Brave New World
Swollen grey clouds hang heavy in the sky, glaring down at Muggle London as raindrops pelt the pavement. Hermione sighs and ducks her head, huddling against the grimy walls of a deserted alley.
“Bad luck with this weather,” George murmurs, his hair sticking to his neck as he considers the sky. “Mum’s going to have to figure out what to do about the party tonight.”
“I’m sure she’ll think of something,” Hermione says. “This can’t be the first time this has happened.”
“No, but you know how she gets.” George makes a face and runs a hand through his sodden hair. He takes his wand from his pocket and waves it, casting a light, shimmering shield around them to block the rain. “She was already wound up with it being Harry’s birthday. Now that your mum and dad are coming—”
“They won’t mind being inside.” Hermione bites her lip and leans against George’s shoulder, her eyes sliding to the main street at the end of the alley. “I just hope everything goes alright today—”
“It’ll be just fine, love,” George wraps an arm around her and presses her into his side. “The healers wouldn’t be discharging them if they weren’t ready.”
“I suppose.” She looks down to their hands, still clasped together from the side-along apparition. “I just worry—”
George leans down and presses a kiss to her temple. “It’s going to be alright,” he says softly, the arm around her tightening.
Hermione tilts her chin and glances up at him, the corner of her mouth curling upwards of its own accord. “Thanks for coming with me,” she murmurs.
George smiles, his arm dropping to her waist. “Wouldn’t have missed it.”
“You really shouldn’t have taken the full day off from the shop, though. There’s still so much to do.”
George shrugs. “Ron and Lee can manage for the day. And I have to take advantage of the next few weeks, don’t I? What with you abandoning me once again—”
Hermione rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “For Heaven’s sake, George, I’m just going back to Hogwarts—”
“What am I supposed to do with myself when you’re gone?” he asks, pulling an exaggerated frown. “Just sit in the shop and mope?”
Hermione purses her lips, trying hard not to smile. “How about build the shop back up and be a contributing member of wizarding society?”
He shudders. “Sounds terrible.”
Hermione shakes her head again, a reluctant smile slipping through her lips as she stands on her toes and brushes a piece of hair from his forehead. “Some of us actually want to finish school, you know.”
“And I don’t know why. I’ve heard it on good authority that some of the most handsome, talented wizards of our generation haven’t sat their N.E.W.T.s.”
She quirks a brow. “I didn’t know you thought so highly of Ron.”
“Funny.”
Hermione shifts her weight. “It’s not a mistake to go back, is it?” she asks, her voice thinning as she looks down at the darkened pavement. “I know it’s inconvenient. I’ll be leaving you and Mum and Dad back here just when everyone’s home. But I—” she peeks up at him through her eyelashes. “I want to go back. I know it’s silly but I want to finish out my education and sit exams and—”
“I know.” George squeezes her hand, face softening. “It’s not a mistake, and I wouldn’t expect anything less. I’m just going to miss you.”
Hermione smiles. “I know. We’ve still got an entire month before September, though.”
“Yes,” George nods, his expression smoothing. “But there’s so much we haven’t done yet.”
“Like what?”
George’s eyes flick to hers, and his mouth curves into a somewhat wicked grin. “Like christen the kitchen counters in the flat.”
Hermione’s face flushes scarlet. “George! ”
“Only joking, love.” He leans down so his mouth is level with her ear, breath tickling the flyaway hairs escaping from her plait. “We’ll use the kitchen table, obviously. It’s much better suited.”
Hermione swats at him. “You’re horrible,” she hisses.
George laughs and tugs her close. “That’s not what you were saying—“
“Please don’t finish that sentence.”
George shakes his head but says no more as he pulls his wand out again and removes the shield around them.
“Ready?” he asks, nodding towards the main street.
Hermione nods, a weight settling over her chest as she lets George lead her out of the alley and into the city crush.
St. Mungo’s teems with healers and patients. Hermione scans the lobby, pulse hammering until she spots her parents and Healer Stroud standing in the far corner.
“Good morning,” she breathes as she trots towards them.
“Good morning, Miss Granger,” Healer Stroud says, nodding towards Hermione and then to George. “Mr. Weasley.”
Hermione looks past Healer Stroud to her parents, both looking rather bewildered as they take in the chaos of the magical hospital.
She bites her lip. “How are you both?”
Her father merely nods, his face scrunched. Her mother pauses, mouth opening slightly as she stares at the witch behind the reception desk, the posters advertising medicinal potions, and the patients sporting magical injuries.
“It’s just amazing,” Miranda says at last, her eyes landing on Hermione as she shakes her head. “Just amazing, all of this. I never knew—”
Hermione swallows, nods. She releases her hold on George’s hand and gestures to the pandemonium behind her, her breaths growing heavy. “It’s magic,” she says, voice wobbling. “I can show you more of it when—when we leave.”
Miranda studies her for a moment, her brows furrowing and then smoothing. “There’s a quote,” she murmurs, shaking her head and turning to look again at the mass of magical people. “It’s all I’ve been able to think of since Healer Stroud brought us down here. O brave new world, that has such people in’t.”
Hermione lets out a breath. “The Tempest,” she warbles. “When Miranda gets off the island.”
Miranda stills, her expression shifting. “You know it?”
Hermione nods. George moves behind her, takes her hand again. Her fingers find the spaces between his, slotting into them like puzzle pieces into place. “It’s my favorite.”
They apparate from London to the Burrow, Hermione bringing her mother along and George taking her father. Hermione’s shoes land against the mud with a fantastic squelch, and she holds her mother upright as the world comes back into view.
“You’re here!”
The front door of the house flies open and Molly and Arthur both hurry outside, arms outstretched and smiles wide. There is chattering, and much shaking of wet hair and nods as Molly shares the details of the night’s meal and asks if the Grangers would like to see the birthday cake she just finished baking for Harry.
As Molly and Arthur shepherd David and Miranda inside, Hermione stays in the yard, rocking backwards on her heels. The weight in her chest still sits heavy, and she lets out a sigh.
“Hey.” George comes to stand beside her, frowning as he taps a finger against the side of her head. “What’s going on in there?”
Hermione bites her lip and wraps an arm around him, settling her cheek against his chest. “I just can’t stop thinking about all the ways this could go badly,” she whispers. She pauses, runs a hand over her hair.
George watches her, eyes bright against the dreary sky. “What do you mean?”
Hermione looks up at him and chews the inside of her cheek. “What if they can’t find a house? Or can’t find work? What if they’re going to be treated as invalids forever, and I’ve ruined the rest of their lives?”
George pulls her closer and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Like I said earlier, it’s all going to be fine, love. I'll be here and can pop in on them if something happens. And I'm pretty sure Dad's already committed to seeing them every day whether they need him or not.”
“But what if—“
“If something goes wrong then we’ll figure it out.” George plants a kiss on top of her head. “We’re rather good at that.”
Hermione lets her head rest more heavily against him, her cheek pressing into the fabric of his shirt. She breathes in, lets the smell of cinnamon and smoke warm her throat and settle in her belly. “I’m so glad I have you. You know that?”
George shifts, catching her chin between his fingers and tilting it up so her eyes are level with his. His mouth twists, and his brow crinkles. “You still haven’t changed your mind?”
She shakes her head, standing on her toes to press her lips against his. When she pulls away she tilts to rest her forehead against his, once again marveling at just how many shades of blue she can find in his eyes.
“Never.”