Chapter Two: Why Hermione, fancy seeing you here.
The seventh year girls' dormitory hesitantly creaked open. Hermione looked up from her Potions essay. It was Ginny.
"Are you okay?" she asked, eyes full of concern. "Why'd you leave so early?"
Hermione should have known she wouldn't get away with slipping backing upstairs only two hours into the party. In fact, nothing she did seemed to go unnoticed these days, as if everyone was on Hermione Alert. As if she was a fragile old lady whose clock was ticking. Sure, it was with good intention that her friends treated her so, but certainly, not every action or word that came out of her mouth was affected by some kind of post-heartbreak depression. It was all Tyler Chete's fault. The breakfast after he confessed to being lying, cheating scum, it was as if everyone was walking on tight-ropes – but at the same time pulling her closer and tighter under their wing. They were all extra-sickly-sweet-nice and protective – even Ron, which was quite disturbing – and they all went out of their way to make her feel comfortable and happy in the least obvious way. But to Hermione, it was obvious. Very obvious. And she was sick of it. She was over Chete like a truck over a possum, so it was about time they got over it and left her to live her life like it had been. Like it should have stayed.
"I left because it was boring," Hermione stated jadedly, flipping through the pages of her textbook.
"You left because he was there."
That was it. Hermione snapped her book shut and rolled her eyes, turning her full, irate stare on Ginny.
"Uh, no I didn't." She was just so sick of all this sodding protectiveness and ignorant assumptions of her feelings about Tyler. It was time to make the point clear. "I left because I could have gone to Grandma's bingo night and had a better time."
Of course, Ginny didn't need to know that just before she'd decided that particular fact, Tyler had strolled by (completely avoiding Hermione's eye) hand in hand with some boobied thing.
"Harsh," remarked Ginny, sitting on the bed beside Hermione and completely unfazed by her attitude. "'Especially since you – Head Girl, need I remind you – and you're little band of perfect prefects are the ones who put it all together."
Oh bollocks, she'd forgotten about that.
"Well," she huffed, opening up her textbook once more, "that was definitely not a success."
Ginny shuffled closer, eying Hermione until she couldn't avoid her gaze.
"It's okay if you don't really feel like going out, you know," insisted Ginny, her tone soft and consoling. As if Hermione needed consoling. "No one expects you to be all peachy. You don't need to, like, act happy or whatever, if you think you should."
What was this? Hermione was fine. Like fucking lemon lime in the summertime!
"I'm not acting!" she cried heatedly, but Ginny dramatically put a finger to Hermione's lips.
"Okay," she hushed, her face as solemn as a coffin. "Okay, that's fine. But remember this, Hermione – you were in a serious relationship with a boy you thought yourself in love with." Keyword, Ginny: thought. "And if you find that one morning you wake up, and can no longer hold in all that pent-up emotion..." her eyes were wide and comically earnest, "then this beautiful, exceptionally water-absorbent shoulder is right here to catch the tears of your misery." She smirked as she brushed invisible lint from the advertised shoulder.
"Thanks, but no thanks," Hermione chuckled, allowing a small smile at the younger girl's antics. But she also knew there was a thick base of genuine concern in Ginny's words so she leaned forward and hugged her friend tightly. As Ginny returned the hug, Hermione murmured softly, "Please believe me when I say I'm fine, because although I may not necessarily feel fine, it does mean I want to be."
When Hermione entered the library that evening, she was all but completely drained after an intense meeting she'd just held with the prefects and Ernie Macmillan, her counterpart. However, she was intent on finishing off the Potions essay she'd begun the other night. As she approached the study area, she spotted George at one of the tables, head bent over a thick tome that looked as if it would fall apart if he were to breathe just a teensy bit heavier. And to think, she'd been under the impression that today was a fairly normal day.
A curious smirk playing along her lips, Hermione dropped her books at the desk beside George and said, "Merlin, is that a Weasley twin I see doing homework?"
George looked up and grinned. "Surely not," he remarked before making a low rumbling sound as he stretched his arms. "Your eyes must be failing you Hermione."
As she pulled out the chair next to him, he said, "I'm researching a new line of products Fred and I want to release. It's too late for it to be ready by Christmas, but hopefully by the New Year." Finished stretching, George's arms dropped back to the table, where he clasped his hands attentively. "And what about you, love?"
Hermione frowned as she sat down, ready to answer, but George cut in. "Oh no. Oh, my dear god, Hermione. I feel for you; a scowl like that could only mean one thing: a Potions essay."
Hermione smiled ruefully. "Got it in one."
George grimaced in pity and shook his head. "Well, sorry to leave you to take on that grand endeavour on your lonesome, but this book is about as helpful as Ronnie-kins' brain. I'm going to get another one – preferably one that was written in this century. Or the last one." George stood, dusty book in hand and, shooting Hermione another pitiful smile, disappeared among the many library shelves.
Alone, Hermione sighed and sulkily flipped open her textbook. She tossed her curly hair over a shoulder and had her quill poised over the long roll of parchment when, quite suddenly, the chair next to her was filled.
"Why Hermione, fancy seeing you here."
Hermione smiled at the ironic statement, which was uttered so seriously, and looked up to see William Brown – a fifth year Ravenclaw prefect – beaming at her.
"Hi William," she said whilst writing down her subheading; Winged Spiderbark Nuts – Poison or Remedy?
"Hello," he replied, in voice that seemed several pitches lower than usual. A good few seconds passed in silence. Hermione wondered if there was a reason William was staring intently at her face as if his deceased grandmother had penned her will on it.
"Sorry – Wiliam," she began, "But I'm actually a bit busy, so is there anything you wanted help with, or maybe you've lost your duty timetable?" She forced a smile, feeling her cheeks beginning to cramp.
"Actually," said William, but it was still in that unusually deep, gravelly voice and Hermione couldn't help but ask, "Do you have a cough? Is your throat sore, because I think I have some lozenges for that in my bag..."
"No," he said, "No, not at all. This is – I mean, this is how I normally speak. This is my voice."
Hermione was sceptical but decided not to press the issue. "You were saying?"
"Ah, yes," William grinned, looking – for lack of a better word – very cheesy. "I wanted to commend you on the way you handled the meeting just before. You were very firm. I mean, you have wonderful leadership skills, you know.'
Hermione couldn't stop her eyebrows from shooting skywards. "Er, thank you, William," she said slowly; warily. After all, she'd been meaning to commend him on managing to keep his eyes fixed intensely upon her face for the duration of the whole ninety minute meeting.
"No really," he insisted, perhaps encouraged by her lack of aggression. "I find very few women radiate as much power and control as you do…" he laid his hand delicately on Hermione's arm. "Hermione, I've been meaning to tell you for quite some time... You've achieved very admirable things and I find you quite attractive and I think you're extraordinary." He sucked in a shaky breath.
Okay, now it was beyond creepy. And that smug smile and pale, crawling hand definitely was not helping. She stood abruptly, her tight smile beginning to falter. "William," she squeaked ridiculously, "I want you to meet someone."
"Oh," William said, sounding a bit peeved, "Okay –whoa!"
Hermione grabbed his pale, wiry hand and tugged him through the endless rows of shelves. "William, have you met George?" she babbled absentmindedly, her eyes darting everywhere, fervently in search of George's ginger head. "Honestly, William, I don't even know how I'd ever have made it to Head Girl without him. He's so supportive and caring and …" Hermione's mind scrambled for another admiring word. "… Oh, he's just brilliant, really!"
She felt her heart almost jump out her mouth as she pulled William around a corner and almost collided into George.
"George!" she cried, dropping William's hand like a hot potato and grabbing his.
"Hermione?" he replied uncertainly, staring somewhat hesitantly at her fingers knitted between his. Hermione, trying hard to bring back the confidence she'd felt just the other night with him, beamed with enough enthusiasm to power a rollercoaster.
"William," she looked at the fifth year, biting her lip bashfully like a love-sick schoolgirl as she pulled George's arm against her. "This is George. He's helped me so much this year."
William was looking at George in pretty much the same way as Romilda had glared at Hermione. George smirked and wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist, pulling her even closer as he leant casually against the book shelf and stuck out the other hand for William to shake.
"Hi. Nice to meet you William," he said courteously. Hermione giggled and held George's hand against her stomach in a most unHermionelike display of affection. William completely ignored George's outstretched hand as he openly stared at the way her fingers drew light patterns on the back of his hand.
Hermione looked up at George lovingly – Merlin, she was a good actor – and said, "I don't think I actually said thank you, did I?"
"For what, love?"
She had that admiring look in her eyes, the one you see in the eyes of a couple right before they say 'I do.' She gently nudged his stomach with her elbow, looking happily flushed. "For loving me, silly!"
George's eyebrows shot into his hairline. Loving her? Holy shit, that was intense. George's eyes flicked quickly to William, who was watching the two with extreme deliberation. He took in the younger boy's mousey hair combed over with about a tonne of gel, the oxford shirt buttoned right up to his Adam's apple and the foot he stood below Hermione. All this considered, George smiled easily and replied, "You're welcome."
Instantly, the 'love of his life' beamed and giggled girlishly again. She looked at William, seemingly oblivious to the red colour spread across his face like strawberry jam.
"He's like my knight in shining armour," she told him earnestly, eyes wide. George held in a snort, but couldn't stop a gentle laughter that shook his form. It was getting to a point of hilarity now, really.
William, his face like stone, nodded.
"I see," he said stiffly and awkwardly. "So, I suppose I should leave you two…" his teeth gritted, "… lovebirds."
"Oh, you don't have too," Hermione said in a voice that clearly shouted, "We'd love that!"
'"No," William insisted, quite on the ball, "I was just on my way to my dorm anyway…." He turned oh so tensely and scampered off in a way that made George feel so, so proud of his theatre skills. The two stayed in their entwined position, their breath baited, as if expecting another desperate fifth year to dare flirt with them.
After a while, George turned smug. "What was that?" he asked with heavy suggestiveness.
Hermione blushed, but said, "I figured you owed me from the other night."
George, still smiling, nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough."
Hermione smiled, relieved, and he noticed her teeth were quite straight and rather... perfect-looking. Having dentists as parents clearly paid off.
She scowled suddenly, and snapped "Get your hand off my stomach!" She stepped away from George, straightening her clothes as if he'd sexually harassed her.
"You put it there," he shrugged happily.
"Shut up."
George smirked and turned to continue scanning the rows of books. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione sigh and lean against the shelf, her head tilting back against the books. He noticed her neck. Her long neck that ended only as her chest sloped out from under. She'd even undone a few of those buttons.
Merlin, she was ...pretty.
After several more moments of such observations, George turned and – mentally whacking himself for thinking inappropriate thoughts about Hermione – guiltily shuffled down the aisle.
But for the love of god, did she not understand he was of the male species? Did Harry and Ron go through this too?
"You look stressed," He eventually managed to get out. Hermione smiled bitterly.
"Mmm. N.E.W.T.S, being Head Girl and desperate, nerdy guys can do that to you."
"Oh, so you get that kind of thing often, then?" he said sarcastically.
"Beat them off with a bat," she grinned. "Oh, hey, that's a really good book." She nodded to the one George had pulled out.
"Oh yeah?" He flipped through the pages.
"Yeah. It's really extensive and detailed, but easy to navigate too.'
"Splendid." He tucked the book under his arm and they started walking back to the table.
They resumed their previous seats and Hermione sighed as she began her studies. George tried to do the same, but that little almost inaudible sigh nibbled at his thoughts.
"You know, you really do look stressed," he murmured before he could stop himself.
"Hmm?" she looked up. "Oh," she smiled shyly. "I'm not, really."
George watched her for a second before nodding slowly. "Okay," he said. "Then maybe you should invest in some anti-wrinkle cream or something."
"George!" Hermione squealed and she shoved him before leaning back in her chair to laugh. George grinned, unable to keep his eyes of that bloody neck as she tipped her head back. Her hair cascaded now the back of her chair; warm, chocolate and slightly unruly curls.
"You're an arse," she told him as she calmed.
He smiled softly. "I haven't seen you laugh like that in a while."
Surprised at the sudden seriousness in his eyes, Hermione bit her lip. She tried a small smile.
"Oh," she sighed again. "I'm too tired to laugh, George."
George remembered that Ravenclaw, what was his name? – Tyler Chete, the prick who'd dated Hermione for a year, told her he loved her, and then gone and broken up with her for 'another girl'. These days, she really did seem to be tired. Of everything. Ginny was always reminding the boys to be extra kind to Hermione, because she was going through a rough time, but George thought she just looked like she needed someone to talk to, a friend. To put it in the mushiest way possible.
But what did he know, anyway? The longest relationship he'd been in was with Alicia in fifth year, but she kept acting like she was the boss of him and eventually got sick of his unbelievably hilarious jokes and told him to grow up. Well, whatever, Alicia, he now owned a joke shop on Diagon Alley that attracted over 70 customers a day – so suck on that!
Deciding not to push any further (because George really did know nothing of female emotions), he let the conversation drop. The two contently continued their studies.
A/N: There was a small section of this chapter ("Get your hand off my stomach!") which was inspired by an episode of Gilmore Girls, so if it seems a little familiar, then you'll know why.