Princess; George Weasley

fifteen

A/N: I promise that after next chapter you'll get a break from this.

TW: mentions of party

I roll over in bed, trying to slowly open my eyes. I crawl out of bed, and the cold, chill air hits me, making the hair on my arms stand up. Everyone seems to be asleep. I look at the clock and I realize it's only five thirty. I want to sneak back into bed but I know I'm going to be hit with another hour of restless sleep. The back of my head is ponding, and I'm reminded of yesterday. Even though my white dress isn't in the room, I feel like the alcohol on me is the first thing I smell. I slip into the shower, and let the hot water pour down my face. I notice yellow and purple bruises on either side of my hips. I groan.

Adrian.

We have transfiguration, charms, and muggle studies with the Slytherins. Not that he's in muggle studies, but I still have to deal with him during two different classes. His scowl from when I dodged his kiss seems to be engraved into my head. I feel uneasy with my body. Especially the places where he touched me. I just want to scrub away any trace of him on me. I sigh, knowing the bruises on my hips will last around a week.

I'm in the middle of getting dressed when I hear a faint knock at the door. I quickly throw on my shirt and tie my hair in a messy bun, not wanting my damp hair to soak through the t-shirt. Who would want to see us this early in the morning? I know it can't be my father, he told me to meet him after breakfast. I step out of the bathroom, and see Evangeline and George whispering at the door.

Evangeline looks at me and shrugs. She crawls back into bed before burying herself in her duvet. George greets me with a cheerful smile. What does he want this early?

I scurry out of the dorm, quietly closing the door behind me. I frown at George's energetic, animated face. "What the hell do you want?" I ask, "It's six in the morning."

He scoffs, "well good morning to you too, sunshine." A smile is toying on his soft, pink lips as he crosses his arms in front of his chest.

I roll my eyes, still confused by the fact that he can keep his eyes open. If I don't have to wake up early, I can easily sleep till eleven. "Seriously," I say, "What do you want?"

"I forgot to ask you last night if you wanted to tag along to the hospital wing before breakfast," he states, lifting up his bandaged arm.

"Breakfast is in two and a half hours!"

"You were clearly up anyways," he says, motioning to my wet, stringy hair.

"Fine," I scowl, "Only because you clearly need me to hold your hand like a toddler."

He runs a hand through his hair, and lets out a nervous chuckle. "I may or may not be deathly afraid of needles."

We start walking, and I give him a surprised look. It makes sense, being afraid of needles is rational. I'm just surprised George, the boy that doesn't let anything faze him is afraid of a little metal toothpick. As we make it to the hospital wing, I can't help but notice his nerves grow. He isn't making as many jokes, and his lips have begun to press into a small, thin line.

We turn into the bright, sun filled room and see Madam Pomfrey's silhouette bent over a bed. She pokes her head around the curtain, and I'm met with a tight smile, perfect gray hair, a slender nose, and dark blue eyes.

"Give me a moment, dears!" She shouts.

Once she's done tending to the students that were already there, she walks over to George and I. She walks with a quick, determined stride. She looks between the two of us, and her eyes wander to George's bandaged wrist. She motions for it, and George hesitantly lifts it. She slowly unwraps the bandage, and feels around. George winces lightly as she grazes a deep cut that just began to bleed.