Forget Me Not || George Weasley

Chapter 12

The healer nods, leaning back in his chair. He steeples his fingers under his chin and says evenly, "I think it's important for you to establish that, George. I'm proud of you."

It shouldn't mean anything. It does. When was the last time someone had said they were proud of him? He couldn't be certain. It isn't that he believes his family isn't. It's just that he forgets what it is like to know it for a fact. He didn't know for sure that they were proud. He didn't know if Fred was.

George swallows past the growing lump in his throat, shifting awkwardly in his spot on the sofa. He looks out the window as he asks, "How do I ask her what happened to her?"

"What do you mean by that?"

George decides to not look at the healer. It wouldn't matter if he did. He shrugs a little, brows furrowed, "She has quite a big scar. She doesn't remember first meeting me. I just wonder is all."

"George, look at me please."

He nearly tells him to fuck off, but something in Conor O'Connor's tone has his head whipping to the side and his eyes locking onto his rather quickly. The healer looks serious, his forehead wrinkled with thoughts George wishes he could hear. Again, he's tempted to reach for the healer's discarded notepad, to read what exactly he had to say about George. O'Connor holds his gaze evenly, tone firm as he says, "When she's ready, she'll tell you. How do you feel when people ask you about Fred?"

George bristles, scowling at the healer's use of his brother's name. It cuts him across the chest, leaves an invisible mark that urges him to stand and start tearing the office apart. He exhales sharply, "I don't like it."

Conor O'Connor nods, and George blinks when it hits him. Whatever it was, Olive had lost something too. There was no way to ask, not without risk. He wouldn't. And the healer nods again, as if glad George has come to the conclusion on his own, in his own head. George nods too, affirming that he's heard what his healer is saying. He would just have to wait and hope that he didn't say anything to scare off the witch before his curiosity had been satisfied.

"So your family likes her? At least the people that she's met?"

George shrugs slightly, muttering dejectedly, "Ginny does. Ron...I think he likes her. He just doesn't like me."

O'Connor's brows furrow and George scoffs when he begins to speak, "Your siblings love--"

"My siblings love me," He interrupts him before he can finish, reaching for a pillow and pulling it into his chest. "They don't always like me."

The healer crosses his arms over his chest, and George is grateful he isn't reaching for the sodding notepad, "What makes you say that?" A lot. A lot of things make him say it. The way Ginny acts like she has to take care of him, the way Charlie and Bill have had to drag him shouting obscenities through the halls of St. Mungos. The way Percy won't even look at him.

"Ron..." George feels his cheeks heating up. He clears his throat and twists the corner of the pillow resting against his front, "I'm not sure how to say it."

O'Connor quirks a brow, tilting his head to the side. He sounds sincere when he asks, "Is there a way I can help you say it?"

George shakes his head and blows out a long puff of air. It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't even relevant. But George felt like he had to say something, acknowledge something that he only let surface every couple of months.

"Ron told me how she's young. Which I already bloody know, mind you," It comes out rushed, uncomfortable on his tongue. Merlin, he fucking hated talking about this stuff. They didn't talk about this stuff. "He asked me if I'd told Olive about Angelina."