Delicate Magic ► George Weasley

twenty. poetry poetry

George pouts as he carries around the bag of sweets, his frown pointed at her intently as she walks a few steps in front of him, humming away without a care in the world because she hadn't a care in the world.

The sweets from Honeydukes were for her, technically, even if she had gotten only the things that he said he liked. Iola had never been allowed to have many treats growing up, it wasn't good for her physique, for her training and purposely against her diet.

But she didn't mind breaking her diet for him. To hell with her dietary restrictions and physique if it meant she was free to enjoy her time with him as she wished. Because George was worth it. More than worth it. And she was willing to chase that light, airy feeling in her chest that was like a fluttery warmth but more when he was near.

"You said something about butterbeer, yes? I have never tried it before but I would still like to," she says, stepping back to his side so she could watch the way he fights the pout away to grin, offering his arm as he leads her to a distinct tavern looking place. The sign read The Three Broomsticks.

"You're going to love it," he swears, tucking her closer as he leads her into the crowded establishment.

All of these Hogwarts students coming at one time made her wonder idly if it had much of an effect on their income. Would they make relatively less during the summer months when school was out?

"Many people appear to enjoy it, it seems," she remarks, clinging to the back of his jumper with tight fingers.

He glances back, freckles like dark smudges in the dim light. "Don't tell me you're scared of a little crowd," he teased.

"Never. I am used to a crowd. I simply wish to be nearer to you," she finds herself speaking honestly, eyes chasing the flush that burst over his cheeks, spreading to his ears.

George gapes, cheeks pink. "You can't just say things like that."

"Why not? It is simply something that I have seen others say before..."

"Yeah, couply people."

"Yes, couple people, but it is not always like this. Is this not the stage that we are at? Dinah tells me that it is the time for flirting and teasing."

"Dinah told you this?"

Iola nods sagely. "I do not know the right way to do these things, and she advised me that this was correct."

He takes her hand, brushing his thumb against her open palm. "You don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with or anything you don't want to do."

Smiling, she locked her fingers with his. "I do this because I wish to. Do not worry about that. I am very fond of you, George. I am not good with emotions nor am I good with people."

Lifting her hand, he kisses her knuckles. "Take your time to figure it out. I like you just the way you are, you know."

He stands, moving to the counter to order their drinks, and Iola sighs happily, the burst of warmth through her chest like tiny birds wings making her feels light and weightless.

It was easier than she thought, allowing herself to feel so many things, letting herself become distracted no matter how bitter guilt lingered. Aveline wasn't here to ruin things for her now, wasn't here to command and control as some little puppet all over again.

Feelings were okay. She was okay, and as long as she continued to tell herself this everything was to be fine.

He places two mugs down before her, sliding into her side again. She smiles at him softly, accepting the beverage eagerly.