Shit, I'm Falling For A Weasley || George Weasley

Chapter Four - In which I decide never to have Butterbeer again

Staring at my pathetic excuse for a wardrobe, I find myself unsure of what to wear for the first time in my life. Hearing some shuffling, I realise I'm no longer alone. The idea of someone else witnessing my mental breakdown over something as stupid as clothing is enough to push me over the edge. 

"Here, you can borrow this," a top gets passed to me and I stiffen slightly. Hermione looks at me sympathetically and I'm about to take the top but then stop myself. The whole premise of taking her top even if it's only temporary is one I do not like at all. 

"It's just I've realised you don't have many winter clothes, so I thought I could lend you some since we're roughly the same size," she continues in a soft voice and I feel anger boiling up in me. She means well, I have to remind myself, but I can't help myself when I turn away.

"No thank you," I manage to mutter, my voice hard.

Shrugging on a jumper, I speed walk out of the room. It's not Hermione's fault, but then again it is. If only she knew why I kept so few possessions. It's better that way. Makes it easier to move around. There's always a couple of things kept at Severus' office and house, but other than that, I enjoy the freedom the lack of possessions give me. 

George glances up as I walk down the stairs, my heart rate quickens as he lifts up his arm to wave at me. He's wearing a patterned jumper and faded jeans, making me feel better about my outfit choice. My anger evaporates as he smiles.

"You ready?" he asks as I approach him and I nod my head. I see Fred and Lee give me a hard look from the corner of my eye. Seems like they don't like me hanging out with George. Well I doubt it's going to last long anyways. The thought makes me feel sad, for once in my life I've found someone who isn't scared of me.

"You're awfully quiet," George says as we walk out of the building and I give him a look. "I mean usually you've death glared me or drawn your wand out or something," he says and I can't help but smile. His face lights up as if he's pleased he's made me smile.  

"Can I ask you something?" I say looking up at him and he nods his head. "Why are you so nice to me?" The pause that follows is long and I'm about to crack a pathetic joke about death glaring him, but then he answers.

"It's not because I want to fix you or anything," he starts, running his fingers through his somewhat long red hair. "I meant what I said earlier, I think you're worth knowing." He shoots me a look and I find myself unable to meet his eyes. "Plus I don't think you need fixing."

The last phrase causes a shiver to go down my spine and it's not because of the cold. He smiles at me and I return it. We get a couple of weird looks as we walk into The Three Broomsticks. It's perhaps the first time I've actually gone out and stranger still, with company. 

George, apparently aware of the attention we're getting, leads me to a quieter corner and orders two Butterbeers. There's a silence between us as we wait for the drinks. Twiddling my thumbs, I can't help but find this whole situation ironic. All my life I've wondered what it was like to go on a date with someone, and here I was, reveling in the awkwardness this situation oozed. 

Not that this is a real date, I remind myself. 

"So" George says clearing his throat, "tell me something about yourself?" 

The question makes me stiffen. What could I possibly say about myself? There wasn't anything of interest. Aside from the stuff that people make up about me, I can't figure out what's real. There was a time when I was so sure of who I was, it was this blissful period around the age of nine. I was old enough to have proper conversations with my guardian, challenge him with my own opinions, whilst also marvel at his ability to make me see things from another light. But then I started my first-year at Hogwarts, getting sorted into the wrong house, finding it weird to converse with my guardian in the halls. Things changed, and suddenly I don't know who I am anymore.