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Hermione squeezed past the noisy patrons as she walked deeper into the bar. The sound system was blaring some awful pop song from an artist who was sure to remain firmly a one-hit wonder. It was, in short, not Hermione’s typical idea of fun, but the man waiting for her made the whole thing worth it.
As expected, he was standing in the back, alone, two drinks in his hand. He smiled crookedly at Hermione while she appreciated the view. He was tall and lanky—though not as lanky as she remembered him from school—and he looked great in a teal T-shirt that perfectly set-off his red hair.
He handed Hermione her drink pulling her in for a kiss in his strong arms. He smelled intoxicatingly good and she liked that she could taste the whiskey on his lips.
“How did I get so lucky?” she asked when they eventually split apart.
George was accustomed to many people in his home; it came with the territory of being one of seven children. So, it was hardly noticeable at all when his youngest brother’s friends stayed to visit. Harry, of course, did cause quite a kerfuffle when he first arrived, but then they eventually all settled into their routines once the dust had settled.
Hermione, on the other hand, was quiet as a mouse. George thought she had the tendency to disappear into the landscape as she read a book while everyone else played a game of Quidditch. One might think that George Weasley, a consummate rulebreaker, might not like Hermione Granger, when in fact he had always had a soft spot for her. In contrast to his reckless impulsivity he admired her measured thoughtfulness, her seriousness against his silliness.
He also knew she had a thing for his annoying little brother.
“Watch out!” he heard someone say before he felt a sharp pain on the side of his head.
George did not remember passing out or how he ended up on the ground, but he did remember Hermione’s face peering into his as he came to.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I should hope not,” he replied. “I should have a left half as well.”
Hermione cracked a smile, which made George inordinately happy. Hermione Granger smiled at him.
~~~
It was a damn shame that the Triwizard Tournament was happening when Fred and George were just a shade too young to enter, which was why—through some intense late-night brainstorming—they had come up with a sure-fire plan to get through Dumbledore’s age line.
They entered the room where the goblet was held, drawing quite the crowd as well. And what was the point of their exploits if there was no one around to see them? That was generally their modus operandi and it was especially true in this situation, even if more eyes meant that they were more likely to be found out by one of their professors.
“It’s not going to work,” Hermione said, right before they were about to down the potion. Other people might not have noticed that she was in the room, but George did immediately. Of course she had some ridiculously large book on her lap—George could not help but smile at that.
“Really? And why’s that, Granger?” his twin asked.
“Dumbledore drew this age line. A genius like him couldn’t be fooled by something as dim-witted as an ageing potion.”
“But that’s why it’s so brilliant.”
“It’s so pathetically dim-witted, it just might work,” George added.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but George could tell that she was equally thrilled by the prospect of seeing if it worked. Granger and the twins were more alike than one might think. They were all scientists with unquenchable stores of curiosity—they just had different methodologies.
And to see the look on her face when they did end up failing and falling straight on their backs, might have been worth the weeklong stay in the Hospital Wing.
~~~
George was jealous of his twin’s certainty in whom he wanted to ask to the Yule Ball. Well, it was not as if George didn’t know who he might want to ask, it was just that he was almost certain that she would be going with someone else. So, at Fred’s prodding, George asked Alicia Spinnet who was a good friend and an even better teammate.
But to his shock and horror, George had to witness firsthand that Hermione would, in fact, not be attending the ball with his little brother, as he had previously assumed.
“Hey, Hermione, you’re a girl,” Ron said. That was not a good starting line. The Weasleys were suaver than this, weren’t they? Ron was an embarrassment to all of them.
“Well spotted,” Hermione responded, not even looking up from her big book.
“Do you want to go to the ball with me?” he asked.
That was enough for Hermione. She slammed her book closed and stood up from her seat. “Unfortunately someone’s already asked me.” And she walked from the room.
Fred snickered beside him at their brother’s absolute ineptitude at talking to girls but George was focused more on the hurt clearly written across Hermione’s face. She—like everyone else—probably was well-aware that Ron had been ogling the Beauxbâtons students, especially Fleur Delacour, so why would she have assumed he would ask her?
“She’s lying. She’s not going with anyone,” Ron said in a piss-poor attempt to save face and maintain his ego.
George could have gone over and whacked his brother upside the head. Even if she were lying, his brother did not have to be so rude to her. How could he be so thick?
~~~
George was fiddling with his sleeves while he and Fred waited for their dates. He was happy that the two of them had received Bill and Charlie’s hand me down dress robes and not the hideous pair Ron had been given. As far as he was concerned, Ron deserved it; he had made Hermione upset. Come to think of it, George still didn’t know who Hermione was going with. Or if she was going at all.
But when he waited along the walls with Fred, Angelina, and Alicia, as the four champions started the dance, George finally caught sight of her.
She had done something different with her hair—not better, just different—and she was wearing a periwinkle dress. The worst part, however, was that she was dancing with Viktor Krum. This was not bad because George was jealous, of course, but because this was sure to make his brother angry. And when Ron was angry, he had a tendency to lash out.
George chanced a glance at his brother who was standing beside Padma Patil, his hands in his pockets. He wished his brother would keep his mouth shut for once in his life, but the anger dancing across his features made it clear that they would not be so lucky. And Hermione would be the one to pay for it.
George’s prediction, unfortunately, came true later that evening, when he heard Hermione yell, “Pluck up the courage to ask me in the first place and not as a last resort!” before storming from the Great Hall.
George was tempted to run after her and apologize on behalf of all of the Weasleys, but he held himself back. He and Hermione were not close, per se, and she would probably not appreciate the gesture.
“Our brother sure is a git, isn’t he?” Fred said beside him.
“You can say that again.”
~~~
Voldemort had returned and George wished he had the luxury to worry about something as simple as who he was inviting to a dance. But, as a bright spot, he and Fred had both gotten their Apparition licenses.
“Hermione will be staying with us this summer at Grimmauld Place,” Mrs. Weasley said over dinner one evening.
“Oh, yeah?” George said, trying not to sound too interested. “Ron wasn’t repellant enough for her?”
“George, I wish you wouldn’t talk about your brother that way.”
“You’re the one who was mad at Hermione because you thought she broke Harry’s heart,” George said.
“I hardly think that’s relevant.”
And that was the end of that.
Hermione arrived a few days later, her stuff neatly packed in a single suitcase. George knew magic had been involved, but he admired her organization; he could never fit everything he needed in one bag.
The Order of the Phoenix were meeting regularly at Grimmauld Place, which piqued his and Fred’s curiosity, which was how they came to invent the Extendable Ear. It also helped that they couldn’t go outside and play Quidditch. They had been experimenting with new inventions that summer to their mother’s dismay—“You should be studying for your NEWTs!” she had a habit of yelling—but this was the first one they got working.
When Harry finally arrived and they were ready to demonstrate their brilliance, George secretly hoped that Hermione would be impressed. She had, after all, kept a woman imprisoned as a beetle in a jar; this was proof of her own devilish streak. So, maybe she would admire this tricky feat of ingenuity. And maybe she would ask how they had managed it and after he explained, exclaim his brilliance.
But to his utter dismay, Hermione told them off. George was crestfallen, but he told himself that she was probably still annoyed with them for Apparating right beside her every opportunity every chance he got. He wished that he could be less obnoxious, but with his twin always egging on his worst tendencies, he didn’t know if it was possible.
“You like her, don’t you?” Fred asked him after their failed demonstration.
“What are you talking about? Granger? No, she likes Ron, remember? I mean, no accounting for taste but…”
Fred gave him a look that said, “I’m your twin; I’ve been able to read your mind since the womb. Stop lying.” But mercifully did not force George to admit it out loud.
Still, he hoped it was only obvious to his brother and not to anyone else. Besides, it was only a little crush; George was sure to grow out of it.
~~~
George’s suspicions that Hermione had a bit of an anti-authoritarian bent were confirmed once more when he was invited by Harry and his brother to the Hog’s Head to join a secret group. While it had not been openly said that it had been Hermione’s idea, he knew neither Harry nor Ron was clever enough to come up with it.
And while George was always on board to break more rules, especially ones that would piss off that toad, Umbridge, he was more thrilled about the possibility to spend time with Hermione. He was not bad in Defense—if he did say so himself—and she just might notice.
George’s excitement was cut short, however, when his dad was bitten by a venomous snake and ended up in St. Mungo’s. Fred would try to break the tension with jokes, but no one was laughing when there was a real possibility that they could lose their father.
When he was stable and they were finally able to visit him, George was comforted that Hermione had joined them, even if he did feel a twinge of jealousy when she placed a hand on Ron’s shoulder instead of his.
They’re friends, he reminded himself, and she barely knows you exist.
~~~
As it had turned out, their mother’s pleas for them to buckle down and focus on their NEWTs had been for naught because they had decided to forgo the whole ordeal and go out with a bang instead. As Fred reasoned, they would not need any NEWTs to be successful in their business endeavors. All they needed was seed money—much obliged, Harry—and their zeal for invention, of which they had plenty.
But that summer, as they prepared their extended range of products, George could not help but wonder if he ought to reach out to Hermione for help in the trickier aspects of their inventing.
Yet, every time he considered it, he told himself that she would look down their nose at them. Or ask them for a cut of their proceeds, which he knew Fred would never approve. They still had a sizable chunk of their seed fund left, but Fred, the accountant and twin with stronger business acumen, kept a tight rein on their purse strings.
And when the time for opening day had arrived, George checked and double-checked his reflection. Fred had bought them a new pair of dress robes and paid extra to get them custom-tailored, but George had always hated how he looked in a monkey suit.
“Ginny told me Granger will also be coming,” he heard from the doorway.
George straightened, only realizing after the fact what this obvious change in posture would mean to his twin. Even if Fred did already know, this felt like something he was not ready to admit yet.
“Is that so?” George said, turning around. He had given up. He was going to look how he was going to look; this might be the best he could hope for.
But Fred said nothing more as they walked from their tiny flat down to the shop.
George kept busy enough with last-minute preparations so it came as a bit of a shock when he caught sight of his Harry and Hermione looking at the dream potions. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Fred approaching them, so he followed suit. It was only natural that they speak to them as a pair.
“You know,” Hermione said, looking to Harry, “that really is extraordinary magic!”
“For that, Granger,” Fred said, “you can have one for free. Oi, what’s happened to your eye?”
“Your punching telescope,” she said ruefully. It really was hard to miss. She looked like a panda.
“Oh, blimey, I forgot about those,” Fred said. “George?”
But George was already handing her the tube of thick yellow paste they had created just for instances like this. She sniffed it carefully before doling some out onto her index finger.
“Don’t worry; it’s safe. I’ve tried it on myself,” George said, pointing to his eye.
Fred continued to take Harry on a tour of the shop which left him alone with Hermione. He watched her carefully spread the paste around her eye and gave her a—rather awkward—thumbs up when he saw that she had achieved good coverage.
“Should be gone within the hour,” he said.
“Thanks,” Hermione said, gingerly handing him back the paste.
“There you are, Mione,” Ron said, barging in on them. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
Hermione looked nervously between George and Ron, before saying, “Goodbye. And thanks again!”
George wanted to say that he did not need to thank her when it was their fault in the first place but Ron had practically dragged her from the shop before he could get a word in edgewise.
He still had no idea what was wrong with his younger brother. Was it not clear to him that a clever, witty, thoughtful witch was over the moon for him? He did not blame Hermione for the attraction. The Weasleys were all exceptionally good-looking—though some more than others—but Ron was clearly not worthy of her if he could not see right what was in front of his face.
This idea was further solidified in George’s mind over the Christmas holidays later that year when he learned that his little brother was dating someone named Lavender Brown.
~~~
George wished he could see Hermione again under better circumstances but the impending war was making that harder and harder to do. He watched her lean against Ron at Dumbledore’s funeral, her tears falling fast and heavy. George himself struggled not to cry, so he tried to remember that he had died for a good cause.
The next time he saw her, he watched as she, himself, and the four others transformed into exact copies of Harry Potter. She would be getting to the Ministry on a thestral with Kingsley, which was some comfort to George.
He watched them fly off before getting on a broom with Lupin. George was worried this journey would be boring or awkward but it turned out his concerns were unfounded when they were suddenly surrounded by a pack of Death Eaters.
In the middle of the fray, George was hit by a stinging jinx but thought he was otherwise unscathed. It was only after they had gotten away that he felt something hot and wet dripping down his neck. He was starting to feel dizzy and like he might fall off the broomstick, but he did not want to say anything to Lupin until they made it safely to the Burrow.
George practically rolled off the broom and stumbled inside, where his mum and Hermione were waiting.
“Oh my God, you’re bleeding!” Hermione said, jumping up from the table.
At that, his mum jumped up to join her. He felt himself being led to the couch. He heard his mother yell something at Hermione followed by his head being gently lifted by warm hands and laid on top of a towel.
He opened his eyes, with some difficulty, to see Hermione biting her lip, entirely focused on her task. She was touching him. This was all he could think about as he drifted out of consciousness.
~~~
Unfortunately for George, his mother was insistent that he take it easy while he healed somewhat—despite all of their hard work they weren’t able to reattach his ear—but luckily for him, Hermione had been the one tasked with checking in on him occasionally.
Well, for all he knew, she had volunteered for the position, but he would not allow himself to get his hopes up.
The day of the wedding arrived and George was no longer allowed to lie in bed all day. They needed all hands on deck and he had been drafted into helping set up, which also meant he did not get to see Hermione, who was helping elsewhere, until the actual event.
She looked quite pretty in her red dress and after the ceremony, he was working up the courage to thank her for all of her help, when he saw Viktor Krum approach her and ask her to dance.
George hung off to the side with his twin, who joked with him about all of their ridiculous relatives. His heart wasn’t in the taunts, however, as he kept sneaking glances at Hermione. And at his brother, as well. George was pretty sure they had patched things up in regards to the Lavender Brown situation, but he still remembered the last time Hermione had danced with Krum and it had not been pretty.
But maybe Ron had wised up somewhat and realized that he shouldn’t make a scene at their brother’s wedding, because he seemed to also be watching respectfully from a distance. Or maybe he and Hermione had decided they were better off friends. Or maybe Hell had frozen over.
And then, before he knew it, a lynx patronus was illuminating the tent and the merrymaking was over. The party became chaos and George could once more only watch as Hermione, Ron, and the boy Harry was Polyjuiced as found each other and disappeared with a pop.
~~~
George did not know why he would have ever thought he would see them again soon, but now he had to get used to the idea that he might not ever see his brother, Harry, or Hermione ever again.
It had been Lee’s idea to start Potterwatch, but when he had asked the two of them to help out, George had been more than willing to do his part. It was the least they could do after the war had completely decimated Diagon Alley and they had to close their shop. Funnily enough, even Lupin had decided to join them, but George had to wonder if that was because he still felt bad for the ear incident, not that it had been his fault.
But beyond filling out orders at their Aunt Muriel’s and doing radio segments, George’s life was surprisingly empty. It was weird to think that his days could be so empty when the world as they knew it was burning around them, but he supposed the war had destroyed any hope for normalcy at the moment.
George knew Fred was writing to Angelina still, which made George feel even lonelier. He had never truly felt lonely before since he had always had Fred in his life, but now they were coming to the point where they might have to live separately. In truth, George had known it was a long-time coming but he had hoped he could put it off for a little while longer. But that was unfair; he shouldn’t want to limit his brother’s happiness for his own selfish reasons.
~~~
George remembered exactly where he was and what he was doing when they got the message from Neville that Harry had been spotted in Hogsmeade and was sneaking into Hogwarts. They had been preparing for this inevitability and yet, George still felt unprepared when he was lying on his bed at Aunt Muriel’s and staring at the ceiling.
“C’mon,” Fred said, coming into the room. “We have to get out.”
“No, I’m fine. I swear.”
“I’m not talking about you, you twat. It’s happened.”
That got George’s attention. He sat up on his bed. “Do I need my jacket?”
“We’re about to face the Dark Lord and you’re asking if you need a coat?”
“Do you want me to be cold and potentially distracted?”
“Alright. I’ll grab my coat as well.”
They Apparated into the Hog’s Head where other members of the Order were being funneled into a passage that had only recently been opened up. At least, it had been sealed when George had last been in possession of the Marauder’s Map.
When George stepped foot again in Hogwarts, in the Room of Requirement, he was unsurprised to feel his eyes jump from person to person as he scanned the room for Hermione. But her bushy hair and brown eyes were not among the Order or DA members and he had better focus on the job at hand anyway. He could worry about Hermione after they had defeated Voldemort.
But, as expected, repeating to himself did nothing to lessen George’s concern, so he tried to focus on the adrenaline coursing through his veins and not letting any baddies past them. He was stationed in one secret passage with Lee while Fred was in another passage with Percy.
George was glad that Percy had finally turned around. He had had them going for a moment, that was for certain, but the heel turn was more than welcome. And with Percy—for all of his flaws, was still a great wizard—George knew he had to worry about one fewer person.
~~~
You can never fully prepare yourself for losing a loved one. As prepared as you think can be, you are wrong. You are not ready. This is doubly true for a young family member. It is doubly-doubly true for a twin. If you yourself feel immortal, how can the person that feels like an extension of yourself be ripped from you so completely?
But despite all of this pain George was numb.
~~~
“...You can help George.”
George had not been paying attention for most of dinner but his scattered attention—he had little ability to focus these days—was brought to the present when he heard his name.
“Molly,” his father said.
“Oh, Mrs. Weasley, I don’t think—” That was Hermione.
“Why not? You’re not doing anything else.”
“But the shop isn’t open,” Hermione countered.
“You can help him open it back up!”
“Yes, well…”
Such a conversation was not unusual. His family had a habit of talking like he was not there. So George would act like he wasn’t there. He would disappear from the room and back into his mind.
After dinner George was sitting alone in the garden on the bench. He could hear the insects hum but their voices were like static in the background of his thoughts. The dying summer light was bright in his eyes, which is why he almost did not notice when someone sat beside him.
“Nice night,” she said. Her voice was high and tight. George nodded. “I am sorry about what your mum said.” George nodded again.
Hermione was quiet for a while. George wondered if she was going to get up and leave him alone—that was what most people did when he didn’t respond—but she continued to stay there, beside him. George’s sense of time had, admittedly, been out of sorts lately, but the time they spent together, in silence, seemed to go on and on.
“It’s a little annoying really. They expect us to just get over it.” George was nodding again. “I don’t know why they think that. Is it just because we won? Because that doesn’t bring back the people we lost.
“How am I supposed to act like nothing is different? How am I supposed to keep on living my life? Everyone keeps asking me about my future, but I… don’t know. I don’t know how Harry and Ron do it. I guess it might be nice to get my mind off of it but…”
George still had yet to say anything. He was content to let Hermione keep talking. He was vaguely aware that she had experienced her own loss though he was unclear on the details. Something about her Obliviating her parents and it being irreversible. It was a different kind of loss, but, perhaps, somehow worse. How did you mourn someone who wasn’t actually dead?
Soon enough Hermione had stopped speaking altogether and once more the only thing to be heard was the insects. They spent the rest of their time in silence until Ron came over and told Hermione it was time to go back to Grimmauld Place, leaving George alone once more.
~~~
George, as dangerous as he knew it was, began looking forward to Sunday dinners at the Burrow because it meant he would see Hermione again. His grief was still his constant companion but there were now patches of sunshine—Hermione being one of them.
They did not usually talk during these dinners but she probably felt similarly to him. It was just nice to be around someone who understood what you were going through. They had also moved from the garden to the little patch of roof just outside of George’s—just George’s—old bedroom where no one would bother them.
He did not know if she had finally started seeing his brother seriously but they did not have any conversations anyway, so it never came up. They would just sit there and watch the sun sink down and wash the sky in colors. George often had the inclination to reach out and touch her hand but he kept that desire to himself. He would hate to ruin what they had.
~~~
During one dinner George found out that Ron and Harry would be leaving the next weekend for Auror training, which meant Hermione would be by herself for a few days. His desire to spend time with her was not entirely selfish—though it was certainly a benefit—he also knew that being alone, in this frame of mind, was the worst. So he did something he never thought he would: he knocked on her door.
Hermione looked positively confused when she answered it—nor was she dressed correctly—to which George apologized profusely. Hermione, to his surprise, smiled at him.
“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” she said, refolding her robe.
George was not entirely certain his stomach was not on the ground. In all of his wildest dreams he had never expected her to say that. “I—I wondered if you wanted to go out.”
“Out where?” she asked. But he was momentarily distracted from answering her question by her tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Just out,” he said, rocking back and forth from the balls to the toes of his feet. “Nowhere in particular. We can walk around—”
“Yes! Yes, I would love to! Let me just change—”
“Why? What’s wrong with what you’re wearing now?”
“Listen to you!” she said, lightly punching him on the shoulder. It was not a hard punch at all so he tried not to look so stricken by the gesture. He could count the number of times she had touched him on one hand and as pathetic as it was, he could recount them all with ease.
She walked into the house, but soon came back out. “Well, come on then, don’t wait out there all alone on the stoop.”
So that was how George found himself waiting in Grimmauld Place, his hands stuffed in his pockets. A little while later he heard Hermione come back down the stairs. He tried not to gawk at her as she descended. It was not what she was wearing—a very nice sundress, to be clear—it was the fact that she was coming down the stairs to spend time with him. Outside of the Burrow. Without Ron or Harry or anyone else. Just the two of them.
They walked around the area around Grimmauld Place, stopped at a little coffee shop, and even popped into a bookstore that Hermione swore she did not even know had existed. George offered to buy her a book but she refused, saying that there were still so many books in Grimmauld Place’s library that she had yet to read.
Eventually there came a natural moment for them to part ways, even if George wanted to spend the rest of the day with her. He did not know if Hermione felt the same way and did not want to push his luck. And he was grateful enough for the time they spent together, however brief.
After saying their goodbyes and George returned home, he sat on the little bit of roof outside of his bedroom and began to hope.
~~~
The next time Harry and Ron were out, and George visited Hermione, he told her he had a surprise for her. And when she stepped out into a rare bit of summer sun, she truly was surprised.
“A car?” she said. “Did you buy a car?”
George shook his head and told her that it had been a gift from the Ministry for his family’s faithful service.
Hermione got in on the passenger side and put on her seatbelt. “Do you even have a license?” she asked.
At that, George procured a license from his sleeve like the Muggle magicians did with the kits they used to sell. Hermione took it and examined it further. “I also do not have a license, but I am fairly certain they do not look like that. Should we even be driving?”
“Don’t worry, Granger,” he said, though he hated himself for using her last name. “It’s a magical car, isn’t it?”
Soon enough their excursions were not just limited to weekends, during Harry and Ron’s absences, and soon enough George was being invited by her to go out. He taught her how to drive the car, both on the ground and in the air, which was an endless source of amusement for the both of them.
One particularly beautiful outing, which George could still picture clearly, they were driving around with the windows down and their hair blowing into their faces. At first George had thought Hermione would be upset that her hair would get messed up and that he should have left the windows up, except she laughed like a woman possessed when the wind started whipping.
He could not stop staring at her, grinning wildly from ear to ear. The Hermione he remembered would have never been so gleeful at the prospect, but maybe he was not remembering her correctly, maybe he never knew who she really was. Or maybe, just maybe, both of them were not who they once were.
~~~
One day, toward the end of summer, George woke up and he realized that he was ready to open up the joke shop again. Not only that, but he desperately needed to, like it was oxygen to breathe. He hopped up out of bed and practically jumped in and out of the shower. After sprinting down the stairs, George grabbed a piece of toast from the table.
“And just where do you think you’re going at this hour?” his mother asked from her spot by the stove.
“The shop, of course,” he said, with a lopsided grin. “I have loads of work to do.”
George was in the middle of going through some old boxes of inventory when he felt the coin get hot in his pocket. The old DA coins were how Hermione and George had been keeping in contact, only Hermione had modified them so that only the two of them could read their messages.
“Where are you?” the text around the coin read. George could not help but smile. They had both become accustomed to including each other in everything.
“At the shop,” he responded.
“Can I meet you there?” George could feel his heart racing. He had been considering asking her if she wanted to help him, but was her question an indication of her desire to do so already? Perhaps this was the perfect time to offer.
George spent the rest of the time before Hermione’s arrival cleaning up the shop to the best of his ability and trying not to freak out too much. How would he ask her? What if she said no? He tried to push those thoughts out of his mind while dusting and emptying out crates.
The tinkle of the doorbell heralded her arrival. “Didn’t you see the sign, ma’am? We’re closed.”
“And yet the front door was open,” she said, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. Hermione was wearing that green sundress again.
“So, you decided to waltz in anyway?”
Hermione smiled at his question but she was also wearing a far-off expression that might have been better-suited on someone like Luna. He hoped everything was okay with her.
“What’s new?” he asked. “Or just here to spend time with your favorite Weasley?” George knew that might be a stretch. He did not know who ranked higher, Ron or Ginny, but that meant he was probably—at the most—third. Even that might be pushing it considering just how cool his eldest brother was.
“I’ve made a decision about my future. At least for the time being.”
“And that is?” George asked when it looked like she was not going to continue. His heart was already sinking, preparing for the worst. If she was this worried about telling George then surely she thought George would not like her answer. Except what could she possibly say that would make him mad? That she was eloping with Ron?
“I am going to continue my education.” That was fine. George could live with that. “My Muggle education, that is.” Also not the end of the world. “In the United States.” Oh, well, that was a problem.
“That is wonderful, Granger,” George said, forcing his best smile. “I hope you… learn a lot.” It was the only thing he could think to say at that moment but it did make sense; Hermione was always learning something new.
“I don’t think I can be here anymore. Too many memories.”
That was a punch to the gut. George had been thinking that they were healing together, making new memories together, but maybe he had been incorrect in his assumption. Once more he was rudely reminded that he did not know her as well as he thought he did.
“How’s my brother taking the news?”
But based on the scrunched up look on her face, that was the wrong thing to ask. “I haven’t told him yet,” she said in a small voice.
“Oh, I didn’t mean—”
Why had he said that? Was he trying to hurt her feelings? Was he lashing out? Why? It was not like they meant anything to each other anyway.
No, that was still wrong. They were friends. This summer had been proof of it.
“It’s a fair point,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “I wanted to tell you first because I thought you, of all people, would understand.”
“I do understand. I do. I’m happy you are finally figuring out what you want and whatever you’re looking for out there, I hope you find it.”
She seemed to soften somewhat at that. “Well, see you around, George.”
“See you around, Granger.”
~~~
Theoretically George understood that Ron had been in a serious relationship for some time now and that meant he was probably going to get married soon. And yet, George was still caught off-guard when his brother pulled him aside one evening, telling him of his intentions to propose and asked him to be his best man.
He did not know what was more surprising: the fact that his younger brother was getting married before he was or the fact that it was not to Hermione Granger. George felt like he had been preparing his whole life for them to finally get together, but, as far as he knew, they never had. As any two people separated by an ocean, Hermione and George fell out of contact.
George had had a couple of relationships himself—many flings—but nothing lasting more than a couple of months. He knew he still had plenty of time to find the one for him, but he could not help but wonder if he was still waiting for her.
As odd as it seemed, maybe now was the time to give up his stupid, misguided crush. Now there was nothing standing between him and Hermione, and yet they were still no closer to being together. They were on opposite continents, for starters, and on top of that, they could barely be considered friends anymore.
“You wouldn’t happen to be inviting Granger?” George asked, just to double-check.
“Hermione? Oh, yeah. Of course, she’s coming. She’s one of my best friends, isn’t she?”
George certainly had not expected that response. He would not have invited his ex to his wedding with someone else, but, come to think of it, George did not know if they had actually dated. He still had not had the opportunity to ask her.
“I think she’s finally done with her school too. Can’t say if she’ll actually stick around though or go back to New York.”
Of course, that was another reason to not hope too much. She could have a whole new life in there and not want anything to do with them now.
“Why are you asking?” Ron asked.
“Hm?” George said.
“Why are you asking if Hermione is coming?”
“Oh. Just curious.”
“Were you close?”
“Uh…”
“That’s right. You used to hang out that one summer… Hang on, did you two have a thing?”
“No… What are you talking about? We were just friends.”
But Ron was giving him the same look that Fred used to. “You like her, don’t you?”
“No. Okay, but even if I did, I don’t like her anymore.”
“Whatever you say, mate,” Ron said. “A little late for that now, isn’t it?”
George got irrationally angry then. “What was I supposed to do? I thought the two of you were together.”
“Hermione and I? No, never!”
George wanted to shake his little brother. “What are you talking about!? The two of you were will-they-won’t-they for years.”
“Well, we weren’t. We were never.”
“Thank you. I’m glad I know now,” George said with a huff.
“You never asked!”
“Alright. Fine. I get it. I could’ve done more. You don’t think I’m beating myself up about it too? Because I am.”
“Well, you’re not doomed yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, based on our correspondence, it sounds like she’s still single and there’s the possibility she will come back to England.” George relaxed his shoulders a bit and dared to feel a little hopeful. “I said possibility, I didn’t say it was a large one.”
But all George could feel was the delicate flame of possibility starting to ignite.
~~~
It was the day of Ron’s wedding and George was a bundle of nerves. He was tempted to imbibe some liquid courage but restrained himself. If he was going to do this, he wanted to do this right and with a clear head on his shoulders.
In the meantime, however, he could go about helping setting up the wedding as he had done for all of his other siblings. But while he was putting down the name tags and plate settings, he felt someone rub his shoulder.
“Relax,” Ron said. “If anyone should be nervous, it’s me. But you’re making me look positively comatose.”
But how was George supposed to feel when this was apparently his last opportunity to talk to Hermione and convince her to stay. Well, maybe convincing her to stay was not the right thing to say. He did not want to influence her life, just tell her how he felt; she could do with that information what she would.
George took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves.
“Need any help?” At the sound of that voice, George nearly dropped and smashed the plate he was holding.
“Oh, Hermione! I didn’t see you there.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I should’ve warned you. Though you did get some impressive air when you jumped.”
“All I can say is that it’s a good thing these pants are dark.” He had not meant for it to come out that way. He could feel the tip of his ear get hot. But to her credit, Hermione looked unfazed in her lavender dress.
“Anyway,” he began, trying to change the subject, “you said you wanted to help?” Hermione nodded. “Well, you can help me put down these place settings.”
He handed some of the plates to Hermione and their fingers touched, if only for a moment. George could feel his face get red again. “If you follow what I’ve done already, then you should do pretty well.”
George returned to the task at hand and tried not to think about the woman next to him or all of the things he wanted to tell her. But the more he tried not to think about it, the more he could not help but think about her, especially in the moments where she got close to him.
But he soon realized that total silence wasn’t probably the best lead up if he was going to eventually confess to her—though the chances of that happening seemed to be getting slimmer by the moment—so he decided to try to talk to her.
“So...” he began.
“So…” she echoed.
“How is New York?”
“New York is cold,” Hermione said with a laugh. “Not at this time of year, of course. But I am consistently surprised how a city at a lower latitude can be that much colder than here. But, I suppose that is the effect of the Gulf Stream.”
George nodded and pretended he knew what Hermione was talking about. “Is that all it is? Cold?” Did that mean she would be coming back if she found it too cold?
“I love it; there’s always something to do.”
“But?” he said.
“Oh,” she said with a smile as she placed another plate. “Was it that obvious?”
Only that I was hoping there would be a ‘but,’ he thought. “No. I just know you really well.”
“Is that so? Alright. Well, if you know me so well, what is New York missing?”
“Well, for starters—me,” he said in a joking tone, even though he was one hundred percent serious.
Hermione crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “You got me there; that’s for certain.”
Surely, Hermione would be able to hear how loud his heart was pounding, right? It had to be the loudest thing around.
“And you miss the rest of my crazy family.” He had been pushing his luck with that one. He had forgotten just who was counted among them.
But she said, “Also true. What else?”
“What else is there?”
Hermione laughed. George loved her laugh. If only he would be so lucky to hear her laugh again. “I miss being a part of the magical community, to be honest.”
“You didn’t meet up with the witches and wizards of New York?”
“Oh, I did,” she said. “I might have even dated a couple of them.” George had not been expecting that. Then again, it was not as if he hadn’t dated people as well. “But I don’t like the way they did things, you know? They have even stricter rules about keeping magic a secret and it’s not what I’m used to. Nor do I agree with many of them.”
George loved how much she was talking about this. He wanted her to talk about this more. Especially if, like he hoped, it meant that she would be leaving New York to come back to England.
But, as per usual, Hermione was called away with some other task and his mother was coming over to tell him to get dressed for the big event.
Standing beside his brother at the altar, George was probably supposed to at least try to pretend to be paying attention to the ceremony. Instead he was sneaking glances at Hermione. He told himself it was because he wanted to make sure she was doing okay, but deep down he knew it was because he was excited to talk to her again.
But once the ceremony was over and it was time for the party, George could feel his pulse quicken and his hands get sweaty. How was he supposed to do this again?
Hermione was not at his table—she had long ago been relegated from family to just friend—but she was sitting with Neville and Luna and other former DA members, which seemed to make her happy. He, on the other hand, was not so lucky. George was just waiting for the moment when his Aunt Muriel would ask him why he wasn’t married yet.
The clock felt like it was ticking even faster after they finished eating and people began getting up to dance. George cast his eyes about the room, simultaneously desperate to talk to her but also desperate not to. His eyes finally landed on Harry and Ginny who were deep in their own conversation. It was probably rude to interrupt them but it was also the perfect opportunity to let Hermione come talk to him, if she should so choose.
“Hello, you two. Enjoying yourselves? Getting ideas for your own wedding?”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Everyone else’s wedding was exactly the same; I don’t know why mine would be any different.”
“All right. Touchy.”
“Look,” Ginny said. “We know why you’re over here.”
“You do?”
“Yes, we know you don’t want to talk to Hermione.” George could not help himself; his eyes widened at that. “Ron told us,” Ginny explained. She pointed to where Neville, Luna, and Hermione were still seated. “Now go invite her to dance and tell her how you feel before I do it for you.”
On one hand, George should have been mad that Ron had gone behind his back and told everyone about his feelings for Hermione. But on the other hand, this was probably the perfect impetus to get him in gear. He would hate for Hermione to have to hear from Ginny, of all people.
Or maybe that would be preferable…
No. No, he could not take the easy way out. He had to do it himself, the right way.
George was not totally aware of his legs moving; all he knew was that he had started by Ginny and Harry and ended up at the DA table. They all stopped talking and looked up at when he arrived, yet no one said anything.
Once more all George could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ear but he tried to tell himself that they had been friends once and this was something friends did. Dancing did not have to be romantic; it could be platonic.
“Hermione,” he said, his voice squeaking somewhat. He cleared his throat. “Do you want to dance with me?”
And to his immense pleasure, she smiled and said, “Yes. I would like that very much.”
~~~
A week after Ron’s wedding, George and Hermione went on their first date. It was an unseasonably cold evening and she had forgotten her jacket so he let her borrow his. No one was as beautiful as Hermione with his jacket wrapped around her shoulders.
At first, Hermione started renting a flat near his on Diagon Alley, but after a couple of months of dating, they decided to move in together. She was, after all, his business partner and it just made economic sense.
As he had hoped, the two complimented each other perfectly. Not only was she a master at spreadsheets, she also reined in his more “creative” ideas, while providing plenty of practical knowledge. And even if they were working together, he still kept a picture of her on his desk.
Every night, after he kissed her to sleep and listened to her breathing slow, he thought about how immensely grateful he was that they had found each other, despite it all.
George had even read some of her big books.
“Dumb luck, I guess,” he replied, cheekily, before pulling her in for another kiss.