Down Under

George’s thumb scrapes across Hermione’s cheekbone, the calluses on his skin leaving a rough and aching trail in their wake. His brow furrows and his mouth twists as he watches her. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks, forehead crinkling. “You’ve gone all enigmatic on me again.” 

Hermione breathes in slowly, her eyes dropping to her fingers still pressed into the fabric of George’s shirt. She curls them slightly, catching the material against her knuckles. 

“I told you. I’m just thinking about contingencies.” 

George’s mouth puckers. He cocks his head to the side, fingers coming to rest against her jaw. 

Hermione pauses and forces herself to swallow the words welling up in her throat. 

The plan in her head is still forming, the ideas coalescing into misty figures at the edges of her brain. But there are still a number of unknowns, still so much room for error. 

She bites her lip. The biggest question ringing across her head—the element most likely to get in the way of her plan for the day—

She glances up at George. He stares back at her, expression simmering. 

“Hermione—”  

“We should make sure we have everything we need,” she says. She releases her hold on him, her stomach climbing into her lungs as she steps back. 

George frowns. “What—” 

“The trick wand is a really good idea,” Hermione says, nodding towards the length of wood lying forgotten on the mattress. “What other thoughts did you have?” 

George works his jaw, eyebrows still knitted together. He looks like he wants to argue. Hermione’s heart skids into her ribs as she spots the telltale lines on his forehead, the way his mouth opens slightly as he thinks deeply. 

She keeps her gaze planted on a point beyond his shoulder, willing her expression to remain neutral. Already she regrets moving away, wishes she could reach out and touch him again. She flexes her fingers and clasps her hands behind her back, rocking onto her heels. 

“I have a few other things,” George says at last. He bends over the black duffel bag on the mattress. Hermione watches as he withdraws from it a small orange box emblazoned with a fiery magenta W. 

George takes his wand from the mattress where Hermione had left it and glances at her over his shoulder as he raises it towards the box. “You’re about to see some trade secrets in here,” he drawls. “If you tell anyone I’ll have to bring you before the Wizengamot.” 

A fleeting smile tugs at Hermione’s lips. “Noted.” 

George taps his wand to the box and Hermione stifles a cry of surprise as it mushrooms into a sturdy trunk with four compartments. George nods and tucks the wand in his pocket. 

“Right,” he says, reaching so deep into the central compartment that his shoulder disappears from view. “There’s some things in here that will be useful. It might just take a minute to find them all. They’ve shifted a bit with the travel.” 

Hermione doesn’t respond but steps forward and balances on her toes to peer over his shoulder. The trunk overflows with a carefully organized array of colorful packages. Hermione recognizes many of them: extendable ears, portable swamps, edible dark marks, a shaking box of Weasley’s Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. Others hold labels she has not seen before: Tiny Twister, Nose-Biting Teacup, and something called Demon Box that makes Hermione shiver. 

George sifts through the products until he finds something near the bottom of the trunk. “Here we are,” he says through gritted teeth. 

Hermione waits for him to pull out the unseen product, but instead George appears to push something at the base of the trunk, and a lower compartment springs out towards her. 

George straightens, his back to her, and examines the contents of the newly visible chamber. With a flourish, he pulls out a mass of dark fabric. 

“A shield cloak,” he says as he turns, holding the bundle towards her. 

Hermione takes it, arching an eyebrow as she examines the silky shimmering fabric. “How does it work?” 

“The material is imbued with low-grade defensive charms that extend to the immediate area,” George says. “It’s not powerful enough to do much against serious curses, but they’re helpful for deterring any mild hexes or jinxes. With you not having a wand—” 

“It’s brilliant.”

George flashes a tense smile. He steps forward and takes the cloak from her hands, holding it by the fastenings so the fabric tumbles towards the ground. 

“It was Fred’s idea to expand the defense range,” he says, swinging the cloak around her shoulders. “After the ministry started ordering hundreds of shield hats.” 

George’s fingers come up to fasten the clasp under her chin, and Hermione watches as his face settles into a look of concentration. 

She brings a hand up to cover one of his, and George’s eyes snap to hers. 

“Thank you for this,” she murmurs.

George’s mouth twists, and he lets his hands drop. “It really won’t do much, but it should make it so Yaxley can’t stop you with a simple hex.” 

A pang reverberates through Hermione’s chest as her thoughts turn again to the half-formed plan in her mind. 

“I know.” 

George continues to watch her, his mouth once again opening as he reaches out and brushes a piece of hair from her face. Hermione can almost see the words bubbling from his lungs, questions rising that she has no wish to answer. 

“I didn’t know you brought all of this with you,” she says lightly, stepping to the side and making a show of looking over the assortment of products in the trunk. 

George comes to stand beside her and shrugs. “I didn’t know what we might need.” 

Hermione’s mind turns as she again takes in the packages in front of her, peering at the items with greater interest. There could be something—something she can use—

George reaches into the trunk once again and holds out a decoy detonator and a small, dark container that Hermione recognizes as Peruvian instant darkness powder.

“Take these,” he says, shoving them into Hermione’s hands. “In case you need to get away quickly.” 

Hermione swallows but takes the products from him. She looks down and scans the cloak. “Are there pockets on this?” 

George picks up his wand and flicks it towards her, and Hermione feels the fabric at her waist grow bulkier as two pockets appear in the cloak’s interior. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. 

“And take one more trick wand to be safe,” George mutters, taking out another length of wood and handing it to her. “It could be a good distraction.” 

Hermione nods and accepts the trick wand, stowing it in the cloak pockets along with the detonator and darkness powder. 

“I thought I had skiving snackboxes in here,” George says, half to himself. He rummages through one of the trunk compartments again, frowning as he pushes past box after box. “Let me go look—” 

He turns and moves towards the front of the hotel room, and Hermione seizes her chance. 

She reaches out, hastily snatches one of the boxes from the trunk. It isn’t what she normally would have chosen, but it will serve her purpose today. She tucks the box into the pocket of her cloak and hopes George won’t have reason to see it. 

George marches back towards her. “The snackboxes must have shifted somewhere with everything else,” he says, casting a glance towards the trunk on the bed.

“We don’t need them,” Hermione says with a shake of her head.  

He turns and frowns at her. “But what if you have to—” 

“I’ll be alright, George,” she murmurs, bringing a hand down to feel the outline of the detonator and darkness powder in her cloak pockets. “Really, I’m probably as prepared as I can be right now.” 

He looks from her to the trunk, and a muscle in his jaw jumps. “I just want you to have what you need,” he says, looking up at her. “I want you to be safe so you can get your parents home.” 

Hermione can feel her throat tightening and she swallows heavily. 

“I know.” 

George runs a hand through his hair and sweeps his eyes across the room. “What else do we need to do before we leave, then?” 

Hermione lets out a breath. “I don’t think there’s anything else we need here.” 

George gives a short, jerky nod. He steps forward and raises his wand, tapping it to the edge of the trunk so it condenses back into a small box. He lifts the box and drops it into the black duffel bag at his feet. 

Hermione twists and scans the room herself, making sure no stray objects linger on the nightstands or the beds. 

Nothing remains.

Her eyes land back on George. His words echo in her ears, and the air evaporates from her lungs.  

She knows what she must do now, if she is to carry out her plan as intended. It is just a matter of convincing him. 

“George.” 

He turns and faces her. “Yeah?” 

Hermione chews her lip. “I want you to make me a promise.” 

One of his eyebrows jumps, and his mouth blossoms into a small smile. “Haven’t I already made several promises this morning?” 

Hermione shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean,” she says. “I mean a real promise. A magical one—something more—more binding.”

George balks, the humor melting from his face. “Hermione—” 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she says quickly, running a hand over her hair. “I just want something codified. Something material and safeguarded that I know will work even if—” 

She trails off, catching her bottom lip with her teeth as she glances at him. 

George watches her, jaw tight and brow furrowed. “Even if what?”

Hermione flounders for a moment. “Just if—if something happens or if things go wrong—”

“I already said I would do what I can,” George snaps. A pink flush creeps up his neck and his expression contorts. “Merlin, Hermione, I’ve already shown that I’ll do what I can. Isn’t that enough?”

“You have—I know—I know you’ll do everything you can,” Hermione says, her bones seeming to shrink under the weight of his stare. “But—” 

“I’ve told you—” 

“I need an  assurance,” she chokes out, her voice catching. “I need to know, without a doubt, that even if something happens to me the people I love will be safe at the end of this.” 

George reaches out, face unreadable, and catches her by the elbow. “Hermione—I’d jump in front of a curse before I let anything happen to you or your parents—” 

“I know,” she whispers. She steps closer and tips her chin up, meeting his eye. “I trust you. More than anyone. But I need—I need something concrete—something tangible.”

George’s expression softens slightly. His hand leaves her elbow and comes up to run through his hair. A phantom smirk crosses his face. “You know if something happened where I had to save you and your parents, it would be much more noble and dramatic if I didn’t have a magically binding contract compelling me.”

Hermione lets out a heavy breath, a sharp laugh climbing up her throat and crumbling against her tongue. “I’d rather have certainty over drama.” 

“I know you would.” George brings his hand to her cheek, the pads of his fingers cradling her jaw. “You don’t leave anything to chance do you?” 

Hermione shakes her head, heat again rising from her chest and pooling behind her eyes. 

George’s thumb runs over her cheekbone, and he tucks a piece of hair behind her ear before letting his hand drop. 

“I love how thorough you are,” he murmurs. 

Hermione swallows and closes her eyes. 

God, she hopes he can forgive her someday.  

George sighs and runs his hand through his hair again. “It will make you feel better if I do this?” 

She bites her lip and nods slowly. “Yes. I want—I want to be sure. I don’t want to leave any room for error or—or uncertainty.” 

His eyes scour her face again, his brows pulled together. 

“Fine,” he says after a moment. “If it will make you feel better. I’ll do it.” 

“George,” she breathes, her shoulders dropping as she lets out a breath. “Thank you—” 

“We’re not making a bloody unbreakable vow, though,” he grumbles. 

“No.” Hermione shakes her head firmly. “That’s not what I’m suggesting.” 

George gives a short nod and catches her eye, his brow still scrunched as he appraises her. “And I have some terms of my own.” 

Hermione frowns. 

What does he plan to—?

George raises an eyebrow, a silent challenge. 

“Alright,” she says, thinking through the different terms George might want to propose, and how she can counteract them if need be. “That’s fine.” 

“So,” George says, his voice taking on a forced lightness. “Did you have a particular type of magical oath in mind?” 

Hermione shakes her head. “Just one that won’t require a third person to seal it.” 

George doesn’t respond, just arches his eyebrow even higher. 

Hermione breathes in. “We could—we could make it a blood oath but that’s probably too—” 

“I’ll do it.” His jaw sets. “If that’s what you want.” 

Hermione chews her lip, her breaths growing shallower as George holds her gaze. 

“Okay.” 

She takes a shaking step forwards and lowers herself onto the mattress. She feels the mattress dip as George takes a seat beside her. 

Hermione turns to look at him, her breaths suddenly feeling unsteady. She runs her tongue over her bottom lip and presses her hands onto her thighs, trying to quiet her racing pulse. 

“I don’t quite know how to begin this,” she admits softly. “I know the broad theory—” 

“I think it’s really pretty straightforward,” George says, a thin thread of amusement running through the words. “We both draw blood and then mix it, and make whatever oaths you want us to make.” 

“Right.” Hermione straightens and pushes her hair from her shoulders. “Could I—?” she nods towards George’s wand sitting nearby. 

George picks up the wand and hands it to her, the lines returning to his face. 

Hermione takes a deep breath as she balances the wand in her hand. She forces her gaze to remain in front of her, not allowing even a glance towards George sitting too close beside her. 

She taps the wand tip to her left palm and then drags it downwards, wincing slightly as the delicate skin is sliced apart as though by an invisible knife. She turns, braces herself, and then offers the wand to George. 

He shakes his head and holds his hand out towards her. 

“You do it.” 

Hermione swallows heavily and takes his hand in hers, turning it so his palm faces the ceiling. She lets her eyes skim over his long fingers, the spaces between them. 

Slowly, carefully, she tracks his wand across the rough skin, and watches as blood pours out. 

George lets out a soft hiss, and Hermione quickly releases his hand before setting his wand down on the mattress beside her. George sets his bleeding hand on his thigh, the angry gash of scarlet gleaming against the overhead lights. 

He holds the hand out to Hermione, face stony and eyes locked on her. 

“You’re sure about this?” 

She nods, and does not let herself look away from him. “It’s the only way for me to be sure.” 

Before she has time to doubt or change her mind, Hermione reaches out and clasps George’s hand in hers. Her palm burns in the space where her blood mingles with his, and Hermione gasps as the burning sensation travels across her skin, following the veins from her palm into her fingertips and up towards her elbow. 

She takes several steadying breaths. Her fingers tighten around George’s and he squeezes her back. 

As the heat moves through her skin, Hermione watches as a single drop of blood rises from her hand into the air between them. Another, which she guesses to be George’s, joins it. She watches with wide eyes as the droplets slowly approach each other until their edges meet, and then in a blink they slide together, joined in a manner so complete that Hermione knows it cannot be undone. 

“What do you want me to promise?” George whispers. 

She tears her eyes from the single droplet of blood between them. She pauses, slowly retrieving the carefully chosen words she has saved in her head. 

“When we find Yaxley, if you have the chance to get my parents out of Australia and take them to safety, do you promise you’ll take it straight away no matter what?” 

A muscle in George’s jaw jumps but he does not release her. “I do,” he says in a low voice. 

The blood droplet between them shimmers slightly, a ribbon of silvery light wrapping around it. 

Hermione opens her mouth to continue, but George cuts her off. 

“I want you to repeat what you promised earlier. Swear that when we find Yaxley you will focus on saving your parents and not trying to fight him on your own.” 

Hermione frowns. “I will focus on making sure my parents can get out safely, and won’t try to fight Yaxley,” she says. 

The silver light burns brighter against the blood droplet hanging between them. 

Hermione takes another short breath. “And do you promise that if you have to choose, you’ll save yourself instead of me?” 

George’s face darkens and he jerks backwards, ripping his hand from hers. “No,” he snarls. “I’m not fucking promising that.” 

The light around the blood droplet pulses, and Hermione throws herself forward, smashing her hand to George’s. 

“Then promise if it comes to it you’ll leave me and—” 

“No.” 

“At least promise that if you have to choose between saving my parents and saving me that you’ll choose my parents,” Hermione says wildly, watching as the ribbon of light begins to fade around the edges. “Please, George. Please—” 

George’s jaw tightens so much Hermione can see a vein protrude from his neck. “Fine,” he grinds out. “Fine. I promise.”  

Hermione’s palm burns again and she looks up to see George’s eyes leaving her face, drifting towards the rapidly dimming light around the blood droplet. The spindly silver ribbons have nearly faded when he suddenly looks back to her. 

“One last thing,” he says, hand clutching hers so tightly it is almost painful. “I promise—I swear— I will get you and your parents out of Australia and back home to England no matter what. Or I will die trying.” 

Hermione’s eyes widen and she looks desperately at the blood droplet, the light almost entirely faded now. 

This isn’t part of the plan. George isn’t supposed to—

George catches her eye, his mouth twisting as the last dregs of light leak from the blood droplet. 

A jolt rushes through Hermione, a burst of heat and power that zips up her arm and directly into her chest. Hermione looks up and sees the drop of blood rotate slightly, streams of renewed silver light pouring from it and reflecting off the wall like some sort of deranged disco ball. Slowly, the blood falls through the air and lands like a kiss on Hermione and George’s joined hands before melting into their skin. 

George’s hand still clutches hers. Hermione swallows and lets her gaze land on him, her stomach in knots. 

Expression burning, George brings her hand up to his face and presses his lips to the sliced, bloody skin of her palm. 

“There’s your oath.”