Closed Fit As A Fiddle PV George Henry

𐮙──

──𐮙

George’s insistence that he didn’t have to go had Alma almost scoffing. He really was trying to seem like he didn’t have to leave. Well, I guess she could keep him here a bit longer then? She decided to simply hang her head and not respond. Yes, she was sad when he asked to leave, but she was no pusher.

He made a comment on the particular way she decided to eat the biscuit, which albeit was, barely at all. Immediately she took a large and direct bite from the middle of the biscuit, chewing and swallowing it down just to show that she was totally super hungry. She wasn’t just eating this to occupy her mouth so it was busy doing something other than sobbing. “I am eating it. And not just because you brought it.”

The conversation had moved quickly from excited to upsetting to just plain awkward. She didn’t know what to say to him to…what did she even want to do? Apologize? Ask if he still wanted to be her friend? Ask for another practice? Ask to never see him again? She had no clue. And what did he want?

Thankfully, he found a topic of conversation that was somewhat more bearable than the deafening silence between the two of them. “No, I haven’t met any of the international students. Would love to though - I think I might try and interact the next time they visit. And no, I did not go to the summer camp. I think I’ll go this year, though, if my parents let me.”

Alright. Time to rip the bandaid off. She turned to face him, grimacing at the pain but gritting her teeth to get through it. She looked up at him, wringing her hands and trying to will away the anxiety of the upcoming question. Just do it.

“Do you still want to be friends?”

George wasn't aware that him picking up on every little thing she did might have only made her more sensitive. He at least did not bring up the sad way that she chomped on her biscuit and announced that she was eating it. He simply nodded in acknowledgement of her statement - she was indeed eating it, although she didn't look like she was enjoying it particularly. "They should be back soon enough - it's pretty easy to spot them, there's always a lot of drama following them around. That's nothing new for this school though," George lamented. "Oh, you really do need to go to summer camp, too. It's the best. My parents didn't let me go in first year either - it would've been the best."

The boy let out a sigh. His parents were so lame - not wanting to send him to magical sleep-away camp after his first year at boarding school. Yes, they missed him, but had they not considered what he was missing by being forced to spend the best years of his youth (age 12) holed up at home in a town that did not understand what he was at all? Probably not. Parents were the worst about that kind of thing.

George blinked, quite stunned by the question. He assumed her pained expressions were manifestations of the physical kind of pain that had put her in the hospital wing, but no... evidently, she had assumed he was finished with her. What was with this influx of sensitive children? Hogwarts was no place for kids like her. Still, some part of his Hufflepuffian soul had a soft spot for children on the verge of weeping, so he reached out and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "What? Yes, of course. Don't be dramatic," he said, like a hypocrite. "I think you're probably just a bit out of sorts because you fell about a hundred feet. Relax."

𐮙──

──𐮙

Well, that was...anticlimactic. Alma had thought for sure that George hated her and never wanted to talk to her again after her embarrassing emotional display. Okay, maybe she was being a bit dramatic, but even so her mind had gone in all kinds of places. She thought for a second before simply nodding and wiping her face with her sleeve, muttering a small "okay" before situating herself back on the bed.

"Thanks," she took another bite of the biscuit. "Hey, maybe I can go to summer camp this year, i'll come see all your broom racing matches!" She was excited about the idea of actually seeing a broom racing match. She hadn't gone to any of the ones this year, since she was so preoccupied with Quidditch. It seemed exciting - I mean she had already known everything about Quidditch, as it was a fairly popular sport in the wizarding world and her mother was a witch.

She yawned. She was getting a little sleepy, and she had just woken up. I suppose medicine and getting hit in the ribs with a 50-pound flying ball will do that to you. She glanced over at Avery again, still sound asleep. She looked back at George again with somewhat sad eyes, and smiled dismally. "Maybe you should get going, don't want to keep you too long if you've got something going on."

She worried her bottom lip in between her teeth. She wanted to ask him just one more question. "Just...promise you'll visit again? Keep in touch? ...I know we don't see each other often because you're older, but I really like hanging out with you," she said quietly. The icing on the cake, she held her arms out for one final hug.