A/N: Man, this chapter looked longer on my computer. Just a short chapter, but it's an extra one, so I hope you all enjoy!

The crack of George's apparition seemed to reverberate in the air, leaving a confused Hermione in its wake. They'd had such a good afternoon together, she'd even offered to cook him dinner for Merlin's sake!

Her crazy, never-stopping brain was going into overdrive shockingly enough. She'd nearly cried in front of him barely ten minutes ago because she was worried he would storm out at the mere suggestion of therapy, and now she was sitting alone in her living room because he'd left. She wouldn't call it "storming out" because 'storming' implied yelling, anger, that sort of thing. Not simply standing up and leaving.

She'd gone too far. It wasn't polite for some random girl to suggest he needed help. Because that's all she was. After this book was over, after all was written and published, where would they be? He was a harmless fantasy now, encapsulating everything her younger self thought she'd have by now. But what would he become later? Would he still pop over four or five times a week? He probably wouldn't leave work early for her. He didn't now, honestly, he left work early because this was his therapy and he was the owner of his own shop. He could do what he wanted.

She'd pushed her luck. He was probably in his own flat watching the business card burn in his fireplace and cursing her for reminding him he wasn't coping the same as everyone else. That they were different. Looking the same as his dead twin wasn't enough of a reminder for him; no, she had to go and blab about her private life to her therapist who had taken pity on the one person who didn't want it and extended her help. And look where that had gotten her. Alone. Once again.

It was like when she and Ron had split up. She never expected she'd be the one moping around at home while he worked, but that's what happened. She didn't blame him for that, though. It was her fault for not getting a job, but she helped with rebuilding while he was catching the remaining Death Eaters. They were only officially together for a few months and she loved him for all he was worth, but after everything was said and done she just wasn't stable enough to work on anything more than friendship. Ron, bless his heart, could tell that she was in a lot more emotional distress than she was, and the rest of the Weasley's were baffled when they announced they broke up two weeks before they figured it out. He'd eventually gone on to date other people casually, and she was mature enough to admit the first lady friend stung a bit, but she was genuinely happy for him when he told her and Harry about the next ones.

The only problem with their breakup were that all her friends were Ron's too, so she felt like she couldn't talk to anyone about what she was going through. She had felt like she was going through a midlife crisis at that point, realising nothing would be the same; there was no more running or preparing for war, her and her first love had split, and she had no direction in life. She was desperate for someone to talk to, but her closest female friend was her ex's sister for heaven's sake. Who was dating their mutual best friend. Talking to Ginny meant Harry had to pick a side, and she knew she didn't want that for him.

So what did she do? She fled to Australia. Her parents were more than happy to hear she was coming for her first visit since their memories had been restored, but her mother in particular was worried about her reclusive state after the War. She even offered for Hermione to move in with them after her second week in Australia. That offer snapped her out of her depressive state; she could never leave her friends behind like that, move on like nothing ever happened. She flew back to England a few days later and eventually talked to Ginny and Hannah Abbott of all people, who had started dating Neville about a month after her and Ron's split. Together they reminded her that people weren't her friends because she was Ron's girlfriend, they were friends because she herself was loyal, smart, caring, and could be relied upon. Ginny also reminded her that she could be, and she quoted, "fucking hot when you're fighting or chuck on a dress", which still made her blush two years later in her living room.

She stood up and stretched. She touched her elbows above her head as she stretched her back, she did a few lunges with each leg, she even did some jumping jacks. They were all moves that she had to pull once in a while to bring her back into the world of the living, to remind herself things weren't as dark as she painted them in her darker times. She was proud to recognise that George's leaving triggered an episode, she'd have to remember to tell Dr. Reid about it. Maybe she'd have more strategies than stretching.

But was it George leaving that had triggered it? She considered it while she walked to the kitchen and gathered the ingredients for her chicken stir fry. She wrapped up the rest of the lamingtons and put them in the fridge, smiling to herself. She hadn't done half bad on them, their looks deceived them. Hopefully the slight queasiness she felt was from her dark thoughts, not from the cooking. She'd never live it down if she gave George food poisoning.

She considered the question as she prepared dinner. George's abrupt departure did upset her, but it was the same feeling she'd get when Ron would storm off at school. How would he react around her now? Would he still share the things she guessed he hadn't told anyone else when they were writing? Hell, would he still even want to help? It was her talk of writing the book that triggered the first late night visit, and it was her random comment about Fred that had caused the drunken second visit. Without her, he wouldn't have to feel the pain that she inadvertently had caused. She had warned him on the first visit that it wouldn't be easy, but maybe he'd only realised it tonight?

There was a difference between tonight and her schooldays. Back then, she wouldn't be caught dead going up the staircase in front of the common room to see if Ron was alright, it would've prompted too many questions and rumours. Half the time she was as pissed off with him and he was with her though, so it didn't matter then. But tonight, tonight she could Floo him and check up on him. Even if he wasn't happy to see her, she would know and she could move forward.

She frowned at her chicken as she stirred it. Was that the best approach? If she knew it was only her and Ron within the entire common room and both sets of staircases, would she have gone to check on him when he seemingly left for no reason? Probably not. But this was different; she was older, wiser, not just a kid anymore. She was turning twenty next month for God's sakes, something she realised long ago may never happen. She loved her friends and wanted to embrace the happiness they could send to her through owl, not run and hide from her problems like she'd done for the past two years.

That was the solution. Owl. She'd owl him after dinner. That wasn't a face to face confrontation, and she could get a response in no time. Her flat was on the fifth floor of an apartment building a block away from the muggle-facing entrance of Diagon Alley, providing her with an older witch as a landlord, a tiny Owlery on the top floor of the building, and Muggle neighbours. It was a perfect solution to her housing problem after the War was said and done and her parents officially sold their house in England, especially when she wasn't paying for it at the moment.

She served herself dinner and hummed to herself as she would occasionally do when something went right in her life. She'd send him an owl after dinner, just to check up on him. She didn't sleep well the night he broke down even though she knew he was safe at his parents, but tonight she'd do the right thing and take matters into her own hands. It was what friends did.

George's position on his bed hadn't changed for the hour and half he'd been home. He was an idiot. A dolt. A right mess of a man. The afternoon replayed itself so many times in his head, and he'd reimagined himself on that couch with Hermione's head resting on his shoulder so many times he couldn't remember what had happened properly.

He did remember leaving quite clearly though. The look on her face, the one he thought wanted to call him out for leaving when she'd already invited him to stay for dinner, the one that knew he had literally nothing else to do for the night, was confused. He would've sworn to anyone that would listen that it was hurt, too. But no-one would listen to his tale. Hell, if Fred was still here he wouldn't be telling him either. He sounded like a nutter.

Honestly, he'd been a nutter all night. He'd called her love more times than he cared to remember, and what in Merlin's name was that weird cake maneuverer he pulled? That was something he'd pulled with Fred once upon a time, when they'd tried to fool old Dumbledore's Age Line and the Goblet of Fire. That sure as shit wasn't something to get flustered about, but he'd been a bundle of nerves that afternoon. He may as well get a tattoo plastered on his forehead that said "Help! I Fancy Granger!" Maybe he could get it to flash different colours based on his mood.

He groaned and rolled over to stare at the ceiling. His muscles ached from their inactivity but he ignored it, nay, welcomed the distraction it brought to his mind. He was being ridiculous, there was no way he'd pull such a stunt with any other girl. Who left in the middle of a date?

Wasn't a date.

Piss off, mate.

Hell hath no fury like Angelina Johnson should he ever leave her high and dry during a date. He wouldn't have dared to even attempt to leave back on a seventh year Hogsmeade trip unless it was a family emergency. Katie Bell wouldn't have taken too kindly to him Disapperating in the middle of a date either in their sixth year. Why the blazing hell did he do it to Hermione?

An image of Fred swept across his mind as it tended to do. He couldn't always blame him for everything, could he? But this one he could try and pin on him. Well, not him per se, but his death. His death meant he lost his other half and now he was stuck trying to create his own. Was this how he was going to be from now on? Would the other half he created years after the death and destruction be one he'd never thought he'd become?

He guessed it had to be like that as he rubbed at his eyes, forcing the image of Fred to fade away. He had to learn to accept this new part of him, there was no way he'd ever go back to being as carefree and happy-go-lucky as before. He couldn't see the point of it without his twin.

He groaned and grabbed a pillow to shove over his face. If Fred were here he wouldn't have the time to mope or to try and sort out the mess that his love life was. There wouldn't be time for second guessing, he'd be forced to live in the moment, not Disapperating to get some space to think about the next steps, to make sure he didn't fuck it all up. Living alone hadn't been this bad a few months ago, but then again, he didn't feel like kissing a bird because her hair smelled like coconut.

He lifted the pillow from his head and turned towards the window as three taps pulled him back to reality. A small, unfamiliar owl was waiting for him to open up and he obliged, taking the small note of parchment from him. He hooted happily as George scratched his chin slightly.

You okay?

The smart, neat script was one he'd become all too familiar with over the past few months. He wanted to write back "No, I'm not, you're stuck in my head and it's driving me barmy that I don't know what to do", but of course he didn't. He instead wrote a crappy excuse about needing to use the bathroom and apologised, nearly crossing out the "love" he'd written after the "sorry". He left it instead, passing the parchment back to the owl and giving him a treat from his nightstand again. The owl hooted merrily as it flew away and he shut the window.

He'd done gone and fucked up, hadn't he? He must've really worried her if she was owling him two hours after he'd left. Probably hoping he wasn't drinking himself into oblivion again so she could get a full night's sleep. He hadn't touched any alcohol since that night and he was keeping it that way for the moment, so she was safe for the time being. He wouldn't go back over tonight, it wouldn't do his crush any favours. No matter how "brilliant" Ginny said they'd be together, he just couldn't picture her putting up with his nonsense for too long. Oh well.

He changed into his pyjamas and sat on the edge of his bed. He honestly didn't know whether to expect a reply to his response or not. Most likely not – he'd barely given her an excuse, let alone a feasible one. Hopefully she was in bed and getting a good rest, Merlin knows she deserved it with all the work she was putting into that book. He prayed it would sell better than Rita Skeeter's book, the one she put out two months after the War that was full of rumours and very little truth. Her interviews had been with people who'd lost very little throughout the course of the War or those who'd had the smart idea to flee the country while everything went down, those who could verify that some things happened but not the important details. Harry, Ron and Hermione had of course refused to be interviewed for her book and for any other books or stories or articles or what have you, along with the rest of the Order and other fighters in the War. It was all too raw then, but hopefully Hermione's recount would be further away from that hurt. Even if it wasn't, it'd be too brilliant to flop. She'd nailed everything he'd seen so far.

The owl returned a moment later, gracefully landing on the open windowsill. He scratched under her chin like she seemed to like and gave her another treat while she waited. His laugh at the letter startled the bird, but he gave her a few more treats and told her to fly back home. Once his window was shut again, he went into his living room and grabbed some Floo powder, calling out Hermione's address with his head in the fire.

"George? What are you doing?" Hermione asked him as she approached her fireplace. She too was in her pyjamas, a white tank top and blue and white striped drawstring pants. It looked quite fetching on her.

"I'm proving to you that I don't have 'wretched food poisoning from your disastrous kitchen efforts'. Thought it'd be easier to do in person – well, in fire – than through owl post. I know how you worry." His response was cheerful as he tried to work out what was going on himself. She didn't seem annoyed that he left her.

"Do you want to come through? I've just boiled the kettle." she offered.

He nearly took her up on her offer but his new stop-and-think attitude won out. "I've gotta work all day tomorrow, love. Gotta give Ron some time off otherwise my own brother will quit on me. Won't be a good look for business." He grinned at her and she seemed to relax. He'd have to remind himself to give Ron the afternoon off.

"Can you hold on for a moment then if you're not coming through?"

"Sure, love."

She wandered off towards the kitchen and he nearly pulled his head out of the fireplace to slap himself a few times. Stop calling her love!

Next time he'd just bang his head on the top of the fireplace. That'll show him.

She returned with a cup of tea and a cardigan and sat in front of the fireplace cross-legged. The process of getting to that position gave him a bit of an eyeful but he pretended he didn't notice, mostly for his sake than hers.

"I'd sit closer but I don't want you throwing up on me." She said quietly. "I don't want coconut in my tea."

"You seem very ready to accept that it's your fault I'm sick when you don't even know what I ate today! For all you know I could've accepted some strange food from a customer in the morning."

"Uh huh, and you'd only be feeling sick now. Makes perfect sense." She smiled as she took a sip of her tea.

"I assure you, it wasn't your cooking that made me leave. I bet you a galleon the rest of the lamingtons are in your fridge, they were too good to chuck. Like I said they'd be."

"I guess I owe you a galleon then." She said as she fiddled with the end of her braid. He guessed she hadn't cut much of her hair off after the War, it was quite long. She was also avoiding his eye which he didn't appreciate, but he didn't say anything. After all, wasn't he the one that avoided her before?

He grinned. He knew she'd keep them. "I was actually gonna ask you if I could take some home with me but I don't think I ever got 'round to it. You need to believe in your cooking prowess."

"I'll never be as good as your mother."

"So? The house elves at Hogwarts were never as good as Mum, and I still loved them and their cooking. Don't compare your cooking skills to Mum's. You'll never win – no one ever wins."

She smiled at that, but she still seemed distant. "Something's bothering you, love. Care to share?"

She took another sip of her tea and held onto the cup in her lap, looking down at it as she spoke. "It was just…tonight."

"Tonight? What about it?" He hoped she didn't hear the panic rising in his voice because he could feel it in his heart. She's gonna say you were too close, she likes you as a friend, she doesn't want to be with you, she's –

"Are you sure I didn't cross any boundaries tonight? With the therapy stuff?"

Oh.

"Not any boundaries that I didn't want to be crossed." If it weren't for his head being stuck in a fireplace, he would've hit his forehead until he couldn't remember that corny line. Hermione being the godsend that she was didn't notice his grimace, she was too busy staring at her cup.

"Love, Hermione, listen. I told you before and I'll tell you again, you're mad. Look at me, hey." She finally caught his eye. "That wasn't why I left. I swear. I appreciate you thinking of me like that, I really do. It might be good to get some things off my chest, hell, I can't believe after all this time I haven't yet. It'd save you from worrying I'm gonna break through your fireplace."

"You know I don't mind." she said, eyes thankfully still on him. He hoped it wasn't the random flickers of firelight convincing him that she believed him.

"Well I mind. It's not a gentlemanly thing to do, and you know how I strive to be proper." He threw a wink at her and she smiled again. "I think I might take up Dr. Reid's offer."

"Dr. Reid? Not Dr. Willems?" she asked, surprised.

"Either one, really. Dr. Reid seems to have done a smashing job with you, even Harry and Ron have noticed you've been happier the past few weeks having something to do. If it makes you more comfortable I'll send Dr. Willems an owl. She was your healer first, after all.

"You'd do that for me?"

I'd do anything for you right now.

Oh Merlin, give it a rest you hopeless romantic.

"Might be better knowing paths and stories weren't going to accidentally cross in there. She'd probably think we're having a torrid affair the way we meet up every other night. Except for the part where none of us are cheating on anyone else."

He swore she blushed at his comment and he grinned at it. That was something his old self used to do. "Something you're not telling me, Granger?"

"Just thinking," she said quietly. "Like always."

"A terrible habit that, love. You need to stop that once in a while"

"You've got no idea." she replied even quieter than before. He could only define her look at wistful, which worried and intrigued him at the same time. She downed the rest of her tea in one go and he took that as a cue to leave.

"When will you want me back, love?"

"Excuse me?" Her reaction would've been comical if he knew what she was confused about.

"When will you want me back to work on the book?"

"Oh! Whenever you're free, I guess. Maybe the night after next?" She wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself.

"Not tomorrow? Sick of me?" He was joking, of course. 99% joking.

She raised her eyebrow. She looked quite cute like that in the firelight. Quit it. "Is Ron not getting the day off tomorrow anymore?"

"Er, yeah, right. I could still come over in the evening?"

You sound like a needy git.

"You'll be too tired to work on anything, but if you have a strange reserve of energy after working all day, you're more than welcome to drop by. Not like I'll be out or anything."

"I'll send you an owl after work and tell you how I'm feeling, yeah? Won't keep you waiting."

She yawned but gave him a smile. "Sounds good. Talk tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." he said a bit too earnestly. She laughed though, so it was worth it.

She stood up and stretched slightly. "Until then. Goodnight, George."

"Night, love. Sweet dreams."

"You too."

With a final smile and a wave he took his head out of the fireplace, running his hand through his hair to get the ash out of it and out of frustration with himself. He could've spent all night with his head in that fireplace just talking to her, but that didn't scare him. What did scare him was that he was considering closing the shop an hour or so early tomorrow to get to Hermione's place quicker to get back to that peaceful time of just the two of them on the couch together. To get back onto the couch and to know that for that time, nothing else in the world mattered, that it was just the two of them without the lingering pain, without the feeling of guilt for not thinking about Freddie enough. That he didn't have to fool anyone that he was fine, because it was alright not to be fine for a little while.

Dear Merlin. He needed to get a hold of something quick, or he was going to fall too far to be saved.

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed! Review to get me through these last few days of uni assignments and quicker updates!