Hermione woke with a shock the next morning. She remembered falling asleep next to George with her head on his shoulder, but did not remember how she came to be in her current position: lying next to George with her back pressed against his bare chest. One of his arms was draped over her side, holding her to him. Her camisole had come up a little during the night, and George's fingers lightly brushed over the soft skin on Hermione's waist. The blanket she had brought with her last night was tangled around them. She sighed contentedly, savoring the feeling of being so close to George. His arms tightened around her and she let herself be pulled closer to him, turning a little to get more comfortable. She froze when she felt something firm press against her hip.
"What the--George!" she yelped and leaped off the couch, forgetting that the blanket was still wrapped around them. George squawked as he was yanked off the couch and landed face-down in a heap on the floor. Hermione stared at him awkwardly for a few seconds, torn between her mortification over feeling him, and humor over his current position.
"Hermione. It was my wand," he groaned into the floor. He held up the thin piece of wood and turned over slightly so he could see her. She was bright red. Her hands covered her face and she peeked at him through her fingers.
"I'm sorry! I thought--I mean, I--"
"Granted, it is morning." He smirked. Hermione sunk to the floor with her hands still over her face, wanting to crawl under a rock.
"I'm-sorry-I'm-sorry-I'm-sorry-I'm-sorry-I'm-sorry--"
George laughed heartily. He crouched next to her. "Believe it or not, that's not the worst way I've been woken up," he chuckled. Hermione wouldn't look at him. Her face burned. George stood up and dropped the blanket over her head, and went to make breakfast.
Hermione stayed on the floor, with the blanket over her head, until the smell of toast and eggs drew her out. It was another hour before she could make eye contact with George though, and even then she blushed and looked at the floor again.
------
Over the next few days, George spent more time in the joke shop, catching up on things that he had let slide over his long absence. One afternoon as Hermione was wandering Diagon Alley, she sat on a bench, thinking about the last week. She had been happier than she had been in months, years even. Spending time with George was like...like coming up for air after being held underwater for too long. She was even sleeping better. Somehow, just knowing George was in the other room, ready to "rescue" her, in a way, had calmed her nightmares. For the past few days, at least.
Hermione smiled with contentment. She loved how George was there for her, how eager he was to make sure she was okay. Her mind began to wander. She loved George's company, his laughs, his conversation. She loved his smile. She loved his red hair and freckles and how he was always teasing her. She loved...George? She loved George.
Hermione's jaw dropped at this realisation. Somehow, between silly giggles and deep conversations, Hermione's innocent crush had grown into something much deeper. She hadn't been staying with George long, but somehow the feelings had been just under the surface, waiting to be discovered. She loved George. She smiled to herself, giggling softly, and then frowned.
He's Ron's brother, she told herself bitterly. Regardless of what her feelings were, she knew George would never reciprocate them. Even if he wanted to. Family loyalty was too important to him. He doesn't feel the same way. Hermione shook her head. She'd keep her feelings to herself. She wouldn't ruin her friendship with George, and she wouldn't ruin his relationship with his brother. It would be difficult for her, she knew. The more time she spent with George, the more likely she was to accidentally reveal her feelings. She wouldn't be able to stay with him anymore, she realized with a pang of sadness. There really was no other option. Now that she knew she had feelings for him all she wanted to do was run up to him and tell him, shout it from the rooftops. She stood up from the bench and made her way further down the street, contemplating about what she had to do now.
