A Beginning Note: I really adored writing this, to the point of being a little saddened when it was done. Maybe because of that parts became much longer than originally planned. Anyway, I do not own Harry Potter and I hope you find favor in this story as well.
It Takes Two
Five times Hermione could tell George apart from Fred, the one time she messed up, and the one time it didn't matter anymore.
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i. The Introduction
George and Fred looked at the short, buck-teethed girl before them and snickered.
"Why look, our Ickle Ronnie's friend," Fred chuckled.
"Don't you mean girlfriend?" George chortled.
Hermione felt her shoulders raise in growing annoyance. Ron had warned her that his older twin brothers could be more than just a handful at times, if only for their all-knowing smirks. She easily understood this, as they displayed them on their freckled faces now. They had seemed harmless enough, when she glimpsed them with their family at the crossing (how could a group of redheads like that not get her attention?), and then after she had been sorted and had sat down in glee at the cheering table. But now, as she looked up at them from her short height, she began to doubt her first impressions.
"I'm not his girlfriend," Hermione finally spoke, hoping she wasn't blushing scarlet, "I'm Hermione Granger."
"You know George, she seems quite-" Fred started.
"-rule abiding. I agree, Fred," George ended.
"And if I am?" she said as she crossed her arms and huffed.
They shrugged in unison as they eyed each other. Then Fred said, "It's just a shame. People who follow along are usually unoriginal and slow."
"I'm not idiotic!" Hermione said in indignation.
"How about we make a test?" Fred asked with his eyes glimmering in such a way that made Hermione wary. George looked mighty excited for some reason as well. "People have trouble telling us apart, me and George."
"Quite a mysterious, worldly tragedy," George sighed sadly, even going so far as to put a hand above his heart.
Fred nodded slowly as well before turning back to Hermione. He said, "So, let's see if you-"
"-can tell us apart," George finished.
Before Hermione could give even a breath of argument, they both grabbed a shoulder and turned her around. She could hear them shuffling around over suppressed laughter.
"Alright, turn around now," one of them said over her shoulder.
She tentatively turned around to see two boyish faces staring down at her. Hermione noted that they both had dimples, and then felt like slapping herself. Of course they would both have dimples, they were probably identical down to the number of hairs on their head.
"So, who-"
"-is who, I get it," Hermione said, this time being the one to end the unfinished sentence.
Hermione rubbed her chin in thought as she observed them before lifting to scratch her mass of hair. One of them chuckled at the action before his face went back to simply smiling. Finally, after some minutes had ticked by, she turned to the one on her right.
"You are George," she said confidently before moving her gaze to the left and stating, "And youare Fred."
"Brilliant," George exclaimed in shock before he could stop himself. Fred gave him an exasperated look and an elbow in the ribs before they turned back to the (always, they would quickly learn) right Hermione.
"Lucky break," Fred said with a sniff.
Hermione opened her mouth as if to snap at him, but instead only snapped her lips shut. She suddenly had a new confidence as she held her nose a little higher. The twins realized she had truly known, and was not only depending on a 50-50 chance.
"Nice try with changing your hats," she commented before she flicked a few locks of hair over her head haughtily and turned on her heel.
"That's one to watch out for," Fred whispered to George, who slowly nodded in agreement.
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ii. The Dance
It was his hair she saw first across the ballroom. He was making a straight line, pushing and elbowing people away without worry, that she calculated to match up with where she was standing. She waited the short amount of time before he was in front of her, a wide grin on his face. He roughly pushed his long bangs out of his eyes.
"Will you dance with me?" were the first words that came out of his mouth that was turned up in a crooked grin.
"Of course I will," Hermione answered with a grin of her own. He lifted a hand for her to take, which she did, before they made their way on the dance floor.
"So..." he said as they began swaying in time, "Get me an autograph?"
"First Ron thinks Viktor is using me, now you want to use me to use him! You Weasleys are insufferable," she said with a loud snort. Another pair along side of them gave an odd look to Hermione, as if shocked someone so dolled up could be so unladylike.
"I am offended, my dear," George said. His face crinkled up, as if he was going to explode into wails and tears any second. Hermione felt a laugh bubble out, but quickly clamped it down so she wouldn't interrupt.
"If you must know, it is the request of a man desperate for funds. I'm simply going to auction it off. I bet I could get Ron to spend all of his savings if I play it right," he said with a few nods of his head. It seemed his impending tears had dried up.
Hermione couldn't stop her laugh this time. Somehow he kept them dancing in time, even as her head leaned back with the sudden laughter. Her shoulders felt immensely lighter for some reason; she had not noticed they had felt so heavy.
She lifted her hand from his shoulder to brush his long hair form his high collar before commenting, "It's quite long." She grabbed the tips nearest her hand and picked them up, twirling them absently. His hair was surprisingly soft despite the disheveled look, and she felt a jab of envy.
"Mum almost had a fit when she realized we weren't going to let her cut it anytime soon," he said to distract himself from how her fingers felt nice through his hair and how the song would surly be coming to a close soon.
"Well, I suppose something about guys having long hair is a bit odd in this modern age," she chuckled. "But it looks nice with that red hair. Bill can pull it off, so I see no reason why you can't."
Just like he had predicted, the song wound down that moment. Everyone took a moment to clap in appreciation, making it impossible for George to respond to what she'd said about his hair (not that he had any clue what to say to her complimenting him). Hermione looked around and spotted Viktor; she grabbed George's wrist to pull him along.
Viktor mumbled an apology as they got to him, but she simply shook her head with gleaming eyes. The tri-wizard champion's stature straightened from his slight slouch, and George was slightly surprised to see he was a good few inches taller than himself. With his thick frame, he didn't look as tall as he really was.
"I'll see you around, George," Hermione said with a grin, snapping him out of his wondering thoughts. She had put emphasis on his name, and he realized she had yet to call him by his name until now. He hadn't even hinted to which twin he had been and yet she had known without a doubt.
He grinned wide in response. She really did have many talents.
When she turned away, George almost jumped as Viktor gave him a heavy glare. And even though George respected him for his Quidditch abilities, he glared right back.
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iii. The Conversation
It was no surprise to many that Hermione Granger could be found in the library on Saturday afternoons, her head of hair easily covered by the towers of books, parchment and empty ink bottles that littered the large table she used for only herself.
Something that was not usually sighted in the rows of books and parchment was George Weasley. Yet the redhead was here this lazy afternoon, having just watched Fred give a saucy wink to Angelina before sprinting off after her. George hadn't expected to find Hermione, but when he was meandering around the books in search of any inspiration for a new invention, he spotted her. Her nose was low to her parchment and her eyes were narrowed in deep concentration. Naturally, he had to interrupt the calm.
"Hello there Hermione!"
He didn't say it anywhere near his usually jubilant volume, but it seemed his voice still made her jump. Her nose bumped into the parchment below, smearing her essay and causing her to sit up with a frown. George gave her an apologetic grin before he reached forward, using a too-short sleeve of his robe to rub off the black ink. It took a few goes, and by the time he was done, her nose looked a little red.
"Can I help you with something George?" she asked with a tilt of her head, spilling curls over her shoulder. The annoyance in her voice was poorly held back, and now George understood Ron's warning of interrupting her during school work.
He shrugged noncommittally, so she turned back to her essay. He stood there for a few moments, hoping from one foot to another, before he sat down in the chair aside of her. He saw her pause her quill for a moment, but then she was right back at it. Clearly she was not going to let him get to her.
George focused on the heavy silence of the library and the light scratching of Hermione's quill on parchment, leaning on his elbow and closing his eyes. While he did indeed love commotion and creating some good, roudy chaos, there were moments like this that he could appreciate. Especially with everything that had been happening and how the future seemed blurrier than ever.
Going along this line of relaxing and acting like his age (he was still a teenager) he opened his eyes and asked, "So, how do you like them?"
It seemed she was done with writing at the moment and had pulled a book in to her lap. Hermione moved her quickly scanning eyes from the lines of text to him.
"Excuse me?"
"You know what I'm alluding to," he said with a devilish grin that was half forced. George knew he needn't to ask - it was common knowledge by now that she had eyes solely for his younger brother. It was something that was obvious to all but Ron and George would never understand it, no matter how many OWLs he had passed last year.
Hermione did know what he was talking about as she stated, "Cute and stupid," before turning back to her book.
George blinked across of her, wondering if she was serious or joking. When she grinned and a short-chuckle escaped from a glance at his blank face, he still couldn't tell.
"Red hair?" he wheedled on as his grin turned a little more subdued. He purposefully ran a hand through his unruly locks.
It was then, as he winked at her, that Hermione realized George was flirting with her. Flirting, as he leaned closer by the minute and his eyes kept glancing away from her eyes to different parts of her body (especially the dip in her white button-up shirt). Hermione wanted to curse as she felt heat creep up her neck as he kept watching her expectantly.
She finally turned away from his inviting eyes and tapped her chin in mock thought before saying, "Yes, crazy hair to distract from my own would be a great plus."
"But just think of the children a union like that would spit out!" George whispered, as if talking about scandalous gossip, "It would be unholy for sure!"
The librarian cleared her throat from behind her desk and Hermione felt herself holding back a chuckle at George's horrible attempt at a innocent grin.
"They'll be adorable," she said quietly in argument.
"Well, I guess we'll just have to find out," he said in a low voice.
She couldn't hold back the laugh as he began waggling his eyebrows at her. If she hadn't been so busy trying to hold down her laughter, she would have seen he was leaning so close to her now her shoulder was brushing his chest and his arm had crept to arch around the back of her chair.
"That's rich," she said once she got her breath back.
"Who says I'm kidding?" George grinned out.
This was a grin that Hermione suddenly couldn't place, and it made her squirm in her seat. To say that George was shocked at how shy bossy-Granger had just become would have been an understatement. He had meant it as a joke, but when she was looking like that-
Before either of them could begin to blush in the elongated silence or realize George's hand on Hermione's chair had come to lay on her shoulder, the librarian stood up with a start.
Hermione's face dropped in shame as she realized she had just laughed loudly (many students looking at her and George with annoyance or amusement) and was being asked to leave for behavior not needed or allowed here.
George walked a sulking Hermione back to the common room, laughing more than he should about the situation and with an arm around her shoulders that wasn't only there for comfort.
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iv. The Sighting
One redheaded teenager walked down the corridors, his eyes narrowed to try and discern things in the darkness. He would love to use his wand, but his hands were full. The only light that came to help him along were the occasional torches, but George already knew Hogwarts like the back of his hand and was sure he wouldn't get lost. But if there was a stray something in his way he would fall flat on his freckled face.
He shivered as he grabbed the food closer to his chest, as if his body heat could stop it from cooling. He should have known Fred always won exploding snap and he shouldn't have bet a run to the kitchens for him and Lee.
But before George's thoughts could move past the pumpkin cake that was slowly slipping out from under his right elbow, there was a set of footsteps echoing. It didn't sound like Filch or his cat, and they weren't heavy steps like Snape or many other Professors. They were actually quite light. But George wasn't making any chances, so he ducked behind one of the many armored soldiers.
When he saw that it was only Hermione walking down the torched corridor, he felt himself give a sigh of relief. And then he remembered how she was Prefect and always threatened to detract points from his and Fred's exploits. Deciding against spooking her with a jovial greeting, he stayed silent as she continued walking closer.
She stopped and George would have slapped a hand to his forehead if he could. Because there was the pumpkin cake that had begun slipping, upturned and smushed on the ground.
"I know it's you twins," she said out, her voice reverberating off the stone.
"Hello Hermione," George said as he revealed himself from the shadows, "And it's just me."
"Good evening," she said.
He didn't know if it was the dim lighting, but Hermione's face seemed much older than usual. She looked older than even him. She had bags under her eyes, and her smile seemed to stretch her face unpleasantly. George was no fool to the stress everyone was feeling, but especially for her and Ron who had to help a suddenly hell-bent Harry.
She lifted her hand in a small wave of goodbye before she kept going on her way, not even bothering to clean up the smashed dessert.
"You're not going to take points off?" George found himself asking out.
Hermione turned back around and gave him another wane smile before saying, "It sounds like you want to get caught."
He gave out a bark of laughter at the thought - yes, consequences were grand! - but be quickly quieted when he noticed she wasn't laughing along.
"Good night, George," she said tiredly. She wasn't even playing their game of guessing. She just stated his name blandly like the weather.
"You sure you don't want anything? I got some really good cinnamon apple pastries," George said as he lifted his arms. He kept his grin high, even though he was the only one who looked remotely happy to see the other.
She shook her head lightly before turning away yet again, but there was now at least a ghost-of-a smile on her pale face.
He frowned as he said to her quickly disappearing figure, "Good night, little Prefect."
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v. The Flight
George kept a secretive watch on her after that night.
Whenever George spotted her, he waited and watched to see her give a good laugh (like everyone should do at least three times a day a he believed) but it seemed elusive as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. He usually saw a glimpse of her in the library, hulled in by a mountain of books. He wanted to come annoy (or flirt, either one made her flush) her like that one time, but he believed she had never fully forgiven him for getting her kicked out of the library.
When he became tired of not seeing her laugh, he tried to make her do it himself. To at least giggle like she used to do in her first-year at his and Fred's attempts to confuse her on who was who. Yet she was unrelenting, as responsive as Snape to a shower (he had tried this joke; only Harry had guffawed). It seemed the only one who was truly getting belly-laughs was Fred from George's failures.
Fred knew what he was up to, even though George tried to hide it. Of course his twin would know that he had a secret vendetta to make one Hermione Granger laugh at something, and George half-expected Fred to help along. But it seemed Fred was leaving the job to George. Maybe he felt he didn't need or want to interfere with it, but George didn't see anything very personal about him wanting to simply make her happy. He and Fred made loads of people laugh; it wasn't only their looks or flying Quidditch skills that had made them so popular.
His inability to make her laugh was only one of the laundry list of things not going right in his life. Finally he and Fred made the decision that they had been contemplating the moment they set eyes on the new D.A.D.A. professor and began perfecting their escape. They had both always hated such bright pink combinations; always so superficial like the people who wore the color.
George almost spilled the beans of it to her, just to make sure she would be down there (not that she wouldn't but he couldn't be too cautious) but Fred had pulled him back by his collar just in time. He had given a cheery smile that Hermione tried to reciprocate before they sprinted away. While it didn't have her grinning from ear to ear, George was pleased that she kept giving him quizzical looks. Obviously her curiosity had been grasped at the odd exchange, or lack of one.
He finally got her to really smile, to really laugh, not a month later, when he was whizzing over everyone in the Great Hall on his broom.
Through the spitting sparks of the fireworks he saw her. She already had her eyes on him, and she waved when she noticed he was looking back. He couldn't hear her but he clearly saw her mouth: 'Brilliant George!' It seemed she was living in the moment right now, not thinking of the rules he and Fred were breaking in spades.
But then Fred yanked him away and they flew off in their heroic, firework display glory. George knew, without a doubt, that the little escapade was worth all the trouble and howlers that would come streaming in from their mother in hours time.
"Wa-HOO!" George yelled out into the night. Fred gave a yell of his own before swooping down.
The twins gave each other a hard high-five as they twisted and turned on their brooms in elation, climbing higher into the night sky that didn't seem so daunting anymore.
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vi. The Mistake
"Fred?"
The name itself made George's throat close-up painfully and for his spine to snap straight. He turned around in a blur of red hair and wide, brown eyes. All he saw, though, was Hermione.
Her hair was up in a messy bun, with curls spilling out from it in defiance. Her face was not pale like it had been for days and weeks now, although her brown eyes were not as happy as he'd seen them be. Her face was still so very pretty, and the expression playing on it now looked very open. She gave a hestitant grin, and George wanted to return it but found he couldn't. Her aim in miscalling him was all too easy (but miscalculated) with that face. Just like smiling, he couldn't make himself play along.
In all the years she had known him, she had never made a mistake between them. To truly make one now, when Fred was dead for 58 days (and counting), was impossible.
He turned back to his hunched over form on the bench, neglected red locks falling over his eyes. He knew there was a brilliant sunset going on before him, but all he could stare at were his sneakers. He was trying to remember if they were his or Fred's, not that it mattered much anymore. They would never have those clothing arguments anymore, Fred would never-
He heard the crunch of the charred garden as she approached. He was thankful for the intrusion, to distract himself from letting his mind wander down that dark and never-ending road.
"May I sit?" she asked.
George gave one slow nod of his head. She sat down and, before George had time to react, pulled him up against her. He could feel her hands finding a grip against his shirt, and her muscles flex from holding him so tightly. He felt her body press up against him and suddenly understood why his Mum was so insistant about her eating more at dinner. But even if she felt so thin, he pulled her to him even more.
"Thanks," he whispered into her shoulder, but it came out muffled and he doubted she heard.
She just patted his head and rubbed his back without saying a word in return. George was tired of words of comfort, words of condolences. She didn't even speak when he realized he was ruining her jumper his Mum had no doubt made. She didn't comment on his sniffling sobs, muffled like his word of thanks.
George knew he must look like a mix of ridiculous and awful right now. He should be crying like this to his Mum, to one of the numerous people in his family. This was Hermione Granger, dubbed by many the finest witch of her age. He was just half of something that would never be full again. A useless young man who only wanted to be a boy again, to be young and careless and with Fred. He didn't want to be this twenty-one number, already old and jaded and so broken. But he felt safe here, with his back crouched over her so his head can fit under her jaw and her chin could sit atop his head, and didn't want to let go.
He didn't say anything of this to her. George didn't want to break this moment; didn't want to make her pull away to help someone else. Maybe another day he would tell her everything, on a day when she would call using his own name.
She leaned her head back to kiss his forehead gently. He felt her cool lips just above his hairline with slight shock.
This made him pull back, and he hastily used his shaking hands to rub away any remaining tears. He realized that they must have stayed in that position for some time, as his back ached and his fingers were stiff from holding onto her. He hoped he hadn't given her any bruises from his desperate hold.
Hermione got up and dusted off her jumper, giving not a care to how one shoulder was quite wet. She gave him a fleeting grin and wave (just like that night that seemed years ago) before she began walking back to the Burrow. For some reason she was leaving him in the garden that Fred was always ordered to de-gnome, and George didn't want that.
"Hermione - wait," he choked out. He dully realized he had raised his hand, as if willing her to come back with a power unknown.
She came back silently and grabbed his large, rough hand and pulled him up with strength he didn't know she had.
"Your family is waiting inside. Obviously they're scared for you," she finally spoke to him for the first time since she had wrongly adressed him. "So come on, Charlie brought you some dragon things to experiment with."
"Really?" George found himself asking in hope.
"If you had been paying any attention at breakfast you would have heard it all," she said with a laugh as her eyes glimmered, "Charlie had to pull some tricky moves to sneak everything out. Apparently it's against policy to take anything for the dragons for any sort of commercial use."
George found he rather liked to listen to her rattle on.
"Hey, will you- uh..." he found himself drifting off.
"Will I what?" she asked, a touch of concern laced in.
"Help me with the inventions," he said with lingering hesitation, "It just doesn't feel right to work on anything by myself and..."
"I never thought you'd be asking me for help in creating mischief," she said with a huge grin.
He blinked as he found how such a simple, needy request from him had made her happy. Maybe he should make some more in the future.
"The world does tend to surprise us sometimes. Must be magic or somethin'," he joked as he began walking over the lawn to his home, her hand still grasped firmly in his own.
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vii. The Night
George looked around the dark room in trepidation. He was nervous about being here but unconcerned about any bodily harm, despite how his heart felt like it was going to burst out from its hammering against his ribs.
He had apparated with a snap here before he could stop himself. The desire had been too strong in him to see her for the answer, even at this ungodly hour, that he suddenly found himself in her flat's kitchen. Just like at Hogwarts years ago, he knew his way around. In a few moments he opened her bedroom door.
Crookshanks was first to get up from the bed, his ginger tail high and his squashed face hissing. George felt slightly hurt that the cat still didn't like him (so what if he had set the cat's tail on fire once or twice...).
"Who's there!" Hermione snapped as she lunged for her wand on the dresser.
"If there was a time to know who I am, like you always have, this would it," George said over the shadows. He could tell he wasn't standing in the moonlight, and the thought of showing himself to her made his nerves quicken even more. Her own body was bathed in the full-moon light, which made it easy to see her face slacken in shock and then relief.
"George," she breathed out as she moved herself to fully sit up.
"Correct!" he exclaimed, causing Crookshanks to bolt from the bed and out the open door. "Sorry about him," he mumbled as he finally came out of hiding, his guilty grin evident in the light.
"You scared me half to death," she said as she put her wand back aside. She then flopped back down on her pillow with a sigh, crossing her arms over the comforter.
The redhead didn't wait for an invitation, although he knew he should. He went over and charmed his shoes off, the laces twisting without hands. George then gingerly placed himself over the sheets. He turned on his side to be able to see her and found she was already studying him.
"What're you doing here?" Hermione finally asked after a small eternity of silence in the dull silver light, where they had only stared at each other.
"I had to ask you a question. To help in something I'm attempting to solve," he stated matter-of-factly.
"And it couldn't wait-" she glanced at a clock that had a model George did not recognize and somehow glowed 4:18 AM, "-two or so hours?"
"Well, I've been wanting to ask you this ever since we met," he said in slight chagrin.
Hermione shifted so she was now on her side facing him, too. Her brown eyes blinked away any remaining sleep stubbornly. "What's that?" she asked, her curiosity clearly grasped.
George gave a dry swallow, trying not to be distracted from how the top few buttons on her pajama top was undone, revealing a good deal of cream skin and the promising curves of what lie buttons down. He had been up all night and had begun feeling lethargic, but now he seemed wide awake as he took a breath to ask his question.
"How could you always tell us apart? Fred and I?"
She bit her bottom lip and George found a smile spreading over his face.
"It's simple really," she said with a soft grin and blush, "I just could always tell which was you, so then I could tell it was Fred by default."
George found himself just staring at her again. Hermione squirmed deeper in to her blankets under his eyes, feeling like she may have said something offensive.
"You could pick me out from him that easily?"
"It wasn't easy, I was so nervous the first time! I can't really explain it... your eyes. Or the way you smiled, little things like that made me know," she said before she buried her face in her pillow. She continued to talk, but it was entirely muffled from her face in her pillow.
"Well, there's no test Hermione Granger can't pass," George said as he lifted a hand and laid it flat on her back. Rather than flinch at the unexpected touch, she flipped her face off from her pillow. He raised an eyebrow as he saw the serious glint in her eyes.
"I know I can never replace what Fred was to you," she said quickly, and George could hear the shake in her voice, "But if you give me a chance, I'll try and become a part of you."
Not knowing how to respond right away, George flew the blankets off of her and grasped her close to him. Her body was warm from the blankets, and she gave a shiver to the cool night air that he had exposed her to.
After minutes crawled by and Hermione's arms had hesitantly found their way around George, he decided to say, "That's the best use of a horrible pick-up line I've ever heard."
He nuzzled his nose against her skin, and the fingers against his clothed back tightened in response. He could feel her breath against his remaining ear, and he closed his eyes to focus on the warmth.
"George?"
"Hermione?"
"I'm getting cold," she stated flatly.
"So that's the only reason why you're clinging to me? Because you needed a source of heat?" George said, his lips feeling nice on her skin as he smiled against it.
She slapped his arm stubbornly before she said, "Just hurry up and undress."
"I always knew you would boss me around in bed if I ever got you," George growled. This earned him a second slap to his arm, and this time he couldn't hold back the wince.
"Alright, alright," he laughed as he disentangled himself from her to throw his shirt and slacks off in a flash. Then he pulled the covers back over them, further covering Hermione by winding his arms around her. Her bushy hair tickled his arm, but her even breathing against his collarbone was very relaxing.
She gave a light hum of appreciation against his bare chest as she snuggled closer still, and George found himself grinning from ear to ear. Feeling brave, he said, "I don't mind if you mix me and Fred up."
Hermione hummed and snuggled closer in response.
"Except when we get around to having hot, passionate sex. Then it might be a little awkward."