Blood In The Stars

12. Twisted Virtues

"The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed." -Ernest Hemingway (American novelist, and lover of the outdoors) 

4207 words

George didn't ask questions on their walk back. He didn't prod, he didn't pry and he didn't whistle. He didn't utter a sound. 

He walked.

He offered to drive, by a silent wave of his hand and Hermione tossed him the key. He drove. He drove them to the hotel, in the dead of the night as time passed quicker in the cave. The sun could have just gone down, or they could be minutes from sunrise-Hermione didn't know, nor really care to know. 

He parked the car, but he didn't open the door.

He opened his mouth.

"I like you." He spoke, letting his head fall back against the seat. "That's the secret I'm keeping from you." He nodded, curling and uncurling his fingers around the steering wheel.

How juvenile. 

"I want to die." She spoke, hanging her head forward to let it fall into her hands. "I accepted it long ago, I was ready to..and..and sometimes I still want to." She whispered. "That's the secret I'm keeping from you." She whispered, it was hoarse and her throat closed.

And it wasn't everything. 

George's hand pushed open the car door, and she listened as he rounded the car, opening her door. He pushed his upper body into the car, forcing both of his arms around her and pulled, until she was pressed up against his chest and sobbing.

They stayed there, long after the allotted time usually assigned to sitting in a car once arriving at it's destination.

"He..that man...he was wrong you know." George whispered, petting his hands down Hermione's now frizzy braid. "He was so unbelievably wrong." He reassured, pulling away to lock their gazes together.

"About what?" Hermione asked, it was a selfish question. She didn't deserve to ask, but she needed just this small thing. 

"About everything." He whispered, his eyes locked on hers.

"Oh." She responded, letting her eyes travel over his face. "Only you would disagree with a magical, well-respected old man who knows more about the world than others care to." She pointed out, suddenly very hyper aware of how close they were. Seemingly only getting closer.

Had he turned the heat on in the car? 

"Only I get to do this." He whispered, and their noses bumped.

"George." Hermione whispered, reaching up to cup his cheeks. The glamour fell away, and Hermione kissed his cheek, pressing gentle kisses to the curse until she was at his ear.

"Hermione." George responded, pushing his hand to the back of her neck, cupping it. Squeezing gently, grounding her there. She felt her forearm pulse, before she felt the glamour slip off her skin. 

"Kiss me." She demanded, lips pressing against missing ear.

"With pleasure." He responded.

With in a blink of an eye, her seat was flying backwards and George was crawling over her, slamming the door behind him and casting up disillusioned charms, plunging them into darkness. 

George and Hermione held hands, grounding each other as they knocked on Fred and Lee's door. Their knees were weak, their faces dirty and rope burns covered their arms and legs from the rope net. They were good and thoroughly exhausted-beat and broken down, both emotionally and physically. But they were here, rather than bed were they desperately wanted to be.