Hi all!

Thank you for the amazing support for this lil' fic! It really is fantastic, I'm loving it to death, seriously. This chapter was a bit of a hard one to get out which is why it's a day or so late, as I was late getting it to my darling beta, so I do apologise! It is a monster though to make up for it, so kisses and loves for your patience!

Beta love: MissandMarauder, who stays up far too late to listen to me witter on about this fic and my ideas, and is somehow just as excitable as me about where this story is going (and also appreciates my love of a good dash!) GO READ HER STORIES, THEY'RE AMAZING! - Shameless, and unrequested, plug for The Littlest Lupin which I am so into it hurts.

Reviewer love: every single one of you that has reviewed. I don't always manage to reply to everyone and I have quite a few guest reviewers, but know that I love and appreciate every one of you. I check my phone OBSESSIVELY for review notifications, and when they appear I make really undignified little squeaking noises. Its true. My boyfriend thinks I'm really odd.

Reader love: lurkers, I love you. I am oft a lurker so I know the feeling! I would love it if you let me know you are there, though! Come say hi (I'm also in the Shrieking Shack Society/Death Eater Express/Granger Enchanted Survivors groups on Facebook where I bounce around and chat, so if you're about there you are welcome to wave and talk there too!)

On we go! I really hope you enjoy this one, as it hurt my heart to write in parts.

Much love,

MM-x


She writhed on the floor, her body on fire.

No, not on fire. Every inch of her body was being systematically twisted and balled, and currents of electricity shot through her nerves from her spine to every extremity over and over, like a mantra. It forced her muscles to seize and her head to snap back, cracking solidly on the wooden floor of the room in Malfoy Manor, her vision greying as she vaguely took in the ornate, vaulted ceiling and chandelier.

"Tell me how you got the sword!" Bellatrix screamed over Hermione's cries, and the girl shook her head and sobbed brokenly that she didn't know. Then another round began, just as she thought the curse had run its course in a moment of blessed reprieve.

The culminating effect though, if she was ever asked, was fire.

Then of course, the curse stopped, and the shining knife floated above her vision.

"Little Mudblood likes to play, does she?" Bellatrix cackled, a maniacal gleam in her grey eyes before she pounced, catlike, pinning down Hermione's arm in her talon-like grip and a knee forced her ribcage down into the icy floor. The strange, gleeful expression fell from her face; suddenly fierce. "Well, the little Mudblood needs to learn her place!" She roared in Hermione's face, spittle colliding with her horrifically over-sensitive skin, forcing her to break out into a fresh round of wracking sobs.

Bellatrix's dark curls and pale face suddenly swung from her vision and Hermione felt the crushing weight of the woman disappear from her chest. Hope flared for just a moment in the young woman's heart that she might be given some reprieve from her insanity, until she felt the burning, flaming tear of the cursed knife as it pressed into her forearm. M, "Itty-" U, "Bitty-" D, "Lying-" B, "Little-" L, "Mud-" O, "Blood-" O, "Bitch!" D. Bellatrix screeched, hissed, giggled, crowed in turn. Hermione could feel the hiss of magic with each letter, the blood leaking down her arm in a slowly swimming river that should surely prove that her blood was just like theirs. But no; it only served to fuel Bellatrix's cruelty and insanity further as she smeared the liquid around with the handle of her knife.

The cackling returned as her arm burned and her body burned with it. "There! Come, come Draco, look! Isn't it beautiful? Would you like to curse her?" Hermione's eyes barely opened to see Malfoy, who looked sick and genuinely horrified under his Aunt's arm. "No? Pity, pity… as weak as your pathetic, worthless father. Crucio!"

Hermione's eyes flew open, panting hard as she woke from her nightmare. She was no longer forced to sit bolt upright from the painful ghost of the torture that haunted her, as she had been in the early days when the events were still fresh in her mind, but her covers were still knotted about her as she'd thrashed and writhed in her sleep. Ginny was knelt on the floor next to her, brown eyes full of pain as she held her hand, fingers stroking her skin gently where Hermione's hand clutched her own. Her racing heart from the nightmare-memory of her torture began to ease and she pressed her eyes tightly closed, breathing through her nose until the swell of panic had been forced back into the box it was trying to climb out of, buried deeply within her brain once more.

"Shh, 'Mione." She whispered, "D'you want some Dreamless Sleep? I had it a bit after all that with… with Tom."

"Bad idea, really." Hermione whispered back. "Addictive, if you take it too often. Actually I… I usually go and make a cup of tea and read for a bit, when they get bad like this. They'd settled down a bit but what with..."

Hermione paused, and shared a look with Ginny, who shuddered. What with, indeed. Harry had received a very formal letter the night before, delivered by a great beast of an Eagle Owl, asking if he would be willing to testify at the Malfoy court hearing in three days' time. Harry had written back very quickly saying that he was happy to speak on behalf of Narcissa, and to Hermione's shock even Draco Malfoy, but had not a single kind word to say for Lucius Malfoy. He wanted that to be made clear before he went in to testify and if his words were going to be used to somehow exonerate Lucius, then he wouldn't speak at all. His letter had been rather terse, even by Harry's blunt standards, and Hermione wondered if they weren't going to get an earful from the Minister himself about the proper way they should speak to members of the Ministry for Magic.

They had yet to hear from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement any further on the matter. Hermione somehow doubted they would unless it was a summons to court - and she'd said as much to Harry.

"Well, if they summon me, we'll know that they've agreed to my terms, won't we?" He'd shrugged before picking up his pile of Exploding Snap cards. "Fancy a game, Ron?"

"Was it her?" Ginny nodded to Hermione's arm.

"It nearly always is. Sometimes the horcruxes, sometimes the Department of Mysteries but… usually B-Bellatrix." Hermione forced herself to say the name, and the redhead offered her a lopsided smile.

"Well, Mum got her for you in the end, the mad bitch. Go make your tea; I'm going to go back to sleep if you don't mind. Mum wants me on de-gnoming duty tomorrow." Ginny pulled a face as she stood, crawling back into her own bed.

Hermione chuckled and slipped out of bed. "Thanks, Ginny. I'm so sorry for waking you. I'll use silencing charms if I stay again - I'm sorry I forgot." She leaned over to press a kiss to the girl's cheek, only for Ginny to grab her wrist carefully but firmly.

"I'd rather know, Hermione. I know we all would. Let us be there for you? Please? Even if you don't want to talk about the details just… let us be there."

Hermione worried at her lip with her teeth before nodding once in acquiescence. "I can't make any promises, Ginny, but I will try."

"That's all I ask for." Ginny gave her hand a squeeze and then released her, snuggling down into her bed. Hermione pretended that she didn't see the haunted look in the girl's eyes as she left for the kitchen, closing the door to Ginny's bedroom behind her with a click. She leaned back against the heavy wooden door with a quick huff of air escaping her lips, forced hard from her stomach in equal parts relief and guilt that she couldn't open up to those closest to her. What frustrated her the most was that she wanted to - God, how she wanted to - but the words stuck in her throat, caught in a net before they had a chance to break free. Sort of like delicate butterflies, captured before they'd had a chance to see the sunlight.

She really hoped Kingsley would come up with a counsellor's name sooner rather than later.

Pushing herself upright, she eased herself down the stairs, delicately dancing over the one she knew creaked from years of practice sneaking down to the kitchen to plot with Harry and Ron in the kitchen, or sit with Ron and Ginny and devise some daring plan to free Harry from the Dursleys as soon as they could. Using her trusty bluebell fire charm, she held the dancing, elegant, painless flame in the palm of her hand before edging around the settee and stumbling into the kitchen. In the dim hue she grabbed an empty mason jar from a shelf and tipped the little flame inside; watching it expand with an almost maternal fondness until it filled the whole kitchen with a soft, atmospheric glow.

"You could sell that, Granger. Make a fortune as a reading light or something." A hoarse voice caught her attention and her head snapped up.

"George." She breathed. "What… what on earth…?"

"Same reason as you, I 'spect." He shrugged, slumping forward over the dining table worn smooth with age and use. His hair flopped forwards, covering his eyes slightly as they slanted upwards to meet hers, his chin resting on his folded arms. "Forgot your silencing charm, Hermione." He told her with frank understanding. "Poor form."

"I know." She found herself replying as she put the kettle on. "Would you like a brew?"

"Seeing as you're making. Milk with two." Hermione wrinkled her nose and George chuckled at her expression. "Don't give me that look, Miss Perfect Prefect. I remember your addiction to Sugar Quills."

Hermione floundered, a flush stealing her cheeks as the spoon she held clattered against the mug she was spooning George's sugar into. "I didn't realise you noticed." That would have required his presence in the library, or at one of the work desks in the Gryffindor common room for any extended length of time.

"'Course I did. I nicked one every now and again when I was still attempting to do schoolwork before our grand escape. Stopped you chewing on your actual quills when you were thinking, right? Kept a big old bag of them on your desk in the library." He held up his glass to her then in a mock toast. "To Hogwarts, Granger." And downed the remaining contents. Hermione frowned as she took a long look at the scene before her.

George was sat in an old Gryffindor Quidditch jersey and his pyjama bottoms, hair dishevelled as if he had attempted to sleep but tossed and turned the entire night. Heavy shadows hung under his eyes and stubble coated his jaw - no longer artfully as it had seemed earlier in the week at Ginny's party but now that of a man who had simply lost the will to keep up with shaving. In front of him sat a bottle of Firewhisky. It was mostly empty but for the dregs that swilled in the bottom as George's glass collided with the table, and at the same as the glass thudded heavily the kettle whistled, signalling the water for tea was ready.

She should berate him. She should bollock him till kingdom come for being a lush, she knew. But somehow, Hermione also knew that doing so would only make the situation worse, and wouldn't actually solve the problem in front of her - a drunk and despondent George Weasley.

And it wouldn't help the curiosity that bubbled inside of her as she eyed the Firewhisky cautiously, almost as if it might bite her, whilst she threw teabags into mugs and measured sugar into George's.

"Does it help?" She nodded towards the bottle, pouring the hot water into each mug with precision.

"Sometimes helps me sleep. Sometimes makes me forget what I've remembered when I do sleep." He held up the bottle in his hand, staring at it as if it was both his saviour and his curse. Perhaps it was. "I don't want to forget him, Granger, but when I remember it hurts so much I can barely breathe."

She knew it was the drink talking, but hell if she was going to stop him if he was opening up to someone, even if it was her. Perhaps it was because it was her - someone safe. Someone he didn't really know all that well other than of her bossy Prefect nature, his little brother's girlfriend, his little sister's best friend. They'd never been particularly close, which meant that he could admit things to her that he might not to someone who knew him better - who knew what it meant for him to be saying these things, admitting how he felt. So Hermione remained silent, adding milk to his tea and stirring until it looked just the right shade of builder's brew that she expected was probably what he liked. She added a splash into her own before placing the steaming mug before him, sitting down in a chair that was close enough that their knees brushed beneath the table.

Perhaps… perhaps she could do the same.

"I dreamed about this." Hermione reached out her bare arm and ran a finger over the slur on her arm. "When I do, the scar sometimes burns as badly as if it was happening again, and when I wake up I expect to see it bleeding." She traced the letters one by one, imagining the knife that carved them and the eyes that shone bright with evil as she convulsed on the floor. She shuddered and drew her fingertips away, grasping her mug and taking a steadying sip. Her eyes flew open as she felt another hand on her arm tracing the letters, before drawing an imaginary line through them and a letter 'T' with a circle around it.

"Troll for effort; must try harder, Bella. Can't take down our girl with a silly word." George stared into her eyes, his palm pressing over the word to cover it. They were slightly bloodshot but the cerulean hue was still bright and clear, and Hermione felt her lips quirk upwards.

"Mrs. Lestrange, please see me after the lesson. Terrible penmanship, please do not complete assignments with a cursed knife." She giggled into her mug slightly hysterically at the ridiculous thought.

"There, see? Every time you have a nightmare, imagine McGonagall dressing her down for her terrible work. I could even get you some Daydream charms from the shop if you like - won't charge you for the first few, either." He offered, a winning smile on his face that so closely resembled that of his previous life, Hermione felt hope flare in her chest.

"Are you going to open again?"

"I've been doing owl-order for the last week or so. Testing the waters, y'know?" George became more subdued, his hand disappearing from her arm to cup his mug. "It's just… without him, nothing feels right. It feels like I'm sailing half a ship, and the rest of it is dragging behind me, slowly sinking under. I'm shit scared of what is going to happen when it finally breaks away."

"Have you thought about asking one of your brothers to help you out?" Hermione blurted out before the thought had fully formed. "Or Lee?"

George blinked and shook his head. "It's always been just the two of us against the school, against Umbridge, against our mum, against the world. And now it's just… just me."

"You know…" Hermione began thoughtfully, suddenly realising a path that might work in her favour. "The Marauders were never just two. There were four of them - Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. Perhaps it might be time for you to branch out a bit and expand your empire of madness." She paused, and then added for good measure, "If you tell anyone I've said this, I will hurt you - I know more inventive hexes than you think, George Weasley." Hermione threatened, trying to make her face as serious and as Prefect Granger as she possibly could.

"You don't scare me, Hermione." George chuckled darkly, eying her with a slight roll of his eyes.

"Oh? Did I ever tell you about the time that I kept Rita Skeeter in a jar for a month?" Hermione maintained her expression of blank coolness, only raising one eyebrow. She hoped that McGonagall would be proud of her.

George blinked, and then leaned further over the table, his brooding darkness seemingly forgotten for a moment as he stared at her with wide eyes. "You… You've been holding out on us!" He spluttered, and Hermione felt another blushing grin creep up on her cheeks as George eyed her thoughtfully, finally breaking through her facade. "You know… I could use some help making up some of the owl-orders, if you reckon you can learn the spells quick enough."

It was Hermione's turn to choke on her tea as she took a sip. "George Weasley! I'm a Prefect!"

"Yeah, and? You're scarily smart, terrifying with a wand, and clearly, you've got a knack for mischief that you've been keeping secret. C'mon, it'll be fun!"

Hermione couldn't help but be drawn into his infectious enthusiasm as he bounced in his chair, his knees knocking against hers. She chewed on her lip for a moment before placing her mug on the table carefully, resting her chin in one hand as she examined the man before her. "Look, there have to be rules. I still need to read all of the textbooks for the coming year..."

"Which you can do in your sleep." He rolled his eyes. "Pull the other one."

"...And I'm not working with you if you've been drinking." She pointedly looked at the bottle. "It's dangerous, George. You know it is. Spellwork and alcohol don't mix at the best of times, let alone at the level of your spellcrafting and potioneering."

His face fell for a moment as his eyes landed on the bottle of Firewhisky that stood between them on the table; the metaphorical elephant in the room, but also the physical reminder of all that he had lost and all that he was having to remind himself of whenever he worked on his products. "You don't know what you're asking, Granger."

"You're right, how can I?" She picked up the bottle and drained the contents in one gulp, the burn bringing tears to her eyes but the glow of it bringing her a warmth that she couldn't deny felt incredibly good. A warmth it would be very easy to get lost in, Hermione realised, and she placed the empty bottle down carefully, picking at the label until it tore away. She began to shred it, creating fluttering flakes of paper that danced downward like tears to the tabletop as she bitterly remembered her own stinging loss. "My parents currently live in Australia, and they don't have the foggiest who I am because I put them under a memory charm to forget me. Unless I can find them and reverse it, which will be incredibly difficult, they may as well be dead to me. But of course, I've no idea what it's like to lose someone and want to forget everything."

Hermione raised her eyes from the pile of shredded label and stared firmly at George, daring him to say anything in retaliation. "Merlin fuck, Granger." He whispered at last before sitting back, closing his eyes tiredly and pinching the bridge of his nose sharply in a pained gesture. Knowing all too well the sensation of tension and that it wouldn't ease no matter the pressure he applied there, Hermione reached out and drew his hand from his face, linking their fingers together. If George was surprised or bothered by the action or closeness he didn't say anything, but instead tightened the grip with his own hand as they sat in silence, drinking the remainder of their tea before it cooled. It wasn't awkward, but contemplative, and Hermione wondered just what was going through his head as his eyes darted between her face, their hands, the bottle, his mug, and around the room in a whirling-dervish of motion that surely had to be making him feel dizzy.

Finally, his eyes snapped to hers and he nodded once. "Fine. Okay. I can't promise I will be able to be anything other than I am… but I promise I'll try to… back off a bit."

Hermione couldn't help but notice the mirror of her conversation with Ginny, with no small amount of irony. "That's all I ask."

"Fair enough, Granger." George offered a lopsided smile then, his head tilting a little. "I know what you did with your parents, well, that's not strictly this side of legal so..." He zipped his lips shut and pretended to throw away the key over his shoulder. "But if you need any help, let me know. Bill knows a couple of Australian Cursebreakers from when he was over in Egypt - they might be able to help you with the memory charms when you've tracked your parents down. They'd probably charge you - that sort always does - but Bill always said they're damn good at what they do. Saved his arse a couple of times. If they can't help, they'll probably know a guy who knows a guy, if you catch my drift."

Hermione's throat tightened, and she swallowed hard before bobbing her head once at his thoughtfulness despite how low he must be feeling in that moment. "Thanks, George. I'll keep it in mind if… well, if I find them I suppose."

"Don't do that." He snapped then, his face darkening. "Don't say if. This whole mess of a war has done so much bloody awful bollocks to you, so don't you start with the hopelessness on this. It can't be 'if', Granger. It'll be 'when', and you will deserve to get them back and have all the love in the world that they can give you. Right?" George gripped her hand tighter. "Promise me you won't give up hope. Don't end up like me."

How was it even possible he was able to see such hope? George Weasley, who had lost the person who was closer to him than perhaps a husband or wife ever could be, closer than any other brother or sister, someone with whom he had shared almost every waking and sleeping moment. He was trying to instil her with all the goodness and optimism he had, even if he didn't seem to have any left for himself. Hermione stared at him, unsure how she could get the man before to see just how wonderful his life could be if he allowed himself the chance to truly grieve and allow those around him to help him through his loss.

But somehow, for whatever reason, George had chosen to let her in, and she had to make sure she didn't waste the opportunity to do with it whatever she could before he closed himself off again.

"There are worse things to be than you, George Weasley; that I sincerely promise you." Hermione stood as George gave a rasping, disbelieving chuckle, releasing their still-clasped hands to wrap a friendly arm around his shoulder. "Now, go get some sleep. You have spells and potions to teach me tomorrow, and I'm a very thorough study. I'll be making notes and asking the most irritating questions I possibly can, so you'll need to be on your game."


xxxXxxx


When Hermione descended the stairs for breakfast a little before eight the following morning after her slightly more restful sleep, she certainly hadn't expected to see George sat there, clean-shaven and allowing his mother to trim his hair magically, fussing over him as he leaned back over the chair with a dust-pan floating around him, catching the discarded hair. It was only a start, Hermione told herself, and nothing to get too excited over - but it was something, and it was something that was doing his mother good, too, based on the flush she wore and the constant, small cuddles she was giving her son.

"Oh, Hermione dear! Breakfast will be just a moment." Molly positively beamed. "I'm running just a little late this morning."

"That's quite alright, Mrs. Weasley." Hermione grinned back in return, catching the Prophet owl as it fluttered to the window and offered it the necessary coins before flinging the paper onto the table for whoever wished to read it.

"Put the kettle on, Granger? You make a mean cuppa." Hermione narrowed her eyes as George blinked lazily at her. Mrs. Weasley frowned and hit her son firmly with the comb.

"Manners cost nothing, George."

"Merlin, woman, and you call yourself my mother? Battery and assault - oi!" He squawked again as she repeated the action. "Okay, okay! Please could you put the kettle on, Granger?"

"Yes, of course I can." Hermione returned in a syrupy tone, locating the largest teapot the Weasleys owned in preparation for the breakfast rush and set about making tea for the brood. She had just set it down in the middle of the dining table when breakfast was at last complete and George's hair was fully trimmed and styled neatly - though still longer than Mrs. Weasley would have liked - and had just poured a cup for herself and George when the family started trooping down sleepily for breakfast ten minutes later.

Breakfast was always a noisy affair in the Weasley household, Hermione had often noted - with Arthur happily greeting everyone in his booming voice as he entered, dressed for work, and the chattering of responses drowning out everyone else as they responded. Percy was dressed for the Ministry too, though he still looked awkward and seemed a little out of place in the jostling family environment he'd secluded himself from for too long. However, it seemed to be doing him good, as he smiled a lot more and even took the gentle ribbing from Ron, and Charlie when he came home from Romania, with good grace.

"Hem-hem." George stood, doing a horrible impression of Dolores Umbridge which earned him a round of amused, and slightly disconcerted looks and groans as he raised his teacup. "Sorry." He grinned at Harry who looked almost ready to hex him, and Hermione shared a grimace with her best friends at the memory. "I just wanted to say that I've got the owl-post side of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes back up and running and… I'VE CORRUPTED GRANGER! I'VE CORRUPTED GRANGER!"

Hermione, vaguely horrified, buried her head in her hands as George began to dance around the kitchen, chanting the phrase over and over maniacally before dragging her up, swinging her into a clumsy waltz that had everyone laughing despite their utter befuddlement at what he actually meant by the repeated words.

"Sorry George, but I think Ron and Harry already did that." Ginny chuckled, lobbing a piece of toast at her brother's head. Both Harry and Ron nodded their agreement around mouthfuls of bacon sandwich and Hermione wondered just how thoroughly George planned to hold this over her. Probably far too long, if he had his way. Still - it would be worth it if it meant he got back on his feet a little quicker, and smiled just that little bit more.

"Oh no, little sister. You see, I required help in order to create more stock for WWW, and our dear Hermione Granger has delightfully agreed." George gestured to Hermione with a sweeping bow, like a conductor to the orchestra. Ron and Harry's mouths dropped open, jaws hanging wide, and Ginny veritably smirked at the pair of them as if she had seen the event coming a mile off.

"Delightfully is such a strong word, George Weasley, and I'd say it was more like acquiesced." Hermione muttered, earning a snort from what sounded like Charlie, or perhaps even Percy.

"Technicalities, technicalities. Now, if we're quite done with breakfast, I'm whisking her away before she has a chance to change her mind. Family!" He waved in farewell and tucked Hermione into his side before taking his wand in hand and apparating them away with the familiar tug behind her navel before she could even blink. When her feet collided with solid ground she pitched forward, almost dragging George with her, but he anchored her upright as he laughed at her disorientation whilst she clung on to him for dear life.

"Could give a girl some warning, you prat!" Hermione smacked him solidly in the chest, which only seemed to make him laugh harder.

"Oh, Granger, side-along really isn't for you, is it? Take a good look 'round, once you get your bearings you'll be able to get yourself here whenever we need to without hanging on to my coattails." George chuckled still, and let Hermione go to do just that when he was sure she wouldn't either stagger sideways or throw up.

Her eyes widened as she took in the room, the wide space phenomenal. Potion benches lined one side with a range of different cauldrons neatly stacked depending on material, with space for someone to move between the rows to stir and add ingredients. On the other side were simple, empty tables which Hermione assumed were for charm work and other spellcasting, and a high-ceiling soared above her that disappeared into beamed rafters. The walls were painted a simple, clean white which made the room seem even more spacious. It was the most incredible laboratory she'd ever seen; and had the dungeons at Hogwarts been like this, she would have been much happier in potions lessons.

"This is the lab. We don't do testing here, this is purely for manufacture once we've got… once I've got the products right. Once we get to this stage, very little tends to go wrong unless we… I'm not paying attention properly when casting or brewing. Fuck it!" George stopped short, leaning heavily against one of the empty tables and closing his eyes. His breathing was shallow, and his fists were tightly clenched as if he were fighting the urge to hit something, cry, scream, or find something to drink - or perhaps all four.

Hermione didn't move, letting George work through the difficulty of someone else being in the space that he'd only ever shared with Fred. She could imagine with very little difficulty the two of them in this room - one on either side. It was so clearly designed for two, balanced equally for two halves of a whole. It was no wonder, really, that he struggled to be in the room alone when it would seem so empty and bereft of the life that had once filled it joyfully. Carefully, she moved to stand next to him, bumping shoulders with him so her presence wasn't a surprise when she finally spoke.

"We don't have to do anything today, you know. It's enough that you've let me this far." Hermione said quietly to George. "Or you can just give me notes and I'll find somewhere in Grimmauld to set up my own lab."

"Don't be bloody daft. This was made to be used. It's just… it was ours. Our escape from Umbridge. This was the first thing we built with the money from Harry. If you go through that door there, you get into the shop." He pointed to the door on the right. "And if you go through that door there…" He pointed to the door on the left of the room, near the potions benches. "... That's our flat." His voice trailed off as he looked at the floor, kicking his foot against the stone flooring.

Hermione grimaced. "I've not been back to my parents' house, either. It's not the same, I know, but it felt like a haunted house when I was leaving it. If you ever want anything and you know it's in there… just let me know. I mean, if you want." She stammered, realising how presumptuous she'd sounded.

George's head snapped up, eyes sweeping from the floor at last. "Thanks, Hermione."

"You never call me Hermione." She felt her face redden. "It sounds so… strange."

"Fine, I can call you Granger if you like." George's brows rose with amusement. "Bit odd though, if we're working together, and I have known you for seven years. And you always call me George." He pointed out.

"I know, but it just caught me off guard." Hermione imagined calling George by his surname only to have the entire Weasley clan pop their heads up like meerkats - the image made her giggle out loud.

"Glad I can amuse you without saying anything at all, Hermione." George snorted, the tension broken as he pushed himself away from the bench at last.

"Yes, your face does that."

"Oh, thanks. For that, you get to start on WonderWitch products. Go on, you'll need the silver cauldrons and everything you'll need to do is in that book on the shelf below the cauldron stacks. You won't really need any help, they're all pretty simple - barely need O.W.L level potions skills for them." He gestured to the obnoxiously pink folder which made Hermione grimace, and George wagged a finger at her. "That's what you get for being a sarcastic little witch, Miss Perfect Prefect. I'll go get the ingredients for the Flirting Fancies, and then if you can stomach it you can make some of the Kissing Concoction."

"Oh, that's disgusting!" Hermione cried after him as he entered the door that led into the shop, shaking her head before hauling the pink folder out from underneath the counter and finding the recipe for Flirting Fancies. The potion really did seem easy, and thankfully quick enough, so she laid out the cauldrons and set the water base the potion required to heat before knotting her hair up into a bun above her head with her wand.

Tapping her hands on the table she found the room far too silent, and after a few minutes she finally relented and dug into her pocket for the beaded bag she still carried with her. Digging around in it, Hermione finally found what she was after and with a small mumble of 'a-ha!' she drew out a Muggle radio and placed it on the free counter behind her, the batteries charged not too long ago by Mr. Weasley in one of his contraptions in such a way that they would never lose power. Flicking it on, she twiddled with the receiver until she tuned into Radio 1 which played whatever was popular in the Muggle charts. Presenters were chatting as she continued checking and preparing work stations for the ingredients she'd need, and she tuned out most of the background noise until the strains of music she recognised drew her from her ministrations.

A grin slowly flourished across her face. Eying the door carefully for movement from George, Hermione withdrew her wand from her hair and began to sing in time to the radio. Hell is gone and heaven's here, there's nothing left for you to fear, shake your arse, come over here, now scream! I'm a burnin' effigy of everything I used to be, you're my rock of empathy, my dear!

"So come on, let me entertain you!" Hermione sang into her wand, dancing between the cauldrons at a volume that was probably going to bring George running, but she was having a little too much fun letting go. "LET ME ENTERTAIN YOU!" She jumped around in circles, her hair a cloud of curls around her that she knew she would have no hope of containing, but the song was so infectiously fun and she was finally alone for a moment, and able to let go like she might have done at home when her parents had gone to work for the day. It was a moment of pure elation; glittering happiness like a bright flame in the darkness that so often haunted her.

She shrieked as she felt two hands grasp her shoulders firmly, stopping her manic bouncing, her wand sending up a flash of white sparks between them that George leaned back from with a devilish grin. "Having fun, Hermione?"

"Erm…" She flushed sheepishly, "...Yes?"

"Good! But can you change this rot? This isn't real music."

"I beg your pardon? Robbie Williams is brilliant!" Her hands flew to her hips, brows rising in protest at his words.

"If that's your definition of brilliant, then we need to have some serious words. Hey, this one's alright!" He perked up as a string part started and Hermione's nose wrinkled.

"The Verve I think. It's called Bittersweet Symphony but it's been played a lot, so I'm a bit sick of hearing it." She grimaced but found herself humming along anyway, finding her knife and the ingredients George had brought. "What are you going to work on?"

"Daydream charms. They're a best-seller. Once you've made those, it would be good if we could throw together some Skiving Snackboxes if they don't offend your Perfect Prefect sensibilities too badly." George winked from across the room, boxes laid out before him with small glass vials that he was flicking inside with his wand with rapid-fire precision. Hermione paused in her knifework to simply watch, leaning on the bench with the utmost fascination. It was somewhat like watching Professor Snape brew - the way he fixated on his task with the absolute dedication required to complete the action was a little hypnotising.

"Hermione, I know I'm incredibly handsome but if you could get on with the brewing, that'd be great." George snorted, barely looking up from his work.

"Oh, shut up! It's just fascinating watching you work. It's brilliant magic, really!" She exclaimed.

That did make him stop. "You… you really think it's brilliant?" He looked so hopeful, kind of like a puppy, and his neck and ear flushed red like Ron's did when she nodded, her smile flashing the teeth that had been magically shrunk years before that made smiling so much more pleasant and less the nerve-wracking activity it had been in her teens. "That kind of means a lot more than you probably think it does, Hermione."

"I doubt that. You've enough ego that your head will barely fit through the door." She chuckled, and went back to her brewing, losing herself in the repetitive motions and the sound of the Muggle music, often humming or singing along when the mood took her. Her hair began to frizz in the humidity of the cauldrons and the rosy steam from the heavily-scented brew, and she re-knotted it with her wand in expert movements before returning to her quick stirs and well-timed additions. One particularly cheesy, catchy pop song had her singing again out loud, swinging her hips as she stirred in time to the beat. Truth be told the words to the chorus weren't really words at all but rather sounds, but Hermione had heard it on the radio whilst on the run and she'd quite liked it ever since.

"Mmmbop, ba duba dop ba du bop, ba duba dop ba du bop, ba duba dop ba du, yeah.."

"Okay, no." George slammed his wand down. "I listened to that Robbie bloke with some tolerance, but I'm putting my foot down at whatever the toss this is. This is utter rot, 'Mione. There's got to be better Muggle music out there than whatever the buggering Godric this is."

Hermione was flicking the flames off from the cauldrons to allow the potions to cool so they could be formed into Fancies, and she raised a single brow. "By all means, George. You find me some Muggle music you like, and I'll find some I like, and we can swap tastes. How about that?"

"Shake on it. A deal's not a deal 'til you exchange handshakes."

George leaned over the potions bench, holding out his outstretched palm with a smirk.

"Deal." Hermione agreed, shaking his hand.

"Great!" George exclaimed, Hermione noticing a slightly worrying sparkle in his eyes returning that clearly meant trouble - a ghost of one, she remembered, that she had seen far too often before a prank during his Hogwarts years. "Pack those up into boxes, and then you're taking me out in Muggle London. No time like the present!"


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I hope you enjoyed this mammoth of a chapter! Please let me know what you think, and have a great week. For reference, the songs I mentioned are Mmmbop by Hanson and Let Me Entertain You by Robbie Williams, and Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve. Mmmbop was in the charts in February and March of 1998, Bittersweet Symphony charted in May, and Let Me Entertain You was topping the charts in June so all three would be making lots of noise on BBC Radio 1 at that time. I am an English 90's girl so this is my music, kids! I was rocking my Spice Girls posters, my obsession with Aqua and Steps was legendary, and Robbie is my baby to this day. I note that the Wombles and Mr Blobby were also in the charts at the time - we will NOT be exploring those particular creatures.