If You'll Have Me | George Weasley

Chapter 5

THE MORNING welcomed her with a wave of nausea and a splitting headache, waking her up and out of her terrible sleep. The affects of the Firewhisky had worn off into nothing more than a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, lingering in a cool sweat upon her back and neck.

The room began to spin from the moment that she sat up, further worsening the symptoms of her hangover. The only thing that offered her any relief was the quietness of the living room, leading her to assume that it was early in the morning. The sunlight was just beginning to creep through the parted curtains.

All but her were still asleep, it seemed, and she assumed that they would be for a while. The night before was nothing more than a foggy memory in the back of her mind, but that and the empty bottles littered throughout the living room gave her an indication that they'd had far more to drink than they could handle. It gave her comfort, though, knowing that they were all probably just about as hungover as she was.

"Mm, morning." Comes a raspy voice from only a few feet away, startling Eleanor enough to open her eyes just as she'd begun to drift back off to sleep.

She was almost sure that she'd slept downstairs alone. That no one had came and checked on her during the night, or even stayed with her for that matter. But as she glances up, she sees him stretched out upon the sofa across from the one she had been laying on, in a position that looked to be quite uncomfortable.

For a moment, she thought that it was Fred, but the bump on his nose gave him away. George had been lying on his back with his eyes closed, his long legs nearly hanging off of the couch with his arms folded over his bare chest. The fiery redness of his hair sitting messily upon his head.

He had stayed with her, despite how uncomfortable he looked. Despite being sober enough the night before, and perfectly capable of making it up to his room. From what she could remember, she hadn't asked him to stay with her, and yet here he was. She assumed that he was only being polite, though, given that no one else had bothered to keep her company.

"How's the hangover?" A partial, lazy smile forms on his face, and he turns on his side to face her. His eyes were heavy, and glossed over with a lingering exhaustion, but they looked at her intently as he waited for her response.

It was a genuine question, although Eleanor was sure that he would've been teasing her had it not been for the distressed expression upon her face. Perhaps some part of him was capable of being serious for once.

Eleanor lies back down, shaking her head once before rolling over to face him. "Lovely." A sarcastic reply, to which George chuckles, sitting up from his position on the couch and causing the blanket covering his torso to fall down slightly.

It would have been easy to look. To allow her gaze to linger a moment too long... But Eleanor quickly glances away, recalling the snide glances and comments Fred had made to her the last time that she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from him. The thought alone embarrassed her enough for her to not allow it to happen again.

"Why did you sleep down here?" She asks through the bile rising in her throat, looking to him for some hint of a smile. An indication for his next snide comment... But he only shrugs, standing from where he'd been laying to reach for his t-shirt that had been hanging from the arm of the sofa. And as he pulls his shirt over his head, Eleanor pays her attention elsewhere, deciding to pick at a loose thread from the quilt on top of her.

"Because somebody had a little too much to drink last night. Didn't want you hurling on mum's couch." He finally says, smiling just like he often did when he spoke. When he wasn't speaking. Either way, the corners of his mouth were almost always turned up, like he had nearly a hundred things that he wanted to say, but wouldn't. She could only imagine what went on in his head.