Forget Me Not || George Weasley

Chapter 29

When George wakes, he keeps his eyes closed in an attempt to put off what the day will bring.

He isn't sure. He doesn't know if Angelina has gone, if Lee has come back from his date that he thinks George doesn't know about and has noticed that the shop isn't open. He doesn't know if Olive will still look at him with kind eyes and that special smile that feels like it belongs to him. Maybe yesterday was a dream. Maybe he doesn't have to wake up yet.

But the rock he's laying on has him thinking otherwise.

He groans, rolling onto his side and into the back of Olive's rather stiff couch, an ache blooming from his lower spine up to his shoulders. He reluctantly pries open one eye, peering at the blue fabric right in front of his nose. He hadn't realized it last night, too quick to fall asleep, but there were pale white lines decorating the couch, curling and looping into dainty flowers and leaves. His lips twitch and he rolls onto his back again, grimacing as he slowly sits up.

If George had ever attempted to imagine her flat, he'd come up quite short. The walls are all different colors, purple and pink and a pale yellow with a messy orange line off to the side like she couldn't decide which paint she preferred. She has pictures clinging to the walls, crooked and in various conditions. Some look so old that he's scared they're going to fall and turn to dust, but others look brand new, like she's just seen it and decided she couldn't live without it.

He slowly folds up the fluffy blanket he'd been snuggled under, laying it on the couch as his eyes map out the scenery. Ollie. It was every bit hers. From the stiff couch that he was certain she'd picked just for the color, to the different colored panels of glass in her kitchen window. Light streams through it, painting the floor in more color, and George smiles. And it doesn't feel fake.

He shuffles over to the counter, eyes landing on a pice of paper that looks as if it's been torn from her planner. His heart rate increases as he realizes Ollie had definitely seen what he wrote in her planner under the date yesterday. I hugged Ollie for the first time today.

He was glad he wrote it. He wanted her to remember about as badly as he wanted to hug her again. He'd needed a friend last night and the night before and the days and weeks before too. A friend that was his, one that knew him now and didn't miss things the way they were B.F.D. Later, he will beat himself up over the sappy note he'd left. But for now, he's only glad.

He lifts the paper up and feels his smile grow slightly at the familiar messy writing,

George,

I've talked to Lee and he's going to take care of WWW today. He's worried about you, but I went ahead and told him you just needed a little holiday. Ginny also stopped by looking for you, but I told her that we would see her tomorrow for Hermione's birthday. I told you my couch was awful, so if you wake up and read this, feel free to use my bed. I've made it up for you in the hopes that you will REST, but I have a feeling you'll be down to bother me instead. Bathroom is through my bedroom!
Don't hit your head on the way down,

Ollie

Merlin.

George covers his mouth with one hand, pressing his palm against his smile to test that it's real. He carefully folds up the note and puts it in his pocket, shuffling towards the narrow hall that branches off the kitchen. His smile stays when he peers at the pictures handing on the walls, pausing to look at one that grabs his attention.

It's Olive, standing on the porch of a house shaped like a triangle. A dog lays by her feet, looking at the camera disapprovingly while Olive looks mid laughter. Her scar looks pink, fresh, and her arm is wrapped around a tall elderly man wearing sunglasses. He stares at the portrait, waiting for it to move. It dawns on him that it's a muggle photograph, the image frozen in time.