*Peeks around a corner* Sooooo, just know that I love all you guys and am SO SORRY for getting this out to you so late. I thought I was going to get shit done and then I ended up getting food poisoning and doing jack shit.
Chapter Eighteen: A Night of Secrets
It surprised Clara how easily her body slipped into sleep when she had closed the curtains of her bed area and slipped off her shoes on the worn yellow mat beside her bed. Once she had entered the quiet warmth of her dorm, the fire in the center crackling softly and the stars casting a dim sparkle onto her bed, it had taken every ounce of strength (and one Molly Vansteen) to help her get undressed and into her sweater and pajama bottoms.
After she had slipped into the dense mass of her unmade bed, she had been lost to the world, a ship bobbing in the dark ocean. Vaguely she remembered Molly leaning over her to open the window above her bed, muttering about all the ways that she would need to pay her back. Apparently, their friendship had progressed to the point where every favor came with a fee.
"Descendez," she mumbled, rolling deeper into the covers as a ball of feathers and talons descended upon her from above. At the moment, a midnight date was the last thing on her mind. In fact, it wasn't even there either. Thoughts about handsome redheads had drifted away with the last bit of Snape's horrible lessons. Nerve-racking things should never follow you to bed.
George gave an angry hoot, his fool body weight landing on her stomach.
"Tu encrasses peu-" Clara let out a short gasp, her eyes finally finding the ugly, cat clock that was currently glinting down at her, it's plastic tail swishing this way and that. "Oh my god."
Clara's knee slammed into her desk chair, quils and ink splattering and crashing to the floor as she leaped out of bed. It was five minutes past midnight. Past! George gave a self-satisfied chirp, his beady eyes glinting down at the fumbling chaos that was taking place in her alcove. In all honesty, after spending ten minutes trying to gently nudge her awake (at the request of Molly, of course) and then ten more minutes trying to pinch her into the living and then finally the last fifteen minutes of pure hell in which he had been batted around like someone's old shoe… Well, seeing the witch yelping as she tried desperately to comb her curls into anything but a frizz while shoving a toothbrush into her mouth without water was a welcome course of events.
"I'm late," Clara breathed, spitting out the dry, frothy mess of toothpaste into the basin by her bed. Panic was starting to make her mind go numb. George said he would be waiting by midnight. There wasn't any time to do more than throw on the red and gold scarf draped over the coat rack beside her bed.
Clara Deschamp felt a nervous ticking in her chest as she slipped past the curtains of her room and through her dorm room to the common area. The quiet flicker of the flames of both the campfire and library area cast the darkened barrel entrance in quiet light. Slumped in a chair beside a pile of books, Callum had taken off his glasses, the redness in his nose making it all too apparent that even situated beside the fire, he was cold.
"Stupid boy," Clara seethed, hurrying over to toss a blanket over his sleeping form before sliding into the barrel and crawling as quickly as possible to the entrance. Muffled voice filtered through the wooden door as she got closer and closer, the moss under her warm and reassuring, the path cast in flickering fairy light.
"Oh stop, please." That was definitely Fred's voice, his tone almost bored. "She'll be here in no time-"
"She was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago." George's voice was hushed but angry. Clara felt a pang of guilt, her knees and hands aching as she scuttled along a bit quicker, the scarf at her neck dragging along and getting tangled at her knees, jerking at her neck like a collar.
Fred's voice was nearer, a sly lilt to it that made Clara think that he might be smirking. "Well, did it ever occur to her that maybe this meeting wasn't as important to her as it was to you?"
Clara's fingers reached out, ready to push as she neared the door.
"You're a real git, you know that?"
The barrel entrance swung open as Clara reached out to nudge it, making her careen forward into air. The jarring feeling of slamming face-first into the frigid tile of the corridor floor forced a sharp squeal from her throat as Clara saw stars.
"Bloody hell!" Fred exclaimed, his eyes wide as he watched the tiny witch blink around dizzily. Pain bloomed from the reddening mark on her chin, her teeth aching along with it.
George sprang forward, his hands reaching out to right Clara with a swiftness that made the French witchs' head spin a second time. His eyes were crinkled with worry, his thumbs running across her cheeks. "Merlin, Clara. What the hell were you thinking?"
"I-I thought I was late," Clara wheezed, still slightly winded from the crawling as well as her eventual fall from the barrel. And perhaps a little bit of something else since George's face was so close to hers. Flustered and blushing, she continued. "I mean, I was - am late. I woke up… well, I was so tired, you see… I'm sorry."
George wasn't even listening, his hand pressing back the fluff of her hair and tilting her face this way and that. Behind him, Fred let out a howl of laughter, clutching his side as he leaned against the wall. "Why the hell would they put the barrel so high off the ground? Don't they know that Hufflepuff's are a clumsy lot?"
"She just fell!" Fred giggled, clutching his stomach. Vaguely, she thought that he was wiping away tears as he brought a hand up to his eyes. "She literally just fell on her face."
George snapped around, his teeth bared in a snarl, caramel eyes glinting in the low light. "Will you keep your voice down, you hyena? Do you think Filch is deaf as well as dumb?" His face softened as he turned back to her, rubbing a hand down her arm. "Does anything hurt? Your chin looks like a cherry. Do we need to take you to the infirmary?"
"Of course not," she murmured, frowning at him as he tilted her head up to get a closer look at the reddening area. "I'm not a little, glass doll, you know? I can take care of myself."
"Of course you can," George murmured, his smile softening. Slowly, his hands dropped away from her face. "As long as I wrap you in bubble wrap."
The way that he was looking at her… Clara glanced away, fiddling with the thick scarf around her neck. He made her feel bared, vulnerable in a way that she wasn't familiar with. Her cheeks heated as he tipped his head to the side, his eyes searching, curious. Her stomach did a summersault, her breath burning. Suddenly, she realized that he was crouching in front of her, his body nearly surrounding her as he leaned down a bit more, trying to catch her eyes.
"Oh, yuck," Fred drawled, sobering as he stared across the hall at them. "If I had known I would have to stare at you two making goo-goo eyes at each other than I would have continued that make-out session with Ange-"
"Sexual harassment and assault, Fred?" George cut him off, standing up swiftly with a hard glare in his twin's direction. "Really, how low can you sink?"
Clara blinked up at the rather imposing figure that George made as he hovered above her, his attention firmly on Fred. Who was turning a rather dashing shade of red, shuffling from foot to foot.
"You know for a fact that she-"
"Is one comment away from reporting you as a stalker?" George muttered blandly, scooping Clara up with a steady hand under each arm like she weighed as much as a pile of cupcakes. "Yes, Freddie. I've heard."
"No, she doesn't," Fred snapped, his ears going bright red as he glared at his brother. A flicker of doubt danced across his eyes. "She doesn't, does she?"
Clara flicked a glance between the two, following slowly behind the tall red-head as he made his way over to his brother. The silence stretched on for a moment too long, making her stomach twist as she eyed the agonized expression on Fred's face. Half-heartedly, she chimed in. "I think that she thinks your absolutely lovely, Fred."
Dejectedly, his eyes flicked to her. "Thanks, Clara. You're a peach."
But his gaze quickly went back to his brother, waiting as George continued his silent torture.
After a long, agonizing moment, George's expression relented. "She's absolutely in love with you, Fred. You dolt."
A noticeable breath left his body, something like relief mellowing out his complexion. Puffing up, Fred straightened his shirt, grinning. "'Course she does. Absolutely besotted with me, the poor girl. Just trying to make you admit it, old boy."
George's eyes rolled heavenward before flicking to the side to meet Clara's, his expression one of long-suffering, like a man who had heard the same story for the past fifteen years of his life and was still forced to endure it on a daily basis. Shaking his head, he quickly changed topics.
"A deals a deal, Clara love," George said, changing the subject with a mischievous little smirk as he leaned forward to wiggle his fingers along the shiny oil painting of the pear in a rather large, rather dull fruit bowl. With a shrill giggle and a jerk, the painting swung out, almost hitting Fred in the face to reveal the warmth of the kitchen inside.
The familiar sight and smell of the kitchen burst to life in front of Clara as she hopped through the hole and into the great expanse of the kitchen. House-elves skittered here and there, picking up pots and pans to start in on the inevitable chore of breakfast or a rag to clean some common room or dorm or another. More than once, Clara had caught one of them trying to take her dirty clothes and clean them.
"Miss Clara!" came a familiar squeak, followed by the general commotion of the gathered house-elves as they clustered around George, Fred, and Clara excitedly.
In truth, Clara hadn't been to the kitchens in quite a while, a fact that made her feel immensely guilty. In those weeks that she had thrown herself into isolation, the house-elves had been the only friends that she had.
"Oh, Danby," Clara exclaimed, patting his head as the house-elf skittered around her. "How have you been?"
"Oh miss, no need to ask about Danby," the little house-elf said, his eyes wide and his bat-like ears twitching as if in embarrassment.
"Mister Weasley, yous look more handsome by the day," one of the other house-elves named Geely giggled, scuffing her feet as she stared up at the twins.
"Too thin," a huffy elf named Tinny muttered, scuttling off to the roaring line of ovens and stoves to fire up a kettle and more than likely serve the three a meal that was far too large for them.
Clara's eyes wandered to the mismatched scarves and socks that the elves had, her stomach knotting. In the winter, Hogwarts got very cold and even house-elves felt the chill when they were performing their rounds. In theory, giving elves clothes was rather tricky. Clara had learned early on that any mention of freedom was frowned upon in Hogwarts. It was an odd sentiment to Clara - one that her mortal brain couldn't wrap itself around.
To actively fight against the right to do as one pleased, to have no master… Clara still struggled with it. But perhaps in a couple of years...well, perhaps things would change.
At the moment, Clara had switched her intent to possibly liberate the house-elves into one that required a little less social change and that didn't hurt them. If they wanted to stay here, with Hogwarts as their master - if they were happy with that then Clara wasn't going to pressure them. For now, she would simply give them her socks and scarves with the express order that they were not with the intent to free but merely for warmth and comfort.
Perhaps in a year or two, she could do something more - talk Dumbledore into allowing them jobs or board and food in exchange for their services.
"Your doing?" George questioned softly, his chin tipping toward a Geely, the scarf dragging behind her as she hurried to and fro. A surprising number of them had taken Clara's clothes (that was only after weeks of insisting that there was no intention behind freeing them and finally only because she had ordered them to with that final clause.) Still, there were more elves that still wore their dirty pillowcases and rags, food splattered across them.
"Yes," Clara sighed, her heart squeezing as Danby flounced over with a tinkling tray of fine china and tea. All three students sat down at one of the large table taking up one side of the kitchen. "I've ran out of socks though. And scarfs now that I think about it."
"So their free now, are they?" Fred mused, helping himself to a tray of miniature pies that Geely brought over with a coy bat of her eyes.
"No," Clara said, her head dropping as she gave a little shake. "No. I'm afraid not."
Just then a loud clatter drew Clara's eyes to the other corner of the room, catching sight of one of the elves as they scuttled about to try and collect a series of plates that had crashed to the ground.
"Do you ever notice that when we enter rooms, things break?" Fred said, his face pulled into an expression of quiet contemplation as he shoved a whole sandwich into his mouth.
George nodded, looking slightly bored as he poured himself some tea. "Yeah but that's usually because we're the ones who break it."
"Hmm," Fred contemplated, taking a dainty sip from a small, china teacup. Finally, his head whipped around, his eyes lighting up with a ferocity that startled Clara from where she shooing George away from trying to pile another cookie onto her plate. His hand slapped playfully at hers as he slipped a chocolate chip one in with the lemon lavender that the house elves had grown used to serving her. "We hear that you've been mucking about with some Slytherins, Clara darling, Clara love."
"Don't call her that," George snarled, his voice low and feral and so angry that for a moment even Fred seemed to be taken aback. Clara blinked, staring across the table as the cloudy expression cleared from George's eyes, a look of embarrassment crossing his face as he blinked and looked away. "I-I mean that she hates it when I call her that. She doesn't like it. It's a stupid nickname."
Fred blinked, his face showing the slow turning in his mind. "Riiiiggghhhhtt."
Clara bit down on the words that she wanted to say, turning back to Fred. Her chest tightened. When George had given her a nickname… it had been nice. It had made her feel warm and coddled. Special, a small voice piped up. When had he thought that she had disliked that?
Trying to push away the crushing feeling of disappointment that was starting to tighten around her, she turned her attention back to Fred's original question.
"I have a cousin in Slytherin if that's what you mean," Clara started out hesitantly, feeling something like morbid dread slithering through her.
It wasn't, particularly that she had been hiding her association with Delphine… Well, the more that she thought about that, the more that it seemed that - yes. She had been. When had it been a good time to bring up- Well, that was a stupid question too. She had gone as far as to make that wager directly concerning her. That would have been more than a good enough time to bring it up. And then she hadn't…
So maybe in a roundabout way she was still running desperately from the morbid and often humiliating legacy that her ancestors had left for her.
But from the incredulous way that both of them were currently looking across the table at her… Clara winced.
"Are you telling us that you've had a relative in Hogwarts this whole time and we didn't even know?" George murmured and there was something in his expression that looked almost hurt.
"It's almost the end of the year, Deschamp!" Fred barked, his brows going towards his hairline.
"We're not exactly closer," Clara hedged, fidgeting with the cookies on her plate.
"Who is it?" George's eyes swirled like amber being melted down in the crackling light of the fireplace. Clara hadn't noticed it at first but his hair was lightly disheveled, the longish strands sticking out as if he had just rolled out of bed. Clara blushed. Now she was thinking about him in bed.
"D-Delphine. Delphine Couture." Almost instinctively, she leaned away from the two, bracing for their reactions.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," they both breathed, their eyes connecting for a short, unreadable moment. Fred's eyes narrowed on his brother's now-pale face.
"Didn't you-?" he started, stopping with a sympathetic wince as George gave a growl.
"Let's not talk about that," he bit out, his eyes holding a warning that Clara didn't completely understand.
"Later," Fred promised grimly before they were both turning back to Clara.
"When were you going to-?"
"How the hell is someone as sweet as you related to that treacherous harpy-?"
"Through blood only," Clara cut him off, well aware of her cousin's less than stellar personality. Her eyes turned to George who was eying her almost warily. She flinched. It was the first time that she had seen such a guarded expression on his face. She struggled to find the words to make it better. "I didn't know how to tell you. My relation to the… the Black family is...bad. My father was all but banished from the family when he married my mother and refused to keep house-elves. Things became… ugly when You-Know-Who came into power."
George's face was unreadable, his expression drawn. Fred's eyes flicked between us for an uncomfortable, silent moment before he jumped up. "Bathroom…" he muttered hurriedly before taking off in the general direction of the darkest corner. Clara knew for a fact that while there was a bathroom, it was specifically made for house-elves which meant that it would be too small for the likes of him.
For a moment, they sat in awkward silence, Clara fiddling with anything that she could get her hands onto and George staring across the table in stormy silence.
"I don't get you, Clara," George murmured finally, his voice low and dark. Clara's eyes flicked up to meet his, the stillness there making her flustered. It was an expression of undivided attention - one that made Clara feel vulnerable, like a mouse at the table with a lion. "You seem so sweet and innocent and...and open one moment and then - then something happens - windows break or that ghastly boggart-" His face paled for a moment, the firelight casting shadows. "Or tonight with your cousin… I want to be your friend, Clara but it's almost like you want the opposite."
Her heart lurched, her windpipe closing up. "No!" The word popped out too loud, echoing around the kitchen. George's eyes ran over her face, considering. "No. George, I - That's not at all what I want. Being your friend - I love being with you. You make me so - so happy."
Something in his expression shifted, his eyes darkening for a moment as Clara reached out a pleading hand across the table, her fingertips skimming over where his hands were clenched tightly on the table. In the low light, his eyes flicked to her lips, his adams apple bobbing. Clara blushed, feeling all at once like she had revealed something very intimate about herself, something more than an admission of how much she wanted to be his friend, to just keep him close to her.
"I'll - I promise I won't keep any secrets from now on," she stuttered out haltingly, flinching at the way that that made her feel. Was this what having true friends meant? Baring every part of her life for their inspection? But having these nasty surprises pop up and make him look at her like that was far worse. She gave him a strained smile. "Ask me anything."
For a moment, his eyes ran over her face, considering. "You know you don't have to do this."
Clara shook her head, her white hair poofing out around her. "I want to."
There was a brief pause, one filled with George looking at her in an unabashedly ravenous way, his eyes licking along her face like he could reach across the table and yank her to his lips. Because it was unfair how cute she was being. It was unfair that she got to sit across that table with his scarf on, staring up at him like she would do anything in the world to make him be her friend. Which was absurd because he had been breaking his back trying to catch her at every corner since she had first fallen into his lap on that train. God, she was just so fucking cute.
And the worst part was that she didn't even know it. Didn't even know how much he wanted to knot her hair around his fingers and make her squeak like a little mouse. See her eyes widen as he bit her lip or better made her - No. No. He wouldn't do any of those things. Because Clara was too innocent for the likes of George Weasley. He wouldn't dirty her. Not until she was ready.
"George?" Merlin, she was still smiling up at him like that. He struggled awake, forcing his eyes back to hers. But Circe that was just as bad. He shook his head.
"Delphine's your cousin?" A stupid question but one that at least would get him back on track.
Clara gave him a curious smile, taking a sip from the tea that was still piping hot. He had gone oddly silent for a moment, his eyes… She resisted the urge to shivered. He'd looked like he was about to jump across the table and devour her whole. Heat burned across her cheeks. She could have just seen it wrong. Yes. That made more sense.
"I'm related to her through my father's side," Clara said, pushing away the quickening of her pulse and that strange heat that was searing her. "When You-Know-Who came to power my family originally fought. My father was a rather accomplished auror and he was respected in our Ministry. But… as the war went on, being related to the Blacks wasn't just embarrassing. It became something...ugly. Something that made people mistrust us. Eventually, they arrested my father-"
George's brows furrowed, outrage marring his features. "That's ridiculous."
Clara gave a wan smile. "It was only for a few months but my mom was scared. She had my sister and I to take care of and no one would even speak to her… With everything that happened with Sirius, I thought that mentioning it would be… dangerous. So my family suggested that I keep it a secret?"
His eyes ran over her for a moment. "Do the other Hufflepuffs know?"
Clara blushed. "My friends - yes."
George let that sink in for a moment, his jaw tightening. "Tell me something that they don't know."
Clara blinked. "W-what?"
His eyes hardened. "Tell me something that your friends don't know. A secret. Something that no one in this school can tell me in the hall one day or mention over breakfast." He didn't say the rest. Like they're closer to you than I am.
Clara lashes fluttered as she tried to think quickly. "My new wand um the core is made of… Oh damn. No." Clara bit down on her lip. Snape knew about that. And it wasn't all that special anyway. Keela would more than likely know about that within the week. One thing popped to mind but - No. She couldn't - That was horrible but - Clara swallowed, staring into the amber depths of George's eyes. She trusted him, she realized. Trusted him not to hurt her. Not to use what she was about to say to his advantage. The words came easily once she realized that. "My sister - Annabelle - she's - she's sick." His brows furrowed, his lips parting. "She has been for a while. We moved here because my father got a new job - yes. But - but maybe more than that, we moved here so that she could be near her new doctors."
George's hands curled around hers, warm and sure. "I - Clara, I'm so sorry."
A knot in Clara chest loosened a bit, something in saying the words making it easier to breathe. "The boggart that day - that was my sister. My sister and my mother and my father."
George's face went pale, his hands tightening almost painfully around hers. "But they were-"
"Blaming me," Clara finished for him, smiling weakly. "And they should. You see, when I was little, I think… Well, I think I might have cast a spell… I didn't want a sister and so… I think I unleashed something dark. Something bad." Her lip trembled at the admission, deep fear bubbling to the surface. "Ever - ever since then my magic hasn't been right and Annabelle got so sick."
"I've heard about your sister, Clara," George confided softly, his thumbs running slow circles along the back of her hands. "She's a Seer. She's foretold a lot-"
"At the cost of her health and maybe a little bit of her own sanity," Clara cut him off. Her eyes flicked up to his quickly and then back down to their clasped hands. Cold chills prickled along her back, making her shiver. "I wanted to do more than make her disappear after she was born." The words were hard to force out, self-loathing making them shake. "I wanted to dismantle everything that she was."
And I did. That thought haunted through her mind, sink through her like the cold touch of a wet towel.
Silence fell across the table, Clara stuck in the tailspin of her own emotions, her own memories. George's eyes roamed freely across her face, his hands tightening on hers. He could feel the guilt billowing off of her like clouds of smoke from a dying firing. If only he could reach her-
"Am I interrupting?" Fred had returned, his face scrunched up in open anxiety as he eyed the two. He had not, in fact, found the restroom but instead wandered around one of the smaller hallways to the back of the kitchen. This had promptly led him to a broom closet that he had opened and stared into for about fifteen minutes before making his way slowly back to his brother and the girl that he was slowly becoming more and more infatuated with as the days passed. He really should have stayed with Angelina.
Clara's mouth tightened, her skin crawling as she yanked her hands away from George. She had almsot forgotten what an utter mess her life was, thanks to his disarming charm. Thankfully, this conversation had reminded her rather quickly.
Forcing a smile, she stood. "I was actually just about to leave. I had to get up early tomorrow. Thank you for inviting me."
George's face tightened, his shoulders hunching in as his brother eyed him.
"Um, not a problem, Clara," Fred supplied awkwardly, fully aware that he had interrupted and also fully aware that if he was able to sink into the concrete, he would.
"Bonne nuit," she whispered before scampering quickly through the painting and out into the hallway.
Fred eyed his brother. "Are you going to be a jackass or go after her?"
With a growled curse, George jumped over the table, sprinting out into the hallway as well and leaving Fred to pour himself a new cup of tea with a long-suffering sigh. "I really should have stayed with Angelina."
It had been stupid, Clara had realized rather quickly to tell George about her sister. No one wanted to know about that. Clara herself barely even wanted to acknowledge it.
The French witch thought about all of this as she climbed through the entrance to the kitchen and made her way slowly back to the barrel at the end of the hall.
"Clara!" A clear voice rang through the hall moment before a large hand was grasping her shoulder and spinning her. Caramel eyes stared down at her, serious and slightly angry in their intensity. Clara blinked, taken aback at that intensity. "Listen, I know that maybe I haven't known you for that long - not even a year - but I know you... That's stupid. Let me start over." George took a breath. "You say that you think you cast a spell on your sister and I'm going to tell you that you're wrong." Clara opened her mouth, ready to argue with him but he hushed her. "The person standing in front of me today is the kindest person I've ever met. Merlin, Clara, sometimes I think you're actually a cinnamon bun, you're so sweet." His hands cupped her face, calloused and reassuring, narrowing her field of vision down to his face alone. "When I tell you that you couldn't hurt a fly, what I mean is that you don't have the anger in you to do these horrible things that you've been crucifying yourself for for all these years. I don't believe it."
Tears pricked at Clara's vision, her fingers shaking as they curled around each other. How could he do that? How could he just say those words and make her feel… feel like he had draped a warm blanket around her after she had been out in the rain for hours?
"So I'm not going to take that as one of your secrets," he whispered, his thumbs stroking along the underside of her eyes as his searched hers. "That is some fiction that you made up about yourself when you were little."
"But-" she started, a tear dribbling out before she could stop it.
"No," he breathed, his hands tightening on her face as if he could force his reality into her. Those caramel eyes swirled, strands of hair falling into his face as he leaned down to her. "You. Are. Good."
Clara closed her eyes, letting his heat soak in all around her. In her mind, that small, vindictive voice still chattered, ridiculing her for taking the word of someone who had known her for so short a time. But that voice was tiny, distant.
George leaned forward, his lips brushing along the sensitive skin of her cheek as he murmured softly to her.
In no way, did Clara believe that she was completely innocent in her sister's current state. That burden was one that had been piled upon her for many years and would be hard to take off. But… some of that guilt inside of crumbled away at his words.
Clara drew in a long breath, sniffling as she felt him wipe away another one of her tears, his lips moving gently along her skin, almost reverently. He was so close, Clara realized, his familiar scent making her heart quicken and butterflies dance in her stomach. Slowly, he pulled back, his eyes hazy with an emotion that Clara couldn't exactly pinpoint.
For one second, Clara felt something heated pass between them, her eyes flicking to his lips. Would he-?
"I think you should go to bed now, Clara," George whispered, breaking the moment, his voice rough, almost guttural. Slowly, he let go of her, his hands trailing along her cheek to toy with the red and gold of the scarf around her neck.
She blinked, remembering suddenly who it belonged to. "Do you - do you want it back?"
A small smile played across his lips, his eyes twinkling. "I think it looks better on you."
Clara blushed, thinking of all the looks she had gotten with his red scarf in her gold robes. "It confuses people."
Her breath caught as a few of his fingers grazed along her throat as he toyed with the material. "Let them be confused."
Unwanted, a smile forced its way onto her lips. "Bonne nuit, George."
He smirked as if he sensed the tide of her thoughts, dropping his hands to shove them into the pockets of his pajama bottoms. "Sweet dreams, Clara love."
You guys have been amazing with reviews. Seriously, I am so thankful. On a separate note, the Bachelor is out again and I am here for all those catty girls. *pours myself some wine*