Chapter two:
Morning came fast, and Hermione found herself searching for George's familiar frame as she drank her hot cocoa at the table. She had felt it right not to say too much last night; he needed to grieve but he also needed to know that there were still people that cared for him, herself included. She let Crookshanks stretch out on her lap as she contemplated how to approach him again –it was as if she had suddenly embarked on a mission to watch out for him.
The Weasley siblings that had come back for Christmas Day had already left for work when Hermione awoke. Ginny was practicing with her team, which left Harry, Ron, George, Molly, and Hermione at home, as Mr. Weasley had also taken off to the Ministry. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which Ron and George managed now, was closed for a short Christmas break.
Hermione was helping Molly set the table for breakfast when the boys finally walked in, still clad in their pyjamas and rubbing sleep from their eyes. Ron and Harry started to dig into the bacon, eggs and bread Molly had prepared almost immediately, but George looked directly at Hermione before taking a seat, his eyes plainly betraying his curiosity at her actions the night before. Most of his family had already tried to speak with him about dealing with Fred's death, and he had expected Hermione to do the same, but she'd surprised him.
She smiled at him in a way that betrayed nothing, and set to work on her breakfast, enjoying Molly's delicious spread. George frowned, and then let the thought leave his mind as he dug in. Later, he would confront her.
Later came in a few hours, when Hermione was curled up on a cozy chair in the room she and Ginny shared, so deeply engrossed in a book that she didn't notice him arrive.
He cleared his throat loudly, and Hermione jumped, her wand hand raising in reflex, and then lowering it when she realized it was only George. She smiled inwardly; he had decided to come to her.
"Startled you, did I? Sorry about that," he almost smiled for a second, and Hermione's heart soared, seeing a glimpse of who he really was, but then it was all but gone and his mouth dissolved into a hard line.
"What was that about, yesterday? Did Mum send you? I keep telling all of you that I'm f-,"
Here, Hermione cut him off, setting her book on the cluttered bedside table. She skewered him with a look, russet eyes stern.
"You're what? Fine? Is that what you meant to say? Mrs. Weasley didn't send me, George, and it's quite obvious that pushing everyone away is not helping you with coping." She was standing up now, and somehow managed to look intimidating although she barely came up to his chest.
Faintly reminding Hermione of Ron, he opened his mouth to say something and then closed it, a groan dying in his throat. For a moment, it appeared as if though the mask he now always wore around his family slipped, and the pain he felt was bare on his face.
Hermione's eyes softened.
And then, the moment was gone.
"That is what I meant to say. I'm alright, Hermione, I'm coping. I appreciate your concern but I'd prefer to do this my way," her eyes noticed the way his fingers somewhat shook as he spoke, but his tone was decided. She'd almost forgotten how stubborn he could be –Fred too.
But that was alright, she would be lying if she said she had expected him to listen to her this easy. She would be patient.
"Alright then," was all the answer she gave him and George bit back a sigh before striding out the room.
Hermione watched his retreating back, and settled back down on her chair, cracking her book open to where she'd stopped.
"Pretense was never really your strong suit, though."
The next couple of days continued in much the same fashion, except she could never find a chance to talk to George again, properly this time. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was back in business once more and he was almost always out of the house, or with someone else, and New Years was fast approaching, which meant the day she had to go home was nearing.
It was nighttime and Hermione had just locked the door to Percy's room, having taken the liberty to borrow some of his books –he wouldn't be missing them anytime soon. Carrying three tomes of considerable volume, she moseyed along the corridor, content to take her time.
She was nearly at the staircase when she heard voices coming from the twins' –no, George's—bedroom. Maybe he had apparated straight back to his room after work. She paused, and then decided that it would be wrong to eavesdrop on private conversations, and had started to descend the staircase when a muffled sob reached her ears.
Trying to push down her guilty conscience about eavesdropping, she took a few steps back until she was standing in front of George's door, which was faintly ajar.
"It's George, mum," his voice was soft and controlled and Hermione had to bite her lip to stifle a gasp as she heard Mrs. Weasley's quiet sobbing.
"Oh, I'm s-sorry, George, dear. It's just that you're –you're so alike, I'll just bring yours up-,"she didn't need to listen any longer to piece together what had happened; Molly had mistook him for Fred. Hermione swallowed slowly; her throat had gone as dry as sandpaper. She was quick to step away from the door and descend the staircase, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Hermione couldn't possibly blame Molly; she was in no place to judge how a mother who had lost her son would be feeling. Maybe this explained George's behavior. Perhaps he thought he was burdening his mother, and the rest of his family, being a constant reminder of his dead twin. The thought made her eyes sting.
She entered Ginny's room, and dropped down onto her bed, the books dumped unceremoniously on the floor. They lay there forgotten while her thoughts revolved around the red-haired man on the above floor, who was clutching a burgundy sweater with the letter "F" embroidered on it in gold.
Please excuse any mistakes; I have proofread this but it's late at night so I'm not entirely confident. I do hope you enjoyed this chapter!
As always, reviews are highly appreciated, would love it if you guys dropped a line or two!