George Weasley settled back in the chair he'd become quite familiar
with over the past four days. Sometimes, when he was very bored, he'd
resort to having a one-sided conversation with it. Hey, what was one to do
when one's best friend is in a coma and one has given up on talking to
them, trying to get them to come back faster? At least, for the night.
Beneath the crisp white sheets of a St. Mungo's bed was Katie Bell, one of
George's best friends (as aforementioned) and former Gryffindor Quidditch
teammate, fellow Puddlemere United teammate. She'd been in a car crash
nearly five days before, and was no comatose.
She'd been like that since Saturday.
George heard footsteps and clasped his hands between his knees, his elbows on his knees and his fire-red hair falling over his eyes. Contrary to belief, he and Katie weren't dating. They had once, and that hadn't worked. No, they were just friends...and always would be. George hadn't found another witch to keep his eye on, unfortunately.
"So, we meet again, George Weasley." A woman's voice from the doorway startled him into looking up. He found himself staring at the pretty, freckled face of Hermione Granger, his little brother's best friend (one of them, anyhow) and Healer. Well, more the equivalent of a nurse in the Muggle world.
"So it seems." He said, forcing a smile, though he didn't have to try too hard. How could one not smile at the face, the smile, the deep, warm, sparkling eyes of Hermione's? Her still-bushy hair had been pulled back into a messy braid down her back, and she wore a white dress that was decorated with small, powder-blue roses, the hem of the dress stopping at her knees and showing off a bit of her slender legs. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips shimmered with lip-gloss. George looked away, embarrassed he'd been staring.
"It's been a while," said George about Katie, looking at the motionless (save for breathing, of course) woman. "I'm starting to lose hope."
"I read about a man once that was in a coma for twelve years, and woke up, still thinking it was nineteen seventy-one, but it was nineteen eighty-three. Look at the bit of color in her cheeks. She's coming back." She placed a hand on his back. "Don't ever lose hope." He didn't know what it was, whether it was her confidence, or just her...but he knew she was right, as she'd always been. About everything.
As she placed a cool cloth on Katie's forehead, George looked at her once more. The dress clung to her in all the right places, showing off her figure, and the end of the braid had a powder-blue silk ribbon tied over the elastic.
"How do you wear something so pretty and act so optimistic in a place like this?"
"Someone's got to brighten it up," she said, looking at him, her expression a bit troubled, a small crease between her eyebrows. "Her pulse is still slower than normal, around thirty-three, but it's getting there. Then again, her resting pulse rate we found out is already about fifty- five." She took her wand out from one of the pockets of her dress and waved it over Katie, mumbling a few words. A bright red circle appeared, then brightened to very, very light orange - nearly yellow. George knew what this was, after asking one of the Healers once - it was to measure her temperature, and it worked much like...what are those Muggle contraptions...traffic somethingortheothers, oh yes, traffic lights. Like those. Right now, Katie's temperature was almost cautious.
"See? The fever's dropped some," said Hermione, waving her wand again and the circle disappeared. "Within the next two or three days, I estimate, she'll be awake and fine. Just remember - don't lose hope." She smiled as she walked out of the room, leaving behind her scent, which was quite like fresh linen and orchids. George stared at the spot Hermione'd been at for a second before looking back at Katie.
..::*::..
Sunday nights were always surprisingly peaceful for Hermione. She usually sat on her sofa, reading or knitting (the former more than the latter, though she'd quite improved at knitting since she'd started her fifth year). The fire crackled in the hearth or, if it was already warm, the silence of her small house settled in and surrounded her. It was an escape from the chaotic life she led at St. Mungo's, and she quite cherished the weekends.
On this particular Sunday, March 23, the Sunday after Katie's accident more than a week ago, the cold winter winds had started howling again, so she built a fire with Incendio - she'd always been gifted with fire charms.
Hermione was just sitting back on the sofa again when she got distracted by a tap tap tap at the window. She sighed and got up, pulling her red bathrobe tighter around her 5'4" frame, bracing herself against the cold, biting wind. A brown screech owl flew in, dropped a letter at her feet and flew right back out, before she could give it an Owl Treat. She bent and got the letter, closed the window and unrolled the parchment.
Hermione,
Could you please come to St. M.'s, Katie's mumbling and they say she can't wake up properly until you make some potion of yours? No one else can make it as strongly as you can, or something.
Thanks, I'll always be in your debt. Anything you need, you got it.
-George Weasley
Hermione's eyes widened and she dropped the letter in her hurry to find and get on her sneakers and throwing off her bathrobe. She wore a white knitted sweater and jeans, and now sneakers. Taking out her wand, she Apparated to St. Mungo's, adjusting her loose ponytail at the base of her neck on the way.
George met her outside of the room, looking quite shaken.
"Thanks for coming, Hermione," he said, kissing her cheek.
"No problem." she smiled up at him.
She'd been like that since Saturday.
George heard footsteps and clasped his hands between his knees, his elbows on his knees and his fire-red hair falling over his eyes. Contrary to belief, he and Katie weren't dating. They had once, and that hadn't worked. No, they were just friends...and always would be. George hadn't found another witch to keep his eye on, unfortunately.
"So, we meet again, George Weasley." A woman's voice from the doorway startled him into looking up. He found himself staring at the pretty, freckled face of Hermione Granger, his little brother's best friend (one of them, anyhow) and Healer. Well, more the equivalent of a nurse in the Muggle world.
"So it seems." He said, forcing a smile, though he didn't have to try too hard. How could one not smile at the face, the smile, the deep, warm, sparkling eyes of Hermione's? Her still-bushy hair had been pulled back into a messy braid down her back, and she wore a white dress that was decorated with small, powder-blue roses, the hem of the dress stopping at her knees and showing off a bit of her slender legs. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips shimmered with lip-gloss. George looked away, embarrassed he'd been staring.
"It's been a while," said George about Katie, looking at the motionless (save for breathing, of course) woman. "I'm starting to lose hope."
"I read about a man once that was in a coma for twelve years, and woke up, still thinking it was nineteen seventy-one, but it was nineteen eighty-three. Look at the bit of color in her cheeks. She's coming back." She placed a hand on his back. "Don't ever lose hope." He didn't know what it was, whether it was her confidence, or just her...but he knew she was right, as she'd always been. About everything.
As she placed a cool cloth on Katie's forehead, George looked at her once more. The dress clung to her in all the right places, showing off her figure, and the end of the braid had a powder-blue silk ribbon tied over the elastic.
"How do you wear something so pretty and act so optimistic in a place like this?"
"Someone's got to brighten it up," she said, looking at him, her expression a bit troubled, a small crease between her eyebrows. "Her pulse is still slower than normal, around thirty-three, but it's getting there. Then again, her resting pulse rate we found out is already about fifty- five." She took her wand out from one of the pockets of her dress and waved it over Katie, mumbling a few words. A bright red circle appeared, then brightened to very, very light orange - nearly yellow. George knew what this was, after asking one of the Healers once - it was to measure her temperature, and it worked much like...what are those Muggle contraptions...traffic somethingortheothers, oh yes, traffic lights. Like those. Right now, Katie's temperature was almost cautious.
"See? The fever's dropped some," said Hermione, waving her wand again and the circle disappeared. "Within the next two or three days, I estimate, she'll be awake and fine. Just remember - don't lose hope." She smiled as she walked out of the room, leaving behind her scent, which was quite like fresh linen and orchids. George stared at the spot Hermione'd been at for a second before looking back at Katie.
..::*::..
Sunday nights were always surprisingly peaceful for Hermione. She usually sat on her sofa, reading or knitting (the former more than the latter, though she'd quite improved at knitting since she'd started her fifth year). The fire crackled in the hearth or, if it was already warm, the silence of her small house settled in and surrounded her. It was an escape from the chaotic life she led at St. Mungo's, and she quite cherished the weekends.
On this particular Sunday, March 23, the Sunday after Katie's accident more than a week ago, the cold winter winds had started howling again, so she built a fire with Incendio - she'd always been gifted with fire charms.
Hermione was just sitting back on the sofa again when she got distracted by a tap tap tap at the window. She sighed and got up, pulling her red bathrobe tighter around her 5'4" frame, bracing herself against the cold, biting wind. A brown screech owl flew in, dropped a letter at her feet and flew right back out, before she could give it an Owl Treat. She bent and got the letter, closed the window and unrolled the parchment.
Hermione,
Could you please come to St. M.'s, Katie's mumbling and they say she can't wake up properly until you make some potion of yours? No one else can make it as strongly as you can, or something.
Thanks, I'll always be in your debt. Anything you need, you got it.
-George Weasley
Hermione's eyes widened and she dropped the letter in her hurry to find and get on her sneakers and throwing off her bathrobe. She wore a white knitted sweater and jeans, and now sneakers. Taking out her wand, she Apparated to St. Mungo's, adjusting her loose ponytail at the base of her neck on the way.
George met her outside of the room, looking quite shaken.
"Thanks for coming, Hermione," he said, kissing her cheek.
"No problem." she smiled up at him.