Hermione shrieked, leaping out of the armchair and pointing her wand threateningly at the mass in front of the fireplace, her war reflexes snapping back to her as if they'd never left.

The mass groaned and coughed, and Hermione stepped closer to discern who or what had landed in front of her.

"..Hrr..mi...ne..." it grumbled, stirring slightly.

"G-George? Merlin, is that you? What are you doing? How did you get here? Why on earth would you decide to up and Floo when you haven't so much as Vanished a spill in months? Are you hurt, are you alright?" The questions were flying out of her faster than either of them could process as she checked him for injuries, cleaning and healing his minor scrapes with expert wand work.

"Eurgh," George managed in response, wincing when she reached a particularly sooty abrasion.

"Did you need something? You could have just called, I wouldn't have dreamt of making you come all the way over-Unless you did so on purpose? Your mother will be thrilled! No one's in now, though, between work and social calls and I think Ron said something about going for a fly or some other," she continued, murmuring a mile-a-minute without meeting his eyes, trying to hide how wildly out of sorts his sudden appearance had made her feel. "You've really banged up your fa–" she reached to touch a scrape above his eye and stopped speaking when he winced.

"'Mione…please," he breathed, eyes shut in pain.

"Yes?" Hermione bit her lip, her face tense with worry.

"Worry..too much," George's face could have been a wince or a smile.

Her cheeks went pink with embarrassment. Only because you never worried enough, he could almost hear her say. "Bruises and scrapes aside, you don't seem to have terribly hurt yourself. I'll clean this mess up–"

"Let...let me try," George interrupted, sitting up and catching his breath. "Is there tea?" he asked weakly. He didn't particularly want tea, but that he'd rather Hermione not be watching if his magic failed.

Without a word she stood and walked purposefully towards the kitchen. Once she was out of sight, he drew his wand and attempted a couple marginally successful cleaning charms. One insistently stubborn soot pile had to actually be physically swept under the couch, but the rest was well enough clean and George was almost proud of himself before he remembered how pitiful of a thing it was to be proud of. He dusted himself off and sat on the couch he'd swept the soot under, cradling his throbbing head in his hands.

"I hope you still take it the way you u–Oh!" she exclaimed upon returning to where he was sitting, "Are you alright? Stupid me, I forgot to check if you were concussed. Are you feeling–"

He held a hand up to stop her. "Not concussed. Been concussed. This isn't it. I'm hungover, and I just took the Floo trip from hell," he explained, taking his tea from her.

"Why did you, if you don't mind my asking?"

He realized that his original plan—to arrive, dramatically tell her he loved her, and…had there been a third step?—was terribly ridiculous, but it wasn't exactly a situation he could explain himself out of. "I wanted to see if I could," he said simply. It wasn't entirely false.

Hermione nodded, staring at her hands. "Will you stay? I could Apparate you home if you'd like, but in your condition….and another Floo trip really seems ill-advised…Your family would be very glad to see you, I think."

"Are you glad to see me?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Her cheeks went pink. "I'm certainly glad you're using your magic again," she began before creasing her brow, "but you're so volatile now that I wish you'd at least told me, in case anything bad happened."

"Oh." He hadn't considered that in his foolhardy rush to recreate some sort of Muggle romance movie spectacle.

Before Hermione could respond, the door that led to the garden swung open. "Hey Hermione, mum and Gin ar—" Ron froze, paling behind his freckles. "G…George?"

George waved weakly and mumbled a hello, grateful when Hermione took over with her usual stubborn grace. "George's come for dinner," she explained, only a tinge of strain in her voice, "but the journey hit him harder than he's expected. I've just made some tea, you can have some if you'd like."

Ron flattened his slightly windblown hair. "Erm. I'm alright. I was just gonna let you know that Ginny ran back over from Luna's to say they're all going to shop for school stuff, but that Mum charmed dinner to start without her if she isn't back in time. I told her I didn't care, and she nearly hexed me off my broom," he explained sheepishly. "It's probably good about dinner though, Mum's gonna lose her gourd once she sees you," he nodded at George, who winced in reply.

"We'll just have to remind her not to overwhelm him," Hermione suggested, as if that was even possible. "Are you sure you don't want some tea?"


"Should we have some sort of...strategy?" Ron asked, eyeing the carpet nervously.

"Strategy is too harsh a word, I think. But it would be nice to have a sort of plan...If only an owl would get to them in time, we could at least send warning..." Hermione trailed off. "No chance Ginny still carries her DA Galleon, is there? No," she answered herself, "I remember she hung it up in her room..."

"Maybe I could Floo over to the Alley and let them know?" Ron suggested, turning the dregs of his tea over and over in his cup. "Ginny and I could probably physically restrain her if it got to that point..."

Tired of being spoken of like a Quidditch play instead of a living, breathing person in the room, George looked up from the biscuit he was crumbling on his plate. "You never want to give Mum enough time to plan a reaction," he said. "If there's one thing w—I learned about her as a kid," the correction was only noticeable if they were listening for it, which of course they were, but no one acknowledged it, "it's that you want to blindside her whenever possible. Don't let her build up momentum. Remember Bill and Fleur's wedding?" he asked pointedly.

Ron snorted in agreement. "Is that how you got away with so much?" He stood up, setting his teacup down on the side table. "He's right, though. Don't give her a chance to be melodramatic. Lemme know when the clock says she's coming home, I'll stop her at the gates and tell her." He stretched, yawned, and ambled up the stairs, presumably for a shower.

Two hours later, the three of them were spread across the living room without words. Ron was laying on the carpet tossing a quaffle up and catching it, stopping only when his hands slipped and the red leather ball bounced off his face. Hermione was back in her chair, pretending to read the book she'd had out before George arrived, but was mostly frowning at the open pages. On the sofa, George looked from Hermione to Ron and back again, doing what he could to brace himself for what was coming. Moments after the whole kitchen began to bustle itself around preparing the family dinner, the Ginny and Molly hands on the clock moved to "Travelling" with a quick "ding!" and Ron leapt up off the floor. "Here goes," he said quietly, quickly trotting out the front door.

Not even a minute later, the door flew open with a loud "BANG!" and Mrs. Weasley came hurtling in, Ginny close behind. "George! Georgie, is it true?" she called, voice taut with worry.

Ron came stumbling inside, wheezing. "She hexed me flat to the ground! I did what I could..."

But no one heard him. Mrs. Weasley, in her excitement, was currently crushing George against her bosom and explaining with tears in her eyes how she needed to make more food, how she wished she'd cleaned the house more, and how happy she was to see him.

Dinner was extravagant, a feast like he hadn't had in years. George's mother, as well as the rest of his family, seemed to have trouble deciding whether to give him space or climb up his nose, and to his regret they mostly seemed to be settled on making a permanent residence among his snot. Half the table jumped up when he asked for an extra roll, but no one looked him in the eyes when he requested more turkey. Blessedly, Harry began chatting idly about Ministry business part of the way through the meal, which distracted Percy—the only one at the table who looked more uncomfortable than George—and slowly the rest of the family joined in. Hermione gave him what he guessed was supposed to be an encouraging smile, but it came across as more of a tight grimace.

After the meal, he conceded to stay the night, and then after that conceded to stay in his old room instead of on the sofa. He was more than a little surprised to learn that that was where Hermione had been staying since the end of the War, but Ginny offered to let Hermione stay in her room for as long as George would stay before he could say anything about it. Suddenly, the house was a rush of activity. Linens were being changed, beds were being transfigured from throw pillows and charmed into appropriate sizes, and everyone whose hands were idle were left to clean up dinner. George stood awkwardly in the center of it all until it was over, when his mother handed him a too-short pair of pajama bottoms and a too-big shirt on top of blankets to sleep in. "Here you go, dearie," she said, eyes still slightly watery as they'd been all night. "Get some rest, mummy loves you." And for the first time since before he'd left for Hogwarts, he didn't roll his eyes or ignore her. "You, too, mum. See you at breakfast."