Forget Me Not || George Weasley

Chapter 7

Connor O' Connor's challenge haunts George.

It eats at him, causes him to toss and turn in the night until he's forced to get out of bed and do something besides pretending to sleep. He wants to be angry that the healer had issued him a feat nearly impossible. He wants to scream and cry and bloody his knuckles until the pain feels good.

But late one night, when George had lifted the needle of the gramophone he and Fred had stolen from Hogwarts, he had felt something different. Something warm. That warmth changed to fiery despair that caused him to drop the needle and stomp back to his room. But he'd gotten closer, gotten somewhere.

He used to love to listen to records, any sort of music they could find. It started only with the wicked sisters, music made by witches and wizards and creatures far more talented than him. But then George came home one day to loud music and Fred staring at the gramophone in awe. That was the day Fred had learned about a muggle musician named Elvis Presley. Music in the twins apartment had never been the same. Not since Elvis.

Not since A.F.D.

George wonders about music as he sits back in the small office in the shop, his eyes occasionally flirting out to where he can see barely that Lee is stacking boxes or ringing up customers. He wonders about music. And he also wonders where Olive is.

She'd said she would come around, and George ignores the weird feeling in his gut and mutters to himself about how he doesn't like it when people say they will do things when they clearly won't. He could have avoided the near meltdown he'd had last night if Olive had been honest and said she thought he was a right prick and she'd never ever visit his shop. Then George wouldn't have struggled to breathe while thinking of all of the questions she could ask. He hadn't tried to listen to music. He wanted to tonight. He hopes he can.

He shoots a disgruntled look at the front window that he can just barely see from the crack of his office door. He hears the bell above the door ring, and then his hand pauses it's writing,

"Olive Murphy as I live and breathe!"

"Hi, Lee. Doing alright?"

Yep. It's her, the confirmation George didn't realize he needed delivered in the softness of her voice. George had struggled to hear her last night, frustrated by his left ear's diminished capabilities. He'd finally just turned his head enough so that his right ear could pick up on her gentle tone, ignoring how dumb he was certain he looked.

He hesitates for a moment, torn between hiding from the young blonde and Lee's smug face, and going to see what it is she would want to purchase from the shop. She was weird, he'd decided that last night as well. It made him infuriatingly curious.

He neatly stacks the bills he'd been looking at before climbing to his feet. He tries to appear as nonchalantly as possible, but Lee is already grinning from ear to ear when George walks out from the back.

His friend is leaned up against a display, gesturing to it and speaking with Olive while throwing mischievous looks over his shoulder at George.

He nearly flips Lee off, irritated by the glint in his friend's eyes. He shuffles uncomfortably by the counter, drumming his fingers on the edge. He's torn over what to say, something to get the ice cream girl's attention. Finally, he just sighs and says simply, hoping he hadn't lost all ability to interact,

"Hi, Ollie."

Her blonde curls bounce when her head turns, and George finds that it's not as difficult as he thought to look at the green of her eyes. Olive smiles, and two years ago he wouldn't have had to wonder if she was genuinely happy to see him, or if she was faking it. Two years ago, he might've had something better to say.