Hermione stayed at George's flat for the next week. Sometimes she would walk around Diagon Alley or muggle London during the day, picking up takeout to share with George, and sometimes he would go work in the joke shop (which would always surprise his friend Lee, who had thought George would never come back to work), but every night they would have dinner together and spend the evening talking and laughing. On the following Thursday George went to the Burrow for dinner, sparing Hermione the stress of coming face-to-face with Mrs. Weasley, and brought back delicious leftovers for them to enjoy together.
George loved getting to know Hermione better. He began to pick up on her little quirks and habits, finding them infuriating and adorable at the same time. Like how she would begin a book, just to glance at his bookshelf and find another she wanted to read. George's bookshelf was soon empty and his coffee table was stacked with books.
Hermione was surprised how much she enjoyed George's company. He was much more serious than he had been in school but, day by day, he began showing signs of his goofy, lighthearted self. Hermione was laughing more than she had in ages, and it felt good. It felt good to finally relax and be able to smile for real, instead of the stiff smile she had worn for so many months before.
Too often Hermione found herself staring at George, blushing when she got caught, although George would just grin wickedly and continue with whatever he was doing. He was very attractive, Hermione thought. He always had been. But he had grown even more so since Hogwarts. His muscles were less defined than they had been in his Quidditch days, but it suited him. His dark red hair was messy and long, and Hermione often found herself wishing she could run her fingers through it to see if it really was as soft as it looked. When she got lost in these thoughts she would have to mentally slap herself. She couldn't be having these thoughts about George, Ron's brother. It seemed...absolutely wrong. But still. She couldn't stop herself. She was grateful for those late night conversations because it gave her an innocent reason to look at him.
Things seemed good, for once. It could have been almost perfect, if it weren't for the nightmares that still disturbed Hermione's sleep.
The first night Hermione stayed with George, Hermione had, by some miracle, slept peacefully. The second night, though, the nightmares came back full force. It took all of Hermione's strength to suppress the screams that threatened to escape. She didn't want to wake George. She thought he would think she was weak or damaged, and wouldn't want her to stay there anymore. She needed to handle this on her own, she thought. Another night terror came the next night, and then again a few nights after that. Each time the nightmares came, Hermione would control her hysteria, not making a sound. It took hours to fall back to sleep, but at least George didn't know.
Or so she thought.
About a week after Hermione had been staying at George's flat, she woke from yet another night terror in a cold sweat. Her heart was racing. This was the worst it had been in months. She clenched her teeth to bite back her screams until her jaw ached, and curled up in a tight ball, wrapping her arms around herself to try and hold herself together. Harsh tears streamed down her cheeks. She tried to muffle her gasps in a pillow. Her breathing wouldn't slow, and her heart was beating so hard it felt like it would break out of her chest.
I wish I had died.
The horrible thought came to her before she could stop it. Panicking, she threw herself off the bed and stumbled to the bedroom door. She didn't care what George might think, she couldn't be alone right now. She threw the door open -- and gasped.
George was standing on the other side of the door. They stared at one another for a long minute. Hermione was pale and tear stained. Stray curls had escaped her long braid and clung to her skin with sweat. George's eyes were wide with worry. A small sob escaped from Hermione and suddenly George had his arms around her in a protective embrace. They sunk to the floor and he held her shaking body against his. After a few minutes Hermione began to relax. Her breathing became more even and her shivering slowed, but George didn't let go.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I tried to be so quiet," mumbled Hermione. "I didn't want you to know."
"I always know," George whispered back. Hermione looked up at him, shocked. George went on. "Every time. Every time you've woken from a nightmare, I've sat right here. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to respect your privacy and independence, I guess, but it was awful to sit out here and make you go through that alone. I was about to barge in there when you opened the door."
Hermione felt a tightness in her chest that was different from the anxiety she had been feeling just a few minutes earlier. It was a very strange feeling, knowing that George was with her, that he wanted to be with her, every time she had a nightmare. That he didn't want her to be alone. She didn't know what to think.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
George shook his head. "Don't. Don't ever be sorry." He held her tighter and Hermione relaxed against his chest. His bare chest. She froze and her eyes widened.
"George-would-you-please-put-on-a-shirt!?" she hissed through her teeth. She made to climb off him but he held onto her.
"You put on a shirt!" George hissed back with a teasing gleam in his eyes.
"I have a shirt on! This is called a shirt!"
George scoffed. "I would hardly call that a shirt, Hermione," he whispered, noting her thin camisole. "You're showing about as much skin as I am right now." George touched her shoulder, and her skin burned where his fingers lingered.
"Oh, come on, George! These are my pajamas!" She blushed.
"And these are my pajamas." George gestured to his bare chest. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are you feeling better?" George asked, his voice serious.
Hermione smiled at him. "Yes, actually. Thank you." They looked at each other for a moment, then Hermione sighed. "I guess...we should try to get some sleep." She frowned. The thought of being alone again was unpleasant. She really didn't want to be alone, but she felt awkward asking him to stay with her.
"Oh. Right," said George. He stood up, pulling Hermione with him, and watched as she climbed back onto the bed. "Goodnight, Hermione." He hesitated before saying, "I'm here, you know, if you need me..."
"Thank you, George," she said, and he closed the door.
George went back to the couch feeling on edge. It took everything to walk away from her, to let her be alone. He lay there thinking for several minutes when he heard soft footsteps coming from the hallway. He sat up and saw Hermione standing there, looking unsure, with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
"I don't want to be alone," she shrugged. His face broke into a smile and he made room for her on the couch. She gave him a small smile and sat next to him. He put his arm around her and she snuggled into the space beside him.
"I'm glad," he replied. She rested his head on his shoulder, just as she had so many years ago, and let herself relax as sleep finally overcame her.
