "Whatever Ron said, he's wrong. You're ready when you're ready, and not a moment before." He shrugged. "Even if that moment's marriage."
Hermione was touched by his kindness, having expected, at the very least, some lighthearted teasing. "Thanks."
Fred broke the slightly uncomfortable silence by bending down and picking up the box again. "Well now that that's settled," he said, his path abruptly ending in front of his brother, "you're in my way."
George stepped aside and raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that there's a spell for that, don't you?" he asked.
Fred rolled his eyes. "Yes, but these are very special ornaments, and I don't want to accidentally lose concentration and break them." He paused, and then shot a grin at his brother. "And yes, I realize that there's a spell for that too."
Hermione frowned. "Ornaments for what?" she asked, not seeing a tree, or even a bush, anywhere around the store.
"For the tree of course," Fred told her with an overly dramatic sigh. He pointed to the front window of the shop. "It's going to go there, and George is in charge of charming it to keep grubby little hands away."
"Oh," said Hermione flatly.
George tugged on her sleeve to get her attention. "Come on," he said. "I'll show you around."
He took her around the shop, teaching her to ring up the items with a wave of her wand and then he took her upstairs to show her the flat. "There might be a few days when we're going to work really late," he told her. "If you'd like, you're welcome to bring a change of clothes and a pair of pajamas, just in case."
Hermione tensed and raised an eyebrow. "In case of what?" she asked.
George shrugged. "If we work really late, we don't let Verity go home. She sleeps on the couch and then we can all get started early the next day." He shrugged. "We're picky about people flooing home when they're exhausted. It's just a quirk of ours."
"Oh," Hermione said, feeling foolish. He hadn't meant anything by it. The comment had been completely harmless, and made in her best interest. It was only then that Hermione realized that someone was taking care of her for the first time in years. With Harry and Ron, she had always been the one to look after them, to make sure that all of their problems were solved. Now, someone else was taking care of her, and it felt so right, so safe, that she only nodded. "Fine."
Just before they left the flat, George suddenly turned, startling Hermione for a moment, and smiled. "I'm really glad you're here, Hermione, despite the circumstances."
"Me too," Hermione said with a smile of her own and a fluttering of her heart, surprised that she actually meant it. "Me too."
The "I wants" were enough to make her want to avada the whole store. Her smile felt fake, pasted on after two weeks of holiday bustle and five sleepless nights spent with the twins in preparation for said madness. Today, the noise was enough to send her into peals of groans, though she kept them to herself. The sympathetic, warm glances that George often sent her made all of it worth it, though. Every. Last. Minute.
"Two galleons, please," she said politely to the woman in front of her, breathing in a sigh of relief when she realized that there were only a few other witches and wizards in the store. She ducked as an unlighted Whizbang flew towards her head, her eyes meeting those of an embarrassed boy upon resurfacing from behind her counter.
"Sorry," he muttered, shoving his wand into his back pocket. "Still getting used to it."
Hermione breathed another sigh of relief that the Whizbang had not been lit, and handed it back to the boy. "No harm done," she assured him, and turned back to the woman she was helping. "Happy Christmas," she said with a smile after the woman paid her.
"You too," the woman said as she apparated out of the store.
George locked the door to the store with a heavy locking charm and then leaned against it, puffing dramatically. "They're gone!" he crowed, and despite her moodiness, Hermione smiled at his antics.
"Thank goodness," she admitted, leaning tiredly against the counter.
George grinned bashfully. "I know it's Christmas Eve, but Fred and I were wondering if you could help us…again."
Although Hermione could already feel her muscles protesting the work that would be done tonight, she couldn't say no. Honestly, no matter what he asked of her, she would do anything for George. He was just…worth it. "Sure," she told him, misreading the way his face lit up as an eagerness to get to work. "But not before dinner!"
George scoffed. "Of course not," he told her. "We need food first." He led the way up to the flat, where they found Fred already stirring away at some very yummy-smelling concoctions.
When Hermione and George entered, Fred gave them a longsuffering look. "I have to do everything," he told them with an overly dramatic sigh.
Hermione laughed and sat down in the chair that George had pulled out for her. "It's just because you're so good at everything," she told him with a straight face.
"That is true," Fred shot back mischievously, comically pointing his wooden spoon at her.
George strode to take the chair next to Hermione, letting his hand brush gently across her neck. Hermione felt a thrill shoot through her body and her eyes snapped up to look at him, only to find him gazing at her questioningly, as though he expected her to hex him or something for his forwardness. Instead, she only smiled and then turned to Fred. "How long until dinner?" she asked him.
Fred checked the pots on the stove and said, "A few minutes. Why?"
Hermione pushed back her chair and stood. "I think I'm going to go change into my pajamas," she said, smiling once more at George before she left the room.
He watched her go, and when he turned around, Fred was standing in front of the stove, grinning at him knowingly. "What?" he asked, striving for a look of innocence he knew he could not quite pull off.
"I saw that little stunt you pulled," Fred told him gleefully.
George smiled back at his twin. "I think she's finally getting it," he told Fred softly.
Hermione was having a hard time sitting still. Every time she moved, her thigh happened to brush up against George's and her heart sped up a little faster. She tried not to get carried away with finding creative ways to have the thigh-brushing happen more often since Fred was sitting right across from the couple, but it was tempting. She couldn't wait until they finished dinner so that she could get up and move away from George. If she stayed close to him, she might do something regrettable, like kiss him.
"Well, I'm full." George said, sitting back with a sigh after having cleaned his whole plate three times. He turned to Hermione and asked, "Do you want to head down to the shop with me and get started?"
Hermione nodded, pushing back her chair and moving to pick up her plate when Fred waved her off. "Don't worry about the dishes," he told her. "I'll get them and join you two later."
"Thanks, Fred," she said, and sailed out the door in front of George. Fred winked at his twin as George grinned and disappeared after her. "Don't say I never do anything for you," he warned George on his way out.
"I guess we should get started with those boxes," George said when he and Hermione were down in the shop. He looked regretfully at them and said, "They all need to be put on the shelves."
Hermione closed her eyes for a fraction longer than she needed to in order to blink, and then opened them, calm and collected. "Alright," she said, and tackled the box in front of her, bending down to open it and pulled out all the carefully protected gadgets inside.
George gulped, trying hard to keep from making any embarrassing noises. When had Hermione Granger started wearing pajamas showing a lot of skin? He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "And since when has a sliver of a girl's lower back become a lot of skin?" he asked himself as his eyes slid once more over Hermione's barely exposed back as she bent over and picked another potion up.
She turned around and caught him looking. "What?" she asked, obviously confused by his lack of work and his attention on her.
"Nothing," George mumbled quickly, and turned to look down at his box.
He heard Hermione sigh and then say softly, "You can tell me anything, George." She shrugged and added, "Not that you have anything to tell, but…." She let the sentence hang and George gazed at her with soft eyes.
"Thanks," he replied, and smiled as she turned back to her boxes. He bit his lip, much like she usually did, and then decided to take a chance and added, "Actually, there is something I wanted to give you before Fred comes down and interrupts us."
Hermione cocked an eyebrow and sat back on her heels, unconsciously giving George a better view of her soft skin. "Okay," she said. "It's nothing edible, right?" She knew all the rumors about Fred and George's edible pranks.
George pretended to be offended. "Now do you really think that I would give that to you?"
Hermione laughed. "In a heartbeat," she replied with a small laugh.
George laughed as well and shook his head, standing and pulling her towards the tree in the corner of the shop that was glowing brightly. "Fortunately, after that misplaced lack of faith," he told her teasingly, "it's not something edible."
He handed her a rectangular box wrapped in shimmering paper. They sat beside each other close to the fire, and Hermione couldn't help but think for a moment how couple-ish this was, and how easy it felt to be sitting next to George and opening his present. Apparently, he felt the same way about her because he gave a soft sigh and moved a little closer.
Hermione nimbly stripped the paper off of the package, only to find a box underneath, which she opened only to reveal…. "Oh, George!" She reached into the box and pulled out the soft, sky blue sweater, enjoying the feeling of the soft material as it skimmed across her fingers. "Thank you! It's beautiful." She laughed as she saw the tiny note pinned to one sleeve: You're it.
George smiled, relieved that she liked it. "It's more your color," he told her with a smile, thinking back to the first sweater tag game when they had used his horridly bright orange sweater.
"Thank you," Hermione said again, and she leaned forward slightly to hug George. However, she looked up and her eyes met his. She froze for a moment, unsure what to do, and then all thought left her mind. George's eyes were so deep, and so full of some emotion-could it be love?- that she lost all her trains of thought.
He seemed to be having the same problem, because his eyes darkened slightly and his lips parted. They stared at each other for a while, unsure of what to do, but wanting to go further.
"Oh would you just kiss her already?" a voice cried out from the stairs. The spell was broken and both Hermione and George turned to find Fred standing there. "Stop staring, both of you, and just kiss!" He looked gleefully from one face to the other. "We all know that it's going to happen sooner or later. Better make it sooner!"
Rather than ruining the moment, Fred proved to be a very natural ice breaker. George turned back to Hermione and ran a finger gently down her cheek, making her lean into his touch. "What do you say?" he asked very softly. "Is it too soon?"
Hermione knew that he was asking about Ron, and so she shook her head, grinning. "It's not soon enough."
And with that, George leaned forward and kissed her very softly, his hands sliding from its position on her face to wind into her hair. Her fingers played with the hair on his neck, drawing him closer, and she sighed when he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. His tongue glided over hers perfectly, sweetly, and unhurriedly, and the way he held her told her exactly how much he was falling for her.
When they both pulled away, their cheeks tinged pink with happiness, Fred was nowhere to be found. George ran a hand through her hair once more and asked, "Are you sure? Because once you're mine, I don't think I'll be able to let you go."
Hermione took his hand from her hair and placed it on her cheek, right over the spot where Ron had slapped her that day in London. "Ron imprinted my face," she said gently, lovingly, trying to covey to him just how much she returned his feelings. "You've imprinted my heart."
A/N: Hope you liked it! Please review since it's Christmas time and will make me happier than actually getting a present! ;) Thank you also to Book Mad TJ for the great plot idea! Hope it was what you were invisioning! (Or at least something close!)