If You'll Have Me | George Weasley

Chapter 19

SHE WAS SURE that she was dreaming when she woke up beside him; With his hands wrapped loosely around her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck—Among the mess of her hair that smelt of summer and faint notes of his cologne.

But no, even after her eyes had fully opened, she quickly realizes that last night had happened. That it was not something that she had conjured up in her mind, or some dream that had come from the Firewhisky and that sense of longing that she felt for him after their weekend in London. No—She had fed into that longing, given him all of her, and now he was sleeping beside her with his knuckles grazing her ribs.

And this time—For once—She does not feel any sense of regret.

Instead, she decides that a shower sounded nice, until she attempts to pull away from his arms and feels his breath on her neck, feels him mumble against her skin, and then chooses to lie beside him for a minute longer—Tired eyes scanning the room.

It had been the first time that she'd been in his bedroom, with enough time to admire all of what it had been cluttered with; The posters upon his walls, his quidditch gear on the floor, and a guitar that sat vacant in the corner with his broom propped against it, as if to hide it.

She smiles at the thought of him playing, and finally decides to rise from the bed. Much like in London, she did not want to leave him this morning, but she had learned that George liked to sleep in, and she was growing far too restless to continue counting his breaths. George mumbles again from beside her, rolling over onto his side as she reaches for his t-shirt that hung off the side of the bed.

Quickly, she dresses herself, taking in the scent of his cologne that lingered on his shirt before heading for the door. And just as she peeks out into the hallway, she hears him. His sweet, raspy voice that she could not deny sounded glorious in the mornings. It was just then that she damned herself for getting up too early, when she could have still been lying with him beneath the covers.

"Sneaking off already?" He mumbles from behind her, and she turns to look at him as he sits up. The quilt had fallen from his torso, and he smiles the moment he sees her eyes flick down, and back up again. Even in the morning, half awake, he was still keen on teasing her.

"I didn't want to wake you." She says, and folds her arms over her chest. "I'm just going to have a quick shower."

He only nods, though, and props himself upon his elbows, watching as she looks back to the door behind her. "Are you alright?"

Nothing had been wrong, but she knew that it looked bad—To attempt to sneak away as he slept—So, she takes one step closer to him, leans down far enough to rest her hand on his cheek, and kisses him.

That kiss had been short, and sweet, but it felt so normal. So right. And when he lets out a deep sigh into her mouth, she smiles against his lips. Something felt different this morning, and she assumes that it was just the giddiness of having just kissed him, but even as she pulls away, that sensation swells in her chest again. She was happy, and there was suddenly no hiding that foolish smile that stretched across her face as he beamed back at her, one finger teasing a strand of her hair.

"I'm good." She says, and picks up her shorts that had been on the ground. "I'd just like to claim the bathroom before anyone else wakes up."

George shamelessly watches her dress as he runs a hand through his hair. And still, Eleanor cannot imagine herself growing tired of looking at him in the mornings; The heaviness in his eyes, the sweet tiredness upon his face... And for a moment, she considers what it might be like to have more mornings like this, and wonders if he had been considering the same as he continues to watch her.