All's Well That Ends Well PV George Henry Finished

It wouldn't be much longer until they would have to clear off the grounds and head back inside the castle. Leaving now wasn't an option however, even if he could get his legs to swing. He looked down at George, at least they could agree on not wishing to repeat the events of their previous adventure.

It wasn't until he sat back down that he noticed George had grabbed his wrist, although he was just letting go of it.

"You didn't hurt-" he exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, "-my feelings." Honestly, he didn't even know what he was feeling or how to feel at all. If all he could sense was a numbing daze, how could he be hurt? There was no pain, it was far worse. He couldn't feel anything at all, there was only the lack of feeling, a steady, meaningless tone that drowned out everything else.

"Stop it, you're just making it worse," he said. "You're just saying that to be nice. You're always so nice, I hate it." There was a little strength returning to his voice. "I don't fancy you either, I'm stupid for even asking, I just thought-". Again he poured over all the things George had done for him, how nice he'd been. Just out of the goodness of his heart? Difficult to believe. He might be a Hufflepuff, but Finnegan hadn't seen him darting around the place treating every starry-eyed first year to a trip to Hogsmeade. "-I just thought there was something special... never mind."

Then it hit him like a bludger. This wasn't about love at all and never had been. This was about getting attention, to be deemed worthy of receiving it by someone several rungs up the cool ladder. He swallowed hard. That was it, wasn't it? And he was about to lose it because he'd been so stupid as to assume that just because George liked boys, he must've liked him in that way. His science teacher had always reprimanded him for jumping to conclusions, to little effect it would appear.

The only way he was special was especially stupid. He half-wished he'd paid more attention in potions class so he could brew a strong forgetfulness potion, swallow down half of it and slip the other half in George's pumpkin juice. Maybe it would be better if neither of them remembered.

"I'm not nice at all," he muttered, slumping in his seat, "I never asked you about your day." He doubted he would remember much of anything if George were to tell him now, but he'd nod and smile his way through it until he could make it back to his dorms and hide in his bed forever. His chin trembled and he could feel something burning behind his eyes. He'd hoped he would've been able to at least keep up a brave face until George had left.

"It's not your fault," he mumbled. A hot tear slud down his cheek, undoing some of the powdering work along its way down to his chin before splashing down on the ground. He wiped it away with his sleeve, wishing he could wipe away all the stupid things he'd said just as easily. "I'm sorry, it's got nothing to do with you, I just haven't been sleeping well is all," he dabbed his eyes with his sleeves and looked firmly the other way. "We're just friends, just friends, and I'm a little tired and homesick, and that's all, OK?" he tried to sound determined.

George was, once more, the worst friend in the world. Did he have some kind of talent for crushing the hearts of people who trusted him? Maybe he was destined to be a dark wizard. It seemed the only time he had any success was when he came with the intent to hurt feelings. Although, much to George's surprise, it seems he had not been successful in hurting feelings. He very much doubted that.

The older boy reached out to put a hand on Finnegan's back, hoping that a comforting touch might make up for the lack of words. When the boy said he hated how nice George was, instincts kicked in, and the Hufflepuff laughed out loud - though he quickly reined it in, bowing his head in shame. He wasn't nice - he was a jerk, obviously, or else he wouldn't make people sad so much. "Don't be..." 'an idiot' was next, but he chose to simply let his voice trail off, rubbing Finnegan's back.

George's other hand once again covered his eyes as he suppressed a smile. At least he didn't laugh. It was so absurd that Finnegan would now think to ask about his day, considering the strangely dramatic moment they were now in the midst of. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and came out from behind his hand to look down at Finnegan.

"Awww..." He really was so sweet, but George didn't feel like insisting upon that would be a good idea, especially since he had been lying about finding him handsome. Obviously EmmaLee did, however. She must have been from the more charitable end of Hufflepuff. "I'm sorry."

He wrapped his arm around the other boy fully and pulled him in for a classic Hufflepuff hug, rubbing his back with one hand as he tried to hide Finnegan's face so that nobody would see him cry. It was futile.

"Don't get powder on your sleeves," he murmured quietly down to the Gryffindor. He had never been inclined toward physical gestures of comfort before his sorting in Hufflepuff. But after being on the receiving end of many of Jake's hugs, he had been convinced. Sometimes when no words would work, a hug would. "You're not stupid. And you are nice. And don't you dare call me a liar or I'll throw you into the lake."

He leaned back, letting Finnegan slip from the hug unless he seemed especially keen on staying in it. "I used to get that way sometimes," he said. Tired more than homesick. His family had a hard time keeping in touch with him during the school year as they often fell by the wayside, the young man choosing more magical pursuits like broom racing and Charms studies. But every month or so, he'd have a night where he missed them. "It gets easier. And more fun, once you can do a few spells."

He paused for a moment. "My day was fine," he added.

Somehow he managed to free himself from George's hug. He'd only accepted it so he could bury his face, hide the tears and compose himself. Besides, it wasn't like he had much choice. Stiff as a board, he suffered through it in silence, letting stupid George think he'd made things right so he'd let him go.

First scones, now hugs... He vowed he would never again be bribed into staying again so cheaply.

When he was free from smelling the fabric softener on the Hufflepuff's neatly kept clothes, he dedicated all his effort to keeping his face blank. Yet despite his best efforts, the stupid, dumb joke about being tossed into the lake made him snort and elicited a strange little laugh from him.

George's niceness was absolutely repulsive. Finnegan wished he could just be friends with the boy, that they could just chat about broom racing or exchange gossip about their Professors. Why did George have to make it so complicated and weird by saying that he liked boys? He didn't seem to think it was a big deal, he'd just sort of mentioned it in passing. But it was a huge deal, it made all the difference in the world, it put everything they'd done together into a completely different perspective.

There simply was no reason why a fourth year would take such an interest into someone like him, to the point of putting himself at the risk of detention just to show him around? He wasn't quite stupid enough to test if George was serious about throwing him into the lake if he called him a liar, but he thought it anyway. If not a liar, at the very least George wasn't being entirely honest about why he bothered with a scrawny boy three years his junior. In all likelihood, the Hufflepuff had just gotten cold feet after seeing him lurch forward like that. That had to be it. That was why George couldn't stand him just running off, because he was in love, or had been, and now he just didn't dare to admit it anymore.

Fighting to keep a straight face, Finnegan excused himself and managed to bombard George with just enough apologies to finally be allowed to leave. He even a managed a little wave and smile, just about convincing enough that George wouldn't second guess it until he was long gone.

He walked at first, then jogged, and once he'd entered the castle he ran up the moving stairs, kept his head down and headed straight for the abandoned toilets on the 2nd floor. He barged into the dark, quiet, disgusting lavatory with fresh tears in his eyes. He hated how pathetic he was.

Why could nothing just be straightforward with George? If the older boy had just kept to himself, if he'd just kept quiet, they could've parted ways as friends and all would have been right. He stumbled forward in the half-dark, grasped the edges of a washing basin with both hands and watched his heavy breathing condense on the mirror. Even through the fog of his own breath he could see how pale and wretched he looked, the powder under his eyes had all but washed away, there was sweat on his brow, his chest heaved and fell with heavy, ragged breaths.

He cursed, quietly at first, then unleashed a small dictionary of words he was far too young to know. He stayed that way for a while, half bent over, staring himself in the eye with murderous intent. Somehow George always made him feel like a complete fool, never mind his attempts to smooth things over with honeyed words.

It was exhausting to stay angry for long, and by the time he'd slumped down one of the greasy walls he'd concluded there were only two ways any of this was ever going to get fixed. He turned his wand over between his fingers, wishing he knew more spells, better spells so he could make his George problem go away. One thing was certain, things could not continue like this.

The first option was to brew a forgetfulness potions, one of the few things he knew how to do, and somehow convince George to drink it and pray that the Hufflepuff would forgot about ever having met him before. The second option was more painful, but had a higher likelihood of succeeding.

George wasn't going to just let him ignore him. Whether it'd be a week or two, that stupid owl of his was bound to show up eventually. Unless, of course, he managed to make the Hufflepuff hate his guts so that he'd never want to talk to him again. Finnegan bit down hard on his lips. There was one thing, and only thing he knew George hated.

Fire.

He wasn't sure yet how he was going to do it or when, but it would have to be public and George would have to know it was him.