Chapter 4: To Tell the Truth

"Percy, it should have worn off by now!"

As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, Hermione's stomach churned. Thanks to testing a less than successful new product, she looked like a distant relative of Professor Snape.

"Hmm," Percy said, poking the tip of her giant nose with his wand. "Maybe we added too much fluxweed. If we go back to the shop—"

A buzzing, musical sound from the kitchen cut him off. Hermione's mobile.

"What's that?" he asked as he followed her and peered at the vibrating, chiming bit of plastic. "One of those fellytone things?"

Honestly. She would've thought one of the Weasleys would get it right after the billionth time she corrected them. It was a miracle George had survived so long living as a Muggle.

"Telephone, and yes."

Percy peered at the display over her shoulder. Speak of the devil.

Secret Lover is calling.

"Muggle friend," she said when she noticed Percy's raised eyebrows. Flipping the phone open, she greeted George a bit less cheerfully than she normally would.

"Hey Hermione," he said, unfazed by her curt tone. "You busy?"

"Um, kind of." She grimaced at her reflection again. "I can probably take a break, though. What's up?"

"Want to come over? I tried my hand at making curry for the first time."

Aside from his initial invitation, this was the first time he had made a real effort to get together. Over the past few weeks, all of their meetings had been initiated by her.

Hermione's responding grin only served to encourage Percy's suspicious expression.

"Yeah, that'd be great," she said. "I'll be there in 30 minutes or so."

"You're going out with a Muggle?" Percy asked once she'd ended the call.

"We're not going out."

Until that moment, she had never noticed a familial resemblance between the twins and Percy beyond the obvious hair colour. That changed in an instant. His smirk was pure Fred and George.

"We're not!" she said. "Look at my nose, Percy. No growth. We're just friends."

"You should bring him around for Sunday lunch at the Burrow sometime," he said as he sat down on the creaky sofa and folded his hands over one knee. "Dad would love it, and the rest of us could threaten him with bodily harm if he hurts you."

"Oh, could you?"

Nodding, he reached up to tug on one of her curls. "It's a time-honoured tradition."

"Well, there's no need, because I am most certainly not going out with him or anyone else. I have enough on my plate right now. Speaking of which, can't you please shrink my nose?"

"I should let you show up for your date looking like that. I had to go on one with pink hair, after all." In spite of his words, he stood up and drew his wand with precise, careful movements. "But, of course, it's not a date." The quirk of his eyebrows indicated that he didn't believe this, no matter what her nose did. "And he's a Muggle, so I suppose it would be difficult to explain your new nose to him."

Grin still firmly in place, he waved his wand over her face and whispered a few incantations.

"There." He puffed out his chest, as though he had just cured Lycanthropy instead of shrinking an enlarged nose. "I think that's about the right size. Just make sure you tell him the truth."

"Shouldn't be a problem. Thanks, Perce. I'll see you later."

-oOo-

In retrospect, Hermione should have known better than to visit George whilst under the influence of the prankster equivalent of Veritaserum.

George's flat was redolent of onions, garlic, and spices. Refusing to allow her to help with the cooking, he directed her into a seat at his breakfast bar and let her chatter away about her work at the Ministry and the joke shop while he hovered over the pots and pans on the hob. Anxious to fill the silence, she made the mistake of telling him about her latest mishap with testing inventions. The sight and smell of the simmering curry was so mouthwatering and distracting that she didn't even consider the ramifications of letting that information slip until it was too late.

Sometimes, she wondered if Ron's food obsession was catching. At least she knew she'd never talk with her mouth full, no matter how much time she spent around him.

"So, let me get this straight," George said, spooning some lamb dopiaza onto her plate. "You have to answer any question I ask truthfully, or your nose will grow?"

"Err, well. I could always refuse to answer."

He grinned. "Where's the fun in that?"

"The fun would be in the lack of potential humiliation. It's hardly fair when you aren't similarly afflicted."

"I could promise to tell the truth."

When he fluttered his eyelashes at her in what she thought was supposed to be an innocent fashion, she offered him a scoff in response.

"Don't you trust me?" he asked in a quiet, almost serious voice. His fake wounded puppy look was surprisingly powerful. She very nearly caved.

"Absolutely not," she said, softening the words with a teasing smile. "I've known you too long to trust you."

To her utter consternation, her nose doubled in length the instant she finished speaking.

"You do trust me!" George said with an obnoxiously victorious burst of laughter. "Okay, now admit it. You've always secretly thought that I am incredibly sexy, haven't you?"

The blush creeping into her face wouldn't be suppressed, no matter how hard she tried. Had he always been such an unabashed flirt? Perhaps it had just never been directed at her before. Now that she was one of the only girls he spoke to with any degree of familiarity on a regular basis, she was falling victim to the full brunt of the Weasley twin charm.

"This would be one of those times I refuse to answer," she said.

Pouting, he brought out his puppy dog eyes again. A faint swell of guilt washed through Hermione at the thought of Fred asking her to make George laugh.

"You already know that you're an attractive person; you don't need me to confirm it." Pausing, she picked at a piece of garlic naan and avoided making eye contact with him. "Girls have always drooled over you."

"Not of late," he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Unwilling to ask the obvious question in return, she continued to hold a staring contest with the table.

"Yes," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"Yes, I think you're pretty. Isn't that what you were trying to work up the nerve to ask me?"

She chose not to answer.

"Who was your first kiss?" he asked.

"Your brother. Yours?"

"Alicia Spinnet. Damn. I was so sure you snogged Krum."

Pressing her lips together into a thin line only just managed to hold in the giggle that threatened to bubble up her throat. "Viktor was my second kiss. Your brother kissed me about a week before."

"Huh. No wonder Ron was so angry about you and Krum. Y'know, Fred and I had a bet that Krum got to you on the night of the Yule Ball, actually."

The sadness that clouded his face at the mention of his brother's name made her want to reach out and clasp his hand. He waited until she took a sip of water to voice his next question.

"Have you ever had lustful thoughts about Percy?"

"No!" she said once she stopped coughing and sputtering. "Have you?"

George made a face like he'd just eaten a vomit flavoured Bertie Bott's. "I want to give you a sarcastic answer about Perce really baking my Cauldron Cakes, but I can't even bring myself to joke about such a horrid idea."

With a dramatic shudder, he pushed his empty plate away. Chuckling to herself, Hermione continued to savour her own food.

"Did you mean it when you said you missed me?" he said.

"Yes."

"Hmm." He grinned. "I might have missed you a little bit. It's hardly worth the effort of misbehaving without you or Mum around to scold me."

She had to wonder how much misbehaving he'd done over the past year. From what she'd seen since they got reacquainted, he'd been existing — not living.

"Okay, since we're telling the truth, I have a confession," he said. "I didn't make this food."

"You didn't?"

"Nope. It's take-away."

"Don't you know how to cook?"

"Yeah, with magic."

"Well, you do have a wand..."

He gave an emphatic shake of his head. "My magic hasn't really been working properly since the end of the war. Last time I tried to do anything, I almost took Ginny's eye out. Everything goes all haywire. It's like I'm ten years old again."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. So that was where Ginny got that scar on her wrist.

"Is that why don't you fly anymore?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"Not...exactly."

"Then why?" she said, even though she knew. Flying was something he had always done with Fred.

George hesitated, tracing a long finger over a crack in the tabletop. "Where am I going to fly? I live in a Muggle neighbourhood."

"We could go to the Forest of Dean." Even to her own ears, Hermione's voice sounded far too cheery.

"We?" he said, looking more surprised than she'd ever seen him.

"Y-yeah. It's nice and secluded. I could side-along apparate you."

"And then what? You'll sit on the ground and read while I fly all by my lonesome?"

Fred, she thought, you had bloody well better appreciate this.

"I'll fly too."

George snorted. "No offence, but I'm not sure you would be able to keep up with me. Unless you intend to kidnap a thestral, I suppose."

Placing her hands on her hips, she gave him what she liked to call the "Do Your Homework, Ronald" glare. This tactic had little to no effect on George. He just smiled.

Not surprising, she supposed, given how often he'd been inclined to do homework in school.

"Or you could join me on my broom," he said, laughing when her eyes widened in terror. "You do trust me, after all."

"Fine. I'll go get your broom right now."

No, that was the most surprised she had ever seen him. Well, she wasn't about to back down. If it would get him back in the air, she would force herself to ride on that horrible stick of inevitable pain and death.

-oOo-

In the peaceful blue glow of twilight, surrounded by a calm, ancient wood, very little in the world should have seemed threatening. Especially not something as innocuous as a broom. Even so, it took every last shred of Hermione's courage not to run away screaming when George mounted his old Cleansweep and grinned at her with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Hmm. I reckon you should sit in front of me so I can hold onto you," he said, bending his legs so the broom was on her level. "Here, sit sidesaddle."

Gulping in an attempt to swallow the lump in her throat, she allowed George to lift her so she was situated in between his legs. When she clung to him, a quiet chuckle rumbled through his chest.

"Relax," he said, rubbing a soothing hand over her back. "We haven't even left the ground yet."

"I'm not sure I want to leave the ground. I like it. It's my friend. The ground has been very good to me. I'd hate to spoil that by crashing into it and breaking every bone in my body."

"I think you and the ground need to spend some time apart. Your relationship has become too co-dependent." The movement of his hand on her back slowed to a halt as he tightened his hold on her.

"Ready?" he whispered in her ear.

"Do you promise to not let me fall?"

"I promise."

Without further warning, he kicked off against the ground. Burying her face in his chest, she fought the urge to scream. The delighted peal of laughter from her companion barely registered over the roar of her own panicked breaths.

A ridiculous number of people had tried to get her to fly with them over the years. It was bound to happen when her closest friends were Quidditch players, but she'd almost always been able to put them off. Saying Hermione would rather do anything instead of getting on a broom was far from an exaggeration.

Spend quality time with Dolores Umbridge? Absolutely. Snog Percy? Pucker up, Weatherby. Face Bellatrix Lestrange again?

Well, that last one would depend on the broom in question, and who was flying it. Hermione thought she would pick another duel with Bellatrix over a Firebolt piloted by Gregory Goyle.

Absolutely everyone seemed to think they could convince her of the joy of flying. Deluded fools, the lot of them. Brooms and Hermione did not mix except in situations of mortal peril — like when escaping the Room of Requirement when it was engulfed by Fiendfyre.

George, at least, didn't suffer from any delusions that she would enjoy herself. Even though it seemed like they sped along faster than a Golden Snitch, she got the feeling he flew a bit slower than normal for her sake. Focusing all of her attention on his warm, strong presence, she tried to forget that they were careening through the air, much too far from her friend, the ground.

When they (finally) landed, she needed a few minutes to collect herself before apparating back to George's flat. As woozy as she was, she'd be sure to splinch them. Flopping down on the grass — the beautiful, solid, safe grass — she looked up at the sky. George sat next to her, slinging an arm over her shoulders.

"All right there, Hermione?" he asked with a hint of suppressed laughter.

"Yeah, just give me a few more minutes."

"Mm. No problem." Tilting his head back, he looked at the bright net of stars overhead. "Did you know I got an E in Astronomy?"

"You did?"

"Hey, don't sound so surprised. I did. I bet I can name some constellations even you don't know."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, trying (and failing) to not feel insulted at the implication that he had some book knowledge that went beyond hers.

"Is that so?" she said.

"It is. Look." Leaning closer, he raised his free arm to point at a cluster of stars near the horizon. "See those five stars there?"

"Yeah."

"That's Merlin's testicles."

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. "It is not."

"No, it is. It's true. And see those seven up there? That's Circe's saggy third nipple."

"You're impossible," she said with a giggle that refused to be contained.

"Ah, but I bet you feel better now, don't you?"

She did. The rampaging hippogriffs in her belly had calmed down enough to allow her to safely get them back to his flat.

"I should get home," she said once they were once again in his living room. "It's late, and I have work in the morning."

"Okay. See you sometime next week?"

"Of course. And hey, if you want help learning how to actually cook the Muggle way, I could teach you."

He grinned. "You just want an excuse to boss me around."

"Pft. Like I need an excuse."

"Good point. All right, that'd be good. But no corporal punishment. I've watched a few films with those women in the weird black headdress things. You know, the ones who teach school and don't shag anyone?"

"Nuns?"

He nodded. "Yeah, them. I refuse to let you slap me with a ruler when I misbehave in class."

"Spoilsport."

"Ah, see, I knew you'd be disappointed. I always suspected you were secretly very kinky. It's always the studious ones."

Hermione chose to laugh and give him a hug in spite of the blush that spread upwards from her neck and made her face feel like it would go up in flames. Unrepentant, George kissed her cheek and enveloped her in the kind of warm embrace that she suspected only a Weasley was capable of giving. As she looked at his windblown hair, red cheeks, and eyes that were practically gleaming with joy, she found that the end result of getting on a broom with him was worth the cost of being frightened for her life.

Not that she was going to do it again any time soon. No, the only way she was getting back on that thing was if she caught him crying.

Still, it was nice to see him happy again. More than nice.