“You’re going to have to shut down?” he asked. Truth be told, he had never taken much interest in the organisation itself, but Hermione was his best friend and he knew how much it meant to her.
“Yes,” Hermione sighed. “I can’t afford to stay open, what with the Rolling Pin debacle and losing my sponsorship. I would have to use my own money!” She turned away from the pity in Harry’s eyes. She knew he didn’t care much for S.P.E.W anyway. “So, S.P.E.W will have to continue on in my heart until circumstances…change.”
Harry’s hand reached over to touch Hermione’s on the Formica table of the Muggle café on Tottenham Court Road. He looked around the café, it was vaguely familiar and Harry jumped when he realised this was the place he, Hermione and…and Ron had sought refuge after Bill and Fleur’s wedding.
“Why did you bring us here?” He could not look at her and withdrew his hand.
Hermione let out a small sob. “Oh, I don’t know Harry. I thought…It was a bad idea. I’m just missing him a lot at the moment, always wondering if I would be in this mess if he were still around…”
“You know you wouldn’t.” Harry said gently and replaced his hand on hers. “Look, Hermione, do you need some mon-”
“No! Harry! I couldn’t take money from my friends!” She was shocked. “This is S.P.E.W not me. I don’t mind having sponsorship but personal loans…definitely not.” She gave Harry a scandalised look as if he had flashed his underpants at the waitress.
“Sorry, I just hate to see you like this.” He smiled. “I guess the Auror Division can’t really sponsor a Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare! Or maybe Ginny could tie a S.P.E.W banner to her broom next time the Harpies play.” Hermione giggled.
“Oh, Harry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s this place,” she gestured around the café wildly. “It gets to me…”
“Hermione, we don’t have to-”
“But I want to talk about him. We never do!” there was a plea in her voice that Harry did not recognise. “After….after Thicknesse-” she shuddered at the name.
“Thicknesse is dead, Hermione.” Harry interrupted rather harshly. “I hunted him down myself, remember?” His tone softened somewhat noticing Hermione’s tears.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I remember. But…”
“There was nothing, nothing Hermione, that anyone could have done. It was the Killing curse, and who expected Thicknesse of all people, to turn up seeking revenge for Voldemort? We all thought he was under the Imperius, we all thought he was gone. Besides, if anyone is going to feel guilty, it’s me. I’m the reason Ron’s dead. Thicknesse wanted me,” Harry said with a bitter tone. He was right of course. Pius Thicknesse had come to the Burrow looking for Harry and got Ron instead. The idiot, thought Harry. Typical Ron trying to prove himself, as if the Weasley’s needed to lose another son, another brother…
“You can’t blame yourself, Harry.” Hermione choked out.
“And you can’t blame yourself, either, Hermione.”
Hermione’s fingers curled around Harry’s warm palm. She looked up into his eyes and smiled through her tears. Harry’s scowl twisted into a small laugh.
“That’s better.”
Christmas day dawned like any other and Hermione woke to see the dusty beams of her flat ceiling. Her hand reached out mechanically, like it did each morning, coming to rest in the empty cold sheets beside her. Yes, it was a day like any other. She could hear Harry stumbling around the living room; he had stayed last night after one too many Firewhiskeys. Christmas was hard for him, too, without Ron.
Struggling out of bed, head pounding, Hermione found Harry pouring himself a cup of tea in the kitchen.
“Want one?” he asked in a croaky voice. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Hermione nodded and sat down at the table. She did not look up as a steaming mug of English Breakfast appeared before her. Nodding her head in thanks, she continued to study the tea.
“Are you going to drink it?” Harry asked with a sigh.
Hermione lifted her gaze until she was staring into a pair of green eyes. She nodded.
“Yeah, in a bit.”
They Apparated together later that morning. Hermione could hear the ruckus coming from the Burrow before she had opened her eyes. Molly Weasley’s shrill yells of instruction floated on the sharp breeze like the flakes of snow falling onto Hermione’s shoulders.
“Come on,” Harry said, taking a deep breath. “No point shivering outside, eh?” He grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her, albeit reluctantly, through the gate. Mrs Weasley opened the door just as Harry raised his gloved fist.
“Harry, dear! And Hermione! Come in, come in.”
Harry stood back to let Hermione pass. She forced a smile and walked through the door into the kitchen, Harry following close behind. The entire Weasley clan was here, squashed into the room. There was Charlie in the corner, a mince pie in hand as he entertained his young niece Victoire, whose parents were standing by the stove. Percy was sitting at the table beside his fiancée, Audrey, and he turned at cold breeze issuing from the open door. Arthur got up from his place at the table and headed toward Hermione as Ginny, who had already made her way to Harry’s side, planted soft kisses on his cheeks. Hermione’s eyes searched over the family and then stopped on George, who sat alone on the bottom step with a half-hearted grin plastered across his face.
George caught her eye and winked, but she could tell that it wasn’t his usual humorous wink. It lacked the vibrance, the life, which had once emanated so profoundly from George when he was younger. When he was one of a pair.
“Sit down, Hermione.” Arthur’s voice drew her from her silent reverie and Hermione blushed, realising she had been staring at George for no apparent reason. Harry gave her a strange look as she slid into the chair next to him but Hermione looked away, embarrassed, and feigned interest in the bowl of peas before her on the scrubbed table..
The conversation flowed seamlessly, jovial and festive, as usual, but there was always a presence. A presence forbidden to mention, although everyone could feel it. Ron and Fred seemed to whisper in Hermione’s ears all through Christmas dinner, and it didn’t help that George’s eyes never left her face. Hermione fought hard to supress her sigh of relief when Harry suddenly spoke beside her, louder than usual.
“We brought presents for you!”
Hermione looked down the table. It was empty bar for the tankards of butter beer. Dinner had already finished and she had not even noticed.
“Yes,” Hermione quickly joined in and waving her wand, a pile of brightly coloured parcels appeared on the cleared table. Victoire’s squeals of delight were hard to ignore and Hermione could not help but smile as the little girl tore through the layers of gift wrap.
Why am I smiling? Ron and Fred are missing from the table, Hermione thought as her smile dropped.
Her chair slid noisily against the wooden floorboards as she stood. Harry looked up, startled.
“Hermione, where are-” But she shook her head and hurried from the room.
“Whatever is the matter?” Molly voice followed her up the stairs. Quietly, she closed the door to the bedroom she had entered, and then there was silence.
George rocked back and forth, slowly, trying not to scream. Victoire played with Charlie in the corner, Bill and Fleur stood by the stove whispering, sharing coy grins, and Percy was speaking loudly about his new assignment at the Ministry. Who would seriously give a damn about the regulation of Ministry employee parchment consumption? Only Percy could find interest in beaurocratic legislation. If only Fred were… but he wasn’t.
Molly’s exclamation of relief jolted George back to the present. A cold wind whipped across his face and he looked up to see Harry and Hermione enter the Burrow. Ginny instantly swept Harry away, leaving Hermione standing in the doorway alone. She looked over and George, not really knowing why, winked. She continued to stare at him, her face expressionless. It was as if she felt nothing at all, a fallacy, and George fully understood. He did the same thing every day. He felt nothing. But George couldn’t stop his grin when his father called Hermione over to the table, causing her to blush terribly.
Why am I smiling?
Fred was gone. Ron was gone. How could something so normal like Christmas exist when two parts of a whole had disappeared? It was so unfair. In fact, it was such a ridiculous notion that George struggled to stay seated at the table all through dinner. Laughter and conversation flowed endlessly about him but all he could hear were the whispers of his brothers, calling to him, asking him why. Why? Why indeed.
George latched onto the only thing that seemed real in the room full of people. Hermione. At least he could see through her façade. He could see her struggle to get through the dinner. He could see her flinch as another ghost whispered in her ears. He could see…
And then she stood up.
George watched her back disappear round the stairs and into the living room. There was a pile of gifts on the table and he did not undertand where they came from.
“Whatever is the matter?” Molly asked as the room grew silent.
Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. “I’ll just go see of she’s-” he began but George interrupted him.
“No, I’ll go.”
Hermione sat down on the bed in the corner. Some old Chudley Cannon Quidditch captain waved up at her from the bed spread. His room had not changed one bit since that day. Hermione sighed and let the tears flow freely down her face.
The soft thud of footsteps seeped into the room. Harry. She did not want to talk right now. There was a soft knock on the door but Hermione did not answer. The knock came again.
“Harry, I’m fine on my own. You don’t need to check up on me.” she called softly, trying and failing to keep her voice steady. The door opened a crack and a head of fiery red hair poked into the room.
“Well, since you’re clearly not fine and I’m clearly not Harry, I’m going to ignore your plea for solitude.” George said, pushing the door wider. He walked over to Ron’s bed and with the flick of his wand, closed the door behind him.
“I’m sorry, George. It was rude of me to walk out like that. I hope Molly isn’t too mad.”
“Mad?” George asked giving Hermione a weird look as if a brain had sprouted outside her head. “I think she’s more concerned about you than mad!”
Hermione grimaced. “I’m fine, really. It’s just this house, you know? And this time of year, too.”
“I know,” George sighed. “You can hear them too, can’t you?”
Hermione stiffened. How did he know? Am I really that transparent?
“Yes,” she whispered as more tears trickled down her pale cheeks. “I think everyone can hear them, but I’m just not strong enough to ignore them.”
Suddenly, George put his arm around her shoulders. At first, Hermione leant away with embarrassment, but his warmth and the comforting feel of a man’s embrace soon proved much too tempting.
“You’re not weak, Hermione. You’re just different. Like me.”
Hermione looked up at George, who stared out the window into the garden, and she could not make out the expression on his face.
“I’m just so tired, George. You know how it is. Work all day for nothing, go home to an empty flat, eat a lonely dinner, and get into a cold bed. It’s so hard.” She laughed bitterly.
George continued to stare out at the garden. It was as if he refused to look at her. Have I said something wrong?
“What do you mean you work all day for nothing? S.P.E.W. was your passion.”
Hermione sighed but did not lower her gaze. He stared at me all through dinner. Why can’t he look at me now? Hermione thought. “S.P.E.W is…it’s not going too well. You must have read about the-”
“Rolling pin thing? Yeah, it was all over The Prophet.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Vultures,” she huffed. “And all my sponsorship went, of course. No one wants their name mentioned in an article written by Rita Skeeter.”
George twitched as if he were about to look down then decided not to.
“And so now I’ve got no financial backing, therefore I have no money to pay for my office lease, and no money to pay Crispin’s wages, and no money for my own personal expenses. If I don’t find sponsorship soon I’ll have to move back to my parent’s home and…” her voice trailed off. George had finally looked down and he had a grin on his face. A grin reminiscent of old times.
“You know, Hermione, I’ve just had a brilliant idea.”
George was not sure what made him do it. Perhaps the fact that he too was about to stand up and leave the dinner table. But all of a sudden, he found himself knocking on the door to Ron’s room.
Her voice was thin and feeble as if carried on a wintry breeze. “Harry, I’m fine on my own. You don’t need to check up on me.”
George smiled. Hermione Granger was not the woman he thought she was. He drew a deep breath and turned the door handle.
“Well, since you’re clearly not fine and I’m clearly not Harry, I’m going to ignore your plea for solitude.”
So George and Hermione sat together, on a cold bed which had not been slept in for four years. It was merely pure instinct which led George to put his arm around her. Hermione seemed to resist at first but after a while relaxed into him. He wished she hadn’t. All George could feel was her soft, fragile body shuddering against him in silent sobs. There was nothing else that existed at that moment, there was only Hermione. He turned away and looked out the window into the garden trying to focus on something other than her. He should not feel like this. This was wrong.
“And so now I’ve got no financial backing, therefore I have no money to pay for my office lease, and no money to pay Crispin’s wages, and no money for my own personal expenses. If I don’t find sponsorship soon I’ll have to move back to my parent’s home and…” Hermione’s voice trailed off.
George pulled his gaze from the garden. A feeling of sheer jubilation washed through his body. He could look at her now, now his mind was buzzing with an idea so outrageous and unexpected and perfect.
“You know, Hermione, I’ve just had a brilliant idea.”
Hermione looked confused and frustrated at the same time. Confusion and Hermione were not meant to go together. George grinned even wider, his lips curving upwards and stretching across his face. It almost hurt. He had not felt like this for four years, he had not smiled a true smile, a real smile for four years. The muscles in his face rejoiced.
“I told you last week at the Leaky Cauldron that Weasley’s Wizard’s Wheezes was in trouble and that I was letting Verity go after Christmas, right?”
Hermione nodded and the light of comprehension dawned dully on her face.
“So, the shop is much too big for me to handle on my own. I mean, Fred always took care of the books and I never even touched them until…well, you know. I need someone to take over, someone to get me back on track and you-”
“Hold on,” Hermione held up a finger. “You want me to come work for you?” she raised her eyebrows.
“Always one step ahead of everyone else, aren’t you?” George grinned and took a deep breath. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. What do you think?”
“George Weasley, I think I’ve said this once before but I’ll say it again, you’re brilliant. Just one thing, though.”
“What?” George asked, suddenly unsure of the furtive look in Hermione’s eyes.
“I’ll come work with you, I’ll keep your books, I’ll even help behind the counter, but on one condition.” Hermione’s grin slid wickedly across her face.
“And what would that be?” asked George, slowly.
“Weasley’s Wizard’s Wheezes becomes the official sponsor of S.P.E.W. And-”
“I thought there was only one condi-”
“I get some of my own office space within your premises. For S.P.E.W, of course.” George looked at Hermione sceptically. She knew how to drive a bargain. “Deal or no deal,” she said, her lips pursed in silent triumph.
George scratched his knee. It was a nervous tick he’d had since he and Fred were children. Deal or no deal. Suddenly, a wave of regret rippled through him. Is this the right thing to do? Weasley’s Wizards Wheezes belonged to George and Fred. Is it right to welcome someone else into the fray? Do I even want someone else there, in that space, Fred’s space? George wondered. But this was Hermione. This wasn’t just someone, this was Hermione. He knew her. Fred knew her. George looked down at her expectant face, raised and waiting.
“Deal.”