Lost

Chapter Three

It had been two weeks since Neville had ended his own life, two weeks since she had broken down. Two longs weeks since he had begun entering her dreams at night trying to explain how sorry he was for doing it, and trying to assure her that she wasn't at fault.

It was about eight in the common room and Hermione was straining her eyes over her History of Magic paper. As she wrote notes to herself in the margins she thought about how boring the classes had been that day, something she had never thought before she had started hanging out with George.

"Troll Wars," she thought aloud, "such an interesting topic, how does Binns manage to make it seem so damn boring?"

Her eyes began to burn as she began to read the paper over again for the fourth time, this was the feeling of sleep taking over her body. The feeling wasn't unusual, many times had she fallen asleep studying, back when schoolwork had overpowered the need to spend time with her friends. But the night with Neville had changed everything. She lay her head down on her books, not willing to fight the fatigue that would inevitably overpower her.

The dreams were always the same, and this one proved that, Neville sat in the dim candlelight, writing in a red dragon-hide book, which she had mentally decided was a journal. He smiled and beckoned her over to a plush red chair.

"Hello Hermione," Neville looked up and smiled at her, then he dipped his quill in ink and began writing once again. For the next few minutes the only sound that she could hear was the sound of the quill scratching against the paper of the journal.

"Neville," she whispered, "can you tell me why?"

"Why what," he asked, looking up at her.

"Why you killed yourself," she tried again.

"You ask me the same thing every night, and each time you ask I tell you the same thing, you aren't ready to know," he said the smile draining away from his face.

"I am ready," she whined, "I am."

"Trust me, you aren't ready, soon you'll know, and you'll understand."

She sighed and Neville began to fade into the darkness of the room, his journal going with him. Sometimes she wished that she could read what he wrote, thinking that it might explain why he had rid the world of himself, but the journal always disappeared with him.

"Hermione," George gently shook her shoulders, "Hermione, wake up."

She opened her eyes and tried to sit up, "ow," she said flinching and rubbing her neck, "damn books, remind me never to use those as a pillow again."

He chuckled, "Don't worry, I will."

He smiled at her, trying to seem calm, but inside he was in knots. Even being this close to her was unnerving to him. Over the past weeks they had grown closer, barely confiding in other people, making Harry and Ron jealous. They had grown close under the most vile of situations, but George was glad that they at least he had her to confide in.

He leaned over and unclasped her robes, gently sliding them down her shoulders and exposing a skimpy tank top. He let his hands brush her bare skin and he felt her shiver and flinch.

"W-what a-are you doing," she asked him, trying unsuccessfully to keep her voice calm.

He began carefully rubbing her shoulders, resulting in her letting out a quiet moan. As she leaned her head back against his tall form he hardened his grip. She heard him swallow hard and she realized that she was clenching and unclenching her hand. She bit the inside of her cheek trying to ignore the sharp pains that was running up and down her neck. The pain soon turned to the relaxing feel of pleasure and she sighed loudly. He let his hands gently slip down her arms, his thumbs brushing her breasts as they slid down then back up to her shoulders.

"George," she breathed his name almost inaudibly.

"Do you guys know what time it is," Fred said, a blush staining his freckled cheeks, and his blue eyes turning stormy.

"Yeah, we know it's late, but I wanted to finish my History of Magic paper," Hermione explained.

"You look like you are getting a lot of work done," Fred hissed at her.

"I fell asleep.....It's absolutely no business of yours what we are doing down here!"

Fred glared at his brother before turning on his heels and storming up to the dormitories. George gently let go of her shoulders and helped her put things into her book bag.

"It is late," she said looking up at the clock, "we should probably go before your brother comes back."

"Well, goodnight then," he said.

She smiled at him and began to walk away, before she could take two steps he had grabbed her wrist and spun her around. As he gathered her up into a giant hug she said, "Goodnight George."

She collapsed onto her bed, thinking about George. Over the past two weeks her feeling for him had been changing. No matter how hard she tried to make herself believe that she just wanted to be friends she couldn't. No longer did she think of him as an older brother, but as a close friend, and possibly more.

She didn't want to feel the way she did, he was her best friends older brother. Her best friend who had screamed at her when she had gone to a dance with someone else. She didn't even want to imagine the rage the Ron would unleash if he found out she had feelings for his brother. She shivered as she remembered the way he had touched her in the common room, the way her body had betrayed her, enjoying his touch and aching for more. She tried to fall back asleep, but found it utterly impossible.

Meanwhile, in the boys dormitories George too was thinking about what had just happened. He raised his hands to his face and traced the lines that lay embedded in his right palm with his left hand. He felt so many different emotions for her that he was going insane. He remembered the way her skin had heated under his touch and wondered how she would react if he touched her again. He imagined her lying underneath him, moaning his name as he kissed the bare skin of her stomach. He rolled over in his bed and moaned softly into his pillow, wishing that he hadn't just thought about her that way. Suddenly Fred's voice broke through his reverie.

"What the hell is wrong with you," Fred growled.

"What do you mean," George asked, confusion evident in his voice.

"You know perfectly well what I mean, what were you doing with Hermione? George, she's Ron's best friend."

"What's the matter with you Fred," George asked quietly, trying not to wake the other people in the room.

"Ron is going to kill you."

George rolled over, trying to block out his brothers menacing tone by putting a pillow over his head. "Go to sleep Fred."

"No, leave her alone," Fred hissed.

"We are friends, nothing more," George said, "I don't understand why you are so angry."

If George hadn't fallen asleep then he would have heard his brother say, "Because she's mine."