Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and characters, places, people living or dead. I am merely using them for entertainment purposes only. Plot based loosely on Sabrina.

By: Kneazle

A True Love Story

Chapter Three:

Dear Ron, Harry, and other Weasleys,

            I'm doing quite fine here in Petit Perriou. The countryside of France is gorgeous, and I'm sure you'll all agree when you see the pictures that I have included with this letter. The town itself is full of history and looks like it could be something right out of the early 1900's or late 1800's with all this gray, tall skinny European buildings and cobblestone streets.

            The people here are wonderful. When I first arrived, they all spoke in basic French and broken English to help me settle in to my new boutique. Roses are Red, Violets are Blue is a big hit here. With the Chocolat            shop just next door, we make quite a pair. Everyone wants fresh flowers here, for the church or for their house. Everyone is nice but I do miss all of you, and especially my favourite Weasley. Oh, and you too, Harry!

            My shop is quite the oddity. I never imagined it to be quite like this. The shop itself isn't that large, but my office is now upstairs – in the loft above! Apparently, it's one of those shop is downstairs, home is upstairs things. I find it quite relaxing and much easier to live above my store. I have move the more expensive plants to my home and lock up whenever I feel like it or stay open whenever.

            Oh, and you'd never believe Monsieur Gourieau! He's such a gentlemanly fellow! He took me in to Paris to see the Russian ballet when they came in, and helped me perfect my French while I stay here. He even bought me some new furniture to bring since I could barely bring what I had back at my parents. After that, he told me I didn't look the part of a French woman, with my pale English skin and dark eyes, so he took me to some fancy salon in Paris too – he spent so much on me, it's embarrassing. I also found out, during our long talks, that he is a duke, and owns the magnificent Chateau Gourieau outside of Petit Perriou. He told me to come and visit whenever, but I haven't found time.

            Can you believe it has been over two years since I last saw all of you at Ginny's wedding? I have changed so much I am sure that none of you would recognize me! Alas, I should go – I must still continue to pack what I have left out in the open. It will be good to be home again, I miss all of you so dearly.

            Tell Ron to keep his temper in check, and Harry to watch out for all those girls on the street. I want to meet his latest snatch and see if she can tame his heart. Tell the Malfoys I say hello and wish them all the best with their child – and did I mention I saw Fred here a couple days ago with his lovely beau, Vianne? They make quite a pair. Arthur, Molly, Charlie, you'll adore your gifts, I'm sure. Bill, only the best wine for you. And George, I miss you very much. I have something for you too, a special gift. I hope to see all of you soon, and I will be home on the twenty-first of December.

            Love, Hermione

            I signed the letter, folded it, and then placed it in the envelope I had. I filled it with scented flower petals that I had recently bought to add to my store, and licked its glue to seal it. After that, I got up from the counter of my store, scribbled a quick, "Soyez de retour dans vingt", and hurried down through the tearing wind to the postal store.

            As I entered, shutting the door forcefully behind me against the wind, I smiled at the young Spanish woman behind the counter, shuffling the mail.

            "Hello, Hermione," she said, smiling pleasantly. She and I were the only two "foreigners" in Petit Perriou. She had come from Argentina to England, and then to Paris to study before taking a job offering here eight years ago.

            "How are you, Mercedes?" I asked, handing her my envelope. She looked at it, raising a nearly black eyebrow, lifting it to her nose. Her eyebrows shot up at the scent.

            "Love letter, my friend?" she asked, "Or as the French here would say, lettre d'amour?"

            "Ha, ha," I laughed, "You only wish. It's only a letter to the Weasleys, telling them that I will be coming home next week."

            "Oh, does this include a certain George Weasley?" she smiled, placing the letter in a bin marked "Européen".

            I blushed, sitting slowly down on a stool that she offered. "Perhaps…"

            "You don't have a childhood crush on him, you know," she said after a few moments of regarding me.

            "I don't? I thought I had always had it," I replied, startled.

"No, no, Hermione." Mercedes waved her hand, her brown eyes twinkling as she leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. "No, you love George Weasley. Now let him know."

            I had decided to return to London by train, to make a more romantic leave. I was only returning to London for Christmas with my parents and get to know my friends once again, but after two weeks I would be leaving once again to go back to Petit Perriou. However, I'm sure Mercedes knows that I won't be coming back if my feelings are returned. But, as I have said to her, we will see.

            King's Cross Station came into view, and I was jumping for joy when I saw the group of red-haired people and mass of blond and ebony. It had been far too long since I had seen any of my family.

            I jumped off the train, racing across the platform towards the group.

            "HERMIONE!" an exuberant voice called, and I rushed into the arms of Ron Weasley, who seemed to have grown another inch in the past two years. He swung me around, lifting me off the ground. Dizzily, I replied, "It's so good to see you Ron – Harry," before Harry also swept me into his arms, planting chaste kisses on my cheek.

            "We've missed you, dear," said Molly and Arthur, hugging me tightly and mothering me. Bill, Charlie, Percy and Fred all gave me hugs and asked where their gifts were. I told them to wait and see. Ginny and Draco offered me a hug and chaste kiss as well, before my exclamation of Ginny's plump belly.

            They smiled and took my regards warmly, before saying that had to leave, and would speak to me later. I nodded.

            But where was George?

            Harry must have sensed my confusion, because he voiced to the Weasleys that he and Ron were taking me out for dinner and keeping myself all to them. I laughed whole-heartedly, and followed them, saying I would see them all later.

            As we left, my two best friends attached to my hips, Ron said, "Wow, Hermione… we didn't say anything earlier, but damn! You look amazing."

            "Thanks Ron," I replied, smiling at him. "Do I really look that nice? I was so unsure about seeing you all at first…"

            Harry shook his head. "No. You look simply beautiful."

            "Aw, Harry, won't your girlfriend be jealous of me now? We don't want that," I teased, poking him on the shoulder. My friends laughed, steering me into a pub that we usually went in to.

            We sat and ordered drinks, before I finally had enough courage to ask, "Where was George?"

            Harry and Ron shared a look, a look that I didn't like.

            "What? Tell me, please," I begged.

            Harry finally sighed. With one last glance at Ron, which I read as Let me do the talking, and I knew something was very wrong.

            "Is he okay? He's not hurt is he?" I asked, my voice starting to break with an onslaught of unshed tears.

            "No, no," began Ron, reddening slightly as he wondered how to deal with a hysterical female.

            Harry was the one who calmed me down, by sliding out of his side of the booth next to Ron and slide into my side. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and crooned softly to me.

            "Hermione – Mione, listen… we know you love him," he started, bluntly.

            "What?" I rasped. "What? How can you--?"

            Ron gave me a sympathetic glance, fiddling with his beer. "We've known for a long time, Hermione. You were the one he ran to with problems, and vice versa. He was always there to protect you when Harry or I weren't. He even took you to our Graduation prom when your date ditched you at the last minute."

            I frowned, having forgotten that brief night. "Thanks for reminding me about that, Ron."

            He flushed, but Harry continued for him. "Look, we know that George really likes you – even fancies, and possibly loves you too. The thing is… something happened the day after Ginny and Draco's engagement announcement. He came back from your store that day a broken man – totally unable to function without shaking or muttering something under his breath. He wouldn't tell anyone about it, and when you came over that night, to announce you were moving to France"—

            Ron broke in. "He broke."

            "What?" I gasped. "What do you mean?"

            "He broke, as in he couldn't do anything. He was in a depression for a bit; a total funk that had Fred running all over the place with me helping him do double duty at 2W. He looked lost, like he had something he wanted and only then realized that he lost it."

            "What did he lose?" I asked, almost inaudibly.

            "You, Mione," whispered Harry, tightening his arm around my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "He realized that he cared about you more than he should have, and that freaked him out."

            "Why didn't he write? Say anything? Call?" I wailed, clutching Harry's sweater. I didn't care that I was raining buckets on him – I wanted to know why they brought this up. But I had to be strong. I had to.

            "He was scared," said Ron, unwrapping a chocolate bunny. He popped it in his mouth before continuing. "But there's something else you should know before coming over or anything."

            "Why? What is it?" I asked, my crying spell past.

            Harry and Ron shared another look. I couldn't take this anymore, when would they just tell me?

            Harry took a deep breath. "George… has a girlfriend… they're engaged to be married in two weeks."

            I was glad Harry was sitting next to me; because he caught me when I fell sideways in my chair in a dead faint.

            When I came to, I was in my bedroom, staring up at the pale opaque colour. Harry and Ron were slumped over at my window seat, their arms crossed and snoring softly. I turned to my right to see my bedside clock, reading 5:45 am. My friends had been with me for almost ten hours, not leaving my side; how wonderful of them – they must have known I would've collapsed.

            I yawned and stretched, before swinging my legs out of my bed and padding across the floor. I was just wearing my bra and knickers, which meant my two nymphomaniac friends must have had fun noticing the change in their best friend.

            I smiled a little to myself, knowing they would never do anything to hurt me – we were all too close for that. I gathered up some of my new clothing and slipped into the bathroom, wondering about the news that they had told me earlier.

            I lifted a brush and began reminiscing about George, running the bristles through my silky hair, lost in the sensations of memories.

            It was a tingling sensation on my tongue made me realize just how shaky my fingers were, and as I realized this, I closed my eyes, brushing my hair a bit harder than I normally would.

            I opened them, placed the brush down and looked at my reflection in my full-length mirror.

            Shoulder-length silky brown hair in ringlets, narrow English face with almond shaped brown eyes, straight nose, full red lips smeared with gloss; petite body, with ample breasts and curvy hips, with long slender legs. Flat tummy, no blemishes on the skin… I looked fine. Very different from the pudgy girl I left behind two years ago. The French countryside agreed with me, it seemed.

            I wrestled on a hip-hugging jean ankle-length skirt, and pulled a white cardigan over my head, checking to make sure my make-up wasn't smudged. I then reached underneath the cupboard where I kept my shoes, and pulled out stiletto-heeled black boots. Once my outfit was complete and my self-confidence in check, I left the bathroom and smiled gently at the two of them. Ron was snoring, and Harry was wheezing slightly, his breath coming out in short hisses.

            I smoothed each of their hair down on their heads before turning and leaving, scribbling a quick note saying I went for a walk. My parents would feed them if they woke up and I was gone, no doubt, so I had nothing to worry about.

            I reached the foyer, taking my black Gucci purse with me as I stepped outside onto the stone pathway, very much aware of the dampness and the fog that was still lying on the ground. The sun was slowly making it's way up to the heavens, but seven am in December was still very early for it to be rising.

            I opened my purse, stepping onto the empty street, and pulled out a package of Camels and my lighter. I lit the cigarette, putting the lighter away as the cigarette dangled between my index and middle finger as I did so. I then leaned against the stonewall that separated my family's house from the street and inhaled.

            I was so lost in my thoughts about Christmas and returning to London that I barely heard another front door open and someone's steps as they crunched their way down the beaten path to the street, where they placed out two rubbish bins.

            They straightened, looked at me and paused.

            "Hermione?"

            My heart skipped a beat, and my guts tightened at the sound of his voice. Oh, I wasn't ready for this, knowing now that he was engaged. I wanted more time, but it seemed that the fates were against me.

            I turned, taking my cigarette from my mouth and to my fingers again, and addressed him. "Hullo George. How are you?"

            George Weasley had not changed one iota as I stared back at him, his hair messy from just being woken up, and his eyes slightly glazed over. No wrinkles, no tan lines, no more freckles were evident on him, so I was safe to know that while I had changed, most of the world had not.

            "H-Hermione," he stuttered slightly, his eyes roaming my body from toe to head, as he looked me over like he saw a ghost. "I-I'm…" he cleared his throat and stood all the way, looking warm and inviting. "I'm good. And you? How has France been for you?"

            I smiled openly, and dropped my cigarette, putting it out with my pointy heel. "It's been good there; lonely, though. I have really only two friends there, but you could say that one of them thinks I won't be returning."

            "Why is that?"

            "I've come to tell the man I love that I love him." There, I had said it out loud. He just didn't know it was directed at him. Hopefully.

            He must not have, because he paled, his freckles standing out against his pallor skin. He visibly gulped as I watched, before forcing out, "Congratulations then. You'll make him a very happy husband."

            "Don't you want to know who he is? You know him, you know," I couldn't refuse the itch to tease.

            If I had thought he was pale, that was no exception to how ghostly he looked now. He must have looked like I had when I fainted. I took a step forward, extremely concerned.

            "George? George, are you all right? Shall I get someone?" I asked, ready to turn back into my house and rouse Ron and Harry.

            "No," he sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. "No, it's all right, Hermione, I'm fine."

            "No you bloody aren't," I chided, before using his own words back at him. "I know when you're lying and you're damn well lying now to me."

            The eerie reminder of why I had jumped at the chance of France rose between us, and we were both sucked in to the memories of that turning day. We both looked away, guilt and pain evident on both our faces, but I was the one who broke the silence.

            "Harry and Ron will be up by now. I should get back inside, although I'll be over later to eat some of Molly's famous Christmas dinners."

            George nodded. "I'll see you then," he said rather stiffly, before turning on his heel and entering the house again.

            I sighed. "Oh, George… that man I love? He's you, you know…"

**-**

I entered the house, running up my stairs two at a time and burst into my room just in time to see Ron and Harry rouse from their slumber.

            "Where were you?" mumbled Harry between yawns. "You're all dressed."

            "Had a quick smoke," I replied, rummaging around open, but not yet empty, suitcases. "Dolls, I need help. I saw George outside just now and went bloody pale when I said I came back to tell the Weasley I love that I loved him."

            Ron groaned. "Oh no, I know that voice you're using, Mione."

            "Oh, come on, Ron. Are you and Harry going to help me or not? I need to find a Weasley bachelor tonight to aim at, because George is getting married. I can't just show up and go, 'Hey George, I love you. Let's run off to the Swiss Alps for a couple months.'"

            "Why not?" muttered Harry, helping me go through my clothes. "So you want to wear something special and knock-out tonight?"

            "Of course," I replied, a bit stiffly. "What else?"

            "Well… now might be a good time to tell you my secret, Hermione," said Ron, a bit shifty.

            "What love?" I asked, standing upright and looking at Ron.

            He fidgeted before rushing out, "I'm planning on telling my family that I'm coming out of the closet tonight."

            Harry and I shared a look, completely unfazed.

            "Aren't you two supposed to be surprised?" asked Ron, raising an eyebrow.

            "Ron, dear," I said, stepping forward and hugging him, "We always knew you were batting for the other team. It was because you hadn't slept with someone of the female sex for quite some time now…"

            "And I found some Cher tapes under your bed a couple years ago," added Harry, smirking a bit. "I didn't know you liked her, Ron."

            "So…" he trailed off. "You're okay with it?"

            "Of course," Harry and I replied together, hugging our friend. "And besides," continued Harry, "We'll be there when you tell your family. They won't bother you too badly about it, Ron. I hope."

            Ron looked at Harry shrewdly. "Thanks for that vote of confidence, mate."

            They shared slaps and laughter as I stripped from my skirt and top. Standing in my knickers, I turned to the two, and almost yelled, "HELLOO? I need help here. Ron, help me find something to wear, Harry – which of the Weasley's aren't taken yet that George might be jealous of?"

            "Charlie," both Harry and Ron replied instantly. "But," continued Harry, "There are others… you didn't say there was a specific Weasley, did you?"

            "No. I said 'man'," I replied, as Ron held out a dry-cleaners bag.

            "Have you worn this, whatever is in here?" he asked, unzipping it.

            "Once, at a ball in Perriou," I answered absently, as I watched Harry. He continued on, sitting himself on my bed and flicking on my television, to BBC News.

            "Well, Oliver Wood will be there, right, Ron? And he's single… and a Quidditch Player like George… and then there's that chap – what's his name? – That Ravenclaw from two years ahead of us…"

            "That cute one, Hammond or something? Taken and won't be there. I'd settle for Oliver, Mione," answered Ron.

            "Hmm… I'd settle for Charlie," winked Harry. "What do you say, Hermione?"

            "I say we let both of them on in the deal – and if all goes well, I'll treat them to lunch wherever they want," I winked back, grinning from ear-to-ear.

            Okay, so I didn't really like the idea of using Charlie and Oliver against George, but I had to know if he loved me, and I really am not that confident to stand up, ask to speak to him privately, and then ask him, "Hey George, by the way, I love you." I've always been a bit more… reserved than that, and I wasn't going to change right now.

            "How about this?" asked Ron, holding up a black cocktail Gucci dress. I tapped a finger against my chin as I surveyed it.

            "No – it's too cold at night to wear that," I finally answered, turning back to my suitcase and taking articles of clothing out, and placing them in piles on my bed.

            Harry stopped flicking through the channels, and pointed at the bag Ron was still holding. "So, what's in there, Mione?"

            "Um… just a dress…" I replied vaguely. I didn't want them to know that was what Jean-Luc had bought me for a charity ball he had been hosting. He had taken me to Paris especially for the occasion, and spent a good deal of Euros on the dress, too. I had only worn it once, but the feel of the material on my skin – and the way the light reflected off it and my face… well, I positively glowed when I wore the Vera Wang dress.

            "'Um, Just a dress'," mimicked Ron. He sneered a bit, before reaching for the zipper. "Then you won't mind if I open it…"

            "No!" I shouted, darting forward to grab it, but I was just a few seconds too late. Ron danced out of my grasp and unzipped the bag in one fluid motion, and gapped openly.

            "What does it look like Ron? Floral pattern?" snickered Harry when Ron didn't say anything.

            Shutting his mouth with an audible snap, Ron turned his head slightly; pale, before answering in a small, tight voice, "No… no floral pattern Harry…"

            Taking his eyes off the telly, Harry looked up, and Ron showed him the dress. Pulling the hanger out of the bag, Ron held up the shimmering midnight blue strapless Vera Wang designer gown. Floor-length, it barely brushed the ground as Ron held it gingerly in the air high above the floor.

            Sunlight hit the dress through the partially opened blinds, and Harry gapped as the light bounced off the dress, making it shine and sparkle in an ethereal aura.

            "Mione… where did you get that?" he whispered.

            Closing my eyes, I sighed. "Jean-Luc gave it to me. He was holding a ball and wanted me to be there as his guest of honor. Since I didn't have a dress to wear to the Chateau, we went to Paris and he bought me it."

            "Did you – did you have to pay him back?" stumbled Ron, looking at the tag inside the folds.

            "No. It was a gift," I said shortly.

            Ron and Harry shared a look, before Harry nodded. Ron turned back to me and held the dress out. "Well, hang this up and get it ready with your matching shoes and gloves – you're wearing this tonight."

            "What?" my jaw dropped open. "Are you kidding? You wear a dress like this to an… a ball – or a government charity – or something! Not a Weasley dinner party!" I protested. "It's far to fancy – I wouldn't want to get anything on it with all the little cousins there, Ron!"

            Ron rolled his eyes. "Mione, Mione, Mione – there won't be any little tykes this year. It's just us grown-ups and spouses. You can fully wear this."

            He looked at me, and I opened my mouth to argue – but he cut me off.

            "Now, Harry and I will go over to my place right now – after some breakfast, of course – and we'll talk to Charlie. Harry will ring up Oliver on his mobile, and we'll get back to you about your plan. Are you fully sure you want to do this, now?"

            I looked away from Ron's sapphire eyes. This was his brother I was going to play with here – and maybe even break his heart and trust forever if something good came out of it. Was it really worth the risk that I was about to willingly take?

            Yes, yes! A tiny voice in the back of my mind screamed. You love George Weasley – now do something about it!

            "Yes. Let's do it."