Author's Note: Reviews are really appreciated – I want to know what you guys think! Not Rowling.
.
.
.
It was November, and the crisp, cold winds had picked up, occasionally bringing snow, but usually just a hard frost that clung to every surface. George paced around his sitting room, thinking hard.
He had sent a number of little things and notes to Hermione, and had snuck onto the grounds, making excuses to find out how she was doing and to sneak things into her office by going to visit Neville or Luna, both of whom he had become quite close with after the war. He had heard, mostly from Luna (Neville had a tendency to talk about Luna; George wanted them to just get together already.), that Hermione was doing markedly better. She was smiling more, more animated, and slowly getting back to her usual self.
He had roamed the castle, supposedly making sure all his favorite passageways were still open, but in actuality, sneaking up to her office and quickly going through all her magical guards in order to sneak things into her papers. He had caught glimpses of her and was surprised by how much she had changed in the years since he had seen her last. Her bushy hair had finally settled, and now fell in soft curls down her back. The bookish and constantly exhausted-looking girl he had known at school had grown into a beautiful woman, the lines of her face more defined, as well as the lines of her body, though she still hid it under heavy sweaters and billowing robes. Her brown eyes were bright and shrewd, observing everyone and everything as she walked by, yet somehow always missing him. But that was how it had always been. Those eyes, so quick to catch pranks, wrongdoing and errors in homework, had never noticed that a pair of deep blue eyes, his eyes, was often studying her. Trying to understand why she dealt with his moron brother, why she was oblivious to the other boys stealing glimpses of her, why she pursed her lips every time she watched him and his twin, as if trying to figure out their next move, why the lines in her forehead, so deep when studying a book, softened as she watched Harry nervously, always checking surreptitiously to make sure he was okay.
He remembered the day he really started watching Hermione. Not in a creepy way. No. Definitely not. Rather as a scientist observed a specimen. But that wasn't right. That made it sound as though she's a bug or something. No, more like…like the way you stared at a puzzle. How you hoped that if you stared long enough at the pieces, you would discover a pattern or that you would suddenly have an epiphany and all the pieces would somehow suddenly fit together of their own accord, giving you the answer.
…
He was walking down the hall with Fred, heading towards Charms.
"Gred, I just don't understand how that-"
"See, but, Forge, the thing is that it has to be a separate capsule for-"
"But if you've already fainted-"
"But if you-"
"Oh! That's brill!"
"See, I knew I just had to explain it in detail."
They grinned at each other, knowing that, to anyone else, that had hardly been a complete conversation, let alone a detailed one, but they knew each other so well, sentences didn't usually have to be completed. Fred was smiling smugly, knowing more than a few of the underclassmen were swooning as he walked by and occasionally winked roguishly at them. George smirked, knowing he shouldn't laugh, as he probably did the same thing from time to time, but his attention was diverted as he heard a CRASH from up ahead. The whole hallway froze, looking for the source of the noise, as books skidded about. Before he and Fred could go more than a few paces closer, a voice suddenly rang out.
"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry!" He knew the top of that bushy head anywhere, and his theory was immediately confirmed as he heard a voice he knew all too well reply scornfully.
"Watch where you're going, Granger!" He saw Hermione ignore him and duck down to retrieve her books, Harry and Ron blustering about, throwing insults from above her. They were at such an angle that Hermione's face was obscured, but Malfoy's face could be seen clearly. He didn't know why they both looked up at the same time, but he saw the look Malfoy gave her, and his stomach tightened. What was he doing looking at her like that? If he was so high and mighty, why was he staring at her as though she was heaven-sent? It made absolutely no sense.
"If it's possible, try and keep your nose out of a book long enough to see where you're going, Granger." Malfoy kicked her book down the hallway, and George stuck his foot out just in time to catch it before it went skidding farther down the hall, forever lost in the crowd. Malfoy gave her another look, unnoticed by those moronic apes he called friends and by Harry who was holding back a furious Ron, before pushing past him and Fred to saunter away, like the great prat he was. He had to use every ounce of control to keep his clenched fists at his sides. He didn't know why, but he hated the look Malfoy had given Hermione, not once but twice! Bloody hypocrite, calling her terrible things and going on about her being filthy and then looking at her like some lovesick first year. He was pulled back to the present as he the hall resumed its noise and activity and he heard Ron shouting.
"C'mon," said Fred, grinning at him. "I never miss a chance to see Ronnikin's head explode."
He grinned back at Fred and picked up the book before walking forward. Fred walked over in the direction of Harry and Ron, letting them know about the "emergency" quidditch practice Angelina had scheduled for tonight, but George headed up to Hermione.
"Don't worry about it, guys," Hermione was saying soothingly. "He's not worth it. Now if I could just find-"
She turned before George was expecting and almost crashed into his chest. He smiled down at her, a few pieces of hair falling into his face. He really needed to get it cut.
"Looking for this, Granger?" He held out the book, but pulled it back at the last second, wanting to tease her a bit. It was a personal challenge of his and Fred's to try and make her laugh, as she was so determined on not finding them funny.
She arched her eyebrow and looked at him with a smile twisting her lips. "Thank you for retrieving my book. Now may I have it back, George?"
As an automatic habit he and Fred had formed of confusing their identities, he replied smoothly, "It's Fred, but you're welcome," and handed the book to her.
She folded her arms, trying to impress her lack of amusement upon him, and smirked, assuming the know-it-all demeanor with which he was so familiar. "No, it's George, and thank you again. Now if you could kindly stop blocking my way…" She tried to move around him, but he moved as well, blocking her way.
He was thrown. How did she know which twin he was? Even their own mother had difficulty telling them apart, not that they made it easy for her. Fred, saving him from having to come up with a quick and witty response, jumped in.
"How do you know I'm not George?"
Her eyebrow arched again and she smiled that smile that was almost a smirk that she sent their way so often, and replied, "Because, unlike most people, I can tell the difference."
This was a mystery, and one he intended to solve. He knew Fred was occupying the others, so he took his chance before he could have time to regret this decision. He put out his hand, thinking he would probably have to physically turn her around to get her attention, but she halted as soon as he rested his fingers lightly on her shoulder. He bent down a bit, wanting to make sure she saw how serious he was, but was surprised at how close she was when she turned around. He saw the surprise in her eyes, and noticed they weren't simply brown, but the warm, rich color of cinnamon, and surprisingly deep. He realized he had been staring at her and mentally shook himself.
"I'm going to find out how you do it, Hermione," he whispered, wanting to provoke her into explaining, yet not wanting the others to hear him. He knew this would resonate, as he and Fred rarely referred to her by her first name. He watched the surprise register before making sure he added in the trademark Weasley Twin wink, just for fun. He straightened up and spun around, mentally chastising himself for having stared at her like that. What was he doing, looking that closely at his little brother's friend?
"Harry, Ron, if you two don't hurry up we're going to be late." He was intrigued by the slight breathy quality to her voice when she said this, as though she had been holding her breath before. Had that brief encounter done that to her, the little ice princess? The trio made their way down the hall, and he watched them go.
"We're going to figure out how she does it. Can't have people knowing which one is which, now can we?" Fred said, gesturing to their retreating backs.
George watched the back of her head, willing it to open and explain how she ticked. He prided himself on understanding how girls worked, but he could never figure Hermione out, and it aggravated him to no end. He saw her look over her shoulder, and their eyes connected. He gave her a searching look, and saw her blush before she turned back around and headed out of eyesight.
"I'm going to figure her out," he said, almost to himself.
…
He had had no problem coming up with clever gifts before, but now, he was debating whether or not to send a certain one. Ginny had given him a scrapbook she had made during her years at Hogwarts, and said he could replicate and send any of the pictures she wanted. He had gone through, laughing at how young and small everyone looked, but one photo at the end had captured his attention. It was a candid photo of Hermione the summer after her seventh year. It had been a summer of mourning, but one day, the tension had somehow broken.
They were all sitting outside. George was sitting on a stump, staring off into the distance, but not really seeing it. He was trying to cope with the loss of Fred, and it was not proving an easy battle. The family knew how hard this was on him, and they were kind about it. He only half-listened to the voices that floated over on the breeze from the shade of the great oak tree that grew near the Burrow. His attention was grabbed by a noise that was unfamiliar, a sound he hadn't heard in quite a while.
Someone was laughing.
He turned his head and saw that Harry had said something, and consequently, Hermione had started cracking up, which in turn made the rest of the group laugh. As Hermione tried to catch her breath in the midst of her laughing, Ginny had quickly taken pictures of her and Ron before turning the camera on her boyfriend.
In the picture, Hermione's face was in close focus, the background behind her a haze of blue sky and green grass meeting at the horizon. Hermione was laughing, her eyes closed and a beaming smile adorning her face, a few freckles dotted across her nose. As she finished laughing, her eyes opened, and looked directly into the camera, directly at George. It was a powerful gaze, but not a harsh one. Her clear brown eyes danced as her smile changed to a little grin, a chuckle escaping her lips. Her sparkling eyes pierced him, but then looked away, and she began laughing again, reminding George that no matter how clear and life-like this picture was, it was just that – a picture.
He didn't know why, but this picture had a hold on him and no matter how many times he had moved to put the picture in the envelope, or to simply copy it and send the copy, he couldn't bring himself to do it, to send away the perfect picture of pure joy.
