Chapter Text
Life after the war was strange for everyone. So much of the world had to be fixed, people’s lives had been torn down in the battle and yet there was so much to be celebrating. Slowly but surely the world came back to life.
Life for some moved on almost effortlessly, injuries healed, houses were rebuilt, friends were reunited. For some it wasn’t quite so simple.
The battle of Hogwarts had taken your parents from you, leaving you the sole survivor of your family at just the age of 19. Nothing seemed simple after that. Throughout the next few months, you learned how to get by, selling off your family home, renting your own apartment, and starting a real life in the process. The first few months were the hardest, the world doesn’t stop when you’re grieving, no matter what it feels like personally. Sooner rather than later though, you were relatively back on your feet. You proudly opened Drop of Luck Bookstore & Café, a cozy little shop settled just beside Scribbulus Writing Implements, specializing in used books, hot drinks and pastries, and a warm atmosphere desperately needed just a year after the end of the war.
You had done quite nicely for yourself, sure most people still pick up books from Flourish and Blotts, and your little shop is nowhere near as popular as Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, which sat just across the street at 93 Diagon Alley, but you and your small team of employees had turned your store into one of Diagon Alleys most favorite hangout spots for the young witch or wizard looking for a bit of peace on a quiet afternoon. And if your food and drink selection doesn’t have people coming back, the quaint charm of the place does the trick. And if that still wasn’t enough, Calliope, the store’s resident half-kneazle is too cute to refuse a second visit, if not a third.
Most days you come in around 9 am, greet Fen, the young witch three years out of Hogwarts who treats you like you're ancient despite only being three years her senior, and help around the shop. You also bring in the day’s pastries, freshly baked the night before kept warm with a stasis charm. At a quarter to 12 Wilson comes in for his shift, makes small talk for a bit, and Fen leaves for her break.
It's like clockwork, each day relatively the same. You serve your regulars and new customers with a smile, chat happily with your team, and manage to make ends meet. All in all, there isn’t much to complain about.
Come 7:00, you and Wilson lock up, say goodbyes, and go your separate ways. You go home, toss your coat on the bed and get to baking for the next day. You attempt to fill all your time, so you have less open space to think. It’s your way of moving forward and moving on. Constant motion to keep things going steady, and you’re okay with that, despite any offhanded comments from Fen or Wilson.
The day had been slow, only a few customers stopped in and very few needed any assistance. You let Fen and Wilson handle the front, Will's behind the bar making coffees, and Fen's at the register taking orders, so that you could reorganize the “Hogwarts Class Books” section. It's the beginning of summer and any of the students looking for a deal could trade in old schoolbooks for a free drink and pastry. This year you were pleasantly surprised by the number of books donated and have yet to go through them and set them on shelves.
The morning had gone by relatively easily, only a handful of boxes remain when a deep voice startles you out of your organization-induced haze.
“Um, pardon me, do you work here?”
You stand up from your crouched position, back cracking, and shake out your arms.
“If the apron is anything to go by,” You offer with a smile, sliding the book in your hand into place on the shelf before wiping the dust off your jeans. “How can I help you?” You finally look up at the man who had interrupted your sorting and your heart skips a beat.
There, in all his 6’3 glory, is George Weasley. You've seen him a handful of times since you left Hogwarts, but it's only ever in passing or in a news clipping. But now, here he is standing in your shop, the top buttons of his shirt undone just enough to show a bit of his collarbone, sleeves rolled up past his elbows.
He looks good. Better than good. His boyish charm you always admired from afar in school somewhere along the way had transformed into subtle confidence. Within the last few years, he lost his lankiness, still mainly arms and legs but now with vaguely toned muscle and broad shoulders to match. His slightly crooked smile still ever-present on his face as he smiles back at you.
“You see,” He scratches the back of his neck, and all of a sudden, he’s reverted back to that boy you vaguely knew before, “I was wondering if you had a book on Veritaserum or mental potions in general?”
You cock your head to the side, pushing back the initial shock of seeing your childhood crush up close for the first time in years, and let out a low hum in thought.
“It’s silly really, I'm doing some research and experimenting with an idea for a new product, I run the shop across the street with my brother,” He clarifies, “And while we were meant to learn all about it in school, we may or may not have skipped out a bit on our final year.”
“I know who you are,” You say directly before attempt to laugh it off but it came out a bit choked, “I was in the year below you.” George smiles again, eyes crinkling at their sides. “I’m Y/n.” You offer him your hand.
His smile drops a bit, and you can see the pieces slowly clicking into place. “Merlin! Y/n? Y/n L/n?” He grabs hold of your hand firmly and gives it a nice shake. You can't help but mentally note how surprisingly calloused they are.
“The one and the same.” You half-heartedly chuckle, wiping your hands on your thighs. You’re not completely surprised he didn’t recognize you, during the final leg of the war you lost a bit of weight, and in the years after days of skipping dinner and calling a cup of coffee adequate lunch had furthered your change. That plus a decent haircut gave you a completely new look, albeit a bit of a boney one.
“It’s great to see you! I had no idea you were the one running this little shop. I’ve heard great things.” He’s all warm smiles again and you find yourself smiling along with him, “You’ve certainly grown up.”
You shrug a little, gingerly pushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “I think we all have. Most of us at least.”
“That’s true.”
“Anyway,” You snap into customer service mode again, “Let me see here,” You gently pull out a book you had stocked no more than twenty minutes prior. “This is the mental potions textbook most seventh years are required. It’s a newer version than we used in school but it should brush you up on what we were meant to learn.” You step around an open box and led him a bit further through the store, “And if you need something a bit more advanced or in-depth it should be over in this section.”
“Thank you.”
You turn to leave with a nod, but he stops you, warm hand on your wrist, “It was lovely to see you again, Y/n.”
You nod again, offering a slightly wobbly smile as he releases his grip on your arm with a sheepish smile of his own.
You quickly make your escape behind the counter and into the small kitchen, Fen giving you a weird look as you ignore her, repressing a building scream. Somehow seeing George had set off something inside you and you can feel your face burning.
“What’s wrong with you?” Wilson questions from behind you, causing you to jump. You hadn’t seen him standing by the panini press in your mad dash for some privacy.
“Shit, Wils, you scared the crap out of me.”
He raises an eyebrow “Sorry?”
You blow out a breath, “Nothing, just ran into someone from school.”
“It looks like something, if you racing back here is anything to go by,” Fen says from the doorway. You shush her and send her a glare.
“I’m fine really.”
“Whatever you say,” She smirks and goes back to her spot by the register.
You take a deep breath, still feeling Wilson’s eyes on you, and straighten your apron. Somehow you make it through the rest of the day with relative ease.
It’s only two days later when George makes another appearance. You’re manning the register this time since Fen’s on her break and Wilson is more at home in the kitchen or stocking the books than handling customers. You’re doodling on the back of a receipt when the bell above the door alerts you to a customer as George walks in. He’s dressed in a simple dark purple t-shirt complemented by an open button-up.
“Good morning, er, I guess afternoon at this point.” He glances at the clock on the wall behind you and stops in front of the counter.
“Hi.” You smile again, standing up a bit straighter, “What can I do for you today?”
He pauses for a moment, almost as if he’s caught off guard, “Well actually, I came in to thank you for your help the other day.”
“Oh, no need, I was only doing my job.”
“Still, thank you. Also, I was hoping to grab a coffee or tea. One for me and one for Fred. And perhaps a pastry. Anything you recommend?”
You think for a moment, “Our house roast is probably the best if I’m honest. Unless you want something a bit fancier. It has a few of the same additives as Wit-Sharpening Potion without actually counting as a potion.” You walk to the display case, pausing for a second before grabbing a to-go box, “Do you like sweets?”
“As much as the next guy.”
“Here, try these.” You place two cinnamon rolls in the box, “One for you and one for your brother.”
“Fantastic!”
George pays for the coffees and treats and somewhere along the way finds a seat at the counter. The two of you get caught up in a bit of small talk as he sips his coffee and nibbles a bit at the roll. You end up taking one for yourself as well.
“Oh my goodness, this is excellent!” He says around a mouthful of sugar.
You laugh a little, “Thank you, I baked it myself. My mother’s old recipe.”
“She must’ve been one hell of a baker.” George gives you a soft smile.
“She was. She always valued comfort and happiness over what maybe was healthier in the long run. While they might not be the best for you, they always tasted amazing.” You say, a faraway look in your eyes as you think about the treats she made you growing up.
“Who says you can’t indulge every once in a while?”
The conversation dies down after a bit, and George glances back at the clock.
“Oof look at the time. Well, I should probably get back to Fred. He probably thinks I got lost,” He stands up, balancing Fred’s now lukewarm coffee on top of the box of half-eaten cinnamon rolls. “It was great catching up with you. I’m surprised we never really hung out back in the day.”
“Yeah, well things were kind of different back then.”
“True,” He turns to leave but pauses as he reaches the door, “Maybe next time we can get lunch?”
“I think I could make that work.”
He leaves with a soft goodbye and you can feel Fen’s eyes on you. She got back about halfway through your conversation with George, and you have no doubt Wilson caught her up on the beginning of the visit.
“Not a word, Fenella.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
The next Wednesday you end up taking a break just a little after one. George had stopped by to see if you were free for your promised lunch and Fen had all but kicked you out of the store. You barely had time to hang up your apron before you were out the door and out in the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley with George at your side.
You fiddle with the hem of your t-shirt as you meander through the crowd.
“So, I was thinking we could actually go to a muggle restaurant if that’s alright with you.”
“Sure.” You’re suddenly glad you opted for muggle clothes today as opposed to a robe.
“Great,” George picks up speed and you have to take longer steps to keep time with him, “There’s this new Thai place that opened up just outside the leaky cauldron that I’ve been meaning to try out.”
The walk there is rather uneventful, but you spend the entire way just trying to picture what younger you would do if she could see you now, going out to lunch with George Weasley.
The restaurant is just a little hole-in-the-wall type of place with only a few tables set up for indoor seating.
Once you both put in your orders you sit down at a table and wait for your food to arrive. In just about no time at all your food is ready and you both dig in. You let out a soft moan at the taste of your dish.
“Wow, I see why people recommended this place. The portions are huge.” George says after chewing.
You take another bite of your pad Thai and agree with a nod.
You get to talking over the meal.
“So, why open a bookstore? Or café? Or both?” He laughs a little, that crooked smile of his making an appearance.
“It was actually my parents' lifelong dream. Once Dad retired from healing and mom from teaching, they hoped to settle down and run a little bookstore café in town somewhere.” You shrug, taking another bite. “It only seemed right after everything to open it in their honor.”
George nods in understanding. “And the name?”
It’s your turn to chuckle, “Actually also from my parents. My dad had this huge crush on my mom his entire life. They were neighbors and practically grew up together. Anyway, before my dad finally worked up the courage to ask my mom out, he spent months making Felix Felicis and took some before asking her.”
“No way!”
“Yes way.” You continue, “When my mom found out she was so mad, claiming their whole relationship started because of a potion that made it impossible to say no.”
“I can see why she’d be mad.” George sits back in his chair, his meal basically forgotten in front of him.
“Exactly, I would be too. The only thing is, and my mom didn’t know this at the time, my dad was rubbish at potions. He was a fantastic charm caster but couldn’t make a sleeping draught to save his life, much less Felix Felicis. Eventually, after a few weeks of arguments, in embarrassment, my mom realized her saying yes was all on her. Three months later, he proposed and my mom had him tested for Felix Felicis before she said yes.”
“Amazing.”
George and you continue talking, actually getting to know each other for once, and you finish your meal without even meaning to, caught up in the conversation. Once your fork hits the plate though, you pause for a moment and realize just how full you are. George’s meal sits half-eaten in front of him. You lean back a bit in your chair and subtly attempt to adjust your waistband which is now pressing against your usually flat stomach.
“So, after everything, you still think the good outweighs the bad?” You say, flabbergasted.
“Of course! If anything, the bad simply enhances it all.”
“You’re mental.”
“Hey! I’m sure plenty of people agree with me.” George defends, “If not how would they still be in business?”
You shake your head with a smile, “That’s fair but it’ll be a cold day in hell before you find me casually snacking away on Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.”
George laughs before pushing his plate towards you, “Do you want the rest of this?”
“Oh, no I couldn’t-“
“Really though, I would normally finish it myself or bring it back for Fred, but I had a late breakfast, and he can’t handle spice to save his life. Don’t tell him I said that.”
“Alright,” You sit forward a bit, mindful of your already full stomach, and begin to eat the rest of George’s meal, not wanting the afternoon to be over so soon. Eventually though, as all good things do, it comes to an end when you both realize the time.
“I should get back to the shop,” you say with a sigh, not wanting to leave.
“Honestly same, although not your shop, mine I mean.”
He stands up and stretches out his arms as you stand with a bit of a heave. If you thought you were full after your meal you were doubly full after packing away the rest of George's. Your belly was sticking out a few inches in front of you and gently tugged on your shirt hoping it wasn’t too noticeable.
The walk back to your corner of Diagon Alley is much slower than your walk earlier, neither of you wanting to get back to work and your stomach too full to walk any faster. George walks you to your store and pauses.
“I’m glad we could do this.”
You smile, “Me too.”
“Let’s do it again sometime?”
“Sure.”
After a moment of brief consideration, George leans forward to give you a hug. You have to stand slightly on your toes, and you feel your full stomach press against his flat one. Any attempt to suck in was futile. The entire thing leaves you feeling a bit lightheaded and floaty.
You make a point of avoiding Fen’s inquisitive looks and head straight to the bathroom to catch your breath. Once you lock the door, you let out a sigh, your hands coming to rest on your bloated belly. You debate unbuttoning your jeans, before casting a quick engorgio on them instead. With that discomfort out of the way, you take a moment to feel the tightness of your belly. You slowly rub your hands over the arch of your stomach and shock yourself as a burp is released followed by a small moan. Your face heats up even though no one is there to witness it, and you quickly rub in a deeper circle, enjoying the release of pressure as you work up another burp.
As you take a look at yourself in the mirror, red-faced, eyes slightly glassy, and stomach pushed out in front of you, you can’t help but think back on Georges's words from the other day.
“Who says you can’t indulge every once in a while?”
You end up making it a weekly thing, every Friday George meets you outside your shop and you walk to lunch together. Eventually, it becomes every Wednesday and Friday, and then soon enough, by the beginning of July, it’s every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And on the days in between, you find yourself nibbling on a pastry or two here or there, having grown accustomed to lunch during the day, a cup of coffee will no longer do.
It’s on one of these Tuesdays that you find yourself snacking on your second triple chocolate muffin. The summer heat is in full swing, and your AC has decided to up and die on you, causing much grumbling among Fen and Wilson. You have kept the heat reasonably managed by casting a few cooling charms but there’s only so much you can do. All in all, it’s just made you a bit sleepy. Despite this you find yourself humming.
“What’s gotten into her?” Wils mutters under his breath, not quite as quietly as he meant.
Fen barely looks up from her book before answering, “She’s in love idiot.”
You choke on your bite and cough a bit, gasping for breath once your airway is clear.
“Excuse me? In love with who?”
Fen gives you a look that says Seriously? And turns back to her book. “At the very least she has a crush.”
“That would explain all the humming.” Wilson comments.
“Hey!” You exclaim, “I’m right here you know.”
“We know.”
You frown and attempt to go back to just quietly eating your muffin but can’t. “I’m not in love, by the way, I’m not even in like.”
Fen looks up at you again, and Wilson shakes his head.
“We’re just friends!”
“Right, and that’s why we didn’t even have to say his name,” Wilson says before walking back into the kitchen. You feel your cheeks heat up and your mouth opens to defend yourself, but no words come.
“I rest my case,” Fen smirks and picks her book up higher, signaling the end of the conversation.
You pout as you quickly finish the muffin you were eating and wait a few minutes before grabbing another and placing it in a to-go box.
“I’ll be back in a little bit.”
Fen barely acknowledges you as you leave, making your way across the street. You enter Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and smile as you take in all the life the store holds inside. You look over the store and spot a familiar head of red hair at one of the empty registers. Scooting around moving displays and rambunctious children begging their parents for some goody or the other, you approach the counter before doing a double-take. The man behind the counter looks almost exactly like your newfound friend except for a few minor differences.
While George has a small scar trailing down the left side of his face from his injury prior to the end of the war, this man has none. Along with that this twin is just slightly more muscled than George who has a good bit of lean muscle leftover from days of fighting, kept up due to the day-to-day labors of lifting boxes and helping his mother in the garden on the weekends. Fred has the body of a swimmer, which George has informed you was his favorite form of physical therapy after his major injury during the Battle of Hogwarts. His shirt is just tight enough to show off his strong arms and give just a hint at his cut physique. The difference isn’t entirely noticeable from twin to twin but after spending a good bit of time with George it’s clear to you.
“Hi,” You offer as he glances at you when you walk forward.
“Ah, Y/n L/n. I wondered when I would see you on this side of the Alley. George seems to spend a lot of time over on yours.” He smiles brightly and you attempt to fight down a bit of nerves. “What brings you to our little old shop?”
The word little doesn’t really fit in terms of the store, but you let it slide. “I was hoping to drop this off for George,” You lift up the to-go container. “And between you and me, our AC is broken. There’s only so much a cooling charm can do for me at this point. I was hoping over here would be a bit cooler.” You grin.
“Ouch, rough blow. That I can give you though. A George appearance, not so much.” You frown and he shrugs, “On Tuesdays and Thursdays he helps run our Hogsmeade location.”
You vaguely remember a Quibbler article about the opening of their other location and nod thoughtfully. “Oh well. Would you like it?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I just got back from lunch. Thank you though." He gets a wide grin and a bit of a spark in his eye before he continues, "Anyway, while you’re here I was telling George to invite you to the pub on Friday. A group of us meet up every once in a while for drinks. I’m sure you’d fit right in, and George, and I for that matter, would love to see you there.”
“I’ll think about it.” You smile, half at the realization George must mention you a little to Fred, half at the invitation.
After a bit of small talk, a rush comes on and you leave to allow Fred to get back to work. You don’t even notice that sometime throughout it all you had eaten the muffin yourself.
That evening, as you go to flip the closed sign a rushed knock startles you. You look up to see George smiling sheepishly. You give him a glare as you let him in, but you’re betrayed by a soft smile that sneaks its way onto your face.
“Sorry about that.” He scratches his neck just below his scar, a nervous habit of his you’ve noticed. “I’m glad I caught you.”
You quirk an eyebrow, urging him to continue.
“I heard you stopped by looking for me earlier.”
“Oh yeah,” You let out a nervous laugh, “I needed a break from the heat,” You gesture around to the store and if you were paying a bit closer attention you would see George’s face drop just a little. You dismissed the cooling charms after Wilson left so the heat is fully back. Your hair is pulled up and you’ve shedded your apron leaving you in a simple, cropped tank top and shorts.
“Why don’t I take a look at that pesky AC unit?”
“Really? You’d do that?”
“Sure,” He steps further into the store, “It’ll cost you though.”
You look at him quizzically.
He smiles in reply. “Dinner afterward.”
“I think that’s a fair deal.”
You lead him to the control room for electricity, cooling, and heating and let him get to work. He explains vaguely what he’s doing as he goes along but it’s mainly gibberish to you. Eventually, he also sheds his outer layer, wrapping his button-up around his waist, leaving him in a thin tank top, and a bit sweaty. You watch as he works, strong arms twisting and pulling and fixing. His back flexing with each movement. Throughout it, you sip on sweet, iced drinks and nipple on a few leftover pieces of coffee cake.
After about an hour, George stands up, flips the switch, and places his hands on his hips. You let out a cheer as the AC whirs to life and offer him a celebratory iced coffee which he gladly accepts, wiping away a bit of sweat.
“And that should do it!” He turns to face you, his hair slightly damp and standing up from running his hand through it and you’re thankful you can blame your pink cheeks on the lingering heat. “I’m going to quickly run to the restroom to get washed before we head out.”
You lightly cough as you find your words, “Sounds good.”
In no time at all, you and George take to the street, the sky just starting to darken into a beautiful summer sunset.
“So where to?” You ask.
George hums, “Maybe we should get some takeaway and eat somewhere we can catch the end of the sunset.”
“Sounds great.”
After a bit of debating, you settle on Mexican and make your way back to Drop of Luck with your food. George looks at you with an unsaid question but you just gesture at him to follow you. You cut through the store to the back alley, and pull down on a ladder, dropping the entrance to the fire escape.
“After you,” You grin, casting a wordless levitation charm on the food, freeing up both of your hands to climb up the ladder after George.
Once you get to the top you lose all train of thought as you taking in the sky above you. All filled with purples and pinks and oranges, dipping down to a deep blue just below the horizon.
“Wow. It’s beautiful.” You breathe.
“Yeah.”
You quickly reveal a tattered quilt you keep stashed away up there for nights like these and quiet stolen moments and lay out your dinner on it.
“Bon appetite!” George exclaims, sitting down next to you.
You laugh a little but couldn’t have chosen a better night. You eat and don’t say much but it’s perfect, your thoughts up with the swirling clouds above you. It isn’t until the first summertime stars begin to appear above that you realize you’ve overdone it again. It’s beginning to become a bit of a habit after your time spent with George. You can feel your tightly packed stomach pressing against your previously engorgioed shorts and your cropped tank top slightly ridding up to make room for your bloat. You subconsciously place a hand on your belly before quickly moving it, not wanting to draw attention to your growing problem.
“You know, it’s nights like these where I realized we really missed out,” George speaks eventually, into the budding darkness.
“What do you mean,” Your eyes trace the stars but when your question is met with silence you turn to look at George, only to lock gazes with him as he’s already looking at you.
He quickly turns away, “Only that we’ve known each other since we were eleven, well I guess I was twelve, and we’re only just now getting close.”
Your face heats up, “I wouldn’t have said we really knew each other. I didn’t think you knew I existed at all.”
“What are you talking about? Of course, I knew you existed. Why wouldn't I?”
You let out a small chuckle but it didn’t hold its normal warmth, “You were a living legend back at Hogwarts. You and Fred both were. I was just some awkward, chubby girl who never really fit in with her house or peers at all. I didn’t think anyone would’ve remembered me, to be honest.” You turn to face George again and he’s frowning. Suddenly realizing you ruined the mood you attempt to backtrack. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. At least now we’re friends.”
“Yeah,” He gives you a small smile, and you can just make it out in the dying light, “I’m glad we’re friends.”
The conversation flows softly after that, not much of importance is said but it’s alright. Eventually, you part, he gives you a small wave and apparates with a crack, leaving you on the roof a bit happy and a bit sad, and altogether a bit confused.
Mostly though, he leaves you utterly full, the weight of meat, cheese, and rice settling heavily in your overfed stomach. You place your hands on the sides of your stomach, rubbing it just like you did a few weeks ago in the bathroom and not even noticing the slight softness that’s grown in the past month.