Author's Note:

This is it. Finished!

The Disappeared
Chapter Two

Nowhere

Insane. Hermione Granger was certifiably insane. That had to be the reason she climbed onto the back of Sirius Black's old Triumph motorcycle, looping her arms loosely around George Weasley's waist. She wondered briefly what happened to the sidecar, but the moment the engine started the thought left her. George only had one helmet and made her wear it. It bobbed on her head as he drove down the rough patch of highway, knocking her jaw down to the chin strap before settling again. He raced down the road, his hair whipping in the wind with the speed, and Hermione could only hold on for dear life.

The vast landscapes of the English countryside passed them in a blur, still not dissipating into civilisation, even though they had been driving for at least twenty minutes. How Knockturn Alley led into this, she would never know.

"How much longer?" she called out over the wind but received no response. "My arms are getting tired, George." She tried again, hoping it might make him give her some answer. It did.

"Next turn off," he yelled back by way of explanation. That could not be much further. Or, at least she hoped it was not much further. This roadway was sparse with nothing remotely suburban, including exit ramps. But, he started to slow his speed and pulled off to the side slightly. Where was this exit? Her thighs clenched, trying to keep a hold on the machine below her as George made the turn. The bike tilted to the left, the motion causing a hitch in her breath. This was it, she was going to die on a motorcycle, and it was all because of one night out. But the bike slowly rightened, continuing down a dirt path she had not seen and up towards a small dot in the distance.

Trees lined the route and kept the entrance hidden. The tall evergreens seemed out of place and the smaller oak trees even more so. Even in the darkness of night, she could see rich soil beneath them, anchoring their roots, and it was obviously foreign to the loose dry dirt that spanned the property. George made this place his own. Simple extravagance even in his foliage. And it was beautiful.

She could see the home ahead, a modest farm house with a wrap around porch and green shutters. A set of four steps led up the front deck and to the door. A white railing with beautiful shrubs below, a bay window with a cushioned bench, a screen door over top the stain glass entrance. It was simple, elegant, and so very George.

It left her stunned. Considering where she found him, when George offered her his 'place' to stay she expected a rat hole in a condemned building or a cave in the side of a crumbling cliff. This was definitely a surprise.

George pulled up next to the steps, parking the bike, but her arms remained around his waist. He said nothing of it, staying as still as she was for a few passing moments. His one hand still gripped the handle while the other rested on his thigh as he waited. Hermione leant her cheek against the back of his shoulder feeling the cool leather of his jacket against his skin. Dragon leather always smelled so good.

"Thought your arms were tired," he finally spoke after clearing his throat. Instantly, she dropped her hold and got off the bike. He put down the kickstand as she fiddled with the chin strap trying to find the clasp. She cursed under her breath when it would not release, and George let loose a chuckle before leaning back on the bike watching her struggle.

"What are you laughing at?" she growled out, and George raised his hands in silent surrender as he shook his head with a smirk.

"On the left," he was clearly trying to hold back laughter, and she cut him with a hard stare. Standing from the bike, he moved towards her grabbing her wrist and stilling her movements. Her breath hitched at the touch.

"George," she whispered, "what are—"

"Hold still," he said before dropping her wrist and gripping her chin slightly guiding it to the right. She swallowed as his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin, sending a jolt of pain through her. His touch, however, was much different than the one from earlier that night.

That greaseball of a wizard manhandled her and left her feeling dirty, but not George. He always made her feel safe amidst his chaos, and that resonated even in his touch. The sting still caused her to wince visibly and, in turn, caused a scowl to mar his stone-like face as he removed the helmet.

"It'll probably bruise by morning," he said stepping away abruptly. That was curious. George seemed to be bothered by her pain or was it her in general. Hermione stared at him, watching sheepishly as she tried to decipher his actions. George pulled out a cigarette and lit it as he stared back. Their eyes were locked in what appeared to be a sort of standoff, George's ice-coloured eyes hard as steel while Hermione's melted under the heat. The strands of her curls blew across her face, dancing and twisting in the wind, and she turned her face into the breeze. She lost. "What are you doing here, Hermione?"

"I could ask you the same question," she whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear. George leant against his motorbike again and took another long drag of his smoke. He flicked the ash onto the gravel.

"Knockturn Alley isn't a place for respectable witches." Well, maybe she was not very respectable. How could she if she wound up there? One moment she was stumbling down a street in Leeds, arm in arm with Lavender Brown-Weasley, enjoying the aftermath of fire-whiskey at a pub, and the next she was side-along apparated to some deserted tavern somewhere on Knockturn Alley. Hermione was furious with the girl. Lavender managed to apparate her there and then disapparate with Hermione's wand. And why exactly? Because she was jealous of Hermione's friendship with Ron Weasley, Lavender's husband? It was pathetic.

"It wasn't by choice, believe me." George nodded seemingly content with the answer. The smoke billowed out of his mouth into the night sky, swirling up and dancing with the stars. If it were not so unhealthy, Hermione would have smiled at the beauty.

"What happened to your wand?" Considering he saved her butt back there, he deserved some explanation. Hermione knew this, but being swindled out of your wand and abandoned in the dangerous area of wizarding London is not something she was too willing to share. But, he pressed. "Well?"

"Lavender stole it, I assume." After taking in George's questioning stare, she sighed, "We were in Leeds tonight, some sort of girl's night or something. I thought we were having fun, but I guess she was upset or jealous or something." George's eyes widened in realisation: Lavender maliciously put Hermione in danger. "I am not too sure of her motivations, quite honestly."

"What a cunt," being around bikers for two years clearly hindered his eloquent vocabulary, "sorry," he mumbled. Hermione waved it off. They drifted into silence, the time passing by with each drag of his smoke until finally, he tossed it onto the driveway.

As he began walking up to the house, she called out his name, but she could not find a way to continue. Why was he doing this? Where has he been for so long? Has he just been doing this? But none of those questions were heard, just his name. The sweet name of a man forgotten by the broken family he left behind.

"George," It fell from her lips again. It was a sort of prayer or a plea for an explanation as to why their lives ended to this moment. He stopped, facing her and for the first time since she saw him, he smiled.

"Welcome to nowhere, Hermione," he said as he walked backward toward the house, "nothing really exists in nowhere." With that, he turned and walked through the door leaving it open for her to follow.

If Hermione was honest, after everything that happened tonight, after two years of gruelling normalcy, after surviving a war and losing her entire family, Nowhere sounded very welcoming. So, she stepped through the archway and smiled.

The house was still surprising to her. As she stepped in, she expected it to be ragged inside, broken in and beaten like George. In her mind, the house was a visual representation of him; beautiful and perfect on the outside but broken to pieces internally. It was nothing of the sort. The house was elegance, like the trees and garden. It was clean, lived in, and warm. The smell of fresh laundry and cut grass wafted up her nose, and she ran her hand over the smooth surface of a wooden table as she walked in further. It was perfect, a dream she wished to live, and that made what she was about to say so much harder.

"George," she steeled herself, squaring her shoulders and meeting his eye with an intense determination, "you have to come back."

"No, I don't." The large oak staircase was where she found him. He stood next to it, leaning against the wall with a sort of calm that almost frightened her. It was as if George expected her to say this, as if he was bored with her pleading. His response, a statement that may have seemed childish, was as hard as dragon scales. This was the decision of a man. He truly did not have to come back, and what nerve she must have to ask, but she selfishly had to continue.

"Your family is worried. Your mum especially, and you can't keep this up, can you?" This could not be the last time she ever saw him. Gesturing to his body, "you're hurt, George. You're hurting, I know it. Why else would you put yourself in that disgusting place." George's jaw hardened, set in an unspoken anger at her meddling and her judgement. "I-I," she stuttered, glancing down at her shoes and biting her lip slightly as she spoke, "I was scared tonight."

"That prick would not have made it out alive," His voice was a mix of soft and determined.

"Not about that," Hermione shot back, "well, yes, of course, a little about that. But, I meant for you." His eyes widened at her words, "I was scared you would disappear again, but this time to a place no one would find you." Tears were brimming in her eyes now, smearing the makeup Lavender made her wear, and now she hated it even more. The dark smudges dripped down her cheeks and gave her away. "Please, just, come back, George."

He studied her for a moment. This lack of trust was so unlike him, and Hermione could not contain the tears any longer, letting them flow freely. He stepped forward, reaching her in two long strides, and cupped her face. His thumbs wiped away the sadness, but that only brought on more. A ragged sob escaped her lips, and his gaze softened.

"Stay," he said, tucking her hair behind her ear and stroking her cheek. "I won't go back, I can't, but I promise I'll stop fighting. Just, stay." Her breath hitched as his request. It was a bargain, a compromise, and she felt her stomach tug. She could not possibly stay. She had a job, and friends, and family. She had to go back. Nowhere could not keep her forever.

And yet, as she looked up into his eyes, the blue ice melting into a dark smouldering ocean, she realised how unbearable it would be to leave. In the few minutes she was here, Nowhere was more of a home than the one she came from. George was more of a family than anyone she knew, and she had only just seen him for the first time in two years. Could she do that? Could she be that impulsive? Could she stay?

"I-I," she stuttered, her eyes darting back and forth between his and then she realised it: Hermione belonged here. Nowhere. It sounded so much like home. She nodded.

"I'll get your wand from Lavender in the morning." His hand dropped, and he turned to walk up to the next floor. He was obviously tired, but her brows scrunched in confusion.

"I thought you weren't going back?"

"Didn't you want me to?" Of course, she did, she wanted him to go back to being who he was. The carefree, happy George Weasley, Weasley Twin extraordinaire, but he could not do that. He could not be that twin anymore, not without Fred. This was him now. This hardened man who was fearless against pain. No, he would not go back to who he was before, but Hermione did want him to remember his family.

"I won't force you," she murmured, "but if I stay, you have to try to see them at least. Please?"

"'Suppose that wouldn't be too bad." He nodded and glanced back to look at her. "So, you're staying?"

Instead of answering, she took two strides to him, much like he had earlier, and cupped his cheeks in her hands. She gazed up at his curious face and took action, sealing their lips together in a heated kiss. He froze for a moment. This was sudden, and Hermione could not blame him. She hardly knew what came over her. She was about to pull away, but he started kissing her back with zeal.

Slipping his arm under her coat and around her waist, George guided them towards the wall and her coat dropped from her shoulders. The cold plaster shocked the bare skin exposed by her backless dress, but that did not stop George from pressing her further against the wall. She moaned into the kiss, and he took advantage of that, running his tongue against hers with fluid ease.

"George," She sighed, the taste of blood was strangely sweet in her mouth; the traces of the previous fight still lingering on his skin. With a groan he turned, moving his arms to wrap under her thighs, and bringing her up so that her legs gripped around his hips. Suddenly, she was moving; George's body rubbed against hers as he carried her up the stairs to the bedroom. He kicked the door closed behind him before pressing her up against it. For the first time since the war, Hermione felt content and alive; she was no longer walking numbly. No, she was breathing life and fire, feeling the sensations ripple across her skin. George's lips latched onto her neck, kissing and sucking, and setting her on fire. Her nails ran up his neck, digging in slightly as they gripped onto his unruly hair. George must have been right there with her, because when he pulled back to look at her, his eyes were no longer frozen. Not in the slightest.

Hermione saw everything, his pain and longing, a fire igniting him back to feel. Gently placing her back down to her feet with his hand still tangled in her hair, George breathed in a deep gulp of air. His forehead rested against hers.

"I should let you sleep," he said but made no move to leave. The smell of him fanned against her cheeks, and she shut her eyes before it all became too much. She missed him, she truly had. The moment he was gone was the moment Hermione realised how important he was to her. Hermione was not letting him go, especially not now.

"Stay," she asked, mirroring his request from earlier. He did not move in either direction. Maybe that was because she was still blocking the door, but Hermione hoped it was something more. "Please, just stay." He nodded gently, the movement startling her eyes open, and she smiled. A large beaming smile that was filled with every bit of happiness George awoke in her, and as the moments passed by, George's smirk mimicked hers.

And, she was home.

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