Author's Note: I hope you guys like this new chapter! Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! And a huge thanks for sticking by me even though I haven't been posting as much as I did before. Still not Rowling.
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He tramped up the stairs, each heavy footfall carrying the weight of how terrible his day had been. Everything had managed to go wrong, from his business meetings about expanding the company to working in the shop to simply running some simple errands. He had still been fuming from an argument with Lee when he had gone to the market to pick up some things for Hermione. He hadn't been able to find everything he needed, some idiot clerk had dropped a box of chicken stock cans onto him, and the checker had screwed up the pricing four times, until George, aggravated and trying to ignore a very sore shoulder, finally threw money onto the counter and walked out. He had probably given him at least a galleon more than he should have been charged, but he couldn't stand to be in there for another minute. He finally got to the top and shifted his hold on the bags so he could open the door. He could hear shouting as soon as he opened the door.
"Oh for the love of-" he muttered, stepping in and slamming the door closed with his foot.
"THIS IS NOT MY FAULT! I NEVER WANTED THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE!"
"WELL, THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME KNOW INSTEAD OF POUTING IN THE CORNER LIKE A FIVE YEAR OLD!"
"SAYS THE MAN WHO PRACTICALLY THREW A TEMPER TANTRUM BECAUSE I SHOWED UP FIFTEEN MINUTES LATE! I WAS IN A MEETING, BUT LET'S IGNORE THE FACT THAT I'M RUNNING A BLOODY COMPANY ON MY OWN!"
"OH PISS OFF. IT'S NOT LIKE ANYONE READS THAT GARBAGE ANYWAYS."
"EXCUSE ME? YOU WORK FOR THE BLOODY QUIBBLER. DON'T YOU GO GETTING ALL HIGH AND MIGHTY-"
"SHUT UP!"
There was a crash of what sounded like something heavy having been thrown against a wall. George shook his head. This bullshit is not something he wanted to deal with after a crap day like today. And he had to deal with it. Because, no matter how angry Hermione was, she would inevitably fall into bitter tears and he would have to console her when all he wanted to do was shake her violently for constantly subjecting herself to this emotional torture. He balled his fists, trying to resist the urge to go in and settle this himself, when he heard Hermione's furious shout again.
"NO! YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO! LEAVE. NOW, MALCOLM."
He walked forward, towards her room, when Malcolm came storming out. He stopped short, almost crashing into George's chest. He looked up angrily and readjusted his glasses, which were slipping off his face.
"What?" he asked rudely.
"What are you doing in my house?" George asked in a voice of dangerous calm. He was resisting every urge to make a Malcolm-shaped hole in his front door and instead chose to crack his knuckles threateningly.
"Move," commanded Malcolm, clearly ignoring George's question. George stayed put, glaring at him. Malcolm tried to sidestep him, but George moved just as quickly, blocking him. "What is your problem?"
"You are," George replied acidly. Malcolm moved to talk, but George talked over him, his voice as smooth and cold as mercury. "There are a few things you need to learn, and you need to learn them quickly. For one, you set foot in this building ever again, and we'll have quite a big problem. But secondly and most importantly, you hurt Hermione again, and I will make sure you die the most slow, painful death possible."
Malcolm sneered at him and tried to step around him. "Get the fuck out of my w-"
George picked up the shorter man by the collar and slammed him hard against the sitting room wall. He heard a few cracks. Good. He hoped he had broken at least two of the git's ribs. "I don't think you understand," he said, his voice still eerily calm as he raised the man higher against the wall, watching as Malcolm slowly turned redder and redder, probably from lack of oxygen. "You leave Hermione alone, Malcolm. You are not going to hurt her again. You are not going to see her again. You are not going to talk to her again. Do I make myself clear?"
Malcolm's face was contorted into something so full of hate and anger, something so ugly that it was immediately clear that this was the person he had just heard screaming at Hermione, not the unassuming writer he had met at the pub so many months ago. He said nothing, but continued to glare at George. George lowered him from the wall, but as Malcolm moved to take a step away, as if to leave, George grabbed his collar tighter and slammed him against the wall, harder than before. He heard several more cracks and let go of Malcolm's collar. The man doubled over, clutching his sides.
"Do I make myself clear?" George whispered, his eyes flashing dangerously.
Malcolm looked up, his face contorted with pain and rage, and glared at George fiercely. "Yes."
"Good. Now leave. I should never see you back here again." George watched as Malcolm slowly got up and, limping slightly despite his obvious efforts to still look imposing and defiant, walked over to the fireplace. He turned and glared once more at George before he threw the powder and stepped into the emerald flames. George turned and saw Hermione standing in the doorway, watching him, her arms crossed resolutely across her chest. "Hey," he said quietly.
"You shouldn't have done that," she said angrily.
"What?" He was suddenly very confused.
"I can take care of myself, you know. You didn't have to go and attack him."
"What?" he cried, disbelieving.
"You had no right to do that!"
"Do what, exactly? Try to protect you from scum like him?" he said angrily, pointing at the fireplace.
"Why do you always feel like you have to try and clean up my messes? I've handled myself fine before without you interfering."
George laughed humorlessly, his tone dripping with biting sarcasm. "Yeah, I can see that by your fantastic past, what? Five months? You want to make it my fault that you stay in such a dysfunctional relationship? Sure. Why not? Because that's logical."
"What do you mean by that?"
"After every bloody fight with that prick, I've been there. I've held you when you cried. I've listened to your complaints. And I've watched you go back to him every time. I've been party to this sick, vicious cycle you've been in and you've never listened to me. Each time, I told you to break it off, but you kept on, saying you cared for him and all this other bollocks. HE DOESN'T LOVE YOU! Tonight should have made that clear!"
"Like you're one to talk!" she spat. "You've never been in love!"
"Maybe not, but I know that whatever that," he gestured in the direction of Hermione's room, "was, it was most certainly not love."
"Maybe you should learn to think with your head rather than your fists one of these days."
"Oh yeah, and end up like you? Yeah, that sounds like a great plan!" he scoffed.
"Piss off, George," she said, her tone sharp and biting, before turning and going to her room. Her bedroom door slammed shut.
George glared at the door. "Ungrateful little brat," he mumbled under his breath. He crossed the room and sat down on the couch. It was no use; he was too high-strung right now. He growled under his breath and headed back to the front door. He pulled his jacket from the hook by the door and walked out, the front door slamming closed behind him.
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When he decided to go back to the house, it was past midnight. He had been walking around for over four hours. He had just walked and walked, not caring where his feet took him, but just letting them roam while he thought about everything. Before he knew it, he was far away from the Leaky Cauldron, somewhere in a dingy part of muggle London. He saw some shady figures heading down the street towards him and felt his adrenaline start to pump again. 'No,' he told himself, 'you are not going to pick a fight just because you're in a bad mood. Not after everything tonight.' He sighed heavily and turned down an alley and, with a spin and a crack!, he was back in his shop, right in front of the cash register. He walked up the back stairs and let himself into the house. He hung up his coat and looked around.
There was no sign of Hermione. There was no sound of tears, anger, or even the rustling of a page being turned. He looked around the room sadly. He hated fighting with her, but a part of him wished she had been watching the door with her arms and legs crossed and her back as taut and straight as piano wires, her foot jiggling impatiently. At least that would mean that she was still here, but it sounded like she had left. He wondered where she had gone, but, realizing how exhausted he was, he decided to go to bed and worry about it in the morning. He walked towards his bedroom, pausing as he looked at the sitting room wall. There was a sizeable dent and a good amount of paint had chipped off and now littered the floor below. He took a steadying breath, trying to ignore the rush of anger that flooded his mind as memories of a few hours ago came rushing back. He squeezed his eyes shut and walked away, towards his bedroom. He walked in and flicked on the lights. He heard a slight noise, a human noise, and jumped, his wand out, his body tensed for an attack. When he turned to face the source of the noise, however, he realized it was not an ambush.
It was Hermione.
She was sitting up on his bed, her back against his pillows, her head resting against the wall, fast asleep. What was she doing in his room? Had she been waiting up for him? He walked over and sat down on the bed next to her. He reached out his hand and set it gently on her shoulder.
"Hermione," he said quietly. "Wake up, Hermione."
She shifted and her eyes slowly opened. She looked over at him and jumped, her eyes wide with terror. "George!"
"It's okay, Hermione. Shh! It's okay. It's just me."
She looked at him and burst into tears, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I'm so sorry. I was terrible. I'm so sorry."
"I'm sorry too, 'Mione," he said quietly as he hugged her.
She pulled away slightly to see his face. Her expression looked agonized. "We broke up," she said quietly.
He paused, trying to master his emotions and not let them show, although all he wanted to do was jump up and whoop, his fist punching the air in celebration. He didn't want to rile her up again. "Really?" he said quietly.
She ducked her head, looking almost shamed. "You were-," she faltered, as if she was having trouble saying the words, "you were right. I shouldn't have let myself go back every time. I was just hurting myself more. And I finished it." She looked up and her eyes were full of tears. "I should be happy it's over, shouldn't I?"
He smiled sadly, understanding where she was coming from. "Maybe," he said softly.
"Then why does it hurt so much?" she asked, her voice so heartbroken and childlike, George felt it pierce him like a knife.
George moved forward, hugging her to her chest. "Because it hurts when someone you care about wounds you like that. But I can promise you it will all be okay. It will hurt now, but soon the hurt will lessen. And one day, you'll wake up, and the hurt will be gone. And you'll realize that you've learned from your mistakes, but those mistakes don't define you. They just make you stronger."
She hugged him tighter and he held her close, the two of them staying silent for a few moments, just listening to the other's breathing.
"I'm sorry, George," Hermione whispered.
"I know you are," George whispered back. "I'm sorry too, Hermione."