AN: Gaaaah, so sorry for the long wait! Life really has been crazy the last year. I started working (after being a student for so many years) and that took some time to get used to. Then my fiancée and I moved into a new apartment (the exact same apartment my parents lived in as newly weds 32 years ago – freaky coincidence!), the planning for my June 9th wedding was crazy and then we were gone for our honeymoon until the end of July. And then, for some really stupid reason, I started studying full time (online) while working full time; I got so stressed out that I stopped eating and lost eight pounds in nine days. Now I've quit school... So now I finally have time to do the important things in life, such as writing my Harry Potter stories!

HP * HP * HP * HP * HP

This separation was probably good for the both of them. She would see him again in a week, at Ron's wedding. Too bad she already missed him terribly.

Chapter Twelve

Hermione dove into work at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The first day she spent with George and together they went through the inventory of the shop; if she was going to help develop new products, she must first know what already existed. Over the next coming days, George was going to divulge the secrets of all their products, but first she had to swear an oath to never to pass the information on.

"It's nothing personal," George said as he noticed Hermione's raised eyebrow, "and it's got nothing to do with trust issues. Fred and I took the oaths ourselves as well; we don't keep notes, Hermione, everything about our products is locked safely in my mind. The oath is just a precaution, so we can't go blabbing."

After she had taken the oath, Hermione was given the task of brewing a couple of simple solutions that were used as bases for the various products in the shop. It was easy work, but she knew she would have to know how to brew all of these potions by heart before George would let her do anything more challenging.

On the third day, Hermione let out a frustrated sigh. While she so far had no problem doing any of the tasks George had set her up with, the treacherous heart beating inside her chest was aching with longing. It was so strange that she no longer when to Grimmauld Place after work, felt so weird that she had neither spoken to or seen Harry Potter in three days. She could barely remember when she last had gone so long without being with him.

Her heart was not quite broken, merely chipped at the moment, since she had known from the start what not to expect from Harry – a true relationship. But it still hurt; it hurt to know that Harry didn't want to take a chance with her, it hurt that he hadn't stopped her from leaving and it hurt that he hadn't owled her or come to her since she had left.

She knew that Harry must know where she was – she had asked Ron to come by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes the day after she had fled from Grimmauld Place and while she hadn't told him the whole story (she had told him a vague story about a fight and that she needed a break), she could tell that Ron knew that she was hiding something. He hadn't pressed her for answers though; while Ron was real insightful these days, but he still got uncomfortable when she started crying, and as soon as her eyes teared up, he had asked her how working for George was. Although she hadn't asked Ron to tell Harry where she was, she knew that he would be told; Ron had most likely apparated straight to Grimmauld Place to give him an earful and in the process told the boy-who-lived that she was staying with George and working for him.

Which was also most likely why he hadn't owled her; he knew she was safe, and Harry, still not being the best at handling fights, showing emotions or expressing his feelings, probably thought it smart to leave her alone for a while.

Hermione suddenly yelped when she splashed some of the potion she was brewing on her hand; the skin sizzled and she winced in pain, clenching her teeth together to keep from shouting.

"George!" she cried loud enough to be heard across the room and a second later, the redhead was standing next to her.

He frowned as he noticed the sizzle and smell of burnt skin and quickly leaned over the potion, taking a quick whiff of what she was brewing.

"Dammit, Hermione!" he growled and sprang over to the medicine cabinet, grabbing a large jar before dashing back to her. "Put your hand in, quickly!"

Hermione did as she was told; the content of the jar was a liquid with a bluish tint and smelled slightly of eucalyptus. Of course – it was Murtlap Essence. The icy potion felt good on her skin and asked George how long she should keep her hand in the jar. Instead of answering, George held up a finger to silence her.

"...eighteen, nineteen, twenty; hand out!" he ordered and then steered her over to the a stone basin filled with water. "Hand in!"

He then muttered a charm to keep the water swirling; after a moment he got rid of the water before he added new water, all the while it was still gently swirling. He repeated all of this a few times before gently drying her hand and whisked her off to the medicine cabinet. After grabbing a jar of healing cream, he gently rubbed it onto her skin. Hermione had watched his face during the entire process and couldn't understand why he looked so angry.

"Is there a special reason why you're not wearing the dragon hide gloves?" he demanded, his tone controlled and yet full of cold fury.

"They were too big," she answered lamely, "and in the way."

"So instead of asking me for a smaller pair, you decided to brew the base of all Skiving Snackboxes, which is highly poisonous, without protecting your hands?" he asked dangerously, his voice rising towards the end.

Hermione averted her eyes in shame and merely nodded once.

"What in Merlin's name were you thinking?" he yelled as he threw the healing cream back into the cabinet. "Do you have any idea what could have happened if I hadn't been here?"

Hermione shook her head, not daring to look at him. He let go of her arm and put two fingers under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze; behind his furious expression, his eyes held genuine concern.

"Had it entered your blood system, it would have paralyzed you. You would have been unable to move, unable to shout for help... and then once it reached your brain, it would have forced that brilliant mind of yours to shut down – irreversibly."

Hermione's eyes widened in horror.

"How do you know this?" she wondered, knowing that this potion had been invented by the Weasley twins – in other words, there couldn't be any previous cases where this had happened...

Oh. No wonder he was so upset.

"Because it's already happened here once," George whispered, dropping his arms to his sides. "When Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was new, we needed help. We hired a guy to help us with the simpler potions, such as this. We knew it was poisonous, but not to what degree..."

He took a deep breath before he launched into the story.

"The same night we went to pick up Harry at the Dursley's the last time, Darren had an accident here in the lab. Due to the complications of the endeavor, Mad-Eye dying, me loosing an ear, we didn't go back to the shop for three days. We're not sure what happened, but when we entered the lab, Darren was lying on the floor, motionless. There was a hole straight through his left arm the size of a Galleon and while his eyes were open and blinking, he wasn't responding to anything we did or said. We took him to St Mungo's where they could tell us that whatever had splashed on his skin had burned through skin, flesh and bone, and on it's way through him, it entered his bloodstream; the second that happened, he was paralyzed. He was in excruciating pain until it entered his brain, where it was immediately shut down."

Hermione's eyes were misted, as were George's.

"He's in the Janus Thickey ward. Fred and I were always hoping to be able to reverse the paralysis, but even if we had managed that, we never knew if his mind would be alright."

George took a deep breath to gather his thoughts.

"As a precaution, we had the base analyzed under strictest confidence, and the report stated to always have Essence of Murtlap in store and depending on how far the potion had gotten, bathe the hand in a certain amount of seconds. If the potion enters the bloodstream, we are to take the emergency portkey" – George showed her the gold necklace around his neck; the simple circle pendant had a red cross on it – "to Healer Burberry, no matter the time.

Hermione frowned.

"Why to a specific Healer?"

"Because there would never be enough time to explain what had happened and because Healer Burberry wouldn't hesitate to sever the affected limb, making sure the potion couldn't spread to the rest of the body."

Once again, Hermione's eyes bulged. She would never be able to thank Merlin enough for making sure that George had been there.

"Would that work?" she whispered, dreading the answer she knew would come.

"We don't know," George answered predictably. "But it's all we got."

The room was filled with a silence that made Hermione shiver. She understood George's anger – she could have shared Darren's fate – and she was angry with herself for putting herself in danger and for making George worry. She knew better; while brewing one was never allowed to think about anything expect the task at hand and Hermione had not only let her mind wander, she had completely focused on Harry instead!

"Hermione, this carelessness isn't like you," George suddenly said, his eyes holding suspicion. "What was on your mind?"

She didn't want to admit to him that she had been thinking about Harry. For a brief second she considered lying, but she knew she owed him the truth.

"I was thinking about..."

"... Harry," George finished for her, his eyes flashing in annoyance. "Hermione, I'm going to say... no, I'm going to order you to do something you're not going to like, but at the moment, I don't really give a damn."

Hermione sighed deeply and braced herself for the worst.

"You're going to go home and take a long bath, have a sturdy lunch and then curl up on the couch with a book."

Hermione blinked, not quite comprehending what she wouldn't like about that. She liked baths. She was hungry. She loved books. What was the problem here?

"You're forcing me to take the rest of the day off?" she wondered, immediately thinking that that wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"No, I'm forcing you to take the rest of the week off."

Oh. That was definitely worse. Sure, she could a day or two of relaxation... But several days?

"But, George..."

"No buts."

"George, listen..."

"No."

"George!" Hermione growled, stomping her foot in annoyance.

"Don't take that tone with me, missy! One more word from you and not only will you be off for the rest of the week, but I'll place you in front of the cash register for a week as well!"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest and then quickly clamped it shut again. She did not wish to be in the actual shop; it was always a madhouse. Leveling George with a glare, she let out a huff at his satisfied smile and whirled past him up to the apartment above the shop.

As soon as she had left, George's smile vanished. He had been holding back his fear of what could have happened, but now it hit him in the stomach with the strength of a Bludger.

He could have lost her today.

He loved her like a sister and the pain he felt at the thought of losing her caused him to stagger and fall to his knees. Gasping for air, he came to quick solution; either the base had to be altered or the one brewing had to be in full dragonhide gear. He was not going to lose someone so important to him because of a stupid potion.

HP * HP * HP * HP * HP

Harry felt lost. He couldn't understand the range of emotions he had been feeling since Hermione had taken off. At first he had felt guilty for causing her such despair, then anger since she had claimed to know what she was getting herself in to and then trying to force him to commit to her, then guilt again as he realized that she hadn't tried forcing him to do anything and then finally what he felt now; sadness and an overwhelming heartache.

First and foremost, he missed her. He couldn't deny that, even if he might have wanted to. At first, he had missed the obvious things; waking up next to her, hearing her voice, giving her pleasure... Then he had found himself missing the strangest things; the little noises she made while reading a book, the way she closed her eyes at her first sip of coffee in the mornings, getting kicked in the back while he slept (something she had managed to do every night since they started sharing a bed). He missed her scent, he missed the little giggle she emitted in bed when her shyness got the better of her and he missed holding her in his arms as they fell asleep.

He had worried about her when she had just disappeared, but he had doubted she wanted him to follow her, sure that she wanted to be left alone. The next day, Ron had surprised him by coming in before breakfast and had sent a stinging hex at Harry the moment their eyes had locked.

"Ow! Ron, what the hell?"

"I don't know what you did, Harry, but I warned you that if you ever hurt her, you would have to answer to me," Ron hissed, sounding angrier than Harry had ever heard him before. "Now, I don't have time to deal with you now, since I need to meet Luna at the Ministry in two minutes, but just..."

Ron broke off mid sentence, the look of pure anguish on Harry's face catching him off guard.

"Harry?"

He hadn't seen such painful expression on Harry's features since Sirius had died.

"Where... where is she?" he whispered, a begging tint to his voice that Ron couldn't ignore.

Ron frowned, more curious than ever at what had transpired between his two friends.

"She's at George's; starts working there today," he answered, noticing first the look of surprise in Harry's expression, which then turned to relief as he knew she at least was safe. "Please, Harry, you have to promise me something – don't go after her until you can say something that will make her feel better."

Harry nodded without saying a word and Ron left after gently patting him on the shoulder; the redhead had at least understood one important thing from their little chat – Harry was hurting, which meant that he cared more about Hermione than he probably knew himself.

Harry woke on the fourth morning of Hermione's departure feeling absolutely crappy. His sleep had been disturbed by troubled dreams that he couldn't remember now, but they had managed to give him a splitting headache. It was Thursday – only one day left to Friday and two days to Ron and Luna's wedding, a day he had looked forward to for months.

At the moment he didn't even care.

The silent morning was suddenly disturbed by a loud CRACK. Harry quickly sprang to his feet, grabbing his wand from the nightstand in the process.

"Merlin, no wonder she's so taken with you."

At hearing George's voice, he tossed his wand back on the nightstand and then hurriedly, but unbashfully, put his boxers on.

"Sorry, I sleep naked," he said as he turned towards the redhead.

"I noticed," came the gleeful reply.

"What are you doing here, George? In my bedroom?"

The redhead shrugged his shoulders.

"You weren't downstairs, so I figured this was where you would be."

Harry lifted an eyebrow as he waited for George to continue. He didn't, and that's when he noticed that the older wizard was still staring at his crotch.

"Oi, eyes up, if you please!" Harry growled, suddenly remembering that the redhead liked boys as much as girls.

Not that he really cared about being ogled by a man who, if the intense staring was anything to go by, probably found him attractive, but he was used to some privacy in his own bedroom.

"Sorry," George said quickly. "Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. We need to talk."

Harry merely nodded and turned to get dressed the moment George left. He assumed he wanted to talk about Hermione. Entering the kitchen a few minutes later, Harry couldn't help smiling as Kreacher fussed over George; he had heard the elf muttering about missing Hermione and any other people he had met over the years. Harry gathered that the elf had gotten used to crowds by now and enjoyed serving them.

"Fine, if you insist I take a third piece of banana cream pie, I will, even though it's only seven thirty in the morning."

"How did you manage to eat two pieces before I got here?" Harry demanded, knowing full well that even Weasleys couldn't stuff that much sweet stuff into their mouths in such a short amount of time. "It's been less than two minutes."

"I ate those pieces before I apparated to your bedroom," George answered with a wink, as he gathered some of the delicious pie on his spoon and started devouring it.

Harry sat down and a few seconds later Kreacher served him his usual breakfast of coffee and a cheese sandwich.

"Thank you, Kreacher," he said warmly and the elf bowed in return. "So what do you want to talk about, George? Is Hermione okay?"

George's smile vanished and even his eyes grew serious.

"No, she's not okay. She could've gotten seriously hurt yesterday. She could have faced a fate worse than death because she was thinking about you instead of concentrating on her work."

Harry flinched as if he had been slapped, spilling coffee over both the table and himself. He hissed in discomfort, apparently loud enough for Kreacher to hear him; the next second the elf appeared to clean up the mess.

"Master Harry should be more careful," Kreacher admonished him, pointing at him until Harry meekly nodded in return. "Kreacher will be back with a new cup."

Harry wanted to feel grateful, but at the moment he could feel nothing but dread.

"George... What happened?"

George told him everything, starting with Darren and then continued with what had transpired in the lab the day before. Harry sat in stunned silence, his horror growing for each passing minute. When the older wizard was done, they sat in silence for a full minute before the redhead asked Kreacher for another piece of pie. He slowly munched on the pie while he watched Harry process everything he had said. George had seen a wide range of Harry Potter's emotions and feelings over the years, so he knew how to read Harry's expressions. At least, he usually could. The look on the younger man's face was completely new and it made George's insides squirm. Harry's eyes were unblinking, empty of any emotion as the usual warmth was replaced with a blankness George couldn't describe; his mouth was slightly open, his breathing shallow. Had he gone into shock?

"Harry, look at me," George commanded, hoping to snap in out of his trance by using words instead of being forced to slap him.

For a moment nothing happened. Then Harry blinked a few times and a second later he closed his mouth as he met George's gaze.

"She's fine, Harry. Nothing happened to her," he tried to reassure him.

Harry wet his lips; his whole mouth was dry.

"Yes, but...," he croaked out before clearing his throat. "She could've..."

"Thankfully, I was there with her, Harry. She wouldn't have died," George said and then let out a sigh. "But then again, I suppose that if the potion had entered her bloodstream, that would have been a more humane option."

"Don't ever say that again!" Harry suddenly yelled, springing to his feet. "How can you even say something like that?"

"Because I've gone to Darren every week for three years, Harry! Always wishing and hoping that something can be done to reverse the effects of a potion I created! Do you have any idea what it feels like to be directly responsible for someone else's fate?"

Harry's eyes flashed with cold fury. Had George forgotten to whom he was speaking? George immediately knew what the boy who lived was thinking.

"No, Harry, you haven't been directly responsible for any of the people who were hurt or died in the war," the redhead said warily, wondering if maybe, just maybe, Harry would actually listen this time. "Voldemort killed your parents, Bellatrix killed Sirius, Snape killed Dumbledore, hell, you weren't even responsible for Voldemort's death, Harry! He cast the Killing Curse, not you! None of those deaths were your fault!"

Harry opened his mouth to tell him he was wrong, but as he pondered George's words, he shut it again. For the first time in his life he stopped to think about what people had been trying to tell him for years, stopped to think about all the people that had died because of him. Yes, George was right about Harry himself not killing any of those people, but that didn't make him feel less guilty, nor did it hurt any less. However, all the people who had died had been a part of a war that really had started decades before he was even born and it was not his fault that fate had decided that only two boys would be able to defeat Voldemort, nor was it his fault that Voldemort had seen the half-blood as more of threat to him than the pure-blood.

It was not his fault that Voldemort had marked his own executioner.

Besides, if Neville had been chosen instead, many of the same people still might have died; his parents, Sirius and Remus still would've had an active part in the Order of Phoenix, and the cruel, pointless war might still have claimed their lives.

"Harry?"

George's worried voice snapped him out his thoughts and he met the redhead's wondering gaze.

"You're right," was all Harry said quietly, and a moment later he felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders.

George gasped in shock at Harry's words; had he really just managed to say the right words at the right time to get it into Harry's thick skull that he wasn't to blame for the people lost in the war? Everyone Harry had ever known in the wizarding world had been trying to make him realize that since they had first known him! He watched Harry lick his lips and then open his mouth, hesitating for a mere second.

"It wasn't my fault," Harry whispered carefully, as if trying the unfamiliar words out.

George watched him in silence, giving Harry time to come to terms with this revelation. Finally, Harry glanced up at the redhead, his posture relaxing a little.

"George, has Hermione told you... everything?"

"Yes," came the simple reply. "I know about everything that has transpired between the two of you and I know that Hermione wanted it to happen because she loves you."

For once, Harry didn't flinch or wince at the word love. He merely looked at the other man as a thousand thoughts flitted in and out of his mind.

"Tell me, Harry, why does the notion of her loving you scare you so?" George asked out of the blue, pushing the empty plate away from him in order to lean closer to him.

"I don't know," Harry answered, suddenly being unable remember any of the reasons he had come up with before in answer to that question. "George, forgive me, but can I please ask you to bugger off? I need some time to think."

George smiled as he nodded, getting to his feet.

"I'm just a floo call away if you need me, Harry," the older man said, resting his hand on Harry's shoulder for a moment. "Remember, you're not alone."

Harry gave him a small smile in thanks, nodding his head to show that he understood. He stayed at the kitchen table for a long time after the redhead had left, contemplating everything from his life up until the events of the last couple of weeks.

Was he ready for a change?