Sleep meant nightmares, now, so Hermione didn't sleep anymore. She'd had nightmares before, during the war, but then they hadn't been so often. Then Harry had been there beside her, would hold her close, and distract her until she felt better. Now waking up from a nightmare was worse – she was all alone, and Harry was too dead to help her. So she didn't sleep anymore, at least not at night, or in bed. She'd taken to staying up until she was too physically exhausted to stay awake any longer, then sleeping until she couldn't sleep anymore.

She wasn't sure if that made her nightmares less common or more. She was sure that it made her exhausted all the time.

She hadn't known where to go after the Battle of Hogwarts. The Weasleys had wanted to take her home with them. She had stayed with them the first couple nights, but it didn't feel right to be there. They were grieving Fred's death, and she couldn't fully share in that grief. Fred hadn't been her child, or her brother. They'd been friendly, but never really friends. It felt wrong to be there when all she really cared about was that Harry was dead.

The Weasleys were upset about Harry too, but other than Ron, they hadn't been his best friend. They hadn't been with him every step of the way (except the last, she hadn't been there for the last step either), hadn't helped him through every trial back at school, hadn't been on the run with him, hadn't slept in the same bed when the nightmares and the fear and the stress and the hunger were too much. They weren't grieving Harry, not like she was.

Maybe Ron was, but that just made her angry. Ron had left them. When he'd come back, in the moment, she'd forgiven him, or thought she had, and they'd accepted him back. But still. Ron had left them.

Maybe Ginny was, but that just made her more angry. Who did Ginny think she was, thinking she could commiserate with Hermione over Harry's death? Ginny wasn't Harry's best friend. Ginny had been obsessed with him, sure, but she barely even knew him. She hadn't been there.

So she'd left, only she had nowhere to go. Harry had left her (and probably others, though she couldn't say for sure) an absurd amount of money in his will, so she could afford to rent a place, and she didn't really NEED to work. She needed to do something though, or she would spend all her time wallowing in misery.

She'd have her pick of jobs in the Wizarding World, she'd been a war hero after all (or at least a war hero's best friend – she didn't actually know what people knew or thought about everything leading up to Voldemorte's death). But she couldn't go anywhere in Wizarding Britain without attracting an absurd amount of media attention. And she didn't think she was capable of doing any work that wasn't menial, with her current inability to care or focus.

As far as the muggle world was concerned, she'd dropped out of school without even beginning her secondary education. That didn't stop Hermione from claiming to have her A levels on her job applications, though. It seemed unlikely fast food managers would check those credentials.

George had stayed at the Burrow longer than Hermione, but eventually he couldn't handle it anymore, either. His family was grieving, too, but Fred hadn't been their twin. He could see them starting to recover. Charlie, first, which made sense, since he had been away from the family for so long. Then other family members. George knew he could never be okay again. His family would though. He wanted to hate them for it, but really, they shouldn't all have to be miserable.

Everyone was walking on eggshells around George, though. When he walked into a room, any smiles would vanish. They knew it was harder for him. That he couldn't handle people being okay, even for a moment.

George just wanted to be alone. It was exhausting, being around so many people. People who wanted to help him but didn't know how. He couldn't blame them, he didn't know how either. But he felt like he was suffocating.

They'd started trying to get him to move on, lately. They didn't say it outright, but they'd started trying to get him to do things – talk, eat more, play quidditch. Ask whether he'd like some help getting the shop back in one piece.

If anything could make George smile, that would've been it. The idea that he might one day want to get the shop running again. He owned a joke shop. With his dead twin. It was hilarious, in a morbid sort of way.

It was too much to be around his family (what was left of it). So he'd moved out, and back into the flat over Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

-Hermione-

5:56AM. Hermione was staring at her clock, experimenting with the absolute latest she could get out of bed without being late for work. When the clock hit 5:57, she pulled out the first clothes she found from her laundry basket, which was lying next to her bed from the last time she'd done wash, maybe a week ago. Then she shoved her feet into her trainers, put the invisibility clock over her head, and apparated to the public bathroom a block from the fast food chain she worked at. She shoved the clock into her extended pocket (a charm she'd put on all three of the sets of jeans she owned), and pulled the ever-present elastic off her wrist to pull her hair back as she walked to work. The clock read 6:01 when she got in the door, and 6:02 once she'd washed her hands and clocked into work. Oh well, close enough. She was already tired, which meant this shift would be hell.

Hermione's shift ended at 2:00PM, which was her favourite time to get off work, because it was hot and sunny outside. She apparated home, and curled up with a blanket on the couch by the window. She was exhausted, and excessive heat and sunlight made her feel sleepy. Hermione had just enough time to wonder whether her animagus form would be a cat before she fell asleep. She'd been up for about fourty hours, so with any luck she'd be asleep for at least twelve.

-George-

Reading was addictive, really. When he could concentrate, at least. The alcohol helped dull the other emotions, when he drank just a little of it. Let him concentrate enough to escape to some fantasy world some brilliant muggle had come up with. He'd thought it funny, at first – muggles writing about magic and getting it so wrong. Now he just enjoyed them, or at least used them to escape.

He was out of unread books, though. He needed to go to the library to trade them out, but right now that just sounded exhausting.

So now he was left with just his thoughts. And a handle of tequila – which was much better than just his thoughts, really. He wondered if reading was Hermione's way of coping, too. It seemed like it would be. He wondered if drinking was Hermione's way of coping.

-Hermione-

The downside of waking up at 3am, Hermione thought, was that most stores were closed, and the ones that were open didn't sell alcohol. She was a witch and could literally teleport, but there were a lot more limits on that lately than usual. Apparently being in a constant state of exhaustion was not conducive to healthy reserves of magic.

Deciding to wait on restocking alcohol and junk food, Hermione settled for what was left of the vodka handle, which was conveniently already next to the couch, and putting on her music playlist of the most depressing songs she'd been able to find. She really didn't want to get out of her blankets, so she summoned the bag of chips and carton of very vanilla vegan ice cream to her little nest instead.

It doesn't take long for George to find out that yes, Hermione uses alcohol to cope, too. He arrives at the liquor store a few minutes before it opens, and is surprised to see Hermione already there, sitting in front, leaning against the wall. He doesn't recognize her until she looks up and says his name questioningly, and even then it takes him a minute. Her hair's a lot shorter than George has ever seen it – it barely reaches her chin, and it's messy and greasier than he's used to. She's wearing muggle clothes – a loose T-shirt and jeans. Her eyes seem a little unfocused, and given that she's hanging out at a liquor shop before it's open, he assumes it's because she's drunk.

George finds himself suddenly grateful he had to put on muggle clothing to shop here – he can't remember the last time he's showered, or how long he'd been wearing his robes before changing.

"Funny running into you," Hermione says. She feels a little embarrassed at seeing him, given the lack of emphasis she's placed on hygiene or presentation lately, but when she processes just why she hadn't been sure it was him at first, she doesn't feel so embarrassed anymore. His hair looks as greasy as hers is, though not as messy, and the scruff on his normally clean-shaven face says he hasn't bothered with shaving lately. His clothes look fine, though.

"Not too funny, though," George answers. "Cheapest hard liquor in Britain, right here." He's exaggerating a bit, but not that much. He's tried quite a few places, and hasn't seen cheaper tequila anywhere so far.

An employee comes and unlocks the door before Hermione finds something to say. George offers her a hand up, and she takes it gratefully, making her best effort to appear sober for the staff. It's illegal to sell alcohol to someone who's intoxicated, and she really doesn't want to have to make another trip.

Inside the store, each walks directly to their poison of choice. Hermione grabs two handles of vodka. George grabs two handles of tequila. The tequila is closer to the register than the vodka, so he ends up being rung up first, Hermione right behind him. He could just leave now, go back to his apartment and drink alone like he has been, but…

He's been avoiding his family, he hates making them see him miserable, but…

Hermione doesn't look like she's faring any better than him, which isn't surprising, really. She's lost her best friend too. And, misery loves company and all, so…

It's impulsive, he doesn't plan to say it, but he doesn't regret it. "You wanna come over? We can drink together. It's much less sad than drinking alone, I hear."

Hermione takes a minute to think it over. She hasn't seen anyone in the wizarding world since the war ended. People send her owls, and once in a while she responds, but she's spent all her time alone or at work with people she doesn't care about. She's not particularly close to George, but he's always been friendly when they haven't been busy insulting each other over taking things too seriously or not enough, and since Hermione doesn't care about anything anymore, she doubts she'll feel the need to pick a fight with him. Besides, if she goes to his place, she can leave whenever she wants.

"Sure," she tells him, and they walk out of the store together.

George looks around, and, seeing no one, offers her his arm. She takes it, and he apparates them to outside the store, concentrating very hard on not splinching either of them. It's exhausting to apparate lately, and to side-along someone doubly so.