Author's Note:
I know it was a little bit longer than my other updates in the past little while. There was a couple events that needed to be attended to. Thanksgiving being the main one, birthday dinners and moving relatives. I am glad that this is finally finished though.
I feel like the last Hermione point of view I wrote was lacking a bit of definition. She was not thinking very clearly. I think I don't really like writing from her point of view, and that's what is making her chapters a little less, great. I did a lot of editing on her part, trying to capture her emotions. She is a strong independent woman who needs to really regain her inner strength. It will be a process but it will happen. She is still having flash backs, something that is going to be explained further. But right now she is a little stronger, yet still a little dependent on George's strength to get through her flipflopping emotions. I really tried to capture that. Hopefully I did a good job. If there are any suggestions, they are very much appreciated.
Disclaimer:
J.K. Rowling owns all.
Love and War Chapter 14
Awakenings
The line between emotions is often danced upon. Content with the deafening silence, George Weasley twirled amidst devotion and obsession as he waited. Refusing to move, he kept vigil by Hermione Granger's bedside. The steady rise and fall of her chest was a comforting reminder of her strengthening health, but, until her eyes opened, George faced the rawest of realities. The imminent possibility of deprivation, a prospect that he hated more than anything.
The smooth skin of her face, unwrinkled by pain and memory, eased his discomfort slightly as he withdrew further into the depths of his mind. In such a short amount of time, George developed an undeniably strong connection with the woman before him. Trauma, however, tends to do that. The weeks they spent in joint capture seemingly transformed to months, but, if George was honest with himself, their attraction went far beyond that. He sighed in defeat, Hermione's hand in his. No, their bond had rapidly strengthened due to the horrors, but it had definitely been there.
A memory flashed before him, an innocent pre-war Hermione. The way she worried her lip when she focused on her work, the way she purposely dropped her hair to shield her face as she blushed, the twinkle of mischief in her hazel eyes when she broke the rules. That woman was no more. Closing his eyes, he let out a shivering breath. Resisting her was futile the instant his eyes landed on her lifeless form at Malfoy manor.
It was moment that would always haunt him. A moment that mirrored the present. Her body laid peaceful, blind to the surroundings outside of her unconscious mind. Except now, instead of the abused stone foundation, a soft mattress acted as support. They were secure in the compounds of Kingsley's safe house, yet the emotion he experienced then increased tenfold. Running his fingers through his hair roughly, he realized the obvious: George Weasley was forever bound to Hermione Granger.
Shaken to the core at that revaluation, he looked to her, his tired blue orbs swirling with a whirlpool of fear, a fear of losing the one thing precious to him. Fingers traced the soft skin of her cheek and George felt the heat of life humming under the ivory flesh. Her breath was coming out steady and soft from her lips, brushing past his thumb. He knew now if she had died, he would not have made it.
George never experienced a connection this powerful. Not even with Fred. Fred anticipated his actions and could almost read his mind. They shared a binding that only twins could while Hermione was on a level like no other. Her beating heart was what gave him purpose. Her touch made a fire course through him, passion and ambition rushing in his veins instead of blood. She fuelled him with a new and intense sort of magic. The life bestowed on her was his satisfaction, making all existence vanish.
The door opened with a soft creak, but it went unnoticed. As did the footsteps nearing closer. Somehow, the gentle clinking of china, seemingly louder than a thousand screaming banshees, dragged George out of his trance. Reflexes, still sharpened due to the current war, caused his body to tense. His fingers hesitated against Hermione's cheek before travelling the same pattern as the presence of another body finally registered.
"Fred," Not turning in the direction of his counterpart as he spoke, George let his shaggy red locks fall before his eyes. This may have been unnerving to the outside world, but Fred was unfazed. Wordlessly, he handed George a cup of hot tea and settled into a chair at the foot of Hermione's bed.
They were stilled in silence, letting it crash over them in light rolling waves. George's attention never wavered from the woman he so deeply cared for as he brought his tea up to his lips. Fred, however, did not mind. He was lost in a train of thought; one that George was not privy. Therefore, when Fred spoke, his tone unsure and puzzled, George promptly spilled some of his tea.
"Shell shock," Fred began, easing into the topic never being one of his strong points. "That's what the muggle healing manuals call it. You aren't experiencing it right?" Glancing up from his tea soaked trousers, George finally met his twin's gaze. The dark circles of fatigue stood out against the pale skin of Fred's face; sleep had obviously escaped him. This must be serious, George thought, using his wand to clean the spill.
"We have to be sure you aren't George. The cur-," Trailing off before clearing his throat, Fred adopted an authoritative tone, letting it morph from his lips with ease, "The curses they used have some serious affects post casting. Mental instability is most prominent and there are precautions Georgie, ones I'm looking into." With a nod of his head inclined in the direction of the bed, Fred added, "We've got to make sure she isn't either."
"Nightmares," George swallowed his nerves, letting them settle in the pit of his stomach.
"How long," Immediately summoning some parchment and a quill, Fred began writing hurried notes. The routine was familiar, both twins falling into their respective roles without difficulty; George was often the test subject for their products while Fred observed: the case study and the researcher.
"Since the first night out," The soft scratches of the ink on paper were soothing, as strange as that was. George reclined in his chair, feeling the aches of his back as they readjusted to the new position. "I think it was her first time really resting."
"Not just being unconscious," The reply, softened with a natural understanding, caused George to fill with a brotherly pride. Fred really was a natural and innovative healer. "Mum may do a scan then," Pausing before he asked, "Is she having any lapses of reality?"
"Hmm?" The furrowing of George's brows highlighted his confusion, as the hum of response escaped. The quill drew to a halt, the relentless calm sending George's nerves on edge once more.
"Reliving memory while awake?" Looking to Hermione, George sighed softly.
"Like flashbacks?"
"Exactly," Fred smiled, and George only shrugged. He suspected them. The entire hike he was concerned about her memories, but whether it was just recollection, he was unsure.
"She remembers, 'course she does, we both do, but I don't know about reliving." The quill had yet to record the new information, nor settle George's anxiety in the slightest. Thinking of Hermione's side effects right now, when she had yet to wake, was not helpful. "Healing huh?"
"Yea," the smirk on Fred's face lingered with recognition, George's change of subject not lost on him. "I like helping, Georgie. It's like with all the products you made. Not the pranks, but the getaway charms and defence wards. You made hundreds, and I never knew why, but I guess it's the same with me and healing. I like helping, and I think I can try and figure out a lot of what is not known yet."
"I'm really proud of you Freddie," George said with a smile, but before they could continue, a soft groan came from the bed. Immediately, both turned their attention back to the injured witch, George ready to comfort her through another nightmare and Fred ready to be of medical assistance. There was a flutter of her lashes and Fred must have seen it too, because he was immediately standing and summoning pain potions. With another soft flick, her lids opened fully, disorientation blanketing her face.
Her eyes searched without seeing, hazy and unfocused around the large bright room. Cupping her cheek gently, George ran his thumb against her cheek, happy to have her for the most part alert. Her amber eyes locked with his blue ones, finally focusing on him. The realisation was instantaneous when it hit. A brilliant grin bringing her face to life with joy. Though her voice was a hoarse whisper, an unbridled bliss danced amongst her utterance.
"George?"
The flashes appeared first. Bright bursts of colour lingering amongst the blackness that surrounded Hermione Granger. Until then, she had floated through the emptiness of her inner mind, now Hermione swam through it. Suddenly, the space was viscous; thick with sparks of memory hovering sporadically, acting as windows that displayed glimpses of the past. It was enough to set her on edge, even in the vast expanse of nothingness, and then she heard the voices.
Muffled, but still distinct, the words circled around in a slurred soundtrack. The record, once blank and untouched, was etched with the hazed mummers of human conversation. The spotlights only grew larger, drew nearer, and pulled her out of the peaceful seclusion she retreated to. Something for which Hermione was not entirely ready.
She had been immersed. Only once had she felt a rippling fear, but was immediately quelled by some outside source. Warmth had filled her, dunking her in a vat of serenity, and then she had settled. Resting at the bottom, Hermione had drowned and relished in the calm. She would have stayed submerged for eternity, but Hermione knew that was a fool's hope.
The twinkles of light traced the outside of her vision, guiding Hermione to a greater purpose. There was a distracting softness beneath her. The warmth that covered her was just baffling and the voices overhead grew in intensity. With a soft shiver, her eyes slowly opened and, immediately, went blind.
White light shocked her sight. Her limbs, stiff with either potions or fatigue, struggled to gain mobility. The cracks of her joints echoed, protesting against the movement, as her fingered attempted to wrap around her wand only to come up empty. The breaths she took were fast huffs causing her heart to thud against her ribs in a rapid rhythm. Hermione was panicking.
Glancing around frantic, waiting for clear vision, Hermione grew increasingly nervous. She played through all the worst-case scenarios. Recapture being the most prominent, but Hermione toyed with the idea of her own death. Being stuck in a limbo like heaven. It was then she noticed it.
On her right, towering above her bedside, the black blur. Her mind filled in the details, smudging the lines to create a concrete form. Flowing black robes and lanky arms. Claws peeking out from low sleeves and dark shaggy hair hiding the white tips of sharpened teeth. Fenrir Greyback.
Every fear flooded her senses, causing her body to tense with the anticipation of pain. She shut her eyes tight, the memories projecting against the backdrop, reminding her all that transpired. Feeling the ache of every injury, she watched as the replay surrounded her. The capture. The escape. The forest. The field. George. George, the scream of her thoughts caused a shiver to rustle through her. Had they not escaped at all? Had that been falsity conjured to inflict more torture? What happened to George? Hermione did not know but she was petrified.
A gentle touch, comforting and reassuring, suddenly coated her cheek, sucking all the terror out. Slow feather light circles traced her jaw line, basting her skin with a thick layer of buttery relief. It was familiar and loving, warm and kind, the act so intimate in the emotion it invoked, and Hermione turned into it.
Her eyes snapped open regaining clarity instantly; the glare finally peeled off. Merlin, how happy she was to see him. His hair, a flaming red mess, sticking out in different directions. His eyes, a silvery ice blue, shining with tender mirth, locked with her gold lined amber. His lips, spread wide with a blissful grin, brightened his tired face. George Weasley was definitely a welcome sight.
"George?" She asked with a rough thickness, and his grin grew.
"Thank Merlin you're awake," His breath sailed out in relief. Gingerly, Hermione tried to sit up, her forearms giving out beneath her before she made it up against the pillows.
"Stay down will you, Granger," a slyness slid over her attempts, and Hermione's eyes widened. Greyback. Was he not just there? Was he not just looming over her right where Fred now stood? Then it hit her.
"Fred?" Her question was timid and though it needed none, George nodded in confirmation. Fred Weasley. Fred bloody Weasley. His presence only meant one thing, a very precious and important thing. They really were free. They were out. They were home. The day Hermione prayed for had finally come. Happy tears stung at the corners of her eyes, begging to be released, but with a shuddering breath were contained.
"How're you feeling?" George brushed the strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
"Sore," she shrugged, "but much better. Where are we?"
"Head quarters," The shriek the chair legs against the stone punctuated Fred voice, as he moved to sit closer to her. "It's good to have you home, Granger."
"It's good to be home," the wistfulness of her words made everything seem too surreal. The happiness that elated through her was an out of body experience. The war just outside their doors still raged. Witches, wizards and muggles were being terrorised as evil bloodied the world and Hermione felt guilty at the happiness bubbling through her. Their escape should not be celebrated until all the evil was defeated. "My wand?" Her fingers itched with an empty anticipation, before Fred handed it to her.
They fell into a content silence. Hermione rolled her wand in between her thumb and index finger, enjoying the security it brought. The heat of its dragon core radiating through the vine, humming to life at her touch, rushing up her arm, through her chest and to the tips of her other hand. A bridge of physical magic connected her wand and George. Her body was the generator of the wonders she loved most, and was the housing for the salvation which Hermione needed. George and her wand, they worked in parallel to fuel a fight in Hermione, strive for a redemption that she felt may be long gone.
Fred cleared his throat, eying the wand in her grasp with curiosity. Glancing down she noticed its happy green glow, and her eyes furrowed. The personality of wands have always been one of speculation, but as it buzzed and brightened with life, Hermione guessed it was basking in the luxury of home as much as she was. Tucking it into the waistband of her pants, she noticed the unwavering flash of blue on either side of her.
George's blue eyes watched her, devotion and an indefinable emotion swirling, mimicking the pattern his thumb traced on her skin. It surprised her to find Fred's actions to be mirrored, but while George radiated with an alluring affection, Fred seemed to study her. His contemplative gaze, was focused on her movements and state of healing. His concern, while strange to some, was refreshing to Hermione. It was a definite change from the death eater's disregard and, smiling over at George in the kind atmosphere, her thoughts drifted.
Unable to settle on one topic, Hermione took in her surroundings. The large infirmary mimicked that of Hogwarts. A sea of neatly made white beds encompassed most of the area. High ceilings hung over head, and Hermione quickly averted her gaze from the stone. Many strong warriors' last sight was the intricate carving above, and Hermione refused to be one of them.
"Would you like to walk down to breakfast?" Looking at the desk in the corner, overflowing with healing books and potion ingredients, Fred's voice cascaded over her observations. "It'll help strengthen your ankle, walking on it." Realisation dawned on her once more; they were free and Fred was her healer.
"I suppose," taking in the idea that Fred witnessed the severity of the wounds, Hermione swallowed her embarrassment. The letters etched in her side, the twisted state of her ankle, the red gashes running down the length of her back. He saw it all. With wide eyes, she again felt the unmistakable sting. Fingers immediately clutched at her ribs, feeling the clean bandage, slightly damp with fresh blood. "George," There was a slight panic edging her voice. The wince echoed through the infirmary as Hermione attempted to move and George helped her.
"Fred, mum and I are the only ones that know." he said in a rush while his arm wrapped around her waist, the tips of his fingers rubbing soothing patterns on her side. "No one else will, except Bill."
"B-Bill," she sputtered out confused.
"He has experience with this type of dark magic," Fred's words were tender. Compassion lingered in the air and, despite knowing which wound needed to be investigated, the awkwardness of the situation dissipated. "Your side, I promise it will stay between us, but Bill has to see it. I think he's the only one in the order who can heal it properly."
"Ok," she nodded, glancing up at Fred, who now joined his brother in aiding her movements.
"When you're ready put some weight on it." Fred instructed. Hesitantly at first, she put a little weight on her ankle, testing to see how well it supported her. Having taken bone cure before, Hermione knew the uncomfortable process of bone hardening. The area of the break tended to be softened, weaker than usual, until the bone restructured fully. She was surprised when the normal ache was absent. "How does it feel?"
"Surprisingly strong," she muttered, testing the bone further. It ached, but nowhere near as bad as it should. Her ankle felt stiffer than anything, as if needing to be loosened, and Hermione sighed in satisfaction. "How is this possible?"
"I ground the snake fangs with lavender-" Fred began, only to be cut off by George.
"Seeds?" George interjected. "The potency of the seeds being less than a full plant. That would speed and-"
"Stabilise the healing without complication," Hermione finished with a repressed excitement, "That's brilliant. Have you worked on any modifications?"
"I, well, I-uh," He stuttered, taken aback by the compliment, "Yes, I've been looking into the side effects of the unforgi—"
"Maybe we should get some breakfast first?" George interjected suddenly, as he glared at Fred with a look that spoke wonders. His eyes burned a hole through his twin, his lips twitched with an irritation, his fingers fidgeted in an antsy pace. The words were basically written on his forehead. Not now Fred, silently and effectively ended Fred's sentence.
"Yes," Fred said with a clearing of his throat and a curt nod, "Best left for another time then." The air was a little tense, but it dispelled as they moved toward the exit of the infirmary. George's arm was wrapped around Hermione's waist for support, since the bone cure modification was still quite new, while Fred walked a head, moving all could be obstacles from their path. Just as they reached the door, while Fred held the heavy dark oak ajar, Hermione paused.
"Thank you Fred," She said, rising on her toes, easily giving him a gentle hug. "For everything."
Swaying as she pulled out of the embrace, her balance wavered. George was there instantly, wrapping his arm around her once more, smiling down at her. Hermione's stomach fluttered at the touch, feeling the intensity of emotions circle through her. The silver, which circled the edges of his blue eyes, seemed to sparkle as she stared up at him with a matching smile. Even through all that transpired, staring up into the warm, moonlight blue oceans as he held her safe and close, Hermione was certain nothing could be better. She was sure this was bliss.
The three began their descent down the stairways. The first flight of stairs being the hardest on her injuries, but it was not painful. Her muscles adjusted to her movements as George's fingers traced circles on her hip, and they moved to a more populated area of the stronghold. By the second flight, Hermione no longer needed George's support, but lingered in the comfort his touch brought. Kingsley passed them on this stairway, welcoming them home to safety. He eyed them warily, a look that flipped between concern and mercy floating between them, and Hermione could only nod helplessly. George's arm pulled her closer to his side knowingly.
When they finally did reach main floor the chatter from the kitchen could be heard. Not loud enough to be overwhelming, but Hermione still hesitated. Her ankle felt fully functional, and regretfully, she removed herself from George's grasp as they moved down the hallway. With the cool air drifting over her and the familiar voices growing in strength, Hermione felt alone. His hand reached for hers, pulling her to the side of the corridor.
"It's just mum, dad and Ginny," George whispered into her ear, the swinging door of the kitchen in sight. "If it starts getting too much, squeeze my hand, and we will go back upstairs, alright?" he asked, and Hermione nodded, thankful that his fingers were woven with hers as they pushed through the door together.
"Hermione," Molly called out happily as they made their way to the table. Though her voice and actions were laced joy, her eyes lingered with an unmistakable pity. Moreover, Hermione knew it all had changed then. While Fred's voice, actions and eyes only hinted to compassion, Molly's were filled with mercy. She was pitied. Nothing but a child, worn by war, always to be looked down upon as a broken troubled mess.
"I missed you," Ginny said abruptly, before Hermione could delve further. Quick steps rushed towards her, and Hermione panicked, finally glancing to Ginny. Her approach was sudden, her movements alarming, as she attempted to, Hermione assumed, embrace her, but Ginny just stopped half way. Arms falling limp at her side. Nodding to the breakfast table, and Hermione felt even more pity.
Her best friend would not even hug her. She was so broken that no one knew what to do with her. Hermione's hand was cold for a brief moment. Empty without George's hand, Hermione feared George reconsidered his previous allegiance. She feared that the emotions painted in his face were a falsity; that really he pitied her, just like his family. Then his arm slung around her shoulders.
I won't leave you, George's whisper rung through her ears. The gentle tug of the promise he had made in the tent eased her. Even though everyone was constantly staring at her, even though her mind was, in her opinion, pathetically broken, George Weasley would stand by her. His fingers traced the familiar pattern up her forearm, the one which calmed her, and she felt the privacy he brought with him..
It was only them. Settling at the table, the two took part in a private breakfast, despite the many plates set. His actions screamed out his faithfulness. Placing a large helping of bacon and eggs on both of their plates, flashing a light hearted smile, and running his fingers up her arm. He promised to face this with her, and his unwavering support was on full display in that moment.
The glint of a knife caught her eye, Arthur's fingers gripping the handle, cutting his breakfast, and her back burned with reopened gashes. She bit her lip, gnawing at the tender rose coloured flesh, as she felt the blade tip pierce. It ran down along the length of her spine in parallel cuts, and Hermione's eyes watered. Looking elsewhere, she noticed a flash of blood. Ginny's painted nails reflected the candlelight as she brought her glass to her lips. The shining bright colour dripped down the witches fingers, down the clear cup and onto the white tablecloth in large blots. Blinking, the red streaks vanished, hardened on Ginny's nails once more.
Filthy Mud blood, words hissed, but no one seemed to notice Bellatrix's voice. Hermione jerked slightly. Casting her eyes down to the plate before her, shivering with unease, George pulled her tighter to him.
She vaguely remembered Arthur giving a small toast welcoming both George and her back to safety, but she did clearly remember the soft sniffles coming from Molly's end of the table. The pang of guilt which resonated through Hermione, echoed through her soul. Putting the Weasley's son in danger during the hike the way she did, reckless determination to reach freedom. Merlin, they must all hate her for how selfish she was.
"Hermione dear," Molly said, her voice thick with emotion, "eat." However, Hermione only stared at her plate. Surely, Molly did not mean that. How could they want her there when George's life had been hanging in the balance with her own? Was this a trick? They all stared at her, as if judging her movements, waiting for her to take a bite of the forbidden fruit.
"It's alright," George whispered gently, quiet enough that no one else could hear, "It's safe I promise." Reassured, Hermione delicately picked up her fork, taking a tentative bite, and everyone seemed to focus away from her. George's comforting security never wavered even after the family's eyes averted from her form. His fingers continued the path up the length of her forearm and his arm was still slung around her shoulders. With the rest of the table drifting into a content group conversation, one lacking both George and Hermione's voices, and with his warmth wrapping around her, Hermione finally let herself drown in the prospect. She was home.
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