Bloom | George Weasley

19. To Capture the World

"Stay still." I reprimand with a laugh.

"I'm just doing what professional models do, Madhvi, it's not my fault you can't capture my beauty!"

"George!" I throw my eraser at him, to which it bounces off his forehead with a gasp from the ginger. His jaw drops, eye wide with mock offence as I try to contain the giggle threatening to bubble out of me.

I'm met with a dramatic pout. The whole bottom lip jutting, hurt doe eyes—and I wish I had another eraser to throw at him.

"You know what?" I say. "Just talk to me."

"About what?" George replies, tossing the eraser back to me.

"Anything. Everything. Whatever's on your mind." My head tilts a bit as I look at him, and I blurt out without thinking, "I just want to listen to you."

His eyebrows raise only a fraction, something I would not have noticed had I not been staring at him.

"Well, Fred's gone and shown me the drawings you've come up with." He begins. "Starting to think he musta threatened you in order to get a logo that good."

"Very funny. I just had fun with it."

"The most fun I've seen you have all year." He says. "And we met a bloody dragon!"

A giggle escapes me involuntarily, but only for a moment. "School can't just be all fun and games."

My fingers start picking at the ground, short, stubby fingernails from stress biting picking up dirt and everything else.

"No, but it shouldn't be making you cry from stress either." I turn to look at him. "And yes, Madhvi, I saw you in the library last week studying for your muggle thing."

"What was George Weasley doing in the library?"

"Looking for Madhvi Joshi, who wasn't at her dorm." He says easily and I smile a bit, "don't you think you'd be happier doing something else sometimes?"

My gaze catches the reflection of the sky on the Black Lake. Oh, to paint that moment, and capture the light on a translucent surface—a near impossible task logically, but always achievable for an artist. Maybe I would be happier doing something else. No. Not maybe. I would be happier doing something else. Anything else at this point.

My mind travels back nearly a decade. An elder gentleman, crispy suit and white beard with a an almost magical look in his eyes. I only catch him briefly talking to my parents, but he has a funny accent, like those across the water. He's telling my parents about witches and wizards and I can hear my mother muttering about 'the damn mantriks'. I don't know how, because Ajay pulls my hair and I try to stuff him in the dirty laundry, but my parents are calling me to speak to this man. He doesn't scare me, but he looks like he knows I tried to shove a sock up my brother's nose so I'm weary. But then, he bends down to my eye level and holds out his hand. There, in the middle of the hot, rainy season of Ireland, a single snowflake forms above his palm in my living room.

The rest is history.

The first train ride to Hogwarts and I fell in love. The castle, the roof, towers, windows, I wanted to capture it all. And then the whomping willow. And Hogsmeade. And the Lake. I wanted to draw it all, and I wanted to draw my own versions. All I wanted was to draw this new world for everyone to see.

"I want to draw." I say. And before George can add anything, I go, "I want to stay in the magical world."

"So why are you working so hard to leave it?"

I swallow hard.

"I don't know." Is my honest answer. "I wanted to be something when I was little and just never thought about it again."

"Madhvi," George says, but my eyes are still trained on the lake. "You can do whatever you want."

"Maybe I can, maybe I can't."

"What can't you do?"

I look over at him. A constellation of freckles scattered across his face like a nighttime sky. I almost snort at how repetitive and cringy I sound.

"Muggle math. Apparently."

"You know," he shifts closer, leaning his head on my shoulder (and I know he's going to say something stupid). "You can be my wife."

This time a snort does come out.

"Yea, yea." I push his head away and feel butterflies. "Ask again in a few years."

"So you will be my wife?" He teases.

I grin.

"How 'bout we start with dating?"

George freezes. mouth stilled, no blinking, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't even breathe. Then, in an instant, a blanket blush falls across his face and THE George Weasley is stuttering.

"A-are you actually—I mean—what?"

"George," I say, "d'you wanna go out with me?"

"More than anything." He says, eyes wide, and it makes me laugh the hardest I have all year.

He smiles and the world is perfect for a moment.