Elinor was left with nothing after the Second Wizarding War.
She was just another fighter, another witch, some alumni who battled darkness and won but lost to the glorious shadow of Harry Potter. Not a worthy acknowledgement was left to paint her du...
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"I THINK THAT DOG IS CUTER."
Elinor laughed, "No way! That Poodle is an eight, but that Bichon Frise is definitely a ten."
It took George almost an hour trying to coax Elinor back into the car. Then he drove very slowly, carefully, and quietly, because every time he said something Elinor would shriek 'get your eyes on the road, Weasley, you're going to kill us both!'
They reached Goodrington Park one and a half hour after they departed from her home, which should've taken only twenty minutes tops. But at least they made it.
"Bichon Frise?"
"See that fluff of white over there?"
"Oh... Yeah, it's like a walking cloud. But the Poodle's haircut rocks."
They sat near a foodtruck, he bought her a mocha latte with his Muggle money (he went to Gringotts that morning), and they talked about random stuffs, including dogs.
"My Ma— Uh..."
"That's fine," George said, "She is your mother, adoptive or not. You don't have to keep saying uh."
Elinor cleared her throat, "My Ma loves Pomeranian. It's like... Like that one. My neighbour has one named Charlotte, and she visits them almost every day."
"Why don't you get one yourself? As a pet?"
"Ezme's allergic to their fur."
"Wow, that's too bad."
"What about you?"
"You know our kind of pet is a bit different."
George waited as Elinor paused. But then she let out a shaky breath and replied, "Yes... You have an owl?"
George smiled. Progress.
"Personally, I don't. Ron has one named Pig—"
"Pig is an owl?"
"Yeah! It's short for Pigwidgeon. When we got it, it's just as big as a fist," he said, clenching his hand for a comparison, "Percy —my brother who sat next to me the other day, has one named Hermes. Mum gave it as a present when he made Prefect."
