| Inked | (George Weasley)

Chapter Seventy-One

He smiled in a way that told the girl she was right. Olive shook her head with a small smile, putting her focus back on typing out her stories for her portfolio.

"I was... testing out some potential products with Fred, for our shop. He and Lee went to grab more supplies in the dormitory." George leaned forward, resting his chin upon the table, dark eyes glancing up at Olive as she worked, "I heard the typing as I walked by and peaked in. Saw it was you."

Olive carefully removed the sheet of paper, laying face down on top of the small pile that had been created. Placing in another sheet, she turned the knob a few times to feed the paper in and began type again. She could feel George's gaze on her as she typed, making her cheeks flush red.

"So... what are you doing exactly?" George asked her, breaking the small moment of silence.

"I'm making a writing portfolio." She answered simply, "I'm meeting with Flitwick tomorrow to talk about career options and he wanted me to put one together."

The Weasley twin checked his watch, "Tomorrow? It's nearly eleven now!"

"I know..." Ollie sat back, running a hand down her face as she suppressed a yawn, "I... kind of forgot about it until last night, and I couldn't use the typewriter until Professor Burbage's last class got out at four."

George nodded, looking to the stack of paper, "So this is all yours? Typed out?"

The Ravenclaw nodded, flicking her eyes from the keys of the typewriter to the open notebook in front of her to the slowly growing paragraph on the page. She could feel George still watching her, and she was afraid if she looked her might get all tongue-tied again.

"Well, not all of it, obviously. Only four." She stopped, her eyes skimming over carefully what she had typed, "I'm supposed to be showing my best work."

She did quotations in the air when she said 'best work,' which caused George's eyes to flick to the stack of pages besides her.

Before Olive could say anything, he carefully snatched the bundle of paper off the table.

"George," She warned, "Be careful, please, I don't-"

"I'm being careful, Olls, see?"

He adjusted his grip on the pages so that his pinkies were out, his silly way of showing her that he was being gentle with her work.

Sheepishly, Olive watched George skim over her work, her cheeks growing hot as she waited for him to make a comment. Whether it was a good or bad comment, she was afraid to find out.

It was one thing for teachers to look over her work, or her family back home, but for George? Sure, he read some of her writing over her shoulder a few times... but after she had typed out her most polished pieces the pressure of wanting him to like it seemed to weigh on her more heavily.

George was silent, his face morphing from its smirk into a relaxed expression of deep thought. His eyes flicked back and forth, and as he finished a page he carefully placed it face down on the table, being sure not to crinkle any of the edges.

Olive gripped the hem of her robes, her fingers twitching with anticipation as she waited for him to finish.

Only a few minutes had passed, but it felt like forever. George carefully gathered the pages when he finished, neatly placing them back on the desk where he had found them.