Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long, guys. I'm in my third year now and with two majors and a job, the workload is preventing me from having a social life or any time to write! I hope you guys like this one and I'll try to get another chapter up later this week! Best, Cat.

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They broke apart from the kiss, both of them breathing a little quicker than usual. Oliver gave her a small smile, whose soft, sweet manner was thwarted by the eyebrow raised in his usual endearing-yet-cocky manner. Hermione laughed softly to herself and grinned at him.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Oliver."

He was just about to move away from Hermione when there was the sound of rattling and the door Hermione had been leaning against was yanked open. Hermione started to topple backwards and Oliver quickly stepped closer, tightening his hold on her waist and pulling her to his chest so she wouldn't fall. They both looked over to see the source of their disruption and saw Evangeline standing there, just as surprised as they were. Her reddish bob was marred by a halo of frizz and her face was red and blotchy, black lines of mascara trailed down from her eyes, smudged as if she had forcefully tried to wipe them away. Her eyes met Hermione's and her angelic face was twisted, her expression wrathful.

"Are you okay, Evangeline?" Hermione asked worriedly.

Evangeline laughed cruelly, humorlessly. "Don't even get me started on you," she said as she tried to push past Hermione and Oliver, who were unintentionally blocking the doorway.

"Bu—"

"Get the fuck out of my way," Evangeline snarled.

Hermione felt a shiver of fear run down her spine. She had never seen someone so beautiful suddenly morph into something so terrifying, so…evil. It was hard to look at Evangeline, her face so contorted with rage that she was completely unrecognizable. She quickly moved and Evangeline stormed past, stepping out onto the street and turning quickly, disapperating. Hermione and Oliver stood there in silence for a moment before it hit Hermione.

"I-, I need to go check on George. I have to go. I'll talk to you later," she said quickly.

"I'll come up with you," said Oliver.

"No, it's fine. Thank you for tonight." She kissed him quickly on the lips. "I have to go. Goodnight!"

She turned on her heel, rushed into the store, shutting the door behind her, and ran up the stairs.

"George!" she called as she ran. "George!"

The door opened right as she got to the top landing.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Hermione looked him over quickly. His face was very red, but it was nothing compared to his ears and his neck, which looked about ready to catch on fire. Her eyes scanned him, shooting quickly to his hands. One was slowly bleeding and was starting to show signs of bruising. She shook her head; she knew him far too well.

"What have I told you about taking your anger out on the walls, George?" she admonished as she stepped into their flat and took his injured hand in hers. He hissed as she ran her fingers along the knuckles. At least three were broken.

"I'm fine, Hermione," he said, trying to pull his hand away half-heartedly.

"That's twaddle and you know it," she said, still checking his hand. She pulled out her wand, and in a matter of seconds that George grimaced through, George's wound was cleaned, the bones fixed, and the skin pulled together and healed. "What did you two fight about?"

"Just leave it, okay?" George growled.

"No, I won't leave it. It was obviously upsetting for both of you, so it must be big."

"Just leav-, wait, what do you mean, 'Both of you'?"

"I saw Evangeline. I was saying goodnight to Oliver," Hermione thought she saw George twitch slightly, his mouth turning into a scowl for hardly a second, but it was so fleeting, she decided it must have been her eyes playing tricks on her, "and she threw open the door. I almost crashed into her and she was horrid to me and said something like, 'Don't even get me started on you,' or something. And then she said something rude and rushed past us. She looked…"

"Terrifying? Threatening? Murderous?" supplied George wryly.

"Yes, that," said Hermione, definitely confused now.

"Yeah. That sounds about right," said George dryly. He turned and started to head to his room.

"No no no," half-laughing at the absurdity of this situation, "You can't just walk away." She ran in front of him, halting him, and wrapped her hands tightly around his wrists. "George," she said softly. "I'm here for you. Please talk to me."

George sighed heavily, and looked at her. He seemed exhausted, drained.

"We had a fight. She wanted to move in and accused me of infidelity when I said no and, long story short, she made me choose. And we broke up."

He tried to walk away, but Hermione still had a tight hold on his wrists.

"Made you choose what, George?"

"Don't worry about it. It's fine. It was best that we broke up anyways. She ended up being a little mad." He gave her a smile that was supposed to be amused but just looked sad.

"George, are you going to be alright?" she asked quietly.

"Of course. You know me, I always bounce back," he said with that same sad smile.

He started to walk away, his wrists easily pulling out of Hermione's slackened grip. Hermione hesitated for a moment before she walked after him. Right as he was about to walk into his room, she caught up with him. She walked up and hugged him from behind. She couldn't see it, but George smiled softly as he felt Hermione press her cheek against his back, her arms wrapped tight around his abdomen. He wrapped his arms around hers and squeezed lightly. He breathed in the smell of her, that familiar smell of warm laundry freshly cleaned and lemons, and mentally catalogued this moment in his mind. The way she always seemed to fit perfectly against him; the way she always knew when he was upset; the way she knew exactly when to pry and poke and when to let him be; these were all things on a long list of things he loved about his flatmate and best friend. She gave a tight squeeze and then unraveled her arms from around him. She rested her hand on his arm in a comforting gesture, and then walked away, going into her bedroom. George stepped into his room, the door closing with a soft click, and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands.

"I chose you," he whispered.