𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 | g. w

11. angelina

"I hope I'm not interrupting something".

Angelina Johnson, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and in the same year as the twins, is someone who I constantly find myself wishing I was more like. Not only is she extremely gorgeous, with her curly dark brown hair and chocolate colored skin, but she's also wicked smart, kind, popular and liked amongst her peers. She's everything I'm not, everything I aspire to be.

So naturally, when it comes to George, I freeze. I become extra aware of the lack in chances I have with him, no matter how close we have grown over the last few years, and it's almost as if I forget the fact that he's one of my best friends to begin with. I lose all my confidence (the little I have), and my real self is traded in for some weird, awkward carbon copy who just runs as the first sign of trouble. This means that I—no matter how badly it hurts to do so—let Angelina have the spotlight. She's way more interesting than me, after all. Besides, George would probably much rather be with someone like her. Especially given the fact that I haven't even talked about my feelings with him yet, and it's been well over four years now—nearly five—since we met for the first time.

I can't say that I'm not hurt by the way he suddenly needs to distance himself from me as he takes notice of Angelina, because it does. How he pushes himself off me as if I was something he just burned himself on, crushes my spirit completely, and it becomes apparent just how small I feel in comparison to Angelina when she smiles at him and I realise I'm simply in the way of whatever conversation they could be having right now.

So I shake my head. I just shake my head no, stuttering my words as I attempt to explain to her that no "we were just talking".

I excuse myself, leaving the two of them to talk privately, because I know that I'm simply making things more awkward than they need to be, and that George deserves someone like Angelina. I'm only in the way of the two of them getting together, and by saying here, I'm simply prolonging that process.

"Mia—", I hear George call my name as I head back inside, leaving the two of them alone. It's not long before I feel tears make their way down my cheeks, stinging my eyes.

My mum often tells me that I shouldn't waste my tears over boys. That I deserve more than someone who's only going to break my heart, and in a way I know she'd absolutely right. But at the same time, I can't help but feel like George is the only exception. I love him, and the tears seem inevitable when I think about the years I've had to prepare my confession. I've had so many chances to tell him, and I still haven't even initiated that conversation.

On my way back from the walk, I bump into Fred and Alfie. Their both sporting identical grins.

"How was detention?", is the first thing I say.

"Don't ask", says Alfie, groaning but still keeping his lips pulled into a smile. "Umbridge had us write lines."

"Lines? Well that doesn't seem to bad."

"You wouldn't think so", continues Fred. I raise a questioning brow. They then go on to show me their hands.

"That hag!", I exclaim, staring at the still fresh scars across both their hands. "You have to tell Dumbledore. She can't get away with this!"

"Nah. What can he do? Umbridge's got too much power and it's only a matter of time before she's made Head Mistress."

"Besides, she thinks her methods are "ministry approved."

I sigh deeply, pulling them both into a tight hug.

"I wish there was something I could do."

I feel them both snicker into my neck. "We can handle Umbitch", says Fred.

"You just focus on whatever your going to say to George when you realise he's completely in love with you the way you are him", Alfie concludes.

I huff ironically. "That's likely."

(...)

I'm soon introduced to Umbridge's medieval detention methods myself, when I'm caught trying to break into her office and transfigure her desk into a swamp, and I'm more than furious with the way she's chosen to handle things, to be honest. The black quill she forces everyone to who gets in trouble to use hurts like nothing I've ever felt before, and the only real upside that I can see to it; is that George is now speaking to me again.

After our almost-kiss, he's acted a bit strange. I figure he wants to distance himself because he's either regretting it almost happening, or I'm blowing this whole thing out of proportion and he's was actually upset about something else the whole time.

Anyway, I'm glad he's decided to speak to me again. I can't even begin to describe how bummed out I've felt the entire time we've been apart, and it's only made me realise how dependent I am on him. I love him. yes, but he was my friend before anything else, and I've missed that more than I can say.

So when I'm done with detention for the day and notice him hanging around outside Umbridge's office, I can't to help but smile. I am so in love with this boy, I think to myself, dismissing any doubt left that simply experiencing what is known to be a school girl crush. No, this is way more intense.

"Hey", he greats me, standing with his body against the wall and his hands in front of him.

"Hey you", I can't help but beam. I hope he doesn't take notice of my extremely flushed cheeks. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been waiting for you. Figured I'd walk you to your common room."

I melt at his words. This boy is. . . everything.

When he takes my hand and intertwines it with his, I lose complete control over the butterflies residing in the pit of my stomach, and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

"You okay?", hr says as we make our way towards the Ravenclaw dormitories.

"M' okay", I say quietly, well aware that I'm not at all sounding too convincing.

As we stop just outside of the entrance to my house's common room, the boy whom I love so much raises the hand he has intertwined with mine, placing a gentle kiss just above the still bloodied wound. I wince, the pain a reminder not to get in Umbridge's way again.

I blush, staring intently at our joined hands. I never want to let go. I wish we could stay in this moment for all eternity, and I wish just as bad that I could tell him so.

"Goodnight Georgie", I say instead.

He beams, leaving a kiss on my forehead that I'm sure I'll never forget the feeling of.

"Goodnight, Mia", he whispers, before I watch him disappear down the hallway and hopefully away from any patrolling professor.

I find myself letting out a chuckle, deciding to store this memory in my mind forever.