Sorta, Kinda // George Weasley x OC

Year 1: Part 1

Amelia likes the quiet.

It's the best place to be alone with her thoughts, after all, and it turns out if you sit by yourself enough, people stop bothering you. And she's been sitting alone for... what, now?

Eleven years.

She traced her finger over the roots of her flytrap, Lucas, perched on a window beside her, and trying to ignore the clearly-unignorable fact that the plant, even though she'd argued with herself a million times that it was impossible, arched toward her finger in an almost-human way. But plants don't move, and they certainly don't grow when you want them to.

She couldn't remember much of anything about the world outside the orphanage. There was the walks they took outside, of course, which was a funny little walk the children would do, and it looked about how you would imagine corralling a bunch of under-thirteen-year-olds would look. She didn't like most things, but she didn't mind the wind against her face.

"Amelia?"

Amelia lifted her chin up, eyes meeting the Teacher's. The Teacher was a forbidding, impossibly tall, and slightly terrifying woman who kept everyone in line. But Amelia didn't really need to be managed, so they got on fine.

"Yes?"

"There's someone here to see you. A funny-looking man. His name is Professor Albus Dumbledore."

Amelia's breath caught in her throat - in eleven years, no one had ever come to see her.

"Is he-" she hesitated. "Is he a relation?"

The Teacher shook her head, and Amelia caught a glimpse of sadness in her grey eyes.

"Sorry, Amelia," the Teacher said, and Amelia climbed off the stool, taking her hand and leading her out of the small, dimly lit room. "Says he's a teacher. Some school - but I've never heard of it."

Amelia nodded, recovering from her disappointment, and tripping over a small crack in the floor.

"Oh, Amelia - that's the second pair this year already-"

The small girl swallowed, bending down and looking at the tear in her thick, black boots, but as her thumb brushed over it, the tear became no more than a scuff.

"Oh," the Teacher said, brusquely. "I guess it wasn't a tear, after all, that's not so bad-"

She stopped in her tracks, and Amelia got her first glance at Albus Dumbledore.

He was funny-looking, like her teacher had said, but it didn't matter, because his eyes were grey and sparkling, seemingly all-knowing. He had a friendly countenance, and he seemed like the sort of person you could tell anything to. Best still, he didn't seem like he talked very much, and when he did, it was something worth listening to.

For that reason alone, Amelia already liked him.

"This is Amelia Owens," the Teacher said.

"Amelia Owens," Dumbledore repeated, speaking in a gravelly voice. "Any relation to the street this orphanage is on?"

"Yes. She's named for it. Her family... we never knew them. She was found outside. Her name... I came up with that. First name as well. She wasn't left with a note. She was barely left with a blanket."

"I see," Dumbledore said, gravely. "Would it be possible for me to speak to Amelia, for a moment?"

The Teacher nodded.

"I'll be outside," she murmured.

The moment the Teacher left, Dumbledore stood.

"Is that your plant?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested. No one had ever been so interested in Lucas before.

"Yes."

"Unusually large, for a Venus flytrap."

"I... I guess so."

"Have you ever helped it grow?"

"I mean, I've... I've watered it and re-potted it and done all the things you're supposed to-"

"No, that's not what I mean at all," Dumbledore said, kindly, and the twinkle was back in his eye. "I mean, have you ever made it grow? With magic?"

Amelia laughed, her throat aching from the act of it. She couldn't actually remember the last time she'd laughed. But Dumbledore continued to regard her with the same complete seriousness, waiting for her to finish.

"I mean..." she cleared her throat. "I would if I could, sir."

"I think you may already have - very impressive, for a first-year..."

"First-year?"

"You would be a first year at Hogwarts, of course. All eleven year olds are."

"Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore chuckled.

"A school for magic folk. Like me... and you."

Amelia suddenly found it hard to breathe, this conversation had gone from seemingly a joke to something, it seemed, that was completely serious.

"I'm not magic," Amelia protested.

"Are you quite sure?"

"Yeah," Amelia exclaimed, confused at her own outburst. "I mean, yes. If I was magic... I would've done something with it a lot better than making a plant grow. I would've magic'd myself at least two, or three, bookshelves by now. I would've magic'd myself a whole garden of plants. I would've magic'd myself someone to talk to who doesn't bother or upset me. I would've magic'd, at least, a tray of cinnamon rolls that refills itself, and all I'd do is sit in my cozy chair and tend my plants, and read my books, and drink my tea and eat my cinnamon rolls."

"Well, maybe by fourth year," Dumbledore said, calmly, seemingly completely unbothered. He pulled out a photograph that seemed as if it was moving - which it wasn't - and showed her a sepia-toned photo of a castle that seemed like it was real.

Which, of course, it wasn't.

"Pretty," Amelia said, numbly. "Is that an illustration in a book somewhere?"

"That is Hogwarts."

Even if he was lying... Amelia had to admire his total commitment.

"Show me."

Dumbledore looked at her, for the first time, with great interest.

"What?"

"Show me," Amelia insisted. "Show me anything magic, and I'll believe you. I only think you're not telling the truth, Professor, because I've been here a long time, and no one ever has."

Dumbledore nodded.

"It's only fair," he agreed, removing a long, wooden stick from the grey cloak he wore. "Expecto... patronum."

A blue, holographic Phoenix flew out from the wand, dancing gaily, and the dimly-lit room seemed to light up all at once.

"It can't be real," Amelia protested, not believing what she saw. "It just can't be-"

The Phoenix flew past her, a blue, sparkling dust fading off of it, and Dumbledore pocketed the wand.

"I have done my side of the bargain, I believe, Amelia Owens," he said. "What of yours?"

"I believe you," Amelia whispered, hardly believing her own words. "I do. I believe you."

Dumbledore smiled.

"Good," he said. "And... Hogwarts?"

She exhaled.

"Do they allow plants there?"