Serpentarium

HOME AGAIN
Dragana Luciane Alexandra Shafiq, or Lucy, taps her foot nervously on the stone floor, glancing towards the entrance to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office yet again. Professor McGonagall had given her explicit instructions to patiently wait for the entrance to open, but Lucy is too abuzz with anticipation to refrain from at least squirming. The cool, damp air of the corridor does nothing to alleviate the blush of anxiety on her cheeks. Every minute that ticks by only makes her tug nervously on her long, coal-black hair and rub her sweaty palms onto her corduroy trousers. Soon, she will be wearing Gryffindor colors again, and that realization brings a small smile onto her face despite her whirling mind. The quiet tinning of a bell draws her attention, leading her to gaze down the hall to find a rather ornery-expressioned cat eyeing her with haughty suspicion.

“Mrs. Norris?” she asks the creature, squinting to recognize the fluffy grouch.

The feline only hisses before prancing off, searching for her master, Filch, to report Lucy’s loitering. She is still smiling when the entrance to Dumbledore’s office opens and he beckons her in, but her nervousness has returned, forcing her to take a steadying breath before walking.

I can do this. I can do this.

“My dear, how pleasant it is to see you again,” he smiles warmly from behind his ancient oak desk as she tries to force her stiff shoulders to relax.

Framed portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses decorate the walls in a seemingly random pattern of gilded frames of various shapes and sizes. The characters in the moving portraits give her quick waves of greeting, some of them even calling out with words of welcome while others simply mime their excitement. They appear rather chuffed to be seeing her again; even though most remain serious and some are still snoozing and unaware. Afterall, Lucy had spent a fair amount of time regaling them with gossip about the other portrait entities during her previous time at Hogwarts. As a Hogwarts student for her 1st, 2nd, and 3rd years of witchcraft and wizardry education, she had charmed her way into the affections of quite a few portraits indeed.

Dumbledore gestures to the tufted, leather chair in front of his desk and she sinks into it, instantly comforted by the smells of parchment, ink, and leather that swarm about the room. Her apprehension fades away completely as the elderly man before her scans her face over his half-moon spectacles and offers a sweet from a gleaming silver dish.

“It is good to see you again, too, Professor,” she grins and pushes her own spectacles higher on her nose, giving him a polite shake of the head in regard to the candy that is vibrating with movement in the dish.

She focuses on the anchoring of her body in the chair, relaxing in the presence of this garishly dressed, long-bearded wizard with a voice rasped by life’s experiences. Dumbledore’s phoenix bird squawks lightly in protest at her lack of greeting, so Lucy offers the gorgeous creature a quick wave that seems to quell its hurt pride.

“Hello, Fawkes. Lovely to see you again.” She bows her head slightly to the creature.

The office seems to hum with lulling, constant noise; from Fawkes’s cooing, to the scratch of enchanted quills, to the soft whispers of portraits, to the crackling fire. She could easily let herself get lost in the cadence of it and briefly wonders if there is some type of charm on the office, one that makes it so pleasant.

“Well, my dear, I was pleased to receive your records from Ilvermorny. You seem to have excelled in all subjects, especially Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Is my understanding correct that you have taken and scored all O’s on your N.E.W.T.s?”

“That’s correct, professor. I was allowed to take them due to my O.W.L. scores and my scores from my school in America.”

“Well, then. I see why Professor Snape has such confidence in choosing you to help us with our…predicament.”
She fills her lungs slowly with the warm air of the room, memories from the last month swimming in her mind.

“You know that I would not recommend you for this task if you were inadequate,” Severus Snape contended in his customary monotone voice, but the softness in his almost-compliment is not lost on her.

“You are my temporary guardian. You have to think the best of my capabilities.”

“True, your parents did entrust me with your care after they passed, but we both know that I am not one to indulge in sentimentality.”

She paused, noting how he dragged out the last word with disapproval dripping in his tone.

“You are asking me to identify Death Eaters inside of Hogwarts. To spy and sneak and lie and defend myself if I need to. You are so sure that I will be able to infiltrate their group and turn them. I’m not even in Slytherin.”

“You can do this, Dragana. You know you can.”

She meets Dumbledore’s blue gaze, which is shrouded by his bushy silver eyebrows, and the sight of his expectant look helps her rein her focus back again.

“Professor, I am worried that I might fail. I might fail you, I might fail Snape, I might fail everyone.”

“Miss Shafiq,” he pauses to greatly consider his next words. “Change is coming to Hogwarts. Change is coming to the wizarding world. Chaos and darkness will come regardless of what I or you do. This is your chance to make a small push towards the light.”

She wants to say that he is mistaken. She wants to tell him that he has the wrong girl. She wants to go home to her small room at Spinner’s End, crawl under the blankets, and never emerge again. Instead, she answers with one, simple word.

“Understood,” she nods firmly and rises from the overstuffed chair, even as his words have her legs threatening to give out beneath her.

She has always known how gifted of a witch she is, but she never expected to have this responsibility, not at such a young age. Her natural affinity for absorbing information, something the muggles call “eidetic memory,” helped Lucy master her studies; along with a fair amount of hard work, of course. With countless hours of grueling hands-on practice, she shaped herself into a young but powerful force to be reckoned with. He rises from his desk as well, maneuvering himself and his silver trimmed robes around it.

“I know that we ask much of you, Lucy. Always remember, help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it,” he speaks softly, his hand on her shoulder.

But his hand is too heavy on her shoulder, too warm. She begrudgingly finds herself gulping, fighting back the emotions clogging her throat. Her father had always rested his hand on her shoulder to show affection. No hugs, no pats on the back, just the rare shoulder hold.
For a moment, she wants to turn and run. For a moment, she imagines herself brushing off the hand on her shoulder and yelling, “Do it yourself!”. But instead, she fills her chest with air and releases it slowly.

“Thank you, professor,” she swallows, hoping that he doesn’t notice the mist in her eyes.

“Now, you may journey over to Gryffindor Tower to get settled. I assume that Severus has spoken with you about the Triwizard Tournament and the latest mystery surrounding it. The students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang should take some of the attention away from you. Percy Weasley is here for ministry business, but I convinced him to aid your settling in before our meeting. He will be waiting outside to take you to your dormitory.”

Her mood takes an abrupt and positive turn, making her grin as she rushes out of the office. She stumbles in the doorway and quickly turns to offer her goodbye before practically sprinting out. Manners be damned; she is too excited. Being that Percy had already finished his time at Hogwarts, she hadn’t expected to see him. Lucy knows Percy relatively well, though not as much as his brothers, of course. The thought of seeing the Weasleys again has her planning and scheming all sorts of devious escapades. Sure enough, Percy is waiting outside of Dumbledore’s office.

“Merlin’s beard!” she exclaims.

She grins and wraps her arms around Percy’s lanky frame, but he only gives her a gentle, reluctant pat on the back before stepping away. When he clears his throat, she tries and fails not to chuckle at his perfectly pristine posture, slicked down hair, and starched, beige attire.

“Hello, Lucy. It’s...good to see you back at Hogwarts. I was sorry to hear about your parents.”

Even as there is only kindness in his words, her smile falls slowly from her face. If only he had left that sentence unspoken, then she could pretend that it was the old days again and her parents were still alive.

“Thank you, Percy,” she answers softly, imagining all of her mourning, all of her grief, being stuffed into a locked trunk and buried deep, deep, deep.

Too deep to reach, too deep to feel the rattle of those wretched feelings trying to escape.
She hides that metaphorical trunk under her new mission, under her glee at being at Hogwarts again. Straightening her shoulders, she weaves an arm through his and he rolls his eyes, but at least a small smile pops up on his face.

“So, tell me Percy. What have the Weasleys been getting up to this year?”

The pair stroll through the halls, Percy leading the way to the Gryffindor common room even though she easily remembers it. No matter how many staircases change, she had always been able to calculate the path.
At least that hasn’t changed.

“The Triwizard Tournament is taking up much of everyone’s attention. They restricted the age allowed this time, but of course Fred and George had to try to bend the rules. They took an aging draft and needless to say, their efforts backfired.”

He informs her of his work at the Ministry of Magic, puffing his chest as he tells her stories about his crucial aide within the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Lucy appreciates the passion in his voice, smiling at how his lemon-pucker mouth changes into a smile and how his eyes light up. But Percy then begins prattling on about his brothers’ antics and of how much he disapproves and soon she is only half listening. Instead, memories of the last time she saw the Weasley twins whisper through her mind’s eye.

flashback
“Are you sure that you have to go to America?” George asked, kicking a stray pebble near her packed trunk, his hands tucked into his jeans and his eyes looking anywhere but at hers.
“Dad took a professor position there. I begged to stay at Hogwarts, trust me. He doesn’t think it’s safe.”
“You could stay at the Burrow with us!” George exclaimed, as if he had made some brilliant discovery.
“Yeah! The Burrow! You know you love it there,” Fred offered, nudging her arm with his elbow.
She looked between the two of them; two of her best friends at Hogwarts. Instead of telling them what they want to hear, she straightened her spine.
“Molly already offered. My parents want me with them, and I want to be with them, too.”
“Well, we will miss you, Lucy. Don’t forget to write, okay?” Fred wrapped her in a bear hug, drawing a giggle from her as he spun her in a circle.
She knew that she would greatly miss his open affection, the warmth that Molly and Arthur had instilled in him. He walked away before she had the chance to tell him that she won’t forget to write. And then it was only Lucy and George, which had her fiddling with the loose string at the end of her sleeve. This is what she had been dreading the most: saying goodbye to the boy that she couldn’t wait to see every morning.
“I thought we would have more than 3 school years together,” he mumbled under his breath, lightly kicking the edge of her trunk with his toe.
“Me too,” she answered, silence surrounding them until a distant car horn sounded. Her trunk lifted and floated through the air to the waiting open boot of her parents’ muggle car.
“They’re waiting for me,” she sighed, fighting off the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes.
George nodded and cleared his throat before speaking.
“Bye, then.” His voice cracked before he turned on his heel and sauntered off, hands in his pockets. She gawked at his retreating form for a moment, lip quivering as she turned towards the waiting car. She had only made it a few steps before she heard him.
“Lucy!” George called out and she turned, her mouth gaping in surprise.
He only spoke her name before jogging up to her and cupping his hands around her face. She expected him to tell her that he will miss her, or to give her some parting Puking Pastilles or Chocolate Frog, but instead he leaned down his towering, post-pubescent frame and planted a chaste kiss on her lips. She inhaled sharply at the contact, completely confused by his actions, but by the time she closed her eyes, he was already pulling away. Still in shock, she stood stark still, eyes still closed as he whispered with his lips close enough to brush the corner of her mouth.
“Wicked.”
She grinned at his choice of word and opened her eyes, but he was already ambling away. Standing there in the warm sun, she could only watch his retreating body and press her fingers to her lips until the car horn honked again.
end of flashback

“Omnes Receperint,” Percy’s clear voice shakes her from her memories and a large portrait swings open to reveal the entrance the Gryffindor common room.

Her heart begins to gallop as she releases Percy and slowly walks in. More portraits greet her with smiles and waves as she gazes around the room. Being dinner time, no one is there, so she is free to step through the space as if she is seeing it for the first time. She soon forgets about Percy’s presence as she traces soft touches around the room, hands trailing over the familiar knitted throws donated by Molly Weasley, the worn, red-orange chair where she had learned a charm to braid hair, and the lumpy velvet throw pillows that had seen better days. She plops down on the sofa, its squishy cushions cradling her just as they had years ago. She forgets that Percy is still standing there, watching awkwardly while she gives herself over to nostalgia.

“I trust you remember how to get to the girls’ dormitory,” Percy states after clearing his throat.

“I can take it from here, Perc. I’ve already been given my room assignment. Thanks for leading the way,” she smiles and spreads out on the sofa like a starfish, basking in the feeling of being home.

“Welcome home, Lucy,” he murmurs barely above audible range before slipping out of the common room and heading back towards the Headmaster’s office. Wanting to unpack in privacy, she skips through the halls, allowing herself to forget the reason she is truly back as she trails her fingers across the stone walls and tapestries, pausing here and there to speak briefly with welcoming portraits.

Her trunk is waiting for her in the 6th year girls’ dormitory, just as she knew it would be. She can’t help but peek around the room at the other beds, wondering who she will be living with in the months to come. She lovingly traces the partition around the poster bed, its red velvet fabric, decorated with golden embellishments, the same as when she was a third year student. Just as she is finishing tucking away her possessions, voices begin to carry up the hall. Taking a deep breath, she wills away the butterflies and moves through the motions that help her focus and calm. One, push up glasses. Two, roll head from side to side. Three, check pocket for wand.

Stopping at the mirror, she smooths her already slick, dark hair and tries to remember exactly what she looked like the last time she was on Hogwarts soil. Her hair had been kept in a short bob back then, with blunt bangs that covered her eyebrows. Now it is thick and past her shoulder blades, a slick curtain most days, a tangle of kelp-like ropes on others. Her fringe had fortunately grown out as well, now serving as face-framing layers. She also hadn’t been a glasses wearer, as she hadn’t needed them and still doesn’t. The silver-wire rimmed, wide, circular spectacles had belonged to her late father. With the help of Snape, she had replaced the cracked lenses, swapping them out for non-prescription ones charmed with the ability to negate the power of a Disillusionment Charm.

Fighting back the reminder of just how those lenses had become cracked, she refocuses on discerning how different she would look to the housemates that she hasn't seen in over two years and how likely it would be for them to recognize her. The last time any of them saw her, she was only 14 years old. Now, in just over a month, she will be 17 and well on her way to proper adult life.

What a difference nearly 3 years can make.

She is well aware that her hair style and glasses are not the only drastic changes. Her figure has greatly changed, gaining curves like her mother’s and awful posture like her father. Scholar’s posture, her father had called it. Her full mouth and wide smile are all her mother’s, but she had never had trouble seeing her mother in herself. She hadn’t even been athletic like her father, even though she does stay fit from hours of foraging for magical plants and herbs. Her gaze lingers on her face as a little tendril of grief escapes its locked trunk in her mind, reminding her that her almond, black-brown eyes would always be where people could note her father the most. Memories leak into her mind, memories of her mother telling her this past summer just how beautiful of a young woman she was becoming. Shutting down those memories, she lets loose a long, steadying breath.

She worries the sore patch on the inside of her bottom lip, wondering if they will even care about her return. She hadn’t sent any pictures in the letters to the Weasleys, letters which had become less frequent in the last year as she dove into her studies and used her practical training as a distraction from her grief. The voices from the hall become louder, telling Lucy that it is time to reintroduce herself to her housemates. With one final deep breath, she opens the door and makes her way to the common room.
The overwhelming chatter dies down as soon as she steps into the common room, a few faces showing panic, some curiosity. A younger boy with spectacles similar but smaller than hers looks to be instantly wary of her unfamiliar face, but she can’t blame him as she realizes that he is Harry Potter himself. She smiles sheepishly as her eyes scan the crowd. One redhead. No, that’s Ron. Another! No, that would be Ginny. Then finally, her eyes land on a matching set of devilish grins. The twins’ eyes widen, their mouths gaping open and closed, open and closed.

“Bloody hell!” Fred exclaims, racing across the room and sweeping his friend up into a bear hug.
Feet dangling above the floor, she giggles incessantly and holds onto him as if someone would try to rip the two apart. The rest of the common room look on with confused faces until a few of the other 6th years begin to recognize her. They crowd around Fred and Lucy, passing her along from hug to hug, patting her on the back and showering her with questions all at once.

“What are you doing here?”

“How was America?”

“When did you get here?”

“Are you finishing school here?”

Lucy attempts to answer a few, but quickly finds it impossible to address them all. When they finally catch on and stop barraging her with questions and the hyperactive moment relaxes, she realizes that only one of the twins has greeted her. She stands on her tiptoes and glances over the shoulders of her friends, her gaze zeroing in on George’s face. He’s grinning, his face glowing with joy that has her blushing. Lucy and George part the crowd, not caring about rudeness as shoulders bump shoulders. When she finally reaches him, she can only throw herself into his waiting arms.

“I can’t believe you are actually here, Pocket,” he whispers reverently into her hair, his mouth sending a short puff of air into her ear.

He holds her against him in a tight hug that lingers as his large hand presses against the nape of her neck. With her face against his firm chest, she squeezes her arms around his waist with a vice-like grip, smiling to herself at the nickname. She fights the overwhelming urge to cry, focusing instead on the lingering scent of roast dinner and pudding on his white button down. By the time his grip relaxes, the noise in the room is settling down to a steady, constant chatter of excitement. Lucy pulls back but doesn’t retreat far, not ready to put distance between them again.

“It is so good to be back,” she grins, barely noticing that George still holds one of her hands in his.

“Well, then, Pocket. Time to find out if you still have the goods,” Fred says, approaching her with his hands rubbing together.

“What, these goods?” she asks, pulling out the galleons that she had easily lifted from his pockets, along with a few stray sweets and a handful of useless trinkets. The crowd of onlookers stare with gaping mouths as Fred and George chuckle, Fred accepting the items back.

“I was on guard, too,” Fred laughs.

“This is the girl that taught Fred and George how to pickpocket,” Ron murmurs to Hermoine as he emerges from the crowd. He is taller than he had been when she last saw him, taller enough for her to take notice.

“Damn right she is,” Fred grins, his arm slinging over her shoulders. The familiarity with which he touches her is enough to make emotion clog her throat.

“Hermoine Granger. And this is Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom,” a girl that Lucy just barely recognizes holds her hand out to her. As Lucy shakes her hand, Lucy notes the girl’s features. She is just a couple of inches shorter than Lucy’s 5’7’’, but she stands with a confidence that Lucy wishes she had had when she was her age. Of course, Lucy already knows a great deal about Harry. Not only is he quite famous, but she has been well appraised of everything Voldemort-adjacent.

“Lucy Shafiq. I don’t really go by Pocket anymore,” she introduces herself properly.

A brown-haired boy with big teeth and fair skin, the one Hermoine introduced as Neville, scrambles closer, his expression as if he is in the presence of a Godric Gryffindor himself.

“Lucy Shafiq? Professor Sprout mentioned you. Said you were the best Herbology student she ever had!” he grins and she can’t help but smile back.

“I don’t know about the best,” she trails off as Fred interjects.

“This girl is the smartest Gryffindor you’ll ever meet!” he exclaims loudly enough for the entire room to hear. In the corner of her ever-aware vision, she catches the sight of Hermoine’s spine snapping straight.

“Hey, now. You haven’t been in class with me for years. Maybe I piqued in 3rd year,” she jokes, shoving Fred’s arm off of her shoulder.

Eventually, the rest of the students unfamiliar with her leave the group to catch up. They chat and banter for what feels like hours. Lucy listens patiently as Fred regales her with the story of the Chamber of Secrets, all the while Ginny calls him out on the exaggerated bits of the story. Harry stays, along with Ron, Hermoine, and Neville, but looks as if he would prefer being anywhere else. Lucy’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much and her face is flushed pink as a Puffapod. The adrenaline crash catches up to her and she yawns, stretching out her limbs like a cat. George is already staring intently at her when she glances in his direction. Something in his gaze, maybe the way his smile is small or the way his eyebrows are slightly lifted, tells her that he will be wanting to speak about how they left things that day almost 3 years ago. Even with all of the letters they had written back and forth, the pair never once mentioned the shared moment. She wanted to talk about it so many times, but in the end what she truly desired was to forget so that she wouldn’t yearn for and miss him even more.
Lucy doesn’t notice that he is twirling the ends of her hair in his fingers until she follows Ron’s narrowed gaze to George’s hand. She gives herself one moment, just one, to consider how happy she is to see his grinning face, how she had instantly felt the zap between them. She allows herself to bask in the feeling of being home, surrounded by her fellow Gryffindors in the best school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. But then the moment passes, and her face droops as she remembers her mission.
She rises from the couch and makes a dramatic show of yawning, telling them all that she had a long day of travel and needed to get sleep before the next day’s classes.
Hermoine yawns as well and her trio of boys follow her out of the common room, bidding their “goodnight”s and “nice to meet you”s. Fred sweeps Lucy up into a bear hug again, kissing the top of her head.

“So, I’ll see you in class, right?” he asks as he sets her back down on her feet.

“I don’t think we will have too many classes together. They had to find empty spots for me, so I will be taking 7th year classes, mostly with Slytherin,” she tells them her carefully crafted cover story, her heart falling at having to lie to them already.
Fred whines good-naturedly before bidding goodnight and promising to save a seat for her at breakfast. Then it is just Lucy and George in the room, dimly lit by torch and fire. Weighted silence fills the space between them and her curious eyes begin a slow, purposeful scanning of him. He certainly had grown up while she was away. Of course his ginger hair is still sunset orange, and his freckles still splatter a friendly constellation across his face. His eyes are still warm and mischievous, his smile still open and never shy. But now he is taller, his shoulders broad and his arms toned and defined from his time as a quidditch beater. His face is less boyish now with its sharp jaw and loss of the roundness she remembers.

“I know what you’re thinking, that I’m even more devilishly handsome than I was last time you saw me,” he winks, wearing his easy charm like an old hat. Lucy is grinning without even realizing it; the chemistry clearly still there even after all of their time apart.

“I always hated how you can tell what I am thinking,” she answers, nudging his shoulder with her hand. He gives her an expression of mock offense as her self-consciousness builds. She nibbles the inside of her lower lip, wondering if he had moved past the moment they shared the day she left, after all.

“I know you’re tired, but do you want to sit by the fire, for just a little while longer? There is so much to catch up on.”

“Sure,” she answers, even though she can feel the lead ball of heavy exhaustion in the pit of her stomach.

He wordlessly pushes the sofa closer to the fire and fluffs out a blanket, beckoning her with a gesture of his freckled hand. Lucy doesn’t hesitate in sitting next to him and pulling the blanket over herself. He, of course, scoots closer, surprising her when he lays his head on her lap. It is something the two always used to do; him resting his head in her lap, Fred and their other friends all clustered together around her, hanging on her every word as she explained the History of Magic homework.
Lucy fights the urge to comb her fingers through his ginger waves or to let a fingertip trace along his jaw or across his brows. He seems perfectly comfortable, no trace of awkwardness in his obvious expression of affection, and it irks her that he is so easy going, so without burdens.

“You alright?” he asks, looking up at her.

“You don’t think this is a little…strange?” she grimaces, wondering how he can so easily relax against her when he hadn’t even laid eyes on her in years.

“Sorry, Pocket. I should’ve asked,” he replies, sitting up but not scooting away from her.

Instead, he turns his body to face her, his elbow resting on the back of the couch with his fist against his temple. His eyes are sparkling, his mouth curved slightly at the corners in a peaceful smile.
Merlin, what am I getting myself into?
Her eyes narrow at his body language even as her own body leans automatically closer to him.

“I can’t believe you aren’t upset with me. I haven’t written back in ages, and I didn’t even tell you I was coming back this term.”

“We both know that I can never stay miffed for long.”

“So…you were miffed?”

“No…not really. Well, I was just a bit gutted. Not at you though. We missed you, Pocket. I missed you. Especially after how I left things,” he explains, reaching out and taking one of her hands. His grip is warm and soft, his hand so much larger than hers. She fights to urge to gawk, while simultaneously running the pad of her thumb along his skin.

“I was wondering if we would talk about that. I thought maybe we would pretend it never happened.”

“Now how could I pretend that?” he asks, scooting a bit closer, his eyes sparkling in the firelight. Lucy’s tongue darts out for a moment, subconsciously wetting her lips as he leans forward, her mouth becoming too dry to swallow. When he brushes his nose teasingly against hers and his breath fans across her face, the tips of her ears turn cherry red. Time seems to stop moving in that moment, allowing logic to creep in and assist with her difficult but necessary rejection. So even though she wants to throw herself towards him, she jerks back.

“I’m sorry, George. We can’t,” she whispers, hating the truth on her tongue.
She pulls back her hands, which had been resting on his thighs without her knowledge and pushes gently against his chest. His soft smile falls, his jaw clenching as he leans back away from her.

“No apologies, Lucy. I should’ve asked before I, you know,” he laughs lightly, his own fair cheeks pinking up. But he still gives her that honest smile and damn if it doesn’t make her want to fling her arms around him again.

He ruffles his own hair with one hand, but Lucy can see the disappointment hidden behind it. That is just like George, though. Forever hiding his let down to not make others feel guilt. Just as she is about to give in entirely to their mutual yearning, her mind shoots back to Snape’s warning a few days ago.
Flashback
“Dragana, I am well aware that you were quite attached to the Weasley twins when you left. Obviously, you will be possibly staying with them during breaks if we need to conceal your connection to me, but I must insist that you do not grow too attached to them.”

“They were, are, my best friends.”

“Granted, but they will only distract you from your mission. Also, it will be much more difficult to befriend Slytherins if you show too much loyalty to Gryffindors.”
End of flashback

He is still gazing at her with attempted aloofness, but he can’t hide how his brows pinch. She fights the ache to just tell him everything, to gain him as an ally in her plan.

He can help, can’t he? He can keep the secret, right? I can still complete my mission and have him at the same time. But have him as what? A close friend? A boyfriend?

Thoughts consume her, her eyes on him dazed and considering. There is no denying that staying away would be difficult or that not staying away would have detrimental consequences.
Too wrapped up in her inner dialogue, she almost misses when he says, “I didn’t even ask if you have an American bloke back in the states anyway.”

“No! Not at all!” She quickly answers, flinching at the squeak in her voice. Her mind scrambles as he stands from the couch, her decision hanging in the balance. Lucy opens her mouth to speak, to tell him everything, when she remembers just how dangerous her life will be for the next year and a half.
I have to protect him. I have to save him from myself.

“George? We’re alright?” she asks, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“Of course, Pocket. I’ll see you at breakfast,” he smiles, genuine now, and leaves her to process her regret and longing alone.