Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in anyway.
It had been four months since The Battle of Hogwarts. Most people had started to move on with their lives, coping much better over the span of time. Yet there was one member of the Weasley family who had not seemed to be coping well at all.
George Weasley had simply refused to see or speak to anyone at all, instead barring himself inside his flat above the now vacant and ruined joke shop that used to be the successful business of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. George would not answer the door for anyone, most people stopped coming around to try and visit the former prankster, yet Molly Weasley never failed to show up at his doorstep twice a week baring a care package of food that she would ultimately end up leaving at the doorstep upon no answer from George. She simply assumed that George was making use of these packages seeing as they were no longer there when she returned later in the week. It was not until one seemingly insignificant December day, that anyone had made any sort of successful contact with George.
It was a Tuesday afternoon, everyone had expected Molly to apparate over to George's flat with her usual care package, but surprised everyone by sending someone else instead. A witch in her late teens, wrapped in a cloak that seemed to be much to baggy for her small frame, had shown up at number 93 Diagon Alley holding one of Molly's usual care packages. She wrapped her knuckles against the door frame, a seemingly much louder noise than her tiny hands should have been able to make. After the third try she had given up knocking, but she was not prepared to just place the bundle on his doorstep and just leave as Molly had for the past four months. She instead decided to disregard all respect for one's privacy, and apparated straight into the kitchen of George's flat.
She peered around the kitchen, taking in the appalling state it was in. She frowned at the absurd amount of empty Firewhiskey bottles lying around. She took no time in pulling out her wand and starting to vanish the bottles to make room for the new food, stopping only when she heard a faint noise coming from the living room of the flat. She quietly tip-toed into the room, her want pointed out before her. As she entered the living room the sight that greeted her caused her to stop in her tracks and make a loud gasp.
George Weasley lay half-naked in the middle of the floor amongst several empty Firewhiskey bottles. He did not appear to be taking care of himself at all; his hair had grown out past his chin, falling into a tangled mess, his face un-shaven and had not looked as if he had washed in days. She quickly shook away the shock of his appearance, and walked quickly over to his form. Upon closer examination she was frightened to see just how thin he had gotten over the past four months. She reached out and shook his bony shoulder roughly, causing him to jump into a sitting position, producing his wand seemingly out of nowhere, and pointed it directly at her.
"Hermione," he said not sounding at all pleased to see her, a scowl formed on his face, still not lowering his wand, "What are you doing in my living room?"
She opened her mouth to answer but he cut her short.
"You have no right to be in here! This is my flat, you have no right!" he yelled in a vicious tone Hermione had never heard him use before, making his way to his feet, sending several bottles skidding across the room, all the while his wand trained on the petite witch in front of him.
She did not even glance at the wand and made no move to bring out her own. She simply shook her head.
"George, this is ridiculous," she said so softly, he had barely heard her at all. A new wave of fury rushed over him at her words, causing his wand to shower her in sparks, at which she didn't even flinch at as they peppered her skin, as she was used to the sort of thing just coming out of a war and all.
"Ridiculous?" he shouted, letting his fury leak into his voice, "What's ridiculous is that I've woken up to find a witch that I should be able to trust has broken into my flat!"
She flinched visibly from his words about trust as she had not been able to repair her relationship with her parents over trust. After restoring their memories, they had asked her to keep her distance, simply stating they could not trust her to be around them at the moment. She frowned before stepping towards him, putting her hand over his wand hand, pushing it down towards the floor.
"George," she said softly, looking into his eyes, "please listen."
As he looked back into her eyes he quickly realized an unfamiliar dead look to her eyes that he had never seen before, causing his face to soften slightly. He gave a faint nod at her request, stowing away his wand as he moved to sit on the couch.
"I'm worried," she said bluntly, looking at him with a slight frown on her face, causing George's face to almost instantly form a scowl.
"There is nothing to be worried about, I'm fine," he said flatly, turning his gaze to his hands, but Hermione would not give up so easily. She reached out and tilted his face up to look at her.
"You listen to me George Fabian Weasley! You are not fine!" She half shouted at him as a look of utter determination made its way to her face. "You are skin and bones, your hair is a mess, you look as if you haven't washed in quite some time, you won't even speak to your family, and let us not forget the mass amounts of empty Firewhiskey bottles littering your flat!"
George looked sheepishly at her, at the mention of the bottles.
"So you've seen my kitchen eh?" he muttered, looking back downward. Hermione simply frowned.
"Get up," she said firmly, springing to her feet and tugging his hand, "go take a shower, put some clean clothes on and for the love of merlin have a shave!"
He frowned deeply at her but walked towards the bathroom, shoulders slumped. Hermione pointed her wand at the pile of bottles and began vanishing them quickly before turning her wand to the fireplace, sending flames into the hearth. She reached into the pot on the mantle, pulling a pinch of floo powder out before throwing it in the fire, sticking her head in and yelling her destination. She felt the familiar, yet uncomfortable warmth of the floo network for a short moment before she found herself staring inside of the burrow.
"Molly!" She called out, waiting for the older witch to enter the room. It did not take long for the Weasley matriarch to rush in and kneel down in front of the fireplace.
"Hermione? What is it? Is there something wrong? Is George okay?" She said, worry quickly overcoming the face of the older witch.
"Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to let you know that I may be here a while. I want to help George get back on his feet," she said with confidence, she was sure she could do it. Relief flooded Molly's face quickly; a warm smile was directed towards the young witch in the fire.
"I'm a floo away if you need me dear. Oh and do tell George that I love him and miss his handsome face at my dinner table, or even around the house," she said softly, her eyes starting to water slightly.
"I will," Hermione said almost as softly before pulling her head out of the floo network. It was now time to set George's life straight. It wouldn't be easy, and it would take quite a bit of time, but Hermione was determined she could do it. And nothing stopped a determined Hermione.
My first fanfic, please be nice. Constructive criticism is always nice, but please, no flames. Also I will take any and all ideas for future chapters into consideration.
