If You'll Have Me | George Weasley

Chapter 7

THE AIR felt heavier that night, with soft rain and candlelight. Quieter, and lacking George's loud voice and laughter. His banter between himself and his twin. Instead, an old record filled that void, playing a melodramatic tune as Molly scans her eyes across the bookshelves before pulling out an aged photo album. The leather casing was worn at the spine and edges from all of the hands that had touched it over the years, reliving the memories that sat enveloped behind a clear sleeve.

"Here we go." Mrs. Weasley takes a seat beside Eleanor, photo album in hand, flipping the pages and stopping every now and then to retell a story from years prior. The one's about Ron, which Eleanor had to pry from Molly, caused his ears to turn pink from embarrassment, and Hermione to laugh. Arthur would chime in every now and then too, but allowed his wife to do most of the talking, seeing how happy she was by doing so.

They came across one photograph, though, of a boy that Elle did not recognize. He too had flaming red hair, which sat in curls upon his head much like Molly's, but his face was new. He was very much a Weasley, that was obvious, but Eleanor could not put a name to the young face.

Percy, 1980, was written in the margin beside the photo, and Elle looks to Molly as she stares at it, teary eyed. "Percy was a prefect for Gryffindor." She says in a soft voice. "He had outstanding grades, too. Actually, he's working alongside the Minister of Magic now. Isn't that something?"

"It's something alright." George--Who had been sitting beside Eleanor--Quietly mocks his mother as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eagerly glancing back at the kitchen where Harry and Ginny were. They had been busying away while they poured themselves glasses of wine as Molly continued to gush about her son. Eleanor could only assume that they were intentionally taking their time at this point.

George rests his chin in his palm out of disinterest, staring blankly across the room with little to no expression, and Elle takes notice to this. She nudges him, and the light slowly returns to his face the moment that his eyes meet hers, a lazy smile stretched across his lips.

"You alright?" She asks in a low voice, and he nods, reaching up to retrieve both of their wine glasses from Ginny before handing one to Eleanor.

"Just tired. I can hardly get any sleep on this couch." He says, the corners of his mouth quirked up slightly, but his expression still somewhat sad.

She wasn't sure where she saw it. If it was reflected in his eyes, or through the furrow of his eyebrows, but something felt off about him. Something felt familiar, as though his emotions were her own, even if she didn't quite know what they were; If it was anger, or sadness, or simply exhaustion like he had claimed. Something told her, though, that he wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Well then perhaps you should start sleeping in your room." She smiles, although she knew full well what his response would be. That he would shake his head in protest, tell her that he wouldn't be a good host if he did so. Wouldn't be a good friend... But she had known that it was truly because he enjoyed being around her. He was just too stubborn to admit it.

"Hell no. I've been enjoying having the room to myself." Fred interferes, and both Eleanor and George raise their gazes to where he had been sitting across the room, eyes narrowed.

"I'm sure you have been." She says, causing George to chuckle from beside her.

The wine was beginning to make her mind fizz, from the moment that she raised the glass to her lips, swallowing the last drop of liquor. It was a dry, muggle wine—A bottle of pinot grigio that Molly had picked up from the market that wasn't too far from their home.