Plot Twist [GEORGE WEASLEY]

61.

Amara Shacklebolt didn't know how to feel about George Weasley.

Three days she had to figure out the events on Christmas and to pull herself together. It proved to be impossible. For hours she lay in bed, on the morning of December Twenty-Sixth, replaying the moment. Trying to glean her motivations, feelings and subconscious mysteries she may have ignored.

It didn't amount to anything. Save for Amara's cheeks burning like the sun and her cringing and whining to Athena. Athena had no compassion for her. She left her warm perch by Amara's head to curl up on a pile of clothes on the floor.

As the day drew towards night, she decided this method of recalling the almost kiss was pointless. She couldn't focus on the problem. Only dwell on the sensations she felt then. Her heartbeat racing like it never had ever. The warmth of George's fingers intertwining hers. The thrill of his eyes locked solely on hers and how she liked the close proximity of their faces.

Yeah, she was not going to go anywhere near this.

She needed logic. Straight facts. The main hypothesis was why did she want to kiss him? The lighting and setting was romantic. It could be teenage hormones kicking into gear. Though, that would ignore the strange thoughts and feelings occurring succeeding their choosing to be friends again.

Amara's thoughts towards him had transformed to a degree over the previous months. She remembered blushing when his hands felt warm and weighted on hers. Or his laugh causing a tingling in her chest. During Transfiguration, they would accidently brush hands and she felt his touch lingering long after he apologized and distanced himself from her.

Oh, how foolish she realized she could be! It was right there. This kiss wasn't a sudden impulse. It was the result of falling dominoes she unknowingly arranged in a pattern in the slices of time she spent with him. Each domino was a thought or feeling. Like her becoming fond of George's tiny habits and how she hung on to the words coming out of his mouth.

She was blind to her own affection for him. That's what transpired to create the heart stopping, almost kiss she didn't see coming. Those infatuated thoughts of him preceding her deciding to leap for it were the final dominoes.

On the morning of December Twenty-Eight, she walked the path into the forest near her home. She started to resent her feelings for George. Despite coming into the light, she couldn't tell if she liked him properly.

How could she not know? They've gotten so close. She almost kissed him, for Merlin's sake. 

There must be some clarity. In her mind she set the clues she gathered in a line. Unspooling red thread, attaching them in a manner she saw fit. They were all signs of a hidden crush. She fancied George. That was certain, she realized, flushing in the winter frost.

She didn't know which direction she should take. One path was sunlit, cherry blossoms covering it. It promised to bring her closer to George. More closer than she'd been in the history of their friendship. It promised the taste of his mouth and the true extent of his affection for her. The concept made it hard to breathe.

The second path went into an autumn wood. It was warm. Comfortable. It didn't promise romance and his lips sadly. For all that it did promise a friendship spanning decades and his eyes crinkling at her jokes. He was there, his presence a candle in a room. Then there was this horrid possibility of seeing him with another. Someone who might make him smile more than she ever could.

It was safe. She didn't have to cross the line of their platonic friendship. The kiss could be an accidental breach they never spoke of again. The friendship never had to change. It could stay the same. Them being friends, exchanging friendly banter, playful punches to the shoulder.