Magic? || Years 5-7

Hope: Year 6

There was a knock on the door and Amisty glanced up, halfway through a sketch of daisy roots. "Hi?"

George poked his head through the gap. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "Wanna go outside."

She glanced at him, then her work, then took a closer look at him. There were bags under his eyes again, and the wry kick of his lips looked far more forced than it should have been.

"Sure," she said, sticking her pencils back in their tin case. "Just give me a moment, I have to—"

"You don't—"

"George."

He met her gaze unflinchingly.

"I want to."

Jerking his head down in a nod, he let the door slide shut.

The days after Christmas weren't the happiest. Most of the guests had returned to whatever missions the Order had sent them on, which was nice when it came to space but less so when it came to holiday cheer. New Years was fun enough, the tiny fireworks show in the backyard subdued but colorful, but it was clear no one truly had the heart for proper celebrations. There were only a few more days before everyone had to head back to work, and Mrs. Weasley had not taken the meeting with Percy very well. It didn't take much for her to start crying, and despite their best efforts, nothing was working to cheer her up.

Harry wasn't very happy either, his conversation with the Minister ending up more like governmental probing rather than a pleasant meeting. Ron and Amisty had offered to flood him with useless mail, but Harry had just laughed and shook his head and asked to drop the subject.

So, Amisty tucked her journals and her pencils in her bag and tied her hair back with a discarded Christmas ribbon. As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the soles of her boots nearly silent against the wood, George started walking.

"I'm not as fast as you," She said, struggling to keep pace as he strode out the door, flinging a cloak over his shoulders.

George glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Grow longer legs."

"Rude."

Amisty grabbed her own cloak, her fingers fumbling over the clasp as she tried not to trip over her own shoelaces.

They waded through the thick layer of snow, the wind nipping at their nose and ears as George led the way to a creaky old oak tree. Its branches were empty, icicles dripping patterns into the snow.

He glanced over his shoulder at her and jerked his chin up at the tree, a silent gesture. Amisty smiled, waiting a moment for him to start climbing before she scaled the side, balancing against the trunk with her legs stretched out in front of her. She listened in the silence, the water droplets, and the breeze rustling past, waiting for him to speak first.

There was some rustling on his side as he adjusted, a deep breath that faltered in his lungs as he swallowed his words.

"Am. . ."

"Do we need to go and scream at the spell barrier?" She asked, trying to stay light.

George huffed a laugh. "No, but I appreciate the offer."

He went quiet again, staring up at the clear blue sky as his fingers tapped a rhythm against his ribcage. The wind picked up, whistling through the empty branches and Amisty drew her cloak closer, huddling into the warmth of the collar.

"I'm so tired," George said, at last, lolling his head against the trunk with a sigh. "I'm just. . ."

"Yeah," Amisty said as his voice trailed off. "I get it."