“Miss Granger, what are your thoughts on Ron Weasley’s newest girlfriend?”
“When will you return to the Ministry?”
“Are there any romantic prospects on your horizon?”
The reporters questions kept coming. George had barely taken one step outside of the shop before he was blinded by all the cameras, not pointed at him but at the bushy-haired woman trying desperately to evade their constant nagging and invasive questions.
He looked around once and waited for a second. When no questions were directed his way, he assumed that he had gone unnoticed by the swarm in favor of the Golden Girl a few steps away, The flock of reporters were blocking both ends of the Alley, so Hermione couldn’t break away to either side. And sadly, the back exit in the joke shop was currently covered in a few layers of boxes and inventory that he kept on hand to meet the the ever-increasing demand.
He fumbled around in his pockets for a moment, hoping that he had some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder on handy. That would certainly cause a stir. Instead, his hand curled around something even better. The small ball was innocent-looking. Just a swirl or earthy colors in a marble. Nothing to be worried about.
He knew better, though. The last time he tried this, it had taken weeks of coordination, planned with a rather handy poltergeist and his better half in their spectacular grand exit. He didn’t have help this time, nor did he have time to create an elaborate trap that they would walk in. He honestly didn’t even know how it would work if he detonated it in the air, but as Fred always said, “No one ever discovered anything without trying something crazy first.”
With his brother’s voice in his head, George flicked his wand, levitating the small ball in the air and took a few steps up so he was standing directly next to Hermione. With all the flourish that he could muster, he swaggered and peacocked, grabbing Hermione’s elbow in the process.
“So sorry to interrupt this little show, but seeing as you are in front of my fabulous shop, I thought I would give you a demonstration of one of my favorite products.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, but she didn’t question him as he pulled her back toward the safety of the building, at the same time yelling, “Engorgio, Relashio.”
The ball expanded quickly to twice its size, three times, four, until it was the size of his old bedroom at the Burrow. A wicked grin stretched across his face as mud, trees, and other grime appeared in the sky, hovering for a moment in the perfect imitation of a murky swamp, before the entire thing succumbed to the pull of the ground, landing squarely on the group of reporters who began spluttering and screaming, trying desperately to salvage their cameras and magical quills.
George peered around Hermione to find a few nosy onlookers in the alley, so he did what any good showman would. What Fred would have done. “Portable Swamps, ladies and gentlemen. Ten galleons and this nifty contraption is all yours.”
Then, he regained his hold on Hermione’s elbow and disappeared inside the safety of his shop, locking the door behind the two of them. Like taking off a mask, all the swagger and joyfulness leaked from George in a wave. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sunk to the floor, his back pressed tightly against the door.
Hermione was there in an instant, her hands roaming over his body, checking for injuries. The bloody war ended five years ago, and she still did that, checked everyone if they even showed the slightest sign that they were hurt to make sure it was nothing life-threatening. Just one of her new quirks, which were on the whole more pleasant than his own. She didn’t drown herself in firewhiskey every night, or hide from the mirror because it only served to remind him of what he lost.
“George! George, did you hear me?”
“Huh.” He looked up to find her eyes locked on his concern plainly written across her features. “What’d you say?”
She let loose a breath that she must have been holding. “I asked if you were alright. After I thanked you for saving me.”
He blinked a few times. Why would she think that he would do anything else? Ron’s exploits were destroying her bit by bit. He could see it, though he seemed to be the only one. Maybe it was because he was already broken. The whole like calls to like bullshit. Regardless, he had seen the interviews and had watched the way Mum was with Hermione now. Hermione hardly came over anymore because all she received was glares and vitriol from someone who once called her a daughter.
His voice was quiet when he finally answered, “I’ll always save you, Hermione.”
Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears and she tore her gaze from his. Even when distraught, she still looked beautiful. Her hair floating around her in a halo that framed her soft face. The way that her eyes shone with gold flecks when she got an idea, or when tears amplified all the colors there. Her soft lips. She was just as beautiful as she was in school, and George couldn’t for the life of him understand why his idiot brother would just give her up like he did.
“You don’t have to do that, George.” She murmured, looking down at her shoes.
For the first time since Fred died, George finally said ‘fuck it’ and did something he had wanted to for years. He wouldn’t waste anymore time. Gently, he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at his eyes. “I know. I wanted to.”
And then he pressed his lips to hers.