Starry Night {George Weasley}

Four Years Since

Rosi's mind is slightly fuzzy when she wakes up the next morning. It takes her a few seconds of blinking the sleep out of her eyes to realize that the handsome redhead was still sleeping soundly next to her, one strong arm draped over her stomach. She bites back a smile as she turns her head to examine him. He was sleeping on his stomach, his arm resting on her haphazardly as if he just wanted to feel her warmth, and half of his face was pressed firmly into the pillow, his lips parted while soft snores fell past them.

She let her smile free and felt it tug at her lips briefly before she carefully sat up, carefully removing his arm from her stomach and climbing out of bed. Her first stop was the back of her bathroom door where she grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her naked form before making her way over to the stove with the intention of starting water for tea but the sharp ringing of her telephone causes her to jump.

She scurries over to where her phone is kept on her nightstand and quickly answers it, hoping that it doesn't wake George up.

"Hello?" She answers in a hushed tone.

"Ambrosia? Have you been getting my calls?" Rosi's eyes fall shut in annoyance. She briefly presses the phone to her chest to muffle the string of curses that slip out of her mouth before she brings it back to her mouth to speak.

"Mum, I've been busy." She sighs, finally addressing her annoyed mother on the other line.

"That's never an excuse to ignore your mother." Rachel snips back with just as much sass as her daughter, "I was worried about you."

"I know, I'm sorry." Rosi hopes that her sympathetic voice hides the eye roll she was currently performing, "What do you need?"

Her mum lets out a long, heavy sigh, one that could guilt trip even the devil, "I was only wondering if you would be over for dinner tonight. You know today is...."

"I know what today is, mum." She cuts her off quickly. The truth was that Rosi had almost forgotten the importance of today due to the events of her night before. And, while part of her felt guilty for letting it slip her mind, another part of her had felt relief from the ever-present feeling of guilt. Her train of thought abruptly stopped when she saw the man in her bed begin to stir, "I'll be at dinner, don't worry. I have to go, I'll see you later." She hangs up the phone and sets it back down on the nightstand just before George's eyes flutter open and he looks at her.

"Hey, who was that?" He asks, his voice thick with sleep.

"Just my mum." She shrugs, tucking her legs underneath her as she sits back down on her side of the bed, "Good morning." She plasters on a smile.

"Morning." He groans, stretching his arms above his head before he drops one of his hands on her thigh, "Everything okay?" He asks.

"Yeah, everything is fine." She shrugs, playing with his fingers that rest on her thigh, "I just have a family thing tonight so she was checking to make sure I would be there."

"Is it someone's birthday or something?"

Rosi's heart sinks and she drops his fingers back onto her thigh, fearing that he would feel how sweaty her palms her getting, "Yeah, my little brother's."

"Oh," George sits up slightly, a bright smile on his face at the thought of learning something new about her, "how old is he turning?"

She swallows, weighing her options of telling him the truth or just lying to him to save herself the pity. She always prided herself on being an honest person, and George made her feel like spilling her darkest secrets to him–something that both scared her and excited her. "He would be turning 17."

George frowns at first, confused by her choice of words. But, when it dawns on him exactly why she used those words and what they meant, his face falls. He sits up all the way, opening his mouth to profusely apologize, "I'm–"

"Sorry, I know," She smiles sadly at him, "It's okay, really. It happened about four years ago, I've had my time to heal." she leans over and kisses his cheek quickly, "Now, as much as I would love to sit here with you all day, I would like to get to my studio before this dinner tonight."

"Studio?" George asks, his eyes following her as she climbs off of bed and walks back over to her stove. He looks around the perimeter of her bed, starting to collect all of his clothes that were discarded from the night before.

"Yeah, my art studio a couple of blocks from here," she tells him, starting the water for her tea, "I rent out space because if I always painted in here there would be no room for any other activities," She walks to the end of the bed and grabs his pants for him, "Like having sex with handsome redheads." She tosses him his jeans.

"Cheeky," He winks at her. After he's all dressed–double-checking that his wand was still tucked away in the inner pocket of his jean jacket–Rosi walks him to the door, placing her hands flat against his chest, "So, can I get your phone number?"

Rosi thinks about it tilting her head back and forth until she stands on the very tips of her toes and presses a kiss to his lips, "You know where to find me."

******

It's late morning by the time George makes it back to his flat that he shares with Fred, his mind replaying the events from that morning and the previous night.

He had never met anyone like Ambrosia Lewis before, and he had wanted to be able to see her again...and again...and again. But, he worried that they had messed up whatever they had going on by moving too fast or by the exchange they had about her brother this morning.

He hadn't meant to pry and he hoped that she knew that. He had known a lot of people who died during the war, he had seen how death affects people in the worst ways.

He stops in his tracks just before he enters his flat, finally doing the math in his head. It had been four years since the battle of Hogwarts and since Voldemort was defeated. Rosi said it had been four years since her brother had died. Was it possible that...

No, Rosi was a muggle. There was no sign that she was hiding any magic from him. Of course, some muggleborns are the only wizards in their family and that could have been the case for her brother.

No, it had to be some sort of coincidence.

George unlocks the door to his flat and steps inside, dropping his keys on the table by the door, "Well, well, well, look who decided to come home." Fred speaks up from the couch, paperwork for the shop spread out on the coffee table in front of him. "Miss muggle bartender finally gave you the time of day, huh?"

"I guess you could say that," George says, running his fingers through his hair.

"Well, we've got a lot of new inventory for the shop that we need to get organized before tomorrow so when you're done living your sex fantasy I need you back to work," Fred says, his quill scratching against the parchment as he works away.

"Yeah, of course. I'm just gonna hop in the shower then I'll be all yours." George promises, making his way toward the bathroom.

"Are you gonna see her again?" Fred calls after him just as he's about to step into the bathroom.

George pauses, thinking through his answer, "I hope so."