THE LOVE WITCH * GW

Chapter Ten.

His voice was soft, like the gentle whooshing of the ocean during nightfall.

Like a kind breeze, he whispered, as though that was all it would take to break her—- "are you okay?" He kept asking, and yet her answer never came.

"Yes. No—- I don't know," she couldn't respond. She could barely fathom what was happening.

"Fred is a right idiot, I'll tell you," he tries to comfort her. "But he's awfully sorry. He wants you to know that. He didn't realize it would get you in trouble, you know that right? I—"

"Just," she finally breathes out. "Just stop, please. It's just a grade, you said so yourself, I will live. Just please stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?" And as if he hadn't realized he had been looking at her like she were so fragile that she should shatter any minute, Rosemary wants to laugh.

Though she is haunted by this most evil thing, the one that hides in her shadows as she goes about her day, threatening to attack at every moment—- she did not want him to look at her that way. "Like I will freak out on you at any moment," she explained. "I am not crazy."

"I never said you were."

"Then don't look at me like that!"

"I don't understand," he is fairly exasperated by this point. "Should I not look at you at all?"

And though he is genuinely trying to understand, Rosemary almost smiles at his question. As though she found it truly funny.

At the hint of a smile, George gains the confidence to keep going, hoping that maybe she will laugh if he continues. "Of course, I could look over there. Like at that one student, I believe he is on his desk, standing upside down—"

And Rosemary goes to look immediately, only to realize no one is there, and laughs lightly at her gullible nature. "You git!" She exclaims, as he is now looking at her in disbelief at how quickly she fell for such a thing.

"You are laughing," he observes.

Stubbornly, she ceases her humor at once, and returns to the serious demeanor—- although it does not work well to hide the smile that is ruthlessly tugging at her lips.

"You are laughing! Do not hide it."

But still she tries. "I do not laugh," she swears. "Nor do you make me laugh."

"I think you are lying."

"I think you are infuriating."

"Your smile says otherwise."

"Get lost!"

And as he goes to turn and walk away, listening to her request, she cannot help but beg for him to stay. He makes her forget about the evil that hides behind her—- the one that regrettably attacked her just an hour ago.

And so he stays. And sits beside her. And patiently waits for her to guide the conversation in what direction she should like it to go.

"It happens a lot more recently."

"What does?"

"I don't know what it is," Rosemary confides in a whisper. Almost as though she is telling him the most secret information. "Only that it feels like I am drowning. Everything is muffled. I cannot breathe. And as I try to swim to the top, someone is roughly holding my head under, as though I have done something to deserve it."

"And so you come here?" He asks, like he is really trying to understand. As though he does not find her crazy.

"Every time," she tries to smile, but it drops dead on her face. "It is the one place I feel like I can catch my breath."

He seems in thought for a moment, really taking in what she has said. "When does it happen?" He questions, softly.

"It used to happen less. Mostly around my father," she doesn't care how freely she is speaking, though she will regret it later. "I thought it was something dark. Maybe a hex of some sort he had put on me in case I wasn't behaving right. But it happens more now. Sometimes in the most mundane situations."

"He scares you?" And the question wasn't meant to be accusatory, but Rosemary finds herself immediately defensive.

"What?" She shoots angrily. "I don't know what you are—-"

"He was your boggart," George interrupts. His tone should be mean or callous with such a statement, but it is only inquisitive. It is kind and sincere and it makes her want to reveal all of her worries. "Last year. He was your boggart. I know Lupin tried to cover it up, but I saw."

"Yes," she is defeated at this point, and there was no point in denying such a thing. "He was. Is."

"Why?"

She should tell him, everything. She should trust the one person who cares enough to ask and listen. She should tell him all of her worries and doubts and horrible experiences. But she does not.

Instead, she says—- "I loathe Draco sometimes."

He turns to her at this, not expecting such a statement. "What do you mean?"

"It is strange, growing up beside him," Rosemary admits. "I hadn't realized, maybe not until three years ago, how much he is favored. All the time and effort my parents pour into him. I am the glass child. A nuisance really."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I am a woman," she says, as though it is the most obvious thing in the world. "Draco shall be their family forever. I shall not. And so he gets every opportunity. Everything. All I get is the hope that I do not end up with someone as apathetic and cold as my mother did with my father."

Confused by this sentiment, George furrows his eyebrows. Deep ridges on his forehead, he says, "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. You have no idea what it is to be a woman, what it might feel like to have one's entire life reduced to a single moment. This is all I have been raised for. This is all I am, I have no other value."

And a gentle quiet is shared between the two. Like maybe George was finally understanding what Rosemary was all about. And too, Rosemary was comforted by the way he actively listened to her, as though he had not judged her at all.

And they were together, in that moment. Flanked by the bookshelves. Surrounded by words. And yet, they were quiet.

Like all that needed to be said had been spoken.

And all that needed to be felt was alive with them in that moment.