The Healer | Part 3: The Survivors

It was Time

George

'You know, you speak with a Scottish accent in your sleep.'

I looked up at Charlie stupidly. I hadn't heard him approach, I had been so focussed on the powdered chimera scales and snowdrop root that I was trying to manipulate into an explosion. It was a far cry from the ingredients I usually had at my disposal, but it would do in a pinch.

'Really?' I turned back to the ingredients in front of me. Edith had always said I smelled of gun powder. Ever since she had explained what it was and how it worked, I had been desperate to get my hands on the stuff. It sounded like good fun.

'No,' he admitted. 'But you do say her name in your sleep more than his.'

My hands froze and I looked back up at him.

Why was he bringing this up? It was obviously the beginning of another attempt at coaxing me to go back to England. Now he was bringing Edith into it. He knew I didn't like talking about her. It hurt too much to even think about the last time I'd seen her. She'd been running away from me. I didn't like it.

'She's not going to wait around forever,' he went on, knowing he at least had my attention for the moment.

'She was the one who left me, remember?' I grunted and turned back to the ingredients on the rock face in front of me.

He had been there, he had seen it. The fighting had barely ended and then she was gone.

I will admit, I wasn't as angry with her as I had been a year ago. In fact, if I thought about it too much, I started to feel quite guilty. Charlie had got word from Mum that she returned to England only days after we had arrived in Romania. But I knew I was in no fit state to see her. I needed time on my own to process everything that had happened. To re-evaluate my entire life. Besides, I was pretty sure she would split up with me if she saw me again.

But the first few nights had been hard without her. I was too proud to admit it then, even to myself. I told myself I was simply accustomed to her being around all the time and it was practically the same as when Fred and I had moved out of Mum and Dad's.

But I'd had Fred then.

It didn't hurt as much as it used to to think about him. I knew deep down he wouldn't want me to sulk and brood away the rest of my life with Charlie in Romania, but it still felt good to indulge myself.

'Then why do you keep saying her name in your sleep?' Charlie pressed.

'Dunno,' I grunted, continuing to fiddle with the snowdrop root and pestle.

'I think you miss her,' he replied.

'Course I miss her,' I muttered.

It was the first time I'd said that out loud. I'd realized weeks after leaving that I missed her, but I thought it would get easier being apart.

It hadn't.

I was afraid to see her again in case she'd decided she was through with me. It was bad enough losing Fred. At least this way, I could live with the illusion that there was someone back home who still loved me.

Charlie was silent.

'How thick are you?' He said finally.

My fingers slipped on the pestle and the resulting explosion was enough to knock me backwards, hitting my head off the hard rock behind me and leaving a small, blackened crater in the ground.

'Oi! Weasley!' Came a distant shout. Charlie cursed under his breath.

'Now you've done it,' he told me. 'You know you're only allowed to blow stuff up around the dragons.'