Author's Note: Not Rowling but please enjoy!
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DAY THIRTEEN
Hermione yawned as she quietly walked out of her room and headed towards the kitchen to grab a cup of tea. When she got there, she noticed a fresh pot of coffee was sitting on the counter, still hot. 'Odd,' she thought to herself. Deciding she was too tired to devote any energy to wondering about this, she moved to the right and opened the cabinet to retrieve a mug. She was just turning to pour some water from the kettle when the coffee again caught her eye. Had George made the coffee? Why had he left a whole pot? Usually he either finished off a pot or made only a cup for himself. Maybe he had noticed how she had not been sleeping. She had been up all night Thursday going over the reports and articles from the Prophet's writers, and had had only a few scant hours of sleep last night due to her research. Maybe coffee was a better move today, what with the added caffeine and the fact that it was already there, practically signaling her to have some. She didn't usually drink coffee, but she wasn't opposed to it. In fact, she rather liked it, but preferred tea as she didn't usually like depending on caffeine. As a huge yawn overtook her, she realized that this internal struggle was futile – not only had she now spent quite a bit of energy pondering over the coffee versus tea quandary, but she desperately needed a boost. And a nap, but she would worry about that later. She moved back towards the coffee, pouring the dark, steaming liquid into her favorite mug and added a teaspoonful of sugar as well as a tablespoon of cocoa powder. After pouring in some milk, she sat down at the small table and sighed happily. This was perfect – a nice, quiet morning alone with her very-much-needed beverage.
"George?"
Hermione cringed. 'And there goes my serenity,' she thought ruefully. She turned to see a woman walking out from the direction of George's room, her blonde hair messy from sleep, her body squeezed into a tight and slightly rumpled violet dress, a pair of very high heels hanging from one hand, her purse and wand in the other.
"George?" At that moment, the woman seemed to realize that Hermione was in the room. "Who are you?" she asked quickly, her eyes running over Hermione's untamed bushy hair that was probably sticking up in a million different directions, down to her loose shirt that showed the straps of her blue sports bra and her baggy flannel pajama trousers, and back up to the bags that Hermione knew were quite noticeable under her tired eyes. A look of contempt flitted over the woman's face for merely a second.
"I'm George's roommate. Who are you?" replied Hermione, not really caring for an answer, but asking automatically anyways.
"I'm Bridget," said the woman with a small toss of her hair. 'Ah,' thought Hermione, 'So we have someone new today.' "Where's George?" Bridget asked, rather abruptly.
"I'm his roommate," replied Hermione unemotionally, "not his keeper. I have no idea where he's gone to."
Bridget shot Hermione a condescending look before tossing her hair again and smiling rather falsely. "Well, when you see him, tell him I don't appreciate him leaving without telling me goodbye. Or waking me, for that matter." She walked to the front door and walked out, her footsteps slowly fading away as she went down the stairs.
"Yeah, I'll get right on that," mumbled Hermione sarcastically. "Right after I finish doing everything else in my life."
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George checked his watch. It was eight. 'It's probably safe to go up,' he thought. He walked out of the back office and to the main part of the store, where Lee and Verity were talking to customers. He smiled at the customers as he walked by, occasionally helping someone with a query or giving a stern look to a little boy who looked as though he had been contemplating theft, finally reaching Lee, who had just finished ringing up a customer. "So," he asked with a smile, looking around the shop as he talked, "any sign of-"
"Literally just left a minute ago," replied Lee, gesturing to the front of the shop. George looked out the front windows just in time to see Bridget turn on the spot and apparate a few meters from the shop. "Why'd you escape this time?"
"Insanely bossy, that one," he replied, smiling as a small raven-haired girl entered the shop with what looked like her older brother, whose hand rested securely on her shoulder, guiding her through the displays. "Like I need more of that. I already live with the Queen of Bossiness herself."
"I thought your mum was the Queen of Bossiness," said Lee with a laugh.
"Oh, my mistake. I live with the Duchess of Bossiness," amended George with a grin.
"Yeah and how's that going?" asked Lee with a smirk.
George shrugged. "It's alright, I guess. She apparently was in the room when I brought Charlotte home Wednesday."
"In your bedroom?" Lee's mouth fell open in shock.
George looked at Lee as if questioning his sanity. "Not in my bedroom, you moron. Why the hell would she be in my bedroom?"
"That's why I was confused!"
"No, in the sitting room."
"And how do you know?"
George shifted, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "She mentioned it the next day…while she called me out on one of my lines," he mumbled embarrassedly. Lee's face twisted into an amused smirk. "Wipe that look off your face, you berk," George muttered.
"Wait…so you left Bridget up there. With Hermione. Just the two of them," said Lee, half asking, half confirming fact.
"Yeah, and?"
"That's probably why Bridget looked so miffed when she walked out. Well, that and you ditched her."
"What? How am I honestly supposed to casually bring up 'Oh hey, by the way, I share an apartment with a woman to whom I have no romantic connection. You're fine with that, right?' while I'm chatting up a bird?" replied George, agitatedly straightening the stacks of Fainting Fancies that was next to them.
Lee chuckled. "Point taken. So do you think she'll call you out again when you get back up there?"
George sighed. "Let's hope not. Wish me luck." He turned and headed towards the back stairs that led to the apartment.
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Hermione's head snapped up as she heard the door open and close. George walked towards her, grabbing a new mug from the cabinet and pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Good morning," said George happily as he added milk to his coffee.
"Morning."
"I figured you'd need the coffee, you know, after not sleeping for two days and all that." He sat down across from her and smiled kindly.
"Thank you," said Hermione slowly. It had not occurred to her that George would have made extra coffee just for her as an act of kindness. "I appreciate it." He smiled again and took a sip of his coffee. They sat in silence for a few moments before she spoke up. "So, whatever happened to Charlotte?" George coughed slightly as he drank his coffee, his cheeks immediately turning rather pink.
"Excuse me?"
"Is she an actual option for you? I mean, I assumed she was more of a fling as she somehow believed your line about being busy, but I was wondering if the presence of Bridget confirmed my idea or not."
"She is not…err…long term," George replied, rather delicately.
"Why?"
"Why do you ask?" he countered, clearly uncomfortable.
"Merely curious." She watched him over the top of her mug as she sipped her second cup of coffee. "So what was wrong with her?"
"There was nothing wrong with her. She's a lovely girl."
Hermione smiled slightly. She wasn't sure if she was actually interested or only amused because of her complete lack of sleep and therefore normal brain function, but she and George didn't often talk about things outside of polite exchanges or snapping at the other's annoying habit du jour, so the fact that they were conversing was interesting in and of itself. "Well, if you truly meant that, I'm sure I wouldn't have had such a pleasant exchange with Miss Purple a short while ago." She smiled knowingly at him and cocked an eyebrow.
George sighed, obviously realizing that she was not going to drop the topic. "As you might have noticed from your eavesdropping Thursday," he said, talking over her noise of dissent at his choice of words, "she is not the sharpest knife in the kitchen, so to speak."
"Then why did you get involved with her?"
"Umm, because she was lovely, slightly tipsy, and very interested in me?" George said, the lilt in his voice suggesting that Hermione should have already known that was the answer.
"And what about Bridget?"
"Bossy. It wasn't exactly pleasant being instructed and judged on everything I did while we-"
"Okay, okay, I got it," interjected Hermione quickly before he could finish his sentence. "Well, I'm bossy and you haven't kicked me out."
George grinned slightly. "Yes, but you're not instructing me on how to shag you." He started getting up from the table, depositing his empty cup in the sink and pushing his chair into the table.
Hermione frowned slightly at his phrasing. "That I am quite sure I am not doing," she said. George laughed, which surprised her.
"You're funny, Granger," he said as he walked past. He ruffled her hair lightly and, despite herself, she grinned.
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DAY FOURTEEN
Hermione was in the middle of folding her laundry when she found a pair or George's shorts. 'What in the world are these doing in my laundry?' she thought, not sure whether to be upset that he had hijacked her laundry or to be worried about if the shorts had actually been washed. Picking them up gingerly from the elastic waistband, she held them between her index finger and thumb and held them out in front of her as she walked out to find George. After scanning the room, she realized George was not in the sitting room or the kitchen, which were technically in the same room anyways, she headed to his bedroom, knowing he was not in the loo, as the bathroom door was open. "George," she called as she knocked on the door, "Are you in there? I have your shorts and I sincerely do not want them." There was no response. "George?" She opened the door and her eyes traveled over the unmade bed, the drawers and closet that were exploding with unfolded and poorly put away clothes, and the floor that was almost completely covered with everything from crumpled balls of paper, magazines, and dirty clothes. She took in a deep shuddering breath. "You can do this, Hermione," she said aloud to herself. "You can walk away from this." She dropped his shorts on the bed and turned to leave when she heard a small mew. "Balthazar?"
"Mew."
"Zar? Baby, are you in here?" She looked once again around the semi-dark room, but saw no kitten. "Oh dear god, you've been eaten by his room." She looked around once more and, grimacing, accepted what she had to do.
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George walked into the flat, whistling as he deposited his paper bag, in which a few new books and his favorite candy were residing, on the table. He heard the sound of a page being turned and looked over at the sofa. Hermione was asleep on the sofa, her head resting against the back of the sofa, her hair fanned across the rest of the sofa that spanned to her right. Atop her stomach lay a book, her hands still resting, relaxed and open, next to it, as if she had fallen asleep while holding the book. Just next to the book sat Balthazar, his little paws pushing pages this way and that, turning them one way then another to amuse himself. George smiled softly as he looked upon this scene of calm. When she was asleep and not busy adding more worry lines to her forehead or watching him suspiciously, Hermione looked sweet, her face relaxed, no lines marring her pretty face. And that fuzzball was rather cute, he had to admit. He quietly headed towards his bedroom, forgetting to bring his bag of new purchases. He opened the door to his room and froze as his eyes took in what was in front of him.
"HERMIONE!" he roared.