Fic: The List (2/5)
Title: The List (2/5)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Summary: Hermione wasn't sure what had gone wrong in her life. A George/Hermione story.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Obviously "Harry Potter" isn't mine.
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“Must you make me laugh so much? It’s bad enough we get along so well; say good-night and go” - Imogen Heap, “Say Goodnight and Go”
Hermione wasn’t sure what had gone wrong in her life. It wasn’t that anything in particular was bad or unsatisfactory, there was just a pervasive sense of incompleteness. She was twenty-six years old and her only family was her cat, Crookshanks. Somehow, it was not what she’d envisioned when she’d left Hogwarts. Everything that had gone wrong was her fault, she knew that. She hadn’t...taken control of her own destiny, or whatever nonsense one wanted to call it. And she knew that dwelling on her mistakes for years and years, not being able to move on with her life and stop berating herself, was probably the root of all her problems. It was just...she didn’t know how to move on.
“Lumos.” Hermione illuminated a light on her bedside table and sat up. For some reason, she couldn’t get to sleep. Having this old internal monologue with herself wasn’t going to help, either.
Unbidden, the events of the previous week’s “date” came back to her. She hadn’t thought much about it -- on purpose, really -- because she wasn’t sure how she should think about it. On one hand, she’d enjoyed talking with George and wouldn’t have minded pursuing that friendship. But on the other, it would bring her deeper into the Weasley fold, and that would increase the chances of encountering Ron, and that would be bad. And she couldn’t quite forget that sudden paralyzing moment where she hadn’t wanted to meet George’s eyes.
She sighed and picked up a book. Looked like she was going to be tired at work tomorrow.
She was. Exhausted, in fact. By the time her lunch hour rolled around, she barely knew how she’d make it through the remainder of the day. On a whim, she decided to go for a walk, since she wasn’t particularly hungry. Maybe she’d get an ice cream from Florean Fortescue’s.
Hermione made her way to Diagon Alley and didn’t really pay attention to where she was going once she was there. It was a gloriously warm day for September and it seemed as though quite a few other people had decided to enjoy it. After awhile, she found herself walking past the flashing windows of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. She almost walked past, but at the last second, she hesitated, turned, and entered.
It had been several years since she’d been inside, but not much had changed. There were different products, of course, a few of which she picked up and looked at. It impressed her, as always, what the Weasley twins were able to accomplish.
“Hermione?!” someone exclaimed from behind her, startling her so much that she dropped the box of Canary Creams she’d been considering buying. When she turned around, she was promptly grabbed in a tight hug by, she realized, Angelina Weasley. She returned the hug happily, and when they separated, Angelina said, “I was hoping we’d finally see you. George said that the two of you had a good time, so you couldn’t still be thinking that we all were mad at you.”
Hermione smiled wryly. “I suppose my stupidity is common knowledge among the Weasleys now?”
“Good lord, no. I suspected that’s why you disappeared ages ago. I’m not as thick as the Weasley men, you know. Also the twins have learned some discretion in recent years. We’ve kept it amongst ourselves.” The young woman grinned again. “Do you have time to stay? I’d love to catch up.”
“Well, technically, I’m supposed to be back at work soon,” Hermione said slowly. “But you know, I never take any time off, and this seems like a perfect opportunity to do so.”
“Fantastic!”
After jotting a quick note to the head of her office and using the Weasleys’ owl to deliver it, Hermione and Angelina settled themselves in the flat above the shop. Hermione noticed it was actually two separate flats and wondered aloud if George was living in the other.
“Yeah,” Angelina replied. “Twins, you know. I think the two of them will always be inseparable.”
“It certainly looks that way,” Hermione agreed. “I expect this is an...interesting place to live.”
“To say the least!” Angelina laughed.
The two women spent the next several hours happily talking about what felt like everything under the sun. It was funny, Hermione mused, but she’d never felt that she had very much in common with Angelina. It had always been Ginny and Angelina who had gotten along well. Their personalities were more similar, after all. Both were athletic, outgoing, and greatly appreciated the twins’ sense of humor. So Hermione certainly never would have thought she could spend four hours talking to her. Come to that, she never envisioned herself spending four hours in the Weasley twins’ home.
“Hey, I heard you had a fabulous time last week with Ginny’s friend,” Angelina said suddenly, with an innocent look.
“Oh, please,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. “I’ve tried not to think about it.” When Angelina laughed, Hermione asked, “George told you all about it, then?”
“More or less. I gathered that my brother-in-law came away with a rather high opinion of you, though.”
Hermione fought the urge to blush. Why in the world should she be embarrassed? So George had been glad that they’d been able to have a decent time despite having unpleasant company. She was glad too, but there was no need to blush. Really, she needed to stop being so uncomfortable when men were friendly. Especially men like George Weasley, in whom her interest was strictly platonic. After all, she’d practically married into this family, there really was no need to feel awkward. “We just had fun after dinner was over,” Hermione replied, ignoring the fact that she hadn’t been able to rationalize her embarrassment to herself. It was enough that there was no reason to feel it.
“Yeah, he mentioned that.” Angelina seemed to be watching her carefully for a reaction.
Happily, she was saved from having to respond to what was basically the same statement (honestly, what was Angelina looking for?) by a knock on the door.
“We’re in the living room!” Angelina called.
A second later, George appeared, causing Hermione’s stomach to give a little skip. Figured that he’d have to come in right in the middle of this conversation.
“Oh, hello, Hermione,” he said, traces of surprise and amusement just barely evident in his tone.
Hermione gave him a little wave. “Hi.”
“Fred’s just behind me, Angelina, he’s just had to tell off some tosser for trying to nick a trick wand.” George sat down on the floor easily and glanced between the women. “Have you two just had a nice afternoon of lazing about?”
Angelina stretched and got to her feet. “I thought running the shop for three days straight qualified me for the afternoon off.”
Looking at him from her seat, Hermione asked, “Have you been away?”
“Dublin again.” He smirked at her. “Such a quaint city.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Angelina looking between them with a slight smile on her face. For some reason, seeing that made a completely irrational panic surge up within her and she jumped to her feet, stammering, “Good that you made it back. I should probably go; it was nice to see you, Angelina!” She couldn’t handle that knowing look implying that there was anything between her and George but friendship. It could hardly even be called that! They’d spent one evening talking. Really, what did that mean?
She managed to successfully avoid Fred on her hurried way out and got about twenty yards from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes before a voice rang out, “Hermione!”
For a split second, she considered not stopping. It would be a simple matter to Apparate away, and later, when she was at home, by herself, she could agonize over whether or not she’d overreacted and that she’d more than likely offended Angelina. That strange terror was back -- the terror she’d felt choking her in the instant she’d met George’s eyes a week ago. How could she possibly turn around and hold a rational conversation with that sickening wriggling in her stomach?
And in the next split second, Hermione couldn’t help wondering, again, what had gone wrong with her life. What was the matter with her, that she couldn’t deal with a mere well-intentioned implication of romantic feelings between herself and a man? Even if it was George Weasley. Was she an adult or wasn’t she? Regardless of what everyone else thought, she knew perfectly well where her feelings for George stood -- firmly planted on the side of friendship.
So, with a deep breath, she stopped, turned around, and was not particularly surprised to see George hurrying towards her. When he got to her side, he just stood for a moment, looking at a loss.
Hermione broke the silence for him. “Sorry. That was stupid of me.”
He looked torn between confusion and amusement. Finally, he asked, “You’ve gone a bit mad, haven’t you, Granger?”
The good-natured tone this query was delivered in left her no choice, really, but to laugh, rather helplessly, for a minute or two. “I have,” she finally replied. “I really think I have. Do you...” She paused for just an instant, then forged ahead, “Do you want to get dinner?”
He cocked his head at her, smiling now. “I believe it was I who originally suggested that we do just that. Which,” he added, “is a yes. Did you have someplace specific in mind?”
For some reason, this brought a huge grin to her face. “I did, in fact.”
Hermione didn’t consider it her deepest, darkest secret that she loved the Muggle fish and chips takeaway at the end of her street, but it wasn’t something she spread around. George was delighted, though, and even more so by her suggestion that they eat in the park across from her house.
“You know, Hermione, you’re a woman of many mysteries.”
She popped a chip into her mouth and raised her eyebrows at him. “How so?”
“Well, for one, I now know what your favorite restaurant is.”
She giggled (as a more detached part of her was somewhat disgusted to note). “That surprises you?”
“Just a little.” He watched her chew for a moment. Normally, Hermione knew, she would find this extremely embarrassing, but there was something about George that made her feel as though it would be all right to be herself. Greasy fish and chips place and all. And she wasn’t stupid, she knew what that meant -- or rather, what it could mean. Tomorrow she would worry about it. Tonight she just wanted to talk to someone who made her laugh.
George stole one of her chips, as he’d already finished his. “Next I’ll find out you’re some sort of circus performer.”
“Like a clown?” she asked.
“I was thinking more along the lines of lion-tamer.” He leaned back on the bench and looked at her. “Something that requires you to stare into the jaws of death defiantly on a daily basis.”
“Right, that’s me. Hermione Granger, the death-defying,” she scoffed.
Though he smiled, he replied in a more serious tone, “But that last bit’s true, isn’t it?”
Hermione looked away from him, uncomfortable, as always, when her part in Voldemort’s vanquishing came up. “I was just helping Harry. He did the really dangerous things.”
“If you insist. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to keep thinking of you as a lion-tamer.”
She was strangely flattered but decided to change the subject. After a pause, she said, “I know most wizards can’t be bothered with anything Muggle, but I suppose I still can’t help but love so much of the Muggle world.” As the words left her mouth, she realized belatedly that part of her had been testing his reaction to this part of her. And that annoyed her. She didn’t want to test him. She didn’t want to play stupid mind games.
“Yeah, to be honest, I used to think my dad’s obsession with Muggles was sort of daft, but I’ve developed an appreciation.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Helps that I know such an impressive Muggle-born woman.”
She couldn’t help it, she turned bright red. George found this so funny that a good portion of his swallow of fizzy drink came out his nose. He spluttered for about thirty seconds, which caused Hermione to laugh, which in turn made George burst into loud guffaws. Several passersby glanced at them with both amused and disapproving looks.
When they’d both recovered sufficiently enough to speak, Hermione said primly, “You really shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why ever not?” George asked innocently.
She pursed her lips in an attempt to not break out smiling. “Because,” she said airily, “you hardly know me.”
“That’s completely and utterly untrue. In fact, it’s slander,” George replied melodramatically. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he conceded, “All right, there may be some truth to that statement. But that’s precisely why one needs to make comments like that.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. There’s no better way to get to know someone than embarrassing them. Didn’t you know?”
It was a bit ridiculous, Hermione reflected, how often she laughed around George. But then again, he spent quite a fair amount of time laughing, too, and she’d never thought she was particularly humorous. The thought made her stomach flutter ever-so-slightly.
Don’t, she warned herself sternly. Do not develop butterflies, or strange lurches, or any other wriggly feelings in the stomach. Not for George.
He took her now empty wrappers from her and tossed them neatly into a rubbish bin, then got to his feet and offered her his hand. “Shall we walk around this lovely park of yours?”
After a moment’s deliberation, she took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Immediately, it became clear that this was a mistake. It sounded like something out of a silly article in Witch Weekly, but she really felt as though a bolt of electricity went through her when their hands touched. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she became very aware of how warm his grip was. It was pleasantly strong, too -- the kind of grip that one could trust not to loosen.
Belatedly, she realized how very, very close they were now standing. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body, close enough to smell him, close enough to know that she was too close.
The same thought seemed to have occurred to George and he took a step back, dropping her hand simultaneously. There was a funny look in his eyes and his voice sounded suddenly strained as he said, “Or, er, maybe I’d better let you go home.”
She swallowed in what felt like a very loud manner. Here he was, offering to put a stop to...whatever had just happened, and she was actually contemplating saying no! It was a good thing George appeared to have more sense than her at the moment. Still, it was something of a wrench to agree, “It is getting a bit dark.”
“Well.” George looked incredibly uncomfortable, and at any other time this would have been amusing, since both of the Weasley twins had made it their express goals in life to make others feel awkward. But now Hermione just couldn’t help but think that she’d done something to imply that she perhaps felt something that she mostly certainly did not, and that had scared him into behaving in a thoroughly un-Weasley-twin-like manner. “Well,” he said again, clearing his throat, “good-night, Hermione.”
It sounded so oddly formal, coming from him, and she mumbled some vague response before he turned and walked away.
“George!” she called so suddenly that she surprised even herself. Immediately, he stopped and looked back at her, but she just said, “I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah.” His eyes met hers for one incredibly long moment, and then he strode off.
Hermione watched him, a dull ache building in her chest, for several seconds, before she, too, turned around. Fists clenched, she slowly made her way back to her house.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Summary: Hermione wasn't sure what had gone wrong in her life. A George/Hermione story.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Obviously "Harry Potter" isn't mine.
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“Must you make me laugh so much? It’s bad enough we get along so well; say good-night and go” - Imogen Heap, “Say Goodnight and Go”
Hermione wasn’t sure what had gone wrong in her life. It wasn’t that anything in particular was bad or unsatisfactory, there was just a pervasive sense of incompleteness. She was twenty-six years old and her only family was her cat, Crookshanks. Somehow, it was not what she’d envisioned when she’d left Hogwarts. Everything that had gone wrong was her fault, she knew that. She hadn’t...taken control of her own destiny, or whatever nonsense one wanted to call it. And she knew that dwelling on her mistakes for years and years, not being able to move on with her life and stop berating herself, was probably the root of all her problems. It was just...she didn’t know how to move on.
“Lumos.” Hermione illuminated a light on her bedside table and sat up. For some reason, she couldn’t get to sleep. Having this old internal monologue with herself wasn’t going to help, either.
Unbidden, the events of the previous week’s “date” came back to her. She hadn’t thought much about it -- on purpose, really -- because she wasn’t sure how she should think about it. On one hand, she’d enjoyed talking with George and wouldn’t have minded pursuing that friendship. But on the other, it would bring her deeper into the Weasley fold, and that would increase the chances of encountering Ron, and that would be bad. And she couldn’t quite forget that sudden paralyzing moment where she hadn’t wanted to meet George’s eyes.
She sighed and picked up a book. Looked like she was going to be tired at work tomorrow.
She was. Exhausted, in fact. By the time her lunch hour rolled around, she barely knew how she’d make it through the remainder of the day. On a whim, she decided to go for a walk, since she wasn’t particularly hungry. Maybe she’d get an ice cream from Florean Fortescue’s.
Hermione made her way to Diagon Alley and didn’t really pay attention to where she was going once she was there. It was a gloriously warm day for September and it seemed as though quite a few other people had decided to enjoy it. After awhile, she found herself walking past the flashing windows of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. She almost walked past, but at the last second, she hesitated, turned, and entered.
It had been several years since she’d been inside, but not much had changed. There were different products, of course, a few of which she picked up and looked at. It impressed her, as always, what the Weasley twins were able to accomplish.
“Hermione?!” someone exclaimed from behind her, startling her so much that she dropped the box of Canary Creams she’d been considering buying. When she turned around, she was promptly grabbed in a tight hug by, she realized, Angelina Weasley. She returned the hug happily, and when they separated, Angelina said, “I was hoping we’d finally see you. George said that the two of you had a good time, so you couldn’t still be thinking that we all were mad at you.”
Hermione smiled wryly. “I suppose my stupidity is common knowledge among the Weasleys now?”
“Good lord, no. I suspected that’s why you disappeared ages ago. I’m not as thick as the Weasley men, you know. Also the twins have learned some discretion in recent years. We’ve kept it amongst ourselves.” The young woman grinned again. “Do you have time to stay? I’d love to catch up.”
“Well, technically, I’m supposed to be back at work soon,” Hermione said slowly. “But you know, I never take any time off, and this seems like a perfect opportunity to do so.”
“Fantastic!”
After jotting a quick note to the head of her office and using the Weasleys’ owl to deliver it, Hermione and Angelina settled themselves in the flat above the shop. Hermione noticed it was actually two separate flats and wondered aloud if George was living in the other.
“Yeah,” Angelina replied. “Twins, you know. I think the two of them will always be inseparable.”
“It certainly looks that way,” Hermione agreed. “I expect this is an...interesting place to live.”
“To say the least!” Angelina laughed.
The two women spent the next several hours happily talking about what felt like everything under the sun. It was funny, Hermione mused, but she’d never felt that she had very much in common with Angelina. It had always been Ginny and Angelina who had gotten along well. Their personalities were more similar, after all. Both were athletic, outgoing, and greatly appreciated the twins’ sense of humor. So Hermione certainly never would have thought she could spend four hours talking to her. Come to that, she never envisioned herself spending four hours in the Weasley twins’ home.
“Hey, I heard you had a fabulous time last week with Ginny’s friend,” Angelina said suddenly, with an innocent look.
“Oh, please,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. “I’ve tried not to think about it.” When Angelina laughed, Hermione asked, “George told you all about it, then?”
“More or less. I gathered that my brother-in-law came away with a rather high opinion of you, though.”
Hermione fought the urge to blush. Why in the world should she be embarrassed? So George had been glad that they’d been able to have a decent time despite having unpleasant company. She was glad too, but there was no need to blush. Really, she needed to stop being so uncomfortable when men were friendly. Especially men like George Weasley, in whom her interest was strictly platonic. After all, she’d practically married into this family, there really was no need to feel awkward. “We just had fun after dinner was over,” Hermione replied, ignoring the fact that she hadn’t been able to rationalize her embarrassment to herself. It was enough that there was no reason to feel it.
“Yeah, he mentioned that.” Angelina seemed to be watching her carefully for a reaction.
Happily, she was saved from having to respond to what was basically the same statement (honestly, what was Angelina looking for?) by a knock on the door.
“We’re in the living room!” Angelina called.
A second later, George appeared, causing Hermione’s stomach to give a little skip. Figured that he’d have to come in right in the middle of this conversation.
“Oh, hello, Hermione,” he said, traces of surprise and amusement just barely evident in his tone.
Hermione gave him a little wave. “Hi.”
“Fred’s just behind me, Angelina, he’s just had to tell off some tosser for trying to nick a trick wand.” George sat down on the floor easily and glanced between the women. “Have you two just had a nice afternoon of lazing about?”
Angelina stretched and got to her feet. “I thought running the shop for three days straight qualified me for the afternoon off.”
Looking at him from her seat, Hermione asked, “Have you been away?”
“Dublin again.” He smirked at her. “Such a quaint city.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Angelina looking between them with a slight smile on her face. For some reason, seeing that made a completely irrational panic surge up within her and she jumped to her feet, stammering, “Good that you made it back. I should probably go; it was nice to see you, Angelina!” She couldn’t handle that knowing look implying that there was anything between her and George but friendship. It could hardly even be called that! They’d spent one evening talking. Really, what did that mean?
She managed to successfully avoid Fred on her hurried way out and got about twenty yards from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes before a voice rang out, “Hermione!”
For a split second, she considered not stopping. It would be a simple matter to Apparate away, and later, when she was at home, by herself, she could agonize over whether or not she’d overreacted and that she’d more than likely offended Angelina. That strange terror was back -- the terror she’d felt choking her in the instant she’d met George’s eyes a week ago. How could she possibly turn around and hold a rational conversation with that sickening wriggling in her stomach?
And in the next split second, Hermione couldn’t help wondering, again, what had gone wrong with her life. What was the matter with her, that she couldn’t deal with a mere well-intentioned implication of romantic feelings between herself and a man? Even if it was George Weasley. Was she an adult or wasn’t she? Regardless of what everyone else thought, she knew perfectly well where her feelings for George stood -- firmly planted on the side of friendship.
So, with a deep breath, she stopped, turned around, and was not particularly surprised to see George hurrying towards her. When he got to her side, he just stood for a moment, looking at a loss.
Hermione broke the silence for him. “Sorry. That was stupid of me.”
He looked torn between confusion and amusement. Finally, he asked, “You’ve gone a bit mad, haven’t you, Granger?”
The good-natured tone this query was delivered in left her no choice, really, but to laugh, rather helplessly, for a minute or two. “I have,” she finally replied. “I really think I have. Do you...” She paused for just an instant, then forged ahead, “Do you want to get dinner?”
He cocked his head at her, smiling now. “I believe it was I who originally suggested that we do just that. Which,” he added, “is a yes. Did you have someplace specific in mind?”
For some reason, this brought a huge grin to her face. “I did, in fact.”
Hermione didn’t consider it her deepest, darkest secret that she loved the Muggle fish and chips takeaway at the end of her street, but it wasn’t something she spread around. George was delighted, though, and even more so by her suggestion that they eat in the park across from her house.
“You know, Hermione, you’re a woman of many mysteries.”
She popped a chip into her mouth and raised her eyebrows at him. “How so?”
“Well, for one, I now know what your favorite restaurant is.”
She giggled (as a more detached part of her was somewhat disgusted to note). “That surprises you?”
“Just a little.” He watched her chew for a moment. Normally, Hermione knew, she would find this extremely embarrassing, but there was something about George that made her feel as though it would be all right to be herself. Greasy fish and chips place and all. And she wasn’t stupid, she knew what that meant -- or rather, what it could mean. Tomorrow she would worry about it. Tonight she just wanted to talk to someone who made her laugh.
George stole one of her chips, as he’d already finished his. “Next I’ll find out you’re some sort of circus performer.”
“Like a clown?” she asked.
“I was thinking more along the lines of lion-tamer.” He leaned back on the bench and looked at her. “Something that requires you to stare into the jaws of death defiantly on a daily basis.”
“Right, that’s me. Hermione Granger, the death-defying,” she scoffed.
Though he smiled, he replied in a more serious tone, “But that last bit’s true, isn’t it?”
Hermione looked away from him, uncomfortable, as always, when her part in Voldemort’s vanquishing came up. “I was just helping Harry. He did the really dangerous things.”
“If you insist. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to keep thinking of you as a lion-tamer.”
She was strangely flattered but decided to change the subject. After a pause, she said, “I know most wizards can’t be bothered with anything Muggle, but I suppose I still can’t help but love so much of the Muggle world.” As the words left her mouth, she realized belatedly that part of her had been testing his reaction to this part of her. And that annoyed her. She didn’t want to test him. She didn’t want to play stupid mind games.
“Yeah, to be honest, I used to think my dad’s obsession with Muggles was sort of daft, but I’ve developed an appreciation.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Helps that I know such an impressive Muggle-born woman.”
She couldn’t help it, she turned bright red. George found this so funny that a good portion of his swallow of fizzy drink came out his nose. He spluttered for about thirty seconds, which caused Hermione to laugh, which in turn made George burst into loud guffaws. Several passersby glanced at them with both amused and disapproving looks.
When they’d both recovered sufficiently enough to speak, Hermione said primly, “You really shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why ever not?” George asked innocently.
She pursed her lips in an attempt to not break out smiling. “Because,” she said airily, “you hardly know me.”
“That’s completely and utterly untrue. In fact, it’s slander,” George replied melodramatically. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he conceded, “All right, there may be some truth to that statement. But that’s precisely why one needs to make comments like that.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. There’s no better way to get to know someone than embarrassing them. Didn’t you know?”
It was a bit ridiculous, Hermione reflected, how often she laughed around George. But then again, he spent quite a fair amount of time laughing, too, and she’d never thought she was particularly humorous. The thought made her stomach flutter ever-so-slightly.
Don’t, she warned herself sternly. Do not develop butterflies, or strange lurches, or any other wriggly feelings in the stomach. Not for George.
He took her now empty wrappers from her and tossed them neatly into a rubbish bin, then got to his feet and offered her his hand. “Shall we walk around this lovely park of yours?”
After a moment’s deliberation, she took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Immediately, it became clear that this was a mistake. It sounded like something out of a silly article in Witch Weekly, but she really felt as though a bolt of electricity went through her when their hands touched. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she became very aware of how warm his grip was. It was pleasantly strong, too -- the kind of grip that one could trust not to loosen.
Belatedly, she realized how very, very close they were now standing. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body, close enough to smell him, close enough to know that she was too close.
The same thought seemed to have occurred to George and he took a step back, dropping her hand simultaneously. There was a funny look in his eyes and his voice sounded suddenly strained as he said, “Or, er, maybe I’d better let you go home.”
She swallowed in what felt like a very loud manner. Here he was, offering to put a stop to...whatever had just happened, and she was actually contemplating saying no! It was a good thing George appeared to have more sense than her at the moment. Still, it was something of a wrench to agree, “It is getting a bit dark.”
“Well.” George looked incredibly uncomfortable, and at any other time this would have been amusing, since both of the Weasley twins had made it their express goals in life to make others feel awkward. But now Hermione just couldn’t help but think that she’d done something to imply that she perhaps felt something that she mostly certainly did not, and that had scared him into behaving in a thoroughly un-Weasley-twin-like manner. “Well,” he said again, clearing his throat, “good-night, Hermione.”
It sounded so oddly formal, coming from him, and she mumbled some vague response before he turned and walked away.
“George!” she called so suddenly that she surprised even herself. Immediately, he stopped and looked back at her, but she just said, “I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah.” His eyes met hers for one incredibly long moment, and then he strode off.
Hermione watched him, a dull ache building in her chest, for several seconds, before she, too, turned around. Fists clenched, she slowly made her way back to her house.