Elinor was left with nothing after the Second Wizarding War.
She was just another fighter, another witch, some alumni who battled darkness and won but lost to the glorious shadow of Harry Potter. Not a worthy acknowledgement was left to paint her du...
George shrugged, "Just wondering what's your 'usual' order is. I prefer butterbeer, or pumpkin fizz— Er... What about the other daughter? The pretty blonde."
"Well, Ezme is a design graduate. She gets drawing gigs every once in a while, all over the world. She's brilliant."
"Drawing gig?"
"Yeah. For example, the last invitation she got was to a branch opening of this Muggle brand, Bottega Veneta, in Macau. She was paid to draw its invited customers, as souvenirs, and she got... around £2500."
"...Sounds big."
"Right, I... forgot that you have different... currency."
"And how does Cameron Marco fit into the picture? Your so called older brother."
"He's Ezme's boyfriend. He was an intern at the Deli and, after he got his pâtisserie certification, he decided to stay here."
"For her?"
"Maybe? Maybe not. Living here is nice."
"What?! Permission to object —Devon is boring. Aren't big cities like London have better prospects and much more entertainment?"
"Uhm, I beg to differ."
☆★☆
22/02/2001 Outside the Rousseau's Residence, Kingswear, Devon ¬
"IT'S OKAY, IT'S JUST A FEW POUNDS."
Elinor would never admit it out loud, but when he wasn't yelling or acting like a girl on her period, George was actually a pretty nice companion.
He knew the right things to say and the right questions to ask that ten o'clock came quicker than she thought it would be. All the anxiety and tension she felt when she left the house had melted away into lighthearted talks.
He was a little bit boastful, but it was covered by his good sense of humour.
She could only hope that George was as content of this afternoon as she was.
"I still feel bad," George said, "I totally forgot to bring money."
"It's nothing."
"It's not nothing. I'll pay you back."
"You don't have to."
"Then what about another date?" George asked casually, "Saturday? I'll pick you up in the morning."
"In the morning?" Elinor asked, "Are we going for the whole day?"
"Maybe."
"That's a very unconvincing answer."
George shrugged.
"You could be an axe murderer."
He snorted, "Oh, come on! You know who I am! On the other hand, who knows? You could be an axe murderer."
Then they were engulfed in big, fat silence. Right, Elinor thought, right.
"That came out wrong."
"No, it's true," Elinor shook her head and forced herself to form a smile, "Do I even worth George Weasley's one whole Saturday?"
George sighed, "What are you talking about?"
"I mean, you're a celebrity. I'm sure you have better things to do than spending some time with a dying ex-witch, right?"
"Ellie..."
"I work on Saturdays. Good night, Weasley."
Elinor turned around and walked towards the Rousseaus' garage door. Over her shoulder, she could hear George cussing a low 'Merlin's beard' before hollering, "I had fun tonight! I'll pick you up on Sunday morning!"
She should be aghast by the possibility of spending another day with George Weasley, a member of the most contributive wizarding family (title by Rita Skeeter).
But there was also excitement, and she felt terrible about it.
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☆★☆
22/02/2001 Outside the Rousseau's Residence, Kingswear, Devon ¬
"YOU COULD BE AN AXE MURDERER? WHAT IN GODRIC'S NAME WERE YOU THINKING ABOUT, GEORGE?"
George kicked a rogue pebble on the curb and ran his hand through his hair.
Everything was going so, so well.
He was taking it slow, approaching her cautiously by asking about her interests and her Muggle family. He steered any conversation clear of magic, magical beings, and anything related to it (though he slipped and said 'butterbeer or pumpkin fizz' earlier, but she didn't seem to mind).
He couldn't believe it either, but she was actually a nice talking companion. It was weird how he could overlook someone like her in their past.
He liked how she rambled on about the upside of living in a provincial town and how she stood firm with her opinion during their friendly debate. George was especially amused by how expressive she was. How her eyebrows and facial features constantly moved in accordance to her opinion.
And then axe murderer.
No, the axe murderer part wasn't the problem. The you know me... On the other hand, what about you? was the problem.
"You, and your stupid mouth."
George walked to a dark spot where the streetlight's beam couldn't reach and Apparated back to his home.
