Acceptance

Acceptance

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"I'll wager five whole galleons that my mum had a conniption when she saw you in that dress."

Hermione Granger chuckles lightly as she closes the weathered front door of the Burrow behind her. The sun is low in the sky, casting an orange shadow across the plains of the field in front of her. George Weasley sits on the front stoop, his hands fiddling aimlessly with a small daisy as his eyes shift between the brown-haired girl and the citrus skyline.

She crouches next to him, fingering the green material of her dress. It was a bit shorter than she normally wore, but she figures that the heat of late summer merits its use. "Y'know, your brothers rather seemed to like it. Your second eldest said it made me look like a Veela. And your youngest in particular said he found it rather...enjoyable to watch me in it."

He laughs quietly as she sits next to him on the wood of the stoop. "Yes, well. All of my brothers are a bit on the verbally lecherous side."

"Oh, and you're not?"

"I leave that sort of lasciviousness to my siblings, I'm afraid," he says, shrugging and shucking the daisy to the ground. "I myself am more content when things are left unspoken."

"Always the gentleman, Mr. Weasley."

He fake-bows to her. "Always, Miss Granger."

"You were right about you mom, though" Hermione continues, laughing at the mere memory of Molly Weasley's reaction. "She had a right fit when I came down the stairs. It was sort of adorable, actually."

"She just wants to make sure her future daughter-in-law isn't dressing like a tart."

"She doesn't actually think of me like that, does she?"

"As a tart? I'm not one to make an uninformed conjecture, but when you wear a dress like that..."

"As a future daughter-in-law."

George shifts his weight, turning towards the brown-haired girl. "Mum's probably thought about you like that since she met you. She's got a sixth sense about things like that."

"Ron and I haven't been dating for that long."

He laughs. "Are we really going to play that hand?"

"I just..." her voice dies with her argument.

"S'all right, Granger. No need to fear the inevitable. You'll be a lovely addition to the Weasley clan someday."

"Someday in the very, very distant future," she amends quickly, blushing and turning away to look at the slowly setting sun.

Hermione suddenly feels a larger hand on her own, snapping her back to the present. "Why are you really here, Granger?"

"Because...because...dinner will be ready soon," she blurts out, her cheeks warm. She quietly pulls her hand away and rubs the back of her neck with it.

A sly smile crosses his lips. "Is that why you came out here? To tell me that dinner's ready?"

She shakes her head, brown curls spilling onto her sun-kissed face. "Not... quite."

He looks at her curiously. "Then why?"

She looks at her hands, refusing to meet his eyes. "I haven't seen you the entire time that I've been here. At first I just assumed that you weren't here at the Burrow anymore. That you were still living near Hogsmeade to be closer to the shop. But then Ron said you moved back in almost two months ago...and I just..."

"Just what?"

"I wondered," she says flatly.

"Wondered?"

"About you. Why you don't come inside for dinner or play Quidditch with Ginny and Charlie in the backyard. Why you didn't come to Harry's birthday party last week. Stuff like that, mostly."

"I thought a clever witch like you had all the answers."

This time it's her hand that covers his. "I can't even begin to imagine what you're going through, George."

The redhead smirks and shakes his head as she unconsciously moves closer to him. "Y'know, you're the seventh person to tell me that in the last twenty-four hours."

"I'm sor..."

He touches her nose with his index finger and laughs as she stops speaking. "And you're now the sixth who's tried to apologize."

"Your mother is worried about you, you know"

He absently kicks the dirt with his shoe, and chuckles to himself. "She's always worried about something or someone."

"She says you don't sleep anymore."

His arm winds around her waist rather unexpectedly. "Why sleep when there's a whole world out there to explore?" He reaches his arm out demonstratively.

"Would it absolutely kill you to be serious for once?"

"It just might."

"George..." She stops speaking as she straightens her skirt over her legs. "Are you okay? All jokes aside."

"I didn't agree to that."

She gives him a pointed look that reminds him a little too much of his mother.

A sad smile crawls onto his lips. "I'm really fine."

"You don't have to deal with this alone."

"I'm fine."

She groans. "You Weasley men. Always so stubborn."

"Hermione." Her name comes off her lips gently. She can't remember the last time he called her by her real name and not her surname. "It's not me being stubborn. I really am fine. It's just...a little harder than I thought it was going to be."

They are both quiet for a few moments. The sun is very close now to dipping beneath the horizon now, the dusk settling upon then. Hermione notices that George's breaths are becoming much faster now, almost as if he is running without moving.

Her mouth is dry as she begins to speak again. "They say... there are five steps to dealing with a death. One, you deny that it's even happened. Two, you become angry with...something. Something bigger than yourself. But then you start bargaining with that higher power, begging it to give you something to hold onto. And then depression sets in, and you can't seem to muster up to strength to care that you've lost. And, finally, you..."

Her voice trails off as she realizes just how close he's gotten. She can practically taste him on her lips.

"What's the last, Hermione?" His breath is hot against her neck. Her hand trembles in anticipation. He moves closer, his chest brushing against hers in a move she can swear is no accident.

"Acceptance. You resign yourself to the fact that it's over, and you... you move on."

His forehead brushes against hers. "I don't think I ever denied that...it happened. It just happened. One moment he was there and the next, he just wasn't. Of course there was a moment of disbelief, but never outright denial. And I certainly wasn't angry. He died fighting for a cause he loved, and I couldn't be angry at him or anything else for that. And you know me, Granger," he murmurs, his hand resting on her thigh. "I don't do such somber things as depression. That's not the way a Weasley twin goes about life."

"You're certainly above the learning curve then." Her voice almost cracks as her hand moves of its own accord to his back.

"I've always been a quick study."

When she looks back, she'll swear that he was the one who leaned in and brushed her lips softly with his own. She'll be absolutely convinced that he was the one who started running his hand over her back before she buried her hand in his messy red locks and began kissing back fiercely until she could barely draw a full breath.

"It's getting late," he breathes into her mouth as her hands move under his shirt, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. "They'll wonder where you are, eventually."

"What about you?" she whispers back as his fingers brush the bottom of her dress tenderly skimming the skin beneath it.

"'It's just as I've been saying all along, Granger. I'm just fine."

"You're not fine," she whispers as she pulls back, a single gray tear slipping down her cheeks.

He grins sadly one more time, and kisses her mouth before standing up.

"I've accepted that."