Hermione stood back up once more, her ears ringing and her head spinning. I'm literally falling for you, her head kept telling her. She paced the floor as George nursed his ankle in silence. Unless I love you, her head told her this time. Well, more like screamed at her. She placed her fingers to her temples and massaged them gently. I'm literally falling for you. I love you. The voice just wouldn't go away. George stared up at her and bit his lip.
"This wasn't supposed to happen!" she yelled, clearly upset at what he had said. "It just wasn't. Nobody was supposed to fall in love with anyone! Oh, George…" She fell back down on the couch, screaming in aggravation. "This wasn't how any of this was supposed to work out. I can't believe this… I've already broken someone's heart. I don't want to do it again, George. But that's what is going to happen. So I might as well tell you this right now."
"Tell me what?" George inquired, standing up and walking towards her. "Listen, Hermione. I'm sorry, alright. I'm sorry I ever invented this stupid cube. I'm sorry that I ever invited you over for dinner—because I can't cook anyways. But you want to know what I'm not sorry for? I'm not sorry that we ever played Truth or Dare. I'm not sorry that we ever got stuck in Seven Minutes in Heaven, Hermione." He looked at her, her brown eyes, and she closed her them, turning her head away from him.
"Don't say that, George! Don't even think that!" she told him, and he winced. "George, I am the one who's sorry. I don't know why I ever came back home. We can't be friends anymore, George. In fact, I want us to act as though we never were friends. I mean, were we even? It's better this way. Trust me. Ron already got hurt because he loved me. You'll understand eventually." She smiled, and stood back up. "The water is boiling, by the way."
He turned away, looking into the kitchen. She looked at him one last time before apparating away when he wouldn't see her leave. When she appeared back at Seamus' house, she frowned. He was sitting at the table, rereading The Daily Prophet, when he looked up at her. He scratched the back of his head and smiled at her. Although it was more of a sympathetic smile than anything, which she hated.
"It went that well, huh?" he asked, and Hermione left the room. She went into the living room where she slept and sat down on her bed. Yeah, it went that well, she thought, as a tear fell down her cheek. Why did everything always happen to Hermione Granger? Why not Lavender Brown? Why not Pansy Parkinson? Why did everything happen to Hermione? Because you're there to have it happen to.
The worst part of it all was… well… Seamus was right. About everything.
"Fred told me that George didn't show up at work today, Hermione," Ginny said, biting into her salad. She chewed slowly and pointed her fork at the brunette, eyeing her carefully. "Do you happen to know why? Fred said you were with him last night—he also said that when he got him, George was all down. You know, sad? That he went to bed right when he caught Fred's eye. So… do you know what's up with him?"
"Yeah, and how come we didn't t know that you were going over to his house for supper? Huh? And why did he name that cube after you. Personally, I don't like it one bit," Ron snapped, crossing his arms across his chest.
"I don't want to talk about it, you guys. You don't understand," Hermione sighed, mixing her soup with her spoon. "You wouldn't understand if I told you both. Can't we just eat lunch without talking about me? Let's talk about you. What have you been doing while I've been off buying houses and just hanging around? Anything fun?" She smiled at them—even if she didn't feel the smile throughout her body.
"Well, Ron and I have gone here to lunch everyday since you came back," Ginny said, gesturing around. "Okay, so it's our house. But still. At least he's been eating." She punched Ron in the arm, and giggled. "And we went to Hogsmeade once—The Three Broomsticks never had better butterbeer. I don't remember it tasting so good! Maybe it's because I haven't had it in a few years. I dunno. What do you think, Ron?"
"Are you sleeping with him? Are you buying that house for you and George?" he asked Hermione, and Ginny gasped.
"Ron!" she exclaimed, covering her mouth. Hermione frowned, looking at him. Why in the world would he have though of that? Ha. That was a good one. Ginny apparently did not think so. "You don't just ask people that. And especially Hermione! God, I am so sorry. Oh my goodness, I cannot believe you just asked that, Ron. You are way too overprotective… and way too forward I can't believe you asked that."
"I'm not overprotective. I just don't like what's going on. He named the cube after her, Ginny," Ron retorted, and Ginny glared at him. "He's been with her more than we have. He asked her to have dinner with her last night. And guess what. After she had left, he became all depressed. Fred came home, and then George went to bed because he was upset about something. He didn't show up to work today—and look at her! Look at Hermione!"
He pointed towards the bushy haired girl, and Ginny turned to look at her. "I think she's thinner now then she was when she first got here. She's paler, Ginny. George is the one who told us, not her. He wrote to Mum this morning, remember? You know what's going on," Ron said, and Hermione cocked an eyebrow.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, and Ginny frowned, breaking eye contact with her. "I'm not… sleeping with George. In fact, I shudder to even think about him."
"No, Hermione. You have cancer. I know, Mum told us not to say anything to her," Ginny added angrily to Ron. Hermione dropped her soup spoon with a clatter, and stared at the two redheads. Ginny continued, "Hermione, why didn't you tell us? George mailed Mum this morning, telling her that you told him that you had cancer. That it was the reason you left us for two years. But he said it was all one, and that you were okay now. You are okay now, aren't you?"
"Of course not. Can't you see why George is all depressed? Because she's still got it," Ron said, and Hermione frowned, looking him up and down. His ears were red, but his lip was quivering… as if he was sad or something. "Hermione, you look sick. Well, you are sick—not to state the obvious—but… have you looked in the mirror? Have you gone back to a doctor? You don't look healthy."
"I'm fine," Hermione snapped, running a hand through her hair. "But don't you see? This is exactly why I changed—why I left here without telling anyone. I knew you would all go insane on me. I knew that you'd all be upset, and I knew that you would attempt to give me sympathy. But, you know what? I don't need it." She sighed heavily, spinning her soup spoon on the table. "And I can't believe George told you. I told him not to. He was never supposed to know in the first place. It was that stupid Truth or Dare cube. You can't leave the sight of the other person unless you tell the truth. So, I had to. But none of you were ever supposed to know. I was supposed to go on with my normal life… normally."
"That's what Mum said. She said you probably didn't want us to know. Not that she was okay with it. She kind of just told us to bug off and not tell you that we knew. George had said that you didn't want anyone to know, but he had to tell you. But after Mum told us what the letter said, she walked right out of the room. She was really upset. She looked like she was going to cry… and I felt like I was going to cry," Ginny, frowning. Hermione looked around. Mrs. Weasley was no where around. Usually—at least it seemed—she was in the kitchen. And yet, she wasn't there.
"If I had told you before I left, you probably would have made me go to St. Mungos. Or if you decided to let me go, someone would have followed me. Probably you, Ron, since you were the one who was in love with me, after all," she explained, continuing with her story. "No one has a cure for cancer. If St. Mungos could cure it, I would have gone there. But they don't, so I didn't. Listen, I know all of you know now, and I guess that your mum is really upset that I didn't tell her. And if I had died, I guess you wouldn't have ever found out. But I suppose, in a way, that's better. I also believe that I've had this conversation with George, I think. I'd rather not have it again, if you don't mind."
"I'm sorry I brought it up, Hermione. But you have cancer. You think you're cured, don't you? George wrote that you said you were in remission or something, but you could have a relapse. Hermione, it's not fair," Ron muttered sadly, and Hermione picked up her spoon again.
"I'm fine. I'm not going to have a relapse," she answered sternly, laughing nervously afterward. "You want to know something? You and George are exactly the same. You're both really overprotective. He was upset over this, my relationship with Seamus Finnegan. You're upset with this and my relationship with him—not hat there is one. Now, can we just eat our lunch? Please?"
"But you're not okay," Ron murmured to himself. He wiped his eyes quickly and looked at his sister. "Ginny… Mum told us not to cry."
Hermione pulled out her toothbrush from her cosmetics bag, putting it under the water. Well, today was horrible, last night was horrible. I'm guessing that tomorrow will be horrible—when I go yell at George for spilling my secret. And I'm guessing the next day after that will be horrible, and the day after that. God, I sound like such a pessimist. I can't believe George told… and Ginny started crying. Oh God, what have I done?
She put her toothpaste on the toothbrush and sighed. Maybe I do look worse—and I had thought that I'd started to get better. I started getting color, and flesh. She placed the toothbrush in her mouth and started to swish around her mouth. Damn, look at my legs. They're like sticks. She pulled up her pajama pants and examined her legs. She pulled up her shirt and examined her chest, her ribs. I look like train tracks. God, maybe Ron was right. But I'm fine. I may look sick, but I'm fine.
She spit into the sink, a strange taste in her mouth. Strange, yes, but familiar. It didn't taste like her toothpaste—cinnamon and mint—but it tasty salty. Kind of like sweat. You know the taste: wet, salty, and sticky. But it wasn't sweat. She wasn't sweaty on the outside… and why would she be sweating in her mouth?
It wasn't until she looked in the sink that she found out what it was. Blood. She bent her lip down and looked at her teeth. They were blood stained. She would have to rinse her mouth out with mouth wash, or brush her teeth again. No problem. That wasn't what was bugging her now. Oh no. Not at all.
It's just that… Mrs. Weasley told her family not to cry. Well… did that include Hermione?
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Author's Note:I am SO, SO sorry that I took so long on this chapter! It's not even that long! I apologize. I swear, I've never procrastinated so much in my life. Okay, well, maybe I have. But not on something that I planned—plan—on finishing. I mean it. I am really very sorry.
But moving on. I'm not very proud of this chapter, either. So basically, I'm extremely upset at myself for taking so long on the chapter, making it so short, and not being proud of it. Oh well. As long as you all like it. And if you don't, I always appreciate constructive criticism.
Again, I am very sorry!