A/N: This was a very difficult chapter to write, and a very important chapter. Not Rowling.

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Hermione stepped out of the floo and dumped her things onto the nearest armchair. She had hardly taken two steps before tears started running down her face. She walked into the kitchen, set the kettle on to boil, and walked to her room. With a flick of her wand, all the blinds began to close. First to fall was her Weasley's Wizard Wheezes shirt, then her trainers and jeans. She grabbed an old lumpy sweater of her father's and pulled it over her head, pushing away the hair that was sticking to her wet face. The piercing whistle led her to the kitchen. Clad in her too-large sweater, gratuitously large mug of tea in hand, she shuffled into the pitch black room and curled herself into the unmade mess of pillows and quilt. With a flick of her wand and an escaped hiccup of a sob, the bedroom door clicked shut.

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Lee stared at the empty fireplace. Where had all of that come from? Everything about taking up Fred's job, about watching over George? He never talked about things like that. Hell, most of that he had barely admitted to himself because he didn't like to think about things like that. To think about how much had fundamentally changed after Fred's death. What the hell had happened to him?

Hermione. Hermione Granger had happened.

He pulled out the chair from the desk and slumped into it. He was shaken; he had never talked to anyone about Fred's death. Of course, he talked to George, but that was more in commiseration or in comfort. But it had been a hard year for everyone, and he'd been there for everyone as much as he could be. He had watched one of his best friends turn into a ghost of himself, wandering around lost and aimless, lashing out in moments of pent up anger and hurt and confusion, shattering apart at the sheer cruelty of the universe. And he had always been there to help put George back together, because that's what best friends did, what brothers did. But he had never gotten to talk to anyone about how he felt, about how it ripped him apart every day that he had lost his best friend in the entire world to a stone wall. How his moments of grieving were stolen snatches of time he had away from George, which was nearly impossible when he was Lee's flatmate. How he always tried to have a smile on for George's sake, for the Weasleys' sake. How no one knew about his weekly visits to the small cemetery on the other side of the hill from the Burrow, about how he'd sit and talk to Fred about how his brother was doing, how the shop was doing. It had gotten a little easier to deal with the pain with each passing day, and as George began to recover, so did Lee. The move to Ireland was difficult because he was worried about leaving George on his own, because George had never in his lifetime been alone, but somehow they managed until it felt normal to only talk every other day or so.

And then Hermione had reentered George's life as a major player, and thus she had reentered Lee's. He had had a right laugh when he had gotten George's letter. He had actually snorted derisively when he saw her in the magenta regalia. But watching her work with the customers, watching how she and George seemed to flow seamlessly together, Lee was impressed and, if he was honest with himself, a little jealous. The way she could easily find her way around the shop was impressive, but the way she brought a smile to George's face, even without trying to, was nothing short of…well…magic. George seemed brighter with her around, more fully rounded out. Lee knew that George would never be able to fill the hole left in his heart by the death of his brother, but it seemed like Hermione had attached herself in such a way that the hole wasn't quite so open and raw and noticeable. A small voice in the back of his head had realized that and been threatened by it because she had, unknowingly, managed to help George in a way that Lee couldn't, when he had been there for every painful moment and had tried everything.

So he had vetted her properly, bringing out all the stops, all the pranks, little and big, all the irritating habits, all the things he remembered from school that had driven her up the wall. He had gotten in her face, gotten on her bad side, basically tried to make her life a living hell, all to see if she'd stick around. But she, as she had already proven with Harry and Ron time and time again, was made of stronger stuff. She fought back, she lashed out, but she never left, and she never hurt George.

Lee had noticed the way she watched him. It wasn't the way she had watched them at school, with a McGonagall-like stare, suspicious and wary. It wasn't the way she looked at Ron, with half-fondness and half-exasperation, or Harry, with half-fondness and half-worry. It was a soft look that smoothed out the lines in her forehead and tilted the corners of her lips up in an unconscious half-smile. There was never worry or wariness in her gaze, just fondness and amusement and something more, something more akin to love, though he'd never say that out loud. It was the kind of look you wanted to be on the receiving end of, and the kind of look you hope to one day give. At the beginning, he had interrupted these moments, snapped her out of them, curious to see how she'd respond. But as the days passed, he pranked her less and watched her more. Watched how she gazed at George when he wasn't looking, how her smile widened at his presence, how it fell ever so slightly every time he hugged her or ruffled her hair and then walked away.

So you're extorting my emotions for, what, your own pleasure, to make fun of me? Are you trying to get rid of me? Chase me out?

Those words were like an ice cold knife to the gut, stabbing in before ripping out and leaving him empty.

Was that what she thought of him? Was that the kind of person he appeared to be? Or were those the words of the scared, lashing out when backed up in a corner, secrets visible like a red target on her heart?

He shuddered in a breath, letting it out slowly. He looked at the fireplace, wishing he knew where she lived so he could find her and apologize. She seemed to understand by the end, when her angry presence and her words like daggers had cut the truth from where it had been hid inside him for so long. He closed his eyes, thought of selling his first solo prank design, and whispered, "Expecto patronum." A sea lion slid from the tip of his wand and landed in front of him, letting out two silent barks before looking at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

The sea lion looked at him, opened its mouth in a bark, then vanished.

Lee dropped his head into his hands, his breathing unsteady as he tried to wipe away the unshed tears that were blurring his vision.

It's like I'm his little sister or something. I'm the best friend; I'm not the girl you date.

Lee had seen the defeat in her face, in the slumped lines of her body. He had taken a harmless fancy of Hermione's and dragged it to the surface for all to see; mortified her. In that moment, he had seen the real Hermione – the girl who was always saving somebody's arse, fixing everyone else's worlds, never expecting any thanks, never thinking she deserved the things she wanted so desperately, always thinking she was never smart enough, funny enough, good enough to get them – and she had seen the real Lee. Her face floated in front of his eyes like a specter; the smile that was twisted at the edges and the shrug as she pulled her pain back in and put the lid back on the box, holding it all inside for yet another day.

He clawed his nails through his dreads, furious with himself. Not only had he let his defenses shatter around him, but he'd hurt the one person that would have understood being the one who was forced to hold it together while their best friend broke down completely.

Ally.

He laughed softly. It was a painfully true term, considering the war he had waged on Hermione's nerves. He could have had an ally. You had to fuck that up, didn't you, Jordan? he thought bitterly.

The seal slid once again through the window and stopped in front of him. He looked at it, worried at what he'd hear. Worried more that all there would be was silence.

I know you are.

He stared at the seal, speaking in Hermione's voice. He took a breath and was about to stand when it started talking again.

I am too. You shouldn't have to face that on your own. There was a watery-sounding chuckle then: I guess we're more alike than we thought.

The seal vanished.

Lee smiled wryly. "You've got yourself an ally, Jordan."

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Hermione, in a very un-Hermione-like way, showed up fifteen minutes late to The Cracked Wand. She had not dressed up too much for the occasion, choosing some dark trousers and a white shirt, counting on her face to be bright enough to make up for her possible dullness. She, thankfully, did not look quite as haggard as she had that morning, thanks to sleep that had been so heavy, not even a patronus' message had had much time to swim around her brain after her reply had been sent. She opened the door to the pub and let the noise and warmth wash over her. She listened carefully and soon heard her party's raucous laughter. She wove her way through occupied tables and chair until she turned a corner and saw her friends.

"HERMIONE!"

She hitched on a big grin and headed over to the booth where they were crammed in a kind of semi-circle.

"Hermione, what took you so long?"

"She's not that late; lay off, Ron."

"Ginny, congratulations on your win! I'm so pleased for you!"

"Thanks so much! I'm still thrilled!"

"Hermione! It's good to see you and not just be quickly passing a baby off to you."

"Oi! Make some room! Your arses shouldn't be that big."

"Well, maybe this one…"

"Oi!"

"Ow! Harry, restrain your woman!"

"Don't make me sic Mum on you, Ronnikins!"

"Piss off!"

"Wave with your whole hand next time, eh, mate?"

"Oh, honestly!" Hermione stood from where she had been starting to get trapped between the table and Harry's side. "I'm going to get myself a Butterbeer. You lot need to sort this out. We're adults here."

"Well…" said Lee and George at the same time. Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed before heading towards the bar. "Wait up, Hermione. I need a fresh pint." Hermione turned to see Lee wiggling his way between the others until he finally got free. She smiled and waited for him to catch up. "Anyone else? No. Alright."

Hermione and Lee walked in silence to the bar, putting in their orders and waiting awkwardly.

"Sooo…are we okay?" asked Lee.

Hermione looked up from where she had been memorizing the pattern of the knot in the bar's counter and gave a small chuckle. "Yeah," she said slowly. "We're okay."

She grabbed the two drinks that the bartender slid over to her, and handed one to Lee. They walked back, and the two seats that had been left open were next to Harry and next to George. She could feel Lee heading towards Harry, but she was closer, so she slid next to her best friend and returned the bright smile George gave her.

"Hermione, what's wrong with your face?" asked Ron, his forehead wrinkled as he peered at her from the other side of the table.

"Thanks, Ronald," she replied sarcastically. "That's what every girl loves to hear. 'What's wrong with your face?'"

The whole table laughed.

"Ron is right, though," said Harry. "You are very red. Did you get burned or something?"

"That is actually my fault," Lee piped up. "It's a new product I invented that needed testing."

"What's it do?" asked Ginny.

"It makes you turn colors—" Hermione shot Lee a worried look, which he batted away with a quick wink. "—when you're around people you like. It's a silly harmless prank for preteens and such. You know how kids are – 'You're blushing!' and all that," he said, with a dopey impression of a 12 year old.

The group laughed, missing the quick thanks Hermione mouthed at Lee. Lee winked back at her.

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"Yes, this morning I was a total wreck, thanks to your little monster," Hermione said, with a jab into Harry's arm, earning a laugh from the others. "So, Lee brought me a cup of coffee, with the perfect amount of sugar and milk – how did you know how I like my coffee, by the way?"

"Maybe I'm just that good," he said, a smug smile on his face.

George laughed and smacked Lee on the back of the head. "He asked me the other day, and I just remembered seeing how you make yours."

"Well, regardless," said Hermione with a laugh and a soft smile at George that Lee did not miss, "I was too exhausted to be suspicious. Lee had spiked my drink with it."

"Yeah, it's a little drop, like those lemon drops Dumbledore always had on his desk," he said.

"Why am I not surprised you were in Dumbledore's office enough to get offered candy," said Ginny with a laugh.

"She was so mad about it that she punched me!" said Lee with a laugh, although he watched Hermione carefully, gauging how far he could go before it was no longer safe territory. She gave a smile, but it wavered slightly. That was his sign that any further into the story would be too far.

"WHAT?" the Weasleys half-shouted while Harry just laughed.

"Yes, probably even harder than I did when I punched Malfoy."

"YOU PUNCHED MALFOY?" shouted Lee, along with George and Ginny.

"I'm like a proud parent over here," said George, pretending to fan his face and wipe away fake tears.

"So are you going to be testing this out on George anytime soon?" asked Ginny with a glint in her eye.

"Not likely!" scoffed George from next to him.

"How do you know I haven't slipped it to you already?" he teased.

"Well, you wouldn't get much effect if you had," joked George. "Everyone's family here."

"Well, Lee and Hermione aren't," said Ron.

"They might as well be!" laughed George.

Lee's eyes immediately snapped to Hermione, whose face was no longer smiling, but looking as she had back in the workshop. Her words from before flashed before him, like subtitles to her emotions - I'm the best friend; I'm not the girl you date. She made a little noise that was supposed to sound like a laugh, but he recognized it as a bitten-back sob. Shite. She stood up, already slipping on her coat, slipping on a false smile like a mask.

"Actually guys, I think I better get back to my bed. I'm not feeling very well. I'm sorry. I don't want to bring everyone down. You all have fun."

"Do you want me to walk you out, 'Mione?" asked George, worry etched all over his face.

"No," she spat out quickly, a broken little no that cracked at the end. "I'm fine." She gave them one last smile and started off quickly through the other guests to the front door.

"Shite, George," muttered Lee. "Honestly, mate. You're such an idiot sometimes."

George gave Lee a confused and slightly offended look that Lee noticed briefly as he grabbed his coat on before hurrying after Hermione.

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Lee shot out the door, looking around desperately. He saw a familiar mess of brown curls bobbing in between late-night window-shoppers.

"Hermione!" he shouted. He hurried after her, catching her arm and swinging her around slightly. "Hermione, he's an idiot. He doesn't understand. He didn't mean what he—"

"I know," said Hermione softly, tear tracks already down her face. "I know. I just-, tonight it's all a bit raw. You go back."

"Hermione, he didn't mean what he said about you being family," Lee said desperately. This was all his fault; it was his fault everything was so 'raw' tonight, that the tip of her nose was already turning red from her trying to hold back the flow of tears.

"I know that. It-, it just hurts, you know?" she whispered.

"I do."

Lee wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a quick hug, and felt Hermione's wrap gently around his torso.

Down the street, a redheaded man stood in the lit doorway of the pub, watching his two best friends hug, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth.