Lumos

Chapter Five: "Oculus Procellae"

Hermione

January, 2003

Hermione stared up at the ceiling fan as it moved in slow, gentle circles. If she closed her eyes and returned to sleep, all of this would go away. The churning in her stomach. The unfamiliar walls. The husband she didn't ask for. The expectations that she step into this life that felt all too foreign.

She turned her head, taking in the round clock on her side table. 11:14. The sun was streaming fiercely through the curtains, blazing a path across her bed and into her eyes. She could roll over and escape it. Maybe hide her head under the pillow. 11:16. She had to find some sort of bearing in this new world.

A loud yelp echoed from the other room, followed by a string of muffled curse words.

Hermione pushed her feet from the mattress and padded over to the bedroom door. If she opened it, she may be required to interact, but it really did sound like something bad had happened. She cracked it open and peered out from around the wood surface.

George crouched over the coffee table in the living room, sucking on his finger and frowning down at a smoldering heap of fuchsia packaging. He wore a headband laden with glasses that carried multiple, extra magnification lenses, but it was pushed out of its proper place and was resting on his forehead. A clear case with small, metallic parts was open on the floor beside him. He scrubbed his forearm across his brow. Then, he happened to look up and spot her. His brown eyes lit up.

Something unnervingly warm spread through her chest. It was involuntary, as though her body knew how it felt, but her mind had yet to catch up. She wrapped her dressing gown more tightly around her form and eased through the crack in the door.

"Are you alright?" she asked, craning her neck to see the scorch marks on the table's surface. Oh dear.

George pulled the knuckle from his lips and gave an eager nod. "Food's on the counter," he said, gesturing. A carton of orange juice, some eggs, and a peeled orange were waiting on a tray, under a stasis charm. When Hermione's hands passed through the glimmering barrier, the charm shimmered and vanished.

"Iced coffee's in the fridge," George added. "But you usually like to eat some before having caffeine, or—"

"My stomach gets upset, yes." Hermione finished for him. George's face turned pink and he busied himself with the gadget on the tabletop. An uncomfortable bolt of guilt shot through her.

She took the plate and crossed to the living room, settling across the space in an armchair. George did a double take, his eyes widening the smallest bit. Then, he rolled his shoulders back and lifted his tinker's tools once more. She needed to say something—anything, but the words kept sticking in her throat. George was steadfast in his focus on the mechanism, and she took the opportunity to study him. The dark circles had lightened, but just a bit. He was clean shaven. His freckles were still visible, albeit a bit more faded than they were in her memories. The scar on his ear was no longer angry and red. Instead, it was a raised, white, jagged line that crept from under his hairline and faded just before brushing his jaw. His shoulders were broad, but they were stooped as he leaned over his project. He wore a plain, light purple Henley with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a grease stain near the hem, as though he'd wiped his hands there instead of a towel. He seemed to have paused over the project. His hands hadn't done anything in a minute or two, but his gaze was still fixed to it with razor precision. His neck and the back of his ear were flushing a deeper red.

He knew she was looking.

Hermione almost jumped back at the shock from the realization. She wanted nothing more than to run back to her bedroom and burrow under the covers. But that would surely make the situation worse, not better. Instead, she took an overly large gulp of orange juice and braced herself.