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The appointment of Dolores Umbridge as Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sent shockwaves through the entire student body.
They were all well aware of Umbridge’s presence – it was hard not to be, after all. With her constant decrees and her iron fist, Umbridge had become public enemy number one for the students at Hogwarts.
You had always had issues with anxiety; struggling with panic attacks since your early teens, but since the appointment of Umbridge, you’re experiencing the attacks and the sleeplessness that follows much more often.
There felt like there was no end in sight as you sat up night after night; tiptoeing down to the common room, sitting with your knees pulled up to your chest, resting your cheek upon them. The usual heaviness settling over you as if greeting an old friend, and from then, you knew that the next few would days would be spent jumping at loud noises and such.
George realises something’s wrong a day into your panicked state. He makes the extra effort to walk you to every class; holding your hand that little bit tighter, silently letting you know that he is there – and he always will be. He’s loved you since Fifth Year, and now two years later in your Seventh, George is certain he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He’s well aware of how young you were, but his parents have loved each other since their Hogwarts years and who better to emulate than Arthur and Molly Weasley?
In a private moment in the Gryffindor common room, George pulls you to one side. One hand tangling with yours whilst the other brushes against your cheekbone. You lean into his touch; loving having him so close to you.
“You know I’m here, don’t you? If you ever need to tell me anything.”
“I know, I know,” You comment, burying your face in his chest.
His arms come to wrap around you tightly; his chin resting atop your head.
You hide the tears that threaten to fall. You just squeeze him that little bit tighter, thankful to know that he’s here and waiting for you to come to him.
-----
In your mind, Herbology is one of the calmest subjects offered at Hogwarts. Sitting in the greenhouse, you understand how young Neville Longbottom fell in love with the subject; deciding at such a young age to dedicate his future career too it.
You sit next to George throughout the lesson, and whilst it is one of the calmest subjects, it doesn’t stop your knee from jerking up and down for the majority of the lesson.
It seemed even in the safety of the glass greenhouse; your anxiety would not let up.
Thankfully, Professor Sprout has you up and about repotting Asphodel plants that have grown too big. It keeps you distracted for a time; your mind too busy on not damaging the valuable roots instead of on the crushing anxiety settling in your gut.
George flashes you wary glances throughout the class, and all you can do, is smile back at him with what you hope is reassurance. Each time you find yourself next to the red-headed teenager, you brush your hand against his gently. It takes everything within him not to pull you from the greenhouse and whisper reassuring words into your ear until you begin to believe them.
The bell rings, however. Standing from your seat, you look over to George where he remains seated.
“George?”
“I’ll follow you out, love. I need to ask Professor Sprout something.”
You smile smally at George before you leave the greenhouse. He promises he’ll meet you in the common room soon; you nod before grabbing your bag and heading out of the door.
George approaches Professor Sprout after the particularly long lesson. Usually, he’d be first out of the door, eager to finish his school day but he has more pressing matters on his hand.
“Professor?” George asks tentatively after waving Fred away.
“Mr. Weasley, is everything okay?” Professor Sprout questions, eyebrows reaching her hairline in surprise at the prankster still sat in his assigned seat.
“Everything’s fine with me. I was hoping you could help my girlfriend?”
“Whatever’s the matter with Miss (Y/L/N)?”
“She’s suffering from a lot of anxiety and I think she’s having panic attacks as a result. She hasn’t come to me yet, but I was hoping you’d know of a plant or an herb that I could brew into a tea or potion to help for when she does come to me.”
Pomona Sprout blinks away the sudden wetness in her eyes. She had never seen this side of the Weasley twin, and it oddly touched her. She clears her throat before answering, “Lavender is the most helpful with issues of anxiety and panic.”
“Lavender gives her migraines I’m afraid. Is there anything else?”
Sprout purses her lips, thinking of alternatives, “Jasmine for relaxation. Peppermint boosts awareness. Chamomile helps to calm the nerves too.”
George grins; happy to have an answer, “Thank you, Professor. I’ll go find them now.”
“Don’t spend your money, Mr. Weasley. Take some from greenhouse but don’t tell anyone I helped except for Madame Pomfrey who’ll help you brew this into a tea.”
“Thank you, Professor.” George whispers; touched by the kindness lacing her words. Then and there, George resolves to take Herbology more seriously; to work on improving his grades and attendance in class.
Professor Sprout waves off his thanks as she hands him bundles of the plants, “Go on. I’ll tell Madame Pomfrey you’re on your way.”
George nods once again before leaving the greenhouses, heading straight to the hospital wing.
Madame Pomfrey already has her cauldron heating up when George arrives at the hospital wing.
“Pass me your ingredients here, Mr Weasley, and I’ll show you what you need to do.”
George hands over his bundle of plants and herbs; eager to know how to help you manage your anxiety.
Madame Pomfrey, for the next hour or so, goes over the method with George meticulously, ensuring that he won’t make any mistakes should he need to create this brew on his own. She highlights how long it needs to steep and the right amounts to add so the brew isn’t too overwhelming.
“How often would you say it needs to be drunk for it to be effective?” George asks as Madame Pomfrey starts to ladle the mixture into a container for George to take with him.
“One cup, every morning, Mr. Weasley. For it to be effective. It’ll stay warm until morning in the container I’ve given you, but if you have any troubles with it, come see me.”
George nods, taking the container from Madame Pomfrey. He thanks her repeatedly before rushing out of the hospital wing, eager to get the tea safely to his room where he can keep it safe until morning.
He lets himself give in to the growing excitement coursing its way through his body; he truly feels as if he has found one way to help you with the anxiety that paralyses you so often.
Upon his arrival at the common room, he rushes to his room where he stores the tea in an empty drawer of his bedside cabinet. He bounds back to the common room where he finds you sat at a corner table, working on another essay set by Umbridge; he knows exactly which one – the theory behind the practicality of the stunning charm. He won’t write it in protest of her abysmal teaching methods – final grades be damned.
He takes the seat across from you, “Love? How are you?”
You smile at him tiredly, “I’m tired and hating Umbridge.”
“How much sleep are you getting?” George asks; a concerned lilt to his voice.
“Enough,” You comment lightly, turning your attention back to your essay.
George sighs at your evasion, but the last thing he wants to do is push you into saying something you aren’t ready to say yet.
He leans back into his chair; watching your work silently for a while.
He leans back into his chair, and he hopes and hopes that the freshly brewed tea now hidden away his bedside cabinet helps you step away from the edge you’re teetering so precariously on.
-----
Even in sleep, the panic finds you.
It has you sitting up in bed, gasping for breath after breath; trying to leech enough oxygen out of the air to be able to properly inflate your lungs, but not enough is coming in and you’re panicking more. The tell-tale sign of tears dampens your cheeks and the sobs only add to not being able to breathe.
You throw your quilt from your body; not caring if it slides off the other side of the bed. You push your feet into your slippers; rushing out of your room without a second thought.
You climb the flight of stairs to the boy’s dormitory; your tears coming faster and faster with each step. The headache you would have in the morning was something to worry about then, but already, you didn’t look forward to it.
The door to the boy’s dormitory, thankfully, opens quietly as you tiptoe into the room. The only sounds being the echoing of snores from Fred and Lee Jordan.
You find George’s bed easily; having slept in here so many times before. You smile a watery smile as you gaze down at the sleeping teenager; he’s kicked off the covers and lies with an arm covering his eyes as his mouth hangs open. It’s not the least bit attractive, but all the same, you find your heart racing at the sight of him.
You kick off your slippers before padding to the small gap of mattress available.
George startles awake at the change of pressure; blinking bleary eyed as he looks for the culprit of change. He relaxes a little when he sees you but is immediately worried by the sight of your tears.
“Love?” is all it takes for them to start anew.
You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs in order to not wake any of others in his dorm. George frowns, pulling you into his lap, wrapping one arm tightly around your waist as the other runs through your hair. He rocks you gently back and forth; all the while hushing you quietly, whispering words of calm and reason into your ear.
Your sobs turn to sniffles, and you slowly start to feel your eyes get heavier and heavier, but you force them open out of the fear of experiencing another nightmare.
“Do you want to try and sleep?” George mumbles into the dark.
You shake your head. “Nightmare?” He asks.
You nod your head.
“Alright, we’re going to need to move, love.”
George pats your hip, getting you to shift further down the bed so he can grab his dressing gown and a hoodie for you to put on over your pyjamas.
Your slippers make their way back onto your feet as you shove your arms through George’s hoodie, pushing the sleeves up some so it fits comfortably.
You wait by the door as George grabs a container of some sort from his bedside cabinet then he reaches for your hand and leads you down to the common room.
The fire still roars as you take a seat on the couch in front of it. Your tears have dried now, and you scrub at your face with the sleeve of George’s hoodie to remove their stain from your cheeks.
George sets the container down on the small table before sitting down next to you; his arms already open for you to crawl into. His fingers doodle a calming pattern through the material of his hoodie and your breathing relaxes into a more acceptable rate. He presses kiss after kiss to your hair and for a while, he’s silent on the whole matter.
“How are you feeling now?”
“Better,” You whisper.
“Are you ready to talk to me now?”
You nod, “It’s all been piling up on me, George and I thought I could cope but I can’t. Exams, Umbridge and the Dark Lord – I don’t think I’ve had a full night sleep since term started. And on top of that, I feel so awful with how I’ve been treating you; I am so sorry, George.”
George hushes you as you start to ramble faster, “Love… Love, calm down. It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, George.”
“I accept your apology. I’ve been so worried; I didn’t think you wanted to come and talk to me.”
Your eyes widen, “No! I did! I did want to tell you, but I was so scared of what you’d think.”
“Love, anxiety and panic attacks are not something I’m unfamiliar with. Ginny suffered with both after what happened in her First year.”
You nod your head as you think back to the small girl now in her Fourth Year. You hadn’t started dating George yet, but the feelings were there. It was the disappearance of his youngest and only sister that had you talking to him for the first time; offering him any words of comfort that you could think of.
“I should have known, but I didn’t think.”
“That’s okay, love. The fact that you came to me now means everything.”
You nod your head, smiling apologetically at the red-haired teenager that you fell in love with at the age of fifteen.
Curiosity being your besetting sin though, you can no longer ignore the container sitting on the table, “George, babe, what’s in the container?”
“Oh!” George yells, only just remembering that it’s there. Then he blushes deeply, “It’s something I had made for you.”
“What?” You gasp.
George manoeuvres himself out of your grip; reaching for the container. He opens the latches, happy to see the steam rising from the tea. The smell of the chamomile calms his racing heart, and he turns to you with a shy smile – two cups already poured.
“George?”
“So after you left Herbology, I spoke to Professor Sprout. I asked her for her advice on some plants or herbs that can help with anxiety.”
Tears spring to your eyes, “You didn’t?”
“I did,” He nods, “She suggested Lavender at first, but I know how it gives you migraines just from being in its vicinity, so I asked her for some alternatives. Chamomile, peppermint and jasmine. Then I went to Madame Pomfrey who showed me how to brew this tea to help with your anxiety. She said to drink a cup a day and see how it helps.”
“Oh George,” You hiccup; tears falling fresh down your face, “This is everything. Thank you, my love.”
You lean forward to catch George’s lips in a long kiss. Tears mix with the laughter coming from your mouth. George can barely kiss you for the smile on your mouth; instead, kissing your teeth.
George pulls away with a laugh, handing you a cup of the tea. Immediately, you blow on the hot liquid before taking a small sip. The tea warms your body and you settle back into the couch; George settling with you.
The scent of the chamomile has you feeling more relaxed, and just having the comfort of a warm drink in your hand, helps make you feel better.
As your grandmother would always say: everything can be solved over a cup of tea.
“What do you think?” George asks somewhat shyly.
“George, I think this is the best gift someone has ever given me.”
“Really?”
“Really,” You affirm, “You saw me struggling and instead of pushing me, you went out of your way to help find a solution for when things become too much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“I have an idea,” George comments lightly.
“Oh?”
“Let me know when you start to feel this low again? Or if you think you’re going to? I know how to make this tea now, and I’m sure mum wouldn’t mind growing these in her garden especially if I tell her what they’re for. She’ll be happy to help in any way she can-”
You break off George’s nervous rambling with a kiss, “What did I do to deserve you?”
He kisses you again, “Nothing, my love. You were yourself.”
“I promise though. To let you know.”
“Thank you,” He whispers.
Silence falls over the both of you; settling happily as you drink your tea, already feeling the calming effects.
With the heat of the fire and the feel of George’s chest pressed into your back from where he’s relaxed back to where he sat, your eyes start to droop once more.
No longer afraid of the nightmares that could come; no longer afraid to face the panic now that George has helped and will continue to help, you let your eyes slide shut.
The morning after brings with it sleepy smiles and a calm atmosphere. You kiss George good morning before stealing away back to your own dorm where you can get ready for the day.
On your way to the Great Hall for breakfast, you find George leaning on the wall opposite the entrance, waiting for you.
“How are you feeling?” George greets.
“Better,” You admit with a smile, “I’m glad we talked last night.”
“I am too.”
You nudge his side with your elbow, smiling happily for the first time in days, “Come on, Weasley. You can treat me to breakfast.”
“Love, nothing would make me happier.”