Forget Me Not || George Weasley

Chapter 26

"Really?" She cant contain her surprise, her hands leaving her drink to reach out and playfully squeeze his arm, "You said you were going to travel for at least another year last we spoke!"

He laughs, shaking his head and lifting a shoulder in a lazy shrug. Olive can't help but grin at his blue eyes and secret smile, something passing over his face before he sits up straighter and continues, "I don't know, Liv. I mean I still have some other potioneers to learn from, some training to wrap up. I just feel like..." He trails off, his throat bobs with a seemingly difficult swallow, "I feel like there are more important things. Things worth sticking around for."

"Well I think you shouldn't quit," Olive replies earnestly, leaning her elbow against the table and wresting her chin in one hand, "You said this is the only thing you've ever really wanted. You should keep going, Nigel. See what the world has to offer."

Nigel peers at her with a funny look on his face, and she finds herself holding her breath when he finally sighs and looks away from her. She inhales, finding that it lasts six beats before she exhales for five. Her stomach turns, and when his eyes meet her's again, the blue looks sad. "I miss you," He finally says, reaching across and grabbing her arm. She tries to not get all stiff and awkward, tries to not panic. She anticipated the touch, anticipated Nigel grabbing her in some way. They'd always been close at Hogwarts, always hugged and bumped into each other. Nigel didn't used to have to ask before touching her. He quickly lets go, and Olive tries not to feel guilt when she realizes that the expression on his face is one of frustration. "I worry about you," He continues, breezing by the awkward moment. 

Olive smiles slightly, "I miss you too. I miss you and Dennis all of the time, but we aren't in school anymore. I reckon we cant have breakfast together every morning anymore." That frustrated look is still there, a wrinkle appearing between his brows.

"Besides," Olive continues, smile growing, "You don't need to worry about me. I still see grandad once a week, and I have friends looking out for me now."

Nigel nods slowly, and Olive slides over her pint of mead for him. She wasn't going to finish it, not with her stomach all in knots. She tries to remember when it started, when she started feeling ill. Why she felt ill. In an attempt to ignore it, she leans back and looks at her old friend. He looks at her too, assessing her silently before saying nonchalantly, "You mean George, right?"

"Of course!" Her cheeks warm slightly, "And Lee and Jackie. They're all very nice."

He quirks a brow, and this time his laugh sounds hollow, a puff of air that makes her shift nervously in her seat. His jaw clenches again, and there once was a time where she would have reached out, taken his hand. When she was trying to love him, and he was trying to love her. When they were young and hormonal and desperate to feel something when the world was growing dark around them. She shoves her hands in her pockets. 

"He's not the same, you know that right? Fred dying changed him, Liv. I've seen it with my own eyes, I spend a lot of time with them together. And now he's different. He's--"

"He's what, Nigel?"

He seems surprised by the edge in her voice, and she's a little shocked too. But she didn't like what it was her friend was beginning to imply. George Weasley had problems, but so did she. He also danced with her, he stopped selling those sodding love potions because she asked. He touched her scar, and when he did, he wasn't looking at her like she was damaged. 

Nigel clears his throat, and she wonders what he sees in her expression. Whatever it is, he reluctantly finishes, "Just be careful. I love you, Liv. I just wan't you to be okay."

Her throat feels tight, something settling at the base that makes her heart sink and her stomach churn. And then she remembers. It feels like watching a moving portrait, the way her memory knits together and she remembers that she feels ill because George is somewhere with Angelina, and for some reason she doesn't feel good about it. Ultimately, she hopes it goes well. She hopes he breathes and that he tries. She was ready to hear how it goes, how he feels. She was ready to know him more. 

She just wasn't ready to let him know her more. She wasn't sure when she would be ready for that. 

Faking a yawn, she sighs and rolls her shoulders back, saying quietly, "Do you mind if I turn in, Nigel? I'm fighting a bit of a head ache."

His back stiffens, eyes flooding with concern, "Is it a bad--"

"It's fine," She smiles gently, scooting out of her chair and walking over to his side of the table. She bends at the waist, fitting her arms around him in a hug that feels less comfortable than it had when she was a fourth year crying in his arms over a failed potion exam. But maybe she just couldn't remember what that felt like. "I love you too, Nigel. Don't give up on your dream, yeah? And come by and visit soon!"

When she leans back, he's peering up at her with a small smile that eases some of the tension in her chest. She grins, pecks his cheek, and ruffles his hair before slipping through the crowd of the Leaky Cauldron and out into the chilly night air. She shoves her hands deeper into her pockets, peering up and down the street before hurrying into the darkness. She quickens her steps, jogging in an attempt to get to the security of her shop a bit faster. The alley was safer without the threat of Lord Voldemort, but that wasn't the only evil to exist in this world. 

She smiles when she sees a familiar pink door in the distance, carefully skipping over the cracked cobblestones and puling her wand from her pocket to unlock Florean's. The wards aren't particularly strong, but they would warn her if there were danger. When she slips inside, she doesn't bother turning on the lights in the shop, instead heading straight back to the kitchen to get to work. She had an ice cream flavor that had been in the back of her mind all throughout dinner with Nigel, and while she hadn't had an appetite for the food or drinks, she could never turn down sweets. 

Olive washes her hands in the sink, humming the tune to a song she can't quite remember as she gets to work grabbing ingredients and bowls and her favorite yellow whisk. She keeps her planner close by, scrawling down notes as she adds certain things and what she thought she may need to really make something delicious. She's just leaning forward to write the most important ingredient, when a loud noise causes her to nearly fall off the step stool she stood on to work. 

Her brows furrow in confusion, and a feeling close to fear curls in her chest. The alley was safe. She was safe. But the memory of danger and hurt and terror sits permanently in her mind, guiding her to grab her wand as she pokes her head out of the kitchen. The shop is dark, so she can't catch a glimpse of who may be outside of the windows. Glancing back at her creation, knowing that she was at risk of losing the memory of the product she hoped to make, she swallows down more fear and makes her way to the door. Wand extended, heart pounding, Olive throws it open with her mouth poised to yell a curse. 

Her wand nearly slips from her hands. 

"He told me to stop,"

Angelina Johnson is standing before her, half dressed in a chaotically buttoned white shirt, and sobbing. Sobbing. Her chest heaves with broken breaths, tears stream down her face. Olive reaches out and gently grabs her arm, confusion giving her pause. Angelina weeps, voice wobbling, "I'm so sorry h-he told me to stop, and I just thought--"

Olive doesn't turn to write down that ingredient that is now gone from her mind. She doesn't turn to lock her door and put the wards back up. She doesn't wait for Angelina Johnson to explain what is going on. 

She simply pushes past her and starts running.