If You'll Have Me | George Weasley

Chapter 20

SOMETIME IN THE AFTERNOON, Eleanor found herself on the lawn with an envelope in her hand, her mothers same swirly handwriting on the front, a delicate wax seal pressed against the back. Her mother hadn't written every other week like she'd once promised, but it didn't matter. The letter only consisted of more details about their excursion in Italy and another condescending mention of how Eleanor would have loved it. How she should have been there. How the wine did taste so much better in Italy. Elle had already been irritated, and she nearly allows the wind to blow away the letter before deciding to write back.

Mum,
    I'm glad to hear that Rome has been treating you well. As lovely as it sounds, I've been enjoying my time with the Weasley's just the same. I quite enjoy staying in one place, even if it means that we don't do much during the day. However, I figured that you would be happy to hear that I've started painting again. George had been the one to encourage that.
   I'm happy to have met them all—The Weasley's, Harry, and Hermione. I find it strange how close I've gotten to them already. It's as if I've known them longer than any of my friends from back home. I wish that you and dad stuck around longer so you could have met them. Maybe you can at the end of the summer, though I'll likely be a wreck. I fear that it's going to be difficult to leave.
   Perhaps I could skip out on my last year and live in London! (Of course, I'm only joking, but it's awfully tempting after seeing the city. I might be a fan of it after all)

Missing you. Much love,

Eleanor.

The twins were still gone by the time she sent the letter away, and that pent up frustration just barely subsided after they ate lunch. But regardless, it was still there, even as she tried to push it away. Even as she tried to wash it down with honey lemon tea while the girls spent the day outside, watching Harry and Ron swim in the creek. And still, George did not come home.

She assumed that she wouldn't have cared so much if she hadn't slept with him. If he hadn't made a mess of his bedroom floor with her clothes. If he had bothered to stick around a while longer before leaving Eleanor to wallow in her thoughts, but he didn't. He had been gone from the moment that she got dressed, and Elle feared that it was possible that Hermione had been wrong for once; Perhaps she did have something to worry about.

Out on the lawn, Hermione had still been lying beside her; Flat on her stomach, propped upon her elbows with a book in her hands. Her golden-brown skin nearly glowed beneath the sun, whereas Ginny had only gotten more red as the day dragged on—Slowly, and slower.

Eleanor paid extra attention to those details that day. To the way that Ginny would lightly snore once every few minutes. To the way that Hermione would look up from the pages of her book to catch a glimpse of Ron when he would yell something from the creek, just before loudly flipping to the next page of her novel, as if to make it known amongst their friends.

Elle had spent half of that day trying to convince herself that she did not care about George—Delving in those small details, doing anything to take her mind off of him—And spent the other half trying to bite her tongue. She desperately wanted to tell Hermione what happened the night before, but after another hour had passed, she figured that it was better not to tell anyone; To instead act as if it hadn't happened to begin with, much like he had been doing while he was off wherever he was.

But still, she expected more from him than what she had gotten that morning; And what was more frustrating beside the fact that he had been gone for hours, was that she could not stop thinking about him. That he could make her feel so much—The anger. The adoration. The flutter in her stomach—And nothing all at once.

She did not realize when she decided to close her eyes, but all she could see was the brightness of the sun behind her eyelids. All she could hear was the quiet running of water from the creek, and Hermione's restless page turning. Only when she found some sense of calmness does she notice the brightness fade, and the faint sound of footsteps against the grass.