| Inked | (George Weasley)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Within a few days, Ollie was back at home, resting in the comfort of her own bed. She was clad in her pajamas, her hair pulled up in a bun to keep her curls away from her face. On her lap rested her notebook, open to a blank page. One of her pens was clutched in her hand, which was still sore from the extent of her injuries. However, Madame Pomfrey sent them home with a few strong potions which would help get rid of that soreness.

Olive sighed, her mind still fuzzy as she struggled to come up with a new idea for a story. It was the first time she ever had a hard time writing, and she didn't know if it was due to the effects of the potion in her system, or if the werewolf scratches took away her sense of creativity.

She hoped it wasn't the latter reason.

Putting her pen down, Olive flipped back a couple dozen pages. Past a few stories filled with her tiny, slightly smudged handwriting. After a while she came across a short story she had written, back when it was winter and Ollie had taken to writing in the Astronomy Tower. When she and George had spent the night running through the halls to get back to the Ravenclaw Tower.

She read through the story, a small smile spreading over her lips. After completing a few lines, she felt something change around her.

Her bedroom slowly transformed around her, morphing into the corridors at Hogwarts. Olive found herself looking in on the memory, watching her and George run through the halls, hand in hand.

...They were practically running through the corridors of the castle, stopping at each intersection to make sure they were in the clear. George would always go first- mainly because he didn't want Olive to be at the receiving end of whatever horrid punishment Filch would give them if they were caught.

Olive felt a sort of thrill running through the halls. She was terrified, naturally, but the way they'd run around and duck behind corners was almost fun. It didn't require her to talk, in fact it was preferred that neither of them did, but there was a still a form of communication between them...

"Merlin's beard." She murmured under her breath, frozen as she watched the scene. It was almost as if she was reliving the memory, looking on from a slightly different point of view.

...He waited a moment, glancing at Olive to make sure she was still with him. The short Ravenclaw looked up, giving him a reassuring nod that she was fine. In fact, she was more than fine... she was sort of enjoying herself in a terrified, thrilling way.

George grabbed Olive's hand with his own, both clammy from running on a cold night. He pulled her down the hall, keeping to the shadows in case a teacher were to jump out at them...

Olive watched in shock as the memory played out around her, from the moment in the broom closet to running through clouds of pastel powders in order to get to the Ravenclaw common room.

Olive paused, glancing around her in disbelief. She saw George on one end of the hallway, covered in chalk, watching Olive enter the common room. He had a smile on his face, wand clutched in hand, cheeks tinted red from either a blush or from running through the halls.

It was exactly as she had remembered it.

Then, the memory ended, almost as quickly as it began.

Olive was back in her bedroom, sitting in disbelief. Her notebook rest on her lap, her hands shaking as she struggled to comprehend what had just happened.

She had written the memory down because she wanted to remember every detail... nothing special had been done in order to make this memory happen again. It was like she was able to revisit the memory any time she wanted, and it would be exactly the same each time.