Dead and Gone

During the war, Hermione went M.I.A. Everyone thought she was dead and after a few years, everyone moved on. Including Ron. But what happens when she resurfaces, seemingly unharmed?

Chapter Eight: Cold

Hermione lay on the bed starring at the ceiling. He still remembered his promise. Even after three years. After finding out that she tortured souls and like it. After finding out that she empty and broken. After she tried to kill him, Harry and Luna. He still kept true to his promise. No matter what. The voice in her head reminded her. Hermione furrowed her brow. Why? She couldn't remember. Closing her eyes, she racked her brain but everything was jumbled and blurry. Suddenly images of what she had done to some of the souls in Hell flashed in her mind's eye and her eyes shot open and she sat up. Licking her lips nervously, she ran her hands through her hair.

Luna was wrong. It doesn't matter if she was an empath or not. Hermione hated what she did to those people. Hated how good it felt to hurt them. And she hated the fact that she missed it. See? She wasn't completely empty. She felt some things. Sighing, she laid back down and starred at the ceiling again.

She felt cold. Not the kind of cold that could be solved with putting on her sweater or climbing under the blankets or turning up the heater. It was the kind of cold that set in when you were lonely. It was the kind of cold that made her crave human touch and she wished more than anything that George was laying beside her. Turning onto her side and curling into a ball, she starred at the door. She imagined George walking and coming to rest beside her. She closed her eyes, knowing it wasn't going to happen.

Ever since her first night here, she had craved his body heat. Even going as far as pretending to cry so he would hold her. Taking a deep breath, she remembered how his fingers felt against her bare skin the night she had come back drunk. He'd been so gentle with her. Afraid she was going to think he was trying to take advantage of her. She also remembered the look in his eyes that he had tried to hide.

Opening her eyes, she furrowed her brow. She reached up and touched her cheek. Looking at her hand, she rubbed her fingers together. Was she…was she crying? Real tears? She wiped furiously at her cheeks and eyes, drying the remaining tears. Sighing, she crawled up next to pillows and under the blankets. She pulled them tight around her, wishing that they were George's arms around her. Realizing that the only time she had felt complete since her return from Hell had been in the arms of one of the people she had tried to kill, she curled into a ball and finally let herself cry some real tears.

George lay in bed that night, his thoughts flooded with images of the bushy haired girl down the hall from him. She was only a few seconds away and he missed her. He felt cold without her. Since the first night she got here, he hated the way his arms felt empty without her in them. George sighed. He had survived 3 years of not knowing what had happened to her, but he feared he wouldn't survive through the night without holding her. Pushing the covers off, he climbed out of bed and walked down the hallway.

He stood at the door for a few minutes, going over the pros and cons of going in. He could go in and give in to the calling her heat and soft skin and chocolate eyes, or he could turn around now, and lay awake all night, facing the cold loneliness that was settling in his heart. George stood, starring at the white door for what seemed like hours before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, he turned and walked back to his room. Crawling back into bed, he closed his eyes and attempted to sleep, every dream riddled with images of the chocolate eyed beauty just a few feet away.

Hermione awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon, eggs and coffee. Sitting up she saw the door start to close. "George?"

George poked his head into the room. He starred at her a moment before he smiled. "Morning."

"I was hoping I could take a shower." She said.

"Hmm, hang on." George disappeared and closed the door. When the door opened again a few minutes later, he had his wand with him. "Come on." he said, his eyes nervous. He walked her to the bathroom and showed her where the towels were. "I'll let you know now so you don't get hurt. The same spell that's on Fred's room is on the entire apartment. You try to use magic, well, you know what happens."

Hermione's jaw tightened but she gave a small nod. She watched him walk down the hall and she closed the door. Sighing, she stripped from her clothes and climbed beneath the now running water. She closed her eyes, the warm water running over her skin. She sighed again. The warm water wasn't doing anything to rid her of the cold she'd been feeling all night and woken up with. She had hoped more than anything that he would visit her last night, but he never did. Hermione closed her eyes as heart began to ache again. What the bloody hell is going on with me? She thought as more tears fell from her eyes.

By the time she was done, the water had run cold. Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around herself and starred at herself in the shower. She was pale. Her hair was a dull brown and she had dark circles beneath her eyes. Her skin was mangled with scars and it sickened her. No wonder George didn't go to her last night. She stared at the scars. Who would want something so damaged?

There was a knock on the door and she looked over, expecting the door to open. "Your breakfast is going to get cold." George called and she heard him walk down the hall.

Getting dressed and drying her hair the best she could with the towel, she walked out of the bathroom and to Fred's room. Seeing that her breakfast was gone, she wandered down the hall to the kitchen where George had set it up on the table.

"What are you doing?"

George turned around from his spot at the sink where he was doing dishes. "Figured since you can't use magic, its safe to let you out." He looked at her with a seriousness she had never seen in him before. "Gonna sit down?" he asked as he sat down in front of his plate of food.

She watched him for a moment before he looked over at her and motioned to the empty seat with his fork and saw walked over and sat down. Looking down at the knife, she sat up a bit straighter and glanced over at him. He wasn't looking. She looked back at the knife, then back at George, her eyes dark. Images of her grabbed the knife and attacking him flashed in her head as she watched him. He seemed not to notice, but he watched her through his messy hair as she picked it up and held it. He watched as she starred at it a few moments before picking up her fork and cutting through the eggs. He let out a silent sigh of relief he hadn't known he was holding and they ate in silence, the only sound being the scraping of forks and knives on plates.