The Vow
The walls hold their breath as Hermione stirs, swaddled in that hazy warmth of not-quite morning. The low light of the room wraps around her, the heat of her body and sweet tranquility of unadulterated sleep weaving together to cast a veil between her and the world.
Hermione shifts and buries her face deeper into the pillow, reaching to wrap the sheets more tightly around her shoulders.
Her hands catch only air and the gentle thought drifts into her mind that no blanket covers her. She lies on top of the bed, still in her clothes from the day before.
No sooner does she register this thought when another appears. The weight and warmth pressing against her comes not from any blankets but from George Weasley lying beside her, his breath tickling her neck and a heavy arm draped over her waist.
Hermione thinks vaguely that she should move. She should get up and take herself to the bed near the window to protect them both from the problems this could cause.
She tilts slightly, shifting towards the edge of the mattress. The arm around her tightens, languid fingers splaying against her stomach.
She is weak, and she is selfish. Hermione lets George pull her back, lets herself sink into his chest and be enveloped in the heady warmth. She wraps a hand around his forearm, closes her eyes, and allows herself to drift off to sleep once more.
***
When she wakes again, gray strands of burgeoning light peer through the windows, and consciousness barrels into Hermione with the force of a bullet. She inhales sharply and sits up with a jerk.
George’s arm drops onto the mattress and he shifts, snoring slightly.
Hermione’s eyes flicker across George’s sleeping form. He looks more serious in sleep, more subdued. Hermione reaches out and brushes a piece of hair from his face, letting her fingertips drag gently across the shallow lines carved into his forehead.
George stirs at the touch, eyelashes fluttering as he burrows into the mattress and groans.
“Good morning,” Hermione says crisply, hastily retracting her hand and getting to her feet. She runs a hand through her hair, feeling unreasonably embarrassed about her rumpled clothes and knotted hair.
“Mmph,” George grumbles in response. He curls around the empty spot that moments ago had been occupied by Hermione, his shoulders rounding and knees coming up towards his chest.
Hermione bites her lip, casting about for something to say. Something to diffuse the heavy sense of impropriety descending on her as her skin hums where he had held her.
“Once you’re up we’ll want to make a plan for the day,” she says at last, shaking herself slightly. “I can call the library to see what their hours are. If you’re up for it, we can go back today and try to get the address using the proper channels.”
George groans again, his legs stretching out straight as he throws an arm over his face. “What time is it?”
Hermione glances at the clock on the nightstand over his shoulder. “7:02.”
“Right.” George rolls onto his back and scrubs a hand down his face. “Just give me a mo. I think this is the most I’ve slept in one night since we got here.”
“Of course.” Hermione nods, quickly looking about the hotel room. “I’ll just get ready then. I can—er—oh.” She frowns suddenly. “Oh no.”
“What?” George’s hand drops and he sits up slightly. “What’s the matter?”
“My bag,” Hermione says. “I don’t have my bag.”
“Take mine,” George murmurs, dropping back against the pillows. “It’s got some of your things in it from when we had to get all those bloody books back here.”
Hermione bites the inside of her cheek, her eyes landing on George’s black duffel bag sitting on the floor near the door. “Right,” she squeaks. “Right, of course. I’ll just—”
“Mhm,” George mumbles, his face again obscured by the pillow. “I’ll be up in a jiff, don’t worry.”
Hermione merely nods in reply before scurrying into the bathroom, snatching George’s duffel bag and slamming the door behind her.
She washes quickly and sets the duffel bag on the floor, bending down to retrieve her clothes. She pushes past the jumbled books and parchment, familiar t-shirts and folded boxers, ignoring how thoroughly their things have mixed as she tugs free a shirt and jacket.
Freshly dressed, Hermione squares her shoulder and glances at the mirror. Her sodden hair drips against her shoulders and she realizes with a renewed wave of nausea that she will have to borrow George’s wand to cast the drying charm.
She steps back into the room and finds George standing near the kitchenette. His hair is tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looks up as the bathroom door clicks shut behind her, and catches her eye.
“Morning,” he says.
Hermione places the duffel bag on the floor between them. “The shower’s free,” she says. “If you wanted to use it.”
George glances at the duffel bag and then at her. “Okay.”
“And I need to borrow your wand.”
George raises his eyebrows.
Hermione gestures to her hair. “I need to dry it. And I thought I ought to do some charms as well to make myself look different before we go anywhere. Just in case.”
George nods slowly, a hand coming up to run through his hair. “Alright,” he says. “My wand’s on the nightstand. Use it for whatever you need.”
Hermione bites her lip and nods. “Thanks,” she mutters.
George shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He opens his mouth slightly, then closes it, his eyes flickering from Hermione to the floor.
“Listen, Hermione,” he mumbles. “I’m really sorry about last night—”
“Don’t be,” she says quickly.
“I didn’t mean to go to pieces like that.” George ducks his head so the words are directed at his feet. Even so, Hermione can make out the pink tinge blooming across his ear and neck. “It wasn’t—”
“George.” Hermione takes a half step towards him and reaches out, catching his hand. “It’s really alright. I mean really, I’ve done the same to you.”
“Yeah, well—”
George trails off, his free hand coming up to run through his hair. “It’s different when it’s you. It’s not—you’re just still so put together—”
Hermione raises an eyebrow. “George, I think I’ve blown my nose on at least two of your shirts.”
George shrugs. His eyes slide up and lock onto hers, his mouth twisting. “I don’t mind.”
Hermione gives a small smile and squeezes his hand. “Nor do I when it’s you.”
George’s fingers flex against hers and he tugs her towards him. He drops her hand and wraps both arms around her shoulders, drawing her into his chest.
Hermione leans in, her own arms coming up to wrap around his waist and her cheek resting against his shoulder. The weight and warmth of his arms feels so comforting, so familiar, and the memory of the morning flashes unbidden in her mind.
For a moment Hermione considers suggesting they forget the plan for the day, forget about Yaxley and her parents and the task ahead of them, and simply climb back into bed so she can curl up against him once more. She thinks she could spend an entire day, possibly an entire year, basking in the warmth and smell of George’s skin and be perfectly content.
George tightens his arms around her and bends so his face rests against the top of her head. Hermione can feel his breaths slow, his chest rising and falling steadily against her.
“Thanks,” he says gruffly, the words somewhat muffled by her damp hair.
Hermione squeezes him, her fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt.
“Of course,” she murmurs. She takes one more breath in, letting the smell of cinnamon and faint traces of smoke warm her from the inside out before dropping her arms and stepping away.
George clears his throat and fidgets with the hem of his shirt.
“So we need to go back to the library today,” he says.
Hermione’s breath sticks in her throat as her mind skitters to the day ahead of them. “Yeah, we do.”
George nods. “And we don’t know where Yaxley is.”
Hermione pauses. “I have a thought about that, actually,” she says slowly.
George raises his eyebrows in silent question.
Hermione grimaces. “He has my wand.”
“I know,” George frowns. “We’ll have to make a plan about what to do if we run into him again.”
“Yes,” Hermione nods. “But that’s not what I’m thinking about right now.”
George cocks his head to the side, his expression shifting. “What are you thinking about right now, then?” he asks.
“The tracking charm,” Hermione says. “The one you put on my wand when we were at the library.”
George freezes, his eyes going wide. “Oh, Merlin—”
“The charm would still work even though the wand’s broken, right?” Hermione asks.
“It’s broken?” George’s brow furrows. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“Oh.” Hermione bites her lip and nods, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Yes. Yaxley—after he disarmed me he—he snapped it. That’s why I screamed.”
George’s frown deepens. “Why didn’t you—”
“I didn’t think of it last night,” Hermione says. “What with everything else happening.”
The muscle in George’s jaw jumps and he looks like he wants to press the point but then simply sighs. “Alright. We’ll talk about how to deal with that later.”
Hermione purses her lips but doesn’t reply.
George runs a hand through his hair, blinking rapidly. Hermione can almost see the strands of thought somersault through his brain, twisting and tying together. “Your wand is broken, but that shouldn’t change anything about the charm. Which means if Yaxley still has your wand—”
“Which I bet he does,” Hermione mutters. “If he’s anything like—like You-Know-Who, I’m sure he’ll want to keep it as a souvenir to prove he overpowered me.”
George’s expression darkens and he glowers at the floor. “Right. If he still has it then we can use the charm to track where he is. But, Hermione,” he glances at her. “The charm—it’s just meant for short ranges. Unless Yaxley’s right outside, it’s not going to be able to help us find him.”
“I know.” Hermione shrugs. “I’m not suggesting we use it now to try and figure out where he is. But it could be a precaution, a surer way to check if he’s nearby when we go somewhere. You said before that it can let you know how close the target is.”
George nods. He steps around Hermione and takes his wand from the nightstand, holding it between them. He looks up at Hermione, and then mutters, “Invenio.”
The wand spins in George’s palm, pointing towards the doorway.
“Well, at least we know he’s not by the hotel,” George says, handing the wand to Hermione.
She takes it, the wood cool to the touch. “It will get warmer if he gets closer?”
“Right.”
George scrubs a hand over his face. He looks tired still, despite the night’s rest. Hermione bites back a swell of guilt as she watches him.
“I’m going to take a shower,” George says after a moment. His hand drops to his side and he glances at Hermione. “And then we should figure out our plan before we go. Is it—” he pauses and takes a breath. “Do you think Yaxley got to your parents?”
Hermione swallows. “I don’t know,” she says. “I think it’s possible.”
George gives a short nod. “We should be ready for him, then. We can’t let him catch us by surprise again.”
Hermione meets his gaze and nods in response.
George bends to pick up the duffel bag from the floor. “Use my wand to dry your hair and do whatever else you need,” he says. “I don’t know that we need to bother with charming our hair, though. If Yaxley’s waiting for us he’ll recognize us no matter what.”
Hermione sighs and looks down at the wand in her hand. “You’re probably right.” She catches her lower lip between her teeth and bites back a swell of nausea.
George shifts, the duffel bag swinging from his hand. “There was—er—something else I wanted to say,” he murmurs. “About last night.”
Hermione feels her face flush again. “Okay.”
“Er—” George brings a hand up to the back of his neck. “You said something about people leaving. About how you think everyone does.”
Hermione’s face burns hotter and she shakes her head. “George, I didn’t mean that. I was just—”
“I just wanted to say I’m not going anywhere,” he cuts her off.
Hermione bites the inside of her cheek, a lump rising in her throat.
“I meant it when I said I wanted to help you find your parents,” he continues. “And I’m not planning on leaving Australia unless they’re safe and with us.”
Hermione opens her mouth and then closes it, unable to form the proper words.
George seems to understand. His expression flickers, eyes scanning her face one more time before he turns and shuffles to the bathroom.
Hermione stands still for several beats. She can hear the bathroom door click closed, and can hear the shower start a few seconds later. Thoughts and images swirl in her head, forming a jumbled mess she cannot sift through right now.
Hermione shakes her head until it is clear. With a halting breath, she looks down at George’s wand still clutched in her hand. She brings it up towards her face, considering it for the first time.
In the quiet, she finds herself more aware of how it feels, wielding George’s wand instead of her own. It is odd, slightly uncomfortable, as though she has tried to put on a glove that doesn’t quite fit. The wood feels rougher to the touch than the smooth vinewood she is used to, and Hermione has to adjust her grip to avoid her index finger brushing against a small knot in the grain. The wand also feels slightly longer than hers, so she has to roll her wrist to try and achieve the proper balance.
Still, as she lifts her arm and brings the wand towards her hair there is an unmistakable familiarity, a propulsive energy that bursts against her fingertips. Nothing like the cold dread that had coated her when she held Bellatrix’s wand.
She casts a drying charm on her hair and then moves towards the mirror on the wall. She frowns at her reflection, her head once again churning.
Yaxley has likely found her parents and will be waiting for her and George. This she knows without being told. But if forced to choose, he will go after Hermione rather than George or her parents. He as good as said it, after all, when he cornered her in the library.
The thoughts take shape, and as she considers her reflection, a plan unspools in Hermione’s mind. As she marshals the data points and ideas in order, Hermione already knows it is not a plan she will share with George. He would hate it.
But the plan coming together before her is one that will allow her to keep both her parents and George safe. It will let her keep all of them alive.
She didn’t realize until now just how badly she wants that.
The shower turns off and Hermione sits down on one of the beds, setting George’s wand down beside her.
George reappears a few minutes later, his hair damp and skin faintly pink. His eyes flick to Hermione as he drops the duffel bag onto the mattress.
“I think I have an idea for if we run into Yaxley,” he says, rifling through the bag. He takes out what looks to be another wand and holds it out to Hermione.
Hermione raises an eyebrow as she takes it.
“One of your trick wands?” she guesses, glancing up at him.
George nods. “Take it with you when we go,” he says. “Just try not to wave it. We want it to look like you have a wand with you.”
Hermione nods, swallowing heavily. “Good idea.”
“I figure that when we get to the library it will be best if I’m the one to give my name and confund the staff,” George says. “We’ll stick together and use the tracking charm before we go anywhere to see if Yaxley’s nearby. When we get to your parents, we’ll move as fast as possible to get them out of the house, and when we’re somewhere safe we can send a patronus to my dad or Ron and see if they can get an international portkey arranged for us.”
Hermione chews her lip, slotting the pieces of her own plan neatly into the steps George describes. “That all makes sense.”
George peers at her, his forehead wrinkling. “What are you thinking about?”
Hermione looks up and catches his eye. She forces her face into a neutral expression and shrugs. “Contingencies.”
George frowns, and Hermione knows he has questions. To her relief, he doesn’t voice them. Instead he returns to the bag, digging through the mess of belongings and pulling out a thin, gleaming silver chain.
“I have something else,” he says, holding the chain out to her.
Hermione leans over to examine it. Up close, she can see it is a necklace, a small pendant of a bird hanging from the chain.
“What—”
“I’ve been trying to figure out a way for us to check in on each other without our wands,” George murmurs. “It’s not—well, it’s not really done yet and there’s still loads of things it can’t do but it’s the best I’ve got right now.”
Hermione sits back, watching him with undisguised curiosity.
George reaches into the collar of his shirt and pulls out a chain with an identical bird pendant on it. “I wanted it to be something small that would be hard to lose during a fight. The charms are magpies. A paired set. I put an adjusted protean charm on them, so if you stroke the back of the pendant with your finger, both charms will get hot. I thought—” he catches her eye and shrugs. “I thought we could use them if we get separated. To let the other person know we’re okay.”
The lump returns to Hermione’s throat as she reaches out and takes the necklace from him. The silver bird flaps its wings gently against her hand, and Hermione runs the pad of her index finger down its back. The charm gets warm, and she looks up to see George watching her.
“George—” she whispers.
“I know it’s probably not exactly what you wanted,” he mumbles, tucking the chain back under his shirt. “I wanted to make it so if you turn the charm around it will take you to the other person, but I don’t think it quite works, and I can’t figure out how to get it right without risking horrible splinching in the cases of long distance apparition and I honestly thought we’d have a little more time so I could keep trying—”
“It’s beautiful,” Hermione says softly. She bites her lip and runs her finger over the charm again. “Will you put it on me?” she asks, getting to her feet.
George nods wordlessly, taking the necklace from her as Hermione turns and lifts her hair away from her neck.
Hermione holds her breath. She can feel George behind her, the pad of his thumb brushing over her skin as he fastens the clasp. The cool chain falls against the hollow of her throat, and the magpie pendant flutters its wings before going still.
George shifts behind her, and Hermione feels a shallow breath drift over her before he bends down and presses a gentle kiss to the back of her neck.
Hermione’s heart stutters. Her breath seems to stop.
“There you go,” George says.
Hermione turns, feeling as though she might cry, and throws her arms around his neck, tugging him into a tight hug.
George wraps his arms around her, and Hermione squeezes. She lets her face press into his chest, luxuriating again in the warmth and smell of his shirt. He is so warm, so comforting. She wishes they could stay here, that she could capture this moment in a bottle and take it with her.
“This is so lovely, George,” she whispers. “I don’t know how to say thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he responds. His arms tighten once more around her and then drop.
Hermione bites back a whine and takes a breath, one hand coming up to hold the pendant against her chest. “George?”
He glances down at her. “Yeah?”
“Will you promise me something?”
He raises his eyebrows, evidently surprised by the question. “Depends what it is,” he says.
Hermione bites her lips, eyes drifting down to pendant in her fingers. “When we’re done here—no matter what happens—promise you’ll go back and reopen the shop. Please.”
George frowns and runs a hand over his face. “Hermione—you know it’s not—“
“I know it won’t be the same,” she says. “But you have to—“ she reaches up and puts a hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at her. “You are so good at making other people happy. I know it’s not the same without Fred but it’s still you, George.”
He swallows, and his arms come back to wrap around her waist. “I don’t know if I can,” he whispers. “I don’t know if I can do all of it by myself.”
“You won’t be by yourself,” Hermione insists. “You’ll have Lee. And I’m sure Percy or Ron would help. You have people who love you, George. And people who love the shop. And you can make it work. I know you can. You’re so—“
She takes a breath, her thumb tracing along his cheek. George’s eyes trail down her face, his mouth opening slightly. “You’re so good at making things lighter,” she says softly. “You’re so good at making people smile. You’ve made the last few weeks so much better—“
“Come back and open the shop with me, then,” he says, fingers twisting in the fabric of her shirt. “I know I can do it if you’ll help.”
Hermione bites her lip, her hand dragging down to his neck and shoulder, catching in the collar of his shirt. “I wish I could,” she whispers.
George gives a small, taut smile. A hand comes up to tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Got other plans?”
“Something like that.”
George’s hand slides to the back of her neck and he tilts to rest his forehead against hers. Her hand remains on his shoulder, fingertips dipping under the fabric of his shirt.
She could lift her hand up, catch his jaw and press her lips against his right now if she wanted to.
She could pull him closer, drag her hands down his chest and press his body into hers.
He would let her do it.
She wants to.
But it would be so horribly unfair, especially given the plan cementing in her mind. So selfish. It is time for her to stop being so selfish.
She won’t hurt him, not more than she has to.
She drops her hands to his upper arms, holding him far enough away that she won’t let herself do anything foolish.
George sighs, the air ghosting over her face. His hands slide down to rest on her hips, and he pulls her closer. So close she can feel the heat from his skin through her shirt.
Hermione swallows and raises her eyes to meet his.
One hand comes up to cup her cheek. “Can I ask you to promise me something, then?”
She takes a shaking breath, fingers digging in to his arms. “What is it?”
“If we find Yaxley today, don’t try to be a hero and take him on by yourself. Let me duel him. You find your parents.”
She pauses, biting her lip as her eyes dance across his face. “I won’t try to duel him,” she murmurs.
It isn’t a lie, she tells herself. Not quite.
George’s fingers flex against her hips, and Hermione closes her eyes. She will keep him safe so he can go back and reopen the shop and continue making life more fun for the people around him.
The gears in her head continue turning, clicking forward as she thinks through what she will do when they leave the hotel room in a few short hours. She knows that if everything goes as expected they will not be returning to this room. She knows that in all likelihood they will have to fight their way past Yaxley before night falls.
Hermione tightens her hands on George’s arms, ignoring the quiver her heart gives as he squeezes her in response.
She holds her breath and makes a silent promise to herself and some unknown deity. No matter what happens when they find Yaxley, she vows that George Weasley will be safe.
She will make sure of it.