Chapter 4
Hermione puttered to her kitchen to start coffee. En route, she took inventory. Headache? Yes, mild. Stomachache? Not really. Bumps and bruises and muscle soreness from dancing like a lunatic for hours? Yes, yes, and yes, but nothing that a mild restorative wouldn't take care of.
On the whole, especially considering the fact that she'd finished her evening consuming half a bottle of Harry's best port with Luna, not bad after a night of excess.
Speaking of excess, she wondered how George was feeling after his love affair with the Don. George. Hermione smiled. Once the initial awkwardness had faded, he'd had a really good time last night. Some of it due to the Tequila, of course...but unless she was off the mark, not all of it. He'd begun to change of late. She couldn't quite put the difference into words, but he'd definitely reached a new level of peace with his life.
After the final battle, they'd all worried that George wouldn't make it. Hermione had feared that he would arrange an "accident" with one of his more volatile products. One day, they'd go into his lab and they would find nothing left but scorch marks and a pile of red hair. But that hadn't happened; George hadn't taken the easy way out. He'd put one foot in front of the other and kept on moving forward, even though every step was obviously agonizing.
After a couple of years, his family had resumed normal life. But for George, everyone knew, normal would never be again. If he couldn't live with Fred, he said, then he would have to live for him. At that point, he threw himself into building their dream, growing 3W with tireless will.
As the years passed, slowly, steadily, he'd continued climbing back to them. George was nothing if not determined. Watching him fight for, and obtain a new balance in his life, well, it was the single most admirable thing that Hermione had ever witnessed.
There was a lot to admire about George Weasley. Instantly her mind cast back to the moment when she'd undressed him for bed. Those long athletic arms: muscled, lean, heavy as tree trunks...She'd always been theoretically aware that George practiced boxing, but to see what a decade of heavy-bag work had done to his arms and chest, well, it was a much more visceral experience.
Hermione gave herself a mental cheek-slap. Thinking him admirable was acceptable. Fantasizing about what those arms would feel like wrapped around her body was not. He was, Hermione reminded herself, her friend, AND her client, and thus doubly off limits.
If she couldn't get that into perspective, she was going to have to ensure that she spent less time with the man.
XXX
When he awoke the next morning, George was in a pensive mood. He gathered his things, scrawled a note, and tiptoed out the front door so his apparition pop wouldn't wake the Potters. Thanks to the morning after Hermione had poured down his throat the night before, he felt pretty decent, despite having consumed way more tequila than anyone had a right to.
Hermione. He climbed the front steps to Hazelwood, and pondered yesterday's revelations. In the long haul back from grief, George had gotten to know his emotional landscape pretty well. It was the song that did it, he decided. Oh, he'd been moving in that direction for months now, bit by bit. He had categorized it as attraction, interest. Something warm, but comfortable. Something safe.
But last night, lying in bed with her thin, wavering voice singing Happy Birthday to him...well, it shoved him hard, past affection, past interest, and into a scary place beyond all that. A place where the next stop was a long, hard, emotional fall. As he'd drifted off to sleep, it had come to him with great clarity, rousing him instantly despite his inebriation, that this woman might actually be THE woman.
Love. He and Fred had talked about it, imagined it, in the distant future of course. They'd both wanted to find it. Then, they'd get that big farmhouse, turn it into a duplex, and raise their families side by side. But they'd always made the assumption that when love hit, it would come in a thunderclap, a stranger seen from a distance, instantly recognized as destiny.
He'd never imagined that he'd slide in that direction with a good friend. Never thought that it would happen gradually. Never realized that he'd get to the edge, be able to look over at the chasm in front of him. Never dreamed that love would be a choice.
But here it was. A choice. He could deny this potential. He could, he knew, walk away from it.
"Yeah, if you're a bloody coward," said the voice in his head.
George gave the voice a mental shove, and continued thinking. If he didn't step away, he was going to love another human being. Not just like her. Not just enjoy her. Not just lick her top to bottom like a lollipop. But love her. And hopefully, convince her to love him.
It was a leap of faith wasn't it? The ultimate leap of faith. It was, he realized, proof that all of his optimism hadn't died 10 years ago. It was proof that even after so much pain, so much darkness, he believed life might be kind.
At that thought, panic began to stir inside his chest. If you love her, she could hurt you... She could leave you... She could die.
George sat in his panic for a moment, and considered stepping away from the edge. He felt that he had been fighting for years now. Had he fought this long, worked this hard to let fear stop him? Was he going to step away from his first big challenge? Was being simpy content good enough? Was it really as good as he could hope for? What about being truly happy? What about love? Wasn't that a goal that was worth a risk? If their roles were reversed, wouldn't Fred take the chance?
The voice inside said, gently this time, Mate, she can not hurt you worse than you have already been hurt.
Clutching that thought to his aching chest, George Weasley closed his eyes...and jumped.
End Chapter 4
AN: Ever been kissed in a way that stops time? That's what's on the horizon for Hermione. (I'm writing two chapters ahead.)
Thank you to all for reading, particularly for those who don't traditionally do the HG/GW thing. I really appreciate your being willing to come on this excursion with me. And great thanks to those who've reviewed. It really keeps my writing furnace full of fuel.
