Mismatched

Chapter 3: Loose

The next week was more eventful than usual. The main talk of the town was, of course, the pioneer batch of pairs for Magical Unions. Apart from Dean, Luna, Romilda, and Blaise, she'd heard there were six more pairs publicly known from the first batch. And as she had expected, the scene that had occurred in Ginny's birthday was front page news at the Prophet for a few days.

She was mildly surprised, however, when Romilda herself had sent an update to the Unions column––the paper now dedicated a new section just for the new decree, naturally––regarding the status of her unlikely match.

"Blaise and I have begun our acclimation and are mutually optimistic about the match," Mathilda read aloud next to Hermione over their usual work lunch. "Regardless, we request the public to respect our wishes and our privacy as we move forward. Wow. That's got to hurt."

"Sorry?" Hermione said with her mouth full of salad.

"For Ron, obviously." Mathilda narrowed her eyes. "Whether or not that Affinity Basin is the real deal, it's a bloody mess. Already broke up one, short-lived engagement in the first batch. Who knows how fucked up the next matches will be. Don't you agree?"

Hermione stayed mum at that.

"I hear Weasley's been MIA from the Aurors' division for a while," Mathilda continued, tilting her head as she stared at the girl across from her intently. "Wonder how he's doing."

Hermione shrugged noncommittally, casually twirling her fork as she did.

"Gods, I really can't fish anything out of you," Mathilda groaned dramatically. "Your ex-boyfriend rubs his engagement in your face, and it falls apart the next day right in front of you. You can admit it, Hermione."

"I don't bask in the humiliation of others," she finally said. "Even if it is… someone like Ron."

"Huh." Mathilda barked out her laughter. "That's the closest thing I'll get to an opinion, I suppose. In other news…"

Hermione raised a brow as she watched her workmate fumble through her satchel. Mathilda exclaimed an a-ha! once she found what she was looking for––a small envelope that looked like it had been folded and unfolded several times. Mathilda shot her a wink as she slid the paper across the table.

"Oh, come on," Hermione sighed upon reading the invitation. "I already told you how I feel about the speed-dating thing."

"It's bigger and fancier than I ever predicted," Mathilda insisted. "Funded by Wizarding Britain's elite as a subtle political statement––as always, they refuse to be subjugated by the Ministry's decrees."

"Mathilda. We literally work at the Ministry."

The Magical Beasts officer pretended not to hear. "I hear a lot of more-than-eligible bachelors will be there. Some were even invited out of the country. Look, you may have already had your fair share of once-in-a-lifetime events back at school, but I haven't. But I also would much appreciate it if you accompanied me."

Hermione sighed. "Why, again?"

Suddenly, Mathilda looked bashful. "Don't…let this get to your head. But apart from you and my rookie partner, my closest friend is the Augurey in the vivarium. I talk to more magical fauna than I do people. That's why."

Naturally, Hermione's heart twisted at her friend's admission. Without another moment's hesitation, she picked up the invitation again. "Well, when is it?"

Mathilda released an awkward breath she'd been holding and cracked a grateful smile. "The first round's on Thursday, at an enchanted tent just in the outskirts of Hogsmeade."

"Thursday––" Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh. I might have something that night."

"Oh?" Mathilda frowned.

"I'm…helping out a friend. To, er, move stuff. Some equipment." Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly.

"You're being awfully cagey." Mathilda narrowed her eyes. "Stuff? Equipment? Who's this friend?"

Hermione's gaze became fixed on a spot on the table. "George. But before you say anything––"

"Weasley? He's back?" Mathilda cried, her brown eyes as wide as saucers. "Since when? What equipment are you––"

"It's a long story," Hermione said, cutting off her friend's relentless questions. "And it won't take long. The important thing is, I'll make it to your ridiculous event. Okay?"

Mathilda stared at her for a couple of seconds longer before conceding and shrugging once.

Hermione stood before the Closed sign of Wizard Wheezes, suddenly more unsure of herself than she had been when she'd confirmed to George she was coming via owl. The owner had closed the shop early for the day in preparation for the first round of renovations. Before she could raise her hand to ring the bell, however, the double doors opened swiftly and a young, dark-haired lady stepped outside.

"We're clos––Hold on. You're Hermione Granger," the girl said in disbelief, her green eyes looking her over several times.

"Yes," she said slowly, smiling politely. "And you must be…?"

"Verity," the lady said quickly, stretching out a hand and shaking Hermione's. "Of course, you wouldn't remember me. I was the shop's assistant back then, but turned proxy manager since Mr. Weasley left. Now that he's back though, he's made me assistant manager––I'm rambling now, aren't I? Sorry! I'm just––I've always been a fan."

"No worries, Verity," Hermione assured her. "It's my bad, I haven't been to the shop in years. I'll make sure that changes."

"That would be lovely." Verity's gaze turned inquisitive. "Wait––Oh, dear. Are you the guest Mr. Weasley was referring to? The one who's helping out with the flat renovations?"

"Yes, that would be me."

"Fuck," Verity swore, swiftly stepping back and opening the doors fully for Hermione to come in. "Sorry again. He was so vague about it, so I assumed it would be Bill or Lee or something. I…didn't know you and Mr. Weasley were close friends."

She let out a polite laugh again, though her attention was elsewhere, her eyes drifting around the shop with quiet curiosity. It had been ages since she'd last stepped inside the place, and everything felt both familiar and strangely bittersweet. The space seemed larger than she remembered, the walls lined with even more of the signature red-and-gold, uneven shelves, each overflowing with magical tricks and treats. Verity motioned for her to follow, leading her behind the counter and toward the Employees Only door.

"Sorry about the mess," Verity said slowly as she motioned for Hermione to sit on the ratty couch in the inventory room. She pressed a buzzer at the side of the stairs that Hermione guessed led to the flat. "Mr. Weasley, your guest is––!"

"Five minutes!" a familiar voice called out.

"That means at least ten minutes," Verity sighed, smiling apologetically at Hermione. "He's been tinkering with something all day. In the meantime, I suppose you can have a look around. Most of this stuff's the ones he'll be bringing to the flat. I have no idea how you're going to get all of this inside––Then again, I suppose that's why he called for reinforcements. From the brightest witch of our age, no less."

"Oh, I'm just helping out a friend," Hermione said casually, her attention already drifting to the large boxes marked Fragile and the strange metallic equipment carefully wrapped in bubble wrap.

"I hope you don't mind if I go on ahead and close up," Verity said, grabbing her coat from the rack. "My last task for the day was to receive you. I'd honestly love to stay, but––"

"No worries, Verity," Hermione assured her immediately. "We'll be fine. It was very nice to meet you. Again, I mean."

"Don't be a stranger to the shop!" she said, before waving and stepping out of the room.

Hermione checked her watch. Seven o'clock. The speed-dating event didn't start until nine, and even then she didn't want to be the first one there. She had time.

She also decided to take up Verity on her offer and poked around the items in the inventory room. She couldn't help it; there was nothing she loved more than unfamiliar things. Her natural curiosity was piqued.

The first equipment she inspected was a white-and-gold station pressed up against the opposite wall. There was an empty blue basin that sat in the middle––similar to a pensieve, but not really. When Hermione pressed her hand against the side of the basin, she widened her eyes at the sight of the basin filling itself up magically with a silvery liquid. And the smell was alarmingly toxic––like mercury fumes.

"Shit," she cursed, instinctively yanking her hand back. In an instant, the silvery liquid vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

Okay. No touching strange magical things, then. She didn't want her first one-on-one get-together with George to result in her destroying his things, after all.

Her next stop was a bookshelf, as it seemed like a safer route. Hermione raised a brow when she realized that not all of the books were from the Wizarding world. She couldn't help but touch again, this time pulling out Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and flipping through the familiar text. While she knew the Weasleys never cared about blood purity, she had spent enough time around the family—especially Ron—to conclude that their understanding of Muggle culture was fairly limited. Beyond the basics needed to pass Muggle Studies, they rarely delved deeper, and she was certain that Muggle literature had never been explored in any real depth at Hogwarts.

But here was Frankenstein, dog-eared and annotated with neat handwriting. Hermione even chuckled upon reading one of George's notes.

Elizabeth's personality: ?

Just as she put the book back on the shelf, her eyes caught the sight of an ornate jewelry box at the top shelf. For a moment, she thought an ominous, whispering voice came from within. Despite her feeble promise not to touch anything unfamiliar and possibly magical anymore, her hand still stupidly reached out for––

"Please don't touch that."

"Fuck!" Hermione literally jumped, turning around too quickly and nearly knocking over the bookshelf as she did. Luckily, a hand was able to pull her by the shoulder––But this only ended up on her face roughly pummeling on a hard chest.

"Ow."

"Sorry," George said, stepping backwards. He knelt slightly, his deep blue eyes darting around her face. "Thought you heard me come down. You okay?"

"Yes. It's my fault," Hermione said sheepishly. "I––Curiosity killed the cat, after all. Hi."

He smiled, gently ruffling the locks on her head. "Hi. Still, sorry for the wait—I was trying to make the place a bit more…presentable, you see."

George swiftly turned around and bounded up the stairs, his long legs easily taking two steps at a time, as Hermione struggled to catch up with him. However, he froze a moment longer than normal once his hands were wrapped around the doorknob.

Here goes, she could've sworn she heard him mutter, before he finally opened the door.

The apartment was unexpectedly quaint and cozy for a bachelor's flat. At the center of the room, a bewitched fireplace flickered warmly, flanked by two well-worn recliners. A turntable was playing an unfamiliar love song at low volume. The living room seamlessly blended into the dining area, where a modest round table sat by a wide window, accompanied by three mismatched chairs. From the kitchen doorway came the soft whistle of a kettle, carrying the soothing scent of sage and chamomile through the air.

The space grew noticeably more cluttered as her eyes drifted toward the small hallway leading to the bedrooms. Stacks of boxes and scattered knickknacks lined the narrow passage, haphazardly piled outside a closed door—the one she assumed had once belonged to Fred. It was a place caught in transition, as if someone had started the task of sorting through memories but hadn't quite found the resolve to finish.

Which she assumed as true, judging by the hesitant look on George's face as he quietly pulled the apartment door shut.

"So," he said slowly. "Welcome. I don't get a lot of non-redhead visitors here. Not even back then, really."

"It's a lovely apartment," she commented honestly. "How would you like to begin?"

"With some tea, of course," he said, already sauntering towards the kitchen. "I'll only take a moment. You can, er, take a look at the room already while I prepare. First door on the right."

"Right. Okay."

Hermione carefully pushed the door open, and a dull ache settled in her chest at the sight before her. She could tell the room was untouched, frozen in time—Beater bats rested against the wall, Quidditch posters hung where they always had, and boyish drapes and sheets remained neatly in place. The realization struck her then: Fred had only been an adult for a fleeting moment before he was taken from the world. For most of his life, he had still been just a boy.

She had to sit herself down on the edge of the desk to compose herself. Luckily, she was able to steady her breaths by the time George stepped into the room, a small tea tray in his hands. He set it down on the desk gingerly, his eyes downcast, and wordlessly offered her some honey and sugar.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, the low music offering some mild comfort as they drank their tea. After a while, George decided to say, "You've seen the things I'm putting in here from downstairs, no? I've got one desk, three potion stations, a few bookshelves, and lots of boxes, among other things. I've already measured the room––They're not all going to fit even if I take all of…his stuff out."

Hermione nodded once, standing up to pace around the room. She ran a hand along the Gryffindor red curtains as she thought about it.

Pointing to an uneven pillar at the corner of the room, she said, "We could take this out, maybe. Adjust the size with Reducio. It should still hold up well." Then, walking towards the wall of the door, she added, "And make this an adjoining room to your bedroom, perhaps? That's at least a four by four additional space from the hallway. What do you think?"

George slowly looked up at her, a tight half-smile on his lips. "Hmm. That might actually work."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Whenever you're ready, George."

He stood up then, already understanding. He sucked in a deep breath as he picked up an empty cardboard box from the corner of the room. Pressing his wand against its bottom, he murmured the incantation: "Capacious extremis."

They didn't talk much and worked together seamlessly, both using their wands to transfer Fred's items into the box, which now had the Extendable Charm. At one point, however, she noticed George had frozen while he was in the middle of transferring the clothes from the old closet. Hermione walked over and noted a familiar knitted sweater in his hands.

"Hey," Hermione murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. I'm here."

Without turning to face her, he whispered, "He fucking hated this sweater in particular. The itchiest Mum had ever made, he said. Didn't know he kept his. I'd thrown mine out ages ago."

Hermione hummed, reaching out to delicately touch the fabric. "It does look itchy. Perhaps it reminded him of home."

"Right." George stayed that way for a few moments longer before finally turning around to add the piece of clothing to the Extended box.

They eventually managed to transfer all of Fred's belongings to the box in less than an hour. Hermione noted the sigh of relief he released after he taped the box shot and labeled it in his familiar, neat handwriting. She took the lead in the next part; despite having no practice in renovating a space with only magic, she was quite proud of herself when she managed to reduce the space taken up by that one pillar with ease. Breaking down the wall to connect it to George's bedroom, however, was decidedly more difficult, and impossible to do without some manual labor.

Luckily, George was prepared. He'd excused himself for a few minutes and headed down the shop, before materializing again in the flat with a sledgehammer.

"You just have that lying around?" Hermione asked, her gaze following George as he shrugged off his outer button-up. Beneath it, his fitted undershirt, er, highlighted his surprisingly well-toned torso.

"I'm a man, Granger," he said with a shrug, rapping his knuckles against different sections of the wall, likely searching for weak spots. "Wizard or not, we all love our tools."

"Of cour––Oh!" she yelped as, without warning, he swung with full force, hammering through a section of the wall and sending bricks crumbling with startling ease.

"Gods, that felt good," George exhaled, grinning as he surveyed the pile of loose debris at his feet.

"What, destroying things? You really are a man."

"Here's an idea." His smirk turned devilish as he sauntered toward her, stopping close enough that she instinctively sucked in a breath. Her eyes widened as he held out the sledgehammer.

"No thanks."

"Just try it." He nudged the handle playfully against her arm, his grin widening. "I'm sure you've got more than enough reason to let loose, no? No need to be so perfect all the time."

"You're sounding a lot like your prankster self from Hogwarts." Then, a little softer this time, she said, "Really, I might just hurt myself."

"You're overthinking it, Granger. Just grab the damn thing and take a swing."

Hermione eyed the sledgehammer warily, then glanced at the broken section of the wall, the jagged edges of brick and mortar mocking her hesitation. It wasn't as if she'd never cast destructive spells before—but there was something different, something raw about physical destruction. No wand, no controlled magic—just sheer force.

She let out a breath. "Fine. But if I break something—"

"Then I'll be thoroughly impressed," George quipped, stepping back with an encouraging nod.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione squared her shoulders, adjusted her grip on the handle, and lifted the hammer with more difficulty than she expected. It was heavier than it looked. Bracing herself, she took a swing, her muscles straining as the head of the hammer connected with the wall. A dull crack echoed through the room, followed by a small crumble of debris.

George let out a low whistle. "Not bad."

Hermione flexed her fingers, feeling an odd rush of adrenaline course through her. She glanced at him, a slow grin creeping onto her lips. "Okay. That did feel kind of good."

"Told you." He bumped her shoulder lightly. "Now, let's see if you can actually put a hole in it this time."

They mutually decided that taking down that wall was enough progress for the day. Both parties had massively enjoyed themselves at the destruction, though, and found themselves giggling and swapping light stories in the dining room in the aftermath.

"I can't believe I missed that prank," Hermione was saying, her cheeks warm and mildly sore from laughter.

"That was intentional," George admitted. "We knew we wouldn't be able to get away with testing out whizbangs of all things in the Library. Your holy place. It was all Fred's idea."

"How convenient," she said, rolling her eyes.

"That's the only upside to all this, really," he sighed, leaning himself back in his seat. "I can blame him for everything we did in the past, and he can't ever defend himself. I'm sure he'd do the same if…our shoes were swapped."

Hermione's smile turned a tad sad after that, and she decided to raise her cup of tea in his direction. "To Fred."

"To Fred," he said loudly, purposely knocking his cup with hers with a little too much force that most of her tea spilled onto the table.

"Arse," she chuckled before taking a sip. Just as she did, she noticed the time on the watch around her wrist. Immediately, she blanched and set the cup down quickly. "Shit. I almost forgot."

"What is it?"

"I, er, actually have to be somewhere tonight," she stammered, standing up and grabbing her coat from around the seat with her. "It's really stupid. But––"

"You're not talking about the speed-dating thing at Hogsmeade, are you?"

She widened her eyes, turning around to face him. "You heard about it, too?"

He shrugged vaguely. "Bill might've mentioned it a couple of days ago. Is that where you're going?"

Her cheeks warmed with mild shame. "Um, yes. Only to accompany a friend, really."

"I see."

For some reason, the brief silence felt oddly awkward, despite the past few hours flowing with ease.

"You should come," Hermione blurted out eventually. "Heard it's the social event of the season. Funded by Wizarding Britain's elite, I heard."

"Don't think I'll miss being in something a pompous prat like Malfoy touched," he said slowly, finally standing up. Yet, there was a faint, almost self-deprecating smile on his lips, as if he were in on some private joke. "No offense. But you should have fun."

"I really won't," she admitted, chuckling nervously. "I'll come by again soon. Would that be alright?"

"Of course," George said, grinning widely. "Thank you for tonight, Granger."

"Thank you, too," she said, hugging him. "I really enjoyed myself. Destruction's fun, apparently. I'll see you."

"See you," he said, before she finally left.