Chapter 7: A Night Bright As Day
"I didn't say I didn't like it," George said as he held the door of the theatre open for Hermione, letting in a wave of sticky, sweltering air. "Well, okay, maybe I did say that. It just seemed unrealistic."
"In what way?" she asked. Her shoes clicked on the warm pavement as she preceded him and Lee out of the building.
Lee quirked an eyebrow. "When was the last time you were so overwhelmed with emotion that you burst into song?"
"Tuesday. Malfoy left me alone at work for an entire hour, and I felt inspired to sing about the peace and quiet." She laughed. "Okay, not really, but the breaking into song bit isn't supposed to be realistic. It's just meant to be entertaining."
Lee shook his head. "Muggles are so strange."
"I'm not convinced regular Muggles really go to these things," George said. "Not the blokes, anyway. I told a few people at work I was going. They were surprised when I told them you were coming along and that Hermione and I aren't going out."
Stroking his chin, Lee hummed in agreement. "I can see how that'd be the only reason for a guy to go to one of these things – to get some girl to shag him."
"Exactly."
Laughing, Hermione swatted each of their shoulders in turn. "You two are impossible."
"And that's why you love us," Lee said. "Well, kids, this is where I leave you. I'm going to head to the Leaky."
After saying their goodbyes to Lee, Hermione and George kept wandering through Muggle London by some silent agreement. He grabbed her arm as they were nearly forced to drift apart from each other due to passing through a gauntlet of excitable American tourists. Even when the pavement in front of them was free of people, he didn't let go. Hermione smiled.
Tilting her head back, she looked up at the outline of the Queen's Theatre against the fading pink and orange streaks in the evening sky. The mottled red and purple sign that bore a frozen Muggle portrait of young Cosette and the words "Les Misérables" seemed more like a continuation of the sunset than a billboard.
Sighing, she turned her attention back to George. "I suppose we should make our way to the Tube," she said, though she wasn't ready for the night to end.
"Nah. I don't want to go home yet."
"Oh? What do you want to do?"
"I'm not sure." Smiling down at her, he slid his hand along her arm and tentatively laced his fingers together with hers. "Let's just walk."
She knew she should refuse. She had a full day of work ahead of her the next day, and needed all the sleep she could get.
Instead, her lips decided to form the words, "All right."
His hand refused to relinquish its grip on hers as they wandered together from street to street. No one knew them in this place. They were free to do whatever they liked, pretend to be whomever they chose in the sea of anonymity that was Central London.
With its bright lights and cars and noise, Hermione felt like Muggle London was at the centre of everything. Even the thick, oppressive summer heat seemed like a curious sort of Muggle magic, though she knew it was just as hot in Diagon Alley. And at the centre of the centre was her, hand-in-hand with George.
"What do you want to do after your job is over?" he asked suddenly. "It can't last forever, right? Eventually, you'll have helped all of the orphans and house-elves and disenfranchised werewolves and whatever else was affected by the war."
She furrowed her brow in thought. "I don't know, to be honest."
"Really? I thought you'd have some sort of master plan – most likely involving spew."
"S.P.E.W, and yes, I would like to continue with that."
"Hmm. D'you reckon you'll continue creating stuff for the shop with Perce?"
"Maybe, though I think he has his heart set on being Minister for Magic."
George snorted. "Really? You think he stands a chance, now?"
"Of course he does." She gave his hand a soft squeeze. "Most politicians have rather dubious pasts. It's practically a job requirement."
"That's true enough. Hmm. Maybe his conduct during the war won't be enough, actually. I mean, he came back to the Order's side at the end, right? Nah, he needs something truly scandalous."
Chuckling, Hermione tugged him down a side street to explore. "I'm sure you can help him think of some way to create a past that needs hiding."
"Damn right I can."
"Well, you must promise you'll still remember when you're the Official Mischief Assistant to the Minister or similar and are all famous and important."
"Err, Hermione, you might not have noticed, but you're rather famous and important. You're on a Chocolate Frog card, for Merlin's sake."
"Ah, yes," she said, grinning. "Ron considered that our finest hour."
"As he should. Perce used to collect them, you know. Chocolate Frog cards, I mean."
"Did he really?" she asked. Little Percy collecting Chocolate Frog cards? The mind boggled. She'd always suspected that he was born with an innate longing to be an adult.
"Who do you think got Ron's collection started?" George said. "Perce gave him boxes and boxes of the things when he went to Hogwarts. He thought he was far too mature for such childish things since he was going to school."
"Ah. That sounds more like the Percy I know."
Grinning, George added, "He still has a couple of them hidden away in his old Hogwarts trunk. I don't think he could bear to part with Ptolemy or Agrippa."
Somehow, they ended up hiking around London until dawn, alternating between chatting at a dizzying speed and basking in the comfortable silences. Hermione's feet ached and her legs felt like jelly by the time they managed to find somewhere to buy orange juice and blueberry muffins for an impromptu breakfast.
When they reached Regent's Park at almost six o'clock, their only company consisted of squirrels, pigeons, and a smattering of joggers. Instead of pleasant, misty early morning pastels, the sky was that dark slate colour that always appears right before a sudden summer downpour. George and Hermione had no sooner finished off the last of their orange juice than it began raining – fat, splattering drops that promised to soak them in a matter of minutes.
George cursed under his breath. Hermione laughed.
Holding her arms out and placing one foot in front of the other as though she was walking a tightrope, she resisted his efforts to rush to the shelter of a nearby tree.
"A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now," she sang in a quiet, off-key voice, shooting him a teasing smile.
He laughed. "Well, you aren't in the same situation that girl was when she sang that. Good thing, too. It'd spoil a perfectly good morning if you went and..."
His voice trailed off, the word "died" never making it to his lips.
"Ah, that's true," Hermione said with false brightness. She worried her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, then sang, "In the rain, the pavement shines like silver."
"Which part is that from?
"Her solo when she's pining over Marius. Longing for someone you can't have is at least marginally more cheerful, right?"
"Oh, yes. It's a barrel of fun." Pausing, he looked down at his clothes and let out a gasp of laughter. "Hermione, I'm drenched."
"You're also too tall," she said, climbing onto a bench and standing up so she loomed over him. "There, that's better. My neck was starting to get stiff from looking up at you all night." Resting her hands on his shoulders, she smiled. "And you're less intimidating from up here."
"Huh? Why would I intimidate you?"
Her sleep-deprived brain conspired with her mouth, making it form the words, "I think most people were at least a little intimidated by you when we were in school."
"And you still are, even now?" Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her to the ground. His hands lingered, drifting down to her hips. "Well, knock it off. Don't be."
Something fluttered in her chest, her heart beating hummingbird-fast. Her gaze followed a drop of rainwater as it fell from a lock of his hair and trickled over freckled skin.
"I'm not," she said.
"You'd better not be. I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that. I'm harmless! Well, okay, maybe not completely harmless, but you can take a little prank now and then, can't you, Carl?"
And, just like that, whatever had been building deep inside of her deflated. Whatever George said beyond that was white noise, blending in with the rush of rain.
"Let's go," she said.
"All right. Ready to go home?"
Hermione swallowed hard. "Yes."
A/N: The lines "A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now" and "In the rain, the pavement shines like silver" are obviously from the Les Misérables musical. The chapter title is also pulled from it. Some of you might recognise bits of this chapter from another of my deleted fics: Igniting the Sea, which was a Percy/Hermione. I still have plans to edit and repost that one someday, but I liked this scene so much that I couldn't resist altering it to fit George and Hermione. :)