When Olive was sorted, she knew without a doubt that the hat was correct.
Not because she found herself to be particularly brave or courageous. Nerve. It was the word that stuck out to her the most. Nerve. Having nerve didn't necessarily mean doing the right thing or the chivalrous thing. It meant doing something, anything, and sticking by it.
When she first stood in the rubble of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, she felt it again. Nerve. It had taken nerve to accept the money she'd been offered to do it. Nerve. But it had also taken a bit of Slytherin ambition. In more ways than one. The Gryffindor nerve only appeared again when people began asking how she had done it. She wouldn't say. Not in this life time.
"You're awfully quiet over there."
Olive doesn't bother smiling. Her grandfather wouldn't know the difference.
"Just thinking. It's been a busy few days." That wasn't a lie. The last few day's before the start of Hogwart's term had eaten away at her energy. She knew Jackie was feeling it too. She'd insisted her only employee take the weekend off, and in turn Olive had decided to close Florean's for the afternoon so that she could spend one of the last days of summer sitting on her Grandfather's green lawn. She'd never closed the shop again. It took nerve, maybe a little more than she'd thought she was capable of.
Franklin lets out a loud snort, and Olive cant fight the small grin that tilts her lips when she stretches out in the grass next to the lazy blood hound. She tucks her face in the crook of his neck, closing her eyes at the feel of his soft fur on his cheek.
"Thinking. Don't you have a spell to make it more quiet when you do that?"
Olive laughs, rolling onto her back and patting Franklin's stomach. She looks over at where her grandfather is rocking in his favorite chair, his sunglasses protecting the very little sight he has left from the sun. He's smiling, and his head is tilted her way when she asks, "You mean to tell me that my thinking is too loud?"
The laugh that sounds from his chest makes her smile wobble slightly. Her grandfather's laugh took up his whole body, loud and clear and deep in a way that made her eyes sting with joy. She wanted to hear him laugh like that for a long time.
"Yes, that is exactly what I mean," He muses playfully, and Olive stretches to nudge his rocking chair with her toe, grinning when he points in her direction exactly and warns, "Don't you even dare."
Olive rolls onto her stomach, folding her arms and leaning her chin on them so she can listen to her grandfather loud and clear. She quirks a brow when he continues, "It sounds like a tree falling in the middle of an empty forest."
His smile looks like he can see the gears turning in her head, and when Olive stays silent, he teases, "It's only a sound if there is someone around to listen. Out with it, Olive. What's bothering you?"
Olive bites down hard on her lower lip, ignoring the burn of her scar. Her chest aches with the urge to say what she feels, to say that she remembers so much and not enough, and that her head has been aching since she threw away the entire batch of pumpkin pasty ice cream and had failed in her attempts to make it better. Instead, she keeps her voice light as she replies, "It's nothing. My head has just been bothering me."
His brows knit together behind his dark glasses, "Are you sure those healers are doing their jobs? Your Grandmother always said they were the best, but Ms. Johnson lives just up the road--"
"Oh," Olive interrupts, her smile slowly returning, "Been talking with Ms. Johnson again have we?"
Her grandfather's cheeks turn pink, and the reason she doesn't curse her ability to flush so easily is because she gets it from him. He waves of her question, insisting, "She's been a nurse at the hospital for years--"
"I'm fine!" Olive laughs, hoping desperately that he can't hear the heaviness to it. "I swear it."
Silence falls between them, and Olive lowers her eyes to the blades of grass tickling her arms. She smiles slightly, studying a drifting butterfly in the distance. It reminds her of the flutterby bushes at the Burrow. She remembered them. She'd seen them right before she'd met George's mum for the first time. She wrote that in her planner next to Ginny's birthday, and the day she and George became real friends. She wasn't so sure about that now. The feeling of tension in her chest hadn't really gone away since she saw George and Angelina leaving her shop.
"I should've pulled you from that school the minute that murderer came back."
Olive's blood cools despite the warm sun, and her eyes clench shut instantly. Her Grandfather had known about Voldemort. Her grandmother had been alive during the first Wizarding War. It had taken time for him to understand the power that such a wizard could have, he'd seen evil up close in the shape of regular men in uniforms stained with blood and torn with bullet holes. Magic, and the evil that can come from it, is sometimes far more difficult to explain. And when he had tried to help her, when parents and grandparent's tried to save their children, they had been hunted down too. It was the only thing that had scared Olive more than her own death, that if she someday escaped Hogwarts, there would be no one at home waiting for her.
"I wish you would tell me what happened."
Olive's stomach churns, and she quickly sits up and brushes the imaginary creepy crawlies from her arms. The sun feels hot against her skin now, blistering and severe. She shakes her head, looking up at the cloudless sky as she says lightly, "There's nothing to tell. It's in the past, grandad. Let's leave it there."
He lets out a long sigh as she climbs to her feet. Her smile feels weird on her face when she looks down and sees Franklin staring at her with raised brows and clear eyes, like he sees what her grandfather can't. Olive brushes off the grass clinging to her legs and pats the bloodhound on the head before taking the few steps to her grandfather's chair.
His arms are already spread wide, waiting, and when she bends and lets his arms wrap around her, she doesn't feel so small. She hugs him back tight, mumbling into his shoulder, "Sorry I can't stay for supper. I'll send an owl about next week."
"Can't you just get a damned phone already?" His voice sounds gruff, but she knows he's teasing. She grins, replying cheekily, "What would you have to lecture me about then?"
He pinches her arm and she laughs, pecking his cheek before taking a few steps back into the grass. She was grateful the hedges around the yard blocked out and potentially nosy neighbors. Blowing Franklin one last kiss, she grabs her wand and holds onto it tight before apparating from her spot in the sun.
She freezes when hands cover her wrists and steady her, her heart pounding and mouth opening in silent shock. Her arms start shaking before she can stop it. Frozen. Petrified. She remembers that feeling too. But when brown eyes swarm her vision she relaxes, breathing out nervously, "Lee."
He lets go of her quickly, apologizing just as fast, "Blimey, Liv! Sorry--George told me not to--"
"It's fine," She interrupts, forcing a smile and looking up at him. He grins sheepishly, looking far more ashamed than he should. If anyone was to be embarrassed, it was her. She should be over it by now. She just can't remember if she ever has gotten close to not being scared of people touching her. "What's up?"
Lee rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, glancing up and down the streets of Diagon Alley before saying uncomfortably, "I just...Well George came by to see you earlier and was all worked up over the shop being closed. He said you're always open in the afternoons."
Olive blinks, surprised by the admission. Her brows raise slightly, "I usually am. I closed for today since it's the start of the term. All of the kids are off to school now so I figured it was as good a day as any to close."
He laughs a little, "I figured. That's what I told him anyway." Lee hesitates for a moment before saying, "He doesn't really like change. In routine I guess."
Her heart does an odd flip in her chest and she shrugs one shoulder, offering, "I didn't think it would matter that much."
Something in Lee's eyes softens, and Olive decides against fighting her intrusive thoughts. She reaches up and pinches his cheeks with both hands, sighing, "You're just adorable, Lee. What is it that you're dying to say?"
He grins slightly, and Olive drops her hands when he says quietly, "I just wanted to see if you were busy. The shop is a little tense right now, and since you're playing hooky I figure I might join you."
Her chest feels warm, and the fuzzy sadness that had been lingering in her mind over her grandfather's words and her friendship with George dissipates almost instantly. She smiles up at her friend, one she knows is real, and laughs, "I guess if you really want to. I was just going to prep for tomorrow. Is that too boring?"
"Boring," Lee scoffs, tossing his hands into the air like he can't believe it. "Like the word boring is in my list of words to describe you, Murphy. Besides, you can listen while I talk about my progress with Charlie."
Olive gasps in delight, hurriedly turning to unlock the front of the shop and remove the wards. She hurriedly ushers Lee in, exclaiming, "Now remind me which one Charlie is?"
As time had drawn on, her memories of George's family had become washed out and blurry, like looking at them through smoke stained glass. But Lee seemingly takes it in stride, saying cheekily, "The sexiest one, Olive. Muscles, long hair, and a sexy sense of danger that I dream about."
Her stomach aches from the force of her laugh, her head shaking back and forth. She locks the door behind Lee, switching on the lights and walking over to the counter. She slips behind it while Lee pulls up a chair from one of the tables, his smile growing, "Now I know I just snogged that muggle--"
"Which one?" Olive muses playfully, earning a nudge before Lee replies in stride, "You know Jamie. They were at that pub you took us to. Pink hair, sexy arse."
"Got it," Olive lies smoothly, sliding open the display case and grabbing a cone. She peers at the new flavors, deciding to stray from his usual favorite. She stacks a creamy scoop on top of a pretty latte colored one and straighten's back up, closing the case and passing the ice cream over the counter. Lee takes it excitedly while continuing, "Anyway, Charlie stopped by the shop this morning and mind you, whatever is in the water in Romania is working for the bloke. He asked about you--"
Olive raises a brow, and Lee pauses at the reaction, smirking slightly, "Rather, he asked about George's funny friend. I thought he meant me, but he was asking about you. Apparently you made quite the impression on the Weasleys, Miss. Murphy. I will fight you however for this boy's affection, and I do play dirty."
She shrugs nonchalantly, hoping her cheeks aren't as pink as she reckons they are. She might need her own ice cream to cool down. George's family liked her. Or at least, that's what it sounds like. She hadn't been sure after George's other brother had seemed to have a problem with her presence, but she suspects it's the lack of a certain presence that had upset him so much. Lee pauses his story to take a taste of his cone, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. He grins and nearly puts the whole scoop in his mouth, earning another hearty laugh from Olive, "Lee! You'll choke!"
"This is outstanding, Olive," The words are muffled around the melting ice cream, and Olive just shakes her head, saying between laughs, "It's maple and cinnamon. Jackie quite enjoys the maple."
Lee grins, waggling his brows, "Oh good to know. I'll win her over if it is the very last thing I do. "
She leans forward on her elbows, shaking her head at him and insisting, "Keep telling me about Charlie before I forget." She feels better, standing here and listening to Lee. She's tempted to ask him how he does it, gives so much of himself to other people and still has enough to stay upright. But maybe that was just Lee. He flicks her nose, opening his mouth to go on about his crush on Charlie Weasley.
Instead of salacious words, Lee and Olive both freeze at the sound of loud banging against the front door.