Lumos

Chapter Eleven: "Thestral"

Hermione

January 18, 2003

The sun rose slowly, turning the sky from black to grey to a kaleidoscope. Sometime before the purple shifted to orange, Hermione fell asleep.

A clatter startled her, and she raised her head, eyes bleary.

George, hair rumpled and the weave of a jumper embedded on his cheek, was staring at her, eyes wide with what seemed like confusion.

The moment stretched between the two of them for a small infinity, eyes locked. George's mouth opened, and his brows knit together, but he didn't say anything. She should say something. Anything.

"I didn't want you to be alone," Hermione said. George took in a shaky breath.

Then: "Pardon?" His voice was ragged in the morning, rough with disuse.

"I was grabbing a drink, and I saw you here, and it didn't seem right to leave you," she said. Perhaps stating it simply was best.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, and a mark on his arm caught her attention. She could only see the edge of it, white, jagged lines that reminded her of the marks on her own forearm.

"What's that?" she pointed. George's eyes followed her gaze, and then he flinched, ducking his arm back at his side.

"War scar," he said, grimacing. "I usually cover it in the morning, but I missed my alarm today, and I guess yesterday's charm wore off."

"From the Battle at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked. Had she been there when it'd happened, like his other scar?

George was busy, rolling his oxford sleeve down in haste. "No, it was before then," he said, a pained expression coming over his face.

"Oh, sorry," Hermione said, her ears warming. George paused.

"It's alright. I just...don't think this is the right time to talk about it," he said.

"That's fair," she whispered, feeling as though she'd overstepped her bounds tremendously. Did the other Hermione know what the scar was from?

"Hold up, now," George spoke softly and earnestly, leaning forward. "I want to tell you about it. I-I will tell you about it, eventually. But I don't want it hanging over your head at this moment, with everything else going on. It's a bit of a scary story. We will talk about it, eventually. Alright?"

Hermione propped her chin on the tabletop. It was too early in the morning to be interrogating anyone, and besides. It was his scar. He had the right to bring it up when he felt like it. "I trust you," she said. "You'll tell me when the time's right."

George swallowed, looking at her with that same, confused expression from earlier. "Right," he said faintly. "Right, that's good."

"What's something you can tell me, then?" Hermione tilted her head, taking him in. Her heart stuttered at her boldness, but something about the early morning light and having slept at a table beside him made her feel more entitled to asking him questions. George went very still. Several moments went by, and he sputtered.

"Merlin, that's a thousand galleon question, Granger," he said, shaking his head. "Narrow it down a bit."

Hermione drummed the tabletop, letting her mind work over the possibilities. "Why were you working late at night?"

George sighed. "Got me there. I had some things to finish."

"Things that couldn't be finished during the day?" she asked, prodding at the table's edge with her thumb. George shifted back from the table and gave her an appraising look.