If You'll Have Me | George Weasley

Chapter 18

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains mature content that may not be suitable for all readers. Please see disclaimer at the beginning for more information.

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THE SILENCE is what killed her. The blank expression upon his face as she waited in anticipation. Regret. Perhaps it was too bold of a question for her to ask, even to somebody like him. But he looked like he had been thinking hard about how he would answer. Carefully—That's now he's respond. Not in a way that would give her hope, or crush her completely.

What is this?

"You want the truth?" George focuses on the carpet and the stray pieces of rubble that littered it... And as he stalls by cleaning the remainder of the mess that Harry and Ron had made, Eleanor aches to hear something good. Something that would put her mind at ease and reassure her that perhaps, this wasn't all for nothing.

"You've been driving me bloody mad all summer." His voice is soft, and honest, and her heart skips a beat at his tone. It was not often that he was open, and vulnerable, so she remains patient as she waits for him to carry on. And then, his lips part.

"I remember dad telling us that we were going to have another person staying here this summer. A girl from Beauxbatons." He lets out a half chuckle at the memory, mowing a hand through the short strands of his hair before looking back to the floor. "And if I'm being honest... I didn't think that I was going to like you."

Eleanor laughs at this, and moves from the couch to the floor, taking a seat by his side. And when those green eyes meet hers, she sees no hint of dislike, or spite. Only softness. Just like she had the first day that she met him. "How ironic."

The corners of his mouth turn up, and he scooches closer to her, resting into her side as they lean against the couch, backs pressed into the cushions.

"I thought that you were some stuck up girl from France... But then I saw you, and..." His hand finds its way to her thigh, and he begins to draw figures upon her skin. "And then, I heard you talking at dinner the first night that you stayed here. You were talking about how much you hated that school, and how much you loved our house... And you were so..."

He stares off into the kitchen, and the movements of his fingertips slow.

"You were so much more different than I expected you to be." He cuts his sentence short again, as if he were searching for what to say next. The right thing to say. "I was so intrigued by you. I still am."

Eleanor does not want to say anything. Yet. So, she bites her tongue as she waits for him to continue on. As she waits for him to stop dancing around the question that she had been aching for so long to have answered.

"You're funny, you're bloody talented, and smart... And I think that I'm lucky to have had the privilege of meeting you, Eleanor." And then his voice goes soft, and he suddenly lifts his hand to fold both arms over his chest.

Something was making him restless. There was something more that he hadn't said yet.

"But... This worries me." He finally manages, and the words do not hit her how she had been expecting them to. Because this... This response was what she had been anticipating. It was why she had stayed quiet the whole time that he spoke. There always had to be something else apart from the good.

And for a moment, she wants to ask if they should just call it a night, and instead save this conversation for the end of the summer, but she knew him just as much as she knew herself. She knew that neither of them would bring this up again. Not willingly, anyways. It was already hard enough to talk about this when they were both drunk off of whiskey. It would surely be harder when they weren't.