Author's Note: It's about to get real. Not Rowling.
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Thank you to all the readers who caught my mistake and accidentally called it a patronus.
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Hermione had tried to busy herself with work these past couple days. 'I just want to show I am dedicated without George here and with my full caseload back,' is what she tried to convince herself of, but she knew the real reason was that she was trying to exhaust herself so there was no time to think about what she had read just a few days ago. Unfortunately, as she lay in bed, knowing full-well she would see him tomorrow at the New Year's party Harry and Ginny were throwing, she was forced to confront the situation. As she stared at her ceiling, she decided to go about this the most logical way she could. Therefore, she decided to make a list of pros and cons about George and her possible feelings regarding him.
"Pro," she said aloud to the still room, "He's very caring and he's helped me out when I've gone absolutely mad at work."
'Con,' she thought, 'He came to seek help for suicidal tendencies. That's a bit of a red flag when trying to find someone emotionally stable.'
"Pro – he's terribly funny and can always make me laugh or smile."
'Con – a lot of the time he's got the maturity of a ten year old.'
"Pro – he's grown up a lot in this past year. He's not the same silly boy he was then. Sure, he's kind of damaged goods, but that just gives him more depth of character."
'Con – am I just wanting to fix him, or is it something more than that?'
"Pro – we've become friends, quite good friends, I would say."
'Con – he's just so different from me.'
"Is he, though? I mean, certainly, we are different, but he seems to understand me better than most. I'm more comfortable around him than most people and I look forward to spending time with him."
'So does this mean that I fancy him?'
She stared up at the ceiling, feeling terribly conflicted as she both knew the true answer to this question and desperately wished it wasn't true.
…
With a whoosh and some emerald flames, George stepped out of the enormous kitchen fireplace of Grimmauld Place, his ears immediately assaulted by the sounds of people talking, laughing, and moving about.
"George!"
He turned to see Ginny in the midst of picking up a plate of hors d'oeuveres to bring out to the guests. "Hey, Gin! Don't you look nice! Need any help?" His sister was wearing a dark blue dress that was flattering, but a bit too tight for his liking. Even though she was grown and about to marry, he was still really protective and really uncomfortable with her showing off her body. She would always be the wide-eyed little sister than they had trained to be a troublemaker.
"Hey! Thank you! You're looking quite dapper yourself! And yes, could you grab that other plate for me and follow me out?"
He did as instructed, carrying a bowl of homemade pretzel twists out to the surprisingly numerous guests. He scanned the room after depositing the bowl on a table, seeing many familiar faces from Hogwarts, including Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Luna, who's waist was being held by Ron, as well as others, like Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet. He hurried over to say hello to his former teammates, weaving his way between the thick clusters of people that filled the room. He was in the middle of talking to Oliver about his new position on the Tornados, when Oliver suddenly started staring at something over George's shoulder, his jaw going somewhat slack. Turning around to face the door, he saw what had stopped Oliver in his tracks. A woman had just walked into the room, so silently that few had noticed her. She wore a hunter green dress that was draped off one of her shoulders, reminiscent of a toga, and floated gently down to just above her knees, the material falling effortlessly into loose pleats, skimming over her curves effortlessly. Her sylphlike legs seemed to go on for miles, despite the fact that she was average height, due to a pair of gold pumps that matched the simple gold earrings she wore. Her normally unruly hair was pulled up in an updo that wasn't too polished, but rather bordering on messy, all the while still looking elegant. Her bright brown eyes searched the room and a bright smile graced her face as she saw someone she recognized. It was Hermione.
"Damn," Oliver said, more an exhale than actual speech. George, who thoroughly agreed, only nodded as his brain had suddenly forgotten how to form words. "Is that Granger?" he breathed.
"Yeah," said George, taking a deep breath, "that's Hermione."
"Has she always looked like that?" said Oliver, who was practically drooling by now.
"She grew up a bit, but yeah. Yeah, she has," he said, an almost wistful tone to his voice.
"You two better close your mouths, or something will fly in," said Angelina, walking over to them. "Let me guess – Hermione?"
"Damn," breathed Oliver again. "I do not remember her looking like that at school."
Angelina laughed. "She's really grown into herself. She's really lovely. Now," she said, grabbing Oliver's hand and giving it a tug, "no more of this ogling or your girlfriend will get jealous." She winked at George before pulling Oliver away. As George was about to turn away, he saw out of the corner of his eye Angelina teasingly punch Oliver on the arm and Oliver duck his head to kiss her. George smiled – he had always known that was going to happen, even though she had dated Fred. He walked around the room, talking to everyone, but somehow always missing Hermione.
…
It was just about midnight and it was getting just a bit too loud and stuffy in the house for Hermione. Although she had had a little bit of alcohol, she had had nowhere near as much as some inside the house, who were now thrice as noisy as when the party had begun. She headed out the back door and stood on the porch, if you could call it that. It was a tiny little thing that looked out on the backyards of the muggle properties, but could not be seen. She had always hated that Grimmauld Place had not had a backyard, which it so sorely needed. After only a minute or so of standing outside, Hermione was starting to get really cold and had just decided to go back inside when the door opened and out stepped George.
"Oh, hello. I didn't know anyone was out here. It's really rather ridiculous in there right now." He smiled that endearing, crooked smile of his and she couldn't help but smile back.
"It really is. I couldn't take it, although it's not much better out here," she said wryly.
He shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. She smiled and pulled her arms through the sleeves, laughing as she saw that it was quite big on her. She looked back at George and the first thing that came to her mind was how handsome he looked tonight. His hair was shorter from what she had seen last, but this cut seemed to suit him more, made him look older and showed off his handsome, angular jaw line. He was wearing dark, well-fitting trousers and a dark grey button down, the sleeves of which had been rolled up to right above his elbows.
"So how have you been, your first couple days at home?"
A thoughtful look appeared on his face. "It's been fine. It's getting used to being alone again that's odd. I got used to seeing y-, everyone at the hospital every day that it's weird coming home from work to a silent flat."
"I understand. It sort of feels unnatural after the business of the hospital, doesn't it?" He laughed and they both fell silent for a moment. "I think we should head in; it's rather nippy out here." He smiled and held the door open for her, stepping in after her to a barrage of sound.
"SIX!"
"FIVE!"
They headed into the main room where everyone was congregated, cheering and shouting happily as their eyes focused on the huge clock over the mantle.
"FOUR!"
"THREE!"
George and Hermione grinned at each other and joined in.
"TWO!"
"ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
…
Everyone began to clap and began to kiss their 'other half' or whoever was around. George and Hermione looked at each other, and he felt a blush burning up his neck and traveling to his face just as he saw Hermione's cheeks turn pink.
"Uhh…well, it's supposed to be for good luck," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling decidedly awkward.
"Yeah, good luck," she echoed, a nervous little smile. "Umm…so I guess…"
"Yeah, I suppose we have to…"
He bent his head down and she tilted her head up, her eyes fluttering closed. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers softly. His hand unconsciously moved to her waist as hers moved to the front of his shirt, her palm pressed against his chest, not as if to push him away, but as if holding him there. Although every fiber of him wanted to deepen the kiss, to hold her close to his chest and continue kissing her, with no regard for air or the people around, he knew he had to stop. It was only him that felt this way, anyways. They were just friends. He broke the kiss that, despite feeling as if it had lasted forever and a day, was actually only a handful of seconds. He moved back slowly from her and watched as her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him. There was a kind of need in her eyes married with a sultry look of lust that he had never seen from her before. It was only there for an instant before she blinked and her sparkling brown eyes were back to a look of mingled happiness and anxiousness that had been there before the kiss.
"Well, good luck for the year, then," she said, a bit of bravado tingeing her tone, as if she was trying to act as though that kiss hadn't just changed everything. 'Well,' thought George, somewhat bitterly, 'for her it probably didn't.'
"Good luck indeed," he said, hitching a grin onto his face and winking at her. She laughed and commented about going to get a drink before walking off, not noticing that she was still wearing his jacket.
…
"So you can take care of that? I hate to ask you tonight of all nights, but it just moved in this afternoon into Teddy's room and I'm too tipsy to do it and he comes back home tomorrow and I don't want him to get scared," said Ginny, her sentences all smushing into one long sentence.
"What about Harry?" Hermione asked.
Ginny began to giggle. "It's actually really funny. He thinks his boggart might have changed forms and he's paranoid and doesn't want to see what it is. He said it's not scary as a dementor, but after the war, he's not sure it will still be that."
Hermione smiled. "Fine, I'll go take care of it right now. In Teddy's room, you said? Where?"
"In the toy box. Which is why we really need it gone."
"Alright. I'll be back!" Hermione smiled at her Ginny before heading out of the room and up the stairs, not knowing that one ear had picked up the conversation and a pair of blue eyes had seen her leave the room. She headed up to Teddy's room, a nursery filled with Gryffindor banners and stuffed animals holding broomsticks, and turned on the lights. 'Trying to brainwash him already, Harry,' she thought to herself with a grin. She saw the toy box in question and opened it with a flick of her wand. She had not expected McGonagall to appear again, telling her she had failed everything, but had been waiting to see her parents, lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with wide, empty eyes, the victims of Avada Kedavra. Instead, in front of her lay George, pale as the snow falling outside, in a pool of dark, glistening blood, his wrist slashed and his red hair almost brown, stained by the blood pouring from a fresh head injury. She once again felt that feeling of ice cold numbness as she stared at him in front of her, clearly dead. She began to hyperventilate, the part of her brain telling her this was simply a boggart completely occluded by the paralyzing fear that was overtaking her. She felt her knees give way beneath her and she dropped to the ground, tears now streaming down her face as she gasped for air, her eyes fixed on the sight before her.
…
George looked at the clock and frowned. Hermione had been gone for much longer than it was necessary to take care of a boggart. Checking the room once more, but not seeing her, he got up from his chair and started to head upstairs. About two floors up he heard it – gasping, heart-wrenching sobs. He ran up the last few steps, burst through the slightly open door, and immediately felt his stomach drop out of his body. Fred was on the ground, dead. He did a double take and saw the slit wrist, the head injury, the one ear. It was him. It was him dead on the ground.
"Riddikulus!"
His blood-soaked body turned into Fred's, surrounded by the blasted wall, the ghost of his last smile still etched on his face. He took a deep breath and with a wave of his wand, the boggart was no more. He rushed over to Hermione, who was crumpled in a heap on the ground, still staring at the spot where his body had been just moments before.
"Hermione! Hermione! It's okay! It's okay!"
She looked up at him and burst into renewed tears. He sat down on the floor next to her and held her as she sobbed, clutching the front of his shirt in a vice-like grip. As he sat there, rubbing circles on her back and holding her close, he wondered why his dead body was her boggart.