If You'll Have Me | George Weasley

Chapter 11

IT HAD BEEN A WHILE since she last brushed across a canvas, but it was as if her hands had memorized every stroke. The way that the paints moved together and blended. It was a rule of thumb to stray away from mixing colors upon the canvas, but she didn't care enough. She was tired, and it was lazy, but she enjoyed it far more than she remembered herself in the past. Perhaps the kisses still upon her cheek offered her some kind of motivation.

The field surrounding the Burrow sat still, untouched, and she immerses in the peacefulness while she still could. The silent brushing of the wind, and the creek moving with it. The water lapping over itself and against the rocks that sat astray on the stream banks. She had recognized the beauty of the Burrow from the moment that she arrived, but she never had the time to soak it all in. Selfishly and slowly. She was almost thankful that George kept to himself in his room while she painted.

It was still strange to her; The way that he could be so casual, so calm and collected while she was on the brink of unraveling before him, still recalling the way that he touched her and kissed her while he leaned coolly against the counter, sipping his tea. The way that those same hands and lips calmed her not even a moment later. She chuckles to herself at the irony of it all as she dips her brush into the green.

Hermione and Ginny joined her once they woke, sitting upon the grass with cups of tea in their hands, despite the sudden warming of the air. And as the girls catch up, Eleanor grimaces at her work. It wasn't the worst thing she had done, but it could've been much better, and she had seen much better. Even the tedious art hung in her family's estate was more interesting to look at.

"I thought you hated painting?" Hermione asks, though it was more of a statement than a question, and Eleanor shrugs. Chuckling to herself as she closes up her acrylics.

"I think I do." She admits, but still, she was glad that she had tried.

Ginny had been entirely restless, idly tapping her fingers against her mug which caused Hermione to nudge her in a fit of annoyance.

"I'm sorry. I just need to get out of this house. Or do something other than sit around all day. I feel like I'm just wasting away." Ginny says, and rips a blade of grass from the earth beneath her.

Eleanor nods in agreement, recalling all of the summers she had spent in places she never cared much to be at. Wishing that she was elsewhere, and not in some foreign land that she had been dragged to with her parents. This was the first summer in a while that never revoked that feeling of being pent up, despite how much time they spent inside.

"Diagon Alley trip soon?" Hermione suggests, but Ginny looks unimpressed, as if there had already been plenty of trips like that. "That's all that there is to do, Gin. Unless if you'd rather head into London."

But the moment that she hears that suggestion, the distress lifts from Ginny's face, and the tapping of her fingers stops. "That's brilliant. What if we just took a trip to the city for the weekend? Just to get away from here?"

Before Hermione can respond, though, the twins cut around the house. Laughing loudly as they typically did when they were together, their long hair wild and glinting red in the sun. And although they were identical, even down to their haircuts, Eleanor felt confident that she had finally noticed everything that separated one from the other. George's sweeter disposition oftentimes gave him away, too.

"Well, about time you two woke up." He fixates his eyes on the two girls who sat in the grass. "They're not bothering you, Eleanor. Are they?"