Forget Me Not || George Weasley

Chapter 51

"So."

George stares out of the familiar window, pressing his knuckles to his mouth. Maybe then he could force his smile to go away. If he pressed hard enough, maybe it would disappear. Unlikely. A certain curly haired blonde with eyes the color of change was making it increasingly hard to be upset with the universe. 

"So," George says plainly, hoping his voice doesn't give him away. He reluctantly looks away from the window and meets those owl eyes hidden magnified by horn rimmed glasses. Bugger. He definitely knew. Conor O'Connor is grinning, a full and knowing smile that causes George to grunt, "What?"

"Aren't you going to tell me about your witch?"

Merlin, that shouldn't please him so much. His witch. To hear O'Connor say it made it more real. George shrugs a little, muttering, "Well I'm not going to give you all of the sordid details, you bloody pervert."

The healer chuckles and shakes his head, setting down his quill, "I thought we established that the details I want to know are the emotional ones, you bloody fool. Now, spill it. You're on the edge of your seat."

George glances down, and finds that his healer isn't lying. His legs are bouncing up and down, body perched just on the edge of the sofa he was used to sinking into to attempt to hide. He reaches for a pillow and sets it in his lap, replying vaguely, "It's been good."

"Good," O'Connor repeats, quirking a brow. George glances at the hourglass. This time it isn't to see how fast he can escape to hide at the shop. The slow dripping sand counts down how long until he sees Ollie. He'd asked her to dinner two days before and had watched with far too much interest as she scribbled it down in her lemon colored planner. His lips twitch, "She called me her boyfriend."

The healer leans forward, nodding his head, "And how did that make you feel?"

"Good," George confesses before he can stop it, looking out of the window to keep himself from smiling. He swallows, chewing slightly on the inside of his cheek, "Really good. A little nervous too." 

George was certain that he hadn't felt that level of emotion since....he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember it at all. Because when he thought of those feelings, the ones that filled him up with warmth and chased away the ghosts of screams and grief, he could only picture Ollie's rosy cheeks and full grin. She had a smile that painters would rue not capturing, a smile that operas were written about. Her smile made him feel. George wasn't sure the last time he'd allowed himself to feel. But with that came a horrible sense of dread. He'd fucked up most things A.F.D. and it felt like the hourglass was taunting him with the amount of time he had left until he fucked this up too. 

"I bet she's nervous too."

He glances up, intrigued by the healer's words. George hesitates for a long, silent moment. He reluctantly asks, pulling at the edges of the pillow in his lap, "Because of me?"

"No," Conor O'Connor smiles, "I reckon she has a lot to be nervous about George. And I doubt you're one of those things."

He slowly nods, "I know she's nervous about that dick head Wolpert. Or at least I think she is. I think she's scared to lose him as a friend, but she told me--" He nearly chokes on the information he's about to impart, closing his eyes for a brief moment, "She doesn't feel that way about him anymore. It was not the most pleasant thing to hear about, but I think she's the only person that is really honest with me. Besides you of course."

The healer looks taken aback, and George fights tooth and nail to not get defensive. He'd paid O'Connor a compliment, acknowledged his help. But George wouldn't have said it if he didn't mean it, and he was beginning to feel quite a bit of gratitude for the appointments with the healer. He was beginning to trust him. Maybe more than he had anyone A.F.D.