Chapter 13: All is Bright
Christmas morning dawned bright and cold, with a thick layer of hoar frost softening the world. Hermione and George trudged together through the Burrow's garden, their boots skidding along the icy path.
"I won't let them be angry with you," he said. "For not telling them you found me, I mean. It's my fault I was away for so bloody long."
As they approached the front door, he gripped her hand. Squeezing his fingers back, she rang the bell. Even as the doorknob started to turn, he didn't let go.
Ginny was still in her pink and blue cloud print pyjamas: bleary-eyed and messy-haired. Upon realising who stood on the doorstep, she squealed and launched herself at George, knocking his hand out of Hermione's grasp.
"You idiot." She half-laughed, half-sobbed, alternately hugging him and hitting him in the chest. "Why did you stay away so long?"
George chuckled. "Missed you too, Gin."
"What is all this commo—" Mrs. Weasley's voice cut off with a gasp. She stared at George for a few seconds, her mouth hanging open, before she perfrormed a repeat of Ginny's reaction — without the slapping and name-calling.
"I'm sorry, Mum," George said, patting her back.
"Oh, it doesn't matter," she said, holding his face between her hands and letting out a loud sniffle. "You're here now. But if you ever do something like that to me again, I will..." Pausing, she drew her eyebrows together. "Wait, Hermione? Is this the friend you were talking about bringing along?"
"Yes," Hermione said. "I'm so sorry I kept it from you, but—"
Mrs. Weasley brought an end to the apology with a crushing hug and a whispered word of thanks. Over his mother's shoulder, George grinned at Hermione.
Of all the reactions Hermione had been anticipating from Mrs. Weasley, a hug certainly wasn't among them. She had expected explosive shouting, a lecture, or perhaps some snubbing reminiscent of the way Mrs. Weasley treated her when Rita Skeeter spun vile lies in Witches Weekly. Most likely, all three.
When Mrs. Weasley and Ginny ushered the two newcomers into a warm kitchen stuffed to the brim with sleepy redheads, Harry, and Fleur, Hermione was still thrown by the calm outpouring of gratitude.
Not so thrown that she missed Percy's reaction, however. He caught on far too quickly. It was mere seconds after George entered the room when the stunned, joyful expression on Percy's face softened into one of understanding.
It took Ron a little longer. As George was passed from relative to relative for hugs and apologies, Percy shot Hermione a gentle, questioning smile. She shook her head. When Ron noticed the silent exchange, she could practically hear the cogs in his brain working out that George was the friend who was listed in her phone as "Secret Lover."
By the way his hands tightened into fists, she gathered he was not pleased by this realisation.
How disappointing — if not at all surprising — that she'd managed to predict at least one person's reaction. It had been naïve to hope that one talk with his sister could undo years of habit.
When George came face to face with Percy, the former scratched the back of his neck and rocked back onto his heels. They stood in silence for a few seconds before George spoke.
"I was an idiot. I was—"
"A family-abandoning, grief-stricken moron?" Percy said.
George cracked a smile. "Yeah."
"Well." Percy let out a quiet laugh. "You can't say fairer than that." He held his hand out to his brother, completing the imitation of Fred's forgiveness of him prior to the Battle of Hogwarts. George ignored the hand and pulled Percy into a hug that looked almost Mrs. Weasleyesque in its enthusiasm.
A few minutes later, when George was distracted with fishing all of his Muggle books out of Hermione's beaded bag to give to his father, Percy pulled Ron and Harry aside. Whatever they said didn't reach Hermione's ears, but Percy kept patting Ron's shoulder. Harry's face shifted into the squinty-eyed expression he always adopted when pleading with Ron to be reasonable. Eventually, Ron began nodding in reluctant agreement.
George noticed the little discussion as well. As he sidled up to Hermione, he chuckled and said, "They think I'm really your secret lover now, don't they?"
"I would imagine so."
He hummed, draping an arm across her shoulders. "Shame for me that they're wrong."
Ron's eyebrows shot up. A smile crossed his face at something Percy said in low whispers to him and Harry.
A smile. What the hell?
-oOo-
A garden gnome watched Hermione pace back and forth across frost-crisped grass. Scratching its bottom, it tilted its potato-shaped head to one side.
Ron would come around. She would make him. Best friend or no, she wasn't about to let him ruin things for her. First, she would sort things out with him, then she would address the whole "I want to kiss you" issue with George.
Sighing, she directed her attention to where George was working with his siblings to set up some fireworks that Percy had brought along. They had their own audience of garden gnomes, all of whom jumped back at the loud bark of laughter that erupted from George at something Percy said. Hermione couldn't hold back the grin that spread across her face at seeing her friend so carefree and at home with his family, but her smile fell away when Ron approached her a few seconds later, two bottles of butterbeer dangling between the fingers of his left hand.
"So," he said. "George, eh?"
"Ron—"
"I never would've seen that one coming." Shaking his head, he leant against the wall of the house. "To be honest, I was still half-afraid you'd show up here with Malfoy."
Hermione had to wonder: which was the less desirable scenario in Ron's mind? Her being with Malfoy or her being with George?
"Trust me, I'm not Malfoy's type," she said.
He nodded, his movements measured and slow. "It's a bit weird, but Harry and Percy think you two would be good together. You and George, I mean. I don't know how much I'd trust Percy's judgment on things like this, though." The smile he gave her was strained but genuine. "I'm not saying I'm thrilled that you went and fell for one of my brothers, but I'm going to try very hard to be happy for you."
Hermione's grin made a reappearance. "Thanks. There's nothing going on yet, though. We're just friends."
"Yeah, I noticed." The smirk and sidelong glance he cast her way were unsettling. She'd seen that look before — many times. Nothing good ever came of it.
Hermione's eyes narrowed into a glare. "Promise me you won't say anything to him. You let me do this on my own terms."
"Won't breathe a word," he said with a shrug. "Want a butterbeer?"
Relieved, she accepted the open bottle. When she took a swig, the familiar, buttery taste was tinged with something perfumey and floral. Suspicion whirred through her head. She'd tasted this before, but where? Harry interrupted her thoughts by wandering over to join them.
"Hermione, why is your hair pink?" Harry asked when she looked up at him. His voice was all innocence and light; it was the same tone he used to use when lying to Professor Snape about something.
"Oh!" Dropping the butterbeer, she slammed her eyes shut. For good measure, she covered them with her hands as well.
"It's brown again!"
Harry was so bloody helpful.
"Ronald Weasley." Hermione turned in what she thought was Ron's direction, her face heating with a furious blush. "I cannot believe you did that!"
The crunching noise of boots on frozen grass announced the arrival of the rest of the Weasley siblings as they wandered over to investigate.
"What did he do?" Ginny asked.
"Nothing," Hermione said, squeezing her fingers together tight — squeezing out any chance of accidentally catching a glimpse of George.
How purple would her hair be? Not a pale lavender, certainly. It would be strong: as vivid and vibrant as the emotions that fluttered through her chest whenever she was in George's presence. She'd told him all about the Paramour Violets — showed him pictures of Percy with neon pink hair. He would know what it meant. He would know that the deeper the affection, the brighter the shade.
Having her feelings on display for all to see was not the way she wanted to go about this. It would be like being stripped naked when she'd only intended to wear something slightly revealing.
"Then why are you covering your eyes?" George asked. "Did he flash you Ronniekins Junior? Don't worry, love. Your vision should return to normal in three to five days."
"I slipped her one of these," Ron said. A rustling noise was followed by a quiet chuckle from George.
"Just in case you decide you want to start throwing hexes, the whole thing was Percy's idea," Ron told Hermione.
Hermione gasped. "Percy, you didn't!"
"Err. I'm afraid I did, a little bit, yes."
"Hermione?" George said softly, tapping a finger against her hands. He was much closer than she'd realised. "Hello in there."
"Hello."
"Why are you hiding?"
"Because Ronald and Percy are prats. Possibly Harry as well."
With a squeeze of her wrist, he moved away. She didn't catch all of the urgent, lowered voices that followed, but she did hear Ron say something that sounded like, "Yes, I'm sure. Christ, just get on with it already." After that, all was silent, save for several pairs of retreating footsteps.
"Hey," George said, unexpectedly close to her again.. "Everyone else is gone."
"Well, that's unfortunate." She tried — and suspected she failed — to sound nonchalant. "I won't have anyone to talk to while I wait for the hour to be up."
"You have me." He trailed his hands down her sides to rest on her hips, his touch tickling and warming even through her jacket.
"That's true. What do you want to talk about?"
"Hmm, let's see. How about why you won't look at me?"
She didn't need to be able to see him to know he was smiling.
"I'm not sure I care for that topic."
Wrapping his fingers around her wrists, he tugged her hands away from her face. "Open your eyes," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Please? It's just me."
Well, no matter if it wasn't happening on her terms. She decided to let him see. After taking a deep, shaky breath, she looked right at him. As expected, bright purple curls sprang up in her peripheral vision. A smile dawned on George's face: his pre-war smile.
And then he kissed her.
Unlike their previous almost-kisses, he gave neither of them any room to back out. One second his lips were tilted up in a grin, the next they were covering hers. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding tight, keeping her as close as possible. As their mouths moved together, fumbling and laughing and giddy, the most coherent thought pounding through Hermione's mind was the same one she'd had upon finding him wandering around a bookshop so many months ago.
Finally.
George laughed at her slight whimper of protest as he pulled back. "Me too," he said against her lips, digging in his pocket for the Paramour Violets that Ron had left with him. Within seconds of popping one of the sweets into his mouth, his hair turned purple — just as intense as hers. "Wasn't it obvious?"
Hermione opted to shrug. She couldn't stop smiling. George's thumb traced a path along the curve of her lower lip as his forehead touched hers.
"What took you so long?' she asked.
"Err, well. Forgive me for bringing up my little brother at a time like this," he said, "but I was kinda waiting until I could talk to him before I initiated anything with us. I just... this is going to sound stupid, since I didn't even see Ron for months by my own choosing. The thing is, though, we both always knew it was a temporary separation. I know how ridiculous he used to be about people you went out with." He forced out a brittle laugh. "I didn't want to lose another brother. I couldn't let him hate me over this."
"He's okay with it," Hermione said. "Really. He told me."
"I know." With a happy sigh, George nuzzled her neck. "I really must send flowers to him and Perce for spiking your drink."
"Must you?" She snorted. "I was thinking of sending them a few well-chosen hexes."
George's breathy chuckle warmed her skin. Just as his hand started to inch its way up her ribcage, he let out a yelp. The little gnome who had watched Hermione pace had chosen to gnaw on George's ankle. With a few muttered threats about de-gnoming, he shook it off and aimed a half-hearted kick at it as it scampered away.
"Damn gnomes," George said. "Guess it wouldn't really be home without them."
When she laughed, he kissed her mid-giggle. This time, she was the one who held him almost too tight for breath, keeping him there.
She hoped the outcome of her mission would make Fred proud.
"You know what, Carl?" he said. Another five kisses landed on Hermione's lips: quick and sweet.
For once, she didn't mind the nickname.
"What?" she said.
"Snogging a bloke isn't half bad."