I watch her face fall. The letter just came through the post hours ago, and it's the best news she could have asked for, but he told her no. Just,"No." Like the one word would stop her. With a straight face, he batted her dreams away like they were a fly. Still looking at her face, I make up my mind. If I can't openly love her, I can at least help her in this small way.
"Ron, seriously? Hermione's been dreaming of this since Hogwarts, and you say no? Let her have a life! A career! A future! Something! She is not a trophy to be placed on a shelf and dusted off occasionally to parade around. She is a witch, and a bloody brilliant one at that. " I finish, with such passion that although I know my point was met, I'm afraid may have revealed my motives.
Ron's only reaction is oddly calm—only a slight and seemingly ever present reddening of his ears is apparent—and he stands up.
"George, this is not your place." Then looking to Hermione, adds, "We will discuss this later. Alone." He puts enough emphasis on the last word that I get his point. He then nods his head although he's concluding an important business meeting, and retreats to their bedroom from the sunny kitchen we're sitting in.
For a few awkward moments, I stare at the table and trace paths on the oaken grain. I can feel her staring at me, her eyes questioning. I wish more than anything to answer her questions, to tell her—That I, George Weasley, prankster extraordinaire, devilishly handsome and approaching 25—have fallen desperately in love with the most amazing woman, and she's sitting across from me right now. Instead, I cave in and look up with a shrug.
"I don't like that way he treats you. You're more than that, and I think you know it. Or, at least, I hope you do." With that, I also get up from the table, push in my chair and head towards the floo. I'm not sure if I wanted a response or not, but one thing is for certain. Her silence spoke deafening volumes to my ear as I walked away.
I'm sitting at home, few hours later, working on some paper work for the shop when I hear the familiar whooshing of the Floo. Looking up, I see her standing in the middle of the room, staring at me intently. Before I could even say a word, though, she gracefully came towards me and without hesitation lowered her lips to my cheek, ever so delicately that I almost questioned if it happened, while it happened. Surprised, I raise a hand to my cheek, to feel the breath of warmth she left behind. Before any other reaction could be evoked from my mind, though, she whisked across the room towards the fireplace. I stared. Just before she threw the dust, though, she turned and whispered just two words, hesitantly.
"Thank you."
