CHAPTER 14
GEORGE huffed in impatience and glanced at his watch for what felt like the third or fourth time in fifteen minutes. He'd kept his word and allowed Pansy to pop on upstairs for a change of clothing before their date, but she was lagging.
He suspected it had everything to do with her hiding her embarrassment over Angelina Johnson's little brother causing a scene in the shop five minutes before close when George had caught the six-year-old trying to steal some edible Dark Marks and as a distraction while making his getaway, had hollered at the top of his lungs that George was in love with Pansy, loud enough that the entire shop had heard. He was sure he'd never been more embarrassed.
He supposed he couldn't blame Pansy if she needed a couple of minutes to gather herself, but this was going on bloody ridiculous. How long could a witch possibly need to get ready for a simple dinner date?
Finally, after letting her have another five minutes, he could wait no longer and stalked up the stairwell, growing increasingly agitated that Pansy was stalling. They were going to be late.
If she didn't want to go on this date with him, she could have just said, no need to make him wait so—
Though before he could raise his knuckles to knock, the door to her flat flung wide open and what he saw on the other side of the old wooden panel took his breath away. He watched, amazed, as the light from the overhead bulb in the hallway, dim though it was, hit Pansy's tired face and engulfed it in a soft golden glow. She'd done something different to her hair for their date tonight.
He hoped she hadn't changed it just for him, trying to impress him. He was already impressed without her having to make such a drastic change like this. It looked as though she'd given herself a haircut. Her dark hair was sleek and straight and just past to her chin, no longer long and wildly unruly and curly. She must have tamed it with some sort of smoothing straightening serum for witch's hair after cutting it.
At that moment, George felt his breaths hitch in his throat, his heartbeats increased rapidly against his chest, and he felt quite warm in this hallway all of a sudden as his eyes made a quick scan of her outfit she'd picked out for the night.
This was admittedly the first time he had seen Pansy Parkinson in a dress, and he sincerely hoped that it very much wouldn't be the last. He was quick to decide he liked the look on her. Her long wrap dress was a light grey charcoal color, with flouncy sleeves, floral embroidery detailing, a tie at the waistline, and a femme flowy high-low bottom hem, the skirts of her dress twisting with her movements as she nervously stepped out into the hall. She was a vision of loveliness, from her new haircut, her natural-looking makeup and outfit, all the way down to her cute little toes in her open-toed sandals.
She kept one hand curled over the strap of her purse slung on her shoulder, the other nearly fumbling not to drop her set of keys as she managed to lock the front door before slipping the flat's keys into her bag and turning to look at George. Pansy quirked a brow at him, looking somewhat worried, nervously brushing her new fringe out of her eyes as she chewed on her bottom lip and took a lock of her new sleek and straight haircut in between her thumb and forefinger to fidget with it.
Realizing that he'd not yet said anything, George inwardly cursed himself and tried to think of something to say.
"Your—your hair…? You cut it? Why?" was all he could think of, and his blush intensified as he watched Pansy struggle with a blush of her own that slowly snaked its way onto her face as she looked nervous.
Pansy flushed and looked away for a moment, self-consciously still toying with a lock of her hair.
"Do…do you like it?" she asked, suddenly sounding rather timid. "I...I didn't have any other choice. The—the ends of it were singed and ruined by 4:30 today when that stupid wanker's kid set off a Dungbomb when I and Verity were re-labeling your packages of Instant Peruvian Darkness Powder, I...I tried everything I could to save it, b-but to cut it off was the only way. It's...it's only hair, it will grow back eventually," she lamented remorsefully, nervous lifting her gaze to George and trying to read the man's expression. "Why?" she asked hesitantly, an edge to her voice that had not been there previously. "Is it…bad? Did I...do you think that I cut it way too short? Is it awful?" Pansy bit down on her lip and waited.
George immediately shook his head, unable to stifle the lopsided grin now tugging the edges of his mouth upwards.
"No, shorter looks good on you, Pan, nothing could ever ruin your looks, Pansy, not even the aftereffects of a Dungbomb explosion," he murmured in an affectionate tone, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from how her blush intensified as she turned shy at his compliment and glanced down to check his watch. "Shall we go, then, if you're ready?" he asked quietly. "I made reservations for us for six, the place is packed on Fridays and the weekends," he told Pansy, politely offering the young witch his arm, which she accepted, intertwining her hand around his arm as she let herself be led down the stairwell.
Neither of them spoke much on their walk to the restaurant, a Muggle Italian ristorante that had just opened up two months ago. Both George and Verity swore by their food, the best Italian in all London.
In her past life, she might have balked at dining in at such a place, though without her parent's influence on her, and her former friends who, she was beginning to realize, weren't very good friends to be keeping company with, she thought, perhaps tonight it wouldn't be so bad, considering her current company. She blushed and tried not to pretend she didn't feel the heat searing her cheeks hotter than dragon fire as her hand loosened its grip around George's arm and reached instinctively for his hand.
Her fingers slotted in between his and her hand gave a light but nervous squeeze. George escorted Pansy to the front of the restaurant, their fingers entwined as they walked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, though their hearts were collectively in their throats without the other knowing.
As he led Pansy towards the door of the restaurant, there was already a crowd of people, a line snaking out the front door and down along the side of the pavement, waiting to get in.
George made a noise of dissent through his nose and furrowed his brows at the number of people ahead of them.
"Wait here," he told her. "I'll go find the maître d, I booked our table in advance, there's not a chance in hell we're losing it," George almost growled, a look of fierce determination plastered all over his face that this date of theirs tonight would go well. George's kind and hopeful white smile secretly mesmerized Pansy as he backed away.
All Pansy could do in return was nod slowly, and watch the wizard disappear through the front doors.
In a daze, Pansy moved closer to the front doors, having to jostle aside a few Muggle couples in hopes of spotting George. Once she'd entered the restaurant, she leaned against the door and smiled in giddy dreaming joy, hardly daring to hope for the best.
There was a part of her that felt rather weightless. Dizzy, even.
She was sure, not even when she'd dated Draco all those years in school starting when they were in their fourth year, had she known such a sense of reckless happiness. If she couldn't control herself, there was a chance the magic now thrumming in her veins would cause her feet to lift off the ground beneath her and hover for the growing affection in her heart she was feeling for George Weasley.
And to cause a scene in front of all these Muggles, that was admittedly the last thing she wanted. Pansy wondered for a moment if this was how girls and young women her age felt when their hearts were stolen from them by a worthy man.
She'd never had such an experience before, not even when she'd been with Draco.
However, she wasn't stupid. She could recognize what it was for a woman to lose herself in love.
Pansy could remember feeling a similar sort of passion once, when Draco had wrapped his arms around her the night of the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament in their fourth year, and they had shared their first kiss that night.
But this time, with Weasley, who respected her, appreciated her for her mind and her talents, not just her looks, Pansy passionately vowed to herself that it would be different.
This time, she could only hope it would be forever.
Pansy sighed deeply, and not caring if any of the Muggles who were crowded around the hostess stand in front of her saw, she let her shaking hands trail down the front of her dress, taking great enjoyment in the burning tingling sensation that was beginning to threaten her ability to stay standing upright.
She hoped George would return soon. Her legs were starting to shake, as though she'd been hit by a Jelly Legs Curse. She breathed a steadying sigh of relief when she felt a tap to her shoulder, and she turned and found George smiling at her.
"C'mon, Pan, I got us a table. We're in the back, it should be quieter there where we can hear ourselves talk," he called out, with Pansy barely able to hear him over the loud clanking of plates as people sat down to their meals and the conversation that carried throughout the Muggle restaurant.
A man with dark slicked-back hair seated them and set menus in their respective place settings and poured them each glasses of ice water.
"Enjoy your dinner," he said and then left.
"Thanks, Hector," George murmured, quietly slipping two Galleons into the wizard's palm that lingered by George's side.
Pansy fought the smirk that threatened to tug her lips upward, waiting to speak until their waitress had gone away after she had come to take their orders when they had a moment to look over the menu, dropping off a basket of buns in the process.
"Bribing the maître d, huh, Weasley? Shocker, I wouldn't have thought you had it in you…What's next for tonight?" Pansy asked playfully. She couldn't resist teasing George, at least a little bit, as she helped herself to a bun, taking her time smearing a dab of butter on the top before popping a bite of the bun into her mouth.
"Dessert at Florean's, unless you saw something here on the menu that you wanted?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.
She shyly shook her head.
"Nope, that works for me. Thank you," she murmured shyly after a moment. "For…everything."
George nodded greatly and smiled softly at her across the table.
"I'm glad that you wanted to come out with me tonight, Pan. I thought…" he hesitated, his voice trailing off. "That you wouldn't. If you didn't want to, then…I wouldn't blame you."
Pansy's eyebrows receded up onto her forehead. She frowned.
"You think I wouldn't have accepted? Do you hold that low of an opinion of yourself, George? You really ought to give yourself more credit, don't you think? Not even...not even Draco did anything like this for me," Pansy asked him incredulously, giving George a funny little smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and found her gaze resting on George's hands, which were lying flat on the surface of the table. She was surprised at how smooth, pale, and perfect the wizard's hands were, something of an anomaly honestly, considering how he got his hands dirty when inventing his products, or at least that's what Verity had mentioned to her during her first day on the job at the shop.
"I have every reason to spend tonight with you, George. You saved my life and you've been one of the first people to be nice to me since…" She paused, frowning a bit as she thought it over for a moment. Her blush intensified when she realized that George was one of the first to show her an ounce of kindness. "Since as long as I can remember," Pansy whispered shyly. She smiled appreciatively, though still somewhat wary, hoping that Weasley could be the man she let herself, love, with her parents out of her life and no longer able to dictate who their pureblooded daughter would marry.
"I wanted to come out with you tonight. No one's done anything like this for me, ever," she emphasized, trying to make George understand. "So…thank you, for everything tonight, George, and all that you've done for me leading up to tonight. It means the world."
George looked up and looked to be of a mind to want to say something to her, though at that moment their waitress returned carrying their plates of food with hot pads underneath their plates to protect her hands. Pansy had no time to elaborate further as the most delectable plate of lasagna she'd ever seen.
George thanked their waitress as his chicken carbonara was set in front of him, and she refilled their water glasses and left, though not before leaving a chilled bottle of wine in a tin bucket at the edge of their table along with two empty glasses if either of them wanted wine with dinner.
She let her gaze drift towards the glass that George poured for her, the dark crimson liquid now in her glass looking a little too much like blood for her comfort. She swallowed a lump in her throat, almost afraid to confess that she'd never had a drop of the stuff. Though eighteen now and fully legal, she remembered what Father would get like at home during nights that he'd drink.
Pansy had always vowed, seeing her father act the way that he did towards her and her mother when in a raging stupor while drunk, that she would never willingly subject herself to anything that would impair her ability to think clearly.
Perhaps it made her a prat or a prude, and she risked tainting whatever fond opinion she hoped Weasley was beginning to have for her, but it wasn't an aspect of her personality she could change.
She feared she wouldn't be able to drink her glass of wine that George had just set in front of her without explaining herself, and Pansy did not want to put a damper on his mood.
"You don't drink wine or anything like it, do you, Pan?"
Pansy jolted out of the remembrance of her shitty home life and looked up, alarmed, to find George regarding her with somewhat of an odd expression she didn't know how to interpret, but she thought the wizard was looking sympathetic.
"U-um…n-no, I—I don't. Not really," she managed to stammer out in response. She frowned, shaking her head to herself, and trying to rid herself of her growing anxiousness.
He was still the same wizard she'd spoken with a few nights ago. George was still the same wizard she'd known during school, though admittedly things were different between them. She was now thrown into a situation she had never thought, for the life of her, she would ever be in, with anyone but Draco.
"That's alright. Did you want water instead?" George asked her in a quiet voice, his expression looking rather concerned as if he feared she might not be having a good time on their date.
"Er…y—yeah, that'd be great, thanks George," Pansy admitted, lowering her gaze, and finding her response sounding strangely distant. She flinched, realizing her words almost sounded cold, as she hoped she'd not have to bring up her parents, but then she realized the fact that George was pushing her glass of ice water at her across the table what was odd.
"Thanks," she mumbled, finding the entire situation of the handsome surviving Weasley twin offering her water while on a date both surreal and a little bit ridiculous as George nodded.
As they ate in silence for a few moments, Pansy closed her eyes tiredly, both of her hands gripping tightly underneath the edges of the table before she shifted her gaze towards George.
She tried to think of something to say that would fill the silence between them as they ate their dinner and compromised by shoveling a bite of her food into her mouth. Though delicious, it was beginning to taste like cardboard, and she was sure it was due to just how nervous around him she was getting.
Pansy picked up the bun off her plate and tore a chunk off, holding the bite of bread in her fingers before popping it into her mouth, taking her time chewing and swallowing, before a question how George had interacted earlier with a kid today came to her mind.
"You—you were great earlier in how you stopped that kid from pocketing those edible Dark Marks," she snorted, finding it a bit difficult to roll her eyes at the boy's antics. "Is shoplifting in your shop going to be something I worry over a lot when Verity finally leaves us in one week?" she asked him curiously as she held a bite of lasagna on her fork.
Pansy watched as George's mouth turned down in a grim line, instantly making the witch's heart sink. George didn't seem to want to talk about work off the clock.
She sighed and sank back into her chair, wondering if perhaps it had been wishful thinking on her part to just assume he'd open up to her so easily. But to her pleasant surprise, after a moment, he assented, and sat back in his chair, copying her movements, and snorted, rolling his eyes to himself.
George thought for a moment. "Yeah, I'm sad to say. Not that I enjoy bragging or anything, but our stuff is just so great, some kids just can't resist the temptation. We've got countermeasures set up over the shop, but unless you want to take a leaf out of Umbridge's book and put eyes all over the shop, then I can't always catch them, but the ones I do, they know damned bloody well not to try to nick a thing."
Pansy immediately stiffened at the mention of the old bitch Dolores Umbridge. She remembered how the cantankerous hag had paid her a visit in St. Mungo's, and hers, unfortunately, had been the first face she'd seen upon waking up from her coma-like induced state the Healers had put her into while her body healed.
George ran his tongue along the top wall of his teeth and worked to change the subject, sensing her discomfort.
"Freddie was always better at confrontations than I was, believe it or not, but with Fred gone, I and Ron are the only ones left and I've had to step things up. I…I'm sorry that you had to see me yell at him like that, I know it wasn't….pleasant," he murmured apologetically, running his hand through his hair. "But…Angelina Johnson's brother always was a prat, and I'm sorry the whole bloody shop had to hear of my….er…romantic interest in you, Pan," he remarked.
Pansy couldn't help the shy grin that tugged the corners of her mouth upwards as she recalled how the kid, embarrassed at having been caught trying to steal from the shop, had turned his attention to Pansy, who'd been in the middle of helping Dean Thomas, with Thomas making a poor impression on her with his bad attempts at flirting. George hadn't liked it one bit and the kid had noticed, taking advantage of it, and using it as a distraction to break free and run away. But not before he'd shouted at the top of his lungs for the entire store to hear that George was in love with Pansy, much to their dawning horror.
She wasn't sure why she was so relieved to hear him acknowledge his interest in her. Of course, he was, right? He wouldn't have asked her out on a date otherwise. More to the point, she couldn't understand why she felt such a twinge of jealousy towards Johnson. The witch had always been Fred's.
She supposed it was just the thought of another witch having such a connection for him, one she'd always hoped to find in Draco before that dream was shattered.
But tonight, with George, sitting so close to him, and finding it difficult not to lose herself in the rich brown pools that were the wizard's eyes and being so candid with him, she thought…maybe with him, forever might be beautiful, or as long as he would have her. Her cheeks burned with color, and she fought to tear her gaze away from the intensity of George's eyes.
Pansy remembered how she owed her date an answer, and how he'd spoken of the entire shop knowing of his romantic interest in his assistant, and then, their former circle of friends would know.
No thanks to Johnson's stupid little fucking brother making sure the whole bloody world knows, Pansy thought bitterly as she reached for her glass of water and took a sip. She polished off the last bite of her dinner and pushed her plate away, only in time for the waitress to return with a slice of the most delectable-looking chocolate torte Pansy had ever seen, topped with fresh berries and a dollop of cream.
Pansy's eyes widened as the plate was set in between them as she flicked her gaze up to George.
"I hope you're planning to share this with me, George. I don't think I can eat all of this in one go, it's bloody huge," she teased. "Are we going to have enough room later to top off the night at Florean's? There's way too much here for me to eat by myself…" Pansy tried to laugh, but her nerves made the noise sound like a fitful sigh. She tried to hide her racing heart behind a shy smile as she gingerly pushed the plate containing their dessert towards George, encouraging him to take the first bite.
Although George's own heart was pounding so loud in his chest that he thought from across the table, Pan could hear it, and his brain was racing two or three steps ahead of him with possibilities, he could only accept the witch's suggestion graciously.
"Sure, I—if you insist," he stammered, flustered, and took the second fork on the plate and took the first bite.
Their conversation over dessert was light and surprisingly pleasant, much to Pansy's immediate relief. The pair spoke mostly of the shop, the get-together George wanted to throw for Verity at The Three Broomsticks next week to celebrate Verity's last day as an employee, and his mum was even going so far as to throw Verity a going-away party at the Burrow, claiming there would be more space there. Pansy was delighted to attend either way, whatever Verity wanted and whatever he thought was best.
When they had finished their dessert and their plates had been cleared away and their check paid, Pansy looked towards the window and was pleased to see that for now, at least, the weather seemed to be holding up and cooperating.
"I'm pretty full, George, would you…would you want to take a walk for a bit before we hit up Florean's? We could walk around Diagon Alley or—or even Hogsmeade, it's such a lovely night out," Pansy stammered and rose to her feet, gathering her purse and moving to where George stood.
George smiled. He couldn't deny Pansy's exciting offer as she slipped her hand into his and led him outside into the bustling side streets of downtown London. He had no wish to.
The thought of finally being alone somewhere with her was far too enticing to turn down.
Once they'd ducked into a side alleyway to Disapparate to Diagon Alley away from the eyes of any prying Muggles, Pansy sensed George relax a bit. She felt the wizard's affectionate gaze on her, even as they walked, their fingers entwined like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Bashfully, Pansy couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, yet George's nearness calmed whatever nerves were within her prior. The two of them walked in silence, a thousand unspoken emotions now hanging in between them. One way or another, the conclusion of their date tonight would irrevocably change things between them, forever. She could only hope that it would be a change that was for the better. George's pace was slower than his usual hurried purposeful stride, which Pansy was grateful for.
Her body was still healing from the aftermath of Antonin Dolohov's attack against her, and her side and her arm were still tender. However, she thought she could ignore her sore muscles if that meant that George Weasley would never let go of her hand. She wondered how long she would have to wait before they would progress to the more physical stages of a relationship.
Suddenly, there was nothing she wanted more.
She wanted to know how George would be different from Malfoy. At the thought of feeling George's body next to hers, wondering what he would be like between the sheets, her steps halted, and her sandal almost caught on a loose cobblestone, lost in the fantasies of her time with George.
Pansy swore under her breath as she felt herself begin to lean precariously forward. She was sure to bloody fall on her arse at this point and make a damn fool of herself in front of him. She would have too, if George's arm hadn't shot out and caught her around her middle, instinctively pulling her close.
Instantly worried, George's concerned gaze found her soft and heavy eyes.
"What is it? Is it your wounds? We should sit," he offered, already beginning to fret over Pansy's condition. "Are you getting tired?" he asked, worried that perhaps she was trying to take things too far, and taking a walk before hitting up Florean's Ice Cream Parlor was a misguided idea and was taxing Pansy to the brink of utter exhaustion.
Pansy blinked owlishly at George, touched by the wizard's concern for her. She thought she could have walked through the whole of Great Britain but found herself eager to spend more time with him.
"Maybe for a while," she smiled nervously, leaning in so her face was inches away from his.
George reddened with a rather shy blush Pansy found irresistible. He lowered his gaze for a moment, searching for a spot that would give her the most comfort. Spotting an empty table outside, one of the tables with a brolly, he thought that sufficient enough.
"There," he motioned, pointing towards the empty table outside that was shaded and would give them relief from the heat of the warm May heat and the setting sun. "D'you think you can make it there?" he asked her, concerned.
Pansy nodded and took the wizard's arm.
She was beginning to think that she'd be willing to follow him anywhere.
"Lead the way, George," she accepted, her heart fluttering almost painfully in her chest at his touch's sensation.
They walked in silence towards the table, and though it was Pansy who was recovering from a near-fatal attack against her life, she made sure George was comfortable first before taking a seat next to him, scooting her chair closer to him.
When Mr. Florean came by to take their orders, George, without even waiting for Pansy to reply, ordered the largest hot fudge sundae the middle-aged wizard offered his customers for the two of them to share.
Only when Mr. Fortescue went away did he turn back towards Pansy. He hoped it was not merely what his eyes wanted to see, the look of awe and admiration growing in the witch's dark brown eyes.
She seemed to be so taken with him her words wouldn't form. She smiled, lowered her eyes in embarrassment, and very nearly giggled.
But finally, it was Pansy who broke the silence.
"A-are we just going to sit here, George?" she asked, and her eyes widened as she realized her question sounded like a proposition. "I—I mean…" she stammered, quickly trying to correct her mistake. "Surely there's…something to talk about?"
George's breaths caught in his throat, mentally kicking himself for not having something to carry on a conversation.
"Thanks again, for—for coming out with me tonight," he said solemnly, thinking of all that Pansy had done, not just for him, but according to Mum and Dad, she was being a tremendous help around their house without even being asked.
Pansy looked at him, stunned, as if she thought there was no need for the wizard to offer up his thanks yet again.
"You pulled me out of that rubble," she patiently reminded him. "Gave me a job, let me have the spare flat above the shop. Found me after Dolohov nearly…" she trailed off and shivered with the repulsive memory. "You saved me…"
George opened his mouth to speak, though, at that moment, Mr. Florean brought their sundae and set it in front of them. They ate in silence for a few moments before Pansy set down her spoon, no longer hungry, the weight of what George had down for her settling on her shoulders. George, sensing she was troubled, shoved aside the sundae when he had polished off the last bite and looked at her.
"I wasn't just going to leave you there buried underneath that pile of rubble to die, Pansy. There was nothing else that I could have done that night," he said in a low voice, reaching for her hand and giving it a light squeeze. "I'd do it all over again if I had to. You're not…"
He hesitated, smiling softly as a sleek strand of her new shorter hair had fallen in front of her eyes, shielding her expression from him.
"You're not who I thought you were, Pansy," he said, at last, a pained expression almost flitting across his face as the words left his mouth. He sensed the defeat within her as the witch's eyes darkened and grew sad and immediately tried to make her feel better. "And I'm glad." Pansy startled a bit at his words. No mention was made of what either of them had lost, though it hung heavy between them.
When they had finished their dessert, they spent time leisurely strolling the streets of Diagon Alley, Pansy expressing an interest to check out the fiction section of Flourish and Blotts.
There was a new book out, the third in a series of six planned books about two werewolves, the Alpha and Omega series, a lycanthropy romance tale that was all the rage with witches between the ages of eighteen and forty, Romulus and Rena, who broke free of their Pack's Alpha, though their lives together weren't without its challenges. George was admittedly shocked to learn Pansy was an avid fan of the series and insisted on stopping in so she could purchase the third book, much to his surprise.
George lingered at the end of the aisle, watching Pansy quietly flick through the book with great interest, personally inspecting each page to ensure none of the pages had been marked on or were dog-eared.
He could see it in her eyes she had a keen, intelligent interest that he had never given her credit for when they were all in school together, and now thought he could very well hate himself for judging her as he had. He tried not to study the witch too intently and simply enjoyed Pansy Parkinson's company.
Though it was becoming increasingly difficult for him not to stare at the soft angles of Pansy's features, washed in the faint amber light from the overhead light of the bookshop as she gazed down enthralled at the book now clutched close to her chest.
Feeling the surge of hope swell within him once more, George forgot himself, thinking perhaps the one and a half glasses of Muggle red wine he'd had at dinner were making him bold.
As it was, he now spoke more candidly to Pansy than maybe he had a right to. George approached Pansy cautiously, Pansy still enthralled by the book clutched tenderly in her hand.
She was holding it as though it were her new most prized possession. The question was ripped from his lips before he could stop himself, remembering what Dad had told them about the Parkinson's.
"How could your dad have treated his daughter so horribly? To treat such a beautiful witch like you, I can't imagine it, Pan," George almost growled in anger. He flinched as he watched his date give a visible start at his words.
Pansy averted her gaze from the book in her hands and raised her shocked eyes to him, looking pained. She had gone pale, as though George had just raised a hand against her and had hit her.
"Wh—why would you say that to me, George?" Pansy demanded, stricken, almost looking angry at him. George could only stare, utterly dumbfounded.
He swore he could almost see the witch's heart shatter where she stood rooted to her spot, frozen.
His words had been meant as a compliment. He hadn't intended to insult her, which is apparently what he'd done. "Wh—what?" he asked uncertainly, a pit in his stomach beginning to form the longer he looked at Pansy's crestfallen and perhaps even angry expression.
"I—I don't understand," he stammered, his voice trailing off as he struggled to comprehend the insult he'd just accidentally given her.
But Pansy didn't let him finish as the witch hesitantly took a step towards him, the skin of her brow pulled taut in concern.
Her lips pursed into a thin line and as she shot him a withering look, he was almost reminded of Hermione during her first year as Gryffindor Prefect when she had threatened to write to Mum about their giving their inventions to first-years to test and grew unsettled by such a formidable look.
George wasn't sure what he had been expecting Pansy would have as a reaction to the words he meant as a compliment, but it certainly wasn't this.
He bit the wall of his cheek as he racked his brain for something to say that might supplicate the witch and quell her growing discomfort that was plain as day on her face.
But before he could say anything in his defense, she shook her head to herself and angrily spoke up.
"You picked the most hateful word that's ever been spoken to refer to me?" she asked rhetorically, her breaths catching in her throat as she spat her words through clenched teeth. She lowered the book and for a moment, George thought she was looking like she would quite like to hit him with it or perhaps her purse, but thank Merlin, she didn't. He frowned.
"Hateful?" he repeated, feeling sure he'd misheard her. "No, th—that's not what I meant, Pan," he stammered, now desperate to correct his mistake.
Pansy shamefacedly cast her gaze to the floor, clutching her book tightly to her chest. "I'm not….beautiful, George, I…I never have been, and I don't think I ever will," she told him in such a quiet voice, at first, George wasn't even sure she'd spoken up at all, a single tear escaping from the edges of her eyes just then. "I don't like that word. My dad, he…never used it in a kind way towards me," she confessed, her face twisting in grief before turning into a look of anger.
She didn't think she could stand to look George in the eye any longer. Her posture stiffened as she turned her back to her date, walking a few steps away from him.
She kept the book in her hands clutched tight to her chest, and all the while tried not to shiver as painful memories of her father and mother's abuse began to flit through her mind.
They were brief, like flashing images shown to her through a Pensieve, but more than enough to cause her chest to painfully tighten and her entire body to seize up in pure terror. Memories she never wanted to think about again and was now having trouble sending them away.
As she stood with her back facing George, George, for his part, was stricken and at a loss for words. There was nothing he wanted more than to take his date into his arms and take the witch's pain himself. He thought he could handle it if it would spare her one more moment of whatever anguish she felt now. His arms ached for the feel of her body pressed against his, and his lips began to tingle and burn.
He longed to press his lips against the creamy skin of her neck, before moving his lips to hers in a kiss if she would let him. For a moment, George hovered near her, intoxicated by Pansy's beauty.
Pansy shivered. She knew she was wrong to hold George responsible for causing her distress. She'd never exactly brought up to anyone else how much the word affected her. Not even Draco knew the full truth. George was the first. She'd never spoken of the shitty things her dad had done. How could she possibly weave such a tale for anyone else in a way that didn't make her sound like a weakling little sap who'd sat back and taken it because he'd promised her he would hurt her and Mother even worse if she ever resisted. She was aware that George now stood behind her.
But…was that…was that his hand now snaking its way around her waist? She felt herself leaning back against George, her legs turning to jelly beneath her and her eyelids fluttering closed.
She savored the moment of enjoying the young wizard's nearness. George's quiet reserved voice rent the air, and the man's words sent an unexpected shiver down her spine just then.
"Your dad was a right bloody wanker and an idiot, Pan, a disgusting wizard if ever there was one. He ruined his trust and love for you the second he began hurting you in ways a parent shouldn't hurt their kid," George spoke up from behind her in a voice that Pansy could only describe as a vicious growl.
Without giving himself a moment to think it over, George rose his hands from the witch's waist to her shoulders, and gently pivoted her around, forcing her to face him, and cupping the witch's chin in his hand, not allowing her to look away. His deep, pleading brown eyes seemed to penetrate through the hardened layers of her heart, the wall she had built up to try to keep people at bay since Draco had abandoned her. He wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss her. But his famous Gryffindor courage failed him, and he stayed put. He wanted her willing. He didn't want to startle her or scare her off anymore than she already was, lost in the throes of some horrible bad memories.
When at last, he managed to regain control of his voice, though it shook, he tried to keep his voice as calm and level-headed as possible, though it wasn't easy.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, Pan. But now I know how badly that word upsets you, I'll think of something else to call you. You're…you're…pretty," he finished, somewhat lamely, remembering what Angelina Johnson's little brother had called her earlier.
George made no move to close off the gap of space. Pansy hesitated, watching him, half-hoping that he would. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so nervous around a wizard older than she was. Yet, being here in the middle of the fiction section of Flourish and Blotts, and finally realizing that George Weasley was someone she could see herself having a future with, if he would have her, she also couldn't recall a time when she'd felt more comfortable.
Spurred by the closeness they shared, and eager to show George how she felt, it was Pansy who could now no longer stand the distance between them and resolved to fix that.
As George made to turn away, respecting her need for space, her arm shot out of its own accord and caught his hand, stopping his momentum.
Setting the book that she intended to buy down onto the closest shelf, she grabbed onto his biceps with her trembling hands and nervously braced herself to George.
"Don't go, stay, I…I didn't mean…to chase you away, George, I just...all of this, is...happening so quickly and...I do like you. I like you...a lot..." she pleaded. "I…um…I want you," she declared, cringing as the words left her mouth. She was sure there was a better way to do this, but bugger that.
It was already too late. Unsure, and not able to believe even her actions, but wanting so desperately to be close to the first wizard who had ever shown her kindness and wanted nothing from her in return, she pressed her lips against George's mouth and kissed him. George stood there, unable to move, the world of Flourish and Blotts spinning as he tasted the sweetness of Pansy Parkinson's kiss.
He was shocked, sure, but it was with the unbelievable stupor of being given the one thing he had secretly wanted the most, even when they were students and she'd been with Malfoy, the ferrety little git. He was afraid if he moved, then it would all disappear. That she would just leave. He couldn't afford to take any risks. Even if he was exactly what Pan wanted, he knew he had to be sure.
He could barely bring his lips to meet hers.
He was sure he'd never been this affected by a witch before. Never before had he been so sure of the feeling of warmth now tingling and spreading from his chest throughout the rest of his body.
It felt almost too good to be true and he froze up, though a terrible aching whelm began to blossom in his chest and spread through his entire body, stifling the breath in his throat, and coloring his cheeks. He was terrified of making the wrong move with her. He hoped Pansy wouldn't misinterpret his reaction, but unfortunately for him, she did. Pansy realized that George wasn't reacting to her kiss.
Shaken, she broke apart from him and desperately searched the shaken wizard's shocked eyes. Her expression registered the confusion and hurt that was plain as the nose on her face, in her eyes, as she drew her hands from around his arms and brought them up to cover her mouth.
Suddenly horrified by the boldness of her actions, Pansy could only stare wide-eyed at George.
Pansy stood there, numb for a moment, and then began to back away in embarrassment, grabbing the book she intended to buy off the shelves
"I—I'm sorry, George," she begged, mortified, pink in the face. "I—I didn't mean to—"
She felt the need to run and turned on her heels to flee.
Before she could round the corner of the fiction aisle and make a beeline for the front checkout counter, George caught Pansy gently by the wrist and brought her around to face him fully.
"Don't," he begged, not bothering to hide the note of desperation in his voice as his grip was a vice on her wrist. "I—I just…I don't want to hurt you, Pan."
His affection-filled eyes met hers. "But…are you sure?" he asked her, almost lovingly so, as he brought up a gentle hand to caress the skin of Pansy's cheek.
For a moment, Pansy could not even speak. All she could manage to do was nod, unable to tear her gaze from him. She was awed by the depths to which how much George Weasley cared for her. At that moment, she came to understand why he hadn't reciprocated her kiss in the way that she hoped for, and she cared about him even more for that. He had wanted her to be completely assured of them, and totally comfortable. She mirrored George's motions and brought her hands to the wizard's flushed face.
"Yes. I'm sure," she answered firmly, an unreadable expression flitting across her face.
Pansy was quiet for a moment, staring up at him in a daze and with heavily-lidded eyes.
This time, George didn't think he could look away, even if he tried.
"Would…" She hesitated, but only for a second. "Would you let me do it again?" she asked, biting her lip.
Do what, he wondered. Kiss him? Prove to him here and now that he wasn't dreaming?
Whatever she wanted to do, he found himself nodding. At this point, Pansy could have asked him to bottle the moon, and he would have moved the earth itself to make it happen for her, and he knew that no matter what happened next, this would be a date that he hoped he would always remember fondly.
Smiling, the witch all but threw herself into him, her lips crashing against his in a passionate kiss.
This time, George didn't hesitate in drawing her as close as he wanted. So engrossed they were in their shared passionate embrace and one another, that they failed to pay attention to their surroundings.
For if either one of them would have broken the kiss and looked to the left, towards the front of the shop, to the window, outside on the other side, they would have seen Draco Malfoy peering through the window, a look of murder in the young blonde wizard's flashing grey eyes like a raging bolt of lightning.