By the time they reached London, night had fallen. It had taken longer than they had expected to make it to Hogsmeade, and they had decided to stop one last time in the Three Broomsticks (on Ron's suggestion). Rosmerta proved to be as big a distraction as ever, and Harry was eventually forced to drag a disoriented Ron out of the tavern. Hermione only rolled her eyes- she knew that Ron's crush on Rosmerta was completely harmless, and besides… she didn't want to have to cut off contact with Viktor, either.

They had decided that it was best to leave Number Twelve uninhabited, so the trio were staying with George until their accommodations were decided. Hermione had had a hunch that company wouldn't be unwelcome to George (who had returned a week earlier to tend to the shop), and her hunch was instantly affirmed by his enthusiastic response. When they got to the flat, it was clear that solitude wasn't treating George very well- his kitchen resembled the Room of Requirement after one of Winky's drinking binges. There were bottles everywhere, and they had been full of something stronger than butterbeer. Ron was also disturbed to see that his brother, usually dashing and well dressed, didn't seem to have showered in several days. But he opened the door with a grin on his face, and hugged them all at once.

"Harry! Ron! Oh lord, I've been counting down the days until you came. Hermione! You look lovely, as always, and how's SPEW going?"

Hermione began to respond, but George cut her off.

"Hermione, I don't actually care. I was just being polite."

She grinned and hit him on the arm, glad that he was regaining his sense of humour. Back at Hogwarts, after the battle, he'd barely spoken two words a day- something extraordinarily out of character for him.

He had given them his little sitting room, explaining that he "wasn't keen to go into his room, you know."

They did know. None of them would have been comfortable there anyway- there was too much of him present there. Even the shop below them was difficult to enter: so many of the products were a result of his genius, so many of the customers had become regular because of him.

"You can have my room if you like, Hermione. I don't mind sharing with these imbeciles," George said as they began to settle in.

"Oh, don't be stupid. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean that-"

"Yes, Hermione, we know. You're a strong, independant woman and all that. I just thought that you might want a break from all the testosterone, is all."

"I like the testosterone, thanks. I'm used to it." She grinned, and kissed Ron on the cheek. George made a face.

"All right, but I don't want you up all night with my brother dearest. God, even the image of that gives me the creeps. You know, there was this one time when I went into Ron's room, and he was-"

"I'm starving," burst out Ron, his cheeks burning.

"No you're not. Anyway, I went in and he had this picture of-"

"No really, George, we haven't eaten since this morning."

"That's not true, Ron," said Hermione, looking sly. "We ate in the Three Broomsticks an hour ago. Now, George, you were saying?"

"Right. He had this picture of Rosmerta- I don't know where he got it, he wasn't even fifteen- and he was-"

"WON'T YOU STOP ALREADY, GEORGE!" Ron had snapped. His face had gone from red to maroon, and his fists were clenched.

"Yeah, I suppose I'd better. None of us want to hear about your fetishes, Ron."

"I don't have any fetishes! That's not what I meant!"

George only grinned, and disappeared into the kitchen.