Fic: The List (4/5)
Title: The List (4/5)
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.
1| 2| 3
4
“I must be dreaming for I don’t fall in love lawlessly. I must be dreaming or pinch me to waking.” -- Frou Frou, “Must Be Dreaming”
Crookshanks yowled in surprise when Hermione appeared suddenly in her living room. On the sofa to be exact, since she hadn’t been devoting the usual amount of concentration to the spell. She teetered for a couple seconds before tumbling backwards and landing hard on her backside. Luckily, she stayed on the sofa, so no major damage was done.
The evening had certainly taken a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to think about what she’d just seen, because she couldn’t understand it or face it. Just wanting to go to bed and sleep, she got up and started to walk upstairs to her bedroom.
Then there was an urgent pounding on the door and a voice calling, “Hermione? Hermione, are you there?”
She hesitated on the bottom step. She could just go to bed; let him knock away and yell himself hoarse. There’d be no way for him to know she was there. And why should she speak to him? After that? After what she’d just seen?
“Hermione, please let me in!”
With a sigh, she turned around and went to open the door, feeling that she’d probably regret it.
George was standing there, a desperate expression on his face. Before he could say anything, Hermione snarled, “Let me guess, that wasn’t what it looked like?” She took a certain savage pleasure in searching his face for any lipstick marks from the unfamiliar woman. There were none that she could see.
He looked stung, as though he’d actually taken a physical blow from her. “It wasn’t,” he said quietly. When she refused to say anything, he sighed and asked, “Please, Hermione, can’t I come in and try to explain? Please? And if it’s not good enough you can kick me out, I swear.”
She wanted to say no. It was stupid, but he’d hurt her, and she didn’t care what he had to say. How could that have been a misunderstanding? She knew what she’d seen.
But he looked so desperate, so earnest, standing there out on her front step. “Okay,” she muttered, and stood aside so he could enter. Hermione shut the door and turned to stare at him, waiting for him to say something.
For a second or two, he seemed to cast around for the right words. Finally, he said, “I had a girlfriend for awhile. Well, a long time, really. And I broke up with her.” He paused and looked down at his feet. “She could have taken it better.”
“Was that her?” Hermione asked, some of the sharp edge of anger leaking from her voice.
George nodded. “Totally, completely pissed. Barely could speak. It’s a wonder she even got up the stairs.” He swallowed and looked back up, meeting her eyes. “Fred came to tell me she was there because she kept insisting on seeing me. Wouldn’t leave. I just went to tell her to get out and in the middle of it she fell on me.” He bit his lip and looked at her imploringly. “I’m not such a tosser that I’d ask you to dinner and then go snog my ex-girlfriend.”
Suddenly, Hermione couldn’t look at him anymore. She just wanted to go to sleep. This was too much. She hated that George had made her feel this way. Felt stupid that he had. And even more stupid that she’d reacted this way and made a fool of herself. “It’s okay,” she mumbled. “Don’t worry.”
The imploring expression on his face did not disappear. “Please don’t be upset.”
She tried to give him a weak smile but failed. “I’m not. I won’t be. Can I...can we just talk later? Tomorrow? I’m so tired.”
George nodded. “Of course. Yeah. You know where to find me whenever you want.” He took a step towards her, then stopped and hesitated. Hermione met his eyes, and he seemed to come to a decision. Swiftly, he kissed her cheek, and before she could react, he was already out the door.
Despite herself, she smiled wearily before trudging up the stairs to go to bed.
The following Friday, he showed up on her doorstep with a giant bouquet of roses. Hermione couldn’t help laughing as she took them, saying, “I thought I had you convinced that you didn’t need to apologize anymore! Especially since these must have cost a fortune.”
He shrugged and grinned easily. “I live by the rule that one should always apologize one more time.” When she arched her eyebrows doubtfully, he amended, “At least, when it comes to pretty girls.”
Hermione said nothing but turned away, smirking, to put the flowers in a vase. “You look nice,” she told him after a moment, when she was safely out of sight in the kitchen. He did look very smart; she felt underdressed next to him.
But when she said this last part to him, he scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous. You always look stunning.”
She rolled her eyes in mock-exasperation and said, “You don’t seem to have learned the line between flattery and shameless lying,” which made him laugh.
After the scene at the party on Saturday, Hermione and George had been forced, via several long, circuitous conversations, to come to an uneasy, unspoken agreement about the nature of their relationship. That is, they both realized that they had feelings for each other that mere friends did not possess. Because after all, one didn’t have a fit at the sight of a friend kissing another woman. But on the other hand, neither of them had acted yet. Hermione was still resolved not to, and she just assumed that George must have similar issues with getting involved.
She had wondered if this dinner would still happen at all, if it wouldn’t be uncomfortable, but George had been jokingly aghast at the suggestion. And as he was so determined to take her out, she didn’t feel obligated to refuse. More than that, she had determined that she was going to have a marvelous time. There would be no awkwardness, no guilt. She just wanted to enjoy herself.
And she did. Dinner was fantastic, and afterwards they strolled along the bank of the River Avon. It was a surprisingly warm night for late September and Hermione was able to slip off her jumper while they walked. She was impressed with herself for not feeling strange about baring her shoulders in front of George.
During a lull in their conversation, she was able to take the opportunity to say, “Thank you for dinner, George. It really was lovely.”
“It was my pleasure,” George replied gallantly. “Thank you for giving me the honor of your company.”
Bath really was beautiful by night. The lights from the town reflecting on the water made the river look like a twinkling fairyland, and the sky was a clear, deep, inky color dotted with stars. If ever there was a time when she might lose her inhibitions, it was then.
She gave George a sidelong look, wondering if the romanticism of the night was having any effect on him. Wondering if he even needed this kind of atmosphere to affect him. After a second, she dropped this line of thinking. It would lead to feeling awkward, which was exactly what she wanted to avoid.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” George said suddenly, in a very musing voice.
“What?”
“This.” He made a vague gesture that seemed to encompass the two of them. “If someone had told me that two months ago I’d be eating at fancy restaurants with Hermione Granger, I’d’ve laughed in his face.”
“Why’s that?” she questioned, raising her eyebrows.
He snorted. “Well, the obvious reason. And you’re so brainy. I’m still amazed you ever laugh at a word I say.”
“Well,” Hermione retorted with a smile playing about her lips, “don’t you think it’s quite the same for me? You were always so popular. And you’re funny. Anyway, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You and Fred are more clever than I am. You get to do something you love and make money.”
“Don’t kid yourself, you’re much cleverer than me,” George said with a grin.
She gave him a playful smile. “If you insist.”
“Knew you’d see the light.”
Their eyes met for a lingering moment and Hermione’s heart seemed to jump. There was an odd expression on his face, one she couldn’t read, and she had to wonder if there wasn’t a similar look on hers. Insanely, she felt herself wanting to touch him, somehow, just to see how he felt... Right, she told herself scathingly. Totally innocent. You just want to see. It’s just academic interest.
Still looking at her, George asked, “Do you want to do this again?”
Startled, she asked, “What?”
That made him smirk, almost as if he knew her mind had been elsewhere (and where it had been). “Dinner.”
“Oh.” She thought quickly. Every time she saw him made it harder to disentangle herself. And she wanted to, didn’t she? Eventually? So really, it would be better not to. For both of them.
And how many times had she told herself this?
“Yeah,” she told him. “When?”
So it went. For months. Months went by with them seeing each other every week, speaking by Floo powder, growing closer and closer, even while neither made any move to advance things past a certain point. Every so often their gazes would lock and Hermione would wonder if some force was just going to push them together, so that suddenly she would find herself in his arms without knowing how she got there. She wouldn’t have minded. Because, to be frank, she thought it would take a mysterious outside force to push them together. She certainly wasn’t going to do it. From the looks of things, George wasn’t going to, either. And she couldn’t decide if she preferred things this way or not. It wasn’t as though it kept things uncomplicated.
Harry reminded her of this fact while they were eating lunch out one day in January. “Now, your life could be more complicated,” he conceded, “but as things stand now, it’s not exactly simple.”
“Any suggestions, then?” Hermione asked, looking at him curiously.
He sighed. “No. To be honest, Hermione, I think life would have been a lot easier for all of us if you’d just married Ron.” When she opened her mouth to retort with something fittingly cutting, he interrupted, “And I’m not saying I would’ve wanted you to be unhappy. But you must be able to appreciate that your breaking up put me in an uncomfortable position. I mean, you’re both my best friends, but no matter what happened, one of you was going to end up unhappy. And I obviously wasn’t going to, and couldn’t, choose sides.” Hermione was now staring at her plate while she listened to him. “And I want you to do what will make you happiest. I know that staying with Ron wouldn’t have done it. And don’t bother denying you don’t still torture yourself about it.”
“I’m not denying it,” Hermione snorted.
“Look.” Harry paused and thought for a moment. “I don’t know what’s happening with you and George.”
“That makes two of us.”
Chuckling a little, Harry went on, “But I don’t think that pretending nothing’s happening is the answer.”
She covered her face. “I don’t want to break Ron’s heart again.”
Harry guffawed, causing her to jump. “Break his heart? Are you joking? Hermione, for one thing, Ron is not the fragile man you seem to think he is. For another, he’s handled all of this a lot better than you have. Of course he got hurt, but he dealt with it and moved on with his life. And if you think he doesn’t know that George has been seeing you...well, think again.”
“Oh god. I hadn’t...I mean, it didn’t...how long has he known?” she asked in a horrified whisper.
“Ages. But you know what? It’s been three years. It’s okay. You really just have to let go.”
“But, it’s just...” Hermione made a face. “Oh, Harry, you can’t really want to talk about this with me. Wait until Ginny’s around.”
Harry shrugged. “I’m not fussed. If you’d rather talk to Ginny, you can, but I don’t mind.”
“No, it’s not that I’d rather talk to Ginny. I just don’t want to bother you with this.”
He shook his head, smiling. “I’m happy to help. If it helps, of course.”
“It does,” she replied, returning his smile wanly. “So what advice do you have for me?”
“Well.” Harry seemed to be weighing his words carefully. “I know you feel guilty that you hurt Ron’s feelings. And I know you don’t want to hurt his feelings even more by getting involved with his brother. But don’t you think you just might end up hurting George if you carry on like this?”
She gaped at him for a second, alternately astounded by the statement and the fact that Harry had grown so perceptive since she’d first met him. “Hurt George?”
“It hasn’t occurred to you that he might fancy you?”
Shifting uncomfortably, she replied, “Yes, but...certainly not that much.”
Harry, sounding amused, told her, “You know best, I suppose; you’re there.”
But Hermione couldn’t help thinking that Harry wasn’t being quite truthful. She thought about their conversation a great deal in the following days. Though it was hard to believe that George could possibly feel strongly enough about her that he could get hurt, she entertained the idea. And, if possible, she grew even more confused.
For several agonizing nights, she tossed and turned in bed (making for hazy days at work the following mornings), wondering what she should do, trying to steel herself in the event that she had to make a difficult decision. One thing she knew -- this dancing around that she and George had been doing needed to end. It was doing neither of them any good. She just didn’t understand why, if George liked her so much, he hadn’t done anything about it. He wasn’t exactly inhibited. Wouldn’t he say or do something? Didn’t he know by now that even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t make an advance?
And there, there was the question. Did she want to? Did she want to be with him? Did she...love him? Even thinking the word sent a thrill of terror through her. How could this have happened? She’d let herself fall in love with George Weasley almost without realizing it, thinking it was impossible that it could happen. They were too different, the two of them, weren’t they? She’d thought so. She’d thought he was the kind of man to ignore women like her. And she’d thought of herself as rational, deliberate, logical. Not the kind of woman to fall for a practical joker. But there it was. It felt like a dream, coming to this realization.
So, the problem was, what to do? Let go of her guilt, Harry had urged her. She knew she should. It was just doing it that was so difficult. How did one cast away something that had been with her for so long? She was so used to feeling it, like a yoke around her neck, that she wondered if maybe she wouldn’t be herself anymore if it were gone. And even though she wanted nothing more than to not be shackled to guilt any longer, she didn’t know how to loose the shackles.
Would it be possible, then, to stop seeing George? Because she couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him. And maybe if she broke cleanly with him now, he wouldn’t be hurt.
The thought seemed to gouge a hollow out of her chest. It had been so long since she’d felt this way. This part of love was what everyone always forgot. The aching pain that went along with the euphoria. She was tired of it. She’d spent so long with the pain and had little of the happiness that should have gone along with it. So what to do?
Well. Tomorrow she was seeing George. She would speak to him about this. There needed to be a resolution.
Hermione didn’t particularly enjoy herself the next day while she and George sat around her house talking. Oh, she tried. She made a valiant effort to appear cheerful, but George noticed that something was quite obviously wrong. When he questioned her about it, she took a slow, deep breath.
“Well, I actually...wanted to talk to you about that.”
He gave her a serious look. “It’s something that concerns me, then.”
She nodded, feeling miserable. “George, I just have to ask...what is this that we’re doing?”
A ghost of a smile passed over his face. “D’you mean that literally?” When she just looked away, he sobered quickly. “To be honest, Hermione, I don’t think I know any better than you do. I mean, obviously I like you. I like spending time with you. So...” He shrugged a bit helplessly.
He liked her? What did that mean? “Okay. Well, um...it’s just...um.” Chewing her lip, she pondered how best to say it. She needed to make sure that this business with Ron being her former fiancé was totally out in the open, that if they were to get involved it wouldn’t be hanging oppressively over them. Because if they did and it was, whatever they had would be dead before it began. “I guess I just wanted to talk about...what Ron means to me.”
Judging by the way George’s face froze, this had been the wrong choice of wording. “Ah,” he choked out, “I see.” There was a horrible sort of grimace of a smile on his face. “That’s okay, Hermione. I think I have a good idea of what you’re going to say.”
He got to his feet quickly, the horrible smile still stuck on his face. Feeling panic rising within her at how wrong this was going, Hermione followed suit and said, “No, I don’t think --”
“Really, it’s fine, you don’t have to bother.” George’s expression was rigid. “Clearly I’ve misunderstood something.”
“That’s the thing, you --”
“I’ll see you around, Hermione. Okay?” he cut her off. And before she could stop him, he was gone, leaving her standing coldly in her living room by herself.
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.
1| 2| 3
4
“I must be dreaming for I don’t fall in love lawlessly. I must be dreaming or pinch me to waking.” -- Frou Frou, “Must Be Dreaming”
Crookshanks yowled in surprise when Hermione appeared suddenly in her living room. On the sofa to be exact, since she hadn’t been devoting the usual amount of concentration to the spell. She teetered for a couple seconds before tumbling backwards and landing hard on her backside. Luckily, she stayed on the sofa, so no major damage was done.
The evening had certainly taken a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to think about what she’d just seen, because she couldn’t understand it or face it. Just wanting to go to bed and sleep, she got up and started to walk upstairs to her bedroom.
Then there was an urgent pounding on the door and a voice calling, “Hermione? Hermione, are you there?”
She hesitated on the bottom step. She could just go to bed; let him knock away and yell himself hoarse. There’d be no way for him to know she was there. And why should she speak to him? After that? After what she’d just seen?
“Hermione, please let me in!”
With a sigh, she turned around and went to open the door, feeling that she’d probably regret it.
George was standing there, a desperate expression on his face. Before he could say anything, Hermione snarled, “Let me guess, that wasn’t what it looked like?” She took a certain savage pleasure in searching his face for any lipstick marks from the unfamiliar woman. There were none that she could see.
He looked stung, as though he’d actually taken a physical blow from her. “It wasn’t,” he said quietly. When she refused to say anything, he sighed and asked, “Please, Hermione, can’t I come in and try to explain? Please? And if it’s not good enough you can kick me out, I swear.”
She wanted to say no. It was stupid, but he’d hurt her, and she didn’t care what he had to say. How could that have been a misunderstanding? She knew what she’d seen.
But he looked so desperate, so earnest, standing there out on her front step. “Okay,” she muttered, and stood aside so he could enter. Hermione shut the door and turned to stare at him, waiting for him to say something.
For a second or two, he seemed to cast around for the right words. Finally, he said, “I had a girlfriend for awhile. Well, a long time, really. And I broke up with her.” He paused and looked down at his feet. “She could have taken it better.”
“Was that her?” Hermione asked, some of the sharp edge of anger leaking from her voice.
George nodded. “Totally, completely pissed. Barely could speak. It’s a wonder she even got up the stairs.” He swallowed and looked back up, meeting her eyes. “Fred came to tell me she was there because she kept insisting on seeing me. Wouldn’t leave. I just went to tell her to get out and in the middle of it she fell on me.” He bit his lip and looked at her imploringly. “I’m not such a tosser that I’d ask you to dinner and then go snog my ex-girlfriend.”
Suddenly, Hermione couldn’t look at him anymore. She just wanted to go to sleep. This was too much. She hated that George had made her feel this way. Felt stupid that he had. And even more stupid that she’d reacted this way and made a fool of herself. “It’s okay,” she mumbled. “Don’t worry.”
The imploring expression on his face did not disappear. “Please don’t be upset.”
She tried to give him a weak smile but failed. “I’m not. I won’t be. Can I...can we just talk later? Tomorrow? I’m so tired.”
George nodded. “Of course. Yeah. You know where to find me whenever you want.” He took a step towards her, then stopped and hesitated. Hermione met his eyes, and he seemed to come to a decision. Swiftly, he kissed her cheek, and before she could react, he was already out the door.
Despite herself, she smiled wearily before trudging up the stairs to go to bed.
The following Friday, he showed up on her doorstep with a giant bouquet of roses. Hermione couldn’t help laughing as she took them, saying, “I thought I had you convinced that you didn’t need to apologize anymore! Especially since these must have cost a fortune.”
He shrugged and grinned easily. “I live by the rule that one should always apologize one more time.” When she arched her eyebrows doubtfully, he amended, “At least, when it comes to pretty girls.”
Hermione said nothing but turned away, smirking, to put the flowers in a vase. “You look nice,” she told him after a moment, when she was safely out of sight in the kitchen. He did look very smart; she felt underdressed next to him.
But when she said this last part to him, he scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous. You always look stunning.”
She rolled her eyes in mock-exasperation and said, “You don’t seem to have learned the line between flattery and shameless lying,” which made him laugh.
After the scene at the party on Saturday, Hermione and George had been forced, via several long, circuitous conversations, to come to an uneasy, unspoken agreement about the nature of their relationship. That is, they both realized that they had feelings for each other that mere friends did not possess. Because after all, one didn’t have a fit at the sight of a friend kissing another woman. But on the other hand, neither of them had acted yet. Hermione was still resolved not to, and she just assumed that George must have similar issues with getting involved.
She had wondered if this dinner would still happen at all, if it wouldn’t be uncomfortable, but George had been jokingly aghast at the suggestion. And as he was so determined to take her out, she didn’t feel obligated to refuse. More than that, she had determined that she was going to have a marvelous time. There would be no awkwardness, no guilt. She just wanted to enjoy herself.
And she did. Dinner was fantastic, and afterwards they strolled along the bank of the River Avon. It was a surprisingly warm night for late September and Hermione was able to slip off her jumper while they walked. She was impressed with herself for not feeling strange about baring her shoulders in front of George.
During a lull in their conversation, she was able to take the opportunity to say, “Thank you for dinner, George. It really was lovely.”
“It was my pleasure,” George replied gallantly. “Thank you for giving me the honor of your company.”
Bath really was beautiful by night. The lights from the town reflecting on the water made the river look like a twinkling fairyland, and the sky was a clear, deep, inky color dotted with stars. If ever there was a time when she might lose her inhibitions, it was then.
She gave George a sidelong look, wondering if the romanticism of the night was having any effect on him. Wondering if he even needed this kind of atmosphere to affect him. After a second, she dropped this line of thinking. It would lead to feeling awkward, which was exactly what she wanted to avoid.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” George said suddenly, in a very musing voice.
“What?”
“This.” He made a vague gesture that seemed to encompass the two of them. “If someone had told me that two months ago I’d be eating at fancy restaurants with Hermione Granger, I’d’ve laughed in his face.”
“Why’s that?” she questioned, raising her eyebrows.
He snorted. “Well, the obvious reason. And you’re so brainy. I’m still amazed you ever laugh at a word I say.”
“Well,” Hermione retorted with a smile playing about her lips, “don’t you think it’s quite the same for me? You were always so popular. And you’re funny. Anyway, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You and Fred are more clever than I am. You get to do something you love and make money.”
“Don’t kid yourself, you’re much cleverer than me,” George said with a grin.
She gave him a playful smile. “If you insist.”
“Knew you’d see the light.”
Their eyes met for a lingering moment and Hermione’s heart seemed to jump. There was an odd expression on his face, one she couldn’t read, and she had to wonder if there wasn’t a similar look on hers. Insanely, she felt herself wanting to touch him, somehow, just to see how he felt... Right, she told herself scathingly. Totally innocent. You just want to see. It’s just academic interest.
Still looking at her, George asked, “Do you want to do this again?”
Startled, she asked, “What?”
That made him smirk, almost as if he knew her mind had been elsewhere (and where it had been). “Dinner.”
“Oh.” She thought quickly. Every time she saw him made it harder to disentangle herself. And she wanted to, didn’t she? Eventually? So really, it would be better not to. For both of them.
And how many times had she told herself this?
“Yeah,” she told him. “When?”
So it went. For months. Months went by with them seeing each other every week, speaking by Floo powder, growing closer and closer, even while neither made any move to advance things past a certain point. Every so often their gazes would lock and Hermione would wonder if some force was just going to push them together, so that suddenly she would find herself in his arms without knowing how she got there. She wouldn’t have minded. Because, to be frank, she thought it would take a mysterious outside force to push them together. She certainly wasn’t going to do it. From the looks of things, George wasn’t going to, either. And she couldn’t decide if she preferred things this way or not. It wasn’t as though it kept things uncomplicated.
Harry reminded her of this fact while they were eating lunch out one day in January. “Now, your life could be more complicated,” he conceded, “but as things stand now, it’s not exactly simple.”
“Any suggestions, then?” Hermione asked, looking at him curiously.
He sighed. “No. To be honest, Hermione, I think life would have been a lot easier for all of us if you’d just married Ron.” When she opened her mouth to retort with something fittingly cutting, he interrupted, “And I’m not saying I would’ve wanted you to be unhappy. But you must be able to appreciate that your breaking up put me in an uncomfortable position. I mean, you’re both my best friends, but no matter what happened, one of you was going to end up unhappy. And I obviously wasn’t going to, and couldn’t, choose sides.” Hermione was now staring at her plate while she listened to him. “And I want you to do what will make you happiest. I know that staying with Ron wouldn’t have done it. And don’t bother denying you don’t still torture yourself about it.”
“I’m not denying it,” Hermione snorted.
“Look.” Harry paused and thought for a moment. “I don’t know what’s happening with you and George.”
“That makes two of us.”
Chuckling a little, Harry went on, “But I don’t think that pretending nothing’s happening is the answer.”
She covered her face. “I don’t want to break Ron’s heart again.”
Harry guffawed, causing her to jump. “Break his heart? Are you joking? Hermione, for one thing, Ron is not the fragile man you seem to think he is. For another, he’s handled all of this a lot better than you have. Of course he got hurt, but he dealt with it and moved on with his life. And if you think he doesn’t know that George has been seeing you...well, think again.”
“Oh god. I hadn’t...I mean, it didn’t...how long has he known?” she asked in a horrified whisper.
“Ages. But you know what? It’s been three years. It’s okay. You really just have to let go.”
“But, it’s just...” Hermione made a face. “Oh, Harry, you can’t really want to talk about this with me. Wait until Ginny’s around.”
Harry shrugged. “I’m not fussed. If you’d rather talk to Ginny, you can, but I don’t mind.”
“No, it’s not that I’d rather talk to Ginny. I just don’t want to bother you with this.”
He shook his head, smiling. “I’m happy to help. If it helps, of course.”
“It does,” she replied, returning his smile wanly. “So what advice do you have for me?”
“Well.” Harry seemed to be weighing his words carefully. “I know you feel guilty that you hurt Ron’s feelings. And I know you don’t want to hurt his feelings even more by getting involved with his brother. But don’t you think you just might end up hurting George if you carry on like this?”
She gaped at him for a second, alternately astounded by the statement and the fact that Harry had grown so perceptive since she’d first met him. “Hurt George?”
“It hasn’t occurred to you that he might fancy you?”
Shifting uncomfortably, she replied, “Yes, but...certainly not that much.”
Harry, sounding amused, told her, “You know best, I suppose; you’re there.”
But Hermione couldn’t help thinking that Harry wasn’t being quite truthful. She thought about their conversation a great deal in the following days. Though it was hard to believe that George could possibly feel strongly enough about her that he could get hurt, she entertained the idea. And, if possible, she grew even more confused.
For several agonizing nights, she tossed and turned in bed (making for hazy days at work the following mornings), wondering what she should do, trying to steel herself in the event that she had to make a difficult decision. One thing she knew -- this dancing around that she and George had been doing needed to end. It was doing neither of them any good. She just didn’t understand why, if George liked her so much, he hadn’t done anything about it. He wasn’t exactly inhibited. Wouldn’t he say or do something? Didn’t he know by now that even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t make an advance?
And there, there was the question. Did she want to? Did she want to be with him? Did she...love him? Even thinking the word sent a thrill of terror through her. How could this have happened? She’d let herself fall in love with George Weasley almost without realizing it, thinking it was impossible that it could happen. They were too different, the two of them, weren’t they? She’d thought so. She’d thought he was the kind of man to ignore women like her. And she’d thought of herself as rational, deliberate, logical. Not the kind of woman to fall for a practical joker. But there it was. It felt like a dream, coming to this realization.
So, the problem was, what to do? Let go of her guilt, Harry had urged her. She knew she should. It was just doing it that was so difficult. How did one cast away something that had been with her for so long? She was so used to feeling it, like a yoke around her neck, that she wondered if maybe she wouldn’t be herself anymore if it were gone. And even though she wanted nothing more than to not be shackled to guilt any longer, she didn’t know how to loose the shackles.
Would it be possible, then, to stop seeing George? Because she couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him. And maybe if she broke cleanly with him now, he wouldn’t be hurt.
The thought seemed to gouge a hollow out of her chest. It had been so long since she’d felt this way. This part of love was what everyone always forgot. The aching pain that went along with the euphoria. She was tired of it. She’d spent so long with the pain and had little of the happiness that should have gone along with it. So what to do?
Well. Tomorrow she was seeing George. She would speak to him about this. There needed to be a resolution.
Hermione didn’t particularly enjoy herself the next day while she and George sat around her house talking. Oh, she tried. She made a valiant effort to appear cheerful, but George noticed that something was quite obviously wrong. When he questioned her about it, she took a slow, deep breath.
“Well, I actually...wanted to talk to you about that.”
He gave her a serious look. “It’s something that concerns me, then.”
She nodded, feeling miserable. “George, I just have to ask...what is this that we’re doing?”
A ghost of a smile passed over his face. “D’you mean that literally?” When she just looked away, he sobered quickly. “To be honest, Hermione, I don’t think I know any better than you do. I mean, obviously I like you. I like spending time with you. So...” He shrugged a bit helplessly.
He liked her? What did that mean? “Okay. Well, um...it’s just...um.” Chewing her lip, she pondered how best to say it. She needed to make sure that this business with Ron being her former fiancé was totally out in the open, that if they were to get involved it wouldn’t be hanging oppressively over them. Because if they did and it was, whatever they had would be dead before it began. “I guess I just wanted to talk about...what Ron means to me.”
Judging by the way George’s face froze, this had been the wrong choice of wording. “Ah,” he choked out, “I see.” There was a horrible sort of grimace of a smile on his face. “That’s okay, Hermione. I think I have a good idea of what you’re going to say.”
He got to his feet quickly, the horrible smile still stuck on his face. Feeling panic rising within her at how wrong this was going, Hermione followed suit and said, “No, I don’t think --”
“Really, it’s fine, you don’t have to bother.” George’s expression was rigid. “Clearly I’ve misunderstood something.”
“That’s the thing, you --”
“I’ll see you around, Hermione. Okay?” he cut her off. And before she could stop him, he was gone, leaving her standing coldly in her living room by herself.