Good Girl || George Weasley

49

I don't sleep well for the next however-long it is until the Third Task. I'm up tossing and turning every night, in a half-awake state, thinking and dreaming of the Task, of "Moody," of that green light that I'm sure I didn't imagine in the forest that night, of the fact that we haven't seen Crouch again since that night.

More often than not my dreams are not good, and sometimes full-on nightmares. I picture myself getting lost in the hedge maze forever, with nobody able to find me to help me out. As the school year comes to a close, I dream of flunking all my classes, just like I did the Apparition test. I dream of flunking the Apparition test again. I dream of Fred never speaking to me again, and the rest of my friends realizing that he's right to be upset and them never speaking to me ever again, either, and being completely alone. And I dream of Moody, Crouch, whoever he is, cornering Harry in the hedge maze and murdering him in front of me, and me being held back by some invisible force, unable to do anything about it.

The night before the Third Task itself is the worst one yet. When I finally drag myself out of bed in the morning, I'm running on only a few hours of sleep.

"I say this with all the love in my heart," Roger says, when we meet up in the common room that morning to head to breakfast together, "but you look like shit."

I don't have a witty comeback or anything, so I just nod at him, because I know he's right. It's not like I haven't seen myself in the mirror over the last few weeks, the bags under my eyes darkening with each shitty night.

George has been trying to cheer me up, and I'm grateful for him, but I feel bad knowing I haven't returned the energy. He's been sneaking in and out of the kitchens to bring me snacks when I've had late nights of studying and reviewing any defensive spells I might need to use for the Third Task, he's been catching me between classes with bouquets of flowers he picked himself, he's been setting up late dinners for us up on the Astronomy Tower so that we can stargaze. He's even been — somehow — leaving notes for me in my room, little scraps of parchment that have silly drawings on them or reminders that he loves me or that he's proud of me.

I've cried to him more than once over the last week and a half, out of exhaustion and frustration and sometimes even fear. And he's been perfect, constantly reassuring me that everything will work itself out, that it'll be okay, that he's not going anywhere.

And while I'm relieved that the Third Task is today, and that I'm finally going to be getting it over with — I have a feeling nothing is really going to end tonight.

I've briefly thought about the fact that if our plan of stealing Moody's flask ends how I want it to end, George and I will have to go to trial. And that's scary, so that's been pushed to the back of my mind.

Because first, I have a Tournament to win.

"You know," Roger continues, slowly, as we walk through the busy corridors, everyone around us talking excitedly about tonight, "It's okay if you don't win. We're all so proud of you, and even if you don't win it all, you still got this far–"

I cut him off, feeling a slight twinge of guilt as I do, but there's so much more to it. I also can't help but feel guilty that I've been drifting away from him recently — nothing intentional, of course, but I just can't focus on half of the stuff we talk about anymore.

"It's not just about winning," I say. "I'll tell you everything soon, though, I promise. Okay?"

Roger sighs, not bothering to hide his disappointment of my dismissal, so we're both quiet until we get to breakfast, where, of course, everyone asks me what I know about the Third Task, and I have to tell them I know virtually nothing, except that it's a maze and that there's "obstacles."