Hermione and George returned to the flat later that evening with Hermione's things. She had checked herself out of the hotel, feeling a little crazy for letting herself be talked into staying with George. It's only temporary, she told herself as she watched George drag the luggage to his bedroom, ignoring Hermione's protests. They both felt slightly awkward, but tried to hide it for the other's sake. Hermione looked through George's kitchen cupboards and found next to nothing.
"I think we should pick up some groceries," Hermione called out.
"You're probably right," said George from behind her. Hermione jumped and turned around.
"You can't keep sneaking up on me like that!" she said, swatting him on the shoulder.
George just grinned. "Mum typically brings dinner on Thursdays," he said casually. "It's her excuse to check in on me, force me to spend time with people, or something." He rolled his eyes dramatically.
The color drained from Hermione's face. "What!? George, I can't be here when your mother comes! What's she going to think when she sees me here?"
"Ah." George saw the problem. "Okay, how about I go there to pick up dinner, and you can get yourself settled in," he suggested. "Mum'll be thrilled. I haven't been to the Burrow in -- er -- a while."
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn't face any other Weasleys right now. She wondered if Ron had told any of his family about their breakup.
George took a pinch of Floo Powder from the jar on the mantle and tossed it into the fireplace. Green flames erupted from it. "I'll be back soon!" he promised happily, and stepped into the fire. "The Burrow!" he shouted. The flames engulfed him for a second, and then he was gone.
Hermione didn't know what to do with herself now that she was alone in George's home. She turned to the large bookshelf and ran a hand over the books. She pulled out the first one that caught her attention and curled up on the armchair. She flipped through the book, not really reading. If Mrs. Weasley had been bringing George dinner regularly, he must have been home much longer than Hermione had originally thought. It was odd, she thought, that Mrs. Weasley had never mentioned it to the family. Perhaps she, as well as George, was still recovering from Fred's death and allowed George his space.
Not long later, green flames began to spit from the fireplace. Hermione checked the clock on the wall. George had been gone less than 30 minutes. She didn't expect him back so soon. She stood up, prepared to tell George he should have spent more time with his family. A person appeared in the fire, but it wasn't George.
It was Ron.
He stepped into the living room, covered in soot and glowering at her, his expression a mix between raw anger and hurt.
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, feeling nervous.
He didn't answer. The anger melted away, leaving just the hurt and maybe a little embarrassment in its place. "I don't understand," he finally said, staring at the floor.
"Ron," said Hermione again. "I--"
Ron finally looked her in the eye. "You left," he said. "You came here?"
Hermione saw him searching for some reason, some excuse that would explain why she was at George's of all places.
"How long has this been going on?" he huffed angrily.
"Er, how long has what been going on, exactly?"
"This!" Ron thrust his hands out and gestured around the room. "How long have you been hooking up with my brother behind my back!?"
