Hermione looked around the table. The Burrow was still much more quiet than she remembered. But that's only logical, she thought, seeing as the Weasley family had lost its most vivacious member. Some mornings, Mrs. Weasley still set a place for Fred. Finally, Harry spoke.
"So...who will it be this morning? I've got to go in early, I promised Dean I would."
Percy adjusted his robes. "The Minister needs me to keep record of his meeting this morning, so it can't be me, either."
Arthur nodded in agreement. "I'm to be in that meeting as well. Molly?"
Molly shook her head, motioning towards Ginny. "We're going to the Lovegood's in a bit. And besides, I've been twice this week."
Ron looked down and poked at his eggs, clearly not volunteering himself. Clearing her throat, Hermione reluctantly spoke up. "I...I can go. I've only been twice, and it's my day off."
The Weasley family looked relieved. Going to George's flat to check up on him was no one's favorite duty. On the off chance that he was awake, he was in a drunken stupor, thundering about the rooms unshaven and in desperate need of a shower. None of them had the heart to scream at him to get his act together, either. And how could they? None of them knew what it was like to be George, to have lost half of themselves and be consumed by such powerful grief.
But Hermione had her own reasons for not wanting to go. Her history with George...well. No one knew about that, so she couldn't exactly use that as an excuse. She finished her breakfast quietly, taking her mostly empty plate to the kitchen and placing it into the sink, where the pots and pans were already washing themselves. She smiled at the efficiency of Mrs. Weasley's kitchen as the older woman walked in after her. Molly put a plate together, busying herself to hide her tears. Finally, she turned to Hermione.
"Here, love, take him this," she said, handing Hermione a heaping plate of breakfast. "I know it's been a while since you went to check up on him, but I went just the other day and he was awake and he recognized me and.." Mrs. Weasley let the sentence trail off, wiping her warm brown eyes on the corner of her robe. Hermione hugged the motherly witch with the arm that wasn't responsible for the plate.
"I'm sure he's getting much better, Mrs. Weasley. Maybe in a few months he could reopen the shop and everything," she said, smiling warmly. "If he's awake, I'll ask him about moving back in."
Mrs. Weasley took Hermione's face in her soft hands and kissed her cheek. "You're such a dear, Hermione. If you'd like, you can join us at the Lovegood's when you get back. If not, there's some of last night's dinner left over for lunch, and I've just done your laundry, and-"
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione laughed. "I'll probably go over to Luna's, but don't worry about me if I don't. I'm going to go take this to George now, okay?" She pulled out of Mrs. Weasley's arms and began walking towards the fireplace. Molly called out a last goodbye as Hermione grabbed a pinch of Floo powder with her free hand. She threw it into the fireplace and stepped into the emerald flames, half-shouting, "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!"
Hermione stepped out of George's fireplace. The flat was dark. Papers were strewn about the floor, and she stepped on at least three fake wands. Stains spotted the carpet, and there were empty bottles of firewhisky and Muggle alcohol in all of the rooms. It was enough to make her tear up. She placed the plate of food on the table, stepped into George's room and found the bed empty. Not surprising, she mused, he wasn't here the last two times, either. The first time Hermione had been to the flat to check on George, he was slumped on the floor of the living room, half-leaning against the sofa. Hermione had levitated him back into his bed and kissed his forehead before she left, tears streaming down her face. The second time, he was in Fred's room, lying broken on a mountain of Fred's old things. Again, she had levitated him back into his bed and kissed the crown of his head, crying. But today would be different.
She walked gingerly across the hall into Fred's room. At least George had made it to the bed this time. She smoothed his hair and pulled out her wand, whispering "Ennervate!" at his limp form.
George blinked once and rolled over. "Go away, Mum, we'll be down in a minute," he mumbled. Hermione groaned. She knew it would be difficult, but for him to not even recognize where or –when- he was...
"I'm not your mother, George," she said softly, "but she's worried about you. We all are. Will you please get up?"
"Shove off, Ginny," he grumbled. "You've about a million other brothers to bother."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are you going to go through all the women in your life before you finally guess who I am, or will you open your eyes and get it through your thick, miserable skull that it's me?" She eyed him nervously. None of the family's coddling had had any effect on George in the weeks since Fred's funeral, so she was trying something new. She just hoped she didn't hurt him; he was going through enough as it was.
For now, at least, it was working. "Oh. It's you," George sat up. "Where am I?" He rubbed his head, looking around the room.
"I think a more appropriate question is –when- are you, George. Do you know what day it is? What month?" Hermione bit her lip, worried. He had been so fragile recently that anything could send him over the edge.
And then, just as she had thought it, it happened. George's eyes shot open and his face fell. He looked to Hermione, desperate. "N-no... Hermione, no, please tell me...I'm not...he's not...Oh, Freddie!"
Hermione sank down onto the bed and put a hand on his arm. "George, we're worried about you. Everyone is. When was the last time you left the house? Or showered? Or even..." she touched his face, "...shaved? Please, George, get up. Your mum packed you some breakfast, it's sitting on the table in the kitchen..."
She was almost certain he couldn't even hear her. He was shaking his head repeatedly and his eyes were filling up with tears. Knowing full well that her wand couldn't help her while he was awake and upset, Hermione stood. She put her arms around George as best she could, ignoring the flush rising to her cheeks and the memories that bubbled to the surface of her mind. "Wha-" George looked up, shocked. Hermione eventually got him up and standing, despite his being over 8 inches taller than her and a good 60 pounds heavier.
"It's about damned time," she murmured. "Come on. We're going to the kitchen."
They didn't get there. George leaned one hand against the wall to steady himself, trapping Hermione between his body and the wall. Tears were falling down his face and onto hers as she looked up at him with concern. In the 7 years that she'd known him, she had never seen him cry. Without his other half, he had turned inward. In the aftermath of the battle, at the funeral, in his weeks alone at his flat, he had receded into himself. At times, he reminded Hermione of what she had read about prisoners who had received the Dementor's Kiss, who became empty shells without their souls. But here he was, crying. His knees gave out and he spoke as Hermione kneeled down next to him.
"What do I do, Hermione? My whole life he's been right there and now... I can't even finish my fucking sentences! It's pathetic, I wish I'd died with him, I really do." Hermione didn't know what to do. She took him into his arms like a child and let him weep. "I'm all alone now. Fr-Fred's gone, and, and it's just me that's left!" He was choking on his tears, and Hermione had begun to cry as well. "Why don't you love me anymore, Hermione?"
A/N: Obviously, there's a past to be uncovered here. And some unresolved feelings. The next chapter will be a flashback to their mysterious past, and the next after that will be another from the present. Does that make sense? It does in my head. Enjoy!