Lumos

Chapter Fifteen: "Eggshell"

Hermione

February 10, 2003

When she awoke, George's head was resting on the edge of the bed. He'd fallen asleep in his chair, slumped over the mattress. Warmth flowed through her fingers, and she looked down. Their hands were pressed together, back to back. Hers on the top, as though it had drifted there in the middle of the night.

Her ears heated. She really ought to back away, before he came to.

But this felt different from the sparks she'd come to associate with his touch. This was a steady, comforting pulse, singing to her a soft, grounding melody.

She bit her lip and shifted, slipping from his touch. When their hands parted, the pulse stuttered and faded.

In its absence, her collar bone began to ache, and she winced. Where was her wand? She craned her head, attempting to sit up.

The movement woke George. He groaned into the mattress. "Bugger," he said, voice muffled in the blankets. There was a sudden intake of breath, and his head shot up. "Hermione," he said, eyes wide and urgent. The intensity there made her pause, forgetting about the pain creeping up her neck and jaw.

"Last night, did—did you remember something?" he asked.

What? Hermione blinked, shaking her head. The motion caused a twinge to run through the side of her face, centering in the spot where the pain was worst—her collarbone.

"No—" Hermione said without thinking, because it was the truth.

"Oh," George said, features dropping. He tried, but he couldn't quite conceal his disappointment. She could hear it under the cadence of his voice, the way that his sound cut out just a moment too soon. She could see it in the way his eyes darkened, darting to the side for a fraction of a second. He took a rattled, uncertain breath. Just long enough to tell her that he was unfooted by her answer. Whatever happened last night must have given him hope. And she'd just crushed it. "I shouldn't have—I don't mean to pressure—I just thought—never mind." He rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Why do you ask?" Hermione couldn't help but dig deeper, not with the way he had looked at her in those first moments after he woke.

"Something you said," he murmured. "Reminded me of when we first—" he paused, swallowing back the thought. He ground his palms into his eyes. "Forget about it. I must've been tired," he finished.

The morning light poured over his red hair and illuminated the freckles on his hands. George's arms dropped to his sides, and the traces of disappointment were gone. What remained wasn't far better. Scruff peppered his jaw, and his brown eyes were swamped by the dark circles beneath them.

"You look terrible," she said, trying to smile.

"You're a sight yourself," George said, giving her one of his lopsided smiles. She shifted, bracing herself against the pillows, but the movement intensified the sharp cord of electricity coursing through her shoulder. She sucked in a breath.

At the sound, George was already rising, summoning his coat and keys. "C'mon. We're going to Mungo's." His tone was firm.

"But—" she balked at his sudden announcement. The ache wasn't so bad. She could still think. It was rather bothersome, but nothing to worry the healer team about. "I already fixed it, in the caverns," she said defensively. "They'll probably take one look and send me home."

"Then we'll stop for some tea on the way back, and it'll be grand," George said the barest hint of sarcasm nibbling through his tone. He jerked his head towards the bedroom door. "Let's go."