The morning after George's birthday Hermione was resolutely cheerful. Determined not to let things grow strange between them for the sake of one, admittedly amazing, kiss which he probably had no memory of, she handed him a vial of his hangover cure potion and then treated him to a fry-up in a muggle café that she used to go to with her parents. She chattered slightly nervously throughout the meal, and he pretended not to notice that she was babbling. She didn't see him staring after her when she got up to go to the bathroom, fingers pressed to his lips.
However much she wanted to deny it something had definitely shifted, for her at least. The dreams she woke from gasping weren't always about Bellatrix anymore, and George's presence in her bed did very little to discourage the images haunting her more and more.
Stubbornly, she fought this newfound attraction. Clearly, you have a bit of a thing for lanky redheads she told herself, willing this to be nothing. It's only to be expected really. You've been on your own for a long time, and he's sleeping in your bloody bed most nights.
For the most part, the rationalisations worked. She had so many good reasons to ignore the attraction – he was her ex-boyfriends brother, for God's sake! Plus, she knew he needed her. She wasn't going to risk their friendship for the sake of a stupid attraction. She avoided drinking too much around him and made sure that their outings to Muggle London were as unromantic as possible. If he noticed the way she stared when she bumped into him exiting the shower, eyes tracing the dusting of auburn hair on his lean chest, he didn't say anything, and the two of settled back into their usual routine quickly.
George had really come a long way since Hermione moved in. He'd even started to make the occasional foray into the magical world, joining her and the others at the Cauldron sometimes and visiting Lee and some of the old Gryffindor quidditch team on weekends. So it shouldn't have come as such a shock to her in early July when he wandered into the flat and casually announced that Angelica Bell had asked him out.
Hermione froze at the sink, thankful that he couldn't see her stricken expression. Keeping her voice carefully neutral, she resumed washing the dishes – George thought it was mental that she still did them by hand but it was a habit from her life as a muggle. "That's great," she said carefully. "You should take her to that pizza place in Shoreditch – she probably doesn't know much about muggle London."
She thought she heard a trace of irritation in his voice as he replied. "You think I should go?"
"Of course," she answered, placing the last plate in the dish rack and turning to face him. "Fred would want you to." He studied her face for a second and then scowled. "Fine," he said, turning to head into his room. "I will."
"Good," she whispered, trying to ignore the cold sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.
George saw Angelica twice the following week, and Hermione did her best not to take any notice. She threw herself into work and didn't comment two weeks later when he went on a date and didn't reappear until the following afternoon. They saw less and less of each other as the summer passed.
On Harry and Ginny's wedding anniversary Hermione went to their flat to help Harry prepare a dinner for his wife. It was a surprise to find Ron there too, but not an unpleasant one. They were slowly getting used to hanging out as a trio again.
Hermione set the boys to peeling vegetables while she studied the recipe, but gradually became aware of the significant glances they were casting at each other and then at her. Eventually she sighed and turned to face them.
"Spit it out," she ordered shortly. She'd recently recast the muffling spell on her bed and lack of sleep was making her testy.
They looked at each other again and the Harry spoke.
"It's just, er, we, erm, noticed that maybe…" he stammered. Hermione glared at him an Ron stepped in.
"You're clearly mad about George," he blurted, blushing scarlet. "And he's crazy about you and you're both thick for not doing anything about it."
Mortification swept Hermione as his words sank in, and she wondered which of the three of them most want the floor to swallow them up. That sparked a thought, and her eyes narrowed.
"Why isn't Ginny having this conversation with me?" she asked. Harry confirmed her suspicions. "She's helping Percy with George," he told her.
Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands for a moment, The she straightened up and gestured towards the potatoes lying forgotten on the counter. "Those things aren't going to peel themselves," she told them, picking the recipe back up. "Get to work."
Startled, Ron and Harry complied.
Hermione ended up walking all the way home from Harry's. It took almost two hours but she needed the time to collect her thoughts.
Ron's words ran through her head on a loop. She knew she was attracted to George, obviously, but was it more than that? A million tiny things popped into her head – the way she filed away anecdotes and bits of information automatically, thinking 'George would like that'. The way that he was the first person she wanted to see after a hard day at work, or to celebrate with after a success. They way her bed felt unbearably empty without the warm weight of him at her back.
By the time she reached Diagon Alley she was certain. Ron was right. She was hopelessly in love with George Weasley.
She was less certain of his second assertion. Could George really feel the same way about her? He cared for her, she knew that. He'd depended on her during the hardest time in his life, trusted her when he was holding others at arm's length. And there was always that kiss on his birthday, scorched into her memory. But how much of that was just proximity? She was his best friend, she was always there… He might not see her that way at all.
One way to find out. She squared her shoulders and looked at the joke shop. She was Hermione Granger. She had faced torture and war and evil beyond comprehension. She could face this.
Resolute, she marched up the stairs into the flat. When she opened the door, George was standing opposite her, silhouetted by the window at his back. They looked at each other for a long moment and then he cocked an eyebrow.
"You got an intervention too, I take it?" he asked. Hermione nodded and took a deep breath, putting her handbag down on the couch. He looked at her, his embarrassment obvious – but was that a spark of hope she saw in his eyes.
Now or never, Granger, she told herself. She moved to stand in front of him, eyes locked on his.
"It's been brought to my attention," she said, blushing furiously. "That I am hopelessly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with you."
He just stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, and suddenly Hermione realised that she was making an enormous mistake. "I'm so sorry," she told him, tears beginning to prickle at her eyes as she looked away from him. "I shouldn't have said that – you don't have t-"
Suddenly he was right in front of her and before she could register what was happening his lips found hers. His touch was electric and she couldn't control herself, reaching up to twine her hands in his hair, crushing his face to hers.
It took a strength of will she didn't know he had to pull away. "Angelica," she said, breathless. George smiled down at her, eyes glowing.
"Broke that off weeks ago," he told her. Her eyes widened, and he kissed the tip of her nose. "Didn't seem fair, stringing her along when I'm madly in love with somebody else."
She pulled him down for another kiss and suddenly he was lifting her to him. She slid her legs around his waist as he walked them into his bedroom and proceeded to demonstrate just how inadequate her dreams of him had been.
The following Sunday they appeared at the Burrow hand in hand. Hermione felt nervous despite herself, but George squeezed her hand and gave her a wink and a quick kiss. "Don't worry," he whispered, and she grinned up at him.
Mrs Weasley opened the door, took one look at their intertwined fingers and stepped forward to pull them both into a hug. Stepping back she gave them both a light slap to the back of the head. "About bloody time!" she told them.
Ginny stepped out from behind her mum. "Couldn't agree more," she said, fixing her eyes on Hermione. "But don't go thinking that this is a free pass to work your way through all of my brothers. You've got to stick with this one."
No problems there, Hermione thought to herself, stepping into the house to join the rest of her family. No problem at all.