Blood In The Stars

4. In Pursuit of Pain

Listen," I told him. "Don't be so tough so early in the morning. I'm sure you've cut plenty of people's throats. I haven't even had my coffee yet." -Ernest Hemingway (Novelist & Adventurer)

3929 words

Hermione sighed, pulling the covers off her face as she willed her body out of bed. She hurt, she hurt all over and it felt just about damn near impossible.

She moaned, turning over on her side before resting. That was enough effort for a little bit, she still had time.

She let her eyes flutter closed, soaking in the morning sun on her face though her peace didn't last for long. The door edged open, and Hermione opened her eyes to see Molly carrying a tray, and a gentle smile on her face. Every bit as gentle and caring as a mother could possibly be.

"Good morning dearie, how are we feeling?" Molly whispered, stepping into the room. She set the tray on the nightstand, before perching herself on the edge of the bed, smoothing a hand through Hermione's hair. Her very tangled and knotted hair, but that was a future battle.

"Just tired." Hermione whispered, letting her eyes close for just a moment, enjoying Molly's motherly touch.

She let Molly's other hand pull her arm from beneath the blanket, gently twisting it until she could gaze at the scarring. She whispered words Hermione didn't understand, and rubbed her thumb in soothing circles on her wrist.

"I'll phone Old Lady Margaret." Molly whispered, but Hermione shook her head.

"No, I can-" Hermione argued, moving to push herself up but her arm gave out, causing her to crash back into the bedding with a huff.

"Do not push, Hermione." Molly whispered, stroking her hair once more. "It is alright to rest." She continued, she leaned in close, letting her forehead fall to Hermione's temple.

Hermione let the tears slip as Molly whispered her affirmations into her skin, sending pulses of warmth that Hermione clung on to until the darkness yanked it all away.

Leaving her cold.

Her bedroom door slipped open some odd hours later, but Hermione didn't have the energy to roll over and greet the guest. She had just flipped to this side, and the comfort would only last a short while.

"I know you're awake." George's voice spoke out. Hermione closed her eyes, willing him away. "I went through your notebook." He tacked on, and she heard the sound of her desk chair scraping against the old wood floors.

"Breach of privacy." She mumbled into her arm that her head was resting against.

"I'm sorry about your hand." George ruffed out, and Hermione wondered if he had practiced the apology or just spat it out to get on her good side.

She was going with the latter. Weasley's weren't prone to apologize often.

"Don't accept it, I don't care just...would you listen to me?" He asked, and Hermione took a deep breath, summoning the energy and rolled. She made it onto her back, that was when she felt like the air in the room had been sucked out. But it was enough. It was enough to prop her head on her pillow, and glare at him.

He was dressed, in casual trousers and a sweatshirt. Not work clothes. In his hand, was her notebook as well as another one, much more battered and worn than hers.

"Between both of our notes, we have some leads I think." He nodded, looking down at the two notebooks.

"Leads?" She asked, and George bit his lip before nodding.