This one came to me in a dream. (Don't judge, I'm on medication at the minute that gives me weird-ass dreams.)
Hope you like :-)
Chapter Four
George Weasley was in the hospital wing for the third time that year. It was an unwanted visit but he and his twin came to the conclusion that visits to the hospital wing were simply occupational hazards, and if his products hurt him enough to warrant medical help, so be it.
Particularly as they were in the middle of developing their Skiving Snackboxes.
On the first occasion, it was the Puking Pastilles, leaving them both severely dehydrated and unable to eat, which for a Weasley is an unthinkable experience.
The second time was the result of a nasty bang to the head that he had received when he tested a Fainting Fancy. They had made them too effective and he dropped to the ground before he could clear the space. He nearly hexed his twin when he came to in a hospital bed with an ugly bruise down the side of his face, being the better looking twin he had witches to woo.
And currently, he was suffering from moderate blood loss and anaemia, due to an overdose of Nosebleed Nougat; leaving him in the overnight care of one Madame Pomfrey.
He flinched as she approached him once more with the frighteningly sharp needle, coming to extract a further blood sample. She had been doing this on a two-hourly basis since she forced a foul smelling and even worse tasting potion down his throat the previous evening.
George Weasley was anything but squeamish. He had a stomach of steel, attributed to growing up as one of the middle children in a family of six boys in the rural English countryside. But there was something about blood that left him uneasy. Blood belonged inside your body, not in a syringe. He clenched his fist and braved the sharp scratch in his arm, allowing his thoughts to roam as a distraction.
Fred had been to check on him the previous evening after wolfing down his dinner. He had stayed a while before rushing off, telling his twin he needed to find Angelina so he could get "some help with his Charms essay." They had been dancing around the subject of dating, sharing a few snogs here and there, and George wished they would just get together officially.
He wondered why his youngest brother hadn't visited him yet. Countless times prior to the present day George had visited Ron as he lay in this very ward after getting into some degree of trouble, generally with Harry and Hermione.
Hermione Granger.
George had always held a soft spot for the bushy haired witch, especially as she had always visited him during his previous spells in the hospital wing. She was different from every other girl George knew. She was loving, honest and in George's opinion, beautiful, though she could not see it herself. She was much more aware of things going on around her that her appearance or what boys could she try to impress. The truth of the matter was, she impressed George without even knowing it.
But George also knew there was something very different about Hermione, something Harry nor Ron, nor Ginny for that matter knew.
Hermione Granger was obsessed with hygiene, in particular the cleanliness of her hands.
He would catch her in the act; first she would furtively glance to make sure no-one was watching her, then she would silently whisper "Scourgify" whilst aiming at her hands, sifting away the imaginary dirt she saw. Sometimes he even saw her with a bottle of muggle hand-wash, that she rubbed into her hands and didn't need washing off. Muggle magic, he laughed to himself darkly.
It worried him when he saw her do it. On one of the rare occasions when he listened in his Muggle Studies class, he heard about a Muggle condition, OCG..OCB? Something like that, where an individual would perform a ritual almost, to an extreme. He thought to himself that day that he would help his Hermione through any battle she faced if she had this OC-thing. But how would he know?
Wait, he thought to himself, my Hermione? Since when did that happen? And why hadn't she come to visit him yet?
He pushed the thoughts from his mind as he heard Madame Pomfrey's quick paced footsteps on the marble floor, approaching him to tell him he could leave and and to ensure he ate something that evening.
He looked out of the window as he walked along the corridor that would lead him to the secret passageway up to the seventh floor. He had spent most of the day pondering over things. Inventions, improvements, and Hermione. Something was nagging in the back of his mind that something was wrong.
He needed to see her, to know the bossy prefect was okay. He hurried along to the Common Room, uttering the password as his nerves intensified.
It was Sunday, her reading day. He scanned the expansive area, looking for the brunette but failing to see her. He did catch sight of his younger siblings though, engaged in a game of chess. He asked did they know where their friend was.
The bathroom, Ginny had told him. She had gone to wash her hair. Though George knew better.
Forgetting his instructions to eat, he hurried to the sixth floor, hoping that she had indeed gone to the prefects' bathroom and not the generic ladies. On approach to the bathroom, he could hear water running, accompanied by a soft whimpering. He pushed open the door, heartbroken at the sight before him.
A haggard, sixteen year old witch with her hair scraped back and her sleeves rolled up, scrubbing ferociously at her hands, stripping back the skin on her hands in an attempt to get rid of the invisible dirt only she could see.
He approached as quietly as he could before enveloping her in his arms, gently releasing the well worn down bar of soap from her clenched fist.
In that moment, all her anguish and pain subsided, his warm embrace calming her as she raised her hands and the words escaped her lips.. "I'm not clean. A filthy Mudblood. Everything I touch is tainted, so I must clean my hands."
And with that his heart was broken. He turned her around to face him, gently bringing her hands to his lips and softly kissing them before gently coaxing her to the hospital wing.
George Wealsey was in the hospital wing for the fourth time that year. It was an unwanted visit, but he came to the conclusion that if it meant he could help the girl he loved, then so be it.
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