| back to love | {g. weasley}

[ twenty-five ]

"I'm not sure I've got anything," Evelyn admits quietly.

Hermione rolls her lips together. "Me neither... but I can't tell him that, can I?"

Evelyn's shakes her head. "I don't want to go back over there empty handed..." she leans back and checks the sight of Harry. He hasn't moved in about thirty minutes— since he switched from laying on the right side of his face onto Vermelda Chev's Monologue of the Magical Aquatic to his left— and his eyes were just as lifeless as a sleepless hobo's, not to mention his long black hair was tangled in numerous spots from lack of grooming.

"To be honest, I'm just happy he isn't having any sort of fit," Hermione says. "Though he has been rather snippy the past few days..."

Evelyn nearly snorts.

"Oh, 'Miony, that is a fit," she promises. "I haven't heard him talk in over an hour, and that," she points over Hermione's shoulder, "is the perfectly passive stare of a dead man walking."

Hermione turns her head and looks over her shoulder. "I suppose you're right," she sighs. "Should we tell him?"

Evelyn shrugs.

Truth be told, she hasn't really found much because she hasn't been able to focus the past 24 hours. Something has been eating at her mind like a starved parasite, consuming her every thought and motion and completely derailing her from the simplest tasks (helping Harry to keep from dying in the second task tomorrow and brushing her hair properly, to name a few).

That thought was George, of course.

He's infested her mind in a way she's never experienced before; she was used to thinking about him but not like she does now.

Now there's a looming cloud hung over her every thought, George-centered or not, and it's heavy and grey and leaking with unchecked precipitation of emotions— as if her recognition of their existence has thrown her whole equilibrium of thought off balance.

Was it bad to know all of this?

She wondered it constantly, if she was allowed to know how she felt about him, if it was okay, if she should try and look into it to know more about how strong it throbbed through her every time he walked through a room. No matter what she debated, that cloud was blocking her from fully coming to terms with it all.

Beside her stressful admiration was another obsession in her forethought: wishing she had heard him describe his potion.

She didn't want to just take Nell's word for it, she wanted to hear it for herself. She needed to hear him say it, or else that cloud may never clear.

Evelyn takes in a deep breath, rolling her lips together as she gestures for Hermione to turn around.

"Harry, tell us again," Hermione says.