Usual disclaimer, etc.

A blinding ray of light shone through Harry's window directly across his eyelids, forcing them open. Another morning, another stiffy.

It had been four days since The Incident, as Harry had dubbed it, capital letters and all. Harry had not left his flat, closed his floo and moped. Well, moped and wanked. Somehow, the mere kiss had turned his crush up about five levels and Harry could not stop thinking about it. He didn't know if he could face George ever again. Especially not with the revulsion and pity that was sure to be in his eyes after The Incident.

Well that was an erection killer, Harry thought as he stumbled toward the kitchen instead of the shower. Thinking about how disgusted George must be put him back into a morose mood and he planned to make himself a cup of tea and watch Titanic over and over again until it stopped hurting. Which would be never.

As he stood over the kettle, he heard the familiar tapping of an owl at his window, and looked up to see Pig flitting spastically outside. Inspecting the envelope to make sure it was not a Howler, he let the little owl zoom around his kitchen. Immediately regretting the course of action, he hopped after it, jumping randomly and finally snatching the bird out of the air. The outside of the envelope was addressed in Hermione's precise writing. Safe, he concluded.

Sitting down at the table, he opened the envelope, only to see a sixpence fall out. Instinctively, he caught it, then immediately felt the tug of a Portkey.

Meddlesome witch, he thought as the world spun out of control. Should have had the shower first.

Just a few agonizing seconds later, he found himself deposited in Hermione and Ron's neat kitchen. The other two members of the famous "Golden Trio" had married almost immediately after the war. On the battlefield, in a moment of reckless victory, Ron had scooped Hermione into his arms and into a passionate kiss. "Marry me," he had demanded fiercely, then spent the rest of the cleanup and various celebrations looking happily dazed that she had actually said yes. They had been married about two months later in the least planned event Hermione Granger had ever participated in. Looking around their kitchen now, Harry was envious of the subtle, low maintenance comfort they had created together.

Hermione sat in a sturdy kitchen chair in an absolutely hideous bright Orange Chudley Cannon's dressing gown, two cups of steaming tea in front of her. She said nothing, only raising a single telling eyebrow. Harry blamed Blaise Zabini, who worked in the Department of Mysteries with Hermione, for that purely Slytherin gesture.

Grumbling, Harry pulled himself off the floor and settled across from Hermione, pulling one of the chipped mugs toward himself.

"What?" He demanded peevishly. The eyebrow raised a little higher. "It was an accident…I was drunk?"

The last bit came out more like a question than Harry would have liked and caused Hermione's eyebrow to inch higher. "How long have you been in love with George?" she asked bluntly.

Harry, who thought the eyebrow was the only response to his not-quite declaration, promptly choked on the sip of tea had taken. "I'm not in love with George! Where would you get such a crazy idea? I just broke up with Ginny! I like girls!" He actually hadn't meant to say this last bit, it had come out in the rush of denials.

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione finally lost her cool composure. "God will strike you down for telling such lies!"

"You don't believe in God," Harry retorted, finally on some comfortable ground.

"There are times," Hermione replied gravely, "no man is an atheist. On their deathbed, in a foxhole, and when Harry Potter claims to be straight.*"

Harry had no response, having come out to Hermione shortly after breaking up with Ginny the first time. He chose to sulk instead. Her expression softened slightly. He slumped further and aimed for a pout.

"Oh, fine," Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. "Why don't you tell me what happened."

"I was drunk," Harry explained with more dignity this time. "I'm pretty sure Fred and George put something in the eggnog. I went upstairs to use the loo and ran into George. Literally ran into! I was drunk, lost my balance and we connected at the lips. That's all."

Hermione contemplated him for another few seconds before nodding. "That's pretty much what George had figured. I'll tell him that's what happened. But you have to answer my question."

"What?"

"How long have you been in love with George Weasley?" Hermione repeated her question from earlier and Harry knew she wanted a real answer. He had never been able to hide anything from her, and it was probably a miracle she hadn't picked up on his crush sooner.

"I just realized it last night, but since the Halloween party, I guess." He replied.

"It was the leather pants that did it?" Hermione asked with a wicked grin.

"It was the leather pants that did what?" Ron chose that moment to walk through the door. Harry opened his mouth for all different kinds of denials, but Ron barged on. "That Harry realized he'd spent the last four months drooling over George?"

Now both Harry and Hermione stared, gape-mouthed. Ronald 'Emotional Range of a Teaspoon' Weasley had made an accurate observation about romantic emotions. Ron scowled at their expressions of disbelief. "I'm not that bad! I passed 'Observe and Report' in training. Besides, we spent that weekend on stake-out and you talk in your sleep."

Harry turned bright red and Hermione beamed. Getting up, she handed Ron her cup of tea with a peck on the cheek. "I love you," was all she said as she began pulling out ingredients to make pancakes.

"O-kay" Ron looked confused again, but plowed on. "Were you really drunk or just figured that was your chance?"

"We're not talking about this," Harry said, aiming for a tone of finality.

"Alright mate, but we should probably have our stories straight when he starts to take the mickey out of you."

"Shit," Harry had, in the embarrassment of facing his best friends, forgotten about everyone else's reactions and the twin's inability to let any awkward or horrifying event pass by without an array of comments and jokes. They still teased Ron about his fourth year dress robes and Harry for his "wet" kiss with Cho. He was doomed. "I'll never go back to the Burrow." He vowed.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione opened the flour with a fwoom and Ron, realizing what was happening, shooed her back to the table. Somehow, Hermione's potion skills had not translated to the kitchen, but Ron had inherited his mother's cooking genes. "You have to face him at some point." She continued practically. "You have to tell him how you feel."

"Absolutely not," Harry shook his head. "I am not telling my best friend's straight brother that I have a big gay crush on him like I'm some kind of twelve year old girl."

"Technically," Ron pointed out, "twelve year old girls don't have big gay crushes. Unless they're into other chicks." Harry glared and opened his mouth to deliver a scathing retort.

"What Ron is trying to say," Hermione cut in, "Is that you are an honest person and hiding this is against your nature. You have to tell him."

"No," Harry repeated for what seemed like the tenth time. "We are not telling him. I will not get drunk, not do anything stupid and this will go away."

"Alright," Hermione conceded reluctantly. Then her eyes lit up again, with something that would have foretold hours of color coded NEWT studying in their school days. "You should find a boyfriend! I know a great guy at work…"

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. He might not like the idea, but knew he would give in. There was no stopping Hermione, and maybe he could stop thinking about George.

"Fine, I'll go" he said. Both Hermione and Ron beamed.

A/N: The * line is from a Harry/Draco fic I don't remember. I tried not to use it because I can't give proper credit, but it just stuck with me. Besides, this is a story based off a fanfic based off a published novel, so I doubt one more plagiarism is going to kill me.

Next Chapter, facing George and Harry's blind date!