Okay, so for those who read my other story, this is going to be really different from that. This just came to mind suddenly and I needed to write it down. Just a short one shot years after the war.
Let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the characters, just this little story of mine.
The window was open, letting the smell of the summer rain in just enough for him to smell it faintly and just enough to let out the moans they gave just minutes ago.
George laid on his bed (covering the bottom half of his body in the sheets, even thought it wasn't necessary), his hair clashing terribly with the new green sheets.
No one cared about small things like these, he definitely didn't. He cared about only few things anymore.
She cared about many things and it wasn't the only thing that made the two so different, but it was the few little similarities that had brought them together.
Her brown frizzy hair was even messier than usual after the hour she had spent under him and on top of him, trying to feel empty. She laid her head on his chest, he trying to feel anything.
It was escape they both had sought when it all started.
He escaped from the emptiness, the total numbness that was only the only thing he was barely able to feel. He cared just enough to want to feel again.
She escaped from the amount of feelings, the responsibilities of being her and she wanted to feel empty. She didn't care just enough to let him feel her.
She didn't want to care and the hollowness was exactly what he gave to her as he placed himself between her legs.
It all happened by accident, at first. Because of the similar need they had and the amount of alcohol they had had in their bloods. But after the first time, (the first time she had come whispering meaningless things and he had replied with things he meant from the bottom of his shrunken heart) they needed each other.
George needed the feeling of her bare skin under his fingers and the marks she left on his skin biting him, trying not to yell out his name or her husbands name.
Hermione lighted a cigarette (she had hidden her cigarettes in the drawer next to his bed, just like she had hidden the responsibilities she didn't need tonight) and inhaled the smoke in a way that made her seem like a cheap woman from the streets.
He still tried to smell the summer rain, now hidden behind the smell of the freshly lighted cigarette.
At the first time she had wrapped her hands around his face and she didn't even try to avoid touching the scarred area around where his ear used to be, like other women did. He had pulled her hair and touched her coldly, without the love his husband touched her with. Without the boring words about love and without the constant reminder of keeping it quiet so the children wouldn't wake up.
(It was pointless to try not to have any feelings with her husband, because he felt so much for her and she for him)
She didn't need the love inside her, she needed something broken, something beyond her reach. Someone that didn't care.
At the first time, they whispered the words they needed to hear as they fell on top of the dirty sheets, (convincing themselves that it was okay to act like this) he hadn't changed in a long time.
And like always, she smoked her cigarette, without any words and after that, she stood up and tried to locate her clothes (she had been too busy to get out from the fabric to place them neatly, like she always did at home), without any words.
He didn't got up, like he never did, but he watched her and he remembered every single piece of fabric and every location she had stopped in to took her clothes off.
He remembered every moan she had let out and he found himself caring.
She walked out without feelings, without realizing that he had changed his sheets for her.
The other Hermione, the one that she was when she opened her own front door, would have realized. But this Hermione, Hermione that smelled like cigarettes and sweat was just selfish enough not to care.
George didn't try to say anything, because this woman was different than the one he sat next to at the Christmas lunch in the burrow. But silently, George cared for this woman with no feelings.
And the fact that she didn't even know, made him feel something else than emptiness.