"There's nowhere to run and hide when you're living to die"

-Clairvoyant Disease (Avenged Sevenfold)

There were roughly a million reasons why Hermione should stay home rather than barging into the twins' – no, George's flat. First, that Molly had said that everyone was to leave him alone to mourn. Secondly, she would be lying to the people closest to her – she had said she had to go to her parents' home after lunch rather than staying at the Burrow for supper as well. That and she wouldn't exactly be able to tell them she deliberately disobeyed Molly, who she had taken to calling her 'second mum' in her mind, and possibly losing their trust. Third, George and her hadn't ever really spoken, beside when she yelled at them for pulling pranks and testing on first years. Why would he want to see her?

However, Hermione was a girl whose stubborn nature was a force to be reckoned with and she had decided that no one should be alone on Christmas. With that thought running repeatedly through her mind, she put the ingredients for a dinner worthy of Molly in Tupperware, put them into a bag, and, taking a deep breath and steeling her nerves, apparated to Diagon Alley.

She landed outside number 93, which looked cold and miserable, the exact opposite of how Fred and George's joke shop should look. She frowned at it, but didn't dwell long. She walked inside, locking the door behind her just in case, and ascended the hidden staircase to the flat George occupied. With one more rather frantic thought about no one being alone for Christmas, she knocked loudly on the door and stepped back a pace.

Several minutes passed and there was no answer. She huffed in annoyance and knocked again, waiting for a reply. When none came once more, she banged loudly on it with her fist, her patience quickly wearing away. After another minute or two of obnoxious pounding, she thought she heard footsteps, but didn't relent until the door swung open. Before her stood George Weasley, but he wasn't nothing like the George she, or anyone else, knew. He was thin, slightly bent with sagging shoulders, shaggy and extremely unkempt hair, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, which had an awful, haunted look in them. Hermione's irritation melted away instantly as she took in his appearance.

"Hermione?" he said, giving her a funny look and blinking several times. His voice cracked when he spoke, as if hit hadn't been used in a long time. Stupid, Hermione thought to herself. It definitely hasn't been used in a long time if he's been alone for months.

"Happy Christmas, George," she said, trying to mask her nerves with a falsely confident smile.

"Happy Christmas to you as well, I s'pose," he returned rather halfheartedly. "Do you need something?"

"I'm making you Christmas dinner, since you won't go to the Burrow," she said in commanding tone.

George looked surprised by this and merely stared. "You're making… dinner?" he said.

"Yes," Hermione replied, allowing her eyes to briefly take in his emaciated form, "and, by the looks of it, you could do with some."

"I… fine, come in," he said, stepping aside so she could enter. The foyer was a small space, painted the brightest orange Hermione had ever seen. She smiled at it, thinking of the magenta robes Fred and George had worn while working their shop. She took off her heavy winter cloak, hanging it on a rack that bore a certain resemblance to a dodo bird. She suppressed a laugh as she looked at it, then turned to George.

"Can you show me where the kitchen is?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," he said, leading her out of the entry way and to a small but very comfortable kitchen. It wasn't very messy and looked as though it hadn't been used it months. Which is probably true, thought Hermione sadly, observing a small takeout container from a restaurant down the Alley.

"It's lovely," she said, unloading the food from her bag. "I brought ham, mashed potatoes, gravy, steamed broccoli, and pudding for afterwards. I hope you like that. I just grabbed what I thought would be nice and came."

"It sounds fine," George said, and Hermione winced at how hollow his voice sounded. She began getting the food ready, putting the ham in the oven and completing the other dishes quickly, cast a heating charm, then bustled to put the pie she had brought in the refrigerator. George just watched, staying completely silent and still on the edge of the kitchen.

"Where do you keep your silverware, plates, and glasses?" Hermione asked him as she rifled through drawers full of everything but the objects in question. George walked over and opened two cabinets and a drawer, then returned to his post. Hermione thanked him and began carrying things to the small dining room. She conjured a nice white table cloth, realizing she hadn't brought one, and laid the places. She hurried back and forth, carrying food and napkins, a bottle of elf wine (Mrs. Weasley had mentioned it was his favorite and, with that in mind, she had picked it up), and, finally, the ham. "It's all ready," she said to George, who followed her and sat down.

Dinner was a quiet affair as well. George seemed to like the food – or, at least, he didn't dislike it, Hermione noted with pleasure. It was only after they had finished dessert that he spoke.

"Why?"

Hermione looked up in surprise. "What?" she asked, confused by his one word question.

"Why did you come?"

Guilt surged through Hermione and she looked down at her empty plate to hide her embarrassment. "Well, I know your mum didn't want anyone to come over, but it's Christmas, and no one should have to be alone on Christmas. I know you and I don't know each other well and I apologize for barging in and –"

"Don't," George said quietly, effectively cutting off her nervous ramble and turning her cheeks crimson.

"Sorry," she said, voice thick with embarrassment. She started to stand, saying, "I'll just go then –"

"Wait," George said, grabbing her wrist as she stood. "I didn't mean that. I meant that you didn't have to apologize."

Hermione paused, and comprehension spread across her face. "Oh," she said, sinking back into the chair. "So… you don't mind that I just invited myself and forced you to eat my food?"

The edge of George's lips quirked upward for a split second, but fell back into a frown so quickly that Hermione thought she might have imagined it. "No," he answered truthfully. "It was great. Most people just ignore me now. They say I need space… but I'm not sure that's it. I don't think they can look at me without remembering…him." He took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes and gripping the edge of the table with a pained look etched on his pale, freckled face. Hermione placed one of her hands over his and smiled at him as his eyes opened and met hers.

"It's going to be okay," she said quietly. "Not today, maybe not for a while, but it will be. Trust me."

George hesitated before nodding, closing his eyes agian. "Someday," he murmured.

"He wouldn't want you to be sad," Hermione said. "He'd probably smack you upside the head and tell you that you were behaving like a total prat and you needed to get your act together. Probably say something about seeing some pretty girls or playing Quidditch, along with pranking every person that you can think of – twice." His eyes opened once more and he looked at her, his sapphire blue eyes looking desperate and hurt. Hermione looked back at him, somehow unable to break the connection. Finally, he nodded.

"You're right," he relented weakly, turning his eyes to look at the floor. "I'm pathetic."

"No! No, George, you are not pathetic!" Hermione cried, jumping from her chair and moving to kneel beside him. She grabbed his chin and turned his face to look at her and said, "Listen to me, George. You are a lot of things - hilarious, troublesome, rich, brilliant, handsome, loyal, brave, and so much more. But one thing that you are not is pathetic. You are so strong. I don't know if I, or anyone else I know for that matter, could handle what you're going through right now. But I know that you can because you are an amazing guy. Don't beat yourself up about this – you can do it."

George stared at her once more, looking dumbfounded. "And here I thought you didn't know me very well," he whispered. Hermione blushed.

"I guess I lied a little," she said.

"Everyone does sometimes," he said. "I just hope that the part about you thinking I'm handsome wasn't part of the lie."

Hermione's face burned, but she still replied with, "I think that's an undeniable truth." And for the first time that evening, George really smiled.

Things would get better.

A/N: This is the first of four parts to this story/collection I'm writing for the 1, 2, 3, 4 Seasons Challenge.

Please review with feedback/critique/etc. :) Thanks bunches!

Naomi