Blue moon ; George Weasley

Thirty

Hi.

You know the girl I talked about in the last chapter?

Yeah... I just got dumped. She says she doesn't want our friendship to get ruined, so she can't continue dating me.

Though I'm really fucking madly in love with her so I'm not okay.

-

Esme found herself sitting in the library at Grimmauld place, looking for the yearbook of the year Bill left school.

For some reason, Esme was really fixated on the relationship he once had with that girl he mentioned.

Maybe she just wanted a distraction from George, but she had gotten very obsessed with finding out more about this mysterious Ianthe person.

Milo, who was a part of the order, was the father of Ianthe, and when he walked into the library to look for some reading material, Esme looked up and she just decided to ask him about her.

"You have a daughter, right?" She asked, and Milo paused by the shelves, turning his head slightly to see the sixteen-year-old girl on the sofa.

"I do. I've got four." Milo answered. "Why are you asking, Esme?"

Esme moved closer to the edge of the sofa, excitement flooding through her. If Milo had admitted to having kids, maybe he'd want to answer more of her questions.

"Ianthe..." Esme only had to say her name for Milo to freeze up. "...she used to date Bill, didn't she?"

Milo looked towards the door for a short second, and when he looked back at Esme, he narrowed his eyes.

"She did. For a short amount of time." He said. "Why are you asking me this?"

Esme shrugged, smiling as she hugged a book to her chest.

"Is she going to join the order?" She asked.

"No." Milo answered. "Joining the order isn't in her interest. Now, if you'll have me excused."

Milo grabbed a book and left the library, leaving Esme to wonder why Ianthe didn't want to join the order. Was it because of her mothers death?

Esme looked down at the book she hugged, sighing when she realised it wasn't the right one. She put it back before continuing looking but she wasn't even sure this library had the yearbook.

After a while of looking, she walked out of the library and almost stumbled into Mrs Weasley.

"Oh, Esme dear, I was just looking for you." Mrs Weasley smiled at the girl. "George needs some help with the Christmas tree and everyone else are busy. I'm on my way to St. Mungo's. Do you mind helping him out?"

Esme wanted to say no, wanted to tell Mrs Weasley that she was too busy, but truth was that she wasn't and she couldn't say no.

"Sure." Esme forced a smile.

"Thank you, dear. He's in the kitchen."

Mrs Weasley walked away and Esme sighed, making her way to the stairs. She walked downstairs and into the kitchen without glancing his way.

She stopped by the table, running her hands over the back of a chair and then she looked at George who had noticed her presence.

"Your mother sent me down here to help." Esme told him, her voice soft.

George lifted his head, their eyes meeting and then he quickly looked away again.

"You don't... I can do it on my own. You don't have to be stuck down here with me." He said and cracked a small smile but Esme could see the sadness behind it.

She cleared her throat.

"Your father is coming home from St. Mungo's tomorrow." She said. "You must be happy."

"I am."

Esme started making her way down the side of the table until she reached George who was decorating the Christmas tree like muggles would.

"Why aren't you using magic?" Esme asked quietly, reaching into the box for an ornament.

George shrugged.

"I like doing it like this. It's cosy."

Esme smiled weakly.

"Do you remember at the burrow a few years ago?" She asked. "You broke that ornament and couldn't even fix it with magic because you weren't of age."

"Es—" George sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment.

"What?" She frowned at the tone in his voice and looked over at him. She handed him the ornament, their fingers brushing against each other. "We're still friends, aren't we? So why can't—"

"We can't be friends, Esme." He said sharply, reaching up to place the ornament on a naked spot on the tree, and Esme just stared at him.

"Why not?"

"After this?" He asked. "After we kissed, admitted our feelings and I screwed it up? When you cancelled that date, did you think we'd be able to go back to being just friends?"

Esme didn't know what to say. She stared at him and felt her eyes grow glossy.

"I— we've been best friends since my first year. I didn't think—"

"I can't be your friend, Esme. Not when you constantly make me fall more and more in love with you."

She still didn't say a word. She looked down, fidgeting with her fingers. She could hear George's breathing. He was upset, breathing heavily while trying to calm himself down.

"It wouldn't have been a problem if you had known how to respect me." She said, looking up at him again. "The only reason for this, is you. Don't act like it's on me when you're the one who hurt me. Maybe we shouldn't be friends. I wouldn't want friends treating me like that anyway."

With that, Esme marched away, down to the other end of the table where she sat down.

"I promised your mum to help but I don't think I will. I'll sit right here and if she asks, I helped you."

George didn't respond. He stared at Esme for a moment before he continued decorating the tree.

He didn't know that Esme was crying. She rested her head in her chin, her eyes shut as the tears silently ran.

She was mourning her friendship. If she couldn't be friends with George, how was she possibly going to be apart of the friend group?

"What you told Fred..." George spoke after both of them had stayed quiet for a while. "It isn't true."

Esme didn't respond. She knew that if she did, she would reveal that she was crying, and she didn't want him to know that.

"I do love you." He said. "And I'm sorry that I haven't been able to show it to you properly."

When she still didn't respond, he walked down towards her and the second he put his hand on her shoulder, she hurried out of the chair, rushing out of the kitchen.

He wasn't supposed to know that she was crying over him, so she hid in her room for the rest of the day, letting people know she wasn't feeling well.

And she wasn't feeling well, but it wasn't physical.