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A Little Backwards

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The exact details as to how Hannah Abbott ended up having George Weasley as a flatmate are perhaps best left ambiguous. It is enough to understand that the circumstances were less than ideal and— because a Weasley twin was involved— there was an air of the ridiculous about the whole thing. Nevertheless, they were flatmates. George had moved into the second bedroom of Hannah’s modest apartment on an offshoot street from Diagon Alley. The flat’s location was ideal of the both of them: it was approximately halfway between where Hannah worked at The Leaky Cauldron as daytime manager and Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. This allowed them both a blessedly short commute that required neither Floo powder nor apparition to accomplish.

The real treat, however, was the distance from the center of nearby wizarding activity. The side street they lived very near the end of was so close to Muggle London that they could see Diagon Alley’s surrounding wall (which possessed an opening on their street only usable for local residents) from the majority of their windows. The main benefit of this distance was that they were able to live with certain Muggle comforts that normally malfunctioned in highly magical locations. Certain comforts being video games, of course. They’d been at this particular game since they’d woken up, the both of them splayed out on the sitting room floor in their pajamas. They had a sofa and a squashy armchair that didn’t quite match, but something about a lazy Saturday morning called for sprawling on the floor like children.

“Oh, come on!” George shouted in despair as Hannah’s character zoomed past his on the split screen of the television and took the victory. “How are you so bloody good at this?”

“Practice,” she admitted, setting her controller aside to stretch her arms overhead. “Mum’s side of the family all play at the holidays. I had to be able to keep up or they’d start asking questions about school.” She shook out her limbs and leaned back against the couch. I used to sneak downstairs and practice with the sound off after my parents went to sleep.”

George heaved a dramatic sigh and flung himself to one side, coming to rest with his head on Hannah’s thigh. “Working hard to be good at a game is such a boring idea.”

“You worked hard to be good at quidditch,” Hannah pointed out. Her hair was piled atop her head with some sort of clip to hold it in place, but a few honey colored tendrils had escaped to frame her face. “Was that so boring?”

“Not the same thing,” he insisted. He looked up into her eyes and thought (not for the first time) that he could get used to seeing her look down on him with such exasperated fondness. In fact, he decided then and there that he was tired of pretending he didn’t want to see her looking at him like that all the time. “Let’s go on a date.”

Hannah’s eyebrows nearly met her hairline. “A date?” she squeaked, her cheeks flushing a brilliant pink. “We’re roommates!” It did not escape George’s notice that her reasoning did not include the phrase ‘I’m not interested in you, George.’ Very encouraging, that.

“That’s what we call convenience, Banana,” he teased, reaching up to tug one of the loose strands of her hair. Her blush only grew deeper, but she wasn’t looking away. “Probably a little backwards to move in before the first date, but I’ve never been the conventional sort.”

“You’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

“Well, no. Sirius was Harry’s godfather.” She hit him. He’d made that joke entirely too many times since he’d moved in. “I am.” He switched from playing with a lock of her hair to cupping the side of her face. “Go on a date with me, Hannah.”

Hannah’s expression grew a bit sheepish, and she smoothed a self conscious hand over her wrinkled pajama top. “It’s half ten and I’m wearing fuzzy pajamas with ducks on them.”

“I never said we needed to go anywhere,” George insisted, lifting himself off of her lap in order to brace himself on one hand and look her in the face properly. “I’ll make us a bit of brunch and you can keep trouncing me on this infernal game.”

“And how is that different from any other Saturday?” she snorted, giving him a wry smile.

“I’m going to distract you with hand holding, casual kisses, and my best smoldering gaze until you give in and snog me on the couch for a while.”

“Oh.” She considered it for a long moment. “Alright then.”

Just to be sure, George decided they’d best skip straight to the snogging. Hannah didn’t mind in the least when brunch ended up being a late lunch instead.