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“You’re muttering again.”
Fred huffed and shoved his hands further in his coat pockets. To his left, Hermione was trying to keep her face neutral—her bottom lip between her teeth and eyes fixed firmly on the path up to the castle—with the goal of not further agitating her husband. He really didn’t see how she could be finding any humor in anything at the moment. It was quite stressful and—
“Muttering,” sang Hermione.
“I just think that McGonagall could bring down the wards in emergency situations!” Fred growled. “We could have apparated inside like that!” He snapped his fingers as emphasis.
“Fred, she’s fine.” Hermione reached out and tugged his hand out of his pocket. Gently squeezing it, she reminded him, “That wing has seen worse.” Fred shook his head vigorously like the memories would fall out.
Professor McGonagall met them at the door with a smile that was both warm and a little amused. That was quite typical. During her seventh year, Hermione told Fred that McGonagall looked tickled every time his name was brought up. They’d seen her a few more times since, and it was always the same—like the couple was the funniest story she’d ever heard.
The smile did waver slightly when McGonagall caught sight of Fred’s expression. He imagined he looked a bit frightening with his mouth screwed and eyebrows in a firm pinch. Not wanting the headmistress to think he was angry at her, Fred tried very hard to relax his face, but it wasn’t quite enough.
“Professor,” Fred muttered, jerking his head quickly. “Can we see her?”
“Of course. She will be just fine, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall reassured him, and turned to lead them to the wing. “I daresay you and your friends sustained far worse injuries in your time at Hogwarts.”
“We know,” Hermione said quietly. She squeezed her anxious husband’s hand again, and they followed behind the headmistress. “Fred’s just a bit worried.”
“A bit,” Fred mumbled and followed up with a “tch”. Hermione gripped his hand tighter.
He did a fair job at walking at a reasonable pace, keeping steady with the women next to him who weren’t nearly as worried. But the moment Fred saw the door of the wing, he began to outpace them both. Eventually, Hermione had to drop his hand, which only spurred Fred on. He practically burst through the door, startling Madam Pomfrey who was standing nearby.
“Oh! Well, I never.” The Healer blinked twice and scolded, “Fred Weasley! You should know better!”
Fred gave a salute and offered a quick apology. “Where is she?” he asked.
“Right over there,” said Madam Pomfrey, and pointed to the bed at the far end of the room where a small form was laying underneath a blanket. Fred was there half a second later, kneeling beside the bed and staring at his sleeping daughter.
It appeared that her mother had been right and the twelve-year-old was “fine”, but that did not quite stop Fred’s racing heartbeat. The panic allowed to fester on their trip to the castle had flipped a switch in his brain. In front of him was a preteen with long hair—curly and trademark Weasley red—but all he could see was a baby with a shock of ginger fuzz.
Behind him, Hermione was being perfectly reasonable and chatting with Madam Pomfrey about what had happened and what needed to be done. Fred half-listened, catching bits of “the Beater’s new—poor boy feels terrible” and “just one night so she can rest”, but he kept his eyes on the little girl. He reached out and ran a hand across her hair.
“Georgie,” Fred murmured. “It’s Dad.”
The girl took a deep breath, but it wasn’t until her father repeated her name that she stirred. Brown eyes fluttered open and flicked back and forth until she recognized the person in front of her. Then Georgie groaned and laughed, “You are so embarrassing.”
Fred chuckled while helping her sit up. “Oh, I’m embarrassing?”
“Tell me you didn’t come all the way to Hogwarts because of a rogue Bludger.” Georgie looked to the other side and complained, “Mum! Really?”
Having finished her conversation with Madam Pomfrey, Hermione had walked over to join them. She smiled sympathetically and shrugged at her daughter. “He insisted.”
“Did anyone see you?” Georgie asked. At her parents’ eyerolls, she explained in frustration, “Mum, you’re in our textbooks! People know who you are!”
“Oi, war heroes are allowed to be worried about their children,” Fred said. He passed an exhausted look to Hermione. “Didn’t lose her attitude in the accident, looks like.”
The corner of Hermione’s mouth twitched and Fred could see the words “I told you so” fighting to escape. But she brought the urge under control and said instead, “Yes, it appears our daughter will survive her concussion.”
“Broke my arm in two places too!” Georgie added excitedly. Fred dropped his face into his hands. “Dad, I got potions. I’m better now, promise.”
“No…” he grumbled.
Hermione moved the conversation along before Fred could start on a rant. “How was your game otherwise?”
The girl grinned. “We beat Slytherin.”
It was good enough news that Fred lifted his head and proudly said, “That’s my girl” and the two bumped their fists together. Then Georgie cupped a hand by the side of her mouth and Fred leaned in.
“I got 30 Sickles off a bet with Albus,” Georgie whispered in his ear. “Ten each from a couple first years too.” They bumped fists again, earning a suspicious squint from Hermione.
“I‘ll let you two continue scheming then,” she said. “I want to say hello to a couple professors while we’re here.”
“No, Mum, please!” Georgie begged. “Don’t walk around the school.”
Fred patted his daughter’s arm. “Alright, settle. We’ll go. We just wanted to make sure you were alright. Scared us a bit.” Both girls stared at him with quirked eyebrows before Fred corrected himself. “Alright, I was scared. Your mum was kind enough to come along.”
Georgie gave her parents a thumbs-up. “Again, I’m perfectly alright. I didn’t even fall that far.”
She was a Weasley through and through, and it wasn’t surprising they’d raised a hellion—however inadvertently. With this knowledge, Fred closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying very hard not to imagine Georgie’s metric for “that far”. “Don’t…say that,” he sighed.
“Come on,” Hermione said to him, “Before you stress yourself out too badly.” She hugged Georgie. “I’m glad you’re alright. And you’re doing well with classes?”
“Yes, Mum, I promise.”
“On track for Prefect?” Fred teased.
“Unlikely.” Father and daughter both dissolved in giggles at the sight of Hermione’s irritated expression. “Sorry, Mum.”
“I love you,” Hermione said simply. “Be good.”
“And I love you too.” Fred hugged his daughter and whispered, “Being a swot’s overrated.” Georgie giggled again and watched her parents leave the room.
On their way out, Fred and Hermione narrowly avoided running into a couple of children who paused to look at them and then ran towards Georgie. There were hushed whispers of “Are those your parents?” and “Did your dad bring Snackboxes?”. The Weasleys hurried out of the room so their daughter didn’t see their shoulders shaking from laughter—they knew she was probably glaring at their backs anyway.
“Are we going to visit old professors?” Fred asked his wife, knocking his elbow into hers.
Hermione grinned and shook her head. “No, I think we’ve embarrassed our child enough for the day.”