"you will stay young and I will grow old, forever."
↠ In which Marigold Knight has to face her 7th year at Hogwarts while trying to cope with the death of her best friend, keep up with her classes, manage joining a resistance a...
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George's fingertips dug into the soft flesh on Marigold's hips.
Her mind whirred like a spinning top and she could feel nothing but his warmth, the taste of cold tea on his tongue.
George nudged her back against the countertop where the Wiggentrees sat watching them, she took the not-so-subtle hint: barely parting from his lips to step off a nearby bench and slide her bum onto the table.
Somewhere behind the voice screaming in her mind that she was making out with George Weasley in the school greenhouse, there was a small calling whisper reminding her that once his lips lifted from hers: reality would rise up around them again.
Marigold's hand lifted to press against George's chest - the chest that was considerably lower now that she was perched up on the counter - and she pushed lightly on it.
"George..." her voice was muffled as George still desperately pressed his hot lips against hers, making grunts of disapproval. "George."
His large, cool hand took Marigold by the chin and he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging on it teasingly. She sighed, her eyes rolling back and she almost allowed herself to fall against him but he pulled off her before she could.
Their lips had parted but George didn't move far, his hands still wrapped around her and his face lingering just a few centimetres from her face. She could feel him panting for breath: "What's so important, Knight?" He whispered, "Bad kisser, am I?"
She let a breathy chuckle lose and her head fell against his shoulder, "Terrible, actually."
"Well," George nodded slowly in consideration before swooping down to catch her lips again, "Maybe you should help me practice then--"
"George!" she let out another laugh, "George, stop. We need to talk a bit."
He frowned, "I mean, it's not half as fun as kissing, but alright. Let's talk."
Marigold nodded, subconsciously lifting her fingers to rub against her red, swollen lips - somehow confirming to herself that it was all real. George took a step back, accompanied by a deep breath and hand through his hair.
"I was just ..." Suddenly she didn't really know what to say. Things were easier when they were making out and she didn't have to think about anything. "What ... where do we go from here? I mean, we're going to leave this greenhouse eventually and our friends and--"
"I want you to be mine." His statement lingered and Marigold was stunned into silence. She expected something along those lines, but it was still a shock to hear him say those words. "I-If that's what you want ... I guess."
A glint of a smile curled the corner of her lips: George's voice dripped in nervousness. She'd never heard it like that before.
"To be yours?" She struggled to hold down the grin, "I'm not sure I quite understand what that means."
