Irrevocably

7. Beginning - Part Two

Something changed after visiting the Mirror of Erised.

Something I didn't want to admit.

Something I refused to acknowledge.

But it was there, and I wondered if George felt the change, too. The glances we stole when we thought the other wasn't looking lasted longer, and we shared knowing smiles-a secret between us that nobody else was privy to.

Still, the development scared me. And my own brain didn't let me dwell on it. I fought down the new feelings, the curiosity over what his feelings were, and we carried on as friends.

To my disappointment, but also to my relief, George seemed to agree to our unspoken terms. He kept me at an arm's length, as well.

Still friendly, still kind and joking, but whenever our eyes softened and my walls went back up, he pitched his with equal measure.

We continued this dance, as infuriating as it was, until I'd fed myself enough delusion over the course of a few weeks to smother the small spark he ignited within me.

I'd convinced myself that it really was nothing, that we were only friends and I was overanalysing our friendship and turned it into more.

And it worked.

For a little while, at least.

I sat beside Dean in the stands among the rest of Gryffindor House. We waited for the quidditch match to begin, chatting aimlessly while I snuggled further into the blanket I had draped around myself.

Fixing it to shield myself better from the brisk air, Dean furrowed his brows at the shirt I was wearing. I'd donned George's Christmas gift, tucking the bottom of it into my trousers so it fit a bit better.

"What is that?" Dean eyed me conspiratorially.

"A shirt."

He rolled his eyes at my sarcastic response. "Obviously. Is it Harry's practise shirt or something?"

I glared at him. He knew the answer to the question already, but he wouldn't be satisfied until he heard it from me firsthand.

"No. George gave it to me for Christmas." I turned away and avoided his eyes, watching the teams-watching George, mostly-ready themselves for the match that was due to start at any moment.

Dean tsked at me, "So you two are dating and you didn't tell me, your best friend, because...?"

Scoffing, I narrowed him with an irritated glare again. "No. We're friends. That's all."

Dean laughed, "My sweet summer child," he patted my shoulder mockingly and, despite my growing frustration, I found myself fighting a smile, "you've so much to learn."

"Stop." I groaned, shaking my head at how annoying he was.

He sidled closer to me, "Friends," he echoed, clearly enjoying being able to taunt me. "On a serious note," he faced me so I would look at him fully, "I can tell you fancy him-don't look at me like that." He narrowed his eyes at me to match my own threatening gaze.

"Would you just-"

"You're so quick to banter with him. And not how you do with me, we argue like siblings. And you blush around him like a schoolgirl."

"I am a schoolgirl, you git. And, like I said, we are just friends."

Dean stifled a smile to stay serious, "If that's what helps you sleep at night, then fine. Just friends."

He paused.

"But, as someone who knows you and loves you, I know that it's more."

Another drawn out silence.