If You'll Have Me | George Weasley

Chapter 23

GEORGE HAD, IN FACT, filled her drawer with t-shirts of his, ones that smelt like familiar notes of pine and cinnamon, and he'd even taken it upon himself to strip her bed in Percy's room from its knitted quilts and pillows, giving them a new home on the bed in his flat.

Days had passed since that night in the shop, where they danced and littered the shop with bottles... But she found that she spent most of her days in the shop after that night, accompanying the twins and sketching out ideas for what they might want to be painted on the brick wall outside.

She'd learned to lighten up on herself, refraining from criticizing every idea that fell short of what she thought deserved to be on that wall... And George would watch her, sometimes by peering over her head with both hands on her shoulders, or from across the room as he sorted through paperwork. It was because of him that she continued despite her frustration. She promised to paint something for him—To leave a piece of herself behind—And so she would do just that.

It was a Wednesday when she decided to start.

The heat had let up that evening as the sun lowered beneath the tall buildings of Diagon Alley, and Eleanor was sat out on the pavement with George beside her, backs against the brick wall as they looked out to the crowd of wizards roaming by.

"Mum would get so mad at us when she'd take us shopping for school." George chuckles, recalling that fond memory that he'd only briefly told Eleanor about once before. "We would sneak away a lot to go to Gambol and Japes, and she'd always hunt us down, yelling at us about how we'd nearly given her a heart attack." He looks down to his shoes as if he was reliving that piece of his childhood, and Eleanor smiles.

"And look at you now, owning a joke shop and all." She reaches over to place a hand on his knee, just before pushing off of him to stand on her feet. "Alright, no more procrastinating. We both have work to do."

He grins, though, and reaches up to brush the tips of his fingers against hers in an effort to keep her beside him. "But why start any of that when we could stay here?" He says, but sighs when she merely shakes her head. There was far too much that needed to be done if he wanted the shop to be ready by the fall. "You don't have to start on the wall today, you know. You have plenty of time."

A month did seem like a good amount of time, but given their track record, and their tendency to get distracted by one another, it only made sense for her to begin early. It made sense to ensure that it was up to her standards, and his, so that she would not leave England feeling like anything was left unfinished... But when she catches his eye one more time, she is hardly sure that would be possible, anyhow.

"I'm starting today." She tells him, watching as he stands from where he'd been sitting on the pavement. "I'll try to have it done by the end of next week."

And for a moment, George looks at her like she was the only thing that he could see, despite the people hurrying behind her that they'd been watching for an hour. Despite the sun in his eyes and the tiredness that weighed them down. He takes a step forward, cups her face in his hands, and pulls her in to meet his lips to hers, and her stomach flutters like it had the first time when he kissed her.

"I trust you." He says against her mouth, and pulls back to sweep a strand of hair from her forehead. "But don't feel like you have to finish this all by next week."

She nods, watching as his hands slip from her face, with a hesitation like he didn't want to let her go... But he does anyways, as if he was silently agreeing that they were swamped with work, and that perhaps it was best for them to part ways for the day. But still, as he retreats back inside, he does it with a hesitation, and she begins to open a can of paint with an eagerness. With a need to do something for him, regardless of whether she would finish it or not.