A/N: I guess these should all start with one of these. This chapter can stand alone, but I am working on expanding it. I got the idea from someone else's fic (I don't know if I should say who, because I am about to criticize it) but I was reading it and it had a good idea for a romance between Harry and George, but it jumped in event after event after event, with no character development or contemplation. This is my attempt to fix it for myself.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of it. Obviously.

Harry stared at the tall, slightly tilted old house he had come to regard as home. The Burrow looked as careworn as ever and bursting at the seams. Through the windows he could see well-lit rooms packed with red-heads. This was the first time in years he had hesitated to enter.

"Oy! Potter!" A tall man with twinkling blue eyes stuck his head out the front door. "Are you going to come in or keep admiring the view."

If the man himself, George Weasley, was said view, Harry would be happy to keep admiring it. George didn't know that he was the reason Harry was so slow to enter. Years of being George's kid-brother's best friend and turned into genuine friendship. While Harry expected to be friends with the rambunctious twins, he hadn't expected to find himself so drawn to one half of the infamous duo.

George's brother joined him in the doorway. "Aw, he can't seem to tear his eyes away from the towering splendor! Didja notice the extra layer mum's added? It's yours oh favored seventh son."

"What? Mum didn't add an extra story for us?" George protested in mock-offense.

"She doesn't love us as much as ickle Harry-kins." Fred retorted. The two settled into a banter, moving quickly away from Harry's presence to the state of their mother's love for them. Harry took that opportunity to admire the dimple that formed on George's left cheek when he grinned, and the quirk of an eyebrow that Fred lacked. He had worked hard to tell the two apart as their friendship had blossomed and reaped the benefits in being able to foil their plots against him. Admiration led to another round of contemplation on the unintended consequences of being friends with the pranksters and his current massive boy-crush.

Stop. He told himself. No-one can know. With this reaffirmation, he shouldered his way past the still arguing pair and into the warm kitchen that was Molly Weasley's domain.

Almost immediately he found two sets of arms around him as both Hermione and Ginny converged. "Happy Christmas!" was shouted from several directions, and glasses were raised in welcome. Molly stepped forward, wrapping him in a hug and planting a kiss on his cheek. "Harry, darling, you look cold…and thin. Let me get you something dear." She promptly bustled back toward the stove, in full mother mode. "Didn't greet us like that" he heard one twin mutter, setting the two off again.

Harry ignored them as he took the proffered drink and settled at the chessboard Ron has waiting for them. Harry was still the only one Ron could sucker into playing, and he didn't mind losing over and over again. Especially not with the view it afforded of the Fred and George holding court in the center of the living room. As a wild arm motion lifted George's shirt and exposed two inches of freckled stomach, Harry was glad for the drink and cursing the view. He downed the homemade eggnog in one gulp. And felt a little dizzy. This was the Weasley house, he reminded himself, and the punch was probably double spiked. Best to lay off it. But another glimpse of George's torso as he repeated the motion for another laugh led to Harry grabbing another glass almost immediately.

If he wasn't going to get laid, he was going to get drunk.

Two hours later found Harry losing abysmally to Ron for the sixth time that evening. It had gotten so pathetic for his best friend that Ron was listening to Hermione's lecture on the origin of the mistletoe rather than trounce Harry again. Or he was listening to Hermione's lecture out of hope that she would demonstrate the tradition on him. Harry was beginning to suspect the latter, which didn't help his wounded pride.

He scanned the room, watching Tonks change forms from a shapely blond to a petite brunette, Charlie Weasley drooling all the while. Bill and Remus held an earnest conversation, punctuated by lots of violent hand movements on Bill's part and reassuring pats on Remus'. Fleur had taken up her usual sulking position, alienated from the family she married into, though her heavily pregnant belly brought Molly by more often than usual. Arthur and Ginny were hunched over a phonograph, trying to get it to crank out some century old muggle music. And Fred was…without George?

Harry stopped abruptly and stared. He knew he was staring, of course, but couldn't remember having seen one twin not tethered to the other. He knew they must separate, as Fred was rather enthusiastically dating Angelina Johnson, an old flame from their school days, but had never witnessed it. And where was George?

While the logical answer was probably the loo, Harry was too sloshed to be logical. Stumbling to his feet, he set out on a quest for the missing Weasley. Through the kitchen and down the narrow winding hallway. Opening doors at random, sticking his head in and finding them George-free, Harry continued onward. Up the first flight of creaky stairs, he let out a hesitant "George?" He turned the corner and ran smack into a figure coming out of the bathroom.

"Steady on, Mate," George grinned as he grabbed Harry's shirtfront to prevent him from falling back down the stairs.

"Oh, I am steady," Harry responded. With this completely nonsensical response, he leaned forward, compensating for gravity and tried to land a kiss on George. What he ended up doing was landing on George, his strength combing with George's to propel them both to the bathroom floor.

Connected at the lips anyway, Harry thought he was in heaven. He was kissing George Weasley. Who wasn't kissing him back.

He was kissing George Weasley. Shit.

"Um, mistletoe?" He offered lamely. Adrenaline making him sober, he retreated back down the stairs and out the door as fast as he could, ignoring the gobsmacked expression on George's face, ignoring the questions being called after him, intent only putting as much distance between himself and his stupidity as possible.

"Thanks for dinner," he threw over his shoulder at Mrs. Weasley.

He brushed off Hermione at the door, with a quick "I'll see you tomorrow."

He knew, as he Apparated back into his own flat, from those blissful seconds of a kiss, that he was completely and utterly in love with George Weasley. He knew, from George's frozen expression and stiff body, that he was completely and utterly screwed.

Read and Review: Except for flames about slash, I welcome all criticism.