One of These Nights (1/?) (original) (raw)

TITLE: One of These Nights (1/?)
AUTHOR: Myself
DISCLAIMER: JKR owns all HP. No profit is being made from this fanfic.
CHARACTERS: George, Hermione, mentions of various others
RATING: PG-13 (language, angst)
SUMMARY: Hermione offers to let George live with her after the Battle at Hogwarts. He accepts.
A/N: SPOILERS FOR DH. Slight AU. The title comes from the song "One of These Nights" by the Eagles.

Pain. His whole body ached with it, his stomach hollow, his chest tight. His breaths came in hitching sobs. He never imagined he could feel this much pain, and still be alive, but somehow it was true. I’m alive. Bitterness overwhelmed him. And Fred is-oh God. He curled tighter around himself, pressing his face into Fred’s pillow. No. No. Please, no."George?” A timid voice. A shaft of light fell across the dark room from the open door, and he felt the bed give slightly as she sat.

“Go away, Hermione,” he croaked.

“Please, George. You have come back to us.“ Her voice wavered. “You’re wasting away in here. Your family hasn’t seen you since the funeral. Please-please come back to the Burrow with me.”

“I can’t.” His voice was a whisper. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“Then I’m staying here with you.”

Her warm hand touched his back tentatively, and when he didn’t move away, she began rubbing his back in small circles. He closed his eyes, and felt tears leak out from under his eyelids, soaking the pillow.

After awhile he sat up, wiping his eyes, and she pretended not to notice. “Why did you come up here?” he asked.

“Someone’s got to look after you, haven’t they?” Her voice was falsely light. He looked her in the eyes and saw something flicker, but it vanished soon as it came. “Besides,” she continued. “You can’t exactly run this shop by yourself.”

“The shop…” He trailed off. “No. No, I can’t do it anymore.”

“George-”

“I can’t do it without him, Hermione!”

“All right. All right.” She was rubbing his arm now. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to.”

He laid his head on her shoulder, past caring that he barely knew her, that they never talked except for as long as it took her to lecture him. “I can’t live here anymore. Everything-” his voice broke. “He’s everywhere. I can’t live like this, reminding myself of him everyday, remembering he’s gone.”

“Come live with me.”

He looked at her. “Okay,” he said.

They moved George’s things to Hermione’s London flat the next day. She had placed an Enlargement Charm on the walk-in closet next to her bedroom, and they put everything there, bed against one wall, boxes piled haphazard against the other. “I’ll sort it out later,” he told her. She nodded and went to the kitchen to make them lunch.

Mrs. Weasley Floo-called her a moment later, anxious and not quite believing what they‘d done. “It seems a bit strange,” she said worriedly, “After all, he could just as easily come here. And what if people talk? I wouldn’t want rumours spread about you.”

“There’s nothing to spread rumours about, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said patiently. “And here there’s no memories, nothing to unpleasantly surprise him. And it’s only temporary, anyway.”

The other woman seemed to trust her word, and Hermione was chopping carrots once again when George came in. She took her first clear look at him and her brows knitted in concern-there were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked skinnier than the last time she had seen him.

“George-have you eaten or slept since….” she let the sentence trail off. He shook his head and took a seat at the kitchen nook, folding his hands and staring out the window onto the sunlit London street. She returned to the carrots, sweeping them into the pot on the stove and turning the heat up.

“Why don’t you just use magic?” George asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose it’s a throwback to my Muggle upbringing. Besides, cooking makes me feel better.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Hermione, a cook?”

“I like to learn all kinds of things,” she said defensively. “Especially practical things.” For a moment she could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile pass over his face, but it was gone just as quickly.

When the soup was ready, she served it up and they ate in silence. George stared down at his bowl as he ate, not looking up once. “Thanks,” he said when he finished, and left the bowl in the sink before heading back to his room.

That night, she lay in bed and listened to the sound of his heavy muffled sobs through the wall, her own tears silently sliding down her cheeks.

The weeks passed, with George spending most of each day in his room, emerging only at mealtimes, which were eaten in silence. He could not seem to find the energy to speak, and wondered what he would say even if he did. He had never spoken to Hermione much in the past, and it was an all-too-natural habit to follow.

They were eating dinner one night, and he was concentrating on buttering his roll, when she broke the silence.

“George?” He looked up. “Your mum called the other day, and she wondered if we’d like to maybe come to dinner tomorrow night.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“I just thought I’d let you know,” she said hurriedly, “and it’s not a definite thing, we don’t have to go-”

“What’s stopping you from going?”

“I-” She frowned, confused. “I don’t want to leave you here, by yourself…”

“We’re not a couple, Granger,” he said harshly, feeling something snap within him. “I don’t give a damn if you go by yourself.”

“I just thought-I don’t want to leave you alone-”

“Afraid I’ll off myself?” His voice was unnaturally loud in the stillness of the bright kitchen. Her mouth worked and she stared at him, tears pooling in her eyes.

“No-No, that’s not what I mean-” she said desperately, but he cut across her protestations.

“Then what do you mean, Granger? I’ve been trying to figure that out. Why the hell do you care so much about me?” He got to his feet, shoving his chair back. “We don’t even know each other. We’ve never been friends. So why, oh why, would you come riding to my rescue all of a sudden?” She was frozen to her chair, eyes fixed on his face, and one tear slid down her cheek, but somehow that made the fury within him boil even hotter. “Could it be, miss perfect Hermione Granger has a knight-in-shining-armour complex? That wherever she sees the less fortunate, she has to go fix them, make them better? I’m not some fucking house elf-Stop crying!” he yelled as she let out a sob, covering her mouth. “What the hell do you have to cry about?! You’ve got Harry, you’ve got your precious Ronniekins!”

“You-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about,” she said jerkily through her sobs.

“I don’t? Oh, please, enlighten me!” He bent down, resting his hands on the table in front of her. “Yes? Ten points to Gryffindor for the right answer!”

“Shut up!” she screamed, shooting to her feet. “Shut up! You talk about it like you know everything, like you’re the only one who feels any pain! Do you think you’re the only one who cared about Fred?! Ginny and your brothers lost their brother too! Your mother and father have lost their son! Harry, Lee, and Angelina have lost their friend! I’ve-” She stopped, chest heaving. They faced each other across the table. His face was very pale and tight.

“You’ve what?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come off it-”

“Nothing. Do you want to go to dinner at the Burrow tomorrow or not?” she said through gritted teeth.

“Fine,” he spat.

“Fine. Seven o’ clock.” She strode past him and disappeared down the hallway, and he heard her door slam a moment later. His knees buckled and he collapsed into his chair, dropping his head onto his hands, anger vanishing as the tears came again.