Mismatched

Chapter 1: Homecoming

"What if I told them I was infertile? Or a lesbian?"

Hermione smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure the DAMU would account for all that in the pairings."

"Perhaps, but in the off-chance that they don't, it's barbaric!" Mathilda Grimblehawk cried, huffing in exasperation. "Sexist! Discriminatory! I'm surprised you still haven't called for even a minor protest at all against the new department. Don't tell me you actually think this whole arranged marriage is more than thestral shit."

Hermione was chewing again at this point, and she purposely slowed down to stall. Eventually, she said, "I've actually met with the DAMU several times to discuss this before the big announcement. Visited their wing, took a look at their so-called Affinity Basin used for the pairings. The Department of Mysteries helped put it together and I was told experts all over Europe signed off on it. So I wouldn't say it's thestral shit, the same way the Goblet of Fire isn't."

Mathilda narrowed her eyes, a mix of incredulity and skepticism within her hazel irises.

"It's an…unconventional but viable solution to one of Wizarding Britain's largest problems," Hermione continued slowly. "We're only a fourth of our original population after the Second Wizarding War, and the number's still steadily going down.

"The Department of Arranged Magical Unions only sounds worse than it actually is. The Ministry assigns the best bachelor matches based on what the Affinity Basin dictates. An officer pulls a batch every few months and sends the results to the pairings––and while social events and check-ins are required, the pairs are not required to marry. They're merely, er, encouraged, and they inform the Ministry of their final decision after a year. If still unmatched, their names are simply retained in the basin to be drawn in the future again."

"Well, not to the letter, maybe, but the essence is still barbaric," Mathilda grumbled. "It's like we're livestock. Little hens being rotated until we find a suitable mate. What happened to sweet, organic love?"

Hermione managed to steel herself from cringing at her companion's words. "You could always work around it and find someone yourself quickly. The decree only applies to bachelors, you know. If you can prove you're in a relationship headed to marriage and potential children before being matched, you'll be excluded. After all, that still counts as a plus in DAMU's KPI's."

"I see," Mathilda hummed, tapping her fingers on her chin in deep thought. "Okay. Last chance for control. I'm calling it, 'Mione, speed-dating's going to be big after this."

Hermione chuckled softly before finally taking in the last bite of her sandwich. When she looked up again from across the cafe table, Mathilda's expression was coy.

"And you?" she said, raising a curious brow. "Will I be seeing you in a future Madam Puddifoot mixer? Or are you actually leaving your marital affairs––your bloody future––to this Affinity mumbo-jumbo?"

It was the question she knew was coming but was dreading to answer, because she had no idea how she truly felt about it. After almost an entire minute, she said softly and honestly, "I don't know. After Ron… Ever since we broke up, my love life's been placed under a microscope. It's why I've practically sworn dating. So I don't think love, and much less marriage was ever in the cards for me. But after this decree––well, I won't have to think about it. While I'm sure there won't be love, at the very least, it would be a potential match for the greater good."

"How utterly romantic," Mathilda groaned sarcastically, shaking her head. "So you'll go on with the full year? Even if it's with, say, Cormac McLaggen? Marcus Flint?"

Hermione laughed genuinely, throwing her head back as she did. "If the Affinity Basin pairs me with either of those gentlemen, that's when I'll agree that the magic's mumbo-jumbo. Now, I really have to go."

"So soon?" Mathilda frowned as she watched Hermione pull out a few Galleons and Sickles to pay for the bill. "I barely see you now since you moved to that gaudy MLE office. And it's Friday!"

"It's Weasley Weekend," Hermione said, smiling apologetically. "It's also Ginny's birthday tomorrow. I'm coming over to the Burrow to help Molly with the preparations."

"Yikes. What's it like still being the token extra daughter of your ex-boyfriend's family?"

Hermione shrugged as she picked up her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. "I love Molly. Ginny, too. They're my family, too."

"But…?"

"The only time it gets intolerable is when Ron strings a girlfriend along," Hermione sighed. "Unlike me, Ron practically feeds off the drama and attention––not just from the public, but also me. Romilda's the third one just this year. Everywhere I turn, they'd be liplocked, as if he's constantly trying to get a rise out of me. But other than that… It's going swimmingly. I'm sure this weekend's going to be just fine."

It wasn't going to be fine. Hermione realized that as soon as she stepped into the wide-open front doors of the Burrow.

The Weasley residents who were present seemed to just have finished their dinners and the circle of redheads were now clumped together in the sitting room. Molly, Arthur, and Charlie sat together on one loveseat, while Percy, his long-term girlfriend Penelope Clearwater, and Ginny with Harry sat on another couch. Hermione's smile quickly disappeared when the ongoing loud and excited conversation sunk in…

Congratulations! Another wedding––

––really have to be tonight though? You know Hermione's––

At least, you got out of that stupid marriage law––

––would she think?

…and most especially the sight before her. In front of the lit fireplace, Ron stood proudly with an arm wrapped around the waist of the strikingly beautiful Witch Weekly model that was Romilda Vane. The girl's left hand was pressed against her chest, and Hermione had to squint when the gigantic diamond on Romilda's ring finger reflected the bright light directly to her face.

For Merlin's sake, she thought. I literally just got in.

"Hermione!" Ron greeted, a cheeky smile on his lips. "You missed dinner. And our, er, big announcement."

There was a tense silence that befell the room after that. Ron continued to look at her with wide eyes almost triumphantly, while the rest of the Weasley family had varied expressions of wariness and remorse. In the end, it was Molly, Harry, and Ginny who stood up to greet her with alternating hugs.

"Welcome, welcome, dear Hermione," Molly greeted over-enthusiastically.

"Sorry you had to see that, love," Harry said quietly. "We were blindsided."

When it was Ginny's turn, she whispered in Hermione's ear, "Believe me, had I known, I wouldn't have called him home at all. Godric, right before my day no less. I'm sorry, Hermione."

The brunette merely smiled politely and greeted the rest of the family one-by-one. She managed a tight "Congratulations" towards Romilda and her ex-boyfriend. Hermione waved off any further conversation by ducking out for a few minutes to unpack her belongings for the weekend.

She eventually emerged back downstairs––the air was less tense this time, and members of the family were settled into separate, easy conversations––and chose to sit next to Charlie.

"Sorry," Charlie murmured, handing over a fresh, ice-cold bottle of butterbeer from the table. "They've been in the Burrow for several days, and choose tonight to announce it. Thank you for tolerating it, Hermione, but I'll still talk to him."

"No need," Hermione said with a reassuring smile as she took a sip. Her gaze darted around the other Weasleys in separate conversations, and decided to say, "I noticed we're more incomplete than usual tonight. Where's Bill?"

Charlie shrugged. "Said he'd be here tonight. Maybe something came up."

"I see." Hermione pursed her lips, hesitating momentarily before asking, "And George…?"

The second-eldest Weasley child frowned slightly. "Yeah. No further updates, still, from that last owl a few months ago. He hasn't sent a letter to Ginny yet."

Right. It was the elephant in the room. They rarely addressed how George had practically up and disappeared from Wizarding London four years ago, with the initial excuse of going on a tour around Europe for possible additional locations of WWW. But after a while of him still not coming home, he sent a letter that revealed that he would be staying away from Britain indefinitely.

Still many memories.

Still too much pain.

Still can't look in our apartment mirror without breaking apart.

He'd still owl occasionally, at least four times a year. Ginny had shown Hermione all the letters, which were all addressed to his sister. But as time passed, they became shorter and shorter until they barely contained anything at all. His letter last spring only filled half the page.

At the very least, he'd never missed sending an owl to greet Ginny for her birthday. If he wasn't planning to send one for this year…

"She's upset about it, isn't she?" Hermione whispered, her gaze fixed on Ginny who was laughing at a story Harry had said about a recent Quidditch match they watched. But the girl's smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"She'll be alright," Charlie said softly. "But, yeah. They were the closest, after all."

Hermione opened her mouth to hopefully divert the conversation to a more light-hearted note. However, she was cut off by loud, demanding knocks from the already-open front door. All heads turned towards the doorway.

Hermione was absolutely delighted at the sight of the rugged, handsome eldest Weasley child. There was a knowing smirk on Bill's face when he waved at his family in greeting. Hermione's eyes darted down to his hands, which were holding several more suitcases than usual––

Then Bill stepped inside and to the side, revealing that he wasn't alone.

Holy shit, Hermione couldn't help but think, just as Ginny jumped up from her seat with a gleeful screech and bounded towards the front door.

George Weasley was different. As she watched him chuckle with delight and carry his sister into a twirling embrace, Hermione realized she'd almost forgotten how impossibly tall he was. His hair was cropped short and slicked back by what she assumed was gel or pomade, and his clothes…were strangely Muggle-like. Modern. Hermione could've sworn she'd seen his leather jacket and expensive-looking loafers in a billboard ad.

Hermione had always considered George to be cute. With wide eyes like deep oceans, an adorable dusting of freckles across his cheeks, and an effortlessly charming smile, he was undeniably good-looking. She'd guessed it was part of why he and his late twin got away with so much during their brief time at Hogwarts. But now…

She sucked in an uneven breath when he put Ginny back on the ground and his blue eyes momentarily looked up to meet hers across the room.

"You idiot!" Charlie bellowed and laughed as he, too, stepped forward to give his younger brother a hug. "Making us all look like desperate fans with all the owls we've been sending you. We're chaining you to your bedpost."

George shook his head. "No need for that, dear brother. I'm not going anywhere. Well––not outside Britain, of course. I'm still moving back to the apartment above the original shop."

Molly was practically jumping for joy.

Ginny pulled George by the waist for another hug. "Please tell me you're not joking. I'll kill you if you are."

"Not a joke," Bill chimed in, leaning against one of the sofas and crossing his arms smugly. "Sorry for keeping everyone in the dark, but it's been in the works for a while now. It's our surprise for you, Ginny. Happy birthday."

"Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you––"

"Great timing, George," Ron finally chimed in, his hand entwined around Romilda's as he walked them to meet his brother. "We bloody missed you around here. And also…"

George's eyes darted towards the silver ring on Romilda's finger––Hermione wasn't all that surprised he'd noticed it immediately, with the ghastly size of the diamond––and for a moment, his gaze flickered towards Hermione again. He narrowed his eyes for a second before turning back to the couple, lightly chuckling. "Wow. Congratulations. But are you sure about this?"

Ron widened his eyes in confusion. "I––Of course––"

"I'm speaking to the lovely lady here," George said smoothly. "What's your name, love?"

"It's Vane," Romilda said, caught off guard by being put on the spot. "Romilda Vane."

"Romilda…You sure about this chucklehead? There are better looking redheaded gits around. With more personality, I'd say. The one right in front of you, for example. What do you say?"

Try as she might, Hermione couldn't blame Romilda for being flustered. "I…What? I––Well––"

"George!" Ron cried, instinctively pulling Romilda closer to his side.

George guffawed and leaned back with his hands up in the air as if in surrender. "I'm only joking, as always. You did say you missed me. Cheeky's my middle name."

The room was filled with more laughter and delight than she'd ever felt it had for years. A missing piece––his smile, his voice––had finally been filled, and it was like Christmastime. While Fred would forever be missed…George was still here. And George was his own sun.

The travel had been long, apparently, and soon the two boys looked pretty beat. "I was only in France this time, but Bill made us take a detour in Norway," George grumbled as he stifled a yawn.

"Curse-breaker duties," Bill shrugged. "Might as well hit two birds in one stone while picking you up. And don't lie––I know you enjoyed Oslo. Not to mention their night scene…"

George remained silent, innocently packing up his belongings and ready to drag his bags up with him. When he was at the foot of the stairs, there was a hesitant look in his eyes as he asked his father, "The room's just…the way it was? As I'd left it?"

Arthur widened his eyes, his gaze turning towards Hermione. "Er, no…"

Uh oh. It was her turn to stand and look apologetic. "Sorry. I've just unpacked. I've…been sleeping in there whenever I come to visit."

It wasn't as if she had a choice, really. During their short-lived relationship, she'd stayed at Ron's, but naturally that was now off the table. Ginny had always offered she stay with her and Harry, but Hermione genuinely didn't want to intrude the couple's privacy. The only room left available during the holidays and overnight events at the Burrow was the twins'.

Hermione watched as his expression turned curious and pensive, and his long legs saunter towards her until he stood a foot away from where she stood. He greeted her in a low, soft tone. "Hey, Granger."

She flashed a half-smile. "Hi."

George's blue eyes narrowed slightly as he asked, "Which bed?"

"Yours," she admitted shyly. "Don't worry, I'll grab my things and take the couch this time."

"Oh, nonsense!" Molly pitched in from her place in the couch. "We have enough room. Charlie or Bill can stay with you for now, George."

"Nonsense," George said back to her, hauling his bags up the stairs. "The lady doesn't need to trouble herself. I'll only be passing out anyway. If she's fine with it, I'll just take Fred's."

Silence again, with no other sound but George continuing his rough and clumsy trudge up the stairs. It was the first time they'd heard him mention his name out loud since the war. But George had uttered it so easily, even flippantly.

When she turned to face Molly momentarily, she noticed the corners of the matriarch's eyes glisten with bittersweet tears.

Hermione stayed in the sitting room far later than anyone else did. She told herself it was because she wasn't really tired at all, that she wanted to start the preparations for Ginny's birthday party as early as that night––any other reason apart from genuinely dreading to sleep in the same room as George.

He was right, they were all mature adults, and they were all longterm friends. Family, even. There was nothing to feel awkward or silly about sleeping in the same room together. Nonetheless, Hermione found herself struggling to halt the strange tingling in her chest as she took longer than necessary in the tub of the guest bathroom. She lingered until her fingertips were completely pruned and her hair turned overly silky from too much conditioner.

There was no way around it eventually, and she stood before the closed door of the bedroom in nothing but a bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head. She decided to knock thrice awkwardly before stepping inside.

George lay in his twin's double bed, dressed more comfortably in a pair of silk pajamas. He had a pillow tucked under his arms, and his eyes remained closed long after she came in. Good. He was asleep.

As quietly as she could, she pulled up her own floor-length nightgown she'd unpacked earlier and dressed herself behind the room divider. Hermione crawled up into George's own bed and made herself comfortable as she always did underneath his comforter. She only took two breaths before she jumped at the sudden sound of his voice in the dark.

"Why do you still come around here, Granger?"

She cleared her throat, mild dread creeping up her spine. "Oh. I thought––Did I wake you?"

George ignored that, and repeated, "Why do you still come around?"

"What do you mean?"

A pause. "Ginny's told me you're a bigshot at the Ministry. In the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, no less, and I hear far more valuable than our two dear Aurors. You have a comfortable apartment in Wizarding London. Lots of new friends outside your little childhood trio. Most of all, you dumped my little brother long ago. So why do you still come around so often?"

She thanked the gods it was too dark for George to see just how pink her face had turned at the sound of his words. As evenly as she could, she said, "You're tired, George. You should rest."

"I'm only curious."

"Well, your thoughts are well-noted. I'm sorry you're not that happy to see me."

George made a strange choking sound. "I didn't say that. I'm…more than happy, Hermione."

Without seeing his face, she couldn't tell if he was being polite or actually sincere. "Likewise," she said. "I haven't seen Ginny that happy in ages."

"Oof. I'll let Harry know."

"You know what I mean," Hermione chuckled softly. "And––er, you? Are you…Are you okay?"

George didn't respond to that, which put Hermione on edge and wonder if that was the wrong thing to ask. She was in the middle of an overthinking spiral when she heard a soft rustling on the other bed; he'd turned himself to the side to face her. "Well, so far, I hate this bed. How Fred ever slept with the cold wind blowing in his face all night, I'll never know."

Hermione let out a slow, relieved breath. "You'll have your bed back tomorrow, I promise."

"You're not staying until Sunday?"

"Nope," she confirmed. "I can't leave Crookshanks for too long. And besides, you're right. I linger here too much. The family will be and should be focused on you."

George sighed deeply. "Right. Perfect."

A comfortable, sleepy silence ensured. Hermione was already slowly drifting off when George spoke again, nearly ten minutes later.

"Granger?"

"Yeah?"

"I heard about another thing," he said. "A Ministry thing. The Arranged Magical Unions division?"

Hermione grimaced, recalling the ring around Romilda Vane's finger and Ron's smug expression. "Yeah," she said, a bit too sharply. "Clearly, the decree is already doing its job before it's even enforced. I'm sure we'll see plenty more couples rushing to marry just to avoid the mandated matches."

To her surprise, George began to laugh quietly.

"What?"

"Care to make a bet with me?"

Hermione turned her head slightly to face him as well. "What kind of bet?"

"Twenty galleons," he said, a cheeky grin on his face. "They never make it to the altar."

She pursed her lips. "That's a little steep. You underestimate your own brother's commitment?"

"You can't possibly be that dense," George guffawed. "It's not about his commitment. It's his ego and stubbornness. I may have been gone for a while, but after all these years, he's still trying to rile you up for that messy––"

"You're on," Hermione cut off, turning around and facing the wall. "Twenty galleons say they make it."

"Wow. You really think so? Why?"

"Because of his ego. And stubbornness."

"Hmm. Touché." George stretched out his long arms and pulled the duvet to the bottom of his chin.

Hermione pursed her lips before asking, "And you?"

"What about me?"

"What are your thoughts about potentially marrying a random witch for the sake of, er, revitalizing the wizarding population?" She giggled at how ridiculous her words sounded. "You came home just in time for its implementation. I suppose you're regretting it quite a bit now."

"I don't care much for it," he said simply.

"Oh?"

"I don't believe in a lot of things anymore," he said, his voice softer than it ever was. "Not in gods, not in love, not since the war. But if there's one thing I won't stop believing in…it's magic."

Hermione turned her body to mirror his position, facing the ceiling.

"At the end of the day, it's hard to argue against it." A short pause. "Good night, Granger."

"Good night, George," she squeaked, then lay still, listening to the steady rhythm of his deep breaths in the darkness until sleep finally claimed her.