A tangerine late-afternoon sun was peeking through the clouds, filling everything it touched with gold—Midas' touch. Two figures were embracing in the sky, creating an image that could have been taken straight out of a book of surrealist paintings.
The wind whipped, but George didn't notice; he was deeply engrossed in the smell of Hermione's hair…the essence of dawn and dusk and lemongrass tickled his nose as he stroked it; he wouldn't give up this moment for anything in the world, not even for a whole crate of Filibuster Fireworks. Hermione was fighting with herself internally, denying the safe, cozy feeling of George's arms. Feeling how tense she was, he said, "Let me into your silence, Hermione…I want to know you."
"But you do know me, George."
"No I don't. I mean, I know Hermione Granger, top of her class, Ron's best friend, walking ghost…But I--I don't know you, not really." He pulled her closer, trying to quell any thoughts she might have of pulling away.
"What makes you think that this 'real me' worth knowing?"
They were descending to earth now.
George gave a small shrug and a sleepy smile and said softly, "Because you're the girl from my dreams."
"You've really got to lay off maudlin muggle romance films, George."
He could feel the ground beneath his feet now, both reassuring and disappointing.
Trying to remember what 'maudlin' meant and frustrated by Hermione's cynicism, he continued, "What makes you think that true love only exists in muggle cinema?"
"Experience."
George froze a moment, deep in thought and simply enjoying the sight of the breeze play with her hair. With resolve, "Look Hermione, I'm not Ron."
Her face grew paler than it had been before. "What?"
"Oh, come on. I'd have to be blind not to see what went on with you two last year. Just because you let yourself be vulnerable for once and got hurt doesn't mean that you have to close yourself off to everyone…To me."
Silence.
"Let me into your gaze, Hermione…I want to see what you see."
Her gaze at this moment was stony and glazed-over, with the eerie look of someone who had not slept in months, the look that George supposed madmen had before snapping. The way that gaze made him feel convinced him that he did, indeed, love her.
Shaking her head in disbelief, she stuttered, "I think I'd better go," and ran towards the castle…It seemed that these days, all Hermione ever did was run.
***
"What was so bad about being hard?" she thought as she ran, remembering what had happened with Ron the year before. She had let her guard down, letting herself develop feelings for him, and she swore to God that she would never let it happen again…When she told Ron how she felt, how she had spent months fighting with herself and falling hard for him, he had simply laughed. She remembered the expression on his adorable freckled face when she had explained to him what was going on inside of her.
Suddenly though, the world slipped out from under her, and she crashed to the ground with a hard thud, skidding on a mud puddle that George himself had been jumping in days earlier, hearing a loud crack as her body twisted over her left arm. Lying prostrate on the ground, Hermione had finally broken.
In two very fast heartbeats, George's freckled face was hovering over her, holding up three fingers.
"How many fingers, 'Mione?"
"Eleven."
"Merlins beard! You're blind!"
"No, you git. That's the test for a concussion," she said grinning. Despite the debilitating pain in her arm, she still saw the humor in her fumbling rescuer. But she was quickly losing grip with the world, muttering, "I see spots!" and promptly passing out.
***
Various parts of this chapter were inspired by the song "Dejame Entrar" by Carlos Vives… Again, any complaints about this chapter must be placed to my history teacher. I got 3 hours of sleep last night and very little sleep for the past week because I had to finish my research paper (which, if you care, was on Lenny Bruce. If you don't know who he is, look him up!). Fear not, the story will end in the next chapter. *Head crashes on to keyboard in exhaustion*