Sketchbook ~ George Weasley

Chapter 8 - The Ex

"I didn't know you had a boyfriend," Harry chimed. "Is he from America?"

"Well, I don't exactly have a boyfriend," I said. "At least, I didn't think so. We never really officially broke up, but we haven't talked for the past two months either."

"Oh, well, you should read it then," Harry said.

"No, we were talking about some important things," I say. "That should take precedence over this." I stare down at the name with soft eyes and can't believe that I had almost forgotten about him. I was so consumed with the thought that if he wanted to talk to me, he would just write, but I never thought about actually writing to him first.

"It's alright," Harry said. "We have time to talk. Besides, it looks like you really want to read it."

I look up from the letter and over to Harry who sits across from me, "Yeah, you're right." I look back down.

"Do you want me to be here with you when you read it?" Harry asked, the twinge of concern on his voice wasn't lost in his eyes, and I smiled when I looked back up at him.

"You would really do that?" I asked, shocked.

"Sure," He said. "We're friends now, aren't we?"

I smile, "Yeah, but I really think I should be alone when I read this." Mainly because I don't want the boy who lived to see me cry.

"Alright," Harry smiled. "Tomorrow meet me down by the black lake? You know, so we can talk some more."

"Sounds like a plan." I watched as Harry stalked off down the hall. I only looked back down at the letter when I knew he was gone for sure.

David Petoga was a name I hadn't seen written down on paper for a very long time. I brush my fingertips gently across the paper and slowly rip open the sealed envelope. I take out the stained letter and tentatively unwrap it, trying to make out the messy writing for my former boyfriend.

Dear Paige,

    Hello, I know it's been a while and I know that I should have written to you a very long time ago, but every time I tried to start a letter, I just didn't know what to say. I didn't like the way that we left things at the airport and I'm sorry for being so awkward about it. What I'm just trying to say is that I miss you and I miss us and I know you're far away and that complicates things a lot, but I still want to have you in my life. We always have Christmas break and the summer break where you'll be home and we have letters. Too bad for our poor owls, though. You know, I can get a second owl and they can take turns, or we can do it through the post office, you know, the no-maj way. Whatever it takes. Llevermetary just isn't the same without you. Did you know they gave your chaser position to Amanda Greenscott? She's a nice girl and all, but she's, how the Brits would put it, bloody awful. We miss you a lot over here. I miss you. Please, at least write me back so I don't feel like a complete idiot.

                                    Sincerely,

                                    David

I smile a little as I fold back up the letter and shove it back into the envelope. It all seemed very David of him. The boy could probably not go a single letter without being able to mention quidditch. While I was glad he wrote, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. It made me realize how much I missed my old school and how little I communicate with my old friends there. I guess it's a reminder of all the things I was trying to forget so it wouldn't hurt as much.

When I got back to the common room, Hermione and Harry were sitting on the couch.

"Was everything alright?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," I say. "Everything was fine."

Hermione looks over at me with concerned eyes, then at Harry, then back at me again, "What happened?"

"Oh, nothing major," I said. "I had just gotten a letter from my ex-boyfriend that I haven't talked to in about two months. Harry only knows because we ran into each other in the Owlery."

"What?" Hermione gave me that look where she was asking me a question, but you could tell she was more focused on trying to figure it out on her own. She finally settled with, "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. He just updated me about what's going on at my old school. Told me who got my old chaser position," I said.

"You play quidditch?" Harry perked up, seemingly impressed and I could somehow already tell that made our friendship stronger without even doing anything.

"I used to, yeah," I said.

"You have to try out next year then," Harry said. It was the same thing the twins said when I told them.

"I don't know. I'm probably nowhere near as good as you Hogwarts kids."

"C'mon, I think you'll like it. Fred and George are our beaters too, so you'll know people on the team." He said.

"Maybe," I said. I turned to look back at Hermione, who had been pretty quiet, too see that she was just looking at me, her face slightly pinched in concern. Unshockingly, her emotional intelligence is just as high as her regular intelligence because she knew that something was wrong.

"I'm going to head up to our dorm," I said. "I'll talk to you guys later."

"Bye," Harry called out, but I left before either of them could say a proper goodbye. I think that I just didn't want Hermione to worry, or at least I didn't want to see that she was worrying because it's hard to know that there are new people that care about me now. The more I get used to my new life at Hogwarts, the more I feel guilty for not missing my old one as much. 

The dorm was empty when I got up there. Most of the girls were enjoying the day with their friends, but here I was contemplating a highly dangerous situation that could potentially get me killed. I get the feeling for some reason that that's what my life at Hogwarts will boil down to over the couple of years.

Then there's Harry. The first person I've told my secret to and the last person I ever thought that I would tell my secret to. It feels better to share the burden with someone else, but I can't stop worrying. Ever since I've gotten to Hogwarts my drawings have become more frequent and a more intense a feeling washes over me. It worries me and the longer I stay here, the more of an urge I have to draw. Almost as if I'm starting to crave it. I lose sleep over it. In fact, right now is the first time in a long time that I don't feel like drawing.

I walk over to my bed and place my sketchbook on the table next to it when I notice a small scrap of paper there that I hadn't left there. I picked it up and turned it over to find a short message written for me on the back of it. It was about the third thing today that made my heart uncontrollably pound.

I know what you're doing

How annoyingly cliché.