Author's Note: Not Rowling but thanks for reading!
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DAY TWO
Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, massaging the shampoo in before stepping back under the hot stream of the shower. Eyes closed, she smiled as she felt the suds and the hot water slide down her back, cover her legs, and spin around at the bottom of the tub before traveling down the drain. She was very precise about her morning ritual and took much pleasure in it when she was able to complete it without interruption. When she had awoken at half past six that morning, she had tiptoed past George's room and heard gentle snores, signaling that he was still fast asleep. She had headed into the bathroom, turned on the water, and brushed her teeth as the showerhead filled the small room with a calming sound so reminiscent of rain falling against a windowpane. She was in the midst of washing her face, waiting for the conditioner to sink in, when there was a knock at the bathroom door. Surprised, she swallowed a bit of soapy water and coughed as she turned, confused.
"You almost done in there?" George called.
"Not really. Can you give me five more minutes?" she called back from behind the shower curtain. She heard what sounded like an aggravated sigh and then silence. Taking this to mean that George was giving her those extra minutes, she set to rinsing off and getting the conditioner from her hair. She was just in the midst of stepping out of the shower, looking for where she had put her dry towel, when the door opened. With a squeak of fear that sounded like a mouse being trodden on, she leapt backwards into the shower and practically wrapped the shower curtain around her.
George was walking in, covering his eyes with one hand, the other hand still on the doorknob. "I'm not looking. I'm not looking," he said. "I just really have to use the loo."
"George!" she cried, her face bright red from embarrassment. "I am still in the shower!"
"But the water's off. I heard it."
"But I have no towel on!"
"Really?" He turned as if to look, a little grin playing on the corner of his lips before he caught himself. He hurriedly re-covered his eyes and looked down. "Uhh, I'll just…yeah," he said, distractedly, backing out of the room and closing the door behind him.
Hermione quickly stepped out of the tub, wrapped her fluffy white towel around her, and clipped her wet hair up, keeping her eye on the door as she did so. She moved forward and opened the door, her hands immediately flying back to her towel, holding it securely so nothing indecent was showing.
"Thank Merlin!" said George hurriedly, pushing past her into the bathroom and hurrying for the toilet, not even stopping to close the door.
"Oh my god!" Hermione cried, disgusted, as she hurriedly closed the door and ran to her room, closing and locking the door behind her. This was not the way her morning ritual was supposed to go!
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DAY FIVE
George was roused from his dream by a gentle pressure on his chest. Thinking it was part of the dream, he turned his head and fell back to sleep. A second later, he felt something pressing on his cheek. He ignored it and again fell back to sleep. His dream was just restarting when he started having trouble breathing. He tried to breathe through his nose, but that seemed to be difficult too. Suddenly, all of his air was cut off and he sat up, gasping, a loud noise and a thump accompanying his ragged breaths. He looked around, wild-eyed, not understanding why he had been unable to breathe, when he noticed a pair of his shorts moving around the floor.
"What the-" he started to say, but then, his unspoken question was answered as a little black kitten moved from under the shorts, looking up at him innocently. "It was you!" he hissed at the kitten. It tilted his head, as if finding George interesting. "You little-" He made a face, not sure what word would be appropriate for chastising a kitten, and instead hurried out into the hall. "Hermione," he called through the bathroom door. He did not hear any running water, so he assumed she was dressed and opened the door.
"George!" she said, looking at him with mingled shock and indignation.
"Your cat tried to kill me!" he shouted, just as she said loudly, "I could have been naked in here!"
"That little monster went and slept on my neck!" George continued, ignoring Hermione's red face and her pale hands, which were clutching the folds of her bathrobe tightly around her. "I couldn't breathe!"
"He was only being affectionate," she cut in.
"Affectionate? He tried to kill me!"
"He did no such thing," she huffed. She looked down as Balthazar entered the bathroom, mewing and winding himself around Hermione's legs. She bent down to pick him up and smiled as she said in a babying tone, "You wouldn't hurt anyone, would you, Balthazar? No, of course you wouldn't! You're such a good boy." She scratched his ears, earning a loud purr, before setting him down and moving past George. "Like a cat is trying to kill you. Honestly," she scoffed.
George looked down to see the cat watching him with narrowed eyes. "You watch it, fuzzball," he warned. "I'm on to you."
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DAY NINE
Hermione was stretched out on the couch, Balthazar asleep on her stomach, reading an old book by the flickering light of the fire. She knew she should probably go to bed, but she was much too comfortable to move. The warmth of the fire, the comfort of the cushy couch, and the serenity of her kitten purring softly – it was all just too enjoyable. And to top it off, George was not here. She did not know why, but he had not left a note, so she didn't worry her head about it. He was probably off wreaking havoc, but all that mattered to Hermione currently was that he was not wreaking it where she was. Smiling to herself, she continued to read her novel, one that she had read so often that the book was almost twice its original size, the binding broken and the tops of the pages worn from years of earmarking. She could have only been reading for a quarter of an hour more when the she heard a very feminine giggle. Confused, she looked around but saw nothing. Dismissing it as her being too tired, she continued to read. A few moments later, the front door opened and the shuffling of two feet was heard. She was about to look around when she heard that same giggle again, followed by a low chuckle that was distinctly male and rather familiar. She froze, completely at a loss for what to do. She wished she could leave or at least turn around, but, as the sound of what was obviously kissing came from somewhere in the direction of the dining table, which was only a few yards behind her, she knew this situation would be a thousand times more awkward if she alerted them to her presence now. The kissing continued, now mixed in with the occasional heavy breathing or a hastily-muttered word, and Hermione cursed the situation, listening to what was obviously George and his latest date…getting along, to say the least. Just as Hermione felt as though this couldn't get any worse, she heard the gentle flump of clothing hitting the ground. Completely mortified, she internally shouted as George. As soon as the action had been moved from their dining room table to George's bedroom, Hermione scooped up Balthazar and ran as quietly as possible to her room, shutting the door with a quiet click and putting a silencing spell on the door. The last thing she needed was to be able to hear the rest of their night.
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DAY TEN
Hermione pressed an ear to her door, wondering if it was safe for her to go to the bathroom yet. She had woken up a bit later than usual and was not sure if this meant that George would be in her way of getting ready. Just as her hand moved to the door handle, ready to walk out, she heard two voices.
"So, when will I see you again?" a female voice purred from nearby. Hermione made a small noise of contempt. She hated women that purred.
A deep chuckle was the reply, followed by George's deep voice speaking up: "You know I'm terribly busy, Charlotte."
"Oh, but surely you can make a little time for me?" the woman called Charlotte simpered. Hermione made a mental note – not only did she hate women that purred, but she hated ones that simpered as well.
"Well, I'll try my best, Char, but you know how it's like." George made a sigh that Hermione knew, without even seeing his face, was for theatrical purposes only.
This Charlotte woman seemed to be buying in to it, as she replied in a voice laced with such sweetness that it made Hermione feel nauseous, "Oh, poor George! They must be working you too hard! I understand. Well, when you're able, let me know, okay?"
"Okay," came George's voice, followed by the sound of a kiss and the whoosh of the floo. Sensing the "visitor" was gone, Hermione stepped out of her room and almost collided with George, who was in the midst of walking back to his room. "Oh, hello Hermione," said George genially. "Need to use the shower first?"
"Well, if you don't mind." With a small smile, her tone changed until she sounded quite like the unknown Charlotte. "I know how hard your bosses work you! Poor baby!" His head whipped around and he stared at her, his cheeks pink. "Oh, and by the way," she said in her normal voice, one eyebrow raised as she surveyed him, "you should check that the sitting room is empty next time you bring a date home." She turned as she closed the bathroom door to see George standing there, mouth hanging open, his face flushed with embarrassment.
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DAY TWELVE
George sat at the table, working on a new design for a prototype he was working on, when he heard movement near him. Ignoring it, he continued working until a thunk resonated through the room, shaking the table and thus his quill.
"Oi!" he cried, looking up, frustrated.
"Sorry!" said Hermione hurriedly as she sat down across from him and began to sift through the mountain of books she had set on the table.
"What the hell are you doing that involves that many books?" he asked, looking up from removing the inkblot that had stained his work.
"Just something for work. New assignment," Hermione muttered as she rifled through the books, obviously searching for something.
"What do you do, again?"
She looked up, a look of bemusement on her face. "You don't know what my job is?"
"Why is that odd? You never talk about it. I mean, at least my job has my name in the title – it's self-explanatory then."
She giggled, which he had not expected, and shook her head. "Well, that makes sense. And I'm a writer for the Daily Prophet. Actually, I'm the editor."
"You're joking," he said, rather shocked.
"Why is that surprising? You think I can't write?" Her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes seem to spark up, as if an angry fire had been lit inside her.
"Whoa," he cut in, raising his hands in a gesture of innocence, "I didn't say anything of the sort. Don't get your knickers in a twist. It's just impressive to be the editor two years out of Hogwarts. And for the Prophet, no less."
She calmed down and smiled somewhat, obviously a tad embarrassed at her flare-up. She shrugged in agreement. "I know, for the past couple years, the Prophet has been utter rubbish. Since the Quibbler is the main source of news, the Prophet was going down the tube, as they say, and I came on to help them. We've been starting from scratch, essentially."
"Impressive. My metaphorical hat is off to you, Miss Granger." He winked at her and she smiled before they both resumed their work.
…
It had been almost a solid hour and a half that Hermione and George had been working at the table. At first, Hermione had ignored the occasional crumpling of paper or noises of frustration, but now they were getting on her nerves. She sighed loudly and flipped another page of her book. In her peripherals, she could see George look up at her for a moment, a frown creasing his forehead, but she continued to read. She set the book atop the others, all open at different pages, and went back to writing.
…
Scritch. Scritch. Sigh. Flip. Flip. Sigh. Scritch. Scritch.
George looked up, his lips pressed tight together, holding back his frustration.
Flip. Flip. Sigh. Flip. Scritch. Sigh.
"What the bloody hell are you reading that sighing every thirty seconds is necessary?" he finally cried, unable to control it anymore. Her head snapped up and she looked at him, affronted.
"Excuse me?"
"You keep making these dramatic sighs every few seconds! It's driving me mad!"
"Well, you keep crumpling up papers and throwing them away!" she countered.
"SO?"
"The whole floor is covered with them, not to mention the fact that the sound is utterly grating," she replied, gesturing to the floor, which was indeed littered with balls of paper. As they looked, Balthazar batted around a paper ball, practically vibrating with excitement as he leapt around the ball, knocking it this way and that.
"Could you stop sighing like the bloody world is ending?"
"Well, then stop crumpling papers every few minutes!"
"FINE!"
"FINE!"
Sigh.