Author's Note: Not Rowling, but really appreciating the reviews!

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It had been a week and a half, and living with George had been working out well for Hermione. They were getting more comfortable with one another, and George had even started talking on a regular basis. Although he was not back to his regular, jokester self, he was a lot more talkative and animated than he had been previously. He did have a tendency to fall into bouts of silent brooding, but Hermione learned to accept that it was simply part of the "new George." They had unconsciously developed a pattern for their everyday routines. Hermione would wake up before George and use the shared bathroom to get ready. He quickly discovered that Hermione did not like to get dressed in the bathroom, and preferred to walk back to her room in a towel. He had learned this on the first day of her living with him when he had shuffled towards the bathroom, yawning and rubbing his eyes, and had collided with a wet-haired and scantily-clad Hermione. After much blushing and apologizing, the situation was pushed aside, and George learned to listen for Hermione's quiet footsteps passing before he left his room. Hermione would make them breakfast, and they would sit quietly, eating together. After that, George would disappear to his office to "invent," but she knew he wasn't getting much done. She would go to her tedious job and when she came home around 6, she would knock on his office door, and they would make dinner together. They would talk about her awful job, how Diagon Alley had changed, and other such "safe" topics. Then they would retire to the living room, where Hermione would typically read a new book she had found, and George would read or stare absently into the middle distance.

Although they were generally not talking about any soul-searching topics, they had each learned much about each other. George had learned that Hermione was one for habit, just like him. She woke at the same time every day, always did her hair one of three ways (He liked her hair plaited, with her fringe just barely getting in her eyes, but he had never told her. She generally pulled her hair into a messy bun or left it down and let the curls run wild.), always made breakfast at the same time, and almost always managed to knock on his office door when he was just slipping away into dark thoughts. Hermione had noticed much about George that she had never known when they were at Hogwarts. George was smart, no, really smart. She had always known the twins were clever; how else would they have come up with such crazy inventions and pranks? But she had never understood how simply brilliant he was. He didn't flash it around, and he wasn't really book-smart, like she was. He had invented spells on his own, and, although it was usually done non-verbally, she was amazed at what he was able to do. She also saw that he was not one to grieve openly unless pressured, such as their conversation next to the pond. She watched him when he wasn't looking, and she would see the lines on his forehead deepen as he concentrated when helping make dinner, or when he was reading. But she also noticed a shadow cross his face when he was staring into space. She knew he was diving back down into pools of painful memories, and she always tried to bring him back to the surface when she saw the walls were going back up.

…

They were getting on well when, one day, Hermione said, "George, I think it might be time to try and move some of your stuff into the room."

He looked up at her with eyes filled with pain and said, "Hermione, you know I just –"

"I know George – you're not comfortable with it. But at least we should get the room clean, like really clean. It's been two years since that room was used. It's filthy."

"I removed the dust."

"I know, but that's only the tip of the iceberg."

George sighed. Maybe she had a bit of a point. The room did have a dank, musty feeling to it that wasn't very comfortable. She pulled him from his thoughts, a kind look in her eyes.

"Would you like me to help? I understand if you want to do it alone."

He looked at her, and thought for a minute. "No, I'll do it myself. Thanks though."

"I'm here for you, George," she replied as she smiled at him.

…

It was a Thursday afternoon, Hermione was at work, and George decided that he should try cleaning up the room. He moved Fred's books to the large bookshelf in the living room and removed all the clothes to be cleaned. He removed the bedclothes to be washed as well, and was shrinking down the empty furniture in order to clean the floor, when he saw a crumpled piece of parchment under where the bed had been. He picked it up, thinking it was trash, and smoothed it out. He examined the complex scribbles and diagrams, realizing it was plans for a new and complex product Fred had obviously been in the middle of inventing. At the bottom of the page, George read:

Cannot figure out how to combine Rictusempra and Mobiliarbus. Is tickling while victim is in mid-air a good idea? Idea of function of fake wands? Maybe make spells backfire on user, as well as the effects of Rictusempra? Possible problems regarding laughter leading to floating off course and getting injured. Need to ask George is this idea is bollocks or genius. Probably genius, because I did create it.

George felt numb. His brother had been inventing spells and had not been able to complete one. He had needed to ask George, and he had died not having finished a spell he was proud about. To George, who understood how important designing was to the two of him, this seemed like the ultimate cruelty. His eyes passed over the last two lines. His brother always managed to be cocky, even in memos to himself. Need to ask George… George stared at those four words, guilt rising in him. He was the reason this prank had never happened. It felt like seeing his brother get hit by the wall again. It was his fault he wasn't the one to get hit. It was his fault he was the one that had remained alive. It was his fault.

…

Hermione came home from grocery shopping, arms laden with bags.

"GEORGE, I'M BACK!" she yelled from the kitchen. The house was silent. She walked down to his office and pushed the door open, revealing and empty chair and paper-laden desk.

"Oooookay," she said aloud to herself, "maybe in the apartment." She trudged back up the stairs and into the apartment. She searched, but the only door that was closed was the door to Fred's room.

"George? You in there?" she said to the door. Silence. "GEORGE?"

"Go away," a sullen voice replied.

"Uh, okay." Figuring he was feeling ill, she went to put the groceries away and prepare dinner on her own. She went back to the door an hour later.

"George, dinner is ready."

"I'm not hungry," replied the voice from the darkened room.

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said incredulously. "Weasleys are always hungry!"

"Please leave me alone right now."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. I'll leave the leftovers in the fridge for you." She left and ate alone. After cleaning up, she placed a charm on the fridge so she would know when George had come out to eat. Two days passed and the alarm never went off. She never heard him come out of the room. She suspected he left in the dead of night to use the loo, but she never heard him.

…

Finally, as the third day came and still no George had shown, Hermione had had enough. She stormed over to the door and banged on it.

"George, let me in. This is ridiculous."

No reply. She pounded harder. Still no reply.

"Alohamora," she said confidently. No click of a lock was heard. She subsequently tried every unlocking charm she knew, and still her entry was barred from the room.

"GEORGE FABIAN WEASLEY, YOU OPEN THIS DOOR THIS INSTANT!" She was met with silence.

"GEORGE! LET! ME! IN!" Still no reply.

Furious, Hermione channeled her anger and shouted, her voice full of rage, "EXPULSO!"

With a huge blast like a cannon, the door was blasted off its hinges and flew in pieces, into the room. She stormed into the dark room and glared at the slumped figure in the corner.

"WHAT PRECICELY IS YOUR PROBLEM?"

"Go away," George replied quietly.

"This is stupid! You won't eat, you won't come out, you won't even turn on a bloody light. This has got to stop, George."

"Go away," George repeated.

"NO! I will NOT go away!" shouted Hermione, fed up with his moping. "You think you're the only one hurting! You think you're the only one affected by the war and by death. You are so wrapped up in George-world and you don't notice that I'm trying to help you! We are all trying to help you! But NO, you are SO self-involved –"

George suddenly jumped up and stood a foot from her, his face filled with the rage she had seen the night they had gotten the letters. "You don't know how this affected me! You don't understand what it's like to lose a twin! Half of me is gone! You didn't know Fred; you were too busy being prim and perfect and trying to get us in trouble that you never took the time to get to know him, or me, for that matter. Don't you DARE blast your way into here thinking you know everything, like always. You didn't know Fred, so how could you understand?"

"You're right!" Hermione yelled back, now inches from his face. "I didn't! But you did! You knew him better than anyone else in the world." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "Do you really think this is what Fred wanted for you?"

"GET OUT!" George roared.

"No," Hermione said sternly. George glared at her ferociously and with a crack!, he was gone.