Waldosia/// George Weasley

Chapter 21

Clover woke up angry. Not scared or nostalgic or sad as she usually did, but angry. Her dreams had always haunted her, always brought her back to a time she would never be able to revisit. But this one was different. This one was cruel in a way she's never seen before. And, it was all George Weasley's fault.

She was tucked his arm, and for once there was no anxiety or fear coursing through her. It was peaceful, as peaceful as the wind quietly blowing around them. The blonde girl nestled into him as close as she could, inhaling the warm and familiar scent of smoke and cinnamon. It was him, it was him, it was him...

And then George turned his head to look down at her, tearing his gaze away from the night sky above them. His lips were on her forehead first and then her cheek and then the crook of her neck. Her eyes closed in pure ecstasy at the feel of his mouth on her skin. It was intoxicating.

A laugh bubbled out of her throat, unable to control her own giddiness at the little pattering her heart was doing. And then he was laughing too. Both of them fell down on top of each other in a fit of giggles. When it died down, he was looking at her so intensely that she felt the world had stopped spinning.

"Do you love me?" He whispered, his breath lingering on her skin, "Tell me, Clover. Do you love me?"

"I-,"

She woke up before she could hear her own answer, yet the smell of cinnamon and smoke still caused her head to spin. A frustrated groan roared from her lips as she threw George's blankets off of her, the memory of the dream still replaying in her mind.

"Tell me, Clover. Do you love me?"

It was sickening how his scent was now engraved in her brain. All because she woke up in his bed for the 5th day in a row. Not willingly, though. George would switch their sleeping spots in the middle of the night when she was out cold. And, it enraged her. He already took up space in her head during the day, she wouldn't let him do the same at night. So, she stormed out of his bed and threw open his door with the intentions of pushing him directly of the couch.

"George fucking Weasley, why-," she began screaming through the flat.

But as soon as the door slammed open, the sight before her silenced her shouts and stilled her completely. George was standing just outside of his room door, but had his eyes glued to the room opposite of his. The one that had belonged to Fred.

His back was turned, but he knew she was staring at him, wondering what was going on. As far as Clover knew, the last time George had been in Fred's room was the night before the war happened. Before Fred was dead.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his back still facing Clover as he spoke, "I wasn't thinking when I asked you to move in with me. I just-,"

She cut him off with a shake of her head even though he couldn't see, "It's alright, George. I honestly don't mind sleeping on the couch. You should stop switching us, it's better than what I've ever had before-,"

"But it shouldn't be," he snapped and turned around to face her, his expression ridden with pain and guilt, "I thought I could do it. I thought I would've been able to have his room ready for you by this morning. But instead, I've been fucking staring at his door for 3 hours. I just can't...,"

His voice trailed off as it cracked. Clover wanted to laugh at how similar their minds were. At how she has experienced this all too many times; the past stopping her from meeting her own expectations. She looked at him sadly, understandingly and couldn't help but place her hand in his.

"That's too big of a step to take by yourself, George," she softly cooed, the anger from this morning completely dissipating, "You've got to start smaller. Healing takes baby steps, not giant leaps."