Authors note: So excited by all of you interested! This story is turning out to be a ton of fun to write! I'm a few chapters ahead, but I'm thinking I'll probably post one every other day-ish, so I can keep that lead and not be rushing to get chapters out to you. I'm looking for a beta reader now, so please forgive any typos, as I've tried to catch them all! Again I own nothing…but I so wish I did!

Chapter Two

"Idiot." George scolded himself as he slumped into a chair by the safe in the back room. "I'm a complete bloody idiot." He wasn't sure what he'd been thinking agreeing to Hermione living with him, working with him…it was going to be Hell. She'd barely hugged him and he was hard as a rock practically dying for just a kiss. He couldn't begin to describe how good she'd felt in his arms, how much he wanted to break away from the brotherly image… but she was Ron's ex, and George had to respect that, no matter how hard it was.

He wasn't sure exactly when he'd realized he'd been attracted to Hermione, probably sometime in her fourth year if he was being completely honest with himself. He could still remember the hell it had been knowing she was sleeping a room away with Ginny, so close. He had no clue how he was going to survive this. He'd thought about asking her out, but she'd seemed so young in school, and then when it had become obvious that Ron had feelings for her, George had pushed his feelings from his mind, focusing first on the battle against Voldermort, and then, after he lost Fred, on sleeping his way through half of London.

He grimaced. He wasn't exactly proud of what he'd been doing for the past year and a half, bouncing from woman to woman, constantly searching for someone who could make him forget not only the brown tumbles of curls and deep caring eyes, but also the image of Fred staring at him lifelessly, his lips still quirked into a smile, as if he was playing one last joke. He had been bad, neglecting the store, his family, drinking too much and pushing away anyone who tried to stop him. It had been Ginny who'd snapped him out of it about a month ago. She'd been owled by Tom, the bartender at the Leaky Cauldron once again, when he'd been too drunk to leave, and to ornery to find a girl to help him home. Ginny had taken one look at him, and her big brown eyes, so much like Fred's that it broke him inside, filled with tears. But instead of crying, and begging him to change like the rest of the family had done, she'd set her chin, met his eyes, and torn his heart out.

"Fred would be so ashamed of you, George." He could still taste the bile that had risen to his mouth. She'd been right of course, although at the time he'd simply looked away to hide his own tears.

"He's gone George, but we aren't. You're practically killing Mum, Dad's grey from the stress. I can't- I can't sleep at night because I'm terrified you'll do something stupid and I'll lose you too. I can't lose you both George. Come back and live the life Fred would have wanted for you. You're no coward George; you're Gryffindor, so you best start acting one! Mum told me you've not been to the shop two weeks! The bloody clerks are robbing you blind and you're ruining the legacy you and Fred created. I'll help you once more. But this is the last time George Weasley. If you do this again, I'll not be here to drag you're pissed ass home."

Despite the bitterness of the memory, George couldn't help but grin at how fantastic his baby sister had grown to be, "You'd be so proud of her Fred." He sighed heavily and forced himself to rise from the chair. He walked woodenly into the back storeroom and for once was grateful for the mind-numbing task of inventorying they store. He glanced at his watch, half past three. If he started now, in the state he was in, he could probably be finished by eight, which would give him some time to sort through some of the things he'd left in Fred's old room.

When he was about half way through his counts, Lynn had popped her head into the storage room, a flirtatious smile on her lips. The old George, if he'd just experienced the sexual frustration he was currently wrestling with would have snapped up her unspoken invitation, but George liked Lynn, and she was a good employee, no need to jeopardize that for a quick shag that would leave him feeling anything but satisfied.

"Hey Lynn, getting ready to close shop?" He kept his tone light and continued counting, but Lynn joined him in the room anyway settling onto a stool near his feet.

"Just about," she grinned, "It's about five of six, and it's been dead for hours. I keep wondering what you're up to back here." She grinned mischievously and George gestured grandly to the boxes of stock.

"It's all quite thrilling actually," he teased and she chuckled low in her throat. She was young, and it made George a might uncomfortable to know she was attracted to him. He didn't want to embarrass her, or upset her, so he thought it best to simply ignore the situation.

"I was hoping that maybe you could teach me…" her tone was sultry and George shot her a curious look. She grinned, "to count the stock I mean…" She blinked up lazily at him and he fought the urge to gulp.

"Ah, yes, I could do that, perhaps next week, I can show you and Hermione together, two birds and all…"

Her eyes narrowed slightly but she quickly hid the expression. "Sure Mr. W. That sounds just fine." George resumed counting, and after about five minutes of silence he assumed that she'd left.

"Have you known her long?" George jumped at the sudden question. Obviously Lynn hadn't left after all. Normally he would have listened for the door, but she had been standing behind his bad side, so she'd have to be loud for him to hear her.

"Hermione? She's a friend of my brother and sister's, they went to Hogwarts a few years behind me, I'd say about eight years I've known her all in all."

"Did you know I was at Hogwarts with you as well?" Her voice was quiet, and he almost didn't hear her.

"A third year when I left right? Makes me feel quite old." He laughed nervously but was relieved when she smiled.

"Ever since I watched you and Fred- oh" she clasped a hand over her mouth embarrassed and George frowned. He hated when people did that.

"It's alright, when Fred and I what?"

"Ever since I watched what you did to Umbridge I knew I wanted to work for you." He could tell she was embarrassed, so he shot her a gentle look.

"And you're by far the best employee I've ever had Lynn." She beamed under his praise and George felt a rush of relief. "Why don't you head back and close up, I'm sure you've got much better plans for tonight then sitting here with this old geezer."

"You're not old Mr. W," she laughed, but he was relieved when she left to close out the store. He wasn't sure why she made him so anxious. He knew it was just a crush, and that he didn't encourage it, but he still felt like a right creep with someone so much younger interested in him. Although, the thought nagged at the back of his mind, Hermione's only two years older than her, and you'd love it if she were interested. He groaned and forced his mind back to the task of counting Wilting Wands.

Unfortunately, George hadn't finished the inventory until after nine, and after fifteen hours on his feet, he was exhausted. He was grateful Lynn had taken care of most of the closing chores, so that when he counted the last dungbomb, he simply apparated upstairs. After pouring himself a few fingers of firewhisky, he snagged an apple from a bowl of fruit on the counter. He finished it in a few large bites, tossing the core into the waste bin with a swish of his wrist. When it went in perfectly he turned around with a grin on his face, but there was still no one here to see his achievement. That was a plus though, he mused, of Granger living with him. It might help him to not feel so pathetic for how lonely he was.

Holding the glass loosely in his fingers, he walked through the living room, and down the short hallway which led to his and Fred's rooms. He noted as he walked, that he should also probably get some cleaning done, and with a sigh he pulled his wand from the pocket of his trousers and quickly cast a few simply household cleaning charms. He wasn't the best at them, but he grinned as the dishes began to slowly put themselves away, and his laundry began to disappear from the floor around him. Tucking his wand safely away, he once again began towards Fred's room.

He hesitated for only a moment before twisting the knob and entering. For a moment, in the corner of his vision his mind projected a grinning Fred into the chair by the desk, wand in one hand and the other holding a Fanged Frisbee, "Oi, look what-." George turned at the voice and for a brief moment he was seeing him again, but then the memory was gone, and George was alone. He let out a shaky sigh. It wasn't often that his mind played that trick on him anymore, but his heart was close to bursting all the same. Before, when it had happened, George had pushed the memories away, but now, he wanted to cling to them, claw them back to the surface of his mind; just one more second of his voice, of his lopsided grin, to catch his eye one last time.

George forced himself from his reverie, taking a mental stock of the room. The bed was bare of sheets, and a quick wave of his wand cleared the dust from the surfaces. Mum had taken most of Fred's clothes and knickknacks about a year ago, donating them or something. George had kept a few, but they were tucked away in a box in his closet. He himself had returned most of Fred's experiments to the basement laboratory. He opened a few drawers experimentally, quills and ink in the top, Hermione could have those, a pair of socks and a Weasley sweater in the second. He lovingly traced his fingers along the bold blue F. His mother hadn't knitted his initial on a sweater the past Christmas.

"Probably figured I can't forget now eh, Forge?" He chuckled, but the additional reminder that Fred wasn't here anymore had been staggering. "It's the bloody ear mate, that's the only way she can tell us apart." With a gentle roll of his wand, he summoned a box, and slid the sweater into it gently, resting his hand on it for a few moments to compose himself before he moved on.

A few scraps of parchment were in left in the third drawer and George smoothed his fingers over Fred's messy scrawl. He flipped through them slowly. A list ingredients for a new potion, a few ideas for inventions, random figures… He'd seen them all before, but they still held a morbid fascination for him, Fred's last trace of the weeks before his death. He laid them gently in the box. He couldn't just throw them away.

Reaching a hand into the drawer he swiped against the back to make sure he wasn't missing anything. In the very back corner he felt another scrap of parchment. It was stuck, but after a few gently tugs, he was able to pull it out. From a simply glance he could tell that he'd never seen this note before, probably some type of Christmas list, and he read each letter with agonizing slowness each word both thrilling and devastating him. Bollocks, almost out of ink. Must remind George to stop being a prat, I know he's been nicking mine instead of just going to the bloody living room. Also, must remember to tell him to stop buying lemon biscuits-disgusting- Con't- Percy: a two tongued newt, or something else squirmy, Mum: possibly that pearl necklace I saw at the jewelers by Olivanders (?) Dad: a new electric drill (muggle) Ginny: Advanced Hexes and a new pygmy puff,(could we breed red? Ask George.), George: his own ink well, better taste in biscuits, Ron: a new haircut HA!

George slumped down on the bed and couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled to his lips. He couldn't stop himself for what seemed like an hour, and he was shocked to realize that his laughter had turned to gentle tears without him even noticing. Wiping gently at his cheeks he shrugged and rose to stretch his arms above his head. If anyone else had been there he might have flushed with embarrassment, but now it was just Fred's memories to watch him, and George knew he wouldn't mind.

He laid the Christmas list on the desk, thinking the family would like to see it before he stored it away. He made his way to the closet, which had a few more things to store away than the desk, he flipped through a few pictures Fred had kept in there, and they along with his old beater bat were placed in a box for storage. Botched experiments were mostly rubbish, although he did keep Fred's attempt at a singing sneekoscope, which he still believed had merit, and sent a few more with potential down to the lab.

After about an hour he was finished, and with a blink of surprise, realized he hadn't even needed the firewhisky he'd poured. He levitated the two boxes with a flick of his wand, and ushered them into the back of the large linen closet. He tossed the untouched drink into the now clean sink, and made his way back toward his own bedroom. He hadn't really been drunk since the incident at the Leaky Cauldren, but he'd usually needed a few nips as a night cap. Feeling fine, he stripped down to his boxers and slipped between the rumpled blankets. As George closed his eyes he was once again distracted by the memory of the way Hermione's breasts had pressed tight against his chest, and the way she had seemed to melt into him for the briefest of moments.

"Bloody Hell," George groaned. He probably could have used that drink.

A/N I did rate this M, and it will get that way in the later chapters, but for me the buildup is half the fun! Plus I'm not really looking for this to be just a physical relationship between the two of them, so I want you to grow to love these characters as much as I do. So what do you think so far? Every review I get just makes me want to write more for you guys!