Chapter 12 - November 1999

George was showered, dressed, and in the kitchen preparing breakfast by the time Hermione made her way shyly out of her room.

"Good morning," she said looking everywhere but at him. While she didn't remember all of the details of the night, she knew she had had a nightmare and that someone had comforted her. It wasn't hard to figure out who that must have been.

"Morning," George greeted her hesitantly, looking her up and down with a concerned expression. "How are you?"

She took a deep, shaky breath and blew out a long exhale before answering.

"That bad, eh?" came the reply. George placed a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast in front of her and poured her a cup of

coffee. Then he sat across from her with his own meal and waited patiently.

"I'm sorry, George," she began.

"For what?"

"Please," she spoke in irritation. "Don't act like last night didn't happen. I'm embarrassed enough as it is." She turned her eggs over with her fork, stabbing them unnecessarily hard. George reached over and put his hand over hers, effectively stopping the egg onslaught.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he assured her. "The best I can tell, you were reliving some part of your time on the run?" The last part was a question, inviting her to discuss her dream, but she shook her head forcefully and put her fork down.

"No," she demanded. "Don't ask me. I can't - can't - " She was visibly trembling, and George was by her side at once, kneeling at her chair and stroking her hair.

"You never have to talk about it," he whispered, "but a wise witch once told me that sharing your burdens can lighten the load." He repeated the advice she had given him when they were cooling down from a run one morning and George had been feeling particularly blue. Hermione had offered her ear and her sympathy, and he had opened up to her about his feelings since losing Fred.

She smirked and dared a look in his eyes. "I see what you did there," she gave a watery chuckle. "But this is different."

"Is it? Howso?" The redhead pulled back and stood up, insulted at the insinuation.

"George!" she immediately stood up as well. "I didn't mean to imply that your problems were any less than mine! In fact, they're worse, I'm sure. It's just, telling you won't help. I'm positive." She reached for his arm, and he resisted at first, but soon allowed her to stroke his sleeve in apology.

"You don't think it'll help, but I'm quite certain it won't hurt, either," he muttered.

"I don't know if I can," she whispered, eyes huge with fear.

He led her over to the couch.

"Sit down here and tell me what you were dreaming of. If you want to stop at any time, you can. I promise not to ask any questions."

Thirty minutes later, Hermione's tale was finished. She had taken him back to Malfoy Manor in great detail, which had surprised even her, and explained the story of the sword of Gryffindor (leaving out what they planned to use it for) and Bellatrix Lestrange's torture tactics. She ended her story with her arrival at Shell Cottage, unable to verbalize the aftermath. In truth, she remembered very little of those first few days as it was. George sat stunned and silent, absorbing her story and attempting to wrap his brain around her ordeal.

Hermione waited nervously as George processed her revelation. She picked at the threads of the blanket resting on the back of the couch, worrying about his reaction as the seconds turned into minutes. Finally, she stood up and walked into her bedroom, closing the door and laying facedown on her pillow, filled with embarrassment for having the audacity to share her suffering with him.

A few minutes later, George knocked and opened the door without awaiting a response.

"Thank you," he said simply.

One eye peeked out. "For what?"

"For trusting me. For trusting our friendship enough to share the most difficult thing you could ever tell me. But I have one question: Why now?" His voice was soft and sincere, and she turned on her side and looked up at the wizard before her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you said it happens very rarely now. Why did it happen last night?"

Hermione paused, contemplating. "Well, I've noticed that when I'm nervous or dealing with change my emotions trigger the nightmares. Maybe it's the move?"

Both seemed to agree on that, and the two sat silently for a few minutes.

So, what do you think?" she asked hesitantly.

"What do I -? Are you asking me if I judge you? If you're different now that I know?"

She nodded at all of it, and he sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands.

"Gods, Hermione, you are the most frustrating person I know. No, this doesn't change the way I see you. Wait - yes, yes it does." He paused and fear flashed across her eyes. "Not in the way you think," he explained. "I see you as an even stronger, smarter, braver witch than I already thought you were. And I didn't even know that was possible! There is no judgement against you, Hermione, for having faced the darkest magic and most evil witch in recent history and come out of it. And as for your scars, consider them badges of honor, as should anyone with whom you choose to share them. Wear them proudly, love. They remind those of us who see them you that you are a fighter." He didn't wait for her response, but instead, he left her sitting up, clutching her pillow and considering his statements.

When she emerged from her room an hour later, she found a note on the table that read Got some products to work on. Back by 4 for dinner.

Dinner. Right. The Weasleys' weekly dinner. Hermione sighed and slouched forward. She didn't know if she had it in her to visit the Burrow tonight. Her nightmare and its subsequent conversation had left her emotionally drained, and there was always drama at dinner. What with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley agreeing to let Ginny live with Harry, Percy and Audrey getting engaged, and Bill and Fleur preparing for parenthood, some topic of conversation inevitably erupted into passionate disagreement. Even agreements are passionate in this family, she thought to herself. But, this was what it meant to be part of a family, and Hermione loved the Weasleys as much as her own parents. Therefore, in spite of her mood, she showered, dressed, and prepared a salad to take to dinner.

~oOo~

Arriving at the Burrow together, George and Hermione headed in separate directions - George to the living room and Hermione to the kitchen. Niceties were made, and Hermione concentrated on benign topics of conversation for most of the evening, not sure she wanted to deal with anything too emotional. George was as hilarious as ever, cracking jokes and poking fun, but anyone who cared to notice would easily see that his eyes drifted to the curly-haired witch more frequently than normal, assessing her wellbeing. She seemed a little distant this particular evening, and whenever he could, he moved himself close to her that he might give her hand a comforting squeeze or throw an arm casually but protectively around her shoulder. In the din and bustle, his attentions went largely ignored, but Hermione was immensely thankful for the gentle concern the brash jokester was showing her.

The night wore on, and the family was pleasantly surprised when Ron, who was never one to be late to a meal, arrived just in time to sit down and introduced his girlfriend to the table.

Luna had been a close friend to Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Ginny for years, but to see her in this capacity was completely unexpected. However, the role she now played was not unwelcome. Hermione, along with everyone else at the table, immediately recognized the positive effect the silver-eyed girl had on Ron. He ate slightly slower and reacted to others in a calmer manner than usual. In fact, he seemed generally more...peaceful. It was the only word Hermione could think of to describe him, and her initial surprise at seeing the two together quickly changed to sincere happiness for them both. When Luna started describing the potentially damaging effects of all the nargles in the room, the family politely listened, and Ron rubbed his thumb over the back of his girlfriend's hand soothingly. Hermione gave Ron a reassuring nod, and he understood her sign of acceptance and friendship.

After dinner, Hermione and George Disapparated fairly early, both a bit overcome with the day's emotional release. Upon arriving at their flat, a gray and brown barn owl tapped impatiently at their window. George opened the window, untied the message, and the owl flew away before Hermione could even give it a treat.

"Must have been waiting for us for a while," she guessed and turned to see what George was reading.

"Uh, okay then," he muttered to himself, and he tucked the small piece of parchment in his pocket.

"Everything okay?" Hermione inquired.

"What? Oh, yes, everything's fine, fine."

"You seem distracted. You wanna talk about it?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, okay. I just hadn't expected a response so soon. So, uh, well, you remember Lee Jordan?" he began.

"Of course I do, George. He's in the shop several times a week and comes 'round for dinner at least twice a week. What do mean 'do I remember him?'" She was nonplussed by his awkward speech. "Is Lee okay?" She suddenly worried that something had happened, courtesy of a trait that had become second nature during the war - assuming the worst.

"He's great! In fact, he's coming to work in the shop," George reassured her immediately. He too was used to people fearing the worst. He chastised himself for not just getting to his point. "He's going to take my place for a bit. I'm, uh, I'm going away for a few weeks," he finished and looked everywhere but at the witch in front of him.

"I'm sorry, you're what?" Hermione asked incredulously. "What do you mean, you're going away? Is this a joke?"

"Not a joke, no. I, uh, I have an opportunity to visit Charlie in Romania, and I knew that with Christmas coming, I couldn't go unless we had more help in the shop, so I recruited Lee and he agreed to come work with you and Verity until I get back." He dared a look at the witch, whose mouth was hanging open in a most un-Hermione-like way. She closed it slowly however, as she considered this news.

"I see," she responded slowly. "So, I move in here, and you flee the country, leaving me to man the shop and the flat? Is this the reason you wanted me to move in in the first place? Were you just looking for a house sitter?" She couldn't hide the hurt in her voice.

"No, nothing of the sort!" George hurried to offer an explanation. "The timing...it's just a coincidence! Charlie's been pestering me, and I haven't been to Romania since he's lived there. I just, uh, I thought it might be a good time to go." He was a bit red-faced and out of breath at her accusation.

"Oh," she replied. This information took her some time to absorb. "Well, we'll keep things under control here. When do you expect to be back?"

He ticked off a few fingers, counting in his head. "I'm thinking I'll come back with Charlie for the holidays. Until then, try not to miss me too much, yeah?" He smiled at her and tried to appear flippant, even though the weight of leaving her had him feeling anything but.

~OoO~

Romania was immensely colder than George was prepared for. He couldn't believe this harsh landscape and bitter weather was the home his brother had chosen, but as far as getting away and clearing his head, there couldn't be a better place than this.

Charlie was thrilled at his brother's decision to visit, though he suspected it wasn't made out of sheer familial attachment. Something weighed on George's mind, something other than his twin's death - which still overshadowed every Weasley, though no one more than George. Whatever was bothering him now was more immediate, and it had required a trip to a very different part of the world to give him space to cope. Charlie waited three days before bringing it up.

"So, brother of mine, how is Romania treating you?" He had taken George to work with him, braving the below freezing temperatures of the dragon reserve to observe a young Hungarian Horntail that had left its mother only weeks before. While dragon keepers were not the same as dragon healers, it was Charlie's job to determine if the adolescent was faring well on his own. Now he approached his younger brother with the same caution and care.

"I don't know how you do this," George answered truthfully. "The weather, the creatures, the land. Merlin, Charlie, this is intense!"

Charlie chuckled and served up two steaming bowls of stew. He sat down at his small table and looked intently at George.

"Well, be it ever so humble...But what brings you here, George? I've invited you before, but you've never taken me up. Just dying to see Romania in the winter?"

Between mouthfuls, George answered carefully. "Not entirely. I needed to get away for a bit. Clear my head. You know?" He looked searchingly at his brother.

Nodding, the elder Weasley responded. "Seems to me there's only two reasons a bloke takes off. Either he's on the run from the law, or there's a witch done him wrong. I reckon it's the second reason, since the Daily Prophet hasn't published a wanted poster with your ugly mug on it." He smirked and waited for George's reply.

"Too right, though everyone knows I'm the best looking Weasley," George answered, shaking his head a little. "You ever feel like you were too close to a situation to look at it entirely?"

"I know what you mean. And if you're feeling a bit claustrophobic, then I'm guessing the bird involved is Weasley Wizard Wheezes' newest employee and your new roommate? A Miss Hermione Granger? What's she done to get your knickers in a twist?"

"Nothing! She hasn't done a ruddy thing, except be herself. She's so bloody smart, and thoughtful, and funny, and pretty, and…"

"Pretty, eh? Any other flattering adjectives you'd like to call her?" Charlie was a little surprised at first to hear George raving about their long-time friend, someone whom he saw only in a sisterly way, but then, she was much younger than he, and he hadn't spent nearly the time his younger siblings had with her.

"Come on, mate, you can't deny that. You saw her when you were home last. You know she's grown up and turned gorgeous. But, that's not it. She's everywhere! She's at the shop, she's at the flat, she's at Sunday dinners - "

"She's in your dreams," Charlie interrupted, only half-teasingly.

A red-faced George responded truthfully. "Lately, yeah." He ran his hands through his hair. "And now she's dating Seamus, and everything is sideways. It's making me mental. So, here I am."

Charlie sighed sympathetically and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I wish I could solve your problem, mate, but it's obviously not that simple. What do you want to happen?"

George stood up and paced the small cabin Charlie called home. "See, that's just it. I'm not looking to break her up with Seamus. That'd be dastardly. She's happy, and seeing her happy makes me happy. But then there's times like the other night, when I'm holding her, and -"

"Wait a mo'. Holding her? What the hell kind of relationship do you two have? Why are you holding another bloke's girl?" Charlie looked disappointed and wondered if he'd been spending too much time away. He clearly hadn't taught his brother anything.

"Not like that. Well, not really like that. She has nightmares, see. It's not my story to tell, but just know, those three had some really effed up times during the war." He stopped himself to prevent sharing Hermione's deepest secret, and Charlie could see how much respect George had for "those three."

Charlie nodded. "I can only imagine."

"Anyway, she cried and I woke up, so I went into her room and I calmed her down. That's all. But feeling her, holding her, gods, Charlie, it's too much!" He resumed pacing, this time swinging his arms in frustration.

Charlie sat quietly for a while, pondering his brother's predicament.

"If she wasn't with Seamus, what would you do?" he asked.

"If she wasn't with Seamus? I'd...I'd do...nothing," George hung his head shamefully.

"What? Nothing? What happened to 'I'm the better looking twin'? Since when do you sit back and do nothing while a pretty bird passes right under your nose? Merlin's beard, George, don't you have any Gryffindor in you?" Charlie was mostly just taking the mickey out of his brother, but he was hoping to inspire him as well.

"Hey, hey, that's enough of that," George began to defend himself. "The point is, she is with Seamus, so supposing doesn't do me any good."

"Not necessarily, brother. Tell me about your friendship."

George spent the evening regaling Charlie with stories of him and Hermione. The elder brother listened and listened, marveling at his brother's enthusiasm for the girl. Woman, he corrected himself. She's got to be… twenty? About that, he figured.

"...and now she's dating someone and I'm here and life's bollocks," George finished dramatically. He flopped down on the couch, his bed for the duration of his stay, and Charlie shoved the long legs off of his lap unceremoniously.

"You've got it bad, mate," Charlie agreed. "I don't know what other option you have than to come clean with her. She obviously enjoys spending time with you. Hell, she lives with you! That's got to count for something. If you don't tell her, she can't choose you. If she doesn't know she's got a choice, then you've made the choice for her." He scratched his chin, itching the stubble that seemed ever-present no matter how often he shaved.

"Tell her? That's your answer? Come on, Charlie! I didn't travel across five portkeys for an answer you could've sent by owl!" George burst out angrily. The simple response was hardly what he was looking for.

"Well, that's my gut. But give me time. Work with me for another week and we'll sort it out, yeah? By the time we get home for Christmas, you'll have her eating out of your hands."

"I'll settle for eating out at a restaurant with me. On a date. As my girlfriend," came the retort, but hope filled George's chest for the night.

Another week flew by, the Weasley brothers toiling in the freezing ice and snow, dodging fireballs and spiked tails. Each enjoyed the other's company; Charlie hadn't realized how fulfilling it could be to have someone who knew him that well in his daily life. George, on the other hand, thrived in the near-solitude of the Romanian wild, his need for familial bonding slaked by Charlie's stories and memories about their family, friends, and classmates.

The two grew closer, and a new layer of well-being seemed to blanket George; he felt truly happier, truly livelier, and suddenly one night, long after the brothers had drained the night's bottle of Firewhiskey, George knew something inside of him had healed. In the morning, he carried himself noticeably taller, more confident than previously. Charlie hadn't realized how much George had been hurting still until he saw the improvement, and he was pleased by the near-return to his former character.

As the days of his Romanian holiday drew to a close, George steeled himself to return to Diagon Alley and to Hermione. He had not contacted her individually while he was gone but had written a few quick lines to her, Lee, and Verity to inquire about the shop. The replies were always generically signed by all three but in Verity's hand, so he couldn't be sure what role Hermione played in the "glad to hear you're enjoying Romania" messages. Charlie's initial advice had remained his only advice, other than some late night, too-many-Firewhiskeys plots to do Seamus in. Thus, George was still at square one, but his general mood had been improved considerably thanks to the getaway and the company he had kept.