A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and alerted my story! YAY! Just keep reviewing.
It's been too long.
BTW, there is something I noticed about the story, and it'd be kind of stupid for everyone to NOT realize it was Hermione. You mind if we put this suspension of disbelief thing that they really don't recognize her so much because her hair's always in her face when they talk and interact?
Follow me on Twitter and Tumblr though, if you're interested! Link will be up on my profile.
XOXO
Chapter Three
"You look like shit, mate."
George looked up from his cup of coffee, watching his twin lean against the doorway casually. Fred was dressed in his work robes, and he was busy combing his fingers through his hair to mess it up a little bit. George was in similar attire; however Fred didn't have the dark bags that lined his eyes or the grumpy expression that darkened George's face. "Couldn't sleep," he said, taking a huge gulp of the freshly brewed coffee.
"Let me guess," said Fred, moving to grab a piece of toast from the table. "You were tossing and turning all night thinking about the girl who nearly cursed our brains out last night." When George didn't answer, Fred sighed and placed his hands on the table, leaning forward. "George, I highly doubt that was Hermione, alright? She died, remember?"
"She disappeared," said George sharply, his eyes meeting his twin's. "She didn't die."
"What's with this sudden fascination with Hermione Granger, hmm?" asked Fred. "Is it because of Katie?"
"Definitely not because of Katie." George downed his coffee in one gulp. "Can we drop it, please?"
"Only if you stop thinking about Hermione." Fred reached out and ruffled George's hair lightly. "I'm just a tad bit worried about you, mate. And I worry that I worry – it makes me sound like Mum."
George chuckled slightly and nodded, before standing up and wrapping his arms around his brother. He was surprised that someone like Fred would actually make sense, but then again recent events caused him to believe that maybe things didn't really make sense at all. Fred hugged him back with ease and moved to check his reflection in the mirror. "Oh, before I forget, I'll be off early today. I have to meet somebody tonight at the Leaky for some negotiations," said George, waving his wand lazily to scoop up his mug to the sink.
"That Bowles man you were talking about?" asked Fred distractedly.
"Yeah, he says we can get some of our ingredients half-off if we buy from him."
"Sounds a little bit odd, don't you think?" Fred tilted his head to look at his twin, his brow furrowed in thought.
"Sounds practical," corrected George. "I won't be making the deal tonight without your input, of course."
"Alright then, I'll get Alicia to cover for you later." Fred winked roguishly, before heading towards the door to their flat. "I'll go ahead and open up."
George stayed behind, straying to stare at his reflection as well in the mirror. Fred was right; there was no use lingering over a memory like Hermione. It had been five years after all. What if she really was dead and that was the reason why they never saw her again? Maybe last night was a mistake – and a sign that George should really just move on from, well – everything.
He sighed and threaded his fingers through his hair. Never mind, he should really focus on the most important thing – the meeting tonight with Bowles. If everything goes right tonight, the twins would be swimming in Galleons. Hermione – or at least, the ghost of her – would not fit in that picture. With a slight firm nod of his head, George walked downstairs to the shop, leaving thoughts of the curly-haired witch behind him.
"Bloody hell," cursed Hermione as the plate fell to the floor with a resounding crash. A few of the nearby customers glanced at her curiously, but with a fierce whip of her hair, she curtained her face as she slipped down to pick up the broken pieces.
"Let me," said Hannah kindly, bringing out her wand and repairing the plate in an instant before Hermione could even pick up a shard of broken ceramic. "Are you sure you don't want to go home early today? I know you just started, but you seem to be all over the place tonight."
"I'm fine." Hermione picked up the repaired plate from the floor and moved her way around Hannah towards the counter. Ever since last night, Hermione's nerves have been all frizzy. She didn't think that she was going to run into Fred or George or any Weasley for that matter, but at the back of her mind she still had a nagging feeling that their encounter was far from over.
"That's the third plate you broke," said Hannah sternly, stopping Hermione in her path before she could leave the counter with some soup. "You're not usually clumsy. You're lucky you haven't spilled any food yet."
"It won't happen again." The sharpness of Hermione's tone left Hannah speechless. Choosing not to say otherwise and shaking her head, Hannah headed back towards the office. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her nerves were frayed. Everywhere she looked, any redhead caused her legs to shake, and any sight of a bespectacled man with glasses drove her back to the counter faster than the latest Firebolt.
Maybe it really was best if she went home and retired for the night. Her lack of sleep was costing her a job well done, and despite her disappearance for five years, she still disliked giving less than a hundred percent while she was working. Hermione served the soup and sighed, wiping sweat off her forehead with her sleeve. Yes, she should go home.
Before she could go back to Hannah's office to ask if she could leave early, a hand shot up in the air, signaling for a waitress. Hermione took a deep breath. She'll finish this last one, then head home. Keeping her head down, she weaved her way through the wooden tables to meet the men at the corner booth. "May I have your orders, sir?" she asked lightly, whipping out a piece of parchment and a quill tucked underneath her curls.
"A Firewhiskey and some pumpkin soup. Thanks, love. "
"None for me. Mr. Bowles, I assure you that –"
"Mr. Weasley, I do insist that you get some food. Do you have a menu with you, darling?"
Hermione froze as the man's words washed over her. Keeping her hair curtained around her, she nodded numbly and placed a menu in front of the redhead in front of her. "I'll have to g-get back with you," she stammered out.
"No, it's alright. I'll be ready in a moment."
George was getting slightly frustrated with Bowles at this point. They had been talking for about an hour or so, and it made his blood boil knowing that negotiations weren't falling into place. He threaded his fingers through his hair roughly as Bowles made yet another distraction from what was actually going on.
"I daresay I am quite hungry, Mr. Weasley," commented Bowles, raising his hand to call a waitress. George wanted to wring his fingers around the man's thick neck. "Business does give me a hearty appetite."
"May I have your orders, sir?" asked the waitress timidly. George wanted to shoo her away, but instead closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to avoid the growing migraine in his head. Bowles ordered a Firewhiskey and pumpkin soup (and he called it a hearty appetite, George mused in disgust), and demanded that George ordered as well.
"I'll have to g-get back with you."
"No it's alright. I'll be ready in a moment." George chose to look up, and he froze.
There was no denying that it was her. He could see right through that thick curtain of curls. Had she been here all this time? Hadn't anyone recognized her? Perhaps it was because her cheekbones were protruding slightly more so than before, or that there were wrinkles that stressfully lined or face. But those things didn't faze George in the slightest. It was her – her wide, brown eyes, her thick curls, her full, pink lips – Hermione Granger.
"I have to go," she mumbled, and fled.
"How rude!" exclaimed Bowles, nearly knocking over his mug of tea. "I shall have to report that woman to the manager –"
"Excuse me, Mr. Bowles, but I'm afraid that I forgot that I have another appointment scheduled. I thought that this would end much earlier, but I must leave." George stood up and immediately followed her out the door, despite the man's protests.
Her curls were immediately recognizable from afar, now that George was certain it was her. He couldn't believe that he almost let this go! He didn't understand why she had been hiding from them for so long. They were like her family; they were all she has. "Hermione!" he yelled, racing after her.
She turned on the corner into an alleyway, yet as soon as he turned the same way she was gone. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. She was there. She was alive. He leaned against the wall and threaded his fingers through his hair in anguish. He didn't understand. Why didn't she say anything?
