Forget Me Not || George Weasley

Chapter 13

For the life of her, Olive could not remember where George Weasley said to meet him.

She'd written down the date in her planner and when Lee had come by earlier in the week for a scoop of his favorite ice cream, he had mentioned the time the party started because he was covering the shop for George.

But Olive couldn't even remember if she'd asked Lee where George was going to meet up with her, and she realized rather late that she was missing that little fact.

Jackie had laughed when she'd come down into the kitchen, flustered and wearing two different shoes. She'd sent Olive back up to her apartment, advising her to choose something she was comfortable in.

When she'd come back down, Jackie had a scoop of lavender ice cream waiting for her, and promptly shooed her to sit outside and relax.

Olive anxiously munches on her ice cream, peering down at her pink trainers. Maybe they were too much. She reckons she still has time to change since she didn't even know when—

"You bite your ice cream?"

Olive's head snaps up so fast her vision blurs at the edges. George Weasley's frame casts a shadow over her green table, and she immediately blurts out, "Oh thank Merlin!"

He quirks a brow at her, and she takes another bite of her ice cream, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Olive smiles sheepishly, admitting, "I couldn't remember if you were coming here, or if I was supposed to come find you. I really meant to—"

"Ollie."

She pauses and George is looking at her in the eye. He's looking at her head on, neck craned and tilted slightly to the side to hear her. Her flush deepens, her eyes making note of the white cotton shirt clinging to his muscles. She'd never seen him in anything other than a button up. At least not that she could remember.

"Yes," She finally says, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "I bite my ice cream."

George's lips twitch, and she smiles slightly when he mutters drily, "Of course you do. Are you ready?"

She nervously pats down her hair, glancing down at her yellow shorts and white tee. There were balloons embroidered in the center. She'd thought it was fitting for the occasion. Jackie liked it, so Olive hadn't changed again.

"Yeah," She says finally, lifting her head as she stands. George shoves his hands in his pockets and she stands there for a moment, uncertain what to do. She hesitates before switching to his other side, his right side. He looks down at her, and her heart warms when his lips lift slightly at the corners. He was still broody, still on edge.

"Are you ready?" She asks curiously. George's eyes widen a fraction at the question, and she bites back a smile when he offers up a half shrug. That was okay. He didn't need to speak to answer her question. He withdraws his right hand from his pocket and reaches carefully for her arm, pausing just before his fingertips touch her skin,

"This okay?" He's nervous. She doesn't think it's her though. She nearly asks him how long it had been since he'd been home. She nods quickly, reaching out and gently grabbing his hand. She smiles, and George nods once, reassuring himself. Reassuring her.

She closes her eyes, wrinkling her nose at the uncomfortable feeling of apparation. But when the ground feels stable under her feet, she opens her eyes and gasps at the sight before her.

Green. Tall green grass and rolling hills and tree leaves that wave hello from far above her. She bites her lip, ignores the stretch of her scar when she tries to not grin like a complete nutter. She can see the tops of vines growing over hedges, hints of a vast and wild garden that she's almost certain holds berries and vegetables she could spend all day gorging herself on. Her eyes trace the precariously stilted home, the many chimneys and windows and different color sidings. It's beautiful. It's magic.