The Secrets We Leave Behind | George Weasley

Chapter 6

George was starving. He hadn't had a chance to eat much at dinner after Wood called an emergency practice before the hour was even over. He'd barely had time to stuff the contents of his plate into his mouth before the quidditch captain was all but dragging him by the collar towards the pitch.

The man was going absolutely mental this year. With it his last year as captain and last year to win the House Cup for Gryffindor, it seemed like Wood had been able to focus on quite literally nothing else. He had made it his habit to track down his players throughout the day in the Great Hall, the common room, walking to class, and recently he had even begun invading their dormitories to offer his sage wisdom on a sport that the majority of the team had been playing since they were children.

Fortunately for everyone else, Harry seemed to be taking the brunt of these talks, with Wood being adamant that the match would come down to him catching the snitch. Unfortunately for everyone else, he had still insisted on morning and evening practices for everyone until their next match. He had almost added afternoon practices on top of it all, but thank Merlin, Angelina had been able to talk him down from that.

Now laying in bed after scarfing down a measly dinner followed by three hours of grueling drills, his stomach was growling. He glanced over at the clock on the table next to his bed and seeing it was already a quarter to two, considered toughing it out until breakfast. A thought that was quickly nullified by a sharp pain in his stomach.

Sighing, he sat up and looked at his roommates, who had both been snoring loudly for the past hour. Solo journey to the kitchen it is. After pulling on a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, he quietly slipped out of the dormitory and descended the steps to the common room.

He had been lost in thought, half asleep with only the pangs in his stomach keeping him awake, his eyes struggling to stay open. He almost hadn't heard the quiet giggling that was coming from the fireplace as he rounded the corner. He stopped walking as he saw Vivian crouched in front of the fire. She was in a tank top and sweatpants, her hair in damp waves around her shoulders as though she had just gotten out of the shower. As George looked past her, he noticed the distinct shape of a human head resting in the flames.

Jumping back around the corner and peaking to confirm that he had not been spotted, he couldn't help overhearing.

Okay he was eavesdropping. He was man enough to admit that. After her emotional outburst and following confession to him the week prior, he had been keeping an eye on her, worried that her dark cloud would remain. But as the days went on, she seemed...fine, chipper even. He had tried to broach the subject with her once more the following day, but she had told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted to forget the entire thing ever happened. A request that George agreed to, though unhappily.

He wasn't used to the suffer in silence type. The members of his family, himself included, were all upfront - they didn't mince words or feelings. He had grown up in a home full of yelling, laughing, and crying, sometimes all three at the same time. There was no problem that couldn't be fixed with an emotional outburst and the input of every member of his family. They had to be that way really, seeing as the limited space in The Burrow made doing anything in silence near impossible. He didn't know how to deal with someone who didn't refused to talk things through.

"...but honestly Liz, it's...taken some getting used to. The staircases move, they call their final exams 'owls'...OH and everyone here wears robes? I seriously think you'd hate it," she was laughing as she leaned over the flames.

"It sounds theatrical. You hate it enough to come home yet?" he heard another American-accented girl reply over the crackling embers. He decided that this must be the Lizette Vivian had mentioned briefly, on the rare occasions she was in a sharing mood.