The clock in the foyer tolled five and Hermione set her quill back down onto the desk. Sighing, she pressed her ink-stained fingers against her temples and massaged the dry, neglected skin in wide, comforting circles. Her hair was pulled back into a long plait but her flyaway bushy hair continued to struggle against the plain rubber band. Pallid skin, chapped lips, chewed fingernails and deep bruise-like shadows beneath her eyes all contributed to an overall look of disrepair and neglect. She was no longer the bright-eyed, astute, and immaculately presented student of her youth. Gone was the freshly pressed Hogwarts uniform and in its place were the shabby robes of a struggling self-employed, and single witch.

"Crispin!" she called. "You can go home now if you want. I'll close up." A young man with the unmistakeable air of boredom peeked round the corner of Hermione's office.

"Righto, Ms. Granger. See you tomorrow." And with a small salute of farewell, Crispin strode past her open door and out into the foyer. Hermione flinched as the door slammed, its sound reverberating through her cramped office. It was the sound of loneliness, the sound of an empty life. It was the sound of a failing Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare. She looked down at the pile of pamphlets she had been writing; even they - a dreary yellow and black design - were dull, hopeless, and lacking in life.

How has my life come to this, she thought, scratching her dim and itchy eyes.

S.P.E.W was a disaster. Both her main financial sponsors had recently pulled out in light of a particularly nasty - and rather publicised - scandal involving a rogue house-elf, a rolling pin, and a Muggle now recuperating in St. Mungo's. Both Whizz Hard Books and Gladrags Wizardwear had 'reviewed' their support of the Society after the unfortunate incident and now Hermione found herself not only self-employed but self-funded as well without two sickles to rub together herself. Poor Crispin would have to go, she thought miserably. Not that he would mind. He was the grandson of old Reg Perkins, from the Misuse of Muggle Artefact's office, and worked for Hermione as a favour to Arthur Weasley.

Oh Arthur! Hermione thought. You and your family have been so kind, too kind. She and Ron had not even announced their engagement before it happened. Before Pius Thicknesse - recovered from the sea-urchin hex Percy had inflicted on him - had turned up at the Burrow one month after the final battle and turned his wand on Ron. She bit her lip, hard enough for a trickle of blood to slowly seep from the broken skin but not hard enough to dull the pain ripping through her chest as her thoughts wandered to the man she had loved and lost.

Snow flakes drifted past the icy window and Hermione turned to gaze out at Diagon Alley. Harried witches clutching onto the hands of young children bustled past in a frenzy, trying to get the last of their Christmas shopping finished before the week was out. Christmas. Hermione would not be joining her parents this year. Australia was too far away, and with her troubles at S.P.E.W she could not fathom leaving the country. This year, like many others before, Hermione would spend the holiday season with the Weasley's - and Harry of course. It was hard going back to the Burrow but not as hard as it was to stay away. It was there that Hermione felt closest to Ron; she could really feel his presence smiling down upon her, Harry, and his family.

Hermione shook her head and looked back down at the pile of pamphlets. Enough is enough, she thought as she began to pack up her things. Time to go home.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed and held the paper cut up to the light. Grabbing her wand, she flicked the tip over the wound wordlessly and watched as the skin resealed itself. Waving her wand over the droplet of blood, which had permeated the top pamphlet, she turned to leave. She walked through the foyer of her office premises and gazed around as she went. This would have to go, she thought, as well. No point wasting all my galleons on this lease when I hardly need use it. If I let Crispin go then it will just be me running S.P.E.W and I guess I could try do it all from my flat...

She shuddered at the thought of her tiny flat cramped even further with all her work papers and filing cabinets. But she had no choice. If S.P.E.W was to survive then there was no other way.

The blast of cold air sent shivers down her spine as she stepped out onto the cobbled alleyway. She heard the unmistakeable click of the lock as she waved her wand before the door.

"Hermione!" a voice called from behind her. Recognising the once jovial voice she turned to face George Weasley. His face was drawn and unhealthily pale, even for someone with his colouring. She smiled and walked over to where he was closing up Weasley Wizard's Wheezes.

"Off home already?" she asked surprised. "Five o'clock the week before Christmas!" Her attempt at light-hearted teasing did not seem to rouse George from his quiet sadness. Four years may have passed since the war ended, but life had refused to continue for George. He had lost two brothers that year, and those losses had affected not only him but the entire Weasley family and their friends.

"I just wondered what time you were coming round on Monday. Mum wanted me to ask you?" The corner of his lips turned upwards into an awkward smile as he gazed at the cold, hard ground below. Hermione reached out to touch his arm, but he stepped out of her reach and looked away.

"Oh, well, ten alright?" her eyes turned down toward the cobbled street in embarrassment. "I think Harry is going to Apparate to my flat first and then we'll come round together." George nodded, the awkward smile still plastered across his face. Hermione wondered if she should say something else.

"Well, bye then," she said with a wave, turning toward the Leaky Cauldron. A drink first, she thought, to fire up from the cold before heading home.

"Night, Hermione." George reached forward with a shaky hand and tentatively grasped her small one. She felt his dry, calloused fingers touch her freezing skin and bit her lip. "Sorry, I didn't mean to... you know, before..."

"Don't mention it," she replied quickly. "I'm going to grab a drink. Want to join me?"

George looked at her in surprise. "Sure. Why not?" And together they walked off in the direction of a dirty brick wall along with several other wizards and witches in a sad yet oddly comfortable silence.

*

George jumped to his feet as the clock behind him chirped five o'clock. The cuckoo returned to its enchanted cage, and he rubbed his elbows looking around the shop bleary-eyed and sore. He had been slumped against the counter for three hours straight. Not one customer had entered the joke shop for three hours, and there was less than one week left until Christmas. George ran a hand through his frazzled red-hair. The store buzzed feebly around him. Gone were the days of busy custom; school-children running hither and thither buying products left, right, and centre. Gone were the singed eye-brows and temporary nose-bleeds. Gone was his twin brother, Fred. And Ron.

Fred had always been the one to look after the books. Whilst George was a dab hand at mass production of their many ideas and designs, Fred took care of all their financial issues. But he had been gone for four whole years now and George was struggling to keep his head up and his company afloat.

"Verity!" George called into the back room.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna close up soon, you can go home if you want."

A young witch in lurid pink robes peeked round the corner into the main part of the store.

"You sure? It's only five!"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Quiet day, innit?"

Verity nodded slowly and looked at George with an unusual expression. Is it pity? George could not tell.

"Okay, well see you tomorrow George." She patted him softly on the back as she passed him. "I'm sure things will pick up soon."

George waited for the front door to click shut before he let out an exasperated snort. Christmas was this Monday and sales were way down. He couldn't see it picking up anytime soon. No, Verity would have to go. George would be sad to see her leave. She had been there from the beginning, his first ever employee. Whilst the others had come and gone, Verity had been there through thick and thin. She was there to help George pick up the pieces when he returned for the first time after Fred's death. She had stayed even when the first signs of trouble began to blossom on some distant horizon. A worry to be brushed off, not thought of. Verity was all George had linking him to the Weasley Wizard Wheezes of old. But she would have to go. After Christmas, George thought.

How had his life come to this? He walked through life numb, unfeeling, haunted by the shadow of what he once was. What his brother once was. And Ron, there was always Ron. He never told his brothers how much they had meant to him. How much he loved them. It just wasn't something you went around saying every day, it didn't go with the macho personality he and Fred had once perpetuated. But that was all gone now.

George reached down under the counter and pulled out the sales tally. He stared down at the numbers, they were Troll to him. If only Fred had explained this all to him before... before. If only they had shared the financial workload, if only he had taken interest in that side of the business. If only, if only. If only Fred hadn't gone and got himself killed! George would give up his other ear to see Fred once more. Sighing, George flipped the book closed and returned it to the shelf below. It could wait until tomorrow; he would have plenty time amongst the empty aisles and dusty display cabinets.

Pulling on a well-worn cloak, George took a deep breath before facing the relentless winter outside. Flakes of snow dusted his shoulders and danced about his head. He gasped as a lone flake lodged itself into the crevice of his lost ear. Pointing his wand at the gaping hole on the side of his head, he removed the impostor and turned to lock the door. Click.

A wild mane of bushy brown hair caught his eye. Hermione had attempted to tame the feral curls with a plait but the effort was pointless. George smiled briefly. He watched as she struggled to lock the front door of her S.P.E.W office with shaking hands. Is it the cold or something else? he wondered as he watched her. Realisation hit George that he and his family were not the only ones to have lost Ron and Fred. Ron and Hermione had been best of friends for years and then briefly lovers. Her Christmas would be just as painful as his. Christmas... Hermione... Monday... A vague memory of Molly Weasley brandishing a rolling pin and requesting his attention brought George back to the freezing wintry street. I almost forgot!

"Hermione!"

Harry did not know what to say. He had known S.P.E.W was in financial difficulty but not like this.

“You’re going to have to shut down?� he asked. Truth be told, he had never taken much interest in the organisation itself, but Hermione was his best friend and he knew how much it meant to her.

“Yes,� Hermione sighed. “I can’t afford to stay open, what with the Rolling Pin debacle and losing my sponsorship. I would have to use my own money!� She turned away from the pity in Harry’s eyes. She knew he didn’t care much for S.P.E.W anyway. “So, S.P.E.W will have to continue on in my heart until circumstances…change.�

Harry’s hand reached over to touch Hermione’s on the Formica table of the Muggle café on Tottenham Court Road. He looked around the café, it was vaguely familiar and Harry jumped when he realised this was the place he, Hermione and…and Ron had sought refuge after Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

“Why did you bring us here?� He could not look at her and withdrew his hand.

Hermione let out a small sob. “Oh, I don’t know Harry. I thought…It was a bad idea. I’m just missing him a lot at the moment, always wondering if I would be in this mess if he were still around…�

“You know you wouldn’t.� Harry said gently and replaced his hand on hers. “Look, Hermione, do you need some mon-�

“No! Harry! I couldn’t take money from my friends!� She was shocked. “This is S.P.E.W not me. I don’t mind having sponsorship but personal loans…definitely not.� She gave Harry a scandalised look as if he had flashed his underpants at the waitress.

“Sorry, I just hate to see you like this.� He smiled. “I guess the Auror Division can’t really sponsor a Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare! Or maybe Ginny could tie a S.P.E.W banner to her broom next time the Harpies play.� Hermione giggled.

“Oh, Harry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s this place,� she gestured around the café wildly. “It gets to me…�

“Hermione, we don’t have to-�

“But I want to talk about him. We never do!� there was a plea in her voice that Harry did not recognise. “After….after Thicknesse-� she shuddered at the name.

“Thicknesse is dead, Hermione.� Harry interrupted rather harshly. “I hunted him down myself, remember?� His tone softened somewhat noticing Hermione’s tears.

“Yes,� she whispered. “I remember. But…�

“There was nothing, nothing Hermione, that anyone could have done. It was the Killing curse, and who expected Thicknesse of all people, to turn up seeking revenge for Voldemort? We all thought he was under the Imperius, we all thought he was gone. Besides, if anyone is going to feel guilty, it’s me. I’m the reason Ron’s dead. Thicknesse wanted me,� Harry said with a bitter tone. He was right of course. Pius Thicknesse had come to the Burrow looking for Harry and got Ron instead. The idiot, thought Harry. Typical Ron trying to prove himself, as if the Weasley’s needed to lose another son, another brother…

“You can’t blame yourself, Harry.� Hermione choked out.

“And you can’t blame yourself, either, Hermione.�

Hermione’s fingers curled around Harry’s warm palm. She looked up into his eyes and smiled through her tears. Harry’s scowl twisted into a small laugh.

“That’s better.�

*

Christmas day dawned like any other and Hermione woke to see the dusty beams of her flat ceiling. Her hand reached out mechanically, like it did each morning, coming to rest in the empty cold sheets beside her. Yes, it was a day like any other. She could hear Harry stumbling around the living room; he had stayed last night after one too many Firewhiskeys. Christmas was hard for him, too, without Ron.

Struggling out of bed, head pounding, Hermione found Harry pouring himself a cup of tea in the kitchen.

“Want one?� he asked in a croaky voice. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Hermione nodded and sat down at the table. She did not look up as a steaming mug of English Breakfast appeared before her. Nodding her head in thanks, she continued to study the tea.

“Are you going to drink it?� Harry asked with a sigh.

Hermione lifted her gaze until she was staring into a pair of green eyes. She nodded.

“Yeah, in a bit.�

They Apparated together later that morning. Hermione could hear the ruckus coming from the Burrow before she had opened her eyes. Molly Weasley’s shrill yells of instruction floated on the sharp breeze like the flakes of snow falling onto Hermione’s shoulders.

“Come on,� Harry said, taking a deep breath. “No point shivering outside, eh?� He grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her, albeit reluctantly, through the gate. Mrs Weasley opened the door just as Harry raised his gloved fist.

“Harry, dear! And Hermione! Come in, come in.�

Harry stood back to let Hermione pass. She forced a smile and walked through the door into the kitchen, Harry following close behind. The entire Weasley clan was here, squashed into the room. There was Charlie in the corner, a mince pie in hand as he entertained his young niece Victoire, whose parents were standing by the stove. Percy was sitting at the table beside his fiancée, Audrey, and he turned at cold breeze issuing from the open door. Arthur got up from his place at the table and headed toward Hermione as Ginny, who had already made her way to Harry’s side, planted soft kisses on his cheeks. Hermione’s eyes searched over the family and then stopped on George, who sat alone on the bottom step with a half-hearted grin plastered across his face.

George caught her eye and winked, but she could tell that it wasn’t his usual humorous wink. It lacked the vibrance, the life, which had once emanated so profoundly from George when he was younger. When he was one of a pair.

“Sit down, Hermione.� Arthur’s voice drew her from her silent reverie and Hermione blushed, realising she had been staring at George for no apparent reason. Harry gave her a strange look as she slid into the chair next to him but Hermione looked away, embarrassed, and feigned interest in the bowl of peas before her on the scrubbed table..

The conversation flowed seamlessly, jovial and festive, as usual, but there was always a presence. A presence forbidden to mention, although everyone could feel it. Ron and Fred seemed to whisper in Hermione’s ears all through Christmas dinner, and it didn’t help that George’s eyes never left her face. Hermione fought hard to supress her sigh of relief when Harry suddenly spoke beside her, louder than usual.

“We brought presents for you!�

Hermione looked down the table. It was empty bar for the tankards of butter beer. Dinner had already finished and she had not even noticed.

“Yes,� Hermione quickly joined in and waving her wand, a pile of brightly coloured parcels appeared on the cleared table. Victoire’s squeals of delight were hard to ignore and Hermione could not help but smile as the little girl tore through the layers of gift wrap.

Why am I smiling? Ron and Fred are missing from the table, Hermione thought as her smile dropped.

Her chair slid noisily against the wooden floorboards as she stood. Harry looked up, startled.

“Hermione, where are-� But she shook her head and hurried from the room.

“Whatever is the matter?� Molly voice followed her up the stairs. Quietly, she closed the door to the bedroom she had entered, and then there was silence.


*

George rocked back and forth, slowly, trying not to scream. Victoire played with Charlie in the corner, Bill and Fleur stood by the stove whispering, sharing coy grins, and Percy was speaking loudly about his new assignment at the Ministry. Who would seriously give a damn about the regulation of Ministry employee parchment consumption? Only Percy could find interest in beaurocratic legislation. If only Fred were… but he wasn’t.

Molly’s exclamation of relief jolted George back to the present. A cold wind whipped across his face and he looked up to see Harry and Hermione enter the Burrow. Ginny instantly swept Harry away, leaving Hermione standing in the doorway alone. She looked over and George, not really knowing why, winked. She continued to stare at him, her face expressionless. It was as if she felt nothing at all, a fallacy, and George fully understood. He did the same thing every day. He felt nothing. But George couldn’t stop his grin when his father called Hermione over to the table, causing her to blush terribly.

Why am I smiling?

Fred was gone. Ron was gone. How could something so normal like Christmas exist when two parts of a whole had disappeared? It was so unfair. In fact, it was such a ridiculous notion that George struggled to stay seated at the table all through dinner. Laughter and conversation flowed endlessly about him but all he could hear were the whispers of his brothers, calling to him, asking him why. Why? Why indeed.

George latched onto the only thing that seemed real in the room full of people. Hermione. At least he could see through her façade. He could see her struggle to get through the dinner. He could see her flinch as another ghost whispered in her ears. He could see…

And then she stood up.

George watched her back disappear round the stairs and into the living room. There was a pile of gifts on the table and he did not undertand where they came from.

“Whatever is the matter?� Molly asked as the room grew silent.

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. “I’ll just go see of she’s-� he began but George interrupted him.

“No, I’ll go.�

*

Hermione sat down on the bed in the corner. Some old Chudley Cannon Quidditch captain waved up at her from the bed spread. His room had not changed one bit since that day. Hermione sighed and let the tears flow freely down her face.

The soft thud of footsteps seeped into the room. Harry. She did not want to talk right now. There was a soft knock on the door but Hermione did not answer. The knock came again.

“Harry, I’m fine on my own. You don’t need to check up on me.� she called softly, trying and failing to keep her voice steady. The door opened a crack and a head of fiery red hair poked into the room.

“Well, since you’re clearly not fine and I’m clearly not Harry, I’m going to ignore your plea for solitude.� George said, pushing the door wider. He walked over to Ron’s bed and with the flick of his wand, closed the door behind him.

“I’m sorry, George. It was rude of me to walk out like that. I hope Molly isn’t too mad.�

“Mad?� George asked giving Hermione a weird look as if a brain had sprouted outside her head. “I think she’s more concerned about you than mad!�

Hermione grimaced. “I’m fine, really. It’s just this house, you know? And this time of year, too.�

“I know,� George sighed. “You can hear them too, can’t you?�

Hermione stiffened. How did he know? Am I really that transparent?

“Yes,� she whispered as more tears trickled down her pale cheeks. “I think everyone can hear them, but I’m just not strong enough to ignore them.�

Suddenly, George put his arm around her shoulders. At first, Hermione leant away with embarrassment, but his warmth and the comforting feel of a man’s embrace soon proved much too tempting.

“You’re not weak, Hermione. You’re just different. Like me.�

Hermione looked up at George, who stared out the window into the garden, and she could not make out the expression on his face.

“I’m just so tired, George. You know how it is. Work all day for nothing, go home to an empty flat, eat a lonely dinner, and get into a cold bed. It’s so hard.� She laughed bitterly.

George continued to stare out at the garden. It was as if he refused to look at her. Have I said something wrong?

“What do you mean you work all day for nothing? S.P.E.W. was your passion.�

Hermione sighed but did not lower her gaze. He stared at me all through dinner. Why can’t he look at me now? Hermione thought. “S.P.E.W is…it’s not going too well. You must have read about the-�

“Rolling pin thing? Yeah, it was all over The Prophet.�

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Vultures,� she huffed. “And all my sponsorship went, of course. No one wants their name mentioned in an article written by Rita Skeeter.�

George twitched as if he were about to look down then decided not to.

“And so now I’ve got no financial backing, therefore I have no money to pay for my office lease, and no money to pay Crispin’s wages, and no money for my own personal expenses. If I don’t find sponsorship soon I’ll have to move back to my parent’s home and…� her voice trailed off. George had finally looked down and he had a grin on his face. A grin reminiscent of old times.

“You know, Hermione, I’ve just had a brilliant idea.�

*

George was not sure what made him do it. Perhaps the fact that he too was about to stand up and leave the dinner table. But all of a sudden, he found himself knocking on the door to Ron’s room.

Her voice was thin and feeble as if carried on a wintry breeze. “Harry, I’m fine on my own. You don’t need to check up on me.�

George smiled. Hermione Granger was not the woman he thought she was. He drew a deep breath and turned the door handle.

“Well, since you’re clearly not fine and I’m clearly not Harry, I’m going to ignore your plea for solitude.�

So George and Hermione sat together, on a cold bed which had not been slept in for four years. It was merely pure instinct which led George to put his arm around her. Hermione seemed to resist at first but after a while relaxed into him. He wished she hadn’t. All George could feel was her soft, fragile body shuddering against him in silent sobs. There was nothing else that existed at that moment, there was only Hermione. He turned away and looked out the window into the garden trying to focus on something other than her. He should not feel like this. This was wrong.

“And so now I’ve got no financial backing, therefore I have no money to pay for my office lease, and no money to pay Crispin’s wages, and no money for my own personal expenses. If I don’t find sponsorship soon I’ll have to move back to my parent’s home and…� Hermione’s voice trailed off.

George pulled his gaze from the garden. A feeling of sheer jubilation washed through his body. He could look at her now, now his mind was buzzing with an idea so outrageous and unexpected and perfect.

“You know, Hermione, I’ve just had a brilliant idea.�

Hermione looked confused and frustrated at the same time. Confusion and Hermione were not meant to go together. George grinned even wider, his lips curving upwards and stretching across his face. It almost hurt. He had not felt like this for four years, he had not smiled a true smile, a real smile for four years. The muscles in his face rejoiced.

“I told you last week at the Leaky Cauldron that Weasley’s Wizard’s Wheezes was in trouble and that I was letting Verity go after Christmas, right?�

Hermione nodded and the light of comprehension dawned dully on her face.

“So, the shop is much too big for me to handle on my own. I mean, Fred always took care of the books and I never even touched them until…well, you know. I need someone to take over, someone to get me back on track and you-�

“Hold on,� Hermione held up a finger. “You want me to come work for you?� she raised her eyebrows.

“Always one step ahead of everyone else, aren’t you?� George grinned and took a deep breath. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. What do you think?�

“George Weasley, I think I’ve said this once before but I’ll say it again, you’re brilliant. Just one thing, though.�

“What?� George asked, suddenly unsure of the furtive look in Hermione’s eyes.

“I’ll come work with you, I’ll keep your books, I’ll even help behind the counter, but on one condition.� Hermione’s grin slid wickedly across her face.

“And what would that be?� asked George, slowly.

“Weasley’s Wizard’s Wheezes becomes the official sponsor of S.P.E.W. And-�

“I thought there was only one condi-�

“I get some of my own office space within your premises. For S.P.E.W, of course.� George looked at Hermione sceptically. She knew how to drive a bargain. “Deal or no deal,� she said, her lips pursed in silent triumph.

George scratched his knee. It was a nervous tick he’d had since he and Fred were children. Deal or no deal. Suddenly, a wave of regret rippled through him. Is this the right thing to do? Weasley’s Wizards Wheezes belonged to George and Fred. Is it right to welcome someone else into the fray? Do I even want someone else there, in that space, Fred’s space? George wondered. But this was Hermione. This wasn’t just someone, this was Hermione. He knew her. Fred knew her. George looked down at her expectant face, raised and waiting.

“Deal.�

“Hermione, over here!� Harry called, gesturing toward the small booth he was sharing with Ginny and George.

Hermione made her way across the pub, nodding at Hannah Abbott for the usual.

“Hi, Hermione,� Ginny smiled and shuffled over to make room for her. George looked up from his Firewhisky and smiled too.

“George, Ginny,� Hermione said before turning to Harry. “So, how are things at the Ministry? I read about that warlock from Quebec you caught up with yesterday.�

“Hm, yeah,� replied Harry. “He was hiding out in a barn on Ilkley Moor. He had been waiting to ambush next weeks game between the Wimbourne Wasps and the Chudley Cannons-� Harry broke off. Beside her, she could feel Ginny reaching beneath the table to grip his hand.

Hermione looked away.

“So, when are you starting work with George?� Ginny asked with false light-heartedness. Her voice was strained, barely able to keep it from shattering across the table. Hermione could feel the usual tension pressing down on her stomach, Ron’s favourite Quidditch team the catalyst this time. Last week it had been a box of Cauldron Cakes and the week before that, a Chocolate Frog card he had never managed to collect. The moment passed. Harry took a sip of ale, his eyes firmly on Hermione.

“Next week. Isn’t that right, George?� Hermione leant over Ginny to look at George and raised an eyebrow in question. He’s being very quiet, she thought. Perhaps he is already regretting the deal.

“What?� George grunted looking up from his Firewhisky. Has he paid any attention to the conversation at all, thought Hermione as she gave Harry a questioning look. He shrugged.

“Look, Hermione, we were just talking about how it might be a good idea if you go to live above the shop with George. Sharing the rent will be cheaper than living in separate flats,� he said.

Hermione blushed. The idea had occurred to her but after Christmas at the Burrow…

“I…I…er…� she stammered looking across at George. He had gone back to his quiet contemplation of the Firewhisky. Why doesn’t he just drink it? “Um, I guess that makes sense, Harry. George, what do you think?� she asked, averting her embarrassed gaze.

She heard him lift his glass, swallow and put it back down upon the table again. Hermione flinched. The clunk of the glass on the wooden surface seemed to ring with deprecation.

George gave an awkward laugh and Hermione looked up.

“I-Well, I think…er…� Hermione turned to Harry, horrified. So, he doesn’t want me to move in with him, she thought. “So, you don’t-�

“-well, I’m not…� interrupted George and then paused. Hermione could feel the blood rising on her face. Something hot prickled in her chest.

“Um, so what you’re saying-�

“I guess I-�

“Oh for heavens sake!� exclaimed Ginny. “How are you two supposed to work together and save each other from financial ruin if you cannot even agree on a simple decision such as living arrangements? You’re both acting like self-conscious teenagers.�

Hermione and George gaped at Ginny.

Does she not see the irony of the situation, thought Hermione. Does she not think it strange to suggest that George and I live together?

Ginny pursed her lips.

“Hermione, you are going to live in the flat above the shop with George. It will be a lot cheaper and easier. Agreed?�

George gave a small bark of a laugh. Hermione giggled nervously while Harry tried to stifle a snort. And then suddenly all four of them were pounding the table with tears streaming down their cheeks at the silliness of it all.

*

George had not looked up when Harry and Ginny arrived. It was not until Ginny gave him a playful and rather painful poke in the ribs with her wand that he acknowledged their presence. The wooden surface of the table shone in the smoky light of the Leaky Cauldron. His Firewhisky glared at him, liquid amber, full of fire and lost memory. No, not lost, not forgotten. Repressed.

“Hi,� he said, with false humour. “My round?�

“No, George, I’ve got this,� replied Ginny, who stood, giving Harry a long, searching look. George did not like it.

“What is she making you do?� he asked Harry with suspicion as his sister walked toward the bar.

“Nothing,� Harry answered far too quickly. “She isn’t making me do anything. It was my idea in the first place.�

George’s gaze returned to the Firewhisky. He tilted the glass with his hand. It shook lightly before he let it go, seeming to linger off balance for longer than possible before Harry’s wand appeared in his peripheral vision. The glass shot upright with a light clunk. George smiled ruefully.

“Can’t I have a little fun every once and while?� His voice was bitter. Harry looked away, eyes clouded. Is it embarrassment? Pity? Guilt? George thought. He did not know. All he knew was that the whispers were louder now, in the evening, than at any other time of the day. Painfully loud, painfully there.

Because Fred and Ron should be here, too, thought George. They should be here, sharing a drink with their brother and sister and friends. He wanted to scream, to jump on the table and shout. He wanted to let them know that he understood. But he could not. Not unless he wanted to end up sharing a ward with Lockhart at St. Mungo’s, anyway.

“Ginny and I were thinking about Hermione’s liv-� Harry began, interrupted by the bitter wind as the door opened. Ginny sat down beside George with a sigh. She pushed a pint of lager across to Harry who eyed it suspiciously before giving it a sip.

“What’s wrong with Butter-�

“Oh, look! Here’s Hermione, right now,� exclaimed Ginny, interrupting Harry. He turned to look over his shoulder.

“Hermione, over here!� George glanced up as Harry called her over. Her hair was wild from the wind outside and her shoulders were speckled with rain. He was surprised that a witch of her calibre could not perform a Weather-barrier charm. But perhaps she could not be bothered. This was a difference George could sympathise with only too well. He glanced down at his own shabby robes.

“Hi, Hermione,� greeted Ginny. George could feel his sister move over, making room for Hermione. He looked up, smiling at her before returning his gaze to the glass of Firewhisky before him.

“George, Ginny,� replied Hermione before turning to Harry. Her voice seemed to drift away on a tide of clinking glasses and smoke and inane chatter. He could hear the three others talking but it was as if there was some kind of barrier he could not climb over. It was the voices, the whispers, the sounds of the dead. It was the grief. It was the guilt. Guilt.

He heard his name but it was far away where recognition could not reach him. George, George… George frowned, a dead weight seemed to be pressing down on his stomach. It was all too familiar but not at this time of the day. This leaden feeling belonged to the too-bright morning when he awoke fresh and free from memory until they came back, the whispers.

George.

It was a lot louder now. A voice had broken through that barrier. He looked up confused to see a pair of eyes surrounded by an aura of brown frizz looking at him with slight annoyance.

“What?�

“Look, Hermione,� Harry began. “We were just talking about how it might be a good idea if you go to live above the shop with George. Sharing the rent will be cheaper than living in separate flats.�

We were? thought George. He let out a loud breath. It was not as if the thought had never occurred to him. He just was not sure it would be a good idea. He felt awkward enough after what happened at Christmas in Ron’s bedroom. Hermione stuttered a reply George could barely understand. Suddenly, all eyes were on him.

He grabbed the glass of Firewhisky and gulped it down, placing it back on the table a little too hard. Ginny pursed her lips. She looked like his mother.

George gave an awkward laugh, more of a giggle and stammered, “I-Well, I think…er…� before reverting back to quiet contemplation of the table.

“So, you don’t-� Hermione began, breathless.

“-well, I’m not…� interrupted George, pausing. What wasn’t he? He knew he wanted Hermione to work for him, in fact, if he was to be truly honest, he was looking forward to it. If she was able to pull the shop out from the gutter and into the prosperity he once knew then...

And Harry’s suggestion was certainly logical. Hermione was in as much of a financial mess as he was. Surely, helping her out with cheaper living arrangements was the thing to do just as a friend. And the company would be welcome. George was sick of sitting in that flat alone with the whispers, with the voices, with the memories and faint laughter. Hermione understood. She understood.

She is also a young woman who felt good pressed up against my side, he thought

“Um, so what you’re saying-�

“I guess I-�

“Oh for heavens sake!� exclaimed Ginny. “How are you two supposed to work together and save each other from financial ruin if you cannot even agree on a simple decision such as living arrangements? You’re both acting like self-conscious teenagers.�

George’s mouth dropped open in a comical ‘o’ as he gaped at Ginny. Could she read his mind? Talk about making the situation that much more embarrassing…

“Hermione, you are going to live in the flat above the shop with George. It will be a lot cheaper and easier. Agreed?�

George laughed - anything to break that awful, awkward moment. Hermione seemed to giggle and Harry tried to stifle a snort rather unsuccessfully. And then they broke. Their laughter burst out across the table and through the bar - a frivolous moment when the whispers seemed to disappear.

Hermione took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. She breathed in the musty scent and wrinkled her nose. This place needs a good airing out for a start, she thought, making a mental note to herself as she walked further into the shop, her trunk bobbing lightly behind her. Especially if I am going to live here.

“Hermione?� she heard George call from the back room. “Is that you?�

“Hi, George. You did say ten o’clock, didn’t you?� Hermione asked, looking about the shop.

“Yeah, yeah I did.� She could tell his voice was strained more than usual, and she held her wand aloft, wondering if there was something or someone lurking in the room.

“Are you alright, George?� she asked, making her way toward the little black curtain which separated the back room from the rest of the shop. Gasping with surprise, Hermione watched as George attempted to lift an odd, black contraption. It was large and bulky, with sharp edges jutting out at random angles.

“What on earth is that?�

George looked up with a grin. “I have no idea. Let’s see, shall we?�

Hermione eyed the black object with suspicion. “Why don’t you use magic to lift it?� she asked, raising an eyebrow. George dropped his head, a lobster-red flush rising to the surface of his skin.

“I can’t find my wand. I came home late last night from the Cauldron and fell asleep under the counter, actually� he said embarrassedly.

Hermione sighed and raised her wand. “Accio George’s wand!� There was a clatter from the main shop, and George’s wand flew into the room. He caught it effortlessly and grinned at Hermione.

“Thanks, Hermione.� Hermione tried to suppress an exasperated snort and failed brilliantly.

“Fred was always-� George began and faltered. Hermione could not hold back her grimace, and turned away, hoping George had not noticed. It always came back to Fred or Ron. They were there in every conversation, every sentence, every word. Will it always be so awkward? Hermione thought. How is it possible to move on with life when the dead refuse to leave? What if George doesn’t want to move on? What if I don’t want to move on? Taking a deep breath, she turned back around to face George. He was glaring at a dusty shelf as if it was about to burst into flames.

Silence circled the room, and Hermione began to feel as though it were about to suffocate them.

“Where should I put my trunk?� she asked, her words slicing through the tension, emotionless. It was easier not to feel - easier to ignore the voices.

“Come with me.�

The stairs creaked ominously as the two of them made their way onto the first floor. George led Hermione down a short corridor, stopping outside a very small door. He stood back, and she turned the handle.

“I’ll let you settle in, then,� he said quietly. “If you need anything else, then I’ll be downstairs in the shop.�

Hermione nodded. She wondered if he could get through the door in the first place. It was so low and narrow she could barely fit through herself.

Oh this is just ridiculous, she thought waving her wand. She watched as the doorframe slowly expanded, as the gnarled wood bent in submission to her wand, and as the grains and lines warped across the surface like Flobberworms.

She bent down and opened her trunk, pulling out her socks and underwear first. With a flick of her wand, they flew toward the chest of drawers standing in the corner. The drawer creaked open, and the clothing slipped delicately into place. Living in the flat above Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had been Harry’s idea. Neither George nor Hermione had felt comfortable bringing up the topic of living together, but Harry had enquired after Hermione’s living arrangement one day during an after-work drinking session at the Leaky Cauldron. George had stammered while Hermione had blushed, and eventually the two had agreed that it made sense. George and Hermione would share the rent—it was a lot cheaper than remaining in separate flats.

Hermione thought about the awkward embarrassment she had felt that night at the pub with Harry, Ginny and George.

Why am I embarrassed? she thought as she sat down on the bed, watching a pair of her shoes walk slowly across the wooden floor towards the wardrobe. It’s only George.

Suddenly, something sharp and hot poked her in the back. She leaped up from the bed with a piercing shriek. Whipping out her wand, she faced the room, her back to the wall. Her eyes scanned the room, thin slits darting backwards and forwards. There was nothing there. She could hear George hurrying up the stairs.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?� he yelled, brandishing his wand wildly.

“Something stung me!� Hermione said in disbelief. “I was sitting on the bed, and something just-�

“Oh, is that all?� George interrupted. Hermione stared at him, nonplussed at the relief in his voice. “I thought you’d been attacked by some vengeful house-elf or an enchanted rolling pin, or that you’d discovered the thirteenth use of dragon’s blood. Now that would be the answer to our financial problems-�

“Is that all?� she asked, her voice shaking with repressed anger. “Is that all? I was attacked by some invisible predator, and you’re asking is that all?�

George laughed. “It was probably an Irate Indiscriminate Incendiary.�

“What on earth is an Irate Indiscriminate Incendiary?� asked a confused Hermione.

“Well, about three months ago, I dropped a box of Wild-Fire Whizz Bangs, and I didn’t find them all, you see, so…� his voice trailed off, and a sheepish grin spread across his face as Hermione stared at him, utterly exasperated. “You’ll get used to it.�

Hermione whirled around with a huff to face the window. Irate Indiscriminate Incendiaries indeed. She grabbed the pillow from the bed and began to pull off the case. It had an ugly yellow stain she found rather disturbing. How on earth am I supposed to live in a place where rogue fireworks roam free? she thought, giving the pillowcase a stab with her wand. It was refusing to come off. This is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous! Several sparks flew from her wand, landing on the pillow, and she had to extinguish them with a short spurt of water. I could almost hex Harry and Ginny for pressing me to move in here. One of those Bat Bogey Hexes Ginny is so fond of would do the trick, actually. She threw the pillow onto the floor at George’s feet.

“Pardon me?� he asked her. She spun back around to face him while reaching for another pillow.

“Oh, nothing,� Hermione muttered. She hadn’t realised she was speaking aloud.

“Look, Hermione,� began George. “I know this is going to be strange for a while, but you’ll learn how to avoid the, er, surprises.�

Hermione scowled at the pillow on the floor. But a voice of reason whispered in her ear, a voice she could not ignore, no matter how many Incensed Indistinguishable Inferno’s, or whatever they were called, attacked her.

“It seems that I do not have a choice,� she replied, raising a single eyebrow. She walked over to the window; at a flick of her wand, it opened silently. “But I will not live in a place which smells like one of your Portable Swamps.�

*

George woke to aching bones and a thumping headache. He was lying next to a stack of plain cardboard boxes with an obscenely bright WWW emblem displayed on the side. At least I made it home this time, he thought as he peeled himself from the dusty wooden floorboards and licked his lips. His tongue felt thick and fuzzy and tasted of stale beer. He straightened himself up slowly wary of his stiff bones and headed up the stairs for a long, hot shower and a toothbrush.

As he rummaged through the piles of dirty clothes on the floor for something preferably unstained, he realised the absence of his wand.

“Merlin, Morgana, and all things Quidditch! Where’s my blasted wand?� George cursed out loud and hurried down stairs.

He stumbled about the shop, knocking over half-empty shelves of Wonder Witch products. His eyes were scrunched up tight in an attempt to block the blinding morning light; it felt as if The Weird Sisters were playing a gig inside his head. The wand was nowhere to be seen.

He could not remember much from last night. He recalled agreeing to meet Lee and Angelina, but not much else. All George knew was that he must have managed to stumble back to the shop and ended up spending the night beneath the till. Where in Merlin’s most shaggy beard is my wand? he thought, holding his head as the Weird Sisters decided to up the tempo. His burning eyes roved over the counters and shelves and empty floor space, but he could not see it anywhere. Might be in the back room, he thought to himself. It was not likely, but he felt naked without his wand; waiting for someone to come into the shop was not really an option.

He was in the process of lifting some strange heavy object which, through his pounding head ache, he could not seem to remember anything about, when he heard the front door click open.

Thank Godric! he thought, then gasped with realisation when he remembered who it probably was. Hermione! How could I’ve forgotten?

“Hermione!� George called, his breath rasping. Mouldy Voldy! I’m out of shape, he thought as he struggled with the thing. “You’re here!�

“You did say ten o’clock, didn’t you?� Hermione’s voice wafted in through the curtains.

“Yeah, yeah I did,� he replied, grunting with the effort. How do Muggles survive? George stared at the mystery object defiantly, his arms throbbing.

“Are you alright, George?� Hermione’s voice was full of confusion and concern. He could hear her making her way across the shop and through into the backroom.

He heard her pull away the curtain which led to the backroom.

“What on earth is that?� she asked in a perplexed tone.

George looked up with a grin. “I have no idea. Let’s see, shall we?�

His smile faltered. She looked as forlorn and downtrodden as she had on Christmas Day. Her eyes were red with dark purple bags beneath them, as if she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a long time. George supposed that she hadn’t. After all, when was the last time that he had been able to get through the night? Whenever his eyes slipped shut, Fred’s deathly smile seemed to taunt him, luring him into a place he did not want to go to, a place where that night was relived from every angle, from every moment, from every smell and touch, from every crash, every burn. Every death.

Hermione coughed, and George pulled his mind from the thought of those restless nights. There was no use dwelling on those things during daylight.

Hermione eyed the black object with suspicion. “Why don’t you use to magic to lift it?� she asked, raising an eyebrow. George dropped his head with embarrassment, as if losing his wand after a drunken night out with his mates wasn’t shameful enough.

“I can’t find my wand,� he mumbled into his chest, avoiding Hermione’s scrutinising gaze. “I came home late last night from the Cauldron and fell asleep under the counter.�

George’s heart leapt with relief as Hermione sighed and raised her wand. “Accio George’s wand!� she called. There was a clatter from the main shop, and George’s wand flew into the room. He caught it effortlessly and grinned at Hermione, trying to regain any sort of self-respect he could muster.

“Thanks, Hermione.�

Hermione made a very unHermione-like snort.

And suddenly George said, without thought, “Fred was always-� then he stopped. Fred was always the one to lose his wand, not me.

Fred.

He turned away from Hermione and leant against the black thing, trying to compose himself. Now’s not the time, Gred, he thought, avoiding Hermione’s gaze. They stood there, silent and awkward until Hermione finally spoke.

“Where should I put my trunk?� Her words were sterile, unfeeling – and perfect for breaking through the memories and pain suspended between them. George turned back around, biting his lip, and cleared his throat.

“Come with me.�

He led her up the stairs and past the bathroom, pointing it out along the way. He reached Hermione’s room and stood back, watching her. She looked so sad. She looked so sad all of the time. He wondered if he looked that way. Yes, he thought. I probably do. She reached for the handle and turned.

“I’ll let you settle in, then,� he said quietly. “If you need anything else, then I’ll be downstairs in the shop.�

Hermione nodded. He wouldn’t have been able to get into that room in the first place. Perhaps she would fix it for him. He had never been very good at structural charms.

He turned around and walked back toward the staircase. There was something else, too, something else that kept him from entering the room. He would never tell Hermione, but that had been where Fred had worked on all his own projects. Of course, he and Fred did most things together, but there had been moments when they had preferred to be alone. George laughed bitterly at that thought. What he wouldn’t give now to have his twin brother back in his life. He would willingly give up any form of personal space to just see Fred again, to talk to Fred again, to be one of two again.

George waited downstairs in the shop while Hermione settled herself in the flat above. He did not want to intrude on her privacy. He tried to focus on the merchandise he was pricing, but his mind kept on wandering to the most trivial worries. Harry had suggested Hermione moving into the flat. George had already thought of the possibility, but there was something about his relationship with Hermione that had stopped him from bringing up the subject. His reaction to her at Christmas as she had leant against him was still branded in his mind and each night, in-between the land of the conscious and the land of dreams, his thoughts would drift to the warm curve of her body against his, the feeling of her hands on his chest, her breath on his neck…

What if I walk in on her naked in the shower? George thought. Years ago, the thought of walking in on Hermione in her birthday suit would have been a hilarious thought. He and Fred would have spent days talking about nothing else. But those days were gone.

What if she walks in on me when... he thought as his cheeks grew warm with embarrassment. No, that would be unbearable.

George remembered the first time Molly had walked in on George thinking about Alicia Spinnet. The look on her face was a classic, and Fred had given him grief for months. Fred…

Does Hermione ever think of Ron like that anymore? he wondered. George shook his head. Why am I thinking about that? It’s Hermione.

George yelped as a piercing scream shattered the silence. Dropping the box of Patented Daydream Charms in his hand, he leapt up the stairs two at a time. He sprinted into the room Hermione was to stay in, wand at the ready.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?� he yelped. Hermione stood opposite, backed against the wall, her eyes roaming the room.

George clutched his side, panting. He was not as tall as Bill or…or Ron. He was a much bulkier build, more muscular, like Charlie. Well, he had been, back when he had been younger and a Quidditch Beater. But now, he thought. Now he wasn’t like that anymore. Leaping up those stairs had taken the wind from him.

“Something stung me!� Hermione said in disbelief, her eyes wildly scanning the room. “I was sitting on the bed, and something just-�

“Oh, is that all?� George interrupted, flinching comically at her stern gaze. He looked away and grinned. “I thought you’d been attacked by some vengeful house-elf or an enchanted rolling pin, or that you’d discovered the thirteenth use of dragon’s blood. Now that would be the answer to our financial problems.�

“Is that all?� she asked. “Is that all? I was attacked by some invisible predator and you’re asking is that all?� She pursed her lips, and George laughed at her attempt to mimic his mother.

“It was probably an Irate Indiscriminate Incendiary.�

“What on earth is an Irate Indiscriminate Incendiary?� asked Hermione, shock spreading across her face. George wondered if she’d eaten a Rash Rum Ball by mistake.

“Well, about three months ago, I dropped a box of Wild-Fire Whizz Bangs and I didn’t find them all, you see, so…� His voice trailed off at the look of utter exasperation on Hermione’s face.

To be honest, George himself had been caught unawares by a rogue Incendiary. They were nasty things, especially if you were taking a leak. George grimaced at the thought. He began to say, At least you weren’t on the loo, but he paused, finishing with, “You’ll get used to it,� instead.

Hermione sighed. “It seems that I do not have a choice.� She walked over to the window; at a flick of her wand, it opened silently. “But I will not live in a place which smells like one of your Portable Swamps.� George sniffed the air, shrugged, and left the room, noting the newly enlarged doorway. It smelled fine to him.

Women.

Hermione was sitting on her bed staring out the window. It was just after eleven o’clock in the evening and the lights from the building across the alley had just flickered off. The ever-present orange glow of a London night sent rectangles of light across the floorboards. They were clean now, the floorboards. Hermione had set about spring cleaning—it was a loose definition of spring she had admitted to herself—just two days after she moved in. George, it seemed, despite his innovative spirit and mastery of obscure charms, did not know many house-hold spells. A lifetime of Molly Weasley cleaning up after him left him severely lacking, she guessed.

It had been an exhausting week. Hermione had spent the last three weeks sorting through the mess of George’s accounts. Even though she had no financial training, and despite her failure with the S.P.E.W accounts, Hermione knew what she was doing. By the following Monday after she had moved in, she had written up her plan of action while simultaneously setting up her own S.P.E.W office within the WWW premises.

She knew that with most of her time caught up with helping George, S.P.E.W would have to take the back-bench for a while. However, it was comforting to know that her dream of the emancipation of house-elves from their wizard-controlled oppression was no longer left floundering on the floor. She had an office space and, for the time being, that was certainly enough. She would wait to build up her own finances before trying to re-establish S.P.E.W and helping out someone she considered family was the right way to do it.

Hermione could hear George down in the shop, clattering about and she frowned. What is he doing? Crookshanks appeared at her doorway with a low hiss and stalked over to the bed. Hermione leaned down and picked up her cat, placing him on her lap. Absent-mindedly, she stroked his fur while listening to George’s clatter down below. With a frustrated huff she stood up, sending Crookshanks tumbling to the floor with a snarl, and followed the upset cat from the room. She hurried downstairs, pulling her dressing gown tightly about her as she entered the unheated shop.

There, standing on top of the till, was George, rummaging about on the shelves above him. Hermione made her way through the towering shop displays until she was level with the till. She coughed.

“Oh, hi, Hermione,� said George without turning around. Instead, he leaped down onto the floor and started scrabbling around beneath a dusty cabinet. A look of fierce concentration set solidly on his freckled face, his hands continued to search, scratching and scraping against the wooden floorboards.

“Er, George, what on earth are you doing?� Hermione asked perplexed, although she did not understand her confusion at all. Hermione had already decided long ago that nothing a Weasley twin did would ever surprise her. Images of vomiting, fainting and profuse nose-bleeds on first-years came to mind but she shook the memory off like an irritating fly. That had been the year she and… Ron were appointed as prefects. Hermione shuddered. It had been a few hours since she had last thought of him and it scared her. Often, it felt like a relief to be so busy that she did not have time to dwell on Ron and yet in the moments before sleep, when everything seemed so incredibly real and raw, she would sometimes cry. She would cry about a fading memory she had just remembered—the feel of his lips against her hair, the time he had laughed so hard that he snorted pumpkin-juice from his nose. It was silly and logic told her that it was only natural progression but she couldn’t help it. The tears came no matter how hard she tried to stop them.

“Aha!� George exclaimed, brandishing a grimy piece of near-blackened fabric in his left hand, a look of utter jubilation spreading across his face.

“Ugh,� Hermione sniffed, there was a nasty odour emanating from the rag. “What is it?�

George sighed with contentment and pulled up a trouser leg to reveal his right foot, complete with winkle-picker shoe and yellow sock. He winked at Hermione and pulled up the other trouser leg to show a shoed foot but naked ankle.

“Nothing like the reunification of a pair of lost socks,� said George, grinning.

Hermione opened her mouth to enquire whether the sock in his hand had ever truly been yellow but stopped abruptly noticing the shadow creeping across George’s face. His mouth crumpled into a despairing frown and his eyes sagged. Then, just as suddenly, an awkward grin twisted his lips upwards, an apologetic look in his eyes.

He shouldn’t feel guilty for grieving… Hermione thought and then stopped herself. Is that not my own problem, too? Not wishing to make the moment more awkward however, she replaced her own expression of pity with disgust and incredulity.

“How long has it been down there?�

“Oh, I dunno. Couple of months, maybe?� George shrugged.

“And you’ve been wearing one sock for all that time?�

“No… but it’s the only holeless one I have left! That bloody cat of yours has eaten all the rest!�

Hermione scowled and put her hands on her hips. George stared defiantly back. He was not the first Weasley to complain about Crookshanks, Hermione remembered. She looked away unsure of what to say next.

“So,� she began tentatively. “Do you wash it?�

“What, the sock?�

“Yes, the sock!�

“Well, yeah,� George spluttered, his eyes roaming the room nervously. “Occasionally…�

Hermione chose to say nothing, but pointed her wand at the limp, dirty sock which still hung in George’s hand.

“Tergeo,� she said firmly. “There, now the other one. Quick, quick!�

George rolled his eyes and pulled off the other shoe.

“Why didn’t you just use Accio again? Do you have something against that particular charm?� she asked.

George frowned.

“No,� he replied. “It’s just more interesting this way, don’t you think?�

Hermione suppressed a groan and proceeded to clean the other sock.

“Well, they still need a proper wash but that should keep the smell at bay for a day or two. Well, maybe not two but you’ll have enough time for me to knit you some new pairs.�

George stared at her surprised.

“You really can do everything, can’t you, Hermione?�

Hermione flushed with pleasure and turned away. How pathetic, am I? she thought. This is George, for Merlin’s sake! She walked back toward the staircase.

“Well, I’m tired. Goodnight, George. See you in the morning,� she said.

“Yeah, night, Hermione,� said George behind her, much closer than she had realised. “See you in the morning.�

And without turning around she hurried back to her room.

*


He didn’t hear her coming down the stairs, he didn’t even sense her presence until he heard her small cough.

“Oh, hi, Hermione,� he said, his hands still scrabbling about the shelf. There was no sign of it. He could feel his wand sitting snug in his jean pocket but he ignored it. He turned around suddenly and jumped down from the till.

She was standing directly beside him, her hands clasped together, eyebrows raised. He only glanced at her briefly before leaping to the floor. He reached out beneath a particularly low cabinet, relishing the exhilarating apprehension of what he would find beneath.

“Er, George, what on earth are you doing?� asked Hermione from above. He ignored her, continuing to probe the unknown darkness.

“Aha!� Yes! His hand gripped something damp and there it was. His sock.

Finally. He stood up, holding the mouldy fabric out with pride as if he had just won the Triwizard Cup.

“Ugh,� said Hermione wrinkling her nose. “What is it?� George sniffed the air, there was nothing off, not as far as he could tell. The sock would be fine.

George winked and pulled up both of his trouser legs. It had been a while since he had worn a sock on both feet. He had caught that ball of ginger fur in his room on numerous occasions and could have sworn the animal did it out of spite.

“Nothing like the reunification of a pair of lost socks,� said George, grinning. He stopped. No, there is nothing like it, he thought. He had been so caught up with Hermione’s plans for the shop over the past few weeks that his usual melancholic routine of missing Fred and Ron each aching minute of the day had somewhat disappeared. Sometimes he could go hours before the thought of that missing part would creep up behind him and leave a gaping, painfully raw hole in his chest. But it wasn’t the pain that got him—it was the guilt. The guilt that, perhaps, life could go on without his brothers. It was such a preposterous thought and it frightened him so much.

Something flickered in Hermione’s eyes and he quickly rearranged his expression.

“How long has it been down there?� she asked.

“Oh, I dunno. Couple of months, maybe?� he said, giving a small shrug.

“And you’ve been wearing one sock for all that time?� George felt the sudden urge to laugh at the incredulous look on Hermione’s face.

“No… but it’s the only holeless one I have left! That bloody cat of yours has eaten all the rest!� He had meant it as a joke. Crookshanks had always been a point of contention within the Weasley household. Mum didn’t like the cat because he always went after the chooks. Ron… George suppressed a sigh. Ron had always used Crookshanks as an excuse to deny his attraction to Hermione. And the other brothers, well, Percy was always partial to the animal. Perhaps it was the arrogance and pomp both seemed to share.

Hermione scowled and put her hands on her hips as if she knew exactly what George was thinking. In fact, she probably did. Nothing that girl did should have surprised George. She was undeniably brilliant.

“So, do you wash it?� Hermione asked, her scowl quickly fading.

“What, the sock?� asked George.

“Yes, the sock!�

“Well, yeah,� George spluttered, his eyes roaming the room nervously. “Occasionally…� He had not, in fact, washed the sock for over four days.

Hermione pursed her lips and George took a tentative step backwards as she raised her wand.

“Tergeo,� she said simply and George relaxed somewhat. “There, now the other one. Quick, quick!�

George rolled his eyes and pulled off the other shoe. Ah well, he thought. I guess it was starting to pong a bit.

Hermione looked at George with a curious expression as she tucked her wand in the pocket of her dressing gown. “Why didn’t you just use Accio again? Do you have something against that particular charm?� she asked.

George frowned.

“No,� he replied. “It’s just more interesting this way, don’t you think?�

The truth was, George still found it hard to sleep. Each night the voices would come. A soft shadow of Fred’s laugh, the sound of Ron as he indignantly denied his crush on Hermione. It was impossible to ignore them in the dim light of the witching hour. Often he would put off going to bed by finding some trivial task such as searching for a lost sock, or sorting through his and Fred’s old collection of The Spicy Sorceress.

Oh, he reminded himself. I better hide those away before Hermione finds them. That could be awkward.

“Well, they still need a proper wash but that should keep the smell at bay for a day or two. Well, maybe not two but you’ll have enough time for me to knit you some new pairs,� said Hermione.

“You really can do everything, can’t you, Hermione,� said George, smiling is surprise. She’s going to knit me socks!

Hermione turned away suddenly but not before George caught the blush spreading across her cheeks. He bit his lip and stepped towards her. She really is rather pretty.

“Well, I’m tired. Goodnight, George. See you in the morning,� she said, her voice muffled.

“Yeah, night, Hermione,� said George behind her. He wanted to reach out and touch her.

But without turning around she hurried back up the stairs. At the sound of her door softly clicking shut, he turned back to the shop. Bending down he put on his new-found sock, flicked his wand at the lights but did not go upstairs. Instead, he sat down upon the lowest step, resting his head on clenched fists. A warm shiver trickled down his spine.

He had first noticed at Christmas as he comforted Hermione in Ron’s bedroom. He had felt her soft curves pressed against his side, watched the small pucker of her lips as they trembled with tears, inhaled her frizzy…

Stop it! This was Hermione, Ron’s girlfriend. His brothers girlfriend, for Merlin’s sake! He felt sick and instinctively clamped his hand over his mouth. Vomiting would be more desirable than thinking about Hermione in that way.

I’m tired, he thought. This is just some form of sleep-deprived delirium. All I need is a good night’s sleep and my thoughts will be clean and chaste tomorrow morning.

With that George stood up and moved slowly up the stairs. Pausing outside Hermione’s room he could hear her moving around getting ready for bed and the contented purr of Crookshanks. He closed his eyes briefly, his hand twitching toward the doorknob.

No.

George stepped back and continued down the hallway. Let’s hide those magazines, then.