A/N: Again, sorry for the long delay between chapters. And if you're following me 30 Days thing, I am so terribly sorry that I have not been keeping up on it. Between finals and going to a new state for vacation, it's been crazy. So here you go, we're wrapping up this story because I know I've been dragging the suspense on for you guys for quite a while. Plus, I've got an idea for a new story I'll be starting as soon as this one is done. And I'll stay much more on top of that one, I promise! So I hope to wrap this one up in a couple chapters. Thanks for staying faithful and sorry again for the long delays!

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Now that George had consciously realized that he fancied Hermione, it was like the giant skrewt in the room. You really didn't want to look at it or mention it for fear of attracting more attention to it, but it was impossible not to notice its constant, painful presence. He caught himself watching Hermione, laughing at things she said, searching out her presence in a crowded room. Worse yet, he now noticed everyone watching them, watching him mentally catalogue where she was, what she was doing, how she was feeling. Worst of all were the sympathetic looks his family gave him, the ones that bordered on pitying and clearly said You poor poor thing, filled with unrequited love. Let me hug you and make it better. He couldn't stand it.

He felt like he was a part of a sick game, or one of those crap shows Hermione had shown him on the telly where people lived their lives while someone followed them around, recording their every move. Hermione watched everyone, seemingly oblivious to the agonizing frustration being battled with around her; Oliver watched Hermione; George watched Hermione, watched how she seemed to light up when Oliver slung his arm around her shoulder or kissed her cheek in passing; the rest of the family watched the love triangle. George wouldn't be surprised if they had bets going like they had when he and Hermione had first moved in together.

It was about a week after The Almost Night, as George had named it in his head, that he started noticing Oliver's gaze straying from Hermione. George would be at the table for Sunday dinner, talking to Ron or Harry, when his eyes would track over to check on Hermione. There would be an overwhelming sense of being watched, and George would glance around to find Oliver watching him, his expression somewhere between curious and falsely impassive. George, feeling guilty, would look away and resume his conversation, but would feel Oliver watching him. He hoped it would all blow over, and he could just pass off his constant glances and attention as just being a friend, but somehow he didn't think it was possible. So, when he walked into his apartment after closing the shop early due to a nasty storm and saw Oliver sitting on the couch, seemingly waiting for someone, he immediately assumed the worst.

George hitched on an easy grin and nodded his greeting. "What are you doin' here, mate? 'Mione shouldn't be home for another couple of hours," said George as he grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured himself some water from the tap. His mouth was suddenly very dry.

"I know," said Oliver with a small smile. "I actually needed to talk to you and I didn't want her to be around when I did."

George was positive that his stomach had now been replaced with lead and his throat with the Sahara Desert. He was fucked. He knew it. He was a goner.

"Oh yeah?" he said lightly. "About what?" He headed over to the armchair that faced the couch and arranged his face into a carefree grin.

"How long have you fancied Hermione?" asked Oliver bluntly.

George choked on some air and coughed loudly. He looked up at Oliver, his eyes streaming and wheezed, "Come again?"

"C'mon mate," said Oliver calmly. "Just your reaction was telltale enough. How long?" He watched George, who stared right back and realized that, Hermione or not, this was one of his best friends, and he couldn't lie to him.

"I dunno," George said quietly. "I realized it about a week or so ago, but everyone's been telling me I've been like this for months and months and I just hadn't noticed. I think…I think it started when I took her to the Minister's Ball. She had just broken up with that complete wanker who was so awful to her and she needed someone to act as her boyfriend so some sleazeball at work would stop hitting on her. I just-, I dunno, I suppose I liked how it felt. It felt right. But then I met Evangeline and it all kind of faded away. I thought it was probably just in the moment or something, you know?" Oliver nodded sympathetically, a pensive expression on his face, as George spilled his soul. "But I couldn't help always comparing them in my mind. And I dunno. Hermione. She just. She was always there, through everything, and I just kept coming back to her." George paused and took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was going to say next, what he had to say.

"Look, Wood, I'm so sorry. I know she's one of my best mates, and all, but she's your girlfriend. I know I need to just back off or something. I don't really mean to be like this. I just barely noticed what I'm like when I'm around her. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be there. I don't want to-, to steal her away or anything. You two are happy and–"

"Bollocks," said Oliver with a small, sad smile.

"What?" stuttered George, shocked. "You two aren't hap–"

"Oh we are," said Oliver quickly. "Being with Hermione is wonderful. Some days, it just feels like it's fake or something. She's so real and full of life and passion and I just love every minute I get to spend with her."

"Then wha–"

"I know it's bollocks that you don't want to steal her away from me. Because you do. I've seen you, George. I've seen the way you look at her."

George paled. He would have preferred Oliver just punch him hard in a jealous rage than sit here calmly, talking to him like a civilized adult. This was a thousand times more painful than any physical blow could be.

"I'm so sorry, Oliver. I'll move out or something. I don't want this to ruin our friendship or your relationship with Hermione. I'll just–" George started to stand but Oliver shot out a hand and halted him.

"You're not going anywhere," said Oliver. "You don't have to. And you'll always be one of my best mates. But something has got to change." George started to talk again, but Oliver cut him off, standing and pacing in front of the couch as he did so. "Hermione's amazing. I never would have thought it, and if you had told me when we were in school if I would one day date her, I would have laughed rudely in your face and probably told you to piss off and take the mickey out on someone else." George smiled slightly, knowing exactly how Oliver felt. "But she's fun and passionate and far too smart for her own good, and she deserves the best."

George was sure this was the moment where the final verdict, the back the fuck off my girlfriend moment was going to drop. He could feel the muscles in his whole upper body tensing, as if readying itself to ward off the painful blow.

"Which is why I am going to break up with her," finished Oliver.

"What?" ejaculated George, sure he had something in his ear that had made that sentence come out all wrong. "You're going to what?"

"I'm going to break up with her," said Oliver sadly. "I don't want to. I desperately want to cling onto her and throw a few punches at you and tell you to piss off and date some other blonde shrew, but I know I can't. For everyone's sake." Oliver carded his fingers through his short brown hair as he stared at George, his entire body sagging with the weight of what he had decided to do.

"Why the bloody hell are you going to do that?" shouted George. "You just said you are happy together and you love every minute and all that crap?"

Oliver smiled sadly at George as he rubbed the back of his neck, the corners of his mouth tugging down as if pulled by invisible marionette strings. "Because I can't, in good conscience, keep dating a girl I fancy if I know for a fact that there's someone else that loves her. And I know she loves you too. And I'll be damned if I'm going to stand by and be the consolation prize while I watch the two of you stupidly avoiding what everyone, including me now, has figured out before you."

George sat, stunned. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. The words someone else that loves her and she loves you too kept floating around his head, making his vision blur and his hearing seem like everything was happening underwater.

Oliver had stopped pacing and now strode over until he was right in front of George. He glared down at him and pointed his finger right in George's face. George had to resist the urge to go cross-eyed. "I need to make one thing clear, Weasley," he said, his voice menacingly low and deadly. "You fuck this up, you make her unhappy, and I will make your life a living hell. Because I am positive that, given the time you two had before I came into the picture, I would have fallen in love with her too. Maybe even more deeply than you have. So you fuck this up, Weasley, and you'll forget you ever thought I was the nice guy."

George swallowed and slowly stood to face Oliver, the tension and power play of the captain and player suddenly back between them, and they watched each other for a moment in silence. "You'd do that for her?" asked George carefully.

Oliver nodded. George considered him for a moment before he stuck out his hand. Oliver glared at him for a moment before he stuck out his hand and shook George's firmly. When they released, the tension seemed to drain slowly from the room. Oliver strode over to the fireplace and picked up a pinch of Floo Powder.

"When are you going to do it?" George blurted out.

Oliver turned and looked at George, a haunted look in his eyes, the look of a man going against everything he wanted in the world in order to make a sacrifice for the greater good. He gave a small smile that was more of a grimace. "You'll know," he said quietly. And with a throw, a shout, and a puff of green smoke, Oliver was gone.