A Gift for lenapinewoods: Snowflakes and Slow Smiles, Hannah/George
Author: keyflight790
Recipient: lenapinewoods
Title: Snowflakes and Slow Smiles
Pairing: Hannah Abbott / George Weasley
Rating: T
Word Count/Art Medium: 2,498
Summary: Dreary Diagon Alley is no place to spend a festive Christmas, unless you have someone to share it with.
Author's Notes: Thank you to the mods for putting on this amazing fest! Thanks to my beta, @jeldenil. Lenapinewoods, I hope you enjoy this fic! I tried to get a couple of your wonderful prompts in there, and I really enjoyed writing this pairing! Warnings: Slight Angst, mentions of past death.
The sun was setting, and just like clockwork, George Weasley pulled up a chair at the Leaky and motioned to Hannah for a pint. She already held the frosted glass in her hand, just waiting for the slight movement of a request before she pulled the tap, capping it off as soon as the glass was full.
“How’s the shop?” Hannah asked carefully. She had learned weeks ago not to ask about Wheezes. ‘Only one Wheeze now,’ George had muttered, choking back something; Regret, sadness, loss. Hannah assumed it was a combination of all three.
The war, death, destruction, it had all ended in May, when the sky went dark and their friends died and they somehow left their school years behind them in a puff of smoke.
She thought about that sometimes. How their ceremonies were replaced by funerals, their parties now memorials, their cheers choked by their cries.
That was neither here nor there, however. It had been almost eight months, only three days before Christmas. She had hoped the upcoming hols would lighten the spirits around her too-crowded bar, full of patrons drinking to forget, or forgive, or forge ahead.
George was one of those patrons, coming in every night just after his shop closed, drinking a pint or two, or sometimes three. He had gotten better over the past few months, his smile slowly returning, his laughter erupting on the rare occasion.
It was those times Hannah prided herself on. She was a bartender, yes, but as any pub dweller knows, a bartender is also a therapist of sorts, a confidant. Sure, she was just slinging drinks, but she was also listening, and talking, and sharing her thoughts with her patrons. And sometimes, more often as of late, she would see a smile where she used to see a frown.
She loved making George Weasley smile.
Maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t used to not seeing him smile, always cracking jokes in the hallway or in their DA meetings, playing practical jokes on his brothers and his teammates and his friends.
He had a mischievous look on his face, halfway through draining his first pint.
“Tell me, Hannah, what are you doing for Christmas this year?”
“Well,” she started, while running a wet cloth across the wooden bar. She reached to grab some trash nearing George’s forearm when-.
“What the bloody hell!” Hannah screamed, dropping the napkin in haste and scooting back toward the wall.
George was laughing, a loud, thunderous thing that seemed to fill the bar and the corners of her soul.
“Scared of a little spider, are we, Hannah?” he spat out between guffaws, lifting the discarded napkin to reveal a big, black, hairy spider with pinchers that were clicking with glee. “Just a new product I can’t wait to sneak into Ron’s Christmas parcels this year. Not sure what to call them yet. Fred was always better at that.” His laugh faltered until it silenced completely.
Hannah just stared for a moment, heart still beating rapidly in her chest. She had always prided herself on not falling for the Weasleys pranks, but it had been so long since George had thrown one her way, she had let her guard down.
“Of course I’m terrified of insects, George,” she smiled. “Tom would have my head if we had an infestation.”
George tucked the spider back into his pocket. He downed the rest of his beer, and Hannah dutifully replaced it with another.
“Well, as I started earlier before you gave me such a fright,” she began again, “I was going to head home to the Hollow, but dad’s going to the country instead. Something about not wanting to fuss over Christmas. So it looks like I’ll be here, in empty Diagon in dreary London. Probably won’t even see a fleck of snow.”
George took a big gulp of his pint before he said, “I’ll be here. Can’t imagine going back to the Burrow. Not after all that’s happened.”
Hannah nodded quickly. She didn’t want to pry. She assumed it would be hard to go back to his childhood room, see the empty bed next to his. From the dark look that now rested in his eyes, she knew she was right.
“Well, we should throw a party, then!” she tried to smile brightly, hoping it would lift George’s spirits. “We can’t be the only ones celebrating alone this year. We could decorate?”
He rubbed the back of his neck as he pondered the idea. “I do have some leftover garland we can hang from the beams, and I bet Neville has a Christmas tree he could get us?”
Hannah nodded encouragingly. “We’ll see if Tom can throw in some food, and maybe a couple of bottles of wine. Want to come over tomorrow, help me get started?”
--
The next morning she was stocking shelves when George appeared at the door, three large levitating boxes behind him.
“Brought some wreaths, bunches of garland, and one of those gingerbread houses. I think the gingerbread man is a little blighty; apparently, Ron ate all the gumdrops off his roof last year.”
Hannah smiled as she helped George open the boxes, casting a leviosa on several of the contents, wrapping lengths of decorations around the rafters and on the fireplace, before draping the decorations around the windows and doors.
By the time lunch came around, the entirety of the restaurant was covered in Christmas.
She whipped them both up some meat pies and chips, sneaking in something special at the last moment.
“Merlin, this is good,” George said as he dug into the meal, devouring a meat pie and reaching for a chip. Hannah just watched and waited, holding some pumpkin juice at the ready.
“Fucking hell!” he shouted.
Hannah couldn’t help but laugh outright at George’s quickly reddening face and the smoke that was furling out of his ears and nose.
“Guess revenge is best served hot,” Hannah cackled. “I mixed some of your Steam Syrup into the sauce.”
“Touche,” George tipped an imaginary hat as he guzzled the juice that Hannah handed over.
He drained the glass and smiled broadly at her, before wiping the remains from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Good one, Abbs.”
She felt a slight fluttering in her stomach when she saw that smile. It felt so good to see, especially during the day, without the darkness and the pints, a smile that she pulled, that she was responsible for. She wanted to see it again.
--
Hannah saw George again on Christmas Eve. The Leaky was practically empty when he walked in, and she watched with a curious eye as he nestled at the bar, draining a pint before she was even able to comment on the weather. A dismal rain was coming down, shattering her normally festive day. All she wanted was a cup of her mum's hot apple cider and a fresh layering of snow. She knew the cider was out, that she’d never taste it again, but perhaps they’d still see some snow on the ground before Christmas was over.
From the looks of it, though, she was still having a better hols than the ginger affixed to her bar.
She knew his mother was upset. Ms. Weasley was used to having the whole family at the Burrow, and couldn’t understand why George wasn’t returning.
“It’s not the whole family,” he grumbled, sighing heavily into his tumbler. “It will never be the whole family again.”
Hannah couldn’t help it; she rushed out from behind the bar and wrapped George in her arms, pulling him tightly into a hug. He responded, his long arms encircling her hips as he buried his face into her hair.
She held him like that for a moment, rubbing small circles into his shoulders. She could tell he was trembling slightly, though she wasn’t sure if it was due to holding back or releasing tears that surely needed to flow.
“Do you want to talk?” Hannah asked carefully as she stepped back. She didn’t want to push him, but she knew she could relate. Losing her mom, to death eaters as well, was something she still dealt with every day. She missed her laughter and the way that she’d tuck her soft hair behind her ear when she was baking. If it wasn’t for her fellow Puffs, especially Ernie, she never would have made it through.
“I just miss him,” George mumbled, wiping his eyes roughly on his jumper.
“Well,” she started, unsure if her next words would end in triumph or disaster, “why don’t you tell me about him?”
“What, Gred?” he smiled broadly, then, remembering one of their favourite nicknames.
Hannah’s shoulders relaxed. “Yes, Forge, please tell me about Gred.”
He emptied his glass in one pull and squared his shoulders. “Fred was the clever one, you know? He was always thinking of new tricks, new ways to mess with Ron and Ginny. I could execute them, but it was always Fred with the big ideas.”
Hannah swallowed tightly and waited.
“Like the Canary Creams. That sweet is so specific. I mean, it literally turns someone into a canary. Why is that hilarious? I didn’t think it would be, but Fred knew. Still one of our best sellers.”
“I remember Neville took one of those,” Hannah said with a small chuckle. “His face was still yellow when he transformed back!”
George smiled broadly, his lips stretching across his freckled skin, and Hannah filled with pride and something else low in her belly. She realized with a start that she wanted to touch those lips, wanted to know what they felt like pressed against her own. She chewed absently on her bottom lip as she admired his pearly white teeth and his soft-looking lips and -
“Abbs?” George cocked his head, giving her a most curious look.
“Erm - another pint?” she blushed slightly, trying to avoid his stare.
George shook his head. “Just the tab. But I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Well, I do live here,” Hannah motioned to the staircase that curved behind the wall.
“Right, you’ve probably got a bed up there and everything.”
“Picturing my bed, are you, George?” If she was blushing before, now she probably resembled a bright red tomato.
And if she were a tomato, George was almost an eggplant.
Fuck, now she was thinking about his eggplant.
“I’ve got your drinks...for - for helping me decorate,” she stuttered out, motioning her hands wildly around at the various decorations. Merlin, she probably looked like a right twat.
“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” George slid off his stool and threw Hannah a wink before he was out the door.
That wink kept her warm for the rest of the night.
--
On Christmas morning, she dashed to open the shutters, hoping for the tiniest glimpse of snow. All she saw was gloomy rain. She closed her eyes and thought back to her favourite Christmas at the Hollow, when she and her mum had decorated a snow-witch, complete with crooked hat and a charmed broom. They’d sat outside after that, watching the snow fall, catching flecks on their tongues. That’s how she always pictured her mother; big, fluffy earmuffs, cheeks red from the cold, tongue stuck out and waggling, trying to catch every delicious flake.
The party was scheduled for just after dinner. Tom had made a smattering of pastries and pies, and Hannah had carefully arranged them on tables, adding in bowls of punch and sprigs of holly. She thought the whole thing looked rather festive, and her thoughts were confirmed when the first guests trickled in.
“Marvelous, simply marvelous!” stated Layton Davis, the new owner of Eeylops Owl Emporium. He offered Hannah a bottle of mead. “To share,” he insisted, making sure she placed it with the other spirits.
She lifted her hand to wave at the owner of Flourish and Blotts when she felt the cool neck of a beer rest against her hand.
“Grabbed you one. Figured tonight someone could get you drinks, instead of the other way around.”
She turned and her breath caught when she saw George.
She knew it was him; she recognized the voice after all. But it had been months since she’d seen this George, eyes alight with glee in contrast with his dark navy knit jumper. He looked radiant, in a way she almost forgot he could possess.
They clinked their beers together, and each took a swig. Hannah hoped she wasn’t being so obvious in the way her eyes kept cascading downward, to the way his jumper pulled around his shoulders, to his jeans that were slightly faded around his thighs, towards -
“What are those?” she almost spit out her beer at the sight.
“Oh these? They’re my Christmas slippers, of course!”
Slippers? It was almost as if George had shrunk down full-size Frasier Fur’s and buried his feet into the trunks. Each was adorned with bright, multi-coloured lights and a shining star at the tip. He lifted one foot and gave it a shake, which made the lights twinkle in a fast array of blue and yellow and red.
“C’mere, I want to show you something,” George’s eyes were twinkling now, just like the lights, and Hannah wasn’t sure if it was from impending mischief or glee.
Either way, she let George take her hand and lead her out to the rain-soaked sidewalk. The air was still thick, but the rain had stalled for the time being. Hannah had expected George to let go the second the door closed, separating them from the warm, Christmas cheer, but instead, he entwined his fingers into hers and pulled out a tiny box from his coat with his other hand.
“I’ve been working on this for the past couple of days. You gave me the idea, actually. Couldn’t let you end the hols without a speck of snow.”
He revealed a tiny box, which folded open in his palm. It whirred and spun before she felt the air around her change.
She looked up and stared in awe as tiny bits snow began to fall.
They surrounded her, little flecks of crystallized white, covering her jumper and her boots, before sticking to the hard pavement.
“Is this…”
“Snow? Not exactly, but close enough. I call it Fred’s Fantastical Flurries. It felt weird naming something without him, but he always loved the snow. Even chased Quirrel with some snowballs before we found out what was hiding under his turban.”
Hannah smiled, staring up at the flurries. She felt silly, but she couldn’t help it. She closed her eyes and opened, relishing how the cold droplets felt on her tongue.
“I’d really like to kiss you.”
Her mouth snapped closed and her eyes shot open as she turned to face George.
“You would?”
“Very much so.”
“I’d like that,” Hannah said softly as she leaned in, ready to receive her Christmas kiss.
Recipient: lenapinewoods
Title: Snowflakes and Slow Smiles
Pairing: Hannah Abbott / George Weasley
Rating: T
Word Count/Art Medium: 2,498
Summary: Dreary Diagon Alley is no place to spend a festive Christmas, unless you have someone to share it with.
Author's Notes: Thank you to the mods for putting on this amazing fest! Thanks to my beta, @jeldenil. Lenapinewoods, I hope you enjoy this fic! I tried to get a couple of your wonderful prompts in there, and I really enjoyed writing this pairing! Warnings: Slight Angst, mentions of past death.
The sun was setting, and just like clockwork, George Weasley pulled up a chair at the Leaky and motioned to Hannah for a pint. She already held the frosted glass in her hand, just waiting for the slight movement of a request before she pulled the tap, capping it off as soon as the glass was full.
“How’s the shop?” Hannah asked carefully. She had learned weeks ago not to ask about Wheezes. ‘Only one Wheeze now,’ George had muttered, choking back something; Regret, sadness, loss. Hannah assumed it was a combination of all three.
The war, death, destruction, it had all ended in May, when the sky went dark and their friends died and they somehow left their school years behind them in a puff of smoke.
She thought about that sometimes. How their ceremonies were replaced by funerals, their parties now memorials, their cheers choked by their cries.
That was neither here nor there, however. It had been almost eight months, only three days before Christmas. She had hoped the upcoming hols would lighten the spirits around her too-crowded bar, full of patrons drinking to forget, or forgive, or forge ahead.
George was one of those patrons, coming in every night just after his shop closed, drinking a pint or two, or sometimes three. He had gotten better over the past few months, his smile slowly returning, his laughter erupting on the rare occasion.
It was those times Hannah prided herself on. She was a bartender, yes, but as any pub dweller knows, a bartender is also a therapist of sorts, a confidant. Sure, she was just slinging drinks, but she was also listening, and talking, and sharing her thoughts with her patrons. And sometimes, more often as of late, she would see a smile where she used to see a frown.
She loved making George Weasley smile.
Maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t used to not seeing him smile, always cracking jokes in the hallway or in their DA meetings, playing practical jokes on his brothers and his teammates and his friends.
He had a mischievous look on his face, halfway through draining his first pint.
“Tell me, Hannah, what are you doing for Christmas this year?”
“Well,” she started, while running a wet cloth across the wooden bar. She reached to grab some trash nearing George’s forearm when-.
“What the bloody hell!” Hannah screamed, dropping the napkin in haste and scooting back toward the wall.
George was laughing, a loud, thunderous thing that seemed to fill the bar and the corners of her soul.
“Scared of a little spider, are we, Hannah?” he spat out between guffaws, lifting the discarded napkin to reveal a big, black, hairy spider with pinchers that were clicking with glee. “Just a new product I can’t wait to sneak into Ron’s Christmas parcels this year. Not sure what to call them yet. Fred was always better at that.” His laugh faltered until it silenced completely.
Hannah just stared for a moment, heart still beating rapidly in her chest. She had always prided herself on not falling for the Weasleys pranks, but it had been so long since George had thrown one her way, she had let her guard down.
“Of course I’m terrified of insects, George,” she smiled. “Tom would have my head if we had an infestation.”
George tucked the spider back into his pocket. He downed the rest of his beer, and Hannah dutifully replaced it with another.
“Well, as I started earlier before you gave me such a fright,” she began again, “I was going to head home to the Hollow, but dad’s going to the country instead. Something about not wanting to fuss over Christmas. So it looks like I’ll be here, in empty Diagon in dreary London. Probably won’t even see a fleck of snow.”
George took a big gulp of his pint before he said, “I’ll be here. Can’t imagine going back to the Burrow. Not after all that’s happened.”
Hannah nodded quickly. She didn’t want to pry. She assumed it would be hard to go back to his childhood room, see the empty bed next to his. From the dark look that now rested in his eyes, she knew she was right.
“Well, we should throw a party, then!” she tried to smile brightly, hoping it would lift George’s spirits. “We can’t be the only ones celebrating alone this year. We could decorate?”
He rubbed the back of his neck as he pondered the idea. “I do have some leftover garland we can hang from the beams, and I bet Neville has a Christmas tree he could get us?”
Hannah nodded encouragingly. “We’ll see if Tom can throw in some food, and maybe a couple of bottles of wine. Want to come over tomorrow, help me get started?”
--
The next morning she was stocking shelves when George appeared at the door, three large levitating boxes behind him.
“Brought some wreaths, bunches of garland, and one of those gingerbread houses. I think the gingerbread man is a little blighty; apparently, Ron ate all the gumdrops off his roof last year.”
Hannah smiled as she helped George open the boxes, casting a leviosa on several of the contents, wrapping lengths of decorations around the rafters and on the fireplace, before draping the decorations around the windows and doors.
By the time lunch came around, the entirety of the restaurant was covered in Christmas.
She whipped them both up some meat pies and chips, sneaking in something special at the last moment.
“Merlin, this is good,” George said as he dug into the meal, devouring a meat pie and reaching for a chip. Hannah just watched and waited, holding some pumpkin juice at the ready.
“Fucking hell!” he shouted.
Hannah couldn’t help but laugh outright at George’s quickly reddening face and the smoke that was furling out of his ears and nose.
“Guess revenge is best served hot,” Hannah cackled. “I mixed some of your Steam Syrup into the sauce.”
“Touche,” George tipped an imaginary hat as he guzzled the juice that Hannah handed over.
He drained the glass and smiled broadly at her, before wiping the remains from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Good one, Abbs.”
She felt a slight fluttering in her stomach when she saw that smile. It felt so good to see, especially during the day, without the darkness and the pints, a smile that she pulled, that she was responsible for. She wanted to see it again.
--
Hannah saw George again on Christmas Eve. The Leaky was practically empty when he walked in, and she watched with a curious eye as he nestled at the bar, draining a pint before she was even able to comment on the weather. A dismal rain was coming down, shattering her normally festive day. All she wanted was a cup of her mum's hot apple cider and a fresh layering of snow. She knew the cider was out, that she’d never taste it again, but perhaps they’d still see some snow on the ground before Christmas was over.
From the looks of it, though, she was still having a better hols than the ginger affixed to her bar.
She knew his mother was upset. Ms. Weasley was used to having the whole family at the Burrow, and couldn’t understand why George wasn’t returning.
“It’s not the whole family,” he grumbled, sighing heavily into his tumbler. “It will never be the whole family again.”
Hannah couldn’t help it; she rushed out from behind the bar and wrapped George in her arms, pulling him tightly into a hug. He responded, his long arms encircling her hips as he buried his face into her hair.
She held him like that for a moment, rubbing small circles into his shoulders. She could tell he was trembling slightly, though she wasn’t sure if it was due to holding back or releasing tears that surely needed to flow.
“Do you want to talk?” Hannah asked carefully as she stepped back. She didn’t want to push him, but she knew she could relate. Losing her mom, to death eaters as well, was something she still dealt with every day. She missed her laughter and the way that she’d tuck her soft hair behind her ear when she was baking. If it wasn’t for her fellow Puffs, especially Ernie, she never would have made it through.
“I just miss him,” George mumbled, wiping his eyes roughly on his jumper.
“Well,” she started, unsure if her next words would end in triumph or disaster, “why don’t you tell me about him?”
“What, Gred?” he smiled broadly, then, remembering one of their favourite nicknames.
Hannah’s shoulders relaxed. “Yes, Forge, please tell me about Gred.”
He emptied his glass in one pull and squared his shoulders. “Fred was the clever one, you know? He was always thinking of new tricks, new ways to mess with Ron and Ginny. I could execute them, but it was always Fred with the big ideas.”
Hannah swallowed tightly and waited.
“Like the Canary Creams. That sweet is so specific. I mean, it literally turns someone into a canary. Why is that hilarious? I didn’t think it would be, but Fred knew. Still one of our best sellers.”
“I remember Neville took one of those,” Hannah said with a small chuckle. “His face was still yellow when he transformed back!”
George smiled broadly, his lips stretching across his freckled skin, and Hannah filled with pride and something else low in her belly. She realized with a start that she wanted to touch those lips, wanted to know what they felt like pressed against her own. She chewed absently on her bottom lip as she admired his pearly white teeth and his soft-looking lips and -
“Abbs?” George cocked his head, giving her a most curious look.
“Erm - another pint?” she blushed slightly, trying to avoid his stare.
George shook his head. “Just the tab. But I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Well, I do live here,” Hannah motioned to the staircase that curved behind the wall.
“Right, you’ve probably got a bed up there and everything.”
“Picturing my bed, are you, George?” If she was blushing before, now she probably resembled a bright red tomato.
And if she were a tomato, George was almost an eggplant.
Fuck, now she was thinking about his eggplant.
“I’ve got your drinks...for - for helping me decorate,” she stuttered out, motioning her hands wildly around at the various decorations. Merlin, she probably looked like a right twat.
“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” George slid off his stool and threw Hannah a wink before he was out the door.
That wink kept her warm for the rest of the night.
--
On Christmas morning, she dashed to open the shutters, hoping for the tiniest glimpse of snow. All she saw was gloomy rain. She closed her eyes and thought back to her favourite Christmas at the Hollow, when she and her mum had decorated a snow-witch, complete with crooked hat and a charmed broom. They’d sat outside after that, watching the snow fall, catching flecks on their tongues. That’s how she always pictured her mother; big, fluffy earmuffs, cheeks red from the cold, tongue stuck out and waggling, trying to catch every delicious flake.
The party was scheduled for just after dinner. Tom had made a smattering of pastries and pies, and Hannah had carefully arranged them on tables, adding in bowls of punch and sprigs of holly. She thought the whole thing looked rather festive, and her thoughts were confirmed when the first guests trickled in.
“Marvelous, simply marvelous!” stated Layton Davis, the new owner of Eeylops Owl Emporium. He offered Hannah a bottle of mead. “To share,” he insisted, making sure she placed it with the other spirits.
She lifted her hand to wave at the owner of Flourish and Blotts when she felt the cool neck of a beer rest against her hand.
“Grabbed you one. Figured tonight someone could get you drinks, instead of the other way around.”
She turned and her breath caught when she saw George.
She knew it was him; she recognized the voice after all. But it had been months since she’d seen this George, eyes alight with glee in contrast with his dark navy knit jumper. He looked radiant, in a way she almost forgot he could possess.
They clinked their beers together, and each took a swig. Hannah hoped she wasn’t being so obvious in the way her eyes kept cascading downward, to the way his jumper pulled around his shoulders, to his jeans that were slightly faded around his thighs, towards -
“What are those?” she almost spit out her beer at the sight.
“Oh these? They’re my Christmas slippers, of course!”
Slippers? It was almost as if George had shrunk down full-size Frasier Fur’s and buried his feet into the trunks. Each was adorned with bright, multi-coloured lights and a shining star at the tip. He lifted one foot and gave it a shake, which made the lights twinkle in a fast array of blue and yellow and red.
“C’mere, I want to show you something,” George’s eyes were twinkling now, just like the lights, and Hannah wasn’t sure if it was from impending mischief or glee.
Either way, she let George take her hand and lead her out to the rain-soaked sidewalk. The air was still thick, but the rain had stalled for the time being. Hannah had expected George to let go the second the door closed, separating them from the warm, Christmas cheer, but instead, he entwined his fingers into hers and pulled out a tiny box from his coat with his other hand.
“I’ve been working on this for the past couple of days. You gave me the idea, actually. Couldn’t let you end the hols without a speck of snow.”
He revealed a tiny box, which folded open in his palm. It whirred and spun before she felt the air around her change.
She looked up and stared in awe as tiny bits snow began to fall.
They surrounded her, little flecks of crystallized white, covering her jumper and her boots, before sticking to the hard pavement.
“Is this…”
“Snow? Not exactly, but close enough. I call it Fred’s Fantastical Flurries. It felt weird naming something without him, but he always loved the snow. Even chased Quirrel with some snowballs before we found out what was hiding under his turban.”
Hannah smiled, staring up at the flurries. She felt silly, but she couldn’t help it. She closed her eyes and opened, relishing how the cold droplets felt on her tongue.
“I’d really like to kiss you.”
Her mouth snapped closed and her eyes shot open as she turned to face George.
“You would?”
“Very much so.”
“I’d like that,” Hannah said softly as she leaned in, ready to receive her Christmas kiss.