Chapter 8: All the Stars in the Sky
Propping her feet on George's coffee table, Hermione crossed her arms and shook her head.
"Aww, come on," Lee said. "Even you have to admit some of these are absolute classics. What about this one?" Leaning closer, he gazed into her eyes. "If you were a Dementor, I'd commit murder just for the chance to kiss you."
George chuckled, but Hermione managed to smother her own laughter by biting the inside of her cheek.
"No," she said. "There's no way it'd work. Not on any woman with a shred of self-respect."
"Pfft. Self-respect. Who said anything about that?" Lee shot her a lopsided grin. "What if I dressed up like a pirate and said, 'Prepare to be boarded'?"
"I reckon that'd end with you genuinely needing an eye patch," George said. "You may as well stop trying, mate. I have the best chat up line of all time. No way you can top it. Hermione, can I borrow your hand?"
Shrinking back against a cushion, she held her arms out of his reach. "This isn't that mansion and pool trick, is it? The one where you pretend to read my palm, say you see a mansion in my future, and then spit and say, "There's the pool'?"
"Of course not," he replied with a sly grin. "If you ever have my saliva anywhere on your person, I promise you'll enjoy it. This is spit-free. Well, unless you are so overcome you decide to snog me. Hmm, where did I put that..." After shuffling through a teetering mountain of papers on a side table, he unearthed a purple marker. "Aha. Here we go. Hand, Hermione? I could demonstrate on Lee, but this is a very, very good line. It's risky. There's a strong chance the recipient will fall madly in love with me, so you can understand why I'd rather not use it on Lee."
Against her better judgment, she allowed him to cradle her hand in his own. Down the middle of her palm, he drew several squiggly lines. On one side, he sketched some sort of animal. At least, she thought it was an animal. Those two looping things almost looked like ears.
"Okay, this—" he pointed to the squiggles with the cap of the marker, tickling her hand, "—is a big, scary river. Lots of white water rapids, rocks, and probably a few frightening beasts lurking beneath the surface. And this—" he pointed at the animal, "—is a cute, innocent little bunny. Now, the bunny needs to get from this side of the river to that side. How is he going to make it across in one piece?"
"Hop?" Hermione said.
"Oh, come on. You can do better than that. A teensy rabbit hopping over a wide river? I don't think so."
"Well, if it's to scale—"
"It's not. You have such tiny hands. In order to draw the full magnificence of the river I reckon I'd need to use your whole arm. Maybe even a leg or two. Suffice it to say, if the bunny tried to hop across, he would fall in and drown horribly."
"He could build a raft," she said.
"With no opposable thumbs? Not bloody likely. It'd get smashed to pieces on the rocks, even if he did manage it. Next guess?"
"He could bribe one of the river beasts to carry him across," Lee said.
"Oi, I wasn't asking you," George said with a laugh. "And that won't work, anyway. Bunnies don't have any sort of currency. The beastie would much rather just eat him."
Hermione scowled. "Am I actually going to be able to solve this riddle?"
"Err. I guess it's possible. Not likely, mind you, but you never know."
"Bah. I give up. How does the bunny get across the river?"
Smiling, George moved her hair aside and placed his lips next to her ear. As he squeezed her hand, he lowered his voice to a whisper and said, "I have no idea, love. I just wanted to hold your hand."
She did not blush. She didn't, no matter what Lee said to the contrary.
-oOo-
Every time Hermione turned a page or grabbed a file, the faded remnants of George's artwork caught her eye. She didn't realise she was staring at it until Draco invited himself around the cubicle wall and frowned at her.
"Why are you smiling so much?" he asked.
"Hmm?" Shrugging, she pressed her palm against her leg to hide the drawing. "No reason."
"Yeah, right. Someone have you all hot and bothered? Well, aside from me, of course."
"You certainly bother me, but in no way do you make me hot."
He perched on the edge of her desk — right on top of the file she'd been pretending to sort through. "It's a secret, then? A married man?"
"What? No!"
"Is he hideous? I bet that's it. Anyone willing to go out with you would have to be. It's certainly been the case up until now, hasn't it? Krum's famous, at least, but just look at Weasley."
Unimpressed, she met his smirk with a level glare. "Ron's famous as well, now, and he's not hideous. Neither is Viktor. I don't think you want to play the comparing exes game. I mean, just look at Pansy."
"Hmm. Fair point."
Hermione couldn't help it. When his mouth contorted into a grimace, as though asking his younger self what he had been thinking, she laughed.
"Why do you care if I'm having an affair with Quasimodo, anyway?" she said.
"Quasiwhato?"
"Muggle reference."
"Oh. Should've known." With a lazy stretch and a yawn, he shrugged one shoulder. "I'm bored."
There were dozens of fellow employees for him to pester, but Hermione suspected she was the only one who would deign to speak to him. Funny, considering she had more reasons hold a grudge against him than anyone else in their department.
"Ah," she said. "You could always do some work. Revolutionary idea, I know, but I hear it's what some people do when at their place of employment. Even when it's forced employment."
He pretended to consider this for a few moments before shaking his head. "That won't do. Not at all. Any other suggestions?"
Hermione groaned.
-oOo-
Darkness blanketed George's bedroom, interrupted only by a few faint white sparks from Hermione's wand. Soft music swirled through the blackness, heavy with nostalgia: a mix CD of Muggle music from her childhood that she'd cobbled together for him. Songs he should've known, if he'd grown up as a Muggle.
"Hey, I know this one," George whispered as sparks shifted into the shape of Orion's belt on his ceiling.
"Yeah?"
"Mhm." Pausing, he sipped his beer. "That's Medea's arse crack."
"You're impossible."
"You wouldn't have me any other way." Leaning onto his side, he propped himself up with one elbow. "D'you wanna sleep here tonight?"
She wasn't even tipsy. No reason not to Apparate home, and it was still early enough that she could catch the Tube. And Lee wasn't there, snoring away on the sofa, so there was no reason for her to sleep in George's bed.
"Yeah," she said.
Fifteen minutes later found her huddled beneath George's duvet, wearing the t-shirt and boxers of his that she'd claimed as her pyjamas. Her mouth tingled from the cinnamon flavoured toothpaste he used. Weeks ago, she'd bought a spare toothbrush to keep at his flat.
Settling down on his side of the bed, George nestled his body behind hers like they were a pair of spoons. With one arm slung around her waist, he laced his fingers together with hers. Something bright and fluttering thrummed through her chest, made her feel as though she was one of the magical stars that lingered on the ceiling.
"G'night," he said.
"Night."
-oOo-
When Hermione woke up, her mind knew it was morning, but the rest of her body lived in denial. The dim sunlight kissing the windowsill allowed her to just barely make out the familiar shape of George's wardrobe, his door, his arm. The air outside the duvet was chilly, worlds away from the heat provided by his body.
She tried to roll over, to see if he was awake, but he mumbled something against her shoulder, held her tighter, and pulled the duvet over both of their heads.
"George?"
"Mmph."
"You awake?"
"Not willingly."
Wriggling away from him, she tugged at the hand that he'd splayed across her stomach. As appealing as the thought of staying in bed until noon was, doing so with morning breath didn't appeal — especially not when George was so close. Amidst his grumbled protests, she wriggled out of his grasp and padded across the hall to the bathroom.
Her own face took her by surprise. The night before, the mirror had been covered. Now, the dingy sheet that had shrouded it was nowhere to be seen. The only thing obstructing the glass was a little square of paper, tucked into one corner of the frame: a still Muggle photograph of George, Hermione, and Lee, taken several weeks before. After much fiddling with the timer function on George's new camera, they'd set it on top of his TV and piled onto his sofa. At the last second, Lee had chosen to throw himself across Hermione and George's laps. All three of them had their mouths open and their eyes almost closed from an overabundance of laughter.
Her boys. Why did she always seem to collect them in pairs? Pressing a hand over her heart, she smiled.
Maybe Fred knew what he was doing when he sent her on this mission.
A/N: Apologies, again, for the long wait between updates. I'm hoping to get back to every other week now, but we'll see!
A few of you might recognise bits of the chat up lines scene. It was part of a George/Hermione/Fred fic that I wrote ages ago, which I'm not sure I'll ever get around to editing and reposting.