Hermione was a mess that night. There was relief buried somewhere underneath her sadness, but the sheer finality of her and Ron's goodbye was still painful, and that first night she let herself wallow in the pain.
George was unbelievably patient, digging out the promised Firewhiskey, handing over tissue after tissue as she smeared her bridesmaid's makeup everywhere, chatting with her sympathetically during her more lucid periods and placing a quiet arm around her shoulders whenever she dissolved into incoherent sobs again.
Eventually she cried herself into an exhausted sleep on his sofa, and that's where she awoke late the next morning as the bright August sunshine streamed over her face. Grimacing, she pulled herself into a sitting position, shrugging off the old woollen blanket George must've draped over her when she passed out to survey the rumpled wreckage of her green satin dress.
Her first thought was to berate herself. How utterly mortifying, to have let herself fall apart so dramatically, over a man she knew she shouldn't be with and who she was completely positive she'd find a way to be friends with again in future! And to have that breakdown in front of that same man's brother, no less!?
Not just any brother, either. Merlin – after everything George had been through, to have him fussing over her like some great tragedy had befallen her. Of all the melodramatic, insensitive, idiotic things to do Granger, you had t-. A sudden realisation brought her train of thought to an abrupt halt.
Yes, she had gone into total meltdown on George Weasley's couch last night, and yes that was a little embarrassing. But it wasn't mortifying the way it would have been in front of the old George, the Fred-and-George George. She'd spent enough time in his company over the last eighteen months , seen enough of his all-consuming grief, that getting worked up about him seeing her vulnerable just seemed a little silly.
And as for the guilt – well, now she thought about it, last night was the most engaged and normal George had seemed in a long time. Everybody had been walking on eggshells around him since his brother's death, watching him intently all the time for any sign of the pain they knew he must be feeling. Yesterday she'd been too wrapped up in her own feelings to do any of that, and it must have been a relief of sorts to George to have a break from the scrutiny. For the first time in well over a year he was able to be useful, leant on for support and not viewed as a victim. Maybe that was what he needed.
It was with these thoughts running through her mind that Hermione greeted George when he popped his head through the living room door a few minutes later. Buoyed by her theory that she might have actually helped him, she hardly felt shy at all. She did, however, feel a tad delicate.
"Morning," she said, a little sheepishly. "Thanks for letting me stay."
George must have caught her wince, because he wandered through the room to the small kitchenette and returned a moment later bearing a glass of water and a vial of a peculiar, sickly green liquid. Hermione examined it with narrow eyes. It was a force of long established habit to distrust any food or drink handed to her by a Weasley twin and this was more suspicious than most.
George smiled. "Won't turn you into a frog, Hermione. Hangover cure – works a treat."
Deciding she could probably trust him, Hermione opened the vial and downed the contents in one long swallow, before making a gagging noise and grabbing the water from him. George couldn't quite hide his smirk. "Works a treat, but tastes vile – we figured that there should be some repercussions for over-indulgence"
As the awful taste faded, Hermione realised in astonishment that her headache was already all but gone and her stomach had settled completely.
"That is really, really good stuff," she told him, shaking her head in wonder. "Why haven't you gone to market with it?"
George's smile faded abruptly as he mumbled something about how they were planning to before he got a bit distracted. Hermione realised that was her cue to change the topic and moved on swiftly.
"What time is it?" she asked, squinting at the bright blue sky outside the window in search of a clue. George glanced at his watch. "Quarter to eleven," he told her. "You were up pretty late – seemed best to let you sleep."
She hesitated. "I hate to impose – more than I already have - but would it be ok if I stuck around for a while? It's just that Ron was going to swing by the flat at midday to collect his stuff, and I'd prefer to be not-there. I'd head out into Diagon Alley but.." She made a sweeping gesture, taking in the crumpled bridesmaids dress, smudged makeup and the birds nest she knew full well had formed on her head overnight.
George's smile reappeared as he stood. "Absolutely – consider this your safe house," he told her. "Food?"
Hermione agreed enthusiastically, realising as he headed into the kitchen again that she was absolutely starving. He nodded. "That's the other side effect of the hangover potion," he told her over his shoulder, pulling out pots and pans. "Immediate and pressing need for unhealthy quantities of grease-soaked carbohydrates."
Hermione sprawled across the couch as he worked. After all, she thought to herself happily, I have to let him look after me. For his sake.
The next few weeks were hard, but after the last break Hermione was prepared for that. Walking back into her flat after a pleasant, quiet afternoon with George to find all traces of Ron gone was a bit of a punch to the gut, but she only shed a couple of tears before pulling herself together and heading for a much-needed shower. She wasn't sure whether she had any more crying left in her after the previous night.
She was resolved not to make the same mistakes as last time, so she actively worked to avoid isolating herself. She wasn't going to put either of them through the pain of another break-up, and that meant she couldn't allow herself to become so lonely that she reached out to Ron again. It was with this in mind that she made her way to Ginny and Harry's new flat the day after they returned from their honeymoon, braced for their reaction.
She found herself sat in their small, comfortable living room with a cup of tea in hand – it was obvious that Molly had contributed a lot to the interior design, as last Hermione had checked neither Ginny nor Harry were the sort to think about buying cushions. After the initial pleasantries were out of the way, Hermione set her cup down, a knot of nervousness burning in her stomach.
"So," she said quietly, eyes fixed on the coffee table. "I expect you've heard that Ron and I are no longer together?"
After a beat, Ginny spoke. "And it's for good this time?"
"One hundred per cent," Hermione responded, then looked up in surprise as Harry blurted "You promise!?" at the same time as Ginny breathed "Thank Merlin."
"You.. you're glad!?" she asked in confusion. Ginny grinned as Harry answered her.
"Look, we love you. And we love Ron. And it's been fairly obvious to both of us for quite a while that while you and Ron love each other, you don't make each other happy, and-"
"And I was about thirty seconds from staging a bloody intervention." Ginny jumped in. "One more family dinner with him sulking because you were late and you itching to get back to work and I was going to crack your heads together."
Hermione smiled in relief. She knew she and Ron had made the right choice, but it was still good to hear their closest friends confirm it. Elephant in the room addressed, she settled in properly to hear about their honeymoon. Touring the home grounds of the world's greatest Quidditch teams might not be her idea of the ultimate romantic trip, but each to their own.
It was a lot easier to keep her place in the group with Harry and Ginny on-side. Harry and Ron joined an amateur Quidditch team which practiced every Wednesday night, and that quickly became a standing dinner-and-drinks date for Hermione and Ginny. Occasionally they were joined by some of the others from Hogwarts, and after a bit of initial awkwardness Hermione made it clear that the mention of Ron's name wasn't going to send her screaming from the room and normal conversation resumed. Hermione saw Harry almost every weekend – the two of them made trips into muggle London, sometimes with Teddy Lupin in tow, giving his grandmother a well-earned break.
She worked hard, of course – it wasn't in her nature to do anything else, and her trips to WWW became more and more regular. Cautiously, she tested her theory about George, treating him less like he might break at any moment with each visit. She caught alarmed looks from Percy the first few times he heard her criticising a product he was working on or teasing him about the state of the flat, but as soon as the older Weasley realised that his brother was responding with a smile he relaxed and tentatively began to follow her lead.
All in all, things were going well. She still missed Ron, and she had the occasional pang of regret when nightmares of Bellatrix woke her to an empty bed. Those moments were the loneliest imaginable, but she learned to pull herself together, distract herself with work and call one of her friends or head into the office as soon as it was an acceptable time to do so. Her sleep pattern was taking a hit but she had plenty of potions which could perk her up and she never caught herself seriously thinking about going back to Ron.
Almost two months after the break-up, the encounter she'd been dreading the most caught her by surprise. Finishing an investigative meeting at Gringotts, Hermione dashed across the cobbles of Diagon Alley in the pouring rain, letting herself in to WWW through the side door with the key she'd acquired at some point. Shaking her wet hair, she slammed the door behind her and turned to find herself face to face with a furious looking Molly Weasley.
As the older woman drew breath, Hermione braced herself. She loved Mrs Weasley almost as if she was her own mum, and she knew that Molly cared for her as well, but she was notoriously protective of her children. Ron had said that he'd explain that the decision was mutual, but Hermione knew better than to hope that there'd be no fallout at all – and judging by the look on Molly's face she'd been right to assume the worst.
After what seemed like an eternity, Mrs Weasley spoke. The tone was as angry has Hermione had expected, so it took her a few seconds to register that the words weren't what she'd been dreading at all.
"You! Hermione Granger, where the hell have you been!?"
Hermione widened her eyes in honest confusion. Had Ron not told his mum that they'd split up? Did she think Hermione had just gone missing? Surely not – he'd moved back into the Burrow. Molly pressed on, in full flow now.
"… all we've been through and months – months! Without so much as a word. No idea how you're doing, whether you're eating properly, had me worried sick! What do you have to say for yourself?"
Hermione was beginning to grasp what was going on, and a flicker of hope began to form as she responded. "Sorry! I just… I thought you might not want to see me. Under the circumstances, you know?"
Molly began to soften – that was the thing about Mrs Weasley's rages. Formidable as they were, they rarely lasted. She tutted and shook her head. "What, because you and Ron didn't last? Contrary to what some of you seem to believe, it isn't actually obligatory to marry your high school boyfriend."
Hermione flushed in embarrassment and relief, and found herself wrapped in a warm hug.
"Now," Molly admonished her, warm eyes belying the sternness of her tone. "We'll have no more of this nonsense, you hear? You've saved the lives of so many of my children – Harry counts too – so many times. It'll take a lot more than a failed romance to get me off your back, you hear?"
Hemione nodded, ignoring the tears prickling in her eyes. Mrs Weasley gave her one last squeeze and stepped back.
"I've started a book club," Molly told her. "Every other Sunday. The boys hate it – will do anything to make sure they're out of the house when it's on. Get Ginny to send you the reading list and I'll see you next week."
Hermione just nodded again, not really trusting her voice. Molly gave her a smile and stepped past her to open the door, turning back at the last moment to speak.
"I'll never forget any of the things you've done for Ginny and Harry and my boys," she told her, motioning in the direction of George's flat. "Don't think I've not noticed what you're doing for that one now."
The run in with Mrs Weasley buoyed Hermione's spirits immensely. Spending time at the Burrow again felt like coming home, and Ginny was incredibly happy to have an ally at the book club ("Drink this," she'd said when she answered the door to Hermione at their first meeting, thrusting a large of glass of wine at her. "Quickly, trust me. And whenever anybody mentions babies to me change the topic at once."). Nightmares aside, she hardly found herself worrying at all about being single, and while she did still miss Ron it was increasingly platonic. Soon, she hoped, they'd be at point where they could start seeing each other again as friends. She still thought it best not to push him – their first two break-ups had been her idea, after all – but she dropped hints through Harry and Ginny that she'd be happy to see him when he was ready.
She also felt more and more confident around George. It had meant a great deal to her to find out that Molly really thought she was helping him, and tentative criticism had evolved into full-blown teasing relatively quickly.
She still had to gather her courage for the next step though. One autumn evening, George was showing her a new range of hexed sweets for the shop. She made admiring noises for most of them, but when he picked up one which tasted revolting after five seconds of sucking she snorted derisively.
"Great – you've invented something Bertie Botts' been selling for ever," she told him. She watched his face carefully as she continued. "Fred would hate that and you know it."
There was a pregnant pause as the name hung in the air. They never, ever mentioned Fred – occasional references to a 'we' from George when he talked about old ranges were as close as it ever came. She saw him stiffen for a second and wondered whether she'd crossed a line, but after a moment he shrugged and put the sweet down.
"Suppose you're right," he allowed. "He hated to be derivative. Never pulled a prank at school if it looked too much like Peeves' handiwork."
Their afternoon continued as normal after that, but Hermione felt as though some sort of weight had been lifted. From then on, Fred's name found its way into the conversation regularly, until it didn't seem strange at all.