Author's Note:
I just wanted to apologize for how long it took me to get this posted. I went on vacation, and was unable to write anything. I hope you guys enjoy this. I felt there needed another scene with Hermione, and George to really highlight how well they work together, as opposed to just surviving together. I wanted to show that they could scheme, create, and live. I also wanted to show that Hermione still had a great deal of fight left in her, and was willing to go to great lengths to remain a force in this war. Please let me know what you think. More will follow. As I said in the previous chapter's author's note, the speed of posting will increase, but so will the number of chapters since I will be posting scene by scene chapters. Love and War Chapter 22
Disclaimer: Rowling owns all
Love and War Chapter 22
Preparations
It was near dawn when George Weasley woke. The early morning sun had warmed the infirmary in its rising, and was now flooding it with light. His eyes, still closed, twitched as he turned back onto his left side. The white sheets beneath him were damp against his skin, the thin layer of sweat glistening on his pale flesh a result of the heat, and yet, George felt cold. Not from fever, but from emptiness.
His arm stretched out blindly, trying to find the warm body that once nestled next to him. George gripped the bedding, his fingers flexing, and twisting the fabric as he exhaled. The feel of soft skin was absent from his touch, and, though he momentarily mistook the cotton for flesh, George instantly panicked.
Hermione, he thought, and his eyes shot open with the speed of a bullet. His pupils dilated before shrinking, the blue irises growing large against the black as the brightness blinded him, but George clambered out of bed with quick fluidity. Looking behind him at the empty cot for clues, he felt his heart stop. She was definitely missing, he realised, along with her pillow, and it was obvious that she had not been there for quite some time. The indentation of where she laid was barely noticeable anymore, and George's hand ran through his messy hair nervously, pulling at the strands that sat at the back of his neck.
She was gone.
Hermione, the wild-haired brilliant witch whom he had fallen so deeply in love with was gone. And in her stead were a rumpled sheet, and a barely lingering scent. Beads of newly formed sweat began to drip down his neck while a fear like no other rocked through him.
Missing. Hermione was missing again. His heart pounded, blood rushing through his veins with tremendous speed. Was she captured? Did the death eaters have her? George paled as memories of her broken form laying at the bottom of a dungeon cell flashed in his mind.
No. Merlin, no. George felt light headed, the sunlight suddenly tunnelling his vision into a white haze. This could not be happening. He had to find her. He had to find her now.
Just as he was about to race out the infirmary, her name an unheard scream almost breaking past the confines of his lips, a soft sigh broke through the pulsating drumbeat in his ears.
George froze mid-step, turning slowly, and glancing across the infirmary. His eyes were a raging whirlpool of stormy cerulean as met her form, and George let loose of all the tension. The waters stilled as if by magic, relief blanketing him from within, and George felt his heart burst with sheer joy.
There, in the alcove of a windowsill, Hermione sat. Her pillow bunched along the stonewall, cushioning her back. Her knees brought up, almost at her chest, holding an enormous book in place. Her bottom lip held between her teeth, the skin red from the gnawing as she turned the page. George's shaky breath was silent, and his hand came up to try, and tame the unruly mess of hair he had created.
She was perfect. Safe, and sound. And most importantly, there.
Bundled in a hunter green sweater, the one he discarded the previous night, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, Hermione quietly read through a book. And George felt the rapid beating of his heart begin to slow.
The sight was so familiar; Hermione, with her nose buried in a comically oversized tome, eyes flickering with joy as she read through the pages of aged parchment. She was always reading, yet, looking at her now, George was looking at a different woman. His Hermione, engrossed in the printed word, nestled away from prying eyes, and distractions, was not the same bookworm from school, and George knew precisely what had changed. His Hermione. She was his now.
Bundled in his hunter green sweater with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, his Hermione quietly read through a book.
George savoured the sight for a moment. His chest burst with a love that radiated down to the very tips of his fingers as he watched her. Her hair was untameable, pulling out of the messy braid holding it together. Her cheeks were flushed with the heat of the infirmary, making a glow surround her face. Her legs went on for days; the skin like silk draped on bones as they stretched out before her. George's heart began to thump faster, only this time it was not anxiety driving the pace.
It was then he moved. The steps were silent, careful not to disturb the peace Hermione found within the pages as he crossed the infirmary. Her hair fell before her eyes, the chestnut tresses glowing amber with the light streaming through the glass, and instinctively, George reached out to tuck the strands behind her ear.
Hermione jumped slightly, her trance broken but, when her eyes, molten amber, and swirling bright, met his, the sweetest of smiles graced her lips. Leaning down, George captured them in a tender kiss, his hands cupping her cheek, and she hummed against him.
"Morning," George whispered as he pulled back to rest his forehead against hers.
"If that is how you like to start the morning I would have woken you earlier," she said, slightly out of breath.
"You should've woke me." Her breath fanned across his face, drawing him into her once more. He leaned down to taste her but stopped when Hermione spoke.
"I realise that now," her soft laughter shivered through him like a current, connecting them in an invisible electricity, while her thumb traced the skin along his cheekbone. The dark bags, which surrounded his eyes, must have lessened. Nevertheless, her brows furrowed at the sight. "I figured you needed the rest."
"I could say the same for you," George smiled, trying to prove that he was all right, and he moved into the sill next to her. His arm draped over her shoulders while her head came to rest on his chest. Her warmth instantly smothered him in the most delightful feeling, and George would have simmered in it forever if he could, except there was something very pressing which distracted him. The blunt corner of the book she was reading dug into his side, making impossible to ignore the obvious.
He said nothing of it at first. Instead, he glanced down, taking in how Hermione cradled it in her lap. Her thumb held her place amidst the pages while her other hand lay across the top, tracing the title embossed on the cover. The silvery thread caught the light, glinting with brightness, and Hermione seemed to be struggling not to open it, and continue. Something about this text was important, almost unbearably captivating, to her, and George wanted to know why.
"What're you reading anyway?" He asked, not wanting to beat around the bush. Subtleties were not how they worked. Even if it was uncomfortable, Hermione, and he were always to the point.
"Concealment Charms, and Their Many Uses," she said softly, glancing back down to the black binding with a slight blush.
"For the parchment." The statement was needless. Of course, it was for the parchment. She was far too driven not to start on her mission right away. Still, he felt her nod in reply. The movement caused her hair to brush against his bare skin, tickling him slightly, and George chuckled before adding, "And it was so pressing that it stole you from my bed?"
Hermione laughed in return, but her face flamed an even brighter pink.
"Technically," she started, "it is my hospital bed."
"Can it not be ours?" With a pout, his lower lip jutted out.
"Hmm," she straightened up, and tapping a contemplative finger to her cheek, she answered with a coy smile. "I suppose that would be all right."
"Brilliant," George recovered instantly with a broad grin before he shot up, taking Hermione with him.
"George!" Her shriek was chopped in between bits of laughter as George scooped her in his arms, "what are you doing?"
"Stealing you back from that bloody book," he deadpanned, carrying her, her pillow, and the text, back over to the hospital cot.
"We can't spend all day in bed, George," she dropped to the soft bedding, and George just raised an eyebrow at her words. "All right, we can but we shouldn't." She emphasized, "There is so much to do." He heaved a sigh, flopping back onto the mattress. He knew she was right. Ignoring responsibilities was not the answer. It was, however, certainly tempting.
"I know," the whisper pulled the corners of his mouth into a slight frown, but when Hermione joined him in laying down, a gentle smile tugged back, "and I promise we'll do all of it, but, let's just stay here for a while longer?"
"Ok," curling into George's side, trapping the book between them, she finally rested. Only George knew Hermione could not just yet. "But," she added quickly, "can we at least go through the plan?"
"You start then," George nodded, his fingers running up, and down the length of her arm in a familiar path. The feel of her skin beneath the tips of his fingers was, undoubtedly, the best feeling in the world. Especially after the earlier scare, he needed to have her close. He needed to ensure that the bliss he found in her was not some figment of his imagination.
"How much work have you, and Fred done on the parchment?" Her question came immediately.
"It's pretty much done," George said, remembering how the parchment was completed before Fred, and he moved into the burrow stronghold. "But it's still a prototype since it wasn't on the shelves."
"It was never tested outside of the workroom?" There was a hopeful cheer in Hermione's voice at the prospect, one George could thoroughly understand. The parchment must only be known to those involved, and that secrecy was crucial
"Never outside of Fred, and myself," he could practically hear Hermione's enthusiasm before he added, "we were thinking of sending some to Hogwarts for the kids, but that was before the Burrow fell."
"So, no one would even know that it could be anything more than just simple parchment?" She asked; the line of questioning going down the route she wanted, and George was anxious to get to whatever plan waited at the end.
"Except for Fred, and me."
"And myself, Harry, and Ron." George tightened his arm around her, feeling her shift slightly.
"No one else."
"Perfect," she mumbled, wriggling the book free, "how secure is the parchment as it stands."
"It's got the basics on it," George was disappointed when Hermione sat up, but that disappointment was shocked out of him with the dropping of the massive text. On his chest. "Ow, hey! 'Mione what exactly are you trying to do?"
"I need a table, hold still," not that George could do anything but hold still with the weight of the book holding him down against the mattress.
"You'll be the death of me, woman," he muttered, trying to peer over the side of the book.
"Oh, hush." Hermione smiled, getting up onto her knees, and leaning over the pages. The thick jumper she wore fell forward slightly, and any attempts to see the book were immediately thwarted. The shadow of skin exposed beneath the bunched wool pulled his attention away from research, and potential suffocation. And, though he could not see anything really, the prospect was very distracting.
"Where was it," she mumbled, flipping through the chapters. George folded his arms behind his head, propping his neck up, and patiently waiting for her to locate whatever she rushed to find. He prayed whatever thoughts swimming through his head would not be physically evident on his person. That was a little difficult with the way she leaned further over him, her breath against his chest in hurried pants as she frantically searched.
George was treading on dangerous territory. Sweet Merlin, he was in deep now.
"You got that far into it?" he asked, glancing down at the book that she was already half way into. This was his attempt to pull his focus back to reality, not that it worked. It did help to remind him of one paramount point: she was not ready for whatever physicality he may have wanted, not now anyway.
"I already finished it," Hermione blushed, her gaze meeting his briefly before adding, "twice."
"Merlin," his eyes widened slightly. He was both impressed, and a little worried at her dedication. "Did I sleep for a week?"
"Oh, ha ha," she mocked, "Ah! Here it is," turning the book on his chest he craned his neck, reading the section she pointed out.
"Blood magic?" he asked with shock as he pulled himself up to sit against the metal bed frame. He reread the section on blood infused incantations. His mind was reeling as he sped through the paragraphs.
The infusion of blood into charms, and potions has always been a risky sector of magic, but still an ever-present practise. Spells, dating back to before the time of Merlin, have always had a blood element. A fitting name for such a category of work is simply 'traditional.' Even still, the magical practise of incorporating blood into an incantation has always been dangerous. More than often, the incantations backfire, the most-notable mishaps resulting in death on all whose blood is infused. Other attempts have led to the loss of limb, poisoning of the bloodline, and mental instability.
"They are the most-effective way at concealing information." She said stoically as she continued to recite the book she had obviously memorized, "it says so right here, 'the infusion holds the protection for as long as those involved remain alive, and the blood secures the protection to detect any magical attempts at forgery. Ploy juic—'"
"Blood magic!" George almost shouted, cutting her off. He could not believe this was even a consideration in her mind. This type of deadly magic was far too risky even to attempt, let alone implement. "Have you gone mad, Hermione?" He asked his eyes meeting hers with a stern look.
"No," she avoided his gaze, "not entirely."
"Oh, yes, entirely." He shot back, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Do you think, honestly, this is a good idea? You're still recovering, and you wanna jump back into this with a bleeding blood bond?"
"George, it is a very simple spell," she began hurriedly, trying to convince him that any form of danger was not present. Were they reading the same book? "It just binds the information to the parchment, ensuring only those bonded by the charm will be able to read it."
"You want to bind yourself to this parchment?" He asked, eyes wide, and utterly unsure whether Fred's antidote worked in the slightest. If this madness was mental stability, then George thought the world had the wrong definition. Maybe complete loss of any form of coherence would be more a fitting description.
"Erm, well, not just me actually." Again, Hermione avoided his gaze, instead taking great interest in the loose thread that escaped the sweater's intricate weave. "Harry, and possibly Ron would be bonded to it, and I was hoping you would agree as well."
"Let me get this straight," George began, his hand coming up to rub his forehead, "the four of us would be bonded, by blood, to this piece of paper?"
"Yes."
She was completely mad.
"All right, let's put aside the insanity for a moment." George met her eye again, but this time she held the gaze. Hermione looked defiant in her decision that this was the correct course of action. She looked ready to fight him on every point he would present, and that was far more attractive then the shadow beneath his wool sweater.
That defiance sent a shiver through him. She was truly gorgeous when she was determined. George suppressed a growl, wanting nothing more than to fuel the passion in her with a heated kiss, but he refrained. They were supposed to be working after all, so he tried to get himself back on track. "Imagine it's a success, and there's no backfire. Have you thought about what'd happen if the parchment were destroyed? A broken blood bond has disastrous effects."
"Well, there is a way to stabilize it," she started, and he slowly began to question whether he was the one who was bonkers. Listening intently, he prayed her next words would justify the strange rationality he was beginning to grasp. "If we take a stabilization potion, and dip the parchment into it along with our blood, then cast the spell, it would make it so that our ability to read the paper is bonded, not our souls. Instead, the parchments are fatally bonded to each other, and not to the readers."
She summoned the pile of scrolls that were left in the windowsill. Her notes from other various texts, written in neat curvy letters, outlined the proper way to protect the communication. George flipped through the pages, reading hurriedly while the feeling of dread in his stomach lessened with each word. Hermione even found a way to stabilize the casting, limiting the chance of backfires. Glancing up at her briefly, he wondered if indeed his initial assumption of sleeping for a week was correct, before returning to her notes.
"If one parchment gets destroyed, the other does, but nothing happens to the readers," he muttered to himself, his mind racing through the information. Of course, she thought of everything. This was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of the age, and the woman he loved. Anything less than an unconventional brilliance was impossible.
"Exactly," she said softly, and he nodded with an easy smile.
"I may have been hasty in calling you crazy."
"No, you are right," Hermione blushed, and George felt a pang of regret at jumping to conclusions. He reached up, stroking the skin on her cheek as she continued. "A blood charm is very dangerous to try, and attempt at all, even with stabilisation, I know I am asking too much of you."
"You aren't asking enough." Why did she keep avoiding his face? He looked down at the parchment once more. The last page was half-full with marks of her quill trailing with an unsure stroke. She was not telling him everything. "What are you hiding?"
"I would need Fred's help." Ah, his twin, the potions master. The redhead would not see the rationality in dangerous charms, despite his reckless inclination to complicated magic. Immediately, George knew what his task was, besides the intricate castings. He had to convince Fred to brew the potion needed to make this bond at all feasible. "He knows potions, and a very delicate one must be brewed for this."
Fred Weasley was certainly a master at delicate potions. Even Snape was aware of his twin's skill. He had created a slew of prank brews far too brilliant than ever seen before, and not to mention an antidote to the cruciatus curse. He was needed for this endeavour. But, with a little bit of thought, George realised another possible danger, one created by that very same potion master.
"Hermione," George said hesitantly. The last thing George wanted was to deflate any joy the solution brought. "Have you given any thought to the potential of your antidote affecting the blood charm?"
"That is another thing I want to discuss with Fred," she nodded, and, with a deep breath, George realised that she indeed had thought of everything. "I need the ingredients for the antidote to verify if that is at all a possibility."
"Right," he hummed, looking again at the notes, and reading some of the magic.
"I know you think this is crazy, and I would never ask you to willingly get into an argument with Fred, but—" Hermione trailed off, looking out the window. Is that what she was worried about? Whether this request, and ultimately her, would drive a wedge between his twin, and him?
"Love," his finger guided her chin, aligning her eyes with his. George never wanted her to fear him, "you're amazing." When her brow rose, he added, "Really, you are." Leaning forward, he placed a deep kiss on her lips, smiling when she relaxed at his touch. Her arms looped around his neck while his hand tangled in her hair. "Anything you need," he mumbled, "I will help you with."
Her smiled pressed against his with a contented hum before pulling back.
"You said we would get work done today," Hermione pouted, giving him a soft shove, and George laughed. His arm snaked around her waist, hauling her back against him as he leaned back into the metal headboard. His lips trailed up her neck in a series of nips, and kisses, before reaching her ear.
"And we will," nuzzling her hair, George felt her shiver, "just after I show that bloody book who you really belong to."
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