Forget Me Not || George Weasley

Chapter 9

George canceled on Conor O'Connor.

Lee hadn't said anything about it, but he didn't need to. They were close enough that George knew what Lee thought, and Lee knew what George wouldn't say.

Something had happened between George and the ice cream witch, but Lee didn't ask. He knew better. The same couldn't be said for everyone.

"You canceled your bloody appointment?!"

George glares at Ginny, gritting his teeth together. She's standing on the opposite side of the counter, and George is grateful for the half-wall between them. She has a hand on her hip, and he's trying like hell to not look at the ring on her finger. Change. More of it. Fucking hell.

"We're closed," George's voice is as cold as he feels, his eyes flickering to the door behind Ginny. He didn't want a lecture. He didn't need it. He was already feeling the effects of canceling his appointment. He hadn't seen Conor O'Connor in nearly two weeks, and the last challenge he'd given George felt like the blade of a guillotine just waiting to slice his head clean off his body. "Come back tomorrow, Ginny."

"George!" Her voice is indignant, appalled. He'd always loved his little sister, how strong and independent she was. Fred used to complain that she was the favorite, but George didn't mind. She was a lot like Mum. Especially the way she's staring at him right now. Disappointment. It looked better as a shade of green.

Ginny's mouth twists into a scowl, "Fine. If you aren't going to go to your appointments, then you have to come home tonight for dinner."

George laughs hollowly, turning his back on her so she can't see the stricken look on his face. Absolutely not. The Burrow would catapult him off of the cliff he was teetering on, send him flying into an ocean he couldn't tread water in.

"I mean it, George. I'm not letting you wallow here just because Fred—"

"STOP."

Lee freezes where he's dusting off the tops of the shelves, peering down at the red headed siblings. George is curling inward, his shoulders crumpled like a crushed birds wing. He licks his dry lips, ears ringing so loudly that he's scared his good one will burst open. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if that happened. Then he wouldn't have to hear Ginny say his brother's name, listen to his mum and dad cry, tilt his head so that he could catch the gentle voice of a girl with blonde hair and eyes the color of change.

"Just stop."

He can hear the wobble in his voice, the shreds of glass that tear at his insides, "I won't go home."

Ginny is silent for another moment, and then she's asking hopefully, "Dinner somewhere else? Come on, George. Mione's been bugging me to see you anyhow."

He swallows, clenching his eyes shut for a moment. Breathe. Breathe. Six beats, he breathes in. And then he exhales, "You won't tell Mum?"

He couldn't even begin to think what his mother would say if she found out he'd ditched seeing his healer. Ditched because he was scared.

"No. I won't tell her."

Ginny was many things. A liar wasn't one of them.

George anxiously raises a hand to rub the damp skin of his neck, grunting irritably to himself. He finally turns, saying firmly, "Leaky Cauldron."

Ginny wrinkles her nose but nods, offering up an apologetic smile. She did look sorry. George knew she was. When he looks up overhead at Lee perched on a ladder, his friend smiles and encourages, "Go on, mate. I'll lock up for you."

Twenty minutes later he's positioned between Ron and Harry at a quiet table in the Leaky Cauldron. As quiet as it can get really. The pub is bustling with activity, music blaring and laughter singing out over the heads of people standing. Hermione had shaken his hand when she saw him. He loved Hermione. She never pushed her luck. She was too smart. Ron had immediately dug into his food while Ginny and Harry shared a smile over one basket of chips. George didn't order anything. He wasn't hungry.