Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Weasley
request the honour of your presence
at the marriage of their daughter
Ginevra Molly Weasley
to
Harry James Potter
on Friday, the twenty-fourth of December
nineteen ninety nine
at the Weasley Family Residence.
Olive lets out a mangled gasp of horror when the beautifully scrawled invitation in her hands is smudged by a rogue tear.
"Bloody hell," She whispers to herself, turning her head to quickly wipe her cheeks on the shoulder of her jumper. She should have known today would be a good day. She was wearing one of her favorite outfits, a baby blue jumper under her most outrageously colorful dungarees. Horizontal stripes of pastel purples and yellows and pinks stretched from the cuffs up to the straps, filling her with unbridled joy. She just hadn't realized today would be this good.
She had secretly hoped she would be George's plus one to Ginny's wedding. She'd grown quite fond of the girl, not to mention the entire Weasley clan. But this was better. This was an invitation specifically for her, with her name written in pretty gold letters on the envelope. This was an invitation, not just an additional seat at a table as the obligatory invited girlfriend. This meant that Ginny wanted her there, that Harry wanted her there, and it made her melt into a puddle of pathetically large tears.
She'd struggled to make friends after her incident two years prior, at least not ones willing to put up with the first few weeks where she would forget their names. She loved Nigel, even though their recent correspondence was full of not so brilliantly hidden jabs at her boyfriend. She adored Dennis especially, the boy that would tear out another piece of his shredded heart just to make someone else happy. Those were her only friends left from school. She just hadn't hoped that she would ever make any others. But she, Olive Murphy, had been extended a personal invitation to the wedding of two people she most certainly would call friends. People that were written in her planner under some of her favorite memories.
She smiles and tucks the invitation into the pocket that sits on the chest of her dungarees, wiping away a few more tears before pushing out of the kitchen and back to her spot behind the counter.
Jackie glances up from where she's fixing one of the squeaky chairs at a table, doing a double take before her eyes narrow, "What's wrong with your face?"
"My face is focused on cleaning up for the night," Olive says lightly, hoping her employee won't notice the wobble in her voice. But of course she does.
"Cleaning? That's what made you cry? Come off it." The witch pauses, eyes still narrowed, "Don't tell me it's that sodding ice cream flavor you've been obsessing over—"
"No," Olive says quickly, grinning at Jackie, "I think I've gotten it to a place where I'm okay putting it out. There's a small batch chilling in the kitchen if you want to try."
Jackie hums, crossing her arms over her chest. Olive bites down hard on the inside of her cheek, trying desperately to keep herself from losing it. But she practically busts at the seams, tears streaming down her cheeks as she chokes out, "I was invited to Ginny and Harry's wedding."
There's a long beat of silence before the prickly witch breaks into a wide grin. Jackie laughs, shaking her head, "Merlin, Olive. Never change."
Olive smiles bashfully, rubbing her eyes to clear her vision. She looks down at her invitation, feeling warmth spread through the entirety of her body.
"Your planner is under the register,"
Olive glances up, sniffling, "I love you, Jackie."
The witch rolls her eyes, and instead of torturing her further with emotional outbursts, Olive reaches under the counter and grabs ahold of her yellow book. She hurriedly flips it open to December, her pen grasped tight between her fingers as she scrawls Wedding under December 24th.
As Jackie finishes up cleaning, Olive casts a protective spell on the register and heads towards the front. Her most favorite employee joins her, a knowing smile on her face as she says, "Tell your boyfriend I'd like a chess rematch one of these days."
Olive has to take a deep breath to keep from crying, nodding quickly and pecking Jackie on the cheek. Olive heads down Diagon Alley, stepping from new cobblestone to the old ones as she goes. She whistles and hums until she gets to her destination, a grin on her face as she remembers Lee's insults towards her singing. She's tempted to start up a song when she knocks on the door, just to pester her friend. She knocks again when no one answers, confused for a moment. She looks up to check that she is indeed at the right place, nervous she'd gone to the wrong building again. That hadn't happened in sometime.
She's still looking up when she hears movement from inside the shop. Lee cracks open the door, smiling like he always does. But there's a strained sort of look to his face, one Olive could not recall seeing before.
"Hi, Lee," Olive's brows furrow when his smile grows, the tension refusing to leave the lines around his eyes. "I'm just coming to see George—"
"He's out," Lee says smoothly, wedging himself further in the small opening of the door. He winks playfully, "Just you and me, Liv. Fancy getting a drink?"
Olive's eyes narrow, glancing down at his tapping toe. Her throat suddenly feels uncomfortably tight. "You'd like that wouldn't you, you flirt. Where's George gone?"
He blinks at her, peering over her head as nonchalantly as ever as he says, "He had some errands to run. Orders to send out, deliveries to be made. You know how busy he gets."
She does know. She also knows that she checked her planner at least five times today and each time she read under todays date 'George.' She knew that meant she was meant to stay at George's, that they would either go out or she would watch George cook something from her spot on his green couch. That meant that they would inevitably get distracted during dinner and end up tangled up in each other before they'd even finished eating. She knows that George gets busy. She also knows that she's supposed to see him tonight, and she always trusted her planner. She had to.
Lee's smile wavers when she whispers nervously, "Lee. What's going on?"
He shakes his head, jerky and unsure. She admired his loyalty, thought it was incredible that George had someone that was still his confidant. It didn't dull the hurt however. Evidently, something on her face crumbles Lee Jordan's resolve. He sucks in a short breath before muttering, "Go home, Olive. I don't...he wouldn't want you to see him like this."
Her hands ball into fists, her mouth pressing together in a firm line. She was bad in a crisis, but maybe this wouldn't be one. Maybe she could help. She knew George. She knew him.
"I can help."
Lee grimaces, and Olive digs her heels in, saying firmly, "I can help. Tell me what's going on, and I can help. I helped the last time it was bad."
He's shaking his head, his mouth opening to urge her away again, to warn her. A loud noise shatters the silence, and Lee's eyes clench shut as he mumbles, "Olive, don't—"
She shoves past him, ducking under his arm and through the door of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It's dark, and despite the loud noise the shop is perfectly neat. Her eyes dart up towards the stairs that lead to George's flat, ignoring Lee's voice shouting after her as she starts scurrying up the stairs.
Lee is hot on her heels, stomping up after her right as she reaches the door and shoves it open. Standing in the middle of his flat, glass under his bare feet and amber liquid plastering his shirt to his chest, is George Weasley. He looks heartbreakingly lost, dazed and frozen in place. He lifts his head slowly, as if it takes far too much effort to carry the weight of the action. He blinks bloodshot eyes at Olive, seemingly stunned for a moment before a lazy grin spreads across his face. She realizes that for a split second, George hadn't known who she was.
"There's my girl!"
Olive's heart sinks to her stomach at the slurred greeting, her body rigid as if she'd been hit with a stunning spell. She can feel Lee hovering just behind her, but she doesn't move. She doesn't speak. She stares as George stumbles backwards, bending over to begin picking up the glass bottle that is smashed on his floor. He nearly tips over, and then she's moving forward, grabbing his shoulder to steady him as she says weakly, "George."
He grunts, shrugging her hands off as he mumbles, "Got it." He moves to bed over again, but Lee is already there with his wand drawn. He quickly cleans the floor, the glass disappearing as he says cheerfully, "No worries, George. I've got it covered."
George laughs, a belly laugh that would make Olive drop to her knees any other time. He was stingy with his laughter, still getting used to smiles and chuckles and jokes. She'd never head that laugh before, but it was tinged with liquor and drunkenness that broke her heart straight down the middle.
George didn't drink. He told her he didn't drink. And yet she can practically taste the whiskey on his lips when he suddenly presses a messy kiss to her cheek, catching her off guard and chilling her blood. She quickly steps back, repeating his name as she bumps into Lee's chest, "George."
"Glad you're here, Ollie," He grins, his eyes failing to focus on her face, "All of my favorite people in the same place. You, Lee, and F—"
The name on his tongue dies out, his goofy expression growing stony. His molten chocolate eyes turn anguished, and Lee quickly grabs her and pulls her away just as George turns to grab a half empty bottle on his countertop and hurl it at the wall.
Lee is shouting, grabbing George's arms and forcing him away from any more objects he can throw. Olive stares at the whiskey splashed on the wall, her eyes following the drips down to a familiar looking paper. An invitation. The same one she'd received. Her mouth opens and closes, but then George's voice breaks through the fuzzy sound in her ears, "Ollie. Ollie."
She clamps her hands over her ears for a moment, her eyes blurring with the memory of something horrid. The sound of shouting and cursing and the feeling of warmth spreading down her lips and chin, warmth that turned to prickly fire that she'd clawed at until someone had stopped her. Someone with fearful eyes and quivering lips and tear stained cheeks. Maybe it isn't the noise that surfaced the blurry memory. Maybe it's the fact that for a moment, George forgot something important too. For a moment, he had thought that his brother was still alive.
And then suddenly it's a different anguished face swarming her vision, his red-rimmed eyes wide in horror. George's fingers hover over her arm, not quite touching. It causes her lower lip to wobble when she realizes that even though he's drunk, he's realized he needs to ask first to touch her.
Olive nods timidly, and George gently pulls her hands away from her ears, his voice thick with emotion and booze, "So sorry. I'm so sorry, Ollie. So sorry."
Lee is standing just behind George, his eyes guarded and nostrils flaring with each harsh exhale. She couldn't remember seeing Lee Jordan angry before. Not like this. Olive meets his gaze and swallows past the growing lump in her throat. She feels as if she's been punched in the chest, the air knocked from her lungs.
"Let's get you into bed, George," She whispers up towards his good ear, his face solemn as he nods lazily. He stumbles forward, his weight coming down onto her for just a moment until Lee is there to take one of George's arms and wrap it around his shoulder. Lee is still angry, but his voice is sickeningly sweet when he teases, "Merlin, Weasley. What has Liv been feeding you?"
Olive follows carefully behind the boys as they trudge towards George's bedroom, the hallway feeling much longer than normal. Olive hurriedly wipes away tears when George grins at Lee and replies, "Ice cream, Jordan. She's so fucking sweet, my Ollie."
She's not sure why the invitation to the wedding would cause him so much pain, why that would drive him to drink. Perhaps it's the prospect of seeing his family change even more. Of going through those changes without Fred. She's still trying to figure it out and attempting to recall any mention he's made of difficulty with Ginny's impending marriage when he says, "She's got secrets, my Ollie."
Olive's brows furrow. Lee rolls George onto his bed, pulling the covers up to cover his legs as their favorite boy chants, "Ollie, Ollie, Ollie. C'mere."
She steps carefully over to the side of the bed, reaching down to push his auburn hair back off his forehead. She hesitates before sitting on the edge of the bed, her heart rate slowly returning to normal when he lets out a low sigh and nuzzles into her hand. The rage seems to have passed, leaving behind the broken boy that Olive had foolishly hoped was moving on. It was unfair to assume that George was okay. Not when she wasn't okay either.
He groans, and Lee whispers to her, "He'll go to sleep soon. Come on, Olive."
She knows Lee wants to talk, to explain the scene she'd witnessed. She hope he can illuminate the shadows that George was tangled up in again. She wanted to help. She wanted him to trust her to help, not to turn to liquor instead.
"S'Okay, Ollie."
She glances back down at George, watching with concern as he struggles to stay awake. She leans down and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek asking, "What's that, George?"
"It's okay that you didn't tell me. I just want to know why you're friends. I want to know you," He mumbles, slurring growing heavier with each weighted blink. Olive only grows more confused, sharing a perplexed look with Lee before asking gently, "Friends with who, George?"
"Death eaters."
Death eaters.
Olive's lips part, as if waiting for her to exhale. But she can't. She can't breathe. She can feel the blood draining from her face. She reaches out to clamp her fingers down on the bed covers to anchor herself, fear taking root in her rigid spine. George is looking at her with that stony face despite his struggle to stay awake, the one he'd worn like a mask for weeks before Olive first saw him smile. But his eyes are warm, pleading even. And she doesn't know what to say.
"George, I'm not friends with any death eaters," Her voice sounds hollow, but that isn't a lie. They weren't friends. She wasn't friends with them. How did he know? What did he know?George sighs, another sleepy and disgruntled sound leaving him. She watches in horror as he falls into alcohol induced sleep, oblivious to the bombshell he'd dropped on her.
She lets go of the blankets covering him, rises shakily to her feet. She's certain Lee is trying to speak to her, she's certain she's listening. She just can't hear. She takes one good look at his confused and concerned expression, and strides out of George's room.
Olive doesn't stop until she's standing in the middle of Diagon Alley, frozen once again on the cobblestone street.
Her pink trainers stark against the stones that remain cracked from the past.
{{I did not edit (I know surprise surprise) but I wanted to get this out to you all! Yes--drama is coming. But don't worry! That only makes for a better story (: }}