Forget Me Not || George Weasley

Chapter 31

She blinks up at him, and George feels his own cheeks warm. It was supposed to be a way he marked time, a way that he marked when he had become a different person and when the world had started to look grey. And here he was, giving her the same timeline as if he'd known her before and after. He knows her now. It feels like he's been waiting to know her for a while.

"A.F.D," Olive repeats softly. "I see kids in the shop, but this is different. I want to remember what she's like now. What she's like in three months, on her birthday. It's a gift to be able to hold onto those images so that someday when she's running around and throwing tantrums," Olive pauses, her smile gentle and warm as she runs her finger over the brow of his niece, "I'll be able to remember this moment where she's sweet and soft and doesn't hate her parents."

George stares at her silently, stares at Ollie and feels that weird feeling in his heart grow and spread down to his stomach and his limbs until it feels like he's just woken up refreshed from a much needed nap.

She glances up and turns a deeper shade of pink, mumbling awkwardly, "Not that I'm saying I'll be around to see all of that. I just like to try my hardest to remember these things. Merlin, that sounds so—"

"Teach me."

She falters, lifting her head to peer at him with confused eyes and a nervous smile. She needn't be embarrassed. Not with him.

"Teach me how you try to remember important things."

It feels like a petulant demand, but the wistful expression she wears when she looks around at the burrow, when she moves her eyes around his brother's face's and stands still when everyone is talking and laughing makes George realize just how important it is. He doesn't want to forget either.

"It doesn't usually work," Olive laughs quietly, "But I usually think about it like taking a picture."

George nods slowly, waiting eagerly for her to continue. He soaks her in, eyes the half tilt of her wry smile and the glint of humor in her gaze as she continues, "I try to keep my head very still, and I have to focus. I struggle with that part, so I count the people or the things I can see in front of me. I look at each color, look at the way something is facing me. It is harder if someone isn't looking at me because then I can't remember their eyes."

Her smile grows, chin lowering so she can look at the child resting peacefully in her arms, "I try to remember if something smells a certain way, if it's hot or cold where I'm standing. If the sun or moon is out or if a single lamp is making the room glow."

George feels himself drawing closer to her, feels his body still as his eyes soak in the way the setting sun turns her hair to gold, the way the pink color of her shirt matches her rosy cheeks. The way she smells like raspberries and that her scar stretches thin when she smiles down at his niece like holding her is the most amazing thing in the entire world.

"Then I blink. Once, just closing my eyes and squeezing like I'm taking a photograph. And when I open my eyes, I tell myself that when I get home or when I'm going to sleep at night, I'll be able to look at all of the photographs I've taken that day."

George blinks, slow and purposeful so that when he opens his eyes he knows that he will forever have a picture of Olive standing on the lawn of his childhood home, holding baby Victoire, and standing below the sleepy sun.

He opens his eyes just as she lifts her head, and he's tempted to take another photograph with his mind. One that focuses just on her eyes that don't remind him of pain and misery. She just smiles, and George lifts his fingers away from Victoire to lightly trace the path of slightly raised skin that stretches across her mouth, curving down her chin.