Chapter 81: 6th September 1991, Friday: Part 10

George felt a weird obligation to correct Myrtle's miss information and change her opinion even though he personally didn't care about reggae either. He pulled down his hands from his head and pointed at the boombox, his expression clearly showed his offence at her disrespectful words.

He stated, "that man you're snubbing is Bob Marley. He's practically the father of reggae and one of the greatest and most famous musicians of all time."

Myrtle just shrugged her shoulders and retorted, "you're obviously exaggerating."

George insisted, "he sold more than seventy-five million records worldwide."

Myrtle turned back to George revealing her glaring eyes and pressed together lips. An unemotional George would have recognised that contradicting Myrtle even when she was wrong was a stupid idea, but he was currently too distracted thinking about Bob Marley for some inexplicable reason.

She asked him, "why do you know so much about this Bob guy anyway? Are you some kind of massive fan?"

George was about to retort like usual but he realised, just as he opened his mouth, that this entire conversation had been one massive tangent that had completely distracted him. He didn't even listen to Bob Marley except for when Amanda occasionally played one of her records, all of his facts relating to Bob came from one of the many books he had taken from their local library. It had been researched to help him understand muggle culture and blend in better, perhaps he had gone a little overboard during those eleven months.

George stuttered before saying, "I'm not a fan, I've just read about him."

Myrtle didn't seem convinced, "do you often read about famous musicians you don't like?"

George responded, "I read about everything regardless of whether I'm interested in the subject matter."

Myrtle wasn't letting this oddity in his behaviour go, "why do you read about stuff you don't care about?"

George once again found himself speechless, he didn't really have an answer to her question. He had spent well over fifty per cent of his time at the Linwood house reading books ranging from various topics, he knew a little about everything from gardening to rocket science. He had justified his excessive reading to himself as an excuse merely to kill time or learn various facts that may help him in the future. These excuses were things he came up with after the fact and not his actual motivation, he didn't know the real reason. As it hasn't affected his ability to conduct his mission, he hadn't thought too much about it.

George remain silent so Myrtle made a speculation, "could it be that you like reading because it distracts you, maybe helps you cope with your panic attacks."

George instinctively reacted negatively as if that prediction was ridiculous, "of course that can't be. I would already know that if that was true."

Myrtle looked incredibly smug as she looked down toward George's hands, "what about your hands? I think they are agreeing with me."

Unsure what she had meant by that comment, George looked down and was blown away to see that his trembling hands were completely still. He also realised that his heartbeat had gone back down to a normal level and his thoughts felt a lot clearer. His current health seemed to be in a similar state as it was a month ago when he was living with the Linwoods. Although he didn't feel like he was in peak condition, this was a state he found quite manageable. That's when George realise the truth, Myrtle had hit the nail on the head.

There were many reasons why George had a panic attack when he first arrived at Hogwarts, but perhaps this was one of the main reasons. He knew that his mental well-being had been steadily collapsing over the past year but there hadn't been any dramatic signs until he arrived at Hogsmead Station. He recalled that he had been reading more and more books as time went by in the Linwood house leading up to September, that must have been a subconscious method of coping with the ever-increasing emotions.

The more that George thought about it, the more that this theory made sense. With this realisation came a strong sensation of euphoria, which washed away all of the stress relating to failing the potion. He stood up abruptly with a stupid smirk on his face, he looked down towards Myrtle which only caused his smile to broaden wider.

He happily declared, "you're a genius, Myrtle. If you were corporeal, I would have kissed you.

I think we can make the potion this time, I just need you to do one thing for me."

Myrtle was in shock after George's sudden mood swing and loud declaration, the fact that he had referred to her by her first name was completely overshadowed by his forwardness. She was quite happy to be a ghost at that moment because her embarrassment was hidden behind her transparent blue visage. Her instinctual desire to correct him for using her first name was stuck in the back of her throat.

She could only muster the question, "what do you need me to do?"

George proclaimed, "I need you to distract, divert, hinder, or more simply, talk my head off. Do not let my mind linger on the potion for one second whilst I brew it."

Myrtle floated up from her seated position until she reached George's eye level.

She answered his question with a beaming smile, "I think I can do that."

George nodded happily and turned around to start the laborious task of cleaning up the mess he had made, but, he was stopped by Myrtle's concerned voice.

"What about your hand? Isn't it broken or something."

George turn back around to face Myrtle and grabbed his dislocated finger with his opposite hand. He pulled on the finger, creating a large popping noise, which caused Myrtle to cringe. Then he held his hand up with his finger relocated and wiggled it around.

George confidently said, "good as new", and turned back around to enter the cubicle.

Myrtle didn't take long to start following him whilst bombarding him with questions starting with, "did that hurt?"

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George would never think that Myrtle's constant bickering would be his salvation when brewing potions. It was that very reason which had deterred him from using the girl's bathroom to brew potions in the first place. In truth, he couldn't have been any more wrong. Maybe fate was on his side after all. Bob Marley was playing in the background and George was nearing the end of brewing the Calming Draught for the third time tonight, his hands were steady the entire time. He didn't even need Myrtle or the book to help guide him. His photographic memory and dexterous hands were more than enough to compensate for his mind being elsewhere.

Just as George was placing the last ingredient into the cauldron, Myrtle asked him, "so he didn't live long?"

This was one of a series of questions Myrtle had asked about Bob Marley since she started to like listening to his music. With this new blooming passion, George would need to broaden her musical palate in the future or be at risk of listening to reggae every time he wanted to brew a potion.

George answered the question calmly, "yeah, cancer killed him pretty quick. He only lived till he was thirty-six. It's a shame a potion couldn't have been thrown his way, we might have got more albums."

Myrtle looked to be having some sort of revelation as she asked the question, "didn't you say he died in nineteen-eighty-one?"

George turned his head around, whilst stirring, to look at Myrtle, "yes, that's right. Is something wrong?"

Myrtle knitted her eyebrows together and angrily stated, "that means he was born in nineteen-forty-five, two years after I died. How could I possibly have heard of him, he wasn't even alive when I was?"

George's mouth hung open after finally realising that his prior complaints about Myrtle not knowing Bob Marley were completely unfounded since she had physically no way of knowing he existed outside of other muggle-borns telling her. It was obvious now that he thought about it, that made him feel quite stupid even if he was emotionally compromised at the time. Myrtle waited for George's apology but she was distracted by the potion.

Her face appeared to glow as she shouted, "it's finished."

Myrtle's distractions were working a little too well as George completely lost track of time. His actions for the last minute or two had been exclusively dictated by his muscle memory. He looked over to the cauldron and a small pool of shimmering blue liquid reflected his face. George took deep breaths to control his riling excitement and pulled out a vial, he scooped up a small portion of the liquid. He held the vial up to the light and couldn't see any imperfections in the consistency of the fluid, there was only one final check to see if it worked.

George swallowed the vial's content and felt a pleasant cold and refreshing sensation travel down his throat. That sensation was followed by all of his trembling emotions being instantaneously muted. The effects of his brand of Calming Draught seemed to be better than the ones he had been relying on for the past week. Not only had he successfully brewed the potion, but he had made a better version than the one provided by Pomfrey. He had read that the potion did come in different forms which varied in the way they could be brewed, perhaps George had brewed one of the purest versions.

Since the potion had been a massive success, George would have cheered and celebrated but the potion was doing its job. Instead of smiling, his face relaxed completely. He looked toward Myrtle who had been rubbing her hands together nervously.

George said without a single drop of emotion, "it worked. We've done it."

Myrtle flew into the air with her arms out wide as if she was a helium balloon. She flew around the bathroom with a big smile on her face, she was clearly making up for the happiness George wasn't able to feel. He didn't wait for her to come back as he started to pull out his sanitised vials to start bottling the Calming Draught. Provided that he only drank one a day, he estimated that there was roughly a month's worth of potion to drink. Myrtle finally flew back just as George had finished bottling the potion. He let out a big yawn since he felt absolutely exhausted, this had to be the longest time he had been awake at Hogwarts.

Thankfully it was Friday so George didn't have to wake up early the next day for class. He checked his watch and saw that it was currently fifteen minutes past ten, a whole fifteen minutes later than the curfew. He looked up and saw the glowing moon through the round window, the bathroom did seem to be darker now that he thought about it. This meant that George was currently breaking the rules, but he didn't mind since brewing the potion was the top priority. He was surprised to find that he hadn't heard any of the three curfew announcements, maybe Myrtle's constant talking drowned them out.

Regardless of what he may or may not have heard, George put the last of the Calming Draught vials into his enchanted sack and packed away his equipment. He then cleaned every surface until there was no evidence of his activities left except a cracked tile where his cauldron had hit the wall, he doubted that anyone would ever notice let alone connect that back to him. George looked to Myrtle to ask for another favour, he thought that he may be able to get away with it since she was in a good mood.

He asked her politely, "Miss Warren, can I sleep here tonight? It's currently past curfew and I'll get into trouble if I go back to the common room."

Myrtle's smile wavered slightly before she returned it to her smug expression, she slowly flew closer to George until their faces were only a few inches apart.

She asked him cheekily, "so you're not going to call me by my first name anymore, Mr Linwood."

George scratched the back of his head and was pretending to be shy, his face was flushing red just like it had done so many times before.

He nervously said, "that was a brief lapse in my judgement, Miss Warren. Forgive me for my rudeness, it won't happen again."

Although very subtle, George could tell that Myrtle was disappointed with his answer. Since he was being very polite and submissive, he couldn't understand why she didn't like his answer. This behaviour was normally a guaranteed method of ensuring her cooperation.

Her expression went back to its normal smugness and told George, "that's good to hear. Anyway, the answer is no. You can't spend the night here."

George's expression sank, "really?"

Myrtle acted cross and stated matter-of-factly, "isn't it enough that I allow you to brew potions in here? You should be thankful that I'm not going to report you to one of the professors for being up after hours. Now leave before I change my mind."

She made sure to raise her voice in the final sentence to ram the point home that this wasn't negotiable. George was saddened by this result but wasn't willing to contest her objection since he didn't want to upset her any more than he may have already done. It wasn't the end of the world if he had to spend the night in the corridors, he would just have to find a quiet spot where Filch wouldn't find him.

George politely bowed to Myrtle while saying, "goodnight Miss Warren. Thank you for everything. I promise to one day repay this debt tenfold."

Myrtle didn't show him the same courtesy as she pointed toward the exit and shouted, "go!"

Having been excused, George dashed out of the girl's bathroom and looked for somewhere else to sleep. He muffled his yawning with his hand as he walked down the corridor illuminated with moonlight to find an appropriate sleeping spot. He would have to find out why Myrtle was acting so peculiar tomorrow since he was far too tired to do so tonight. For the first night since his arrival at Hogwarts, George could go to sleep in peace.

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