Hermione knew her first day back at work was going to be just short of hell, but she hadn't anticipated over twenty clients and even more starting tomorrow. Seemed like everyone's dog had gotten into something over the weekend, or a cat gave birth to a litter of kitties or god forbid Ms. McGonagall's poodle didn't get her nails trimmed on the same day every month.
Hermione tucked her feet in, as her bike turned down her laneway. The wind felt nice against the heat on her skin. She wasn't sunburned perse, but one could definitely tell she spent all weekend in the sunshine. She was also nursing a weekend hangover and had drank no less than four cups of coffee today. Lavender had laughed at her third one, and given her fourth to her for free.
"What the hell?" Hermione mumbled, gazing at the unfamiliar Cadillac currently sitting in her driveway. She regarded it curiously, as well as the 'bo$$-bb' on the license plate when the front door swung open just as Hermione dismounted on the sidewalk.
Coach took one look at the woman in the doorway and turned to run towards the forest line. Hermione wished she could run after him.
"Aunt Bella, I didn't-"
"I called you, three times and you never answered," Bella spoke down her nose at her niece, regarding her scrubs with a look of disgust. Hermione looked down at herself, there was a smear of blood from an ear infection on her thigh, a yellow substance on her calf from a cat with a weird pus coming out of its paw, and her top was covered in poodle hair.
"Busy Monday," Hermione answered shortly, settling her bike against the side of the house. Hermione pulled her purse out of her basket and started up the steps to see that Bella had already abandoned the doorway.
Hermione held her breath as she walked into the kitchen, dumping her purse on the table near the door. She stepped through the archway, to see a pot roast being made on the stove and a salad sitting on the table. Hermione glanced around, unable to see her woven basket anywhere when her aunt's cold voice interrupted her thoughts.
"I cleaned," Bella stated, turning to take the roast off the stove and plop it on the table.
Hermione had to take a small breath before answering. "Thank you."
Hermione moved down the hallway, heading for her bedroom. Her aunt's suitcases were stacked just inside the door, three of them. With her aunt though, she couldn't tell how long that implied for her to stay. Hermione grabbed pajamas, loose clothes, and stuff for tomorrow before dumping them in the guest room. Where the bathroom was stocked for such situations.
She changed quickly, tying her hair up before hurrying into the kitchen where her aunt was already serving dinner. Hermione eyed her plate of roast, salad, and potatoes warily before taking a seat.
"I want to see a clean plate," Bella stated, dropping the salad tongs into the wooden bowl. "And that mutt does not come in here." She peered at Hermione, awaiting her submissive nod but Hermione only hummed, spearing a potato with her fork.
"Answer me, you-"
"Why are you here?" Hermione asked, setting her fork down.
"Am I not allowed to visit my only niece?" Bella asked, placing a hand over her heart. "I own this house too, you know-"
"Your name is not on the lease." Hermione bit out, spearing another potato harshly as she scooped up her fork with shaking hands.
"I beg your pardon?" Bella asked, setting her fork down. She leaned forward, hair falling towards her plate but it was too short to crash into her salad dressing. Hermione wished it would.
"You don't own any of it. Your name isn't on the paperwork." Hermione responded, but she couldn't find the strength to meet her gaze.
"Henry was my brother-"
"He was my father."
Bella moved quickly, quicker than Hermione was truthfully prepared for and suddenly found herself nose-to-nose with her aunt. Bella's nails were sharp on her scalp, digging into the sunburn Molly had warned her about. Hermione winced as she pulled, her hair straining against the crown of her head.
"Spoiled brat." Bella spat, releasing her head as a knock sounded on the front door.
Hermione's knees knocked against the table as she rose, clattering her fork to the ground. She didn't bother picking it up as she hurried towards the door. She didn't care which Weasley brother it was, she pushed herself towards them, shutting the door behind her.
"Who's car?" George asked, laying a tentative hand on Hermione's shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his frame.
He was startled by the sudden affection, but wouldn't dare push her away. Not with the way she was shaking. Not in the way she rushed at him, and her breath caught as she collided with him.
"You can't be here." Hermione rushed out, pushing him away. George looked down at her confused, a bag of takeaway in his hand. Hermione yearned to reach for it, but she didn't, balling her hands in her shirt before looking up to meet his eyes. "Tell your mother she's here," Hermione whispered, before backing towards the door.
George only stared, stunned.
She managed to see Coach, just as he sprinted past the porch towards George's truck. Leaping over the side of the truck into the bed of it.
"Take Coach." She continued, flicking her eyes back towards George's.
"Hermione, your dinner is getting cold."
George regarded Hermione carefully, not bothering to look up to see who the woman was. He was more focused on how Hermione's shoulders had tensed, and her face had paled. It was so confusingly different than the woman he had just spent a weekend with on a beach. The woman in front of him looked terrified, the woman on the beach had been at utter peace.
The woman who had slept only a few feet away. Who turned toward him in the night, her face only visible by the gentle moonlight slanting through the small windows.
That was not the woman standing in front of him.
Only when Hermione turned away, did he look up, eyes dragging over the thin woman in the doorway. He recognized her, but couldn't tell whether or not she recognized him.
"Yes, auntie," Hermione whispered, following her aunt back into the house.
George stayed rooted, waiting until Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him, slipping the door shut between them. He waited still when he heard a soft click. He then waited a couple more seconds, before stepping forward again. He wrapped his hand around her door handle, twisted it, and pushed.
The door remained shut.
He took three shaky steps back, nearly dropping the takeaway before turning on his heel and jogging down the steps towards the truck.
"Aunt Bella is here." George managed to say, barging into his parent's kitchen. Arthur looked up with his fork halfway to his mouth. Molly was startled, dropping her spatula on the counter.
Charlie choked, reaching for his father's glass of milk to wash his bite down. Bill visibly paled, while Fleur glanced around nervously while also studying the takeaway in George's hand hungrily. She had been craving Chinese food recently.
"She's here?" Molly finally managed to break the silence.
George dropped the takeaway on the table first, pushing it towards Fleur before answering. "And she locked the door," George added.
"Hermione never locks her front door," Charlie said slowly.
"I also have Coach." George pointed, and all heads turned to see Coach, sitting in the bed of George's truck his chin resting on the side of it. Not even bothering to glance at the cows only a dozen feet away.
"Wait, you were taking food to Hermione?" Charlie suddenly asked, leaning forward to peer in the boxes as Fleur opened them, her fork already twirling in the Chow Mein.
"I have to call Lily," Molly said at once, turning down the hall towards the house phone stuck up on the wall.
"What does this mean Dad, why is it-" George started but Arthur held his hand up, effectively silencing him.
"Bella is a wicked woman George, let your mother handle it," Arthur said sternly, rising from his seat he followed his wife down the hall.
"What does he mean?" George turned to Bill, but Bill shook his head. Staring at the takeaway box now clutched in Fleur's hand.
"Just...just stay away for a bit, George. Bella doesn't like us all that much." Charlie warned, reaching for George but George stepped away. His gaze flicked out the window at Coach, but he hadn't moved.
Coach always moved, and Hermione always kept her door unlocked.
"I'll call Harry." Bill stood, walking towards the back door to make his call outside.
"Better call Ron, tell him to hold her mail," Charlie grumbled, he pinched an egg roll between his fingers before starting towards the living room.
George's fingers bounced against his thigh as he waited. He wasn't entirely sure what he was waiting for, but he waited
"You don't know?" George jolted, his fingers spasming in the air before he slammed his hand to his thigh, he turned, to find Fleur gazing at him worriedly, twirling her fork between her dainty pale fingers.
Admittedly, George and Fleur weren't all that close. Neither of them blamed the other, as it wasn't any bad blood or the like. It was more along the lines of George's lack of desire to conversate and Fleur's gentle understanding of the space he needed and the trauma she wouldn't understand.
"What don't I know?" George asked, clearing his throat after he finished.
"How do you not know?" She asked, tilting her head.
"What am I suppose to know, exactly?" George realized his tone was harsh, but Fleur didn't seem bothered by it all. In fact, the only expression he got from the blonde woman was a look of pity. Which he found himself instantly despising.
George turned on his heel at her lack of response and fumbled for the coffee maker. It still had its morning brew at the base, so George dumped it in an overturned mug on the drying rack and began gulping down the room-temperature coffee. It was disgusting and coated his tongue like tar but he swallowed it down.
"That woman hurts Hermione." Fleur finally managed to say, pushing aside one empty box and reaching for a full one. "She's a wicked woman." Fleur shook her head, displeased.
Just as George went to push for more, Bill came stomping back into the room. He flicked his gaze between the two, trying to decipher how George was behaving before brushing it off.
"I warned Harry, and I called Angelina as well," Bill informed them, sliding into the seat next to Fleur.
George gnawed on his lip and swirled his tongue around in his mouth trying to rid it of the stale tar-like coffee.
"Lily's on her way, she'll stop by and see what she can find out. Then she'll probably stay at the hotel." Molly sighed, bustling into the room. She moved straight towards the sink beside George, eyeing his mug still clutched in his hand warily before slamming the faucet on.
"Ron is going to hold her mail," Charlie announced, reclaiming his seat and grabbing the last takeaway box. "Percy said he'd keep an eye out at the bank, see if she comes stumbling in." Charlie shrugged but George found himself unable to just accept the conversation being had.
"What exactly does this Bella woman want?" George asked, recalling her hideous Cadillac in the laneway of Hermione's place. "I mean, should I be worried? Should I go-"
"She's just a cold, bitter woman George. But she'll leave in a few days, and Hermione will be back to normal." Arthur supplied, crinkling his nose before continuing. "It's like clockwork, that woman." He grumbled.
"Does this happen a lot?" George asked because he could not once recall his family acting like this during a conversation about Hermione's father's sister.
Admittedly, up until recently George hadn't paid all that much attention to those types of conversations. About family and connections and the future. Because they were always spun on him, asking about marriage and kids and-well, George never thought about those things. He still didn't think about those things.
He thought about Hermione. But Hermione meant those things.
Did Hermione want those things? She had always avoided those types of conversations as well. Rattling on about Coach being a handful, he wasn't. Being busy with work, she rarely actually was. And her desire to be nothing more than an aunt. So George resigned himself as being nothing more than an uncle.
Until Hermione. Until he started really looking at her. Really listening to her. Stepping into her space. Noticing her on a Saturday afternoon and a Monday morning. Until it seeped into him, who Hermione actually was.
And how much he wanted to be a part of it. Her circle of warmth.
George knew that Hermione's aunt Bella was a mean woman, but who didn't have some bat-crazy person in their family? Aunt Muriel was proof enough for the Weasleys. He always just thought Bella made off-handed comments and refused to let Hermione be too loud or something.
Hermione had been raised by her through her upper school years. She hadn't complained much about her then, he just recalled that the Granger residence was closed off to the town's children. He always had assumed it was because Hermione's aunt wasn't fond of kids, having none of her own to dote on.
"Yes George, for someone who likes Hermione as much as you do, you'd think you'd know this." Charlie drawled, quirking an eyebrow at him as he scraped his cardboard container. Clearly egging for a response.
But George didn't have it in him to even try and brush off the tease of his clear affection.
"This doesn't make any sense," George replied, he placed his mug on the counter and turned to walk away but his father caught his elbow.
"Don't go over there-" Arthur took a deep breath before continuing. "Just don't do anything stupid, okay? You'll only make it worse." He said softly, releasing George's arm.
"I wasn't," George replied, slipping out the back screen door.
Coach lifted his head in greeting, before settling it back down as George rounded towards the driver's side.
"No sense, Coach," George grumbled, turning the engine over to reverse out of the gravel drive.
His family watched with worried expressions through the window.
Aunt Bella stayed in town for three days. For each of those three days, she'd go to work with Hermione. Drive her there and everything, and George would watch from his shop as Bella would claim Hermione's desk and litter it with her things. She'd sit there as Hermione worked through appointments, filing her nails and talking animatedly to whatever customer wandered in.
As if she had missed the camaraderie of St. John's.
Then sometime around lunch, Lily would barge in and drag Bella out, marching her down the street talking a mile a minute and not letting the older woman breathe a word. George would then watch Hermione. As she'd slump in her desk chair and hold her head in her hands. But he stayed put, paying heed to his father's warning words, and waited.
She never looked over at him, but George's eyes stayed on her. So much so Fred had to distract him long enough to get actual work done.
On the fourth day, when George was bouncing on his toes in a strange need to go stomping over there just to hear Hermione speak, Hermione showed up to work alone.
She worked through all of her customers, then closed up just short of four-thirty, she gave a loud whistle and George listened as Coach barreled out of his shop, knocking over a bucket of parts to dart across the street. He watched, as Hermione knelt down to hug him and Coach simply pressed his body against her, only his tail wagging uncontrollably to show how excited he was.
Hermione stood, caught George's eye, and waved.
Finally.
"You are on chips," Fred said, rolling out from underneath a family SUV he had been working on for three days, the brake lines had gone out and one of the axles had been severely warped.
"What?" George coughed, tearing his eyes away from Hermione to look at Fred, who was showing off his pearly white teeth in a grin that George knew meant something, the problem was he wasn't sure what.
"Angie's making dessert, Ron's got drinks and Harry's making some fruity salad." Fred shrugged, then pointed towards his pocket where his phone was shoved. "You'd know if you ever checked your messages." He said, before pushing on the heels of his boots and sliding back underneath the van.
George yanked his phone out of his pocket and saw it was about five percent away from dying and loaded with twenty or so unread messages. George rarely checked his phone, citing it was only for emergencies-which Fred consistently took advantage of. Rattling on about things that weren't emergencies but he insisted was. George toted the phone around, but never looked at it.
Never had the need. Hermione rarely used one either.
Fifteen of those were a group text planning a dinner get-together sort of thing for Hermione, and sure enough, George had been tasked with bringing chips.
Two more messages were from Charlie, asking him if he had stolen his sunglasses as he couldn't find them.
One more message was from Lee, a picture of a sculpture he had made out of the parts George had taken him not too long ago. Paired with a caption for the sculpture, as well as an invitation to tea this weekend.
One more message was from Ron, clearly indicating to go to someone else as he hadn't a clue what the hell he was talking about. Something about roses, Mario kart, and surfing. George had no interest in any of it.
The last message was from Lily, a simple picture of George's black hoodie slung over the back of the couch that he recognized from Hermione's house. An old plaid thing. Well-loved and always smelt slightly of dust.
George's cheeks burned as he yanked his charger cord out from a pile of wrenches, and manuals. His thumbs danced over his keyboard as he tried to think of a response, so he first sent a confirmation to Lee, a 'fuck-off' to Charlie because he had in fact stolen his sunglasses but he wasn't about to give them back as well as a question mark to Ron.
Finally, he texted a simple 'that's strange' to Lily and locked his phone.
George kicked at Fred, pushing him over the porch steps as Angelina led the way carrying a berry pie in her arms.
"Oi! I'm so ready dude!" Fred shouted gleefully, gearing his fists up to sock George back. George traded which hand was carrying the chips, and geared up his fist as well, he quirked an eyebrow at Fred and tried to look menacing, though that all fell away when Fred broke out into a grin at him.
"Glad to see you back, man." Fred grinned, launching himself forward, he tackled George in a hug that had him stumbling backward, which quickly turned into a headlock and George found himself looking down at the old wood porch floorboards, as well as a pair of sock-clad feet.
"Fred's winning then?"
Hermione's voice was soft, timid even, and it sent a jolt down George's spine that had him tearing himself free from Fred's arms before Fred could tighten his grip.
"No, took me by surprise, that's all," George grunted, holding out his bag. "Chips." He stated, eyeing a purple mark on Hermione's temple. In one movement, Hermione reached up untucking a chunk of hair behind her ear that fell forward to cover the purple mark, and grabbed the bag from George's hand.
"He was struck by your beauty, Ms. Granger,' Fred quipped, throwing an arm around George's neck. George's hand twitched to pinch his side, but he held off as Hermione turned to smile at Fred. 'Had to take the chance while I had it." Fred grinned cheekily, winking at Hermione sending her cheeks pink.
George scowled, bumping Fred with his hip, and jabbed at his side until Fred let go of him.
"You asshole, I knew it!" George jumped, whirling around he found himself suddenly toe-to-toe with Charlie, his eyes were on George's hair. George caught on just in time and spun out of Charlie's outstretched hand. He hurried into the house, Charlie's thumping feet after him.
"You left them in my truck!" George argued, skidding around Ginny who didn't move as her brothers barreled by her, she was too busy discussing early pregnancy symptoms with Lily to care.
Teddy shrieked happily and hurried after George into the living room. George caught sight of the hoodie, now strung over the recliner before throwing himself behind the couch. Teddy came crashing down next to him, breathless with giggles.
"Put these on," George whispered, slipping the sunglasses off his head and pushing them toward Teddy. Teddy quickly slipped them on his face, and grinned at George, just as a hand gripped the back of his tee shirt and yanked him up.
"I paid top dollar for those down at the Bi-Mart," Charlie argued, pulling him out from behind the couch. Teddy laughed along, climbing over the back of the couch, and began jumping on the cushions.
Soon, George had Charlie pinned to the floor, after rolling around on the carpet. George's hair was a mess, and Charlie's top three buttons of his flannel had come undone.
"Oh, boys honestly! Behave, you are not children." Charlie stilled at their mother's voice, but George used the distraction as a chance to swing his body off of Charlie and stumble back a few steps, nearly crashing into Teddy who was still bouncing.
"It's alright Molly, it's a nice change after the way this house has been the last few days." Hermione patted Molly's arm gently, and George spun to look at her.
"Oh, dear, how are you?" Molly whispered affectionately, pulling Hermione into her for a tight embrace. George frowned at the interaction, wondering what the hell that was about when Charlie slammed him to the couch beside Teddy who fell on them giggling.
"I have them, Uncle Charlie!" Teddy shouted, grabbing both of the men's shoulders for balance.
"Oh-you little snot, so you stole them!" Charlie grinned, reaching over to tickle him while George struggled out of his embrace. Teddy shrieked with laughter and shoved the sunglasses toward him so he didn't have to endure the torture anymore.
"Dinner's on the back deck!" Harry called, sending both Teddy and Charlie sliding out of the living room.
George stood, straightening himself out as the rest of his family trailed after the two boys. He spared a glance at the hoodie one more time, before turning to follow when he found Hermione waiting in the archway.
"Thank you for looking after Coach." George blinked at her a few times, before looking down at her feet where Coach was sitting obediently. Head poised, and staring at George.
"Course'," George responded, tilting his head slightly as he looked back at Hermione. Now that he was given a moment to properly look at her, he noticed far more than just the purple mark near her temple.
Her eyes were lined with bags, indicating she hadn't been sleeping. Her hair was tied in a loose ponytail, though it was frizzy around her head which wasn't normal for Hermione by any means. Her hands were shaking slightly, where they were clasped in front of her and she was wearing sweatpants.
"Coach missed you," George said, not entirely thinking about his words before he said them.
Hermione blinked at him a few times, before looking down at her dog and patting him affectionately on the head.
"I missed him too." Hermione nodded, though her eyes were trained on George.
George knew it was a terrible idea, there was about a seventy percent chance that Hermione wasn't home anyway, but he figured he might as well at least stop by.
It was raining, a warm sort of rain that early summer tended to provide and he was finding himself rather enjoying it.
Hermione's large house came into view as he turned down the laneway, and he was surprised to see Coach and Hermione sitting on the front deck. Though he was thoroughly shocked to see her dressed in his hoodie, and a pair of leggings with a book tucked into her lap.
She looked up, just as George shifted into park and yanked his keys out. He kept his gaze elsewhere, patting his pockets as if to ensure he had everything before hopping out of his truck. He hurried up the porch steps, out of the rain before turning to Hermione.
Her front door was wide open, despite the sticky air and she was cradling a cup of coffee in one hand. Her eyes were wide, doe-like as she looked at him and Coach greeted him with a gentle bark.
"Lee's?" George stumbled out, missing the entirety of the first part of his sentence. He watched, as Hermione's hand tightened around her cup of coffee and her other hand slipped her book shut.
"Um, sure.." Hermione trailed off, untucking her legs from beneath her. "Let me just change-"
"No," George interrupted, eyes widening slightly when she turned towards him surprised. "I mean, no need, you look comfortable-I mean, you look fine, and well it's just Lee so-" George was cut off as Hermione looked down at herself, and a small smile fit her face.
"Shoes then." She looked back at him, before standing and turning towards the house. "Should I bring anything?" She asked, rummaging in her tall wire basket she threw her shoes in by the front door. She had dragged it out of the closet where her aunt had shoved it mere minutes after she had finally left the house.
"No." George managed to say, clearing his throat and shrugging his shoulders. "Yourself will be enough."
Hermione smiled at that and slipped her feet into a pair of sandals.
It wasn't fifteen minutes later when George found himself nestled beside Hermione in the truck. Coach was taking up a large portion of the passenger seat, and instead of his head pointing out the window, he had settled it in Hermione's lap. Where she was gently petting his head, while the other hand was nestled in his fur.
"Told you he missed you," George said quietly, taking the turn for the highway. Trying to ignore the way Hermione's shoulder pressed into his as they turned.
"Did he now?" Hermione mused, tapping her fingers against his brow bone before continuing her gentle petting over his fur.
"Reckon so." George nodded, tightening his grip on the steering wheel for a moment, before relaxing his fingers.
"I don't want to talk about it," Hermione said suddenly, jolting George. His fingers did a quick dance on the steering wheel, a quick drumming sequence before stilling.
"I don't talk much anyway," George responded, it wasn't what he wanted to say but Hermione seemed pleased with it.
Hermione sat silently for a moment before her knee moved towards his slightly before jerking away, nearly crashing against the gear shift. "Music then?" She asked, straightening her posture slightly, her shoulder bouncing off of his.
George jolted, hand flying towards his radio. He hesitated for a moment, shifting through his mind on what CDs he had loaded in the player, before settling on one. He pressed the button, not taking his eyes off the road, and turned the volume until it was just loud enough to fill the truck but not drown them in noise.
As he was moving his hand back to the steering wheel, Hermione suddenly reached out to grasp it. Snagging it right out of thin air with her brave hand.
His ring finger twitched, tightening around her grasp while his thumb jumped three times on the palm of her hand. A dance, as her hand held steady, waiting.
It was all too much all at once but entirely everything that he craved.
The Mamas and The Papas floated through the speakers as Hermione began tracing circles around each of George's knuckles.
Her own dance as Geroge's hand finally stilled.
Lee had always had a rather dramatic flare about him, the kind of guy who took things a little too far but always in the name of good fun. This is why George wasn't the least bit surprised when Lee opened his front door, took one look at Hermione, and shrieked with surprised delight.
Hermione jumped startled, bumping into George before she was yanked forward into Lee's embrace. George was happy to see the man dressed, in a pair of flowy lounge pants and a colorful shirt. At least it wasn't a kimono.
Kimono meant a short visit. Easy to put on, that much easier to take off.
"Oh, darling you have got to see the sculpture I made!" Lee gushed, abandoning George on the front step and hauling Hermione into the house, giving her only a moment to toe her sandals off before she was guided down the long hallway to Lee's studio.
"I'm in here!" Oliver called from around the corner, George turned, checking on Coach who seemed content with his spot under a large willow tree, with just enough coverage to keep him out of the rain.
"Coffee or tea?" Oliver asked once George stepped into the kitchen. Oliver was dressed in a similar attire as Lee, though instead of a colorful shirt he was wearing a simple white tee. The two men just screamed comfortability.
"Coffee, please." George nodded, taking a seat on one of their stools. The covers were yellow this time, as last time they had been red. Lee never did leave things alone for very long.
Sometimes that was a good thing. Most times, when it concerned George, he felt it was not. But Lee always knew when to stop pushing and start distracting. Allowing George to get lost, until he was ready to come back.
"What would Hermione like?" Oliver asked, sliding a purple mug across the countertop into George's hands. George blinked at him, tilting his head to the side.
"How'd you know I brought Hermione?" George asked.
"Because you look happy." Oliver shrugged, pulling down a green mug from the cupboard. "-and you never look happy." He quirked an eyebrow, waiting. "Like, ever. You are very moody. Did you know that?" He grinned, pleased to have poked at George.
"Coffee," George grumbled, taking a decent sip of coffee if only to busy himself as Oliver laughed quietly. "I am not moody, I'm quiet." He argued.
"That, and Lee's scream was enough to know you brought someone. Does she take sugar or-"
"Black, just black." George's cheeks burned as Oliver smirked, passing him the mug. George ignored him, placing the mug at the place of the stool next to him, and took another sip only to stall before Oliver finally cleared his throat.
"How's the shop?" Oliver asked, leaning against the counter with his hip.
George took a deep breath, pleased with the change in topic, and began talking. Eager to stray as far away from the concept of his impending happiness as possible.
George's stool swayed dangerously as Lee barreled into him, wrapping his arms tight around his shoulders before releasing him all in one gasp, rearing backward with an accusing finger pointed in his face.
George, however, looked past Lee to Hermione. Who stood at the kitchen entrance, balancing on one foot while her other foot wrapped around her ankle. She had one hand wrapped around a cardboard tube, while the other hand was shoved deep in the pocket of his hoodie.
Entirely all too much but everything he wanted, he couldn't tear his eyes away. Even as Lee geared up.
"You rotten bastard-"
"We use nice words in this house, Lee," Oliver warned, moving to prepare a cup of tea for his husband.
"You...there are no nice words to say what I feel." Lee pouted, turning to his husband.
"Then don't say them." Oliver raised an eyebrow, pouring hot water into a yellow mug with a big red heart smacked on the center of it.
Lee stepped away, leaving Hermione room to step forward, which she did so, shyly.
"What's that?" George asked, gesturing to the cardboard tube in her hand.
Hermione seemed to clue in the mug beside George was meant for her, and slipped past him to get her hands on it, laying the tube gently on the counter. "It's a printout, Lee gave it to me," Hermione replied, bringing her coffee to her lips. She sighed contently, as Lee bounded over to lean against the kitchen island and bat his eyelashes at George.
"You never give me things." George frowned, turning to Lee.
Lee grinned, ear to ear before replying. "I can give you two tickets to my art show in London if you'd like?" He tilted his head, not paying Oliver any mind as he pressed himself to his side beside him.
"You give me tickets every year?" George questioned, sipping his coffee gently.
"Yes, but this year they are having an open wine bar." Lee shrugged, bringing his tea to his lips.
"They always have an open wine bar." George reminded him, raising his eyebrows. "I took Charlie last year, remember? He drank every bottle of Chardonnay, they had to dig some out of the cellar for everyone else." George shook his head, causing Lee to grin.
"Well, you can't bring Charlie this year, because Madam Puddifoot is taking him." Lee grinned, but George looked at him bewildered.
"She hosts the art show, what on earth is she doing taking Charlie?" George asked, fingers dancing on the countertop before he stilled them.
"She was apparently, and I quote 'swept off her feet by his boyish charm' last year, and asked him to be her little arm candy or something rather." Lee waved it off, but George only frowned more. He always took Charlie, as Charlie was quite possibly the one other person in his family that had any sort of inkling of art appreciation.
George's fingers jumped once more when Hermione gave a soft snort of laughter beside him. George shot her a glance, before turning back to Lee. Letting the words spill out of his mouth at Lee's knowing grin.
Playing right into his little game, though George didn't find himself minding all too much.
"I'll bring Mione' then," George said, bringing his mug to his lips.
"What-" Hermione began, spluttering a bit on her sip.
But Lee promptly ignored her, jumping up and down to clap his hands. "Oh good! Hermione, you'll love it! It's eccentric, it's classy and they do a lovely assortment of cheese boards." Lee gushed, reaching forward to grasp her wrists.
"She doesn't eat cheese." George reminded him, refusing to look at Hermione. If he did, he'd see bright pink cheeks and trembling fingertips.
"Never mind that then, the wine is delicious. There will be some pretentious snob of artists, no creativity in their bones I swear on it but they'll adore you." Lee poked her nose with his finger, before rearing backward to grasp Oliver's arms. "Just wait til you see our suits, they are extraordinary. You do have a dress, do you not?" Lee asked, slipping an arm around Oliver to turn and gaze at Hermione.
Hermione stumbled over her words a moment, shooting George a look but he was swirling his coffee with a flex of his wrist. "I've got a dress." Hermione nodded, she did in fact have a dress. A singular one, that she bought on a whim a few years ago, and had worn approximately one time. While she was sad, on her sofa eating a carton of ice cream by herself.
"I just stand there and look pretty, it's an easy job." Oliver stage whispered to her, reaching out to gently touch her arm before pulling away. Hermione smiled timidly and turned to look at George at the same moment his eyes met hers before they both turned away.
"Sounds easy." Hermione agreed, and Lee grinned again. Breaking off into a rant about the artists that would be there and the art they would see and the horrible lighting they would have to endure.
George didn't hear a single word.
"You don't have to go, you know...I just, I don't know if you'd want to." George stumbled out, turning out of the laneway towards the route that would take them to the highway.
"If you think I'm going to pass up a free night of expensive wine, you are sorely mistaken." Hermione scoffed, patting Coach's head affectionately.
"Lee might hound you the whole night, he tends to get excited." George shrugged, lifting his hand in greeting at an elderly couple that were walking their three poodles.
"Why are you and Lee so close? He grew up with Fred too, did he not?" Hermione asked suddenly, the question had been toying at the back of her mind ever since Charlie's reaction to the last time the two of them had gone to Lee's.
"We were in the same therapy group back in school." George coughed, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. "He uh-I went after my accident, to sort of talk through things, you know-well of course you know." George coughed again, flustered as he felt like he was saying everything all wrong.
Hermione reached out, grasping his hand as she had earlier, and began circling his knuckles. He waited for a beat more, letting himself relax into the gentle touches before continuing. "He um, well it's his story but he struggled a bit mentally after coming out, that and Oliver being shipped off like he was." George nodded, fingers twitching in her palm. "We just sort of bonded, not that our pain was similar but we were both in a dark place, and he well, he saved me out of it." George nodded, it wasn't the right words.
It wasn't the right words at all, there were pages more of things he could say to encompass just what Lee had done for him, but it was raining and Hermione was wearing his hoodie and he couldn't put two words together to save himself right now.
"I like Lee." Hermione mused, after a beat of silence between the two of them.
"Well he's spoken for, mind you." George quipped, fingers tightening around her hand before she suddenly lowered their hands, and suddenly the back of his hand was resting against her thigh. She had moved to trace circles in his palm.
"I...I was supposed to be in a therapy group too, I imagine the same one you were in but my aunt didn't seem to think it was necessary." Hermione frowned, her finger bouncing on George's palm before continuing. "I think it might have been nice to talk about things though." She mused, keeping her eyes on George's fingers as she traced.
Every few moments, a finger would twitch before stilling. Hermione wondered if he even noticed it.
"I may not have the words most of the time but I listen well," George said, flipping his hand and suddenly Hermione's hand was pinned beneath his. His fingers tightened, lacing their fingers together. Hermione stared down at them, the way his hand engulfed hers. The way his callouses felt against the palm of her hand, and the way his fingers stilled on the back of her hand.
"She was here for more money," Hermione said suddenly, tearing her eyes off their hands to look out the windshield. Her other hand tightened in Coach's fur as a jeep rolled past them, headlights on and window's down despite the drizzle.
"Did you give it to her?" George asked, and Hermione tensed.
He was so blunt with it, while Lily and Molly had danced around the truth of it. They hadn't asked her if Hermione had caved, because of course she had. Bella had left, she only left when she got what she wanted.
"Yes," Hermione whispered, and George flicked his blinker on to turn off the highway into St. John's.
"I don't like Bella," George said, turning down the main road.
"She's family, mind you," Hermione grunted, leaning against him as they turned towards the road that would take her home.
They sat in silence, bumping down the laneway to Hermione's house. She was slightly relieved to see no one waiting for her there, as it still sat heavy in her chest. The fear that her aunt had turned around, ready to ask for more already. The fear wouldn't fade for a few more days, then she would forget about it until Bella turned up again.
George parked, slipping his hand from hers, and turned to her before she could lean across Coach to let them out. He studied her face for a moment, sending a jolt down her spine. His hand moved up quicker than Hermione was anticipating, and his fingertips brushed her jaw before pushing up to slide against her temple.
She winced, she hadn't meant to but George stilled once she had. His thumb rubbed a gentle circle around the purple mark. They sat there like that, George's thumb smoothing over the bruise.
He didn't ask, and Hermione was grateful for the fact. Unsure if she could tell the story. Unsure if she could tell him how she had another one on her hip and her scalp still burned from Bella pulling her hair. Unsure if she could tell him how she went to be hungry most nights, as Bella only served some meat dish and a salad. Shouting at her to eat it, but Hermione never did.
The bruises and the headache were enough to show what a refusal meant.
"See you Monday?" George asked gently, pulling his hand away. Hermione took a deep breath to settle herself, reaching for the cardboard tube she had resting on the floor.
"Monday." She agreed, leaning over to spill her and Coach out of the truck.
George didn't drive away until Hermione waved from the doorway of her house dressed in his hoodie and clutching her cardboard tube to her chest. Only then, did George drive away with an odd pain deep in his chest that he wasn't quite sure what it meant.
His mind was plagued with the look of hesitation on Hermione's face when his thumb had settled on her bruise.
A bruise he was confident no one else knew about.
Like a hot knife through butter, Hermione returned to her normal coffee runs for her favorite Weasley twins. It was easy, and Fred pretended like he didn't miss her daily drop-bys while he accepted an extra large cup of his favorite coffee, as well as a double chocolate muffin that Fred knew was a little pricey. He took it all with a smile and quirked a brow at George who hadn't stepped forward to greet her or take his coffee off her hands.
Content with standing back to watch.
"Stick in mud, George?" Fred finally asked, sipping his coffee and biting back the delightful moan threatening to fall from his lips.
"Pig in water, Fred," George grunted back, accepting his usual order as well as a wrapped croissant from Hermione with a gentle smile. She had covered her purple mark, and the only reason George knew that was that her hair was up and the mark was gone.
"You two really do have your own language don't you?" Hermione asked, tearing off a piece of her tofu sandwich for Coach, and throwing it out on the sidewalk where he chased it. "I thought that was just a myth." She admitted, pulling George's stool out from where it was tucked under his workbench and perching on it.
"Quick Georgie! What am I thinking about?" Fred stopped unwrapping his muffin, and turned to George quickly, squinting at him.
George studied him for a moment, pretending like he was honestly trying to see what Fred was thinking before opening his mouth. "Angelina's zucchini brownie recipe." He deadpanned, and before Fred could control his face, he pinched it into disgust before quickly wiping it away.
"Brownies aren't meant to be healthy." He covered himself, before shaking his head. "And no, I was thinking about surf season, which starts tomorrow. You coming to the bonfire Hermione?" Fred asked, taking a large bite out of the very top of the muffin.
Which should be sinful, all on its own because that is certainly not how one eats a muffin.
"Sure, where and what time?" Hermione asked, taking a large bite of her sandwich.
"George will bring you, and we're setting up around seven." Fred grinned, winking at George before turning back to the Ford Focus that was giving him a run for his money, as he really wasn't sure what the clanking noise was that Hagrid insisted was happening under the hood.
"Okay, can't wait!" Hermione grinned, hopping off her stool when she noticed Sprout parking down the street and lugging a cat carrier out of her backseat. "Bye, boys!" She called, throwing her sandwich wrapper in George's trash can, swiping her coffee off his bench, and taking off across the street to help Sprout.
Her hollers faded as Coach took up a spot in the sun, just before George's work bay.
"You should kiss her," Fred stated suddenly, watching as Hermione took the cat carrier from Sprout, and began listening as Sprout waved her hands about trying to describe what was happening to her poor little Snuffles.
"I'm not going to do that," George stated plainly, setting his coffee and unopened croissant off to the side, so he could plunge a hand into the hood of a Toyota that needed an oil change. A sudden desperate need to busy his hands was far too distracting to eat and his chest tightened with the effort of it.
"Why the hell not?" Fred demanded, wandering over to stand beside his brother, watching as his hand disappeared into the crevice of the car.
George grunted in disbelief, rolling his eyes before straightening. Pulling the oil cap out with him. "Because we aren't dating." George poked his chest, forcing him to move over so George could squat down, lay on a roller, and scoot under the car.
"Well ask her out then, this weekend." Fred pushed, leaning against the headlight as he munched on his muffin.
"We're going to Lee's art thing this weekend." George supplied, tugging on the nut underneath the car that's sole purpose was to keep the oil inside its tank. He pulled it away swiftly, sending a stream of oil past his head into a pan. He rolled out from underneath the car, to find Fred staring at him, mouth open wide in disbelief and his coffee about ready to tumble out of his hand.
Fred coughed suddenly, quickly setting his coffee on George's workbench and beating himself on the chest until he could breathe properly.
"You are taking Hermione to Lee's art show? That fancy thing you go to in St Ives every year?" Fred asked, pointing a finger at him.
"Yes." George frowned, swatting his finger away so he could grab his own coffee and take a sip. "It's nothing special, Lee gives me two tickets and Charlie is going with someone else." George shrugged, placing his coffee down and moving to find the correct bottle of oil, but Fred's hand flew out grasping George's bicep.
"No no no, if Hermione is putting on a dress and you are putting on a tie, then it's a date and oh my god you are going to kiss her. Aren't you!?" Fred shouted accusingly, jabbing his finger against George's chest.
"It's not a date Fred, I didn't even properly ask her." George huffed, pulling away in search of the bottle. He spared Coach a glance, but the damn dog had fallen asleep and didn't notice George's beckoning gaze.
"What do you mean you didn't properly ask her?" Fred demanded, trailing after him deeper into the shop as George struggled to find oil. "Does she know she's going?" Fred asked, watching as George riffled through the shelves before pulling out a blue bottle.
"Yes, she knows." George brushed by him, hand tightening on the bottle as Fred's pushing was starting to become rather annoying. "I just sort of told her she's going." George shrugged, setting the oil to the side so he could slide back under the car and put the nut back.
"You just sort of told her she's going on a date with you?" Fred laughed, taking a sip of his coffee. "Romantic you are." He scoffed, shaking his head at his brother.
"It's not a date Fred," George stated, sliding out from under the car to fix him a glare, before standing up. "It's just..well Lee likes her, gave her a printout and everything yesterday-"
Fred gave a squeaky scream and jumped up and down before grabbing George's shoulders to balance himself. "You do like her, you dirty dog!" Fred shouted, punching his shoulder before turning away.
George groaned, hanging his head back. He was out of excuses, and he knew Fred could probably see past every single one anyway.
"Who does George like?" George peeled his eyes open, to see Harry standing in the open bay window of their shop, grinning with his arms folded over his chest. A flower sticking out of his apron pocket and soil dusted on his knees.
"No one you nosy-" George started, pointing a finger his way.
"Hermione," Fred replied smugly.
George huffed, turning away to yank the replacement filter off his workbench, and set about shoving it under the hood where it belonged.
"This is not breaking news." Harry scoffed, moving forward to claim a seat on Fred's bench seat. Coach had already trotted out to greet the new person, nudging his nose against Harry's thigh. "In fact, I think everyone but George and Hermione knows they like each other." Harry shrugged, and George continued to ignore him even as Fred chimed in with his two cents.
"They're going on a date this weekend." Fred supplied.
"You are kidding." Harry gasped dramatically.
"And he's taking her to surf sesh tomorrow." Fred grinned, and Harry placed a hand over his heart in a fake swoon.
"That's not, oh fuck off the both of you," George grumbled, deciding defending himself would do him no good because one glance at both of them showed George they were grinning like madmen, and absolutely loving how put-out George was.
"Look how cute and flustered he is." Fred cooed, waving a few fingers in his direction. Without looking over his shoulder, George flipped him the bird while dumping the oil container over into a funnel.
Fred exploded into laughter, accompanied by Harry's softer laughter at George's expense.