A/N: I'm sorry I'm such a lousy writer!! . Anyway, I'm finishing up the new chapters on Black-and-White, and the sequel to Yankee-Girl. But I was reading George/Hermione and this popped in and was short enough to write in one go. But keep on the lookout!
George had taken to drinking. Why, he could never truly pinpoint, but he had to say it was for lost love. Fred had died the year before, along with his business spirit. Sure, he loved Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, but he grew disinterested as the days without Fred progressed, and finally, he let Ron work. He walked out of his store two years ago and never looked back.
He supposed the store was doing fine with Ron, but he never kept in contact with anyone, preferring the company of the drink. But, he supposes, there was more than Fred lost to him. He downs another glass and remembers.
It was three weeks after Fred had died. He was sitting in the drawing room of the Burrow, staring at the amber-colored liquid in his glass, much like the one he holds now. He raises his glass for another drag, when it falls from his hand, going on the floor. He looks at it listlessly, and before his eyes the stain and the broken shards are cleaned, and the glass repaired. He looks up, and sees Hermione before him, looking angry.
"George! How dare you!" She shrieks.
"What? What do you care?" He asks her, looking at the girl, no, woman in front of him. "Go back to Ron." He pulls out his wand and tries to retrieve another bottle of drink, when his wand is thrown across the room. He looks at her again. She screeches her frustration and hits him hard in the arm.
"Stop it! I have watched you while you deteriorated right before my eyes!" She screams at him. "I won't allow this anymore!"
"Just be quiet, will you?" He says back to her.
"No! I will not be quiet!"
"Oi! Ron! Get in here! Come and get your woman!" He tries to yell, but she waves her wand and he knows no-one will hear them. He narrows his eyes at her. "Go away."
"Not till you swear off drink! Forget Fred! Move on with your life! Why can't you just move on?" Hermione rants at him. "He wouldn't want you drinking and watching your life disappear!"
"No." He says hardly, and she shrieks again, and finally she launches herself at him, her fists flying. He calmly sits as she releases her rage onto his body. As she hits him, he notices how pretty she looked in that particular shade of blue, and how the fire in her eyes seems to blaze. George notices everything about her, and when she's finally over, he knows what he's about to do.
"My turn." He wickedly flips their situation around, now he's straddling her. "Ready?" He smiles, and he sees the fire in Hermione's eyes seem to light up like fireworks. He leans in and kisses her, and she eagerly responds their mouths and hands exploring each and every curve and crevice in each other, before she realizes herself and pulls away, escaping the cage George had made around her.
"I'm, I'm sorry."
"Why, love?" He says, the glint in his eyes making his personality electrifying.
"I, you, ugh!" She screams her frustration again. "We can't! We just can't!" She sits down where she's standing and breaks down into tears. He looks at her, picking her up and holding her in his lap. "I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't--" She cries until she can't cry anymore, and she looks up into his eyes, the first time they make eye contact. "I can't."
"I've heard you've mentioned that. I don't see why." He says gently, the drink having no more effect.
"Ron, and I, and you, and your drink--" She screams. "We can't change the order of things! We can't, we can't, we can't! I belong with him!"
"No, you don't. You belong with whoever you want." He says sensibly, and at this she starts to cry again, and she leaves the room, and she doesn't look back.
It was five or six months later when Ron and Hermione announce their engagement, and only George notices her discomfort, her fake smile and the unhappiness in her eyes. He glazes over and remembers again.
The night after they announce their engagement. George decides to drink outside, to escape from the heat inside, and Hermione finds him again.
"Hello, George." She says. He simply looks at her.
"Aren't you getting married or sommat?" He says to her, and a single tear falls down her cheek as she nods, fingering her simple ring. "Then what are you hangin' 'round here, talkin' to the ol' Weasley drunk?"
"I wanted to talk you. Had to talk to talk you." Hermione says. She sits, and he looks at her. She sighs and reaches inside her robe, pulling out a vial. "Take it. Use it." The liquid seems the amber color his drink is, and he opens the vial and carelessly gulps the contents, tasting the butterbeer-like substance until his head is clear for the first time in months.
"What do you want, Hermione? Be quick." He says harshly, looking at her with clear eyes. "The drink is calling."
Her eyes flash angrily and he senses the fire had seen before. "Stop it! Stop drinking, stop lazing around, stop squandering your fortune, stop making me fall in love with you." She hisses. He blinks.
"Pardon?" He asks, shocked. She looks at him, her eyes narrowed.
"Don't play coy, George. You know. How can you cast this spell on me!" She hits him, and he reacts this time, holding her hand to his arm. "Let go."
"No." He says, capturing her other hand in his and kissing her, hard and fast. She relaxes, but he still keeps her hands. He pushes against her, and she leans back, finally laying with him on top of her on the wicker couch. Their hands still entwined by George, she kisses him with only thoughts of him, and what they should be doing next, and she blushes automatically. George smiles into the kiss, feeling the heat radiate from her cheeks and how amazing things can seem without drinking his drink. But, eventually, they stop kissing at simply look at each other.
"George…" she says simply, and he gets off her, taking the cap off another drink. Hermione doesn't move. "I hate this."
He takes one swig, and looks at her. "Really? You seemed pretty into this just a few moments ago."
"No, not that. That I love. More than most anything. I hate that there isn't an us." With that, she kisses him on a freckled cheek and disappeared into the shadows.
"Damn it!" He yells, finally letting his anger and the feelings he tried to drown go. He throws his drink, and lets Fred go.
But he still drinks his love away. Everyday he avoids her, as she avoids him. He returned to his drink, mixing them, making them stronger and stronger. It was today that he had made it the strongest he knew how. One sip and he was tipsy. One shot and he was hammered. But it only comforted him. Today was Valentines Day, and the day his love was to be married to someone else. But today would be different for him. In the rare moments of total clear-headedness, he had asked a single favor of Charlie, the potion-maker. George tosses his drink to the side, and goes into the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and finding a vial filled with amber liquid. He swallows it and takes a long look at himself in the mirror. He winces, and fills up a glass with water, not taking his eyes off his reflection.
"Here's to you, Hermione, angel." He say with a smile, reminiscent of the old times, before he lost everything. He swallows and apparates to a certain wedding taking place, determined to find love once again. He smiles broadly. Today was looking up.