Candy Bar [George Weasley]

Pairing: George Weasley [HP] x reader [any house]

Summary:George always knew [y/n] was going to end up being part of his family, he just never wondered how.

Warnings: sexual insinuation, but nothing too explicit.

a/n:this ends a little bit sad, but open, so I might write a part 2 (no promises though).

harry potter universe masterlist

George Weasley was part of a selected big group of friends, with its honorary members being Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and his little brother Ron.

The lads weren’t official members because of the age gap — it was rare the moments where they could hang mid-classes. But it didn’t bother Fred, Lee and Angelina to have the little guys around.

There was another girl too, who George saw as much more of an official member than an honorary one. [y/n] [y/ln] was younger than him but older than his little brother — she was from the year between the two. They became friends entirely by accident — she got caught up on a prank not intended for her and after a not-so-much friendly match of Quidditch where she played gracefully and not at all vengeful, the twins talked her into being part of the friend group.

One could’ve said [y/n] was the one most outof the group, but, surprisingly, she managed well around them. She became very close to Angelina, and she had openly called Fred her very best mate once. Even when Potter was around, she never acted as a “fangirl” — and she noticeably picked Ron over Harry tons of times.

They were all together one afternoon, playing card games in the grass by the Lake when Fred had an idea: steal food from the house-elves.

[y/n] was immediately into it. “We have to be quick then because it’s almost supper time, and they’ll be all up to our arses if they catch us by that time,” she said, getting up and leaving her deck of cards to Angelina to handle.

Ron got up quickly too, ready to follow the girl wherever she went. Fred just smile. “Anyone else for our road trip?” asked the older twin.

“It’s hardly a road trip,” opined Angelina, before winning against Hermione and starting the game again.

Since no one else got up, the three left. George and Lee drew closer to the two girls left, anxious to see if Hermione could beat Angelina, but chances were the Quidditch player was going to win again.

“Has anyone noticed Ron’s fancying [y/n]?” asked Hermione, who had smelled it in the air, way before anyone else, but she just wanted to be sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks.

Lee snorted at the question, trying not to shame-laugh. He hadn’t only noticed Ron’s crush — he noticed Hermione’s too. Angelina simply smiled and kept playing the card game, but George spoke up.

“I dunno how it ends, but [y/n] will for sure be part of my fam,” he said, laughing it off.

“How so?” asked Hermione, tensing up a bit, which allowed Angelina some advantage in the game.

“Well, Ron fancies her; she fancies Fred and Fred…. well, I reckon that bloke hasn’t pashed anyone, that’s for sure,” George replied. “Either Fred falls for her or she falls for Ron, but she’ll end up a Weasley, alright.”

Lee elbowed the redheaded.

“She’ll end up your sister,” he laughed.

“In-law,” added George, suddenly wanting to make sure [y/n] was not blood-related to him.

Angelina and Lee exchanged knowing looks, but Hermione and George were oblivious to the exchange. George was inside his wee world, thinking why it bothered him to acknowledge [y/n] as a sister, and Hermione was wishful thinking that Fred could bloody well fancy [y/n] right away.

The match went on, with Angelina winning that turn and then Lee taking Hermione’s place and losing too — the difference was Lee didn’t care and laughed his loss away. George wanted to play too, but when his turn finally came, Fred, Ron and [y/n] arrived with the stolen food.

“Hey, I wanna go back to my match,” said [y/n], sitting down next to Angelina, who remained unbeatable. “Who’s the winner?”

“Who would you reckon?” replied Lee, smiling. [y/n] liked his smirk, it felt sparkling in the twilight.

“Angie,” [y/n] smiled too as she spoke.

“No worries — I’ve been playing non-stop and George hasn’t had his turn,” Angelina said, moving away from the card pile. “Take my place,” offered the Quidditch chaser.

[y/n] took the offer, and looked straight at George. He had a playful smile, which only increased when he reached the pile and started shuffling the cards for the new game.

In the background, George heard Ron asking Hermione if Harry showed up, and the bookworm replied with a “no”. The younger twin wasn’t facing Ron, but he could visualize the frown on his face. Harry Potter was chosen to be a Triwizard champion, which meant he was generally never free and around — but also, his friendship with Ron was a bit rocky at the moment.

George reverted his focus on [y/n].

“Get ready to eat grass, Weasley,” the girl said.

“We’ll see,” responded George, feeling his grin widen.

[y/n] was late, which meant Fred and George were late too. They planned a quick trip to Hogsmeade, but they were going “illegally” and if [y/n] took a minute longer to get ready, Fred swore he was gonna leave her behind.

“I’m here!” she whispered and shouted, at the same time. George wondered how she managed that.

“You’re late,” the younger twin said, messing with her.

“Just five minutes,” she pointed out, checking her wristwatch.

“Could well mean the difference between getting caught,” George continued.

“Stop, you two,” said Fred, but he knew very well all the bickering came from his twin. George hadn’t found his way around flirting women, and it showed — Fred knew he had to do something about it, but it’d need to be later. At the moment, he only sought to get to Hogsmeade.

“She started it,” said George, defending himself.

“How could I?” she inquired, startled.

“By showing up late,” he answered, frowning his brows.

Fred rolled his eyes and decided not to meddle. They could figure it out for themselves. The older twin, then, took the front of the little voyage group and led them to the secret passageway. The trio went through that one-eyed old crone’s hump, and soon they were in the dark corridor that would lead them away from Hogwarts.

Fred and George had to lean their backs, so they wouldn’t smack their heads, but [y/n] could go most of the way just fine and stretch. She had been there three times before, but it was never easy being in that dim and smelly place.

She didn’t even notice when she edged nearer George Weasley until he offered her his arm. Furthermore, she looked at it, suspiciously, before accepting.

They had a complicated relationship. They were always quarrelling, like too foolish kids that couldn’t possibly like the opposite gender. It was always stupid, but [y/n] couldn’t avoid it — it seemed so nice to bicker with George because then he would look at her sideways and provocatively grin and that usually made her smile too.

She had a thing for Fred from the first moment she learned his name. It had been some girl in her class had been ranking the most handsome blokes of Hogwarts, and when [y/n] asked who was Fred Weasley and why he was in twenty-second place, her classmate smiled and asked: “Why? Do you think he should be higher up?”. [y/n] didn’t think that, of course. At eleven years of age, she barely thought of boys that way, especially the ones one year older, who seemed so much more mature back then. But later she was engrossed in one of the twins’ pranks, and Fred presented himself.

Tall, even for a twelve-year-old, and with beautiful freckles in his cheeks — [y/n] didn’t need much more thinking; she knew she had become a woman, and she was ready to have that man.

They became friends later on, and even though [y/n] never made advances towards Fred, she never tried to stop fancying him either. It just felt natural to have a crush, a since Fred was right there and available, she took him.

Of course, she went out with other boys, specifically last year when she had just turned fourteen, but it never felt quite right. Not even as right as studying with Hermione, not as right as relying on Ronald, and definitelynot as right as bickering with George.

It felt nicer to argue with George than to kiss Oliver Wood! she remembered, in a sudden thought in the middle of the ill-lit hallway. Her expression changed, worrying George, but since she stayed in silence, he did the same.

Oliver had been [y/n]’s first kiss, and even though he was very gentle and kind — even nowadays — the only thing he taught her was that she was better off single.

“We’re almost there, I reckon,” said Fred, having to rely on his memory to keep marshalling. He didn’t regret having given Harry his map, but sometimes, he felt nostalgic for it.

The passage twisted and turned, more like the burrow of a giant rabbit than anything else. [y/n] and George followed just behind, still with their arms intertwined. George didn’t want to think what that gesture possibly meant, and he didn’t have to — they had ended up right into the cellar of Honeydukes.

“This passage remains safe, thank Merlin,” Fred thought out loud, which made [y/n] repress a laugh. She then remembered to let go of George’s arm, since she was back in the light, but her arms felt empty without his there.

They didn’t longer around Honeydukes — their plan was to go to the joke shop and get new supplies, and thenceforth go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks. The candy store was barely empty, so their exit had to be a bit theatrical so no one would suspect a thing.

Zonko’s shop called the boys’ attention as soon as the three of them stepped outside Honeydukes, and [y/n] had to hush to follow them. The store was striking, the girl had to give in. Its walls, covered with shelves, loaded not only with Dungbombs and Hiccough Sweets, but also Frog Spawn Soap, Sugar Quills, and Nose-Biting Teacups. No wonder the boys loved to shop there.

“So, Fred, what’s it that you guys are looking for to stock?” [y/n] leaning against the shelf that Fred was so meticulously observing.

The red-headed looked down at her for only a second and smiled.

“A bit of everything, I suppose,” he replied.

George appeared from behind [y/n] and the shelf, scaring her with a nudge. She, at least, managed not to scream. It wasn’t late yet, only twilight, but the stored seemed umbra, which gave the toys up on the shelves a different glow. Macabre, [y/n] determined.

“Never, ever, do that again, do you understand?” she threatened George, but the twin only giggled.

“Come with me, [y/l/n],” said George, eyeing the back of the corridor he was in. “You’re gonna like this.”

Fred tried really hard not to smile at his twin taking an initiative, while [y/n] followed.

George waited until [y/n] was right next to him and offered his arm again. There was really no official reason for it — even though it was starting to be dusk outside, the shop still had light enough for the girl not to feel scared, but he liked being of use.

[y/n] accepted his arm with biting of lips, suddenly feeling very nervous with the interaction. Could she like George? She wondered, innocently. He was a nice lad, for sure. He was also a tiny bit taller than Fred, and she did like tallboys. But he’s very annoying, she reminded herself. He’s always teasing you in a non-lovable way.

“Do you know Ronniekins has a devotion for you?”

George plumped the question, smirking in taunting.

“Ronniekins?Ron?” she asked, stunned.

[y/n] didn’t even bother with George’s smile. She cared for Ron, a lot since she confided in him most of the time, but if the lad was messing things up… she would need to take a stand, and she wouldn’t like it.

“Yep,” affirmed George. “He developed some sort of crush on you; I can’t speak anything in your concern without being scolded.”

“That’s nice of him,” she tried to smile, attempting to make the best out of the situation, but she just couldn’t. “Oh… But if he really does fancy me… I’ll have to say something, right? I don’t wanna lead him on.”

“To be honest, I think even if you actually stare him down and say: ‘Ronald Weasley, I do not fancy you and I don’t want to kiss you’, he will still hold on to hope,” George told her, pressing his arm against her harder. He wanted to comfort her, and he didn’t even fully comprehend why.

[y/n] was an enjoyable lassie and, even though he messed with her all the time, he liked to be around her. But did he like likebeing around her? Oh, Merlin… He couldn’t. His younger brother loved her, his older brother was the object of her affection. He did not want or wish to be in the middle of it. As a matter of fact, he liked to mock the situation from the outside. She’s a future sister-in-law, he told himself, but it felt wrong in his mind. She’s part of the family, he pondered again, and that phrase felt easier, which was a relief.

The girl in question watched George’s expression, as it tensed and relaxed, and she wondered if he was worried about his little brother. That’s sweet of him, she thought.

They finally stopped in front of a shelf filled with candy bars, but George remained silent and did not explain why they stopped there.

“George?” she called his attention. “What do you think I should do?”

His eyes stared down at her, thoughtfully. He truly wanted to help her, even if it meant walking her down the aisle to his twin.

“Well, you don’t fancy him, do you? I reckon it’s another brother of mine you have your eyes on,” he said, out loud this time. For some reason, he felt like he needed to know. He needed to know if she still had a thing for Fred. Or even for Ron, if the tables had turned.

[y/n] avoided George’s eyes. How could he have found out about her wee crush on Fred? She sure wasn’t being self-evident, was she?

But even so, if she were obvious, what was she supposed to answer? She most definitely was not going to confess, especially because her feelings have been shifting a lot. Fred was her best mate. Yeah, she knew they would match just fine if it were Fred to ask her out, but did she want it? Did she yearnto be Fred’s companion?

“I don’t fancy Ron, obviously,” she answered, finally, after a while pondering how to phrase her feelings. “And I don’t know what you mean about brothers of yours.”

George snorted. “Okay then.”

He decided it was for the best if he just remained quiet and did not bother her about it any longer. She didn’t want to answer, and, honestly, he didn’t wanna hear it. So he faced the shelf he had directed her towards and picked one of the candy bars.

She breathed a sigh of relief that he had dropped the previous matter, and asked: “I didn’t know Zonko’s shop sold candy.”

“Not any proper candy,” he replied. “This is a special one.”

“Really? How so?”

George gave her the candy bar, so she could analyse it, but, as he very well knew, there was nothing in its packaging that revealed its true content.

“They provoke emotions, different ones, but always strong ones,” George explained, taking back the bar from her hands. “This one, for instance, is for decisive moments. See here?” he pointed to a very small font where it could be read: “you want the courage to do what you most long to? This is for you!”

“Why would someone eat something like this?”

“Various reasons,” George shrugged before taking another candy bar from the rack. “This one is for knowledge. Suppose you have a test tomorrow — this could be your salvation.”

[y/n] took the second bar from his hands and analysed it herself. “Only if I know the test’s subjects beforehand, you mean,” she said, returning him the candy bar. “If you haven’t studied, this won’t be much help.”

“It will be somehelp,” said George.

“Right,” [y/n] snorted.

“Anyway, it’s practically not much of use nowadays. Professor Snape found a way to perceive it in your organism with a special potion,” he explained, but he didn’t place the bar back in its place. He held still the two candy bars and led [y/n] to the cashier.

“You know you’re buying the courage one, right?” she whispered in his ear before Fred could reach them in the cashier line.

George smiled.

“You are the one buying it,” he corrected her. “After all, you’ll need it to talk to Ron.”

[y/n] let out some air from her throat, completely frustrated. She knew she didn’t fancy Ron, at least, so she should talk to him. Perhaps the candy bar was going to be of some use.

“What are you two buying?” asked Fred, having absolutely no free space in his arms. He had a bit of everything — Dungbombs, Frog Spawn Soap, Nose-Biting Teacups and more that [y/n] wasn’t able to name.

“Magic Bars,” the girl answered, looking up to meet Fred’s eyes. It was only then she realized she still held George’s arm, so she instantly let it go — but not before Fred couldn’t notice.

“Oh, so you can be brave enough to break up with Ronniekins?” asked Fred, smirking.

The girl looked shocked. “Oh, come on! Everyone knew?”

The twins only laugh it out.

Knowing that Ron was going to arrive at any moment at the Three Broomsticks with the rest of the gang, [y/n] popped the candy bar and ate it all at once, only stopping for a sip of butterbeer to make it all easier to let out. George watched, surprised, but offered his own comment: “I don’t think you needed to have eaten it all.”

She sniffed. “Could have informed me that earlier, couldn’t you?”

Fred just smirked, amused with the scenario. He took the opportunity to corner his twin when going to get more butterbeers at the counter, leaving [y/n] alone on the table.

“So… now that she’s breaking up with Ron, when are you gonna tell her you fancy her?”

George’s eyes widened, staring at his twin with disbelief.

“What? You’re gonna pretend you don’t like the lass?”

“[y/n]’s a friend,” George answered, sharply.

“Right…”

They ordered the butterbeers and waited, avoiding staring at each other. Fred didn’t want to keep laughing at his twin, and George didn’t want to confess something he wasn’t entirely sure.

Could he fancy [y/n]? No, he answered mentally. She fancied Fred, and he always promised not to come between his twin’s girls. Because, if ever [y/n] decided to hit on Fred, he knew his twin wasn’t going to be able to resist. She was just like that, and she never even noticed — if she wanted a guy, she’d have him. And the day she’d claim Fred would come, and George would be left to watch the two love birds.

“Seriously, now,” started Fred, handing the butterbeers, “why don’t to come clean with her?”

George sighed. “I have nothing to clean. Do I like her? Yes. Do I think she’s pretty? Yep. But we’re better off as mates, or better saying, bickering mates,” answered him, finally.

Fred decided to say nothing more. George would eventually realize on his own that he like [y/n] and, when that day arrived, Fred could finally beam saying “told you so”.

They sat back at their places, noticing the small crowd on their table. Ron, Hermione, Angelina, Lee and (the big surprise of the night) Harry Potter had arrived, and they were talking jubilantly about the upcoming ball they had been hearing whispers about.

George sat between [y/n] and Ron purposefully, and [y/n] sighed in relief while staring at George.

“Hasn’t it had any effect yet?” asked George, referring to the candy. [y/n] just shook her head. “It will happen soon.”

She wished he was right.

The two of them got caught up on the table talk, adding their own remarks and desires for the party. [y/n] didn’t add much too aloud, though — she was afraid Ron could say something about them going together.

Suddenly, she felt a kick inside her. The candy bar! she thought, anxiously. She stared at Ron from behind George and gesture for them to go out. She needed to say it, once and for all.

George watched as the two of them left, but he didn’t make a comment.

“So much for [y/n] marrying Fred…” Lee said aloud.

“Me?” asked Fred, confused and frowning. Lee laughed and Angelina tried to ease Fred, mostly for [y/n]’s sake, then for the red haired’s.

George kept staring at the door as if wishing the conversation ran out faster if he did so. Lee nudged George.

“Is she kissing him?”

“Ew, no,” George replied. “She wanted to talk him outof his feelings,” he continued. “She even ingested one of the Magic Bars for courage.”

“Those are never a good idea,” said Hermione, meddling.

“Why?” asked Lee, genuinely curious. He often liked those candy bars.

“Well, it gives you the kicks to do what you most long for. Not necessarily a good thing if what you most long for is to kill someone, for instance,” she explained. Hermione, then, shrugged, knowing [y/n] was not about to kill Ron, but suggesting that what she most longed for might not be “end things” with Ron.

George pondered Hermione’s words. What could be the thing [y/n] most ached for, and could the magical candy bar really help?

He had no more time to think as the door from the Three Broomsticks opened once again, but only Ron came in. He had some of a tired look on his face, and that worried George. Not for his younger brother, but for [y/n].

George got up and left, leaving a confused Lee behind. Angelina and Fred exchanged looks before smirking — both sharing a secret of what had happened.

“Never again make me ingest one of those bars, are you hearing me?” [y/n] said as soon as she faced George, in on dark space between Three Broomstick and the next store next to it.

“What happened?” George asked, stupefied.

“Nothing, of course, and how could it? With Ron?” she laughed it off. “I just told him something about him being the little brother I never had and how I saw him grow up so fast. He understood the message.”

George waited, but she said nothing more. “So, what’s the matter?”

“I want to be touched, Georgie!” she exclaimed, surprising herself. She covered her mouth, a little too late, but it was the least she could. Had she really told George she wanted to be touched? Had he understood the length of her words?

George froze, giving [y/n] the time to gather her thoughts. He looked very handsome in the half-light coming from the establishment next door, and [y/n] enumerated how many freckles he had on his face. There were more than Fred’s, and George’s were more intensely gathered on his nose. The twin noted the girl’s fierce inspection and cleared his throat.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone almost gruff as he felt completely exposed in the dim light of the Hogsmeade night.

“I’m counting your freckles,” she replied truthfully. It wasn’t the candy effect — she really wanted to be honest, because that was how she was around George. [y/n] never thought before talking when she was with the younger Weasley twin, unlike when she was around Fred or even Oliver Wood.

“Why?” George questioned in a whisper. It was like he was afraid to speak.

“Because…” [y/n] didn’t have a “why”. She wanted to, so she counted. She wanted to come closer to him, so she did. Moreover, she longed for his touch, and that terrified her. “I wanna kiss you.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but it felt very loud in both of their ears.

What? George wanted to ask, but he wasn’t able to mould a coherent phrase. Instead, he leaned closer. If she wanted to kiss him, he would let her. He had thought it before: the man she desired, she would get.

“George?” she asked, forcing him to open his eyes once again. “I won’t kiss you unless you say you want to kiss me too.”

“I thought you were desperate to be touched,” George played, smirking a little.

“Desperate? I didn’t say that” [y/n] smiled too.

“Kiss me, [y/n],” he said, the smirk disappearing.

She took one last deep breath and pressed her lips against his. It felt sweet at first, but then it was something different, something [y/n] could not find words to describe, perhaps spicy could be a great word, but it wouldn’t delineate it completely. There was more, always more, and when [y/n] opened her mouth waiting for his advance, she was impressed to feel him eager.

Their kiss deepened, it became something of its own, essentially when George’s arms took her whole body in, tugging, hugging, caressing her. She did the same with her hands, searching for his red curls, and pulling him in by the neck.

“George, touch me,” [y/n] yearned.

“I… I…” George couldn’t find the words, neither to say yes nor no.

He kept pulling her, closer and closer, but it wasn’t enough. He finally understood her, understood what she longed for because he longed for the same. To touch her, on her very core. But he couldn’t.

“We shouldn’t, [y/n],” he said, sorrowfully. “I shouldn’t.”

“Fine,” she whispered, leaning over his ear. “But I should.”

Her hands left his neck and wandered towards his trousers, finding the confirmation of his deepest desires. Oh, he hankered to touch her, too. He only lacked what the candy bar gave [y/n]: fearlessness.

He held her hand before she pressed him even tighter.

“Are you sure of what you’re doing?” he asked. “You’re probably intoxicated.”

“Intoxicated?” she stepped back. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t believe her. “Why? Because I would rather be with Fred, you reckon? Oh, yeah, you know so much about me!”

She took more steps away from him, and looked back, finding him with a disturbed expression on his face.

“If I wanted to be with Fred, I would’ve found a way to drag him here,” she said, confidently but also angry. “But it was you who came to me, and yes, I might’ve been the one to kiss you, but only because you told me to.”

“[y/n]! I… I just don’t think you wanted to… in the middle of Hogsmeade,” he shouted back, feeling the first raindrop fall over his nose. “Because don’t turn this on me! I’ll allow you to touch me anywhere you’d like, any day, even! You longed to be touched, but I’ve been longing to be touched by you!”

His words weren’t only an astonishment to her, but to him too. George didn’t know he had been thinking about her that way until she touched him — until he felt the taste of her lips.

[y/n] made a quick decision: she left. She turned her back, feeling raindrops start to fall all over her, but she didn’t bother and kept walking away, towards Honeydukes.

George watched as she went, and he was frozen, even in the rain. It was Fred who found him, all soaked.

“What happened?” Fred asked, but his twin did not answer. “I knew I should have taught you better how to hit on girls.”

George, paralysed, only moved his lips. “She left me,” he finally said. “In the rain, all alone.”

Fred breathed. “Let’s go back to Hogwarts; she’s not going to get back here.”

George followed, but he remained emotionless.

Epilogue - All the time on Earth

Summary: The final chapter of your life where you return to your beloved castle, with all the people that matter

Warning: None, Fluff

Word count:2.3K

George Weasley x Reader // Fred Weasley x Reader (platonic)

Masterlist

It had been getting harder and harder to climb the stairs now, but today was extremely difficult. You felt tired, you felt as though you were out of breath and that you needed to sit down to have your well-deserved rest. On your way up to the bedroom you passed many pictures hanging on the wall; your dear Fred’s wedding pictures, then Roxanne playing with one of your grandchildren under a Christmas tree. You gave a faint, tired smile. They were such good memories.

It seemed really cold once you reached the upper floor. You made your way slowly to the bedroom, opening the door slowly. It was hard to turn the handle; your hand was aching all the time, and you also needed a breather after those many stairs. You stopped for a second, searching for a wand in your pocket, but you had to come to a tired realisation that you had forgotten it downstairs again. Yes, now you remembered; it was probably lying on the kitchen table. A raspy sigh left your lungs — you simply did not have the strength to climb the stairs again, only to get that wicked wand.

There was no other way, you had to reach the bed in total darkness. Luckily, you knew the room by heart, since living in this house for over fifty years now. You walked carefully, passing the old cabinet in which you still had one of those old Christmas jumpers hanging, its color faded, its material stretched out. You passed the mirror in which you always checked your outfit for the day when hurrying off to the Ministry each morning. Finally, you walked passed the bedside table, on which stood one single photograph, of you and your late George; a moving picture that was taken on his forty fifth birthday. You remembered that day clear as day, having Albus and Teddy setting up a huge tent where all the family could celebrate together.

You were glad it was dark in the room, however. As much as you loved your husband, it had been hard sometimes. You missed him with all your heart, and seeing pictures of when you were younger just made the pain sharpen inside. It had been three years, and remembering only a few times was better, than being tortured by his memory throughout the days. It was a bit sad. But it was better this way.

You sat on the bed with a huge sigh of relief. Your legs were hurting, your back was in pain, and your head felt like it was about to explode. You lay down, and as soon as your head touched the pillow, it became all better. You closed your eyes, sighing again. You wondered if you had closed the front door… well, you certainly would not go down to check it now. Anyway, if Victoire was right, the charms that James had casted on the entrance was keeping every kind of harm away.

By that thought, you relaxed a little, your breathing slowing down. You were thinking about next weekend, when the little ones had promised to visit their nana. Sweet little things. You loved them, all of them. You were ashamed to admit it, but there were times, when you simply forgot their names. You couldn’t help it. There were so many of them, running around in the house, it was hard to remember sometimes.

The cool air of the room made you shiver, so you pulled the covers up. Within seconds it was all cozy, and you felt like a biscuit, warmy being baked in the oven. You chuckled to that thought. Maybe, if you have the strength, you’ll bake something for when the children come. But at the same time, as your breathing was getting slower and slower, a strange feeling came over you, and suddenly you knew, with great certainty, that you were never going to cook anymore.

You fell asleep.

You opened your eyes. It was brighter then before and you had to blink a few times before you were able to focus on anything, really. You were lying on your back, so there must have been a floor under you. You felt it, but somehow you didn’t feel it. It was a strange feeling.

It was also not cold anymore. It was neither warm nor cold, to be exact. The temperature was absolutely perfect, so perfect that the thought of it soon left your mind. It was not important anymore. A moment later you didn’t even remember what you had been thinking about.

You took a deep breath. It felt nice, it felt an easy thing to do. There was no rasping, no muffled breathing anymore. It was unusual, but you were certainly glad for it. Now that you came to think of it… everything was so… comfortable. Your back was not hurting, your legs were not in pain anymore. You were feeling… well.

You suddenly felt your hands touching your stomach, resting. You looked down, and realised that you were naked. Then, the next thing you realised was how healthy you looked. Your skin had a nice, warm tone, and it wasn’t as loose as you remembered it to be. You were also missing several scars that you had acquired over the decades. You blinked. You didn’t know what was going on. You wished you could see yourself.

As soon as the thought occured to you, a mirror appeared out of nowhere. You hesitated, then stood up — which was surprisingly easy — and walked towards the mirror. You wanted to see your whole body, and the mirror somehow new, for it had started growing and now it was as big as a door. You met your reflection, and you let out a surprised gasp.

It was you. But not as you knew yourself now, no… But as you had been, several, several years ago. Your skin lovely, your hair not gray anymore, and your face… your face was young and beautiful. As you started examining your body, something appeared next to you, a few metres to the left. It was a train, but not just any kind of train. It was the Hogwarts Express.

And suddenly, you knew.

From then on, there was no question about it. You wanted to board immediately. All of a sudden you felt awkward for being naked. In a second, freshly washed clothes appeared at your feet. You wanted to waste no time. You got dressed, took one last look in the mirror, then ran to the train and hopped on it. It started moving, first slowly, then faster and faster until it was going at full speed.

You felt too excited and nervous to sit down, so you were standing during the whole journey. You were looking out the window, seeing houses, forests and meadows passing by. Once you saw a beautiful lake with a frozen surface, but the train was moving too fast for you to actually examine everything properly. And then, when you were seriously wondering about the destination, the train started slowing down, then stopped at what seemed like a train station of a small village. The door opened, and you climbed down with your heart beating in your throat.

As your feet touched the ground, more and more houses seemed to take shape in front of you. They seemed so familiar, still, they were still dream-like. There was a pub, a bookshop, and a small café nearby. On the left, they sold cloaks, ice-cream and newspaper. However, there were no people around. You only saw one person, a tall figure, you was standing a few metres from you. He seemed really familar.

“Georgie?”

Your heart was pounding really fast as you started walking. You would have given anything to see your George again. But something was off. Even though the man had ginger hair, his expression was something of a kind as a mischievous smile appeared on his face.

“Let’s try that one more time, sweetheart.”

You stopped, frozen in shock. This couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening. No. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.

“N… No,” you whispered.

“Yes,” came the cheeky answer.

“No,” you said again. He laughed.

“Yes.”

“But… you’re…” you shook your head in despair. His smile disappeared. His eyes were filled with tears.

“It’s so good to see you again, Y/N.”

You covered your mouth to muffle your sobs, but it was not doing very much. Finally, you gave up alltogether, and closed the distance between the two of you and hugged him, sobbing uncontrollably. He was sniffling as well, gently stroing you back with his warm hands. Warm. He was warm. A sudden flash of a certain night came to your mind, but you erased it immediately. That was not important anymore. He was here. He was with you again.
You stepped back, wiping off your teary cheeks, looking at him again. You tried to calm down, but you were still chuckling occasionally as you started to speak.

“I missed you — so much.”

“I know.”

“You know?” you whined.

“I missed you, too,” he ignored your question but let out a small laugh — a sound which suddenly felt so familiar, even though it had been over sixty years. Fred leaned closer and gave a soft kiss on your forehead. “I missed you so terribly. I was also wondering when I would see you. Been a lot easier since George have arrived, though.”

“George?” you jerked your head up. “George is here as well?”

“Of course,” he said in a matter of fact tone. “Everyone is.”

“Can we —”

“Meet them?” he said, his eyes sparkling. “We’re gonna meet someone first.”

“But —”

“Everything in its own time,” he said mysteriously. “First, we’re going up.”

“Up?” you said, confused. He rolled his eyes.

“Turn around, woman.”

You did. And your jaw dropped. There was the road, leading through some trees, through a gate and up till the entrance of the castle. The Hogwarts castle.

“Why are we here?” you whispered. Fred smiled.

“Well, I guess this place is part of everyone’s heart. At least a bit.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you said, still confused.

“You’ll understand.”

“When?”

“Over time. Now, come on.”

He gently pulled you with him and you started walking towards the entrance of the castle. Every piece of grass, every leaf, every tree was like a friendly wave from the past. Your past. It all seemed so magical and you felt like a first-year student, experiencing this for the first time in their lives. The only difference was, that you already knew this place. And you felt like in a dream. Every now and then you glanced at Fred, making sure he was still there with you. When you did that, he smiled and squeezed your hand reassuringly.

You reached the Entrance Hall, then made your way up the marble staircase. The corridors and hallways looked exactly how you remembered them. You walked through hidden passages, stepped over missing stairs, and soon arrived at the last turn before the Gryffindor common room.

You swallowed and you stopped before the painting. It was not the Fat Lady, it was a simple picture of a forest. You let go of Fred’s hand and looked around nervously.

“Where is everyone?” you asked.

“Oh, you’ll meet them,” he said.

“When?”

“When you’re ready,” he gently squeezed your shoulder. “Don’t worry, all right? You’ll never have to worry again.”

Your eyes met his.

“Promise?”

He smiled and flipped open the portrait.

“Promise.”

The two of you stepped inside and nostalgia hit you like a train. The carpet, the furniture, the fireplace, the paintings, the doors, the tables and the chairs… even the smell was the exact copy of the one you remembered. Fred walked past you, talking loudly.

“I’m back.”

“Took you long enough,” said another voice and your heart missed a beat. Fred grinned.

“Yeah, well, I had to pick up someone.”

“Who?” came George’s voice from the couch. Fred grinned even more.

“See for yourself.”

George turned around and his face dropped. You couldn’t even take in his presence when he was already holding you in his arms, lifting you from the ground. When he put you down he kissed you without saying a word, and you kissed him back immediately… Then you pulled away just enough to look into his eyes, and realised that he was young again, just the same way as you were. His hair was ginger and messy, his freckles lit up his face, his skin was soft and toned… he was holding you with much more strength than in recent years, and his lips were crashing against yours with so much force that you had not felt in a long time.

“Hello, my love,” he said finally, and his words made you tear up again. “Welcome home.”

A shaky ‘hi’ was the only thing you could say. George laughed.

“Are you struck by my beauty, darling?” he teased. You chuckled.

“I missed you so much,” you said, cupping his cheeks. He turned serious, and rested his forehead against yours.

“I missed you, too. How’s… How’s everything at home? How are the kids?”

“I’m sure everyone’s fine, I’m… wait,” you looked at Fred. “I thought you could see what’s going on at home?”

He made a politely confused face.

“I’ve never said that.”

“But you referred to it.”

The twins exchanged looks. Fred hesitated.

“Well… You can have a peek, but it’s tricky.”

You frowned.

“Oh… It’s okay. You can show me how things work around here.”

“Now?” asked Fred in surprise. You shrugged and took your opportunity.

“Well, yeah of course!”

George laughed and kissed you on the cheek.

“Unbelievable! You barely got here and you already want to know everything!”

“You cannot build a trading business here, Y/N” said Fred, teasing.

“Of course I can!” you said, laughing. Then you raised your head in mock demand. “Now, show me around. I haven’t got all day.”

“Actually…” started Fred, grinning again. “We have all the time on Earth.”

You raised and eyebrow in doubt. Then, you smiled.

“Well, I don’t think we’re on Earth anymore.”

“Fine,” agreed Fred, smirking, while getting ahold of your arm and leading you to the portrait hole, George following. “We have all the time in Heaven, then.”

The End.

Dear Readers!

Thank you all for supporting Georgie and Witty’s story in this past year.

Writing this was like therapy for me - I could always escape to Harry’s world, and I’ll be forever grateful for that. I hope whenever you needed to, you could always escape to this world, too. In my opinion, this fanfiction shows perfectly, how the stories we love never really leave us. We can always create and read more. We can always relive the best times, even if it’s in the form of books, films, or a fanfiction.

Because don’t forget: Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home.

Wish you all the best,

B.B.

Part 38 - New Beginnings

Summary: As time goes by, you and George start your new life. Just the two of you. Until you have a surprise for him.

Warning: None, Fluff

Word count:1.3

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

“Your total is five galleons and three knuts,” you said and took the coins that the young witch gave you. “Here you go, have a nice day!”

She took the package and waved goodbye. It took her a while to reach the entrance because the shop was flooded with people. All around kids were looking at products, laughing at each other, trying out magic and muggle cards, or just racing each other to the higher floors.

“Tough day?” came a kind voice from behind your back.

“Ron!” you said with a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Just came to say hello.”

“Have you really?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Actually, I came to talk to George. Is he around?”

“Oh… Wait a second, will you? Verity!”

The witch from the other side of the store turned to you. You waved and watched as she started moving towards you, carefully making her way in the crowd.

“Verity, could you take over for a bit?” you indicated at the cashier. “I need to take care of something.”

“Of course!” she said and you nodded towards the stairs.

“Thank you. Come, Ron.”

You made your way to the upper floor which was a bit less crowded, then continued on the corridor towards the back, where the door lead through to your flat.

“So, what brings you here?” you asked once there were no people around. Ron looked around nervously.

“I was thinking about leaving the office.”

“Really?” you said while turning the key in the door. “How come?”

“It’s just… not for me I think. Harry’s all for it, but I was thinking about — woah! I’ve never been in here!”

He looked around in surprise, seeing the inside of the flat. You laughed.

“I guess the renovation really did the place justice.”

“You renovated?” he asked.

“Yeah… it was… it reminded of… you know,” you said dully. “George is in the office. He’s a bit quiet, this time of year, you know. It’s almost May.”

“Sure,” said Ron huskily. You cleared your throat.

“I’ll tell him you’re here. Be back in a sec.”

You walked past him, and knocked on the door which used to be Fred’s room. A muffled ‘come in’ came and you stepped inside. George was sitting at the table, papers and unfinished drawings all around him, but he was clearly not working. When he looked at you, a kind smile appeared on his lips.

“Hey, is everything all right?”

“Sure,” you said and walked over to him and sat in his lap. He welcomed you with a soft kiss. “What are you working on?”

“I was thinking about some new products.”

“Really?” you said with joy. He had not invented anything for years. “And what will they do?”

“Well…” he said lowly. “Maybe they’d ease tension. After a nightmare or something. I thought about them yesterday, when… you know…”

“You woke up?”

“Yeah,” he nodded and you saw him glancing towards the window, where a photograph of him and Fred stood. “What do you think?”

You stroke his hair kindly.

“I think it’s phenomenal.”

“You mean it?” he said, looking into your eyes again. “Or are you only saying that because you love me?”

You snorted with laughter.

“What a ridiculous question,” you kissed him. “By the way, Ron wants to see you.”

“Ickle Ronnie?”

“He’s here right now. He’s outside.”

“What does he want?”

“I think he might want a job. Here.”

“Does he?” he looked at the closed door. A sudden idea seemed to come him. “What if I hire him?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, maybe you can apply for that job in the Ministry again. If you want, of course.”

“At the Ministry?” you said in disbelief.

“Well… You always wanted to work in trade… Maybe this time they actually look for qualification instead of blood,” he said in an annoyed tone. You looked at the floor, thinking.

“Yeah, maybe… Can we talk at dinner?”

Now he was the one who snorted.

“Weren’t we supposed to?”

“I meant… I just need to tell you something.”

“Oh…” he looked concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, standing up from his lap. “I’ll send in Ron.”

The rest of the afternoon flew by quickly and once you looked at the clock it was already seven o’clock. You were heating up some leftovers from yesterday, when George exited the bathroom, his hair still a bit wet from the shower. You smiled at him; he looked incredibly handsome.

“So, what are the big news?” he asked and your heart jumped.

“What big news?”

“You wanted to tell me something, did you not?”

“Oh…Oh! Yes. Er —”

“What is it, then?” he came closer. “Is everything —”

“Stop asking if everything’s okay,” you snapped. “Sorry. I don’t wanna sound rude.”

“Okay, love…” he said, looking puzzled. “You’re starting to scare me so say it please.”

You stomach was in a knot. You had been thinking about phrasing the words in your mind the whole afternoon, but no solution came. You swallowed.

“You said I should apply for a job at the Ministry.”

“Yeah.”

“Well… I can’t really do that. Not now.”

“What?” he said. “Why?”

“Remember when I ate that fish and then threw up?”

“What, like — two weeks ago?”

“Mm. And I didn’t tell you this but I threw up yesterday, too.”

“Are you sick or something?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Well, I thought… So I went to St Mungo’s for a check up…”

“Okay…” he said slowly. “What did they say?”

You took a deep breath.

“George… I’m pregnant.”

A silence fell over the room. George’s face was stuck in shock. His eyes were the only things moving; they slowly made their way down your chest and stopped under your stomach.

“W… What.”

It was not a question. You sighed again.

“I’m pregnant.”

“What.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Wh —”

“George!” you said, your laugh shaky from nervousness.

“Merlin… Are you really?” his mouth fell open.

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God,” he fell onto his knees and touched your belly as if it was made of glass. “There’s a baby in here?”

“Yeah.”

“Hah… hah,” he laughed weirdly. You were not sure he understood the situation.

“George… You know what this means?”

“What?”

“You’re gonna be a dad. We’re gonna have a baby.”

He looked up at you, his eyes wide.

“A baby?”

“Yeah.”

“Our baby?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God… Oh, my God!” he exclaimed and stood up. “Oh, my God, Y/N! You’re pregnant, you’re… Oh, my God!”

He shouted and lifted you from the ground. You laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

“I can’t believe this…” he said, now grinning from ear to ear. “We’re gonna have a baby! Oh mum… Mum’s gonna freak!”

“I know,” you said, also smiling. “But there’s something else.”

“Something else?” he said and looked at your belly again.

“Yes. So… While I was there, there was a witch who told me about these charms that would help me know more about the baby… And…” you laughed as tears started falling from your eyes. “She asked me if I wanted her to do those charms on me, and I said yes…”

“Why are you crying?” George asked in fear.

“Because…” you chuckled with tears. “Because I don’t think we’ll need to think about names…”

“What do you mean?”

“Because… it’s a boy.”

He reacted faster than for the first time. His hands flew over his mouth, his eyes watering already.

“Are you… Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you nodded while crying and he broke into sobs as well. He hugged you again, holding you close, occasionally laughing, then crying again.

“You are my everything,” he said, whispering into your ears. “You and… him.”

He looked down at your belly again, and with a smile on his face he gently touched you where he imagined his son to be. You were shaking with joyful anxiousness, but were grateful as well; grateful for him, grateful for your happiness, and grateful for the amazing life that was about to come.

Part 37 - When Happier Times Come

Summary:Who knew a breakthrough in your relationship would finally come? And what will happen after you and George found each other again?

Warning: None, Fluff

Word count:2K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

You just finished reading an article in the Daily Prophet when the door opened in the hall and George stepped inside, his heavy boots thumping on the wooden floor. You turned to him with a smile, watching as he threw his coat to the hanger and brushed the snowflakes out of his hair.

“It’s freezing outside,” he said and waved his wand so that a cup of hot tea appeared on the table.

“You should’ve taken the scarf your mum made,” you said, smirking. He rolled his eyes.

“Always with the lectures, Y/N,” he said, but you saw him hiding a smile. You threw the Prophet onto the table.

“So — how was it?” you asked eagerly. George took a sip.

“Well… it was quite all right,” he said with a shrug. “They seemed to like the idea to do some business with us. Maybe Tom’s hand is in it as well. He offered a bottle of gin. On the house.”

“He likes you, Tom,” you said. “And his help can always come in handy. Lot of folks come through the Leaky Cauldron from all around the country. If he can just talk to them about how amazing the shop is, that’s already a step forward to us.”

“You thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” George asked. You nodded.

“Why, of course. I want the best for this place. For you. For us.”

He didn’t answer but looked at you in a strange, almost surprised way. He seemed like he was thinking about something he had long forgotten, or as if he was searching for words that did not even exist.

“What is it?” you asked, because his gaze made you feel uncertain. He moved his head from side to side, speaking very slowly.

“Nothing. Everything’s all right.”

He stood up, taking his empty cup into the kitchen, his face still fixed in that expression. You didn’t know what to make out of it, and it started worrying you. When he reappered in the living room, you were determined to say something. He sat down next to you onto the couch.

“George, is —”

You couldn’t finish for he cupped your cheeks and pressed his lips onto yours, gently, but firmly at the same time, and you were staring in surprise, not sure what to make of the situation, for he had not kissed you for over a year now.

His lips parted slowly, allowing his tongue to have a taste of yours. You were on fire, you felt as though you were going to melt into his touch, and you closed your eyes and kissed him back, grabbing onto his shirt and pulling him closer until there wasn’t an inch between you left.

After at least a minute you couldn’t bare it anymore and broke apart, desperate for air. Your heart was beating twice as fast, and you were panting, while looking into those beautiful brown eyes.

“Hi,” he whispered. He seemed just as shocked as you were.

“Hi,” you said, your voice breaking. You felt tears in your eyes and you started blinking. One year. More than that. He had been somewhere else for more than a year. But now as you looked at him, you felt something else, something changing. You felt as if happier times would come.

“Come here,” he pulled you close, kissing your cheek. You were shivering. You couldn’t help it. You buried your face into his neck. You pressed soft kisses all over his skin. He took a sharp breath, then lowered his head to meet your lips again.

His hand found its way to your lower back and you felt like you were dreaming. You leaned closer to him, breathing in his smell which you loved and missed so much. He then slowly stood up, not letting go of your lips but pulling you with him. You stood on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pulled away, only for a second, to look into your eyes.

“Do you —”

“Yes, shut up,” you said, pressing your lips on his again, backing away towards the bedroom.

——

Christmas was just around the corner, and you felt as a completely new person. To be exact, you felt like yourself again. Yes, occasional sadness still hit you, it hit George as well. But somehow you felt as though the two of you were fighting against it together, and not separately.

Last Christmas you had not visited the Burrow, it was just way too much for the two of you. But this year Mrs Weasley invited you again, and even though her eyes were often watery and she blew her nose constantly, all of you felt like a family again. On Christmas Eve, when you were sitting on the couch in George’s lap, staring at the tree and listening to the radio, the world seemed a less horrible place, even if it lasted only for a few hours.

Everyone was there; Ginny and Hermione were talking while sitting on the floor, Harry and Ron were playing chess while Bill watched. Charlie was supposed to arrive the day after tomorrow. Mrs Weasley and Fleur were playing with Teddy, who was now mumbling words and constantly changing his hair color after every sentence. Mr Weasley and Percy were talking, being watched by George.

“Is everything okay?” you asked kindly, stroking his hair. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Yeah,” he tried to smile but you could see some kind of nervousness in his eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, love,” he pressed a soft kiss on your hair. “Everything’s okay.”

Soon Andromeda came to take Teddy home, and people started to go to sleep one by one. Your heart ached painfully after entering George’s room — there were still two beds in there, figuring they’d come in handy once there’s way too many guests in the house. Still, it took you an enormous amount of effort to stay calm, take George’s hand and climb into bed next to him. He held you close all night, but you could tell that he was barely sleeping. You woke up several times during the night, too.

Then morning came and you opened your eyes with a tired groan. George was already sitting up, looking anxious. He was checking his watch, then when he saw that you were awake, he smiled weakly.

“Finally,” he said. “Come, I’m sure mum’s ready with breakfast.”

“Just give me five more minutes,” you said, closing your eyes again.

“C’mon, it’s Christmas!” he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of bed. “Aren’t you excited to give me your present?”

“Why do you think you’ll get a present in the first place?” you teased while opening the door.

“Witty,” George rolled his eyes and took your hand again, leading you down the stairs.

Not a single person were in the kitchen, they all gathered in the living room around the tree. It was quite crowded but you didn’t mind. Ron was already wearing his maroon jumper; you saw Hermione smirking and him shaking his head before kissing her on the cheek. Percy was just opening his package which seemed to contain a new scarf and a hat. Mrs Weasley’s sudden voice made George jump.

“Kids, finally! Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas… Let’s see… George, here you go dear. Just the usual.”

“Thanks, mum,” he said, hugging his mother for at least a minute. Mrs Weasley’s eyes were watering again, but she collected herself and smiled when looking at you.

“Y/N, dear… Arthur, where are you — come here! Now, dear, we’d like to —”

“No, mum, it’s me first!” said Ron through his teeth. You raised and eyebrow. George groaned.

“Then just do it, you prat.”

Ron shot an angry look at his brother, then he turned to Hermione uncertainly.

“Er — Hermione?”

“Merlin, Ron,” she said, rolling her eyes while searching in her pocket. “Yes, I have it, don’t worry. Do you want to read it?”

She gave Ron a piece of paper which he held up, looking a bit puzzled, then started to read.

“Dear Y/N! We were thinking about the perfect present for you, something that would make you feel the happiest person on this fine Christmas morning. Unfortunately, our ideas stopped at a certain point, therefore we decided that our present will be nothing more, than our appreciation and friendship that we feel whenever you’re in the room.”

He folded the paper, looking quite proud of himself. Hermione nodged him in the ribs.

“Oh, and Merry Christmas,” finished Ron. Hermione nodded. “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh…” you said, not sure what just happened. Anyway, their words felt really nice. You smiled. “Thank you. Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“Well, this is embarassing,” spoke Bill, while holding a piece of paper. “Looks like we were thinking about the same present as Ron.”

“Oh,” you said, feeling quite dull.

“I’ll still read it,” said Bill, and Fleur was looking at you, smiling. “Dear, Y/N. Please allow us to express, how much we adore you. You’re brave, you’re strong and you would do anything for the people you love. This perfectly showed during those long months you spent with us. It was hard, though you never gave up. And for this, Fleur and myself — we adore you.”

“Thank… Thank you,” you said, choking up. You felt their words to be too nice. They were too nice to you.

“Thanks Bill, for ruining my speech,” Ginny stepped forward, her face in mock annoyance. “I wanted to do the same thing, but seems like my idea was stolen.”

“Just read the letter sis,” said Bill, fighting a snicker. Ginny nodded and pointed at herself and Harry, a letter in her hand.

“Y/N, I want to thank you for being the first person who sat down next to me in my second year, even if I endangered a lot of lives the year before that. You never judged me, and you became one of the best friends I had. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You were always there for me, in happiness and sadness, and I hope I was always there for you when you needed me.”

“Of course you were,” you whispered.

“Good. And I promise to be there for you after this, for the rest of our lives. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you said.

“Now, dear, Arthur and I have something to say as well,” said Mrs Weasley, paper in hand. “You have always been like a daughter to us, and we could not have been more proud of you. It’s always a pleasure to have you with us, and we thank you for making our son so happy. I know that without you he — he’d be lost and — all I want to say is… all we want to say is that we welcome you in our family.”

She smiled with tears in her eyes and George spoke.

“Y/N?”

You turned around and you saw him already on one knee, holding up a box with a beautiful ring in it. Your mouth dropped.

“Y/N…” he spoke. “You are the love of my life. You are my everything. You are witty, you are smart and you are the kindest person I’ve ever met…Without you I wouldn’t have been able to survive this past year… You were there for me since I’ve known you, and I can never repay you for all the love that you have given me. But if I try, maybe a lifetime will be enough… So will you marry me?”

You dropped onto your knees, crying. You ignored the ring and hugged George instead. It wasn’t even up for debate. Your answer was obvious.

“Yes!” you sobbed. “Of course I’ll marry you!”

You kissed him and the room erupted in cheers. George hugged you tight, his lips against yours and he stood up, pulling you with him while Mr Weasley summoned some glasses and champagne.

“I love you!” you said to him finally, after pulling away a bit, looking into his eyes. His were watery, but he was grinning.

“I love you, too!” he said, kissing you again. He then took your hand and placed the ring on your finger. You gasped.

“Oh, George — I love it!”

You hugged him again, and continued crying. The difference was, that these were not miserable tears. These were happy tears. And for the first time in a very long time, you felt that your happiness could not be demolished by anything.

Part 36 - Older

Summary: George has never been older than his twin brother. Ever. Until now.

Warnings:Angst

Word count:1.7K

George Weasley x Reader

Song:Queen - Love of My Life

Masterlist

You had been dreading this day since last May.

In the past few months your relationship with George had become somewhat better, though you had your better and worse days either way. After Christmas you had figured it was time to clean out Fred’s room, that had been deserted for a very long time. It wasn’t an easy task to do. There was sobbing, cuddling, screaming, hugging, crying… but eventually it was over. Now its door was closed, hiding a room which no longer represented someone’s personality. It was just an empty room now.

And yes, it had been hard. Really hard, for the both of you. But some days were simply easier, some days you were not as miserable as usually… Except today. Oh, yes. You had been dreading this day since last May. Because today was the first day of April.

You woke up earlier than him and your empty stomach drove you into the kitchen, where you started chewing on a piece of toast, though not really feeling its taste. You looked at the clock; it was half past eight. You watched the seconds passing, feeling more and more miserable and lost. The silence in the kitchen was defeaning.

You put down your food, you simply couldn’t eat anymore. Your stomach was clenched and about the size of a nut, hurting with every breath. You wished you could eat more. Maybe then you could fill some of the empty hole in your chest.

You walked back to the bedroom and saw George lying on the bed with his eyes open. You stopped at the door, examining his face. He had been melancholic for a few days now… But today was different. You knew today he was hurting like nobody else.

“I’ve brought you some breakfast,” you said huskily, knowing very well that he’s not going to touch the food. You put the plate onto the nightstand and kneeled down to the floor to be on the same level as him.

He was crying. It wasn’t sobbing, it wasn’t conscious bawling… his tears were falling quietly down his face, then raced to reach his pillow. His gaze was empty, or at least he was staring at something that you couldn’t see.

You reached out, gently touching his face. You wiped his tears with your thumb, only to welcome more and more. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to throw things around the room. But you had to stay strong for him. Today, you simply had no other choice.

You climbed back to bed and lay down, hugging him from behind. You were stroking his hair tenderly, occasionally pressing a small kiss onto his cheek or the nape of his neck. You were lying like this for at least an hour, when he started shaking.

“It’s okay,” you said, hugging him tight while he was crying in your arms. “It’s all right, love.”

He was shaking even more and you had no idea what to do. All you could think of is staying here, by his side and making through the day, one minute at a time.

There was knocking on the window and you saw an owl, with a letter tied to its leg. You turned towards it uncertainly, George still in your arms.

“Don’t…” he said. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not…” you said and waved your wand towards the window. It opened and the owl flew inside, raising his leg after finding a place on your cover to stand.
You needed only a second to see what kind of letter it was. You got it from the owl, watched as it flew away, then looked at the messy writing which seemed to had been written by a very shaking hand.

“It’s from your mum,” you said lowly. George winced.

“I don’t want to read it.”

“I know,” you said and put the letter aside. “You really need to eat something, Georgie. It’s almost noon.”

He didn’t answer and you accepted his silence. You went back to him, resting you chin on the top of his head, while he was shaking with watery eyes.

“I’ve never been older,” he said, his voice muffled from the crying.

“What?”

“I’ve n-never been older,” he sobbed. “Older than him.”

Your heart broke into a million pieces with realization. You swallowed, trying your best not to cry, but it was really really hard.

“Sing,” George said suddenly. You looked at him, puzzled.

“What?”

“Sing,” he pleaded. “You sang a muggle song… a long time ago… sing for me…”

“I don’t — I don’t remember singing,” you said desperately. He cried.

“Please… Please, Y/N…”

“I can’t…”

“Please.”

You stared. You didn’t want to sing. You were only singing when you were happy, when nothing troubled you… It was a tool to express joy… You knew if you were going to sing now, you would lose your mind. You would hurt yourself on so many levels… But George was here, asking you to do it. And you would do anything for him.

And so you took a deep breath and sang the first thing that came to your mind.

Love of my life, you’ve hurt me
You’ve broken my heart and now you leave me
Love of my life, can’t you see?
Bring it back, bring it back
Don’t take it away from me, because you don’t know
What it means to me

It was not perfect, you could barely call it nice. But you were singing and George seemed to ease in your arms for the first time. You couldn’t stop now.

Love of my life, don’t leave me
You’ve taken my love, you now desert me
Love of my life, can’t you see?
Bring it back, bring it back
Don’t take it away from me
Because you don’t know
What it means to me

Tears started blurrying your sight so you decided to close your eyes.

You will remember
When this is blown over
Everything’s all by the way
When I grow older
I will be there at your side to remind you
How I still love you
I still love you

You saw a castle in your mind, and you saw happy memories. You saw walls and common rooms, greenhouses and Hagrid’s hut, you saw a lake, you saw a village and you saw two boys with red hair at the Great Hall table, recklessly laughing about who knows what. You were choking on your tears. But you wanted to finish now.

Oh, hurry back, hurry back
Please bring it back home to me because
You don’t know what it means to me
Love of my life
Love of my life

You fell silent, your tears running down your cheeks. You left them there. You didn’t care anymore.

The two of you lay there, not saying a word for at least an hour. George seemed to breathe a bit more easily after the song, and it was all that mattered. You, on the other hand, were a complete mess. You pressed your lips together tight, determined not to make a noise. Behind your closed eyelids pictures from the past flew by, and you wished with everything that you were to be able to turn back time and be a fifth year student again, who sometimes orders stuff from outside the castle and sells them to be able to buy a ruddy bottle of butter beer.

The sun was shining from a different angle now and you knew that it was way into the afternoon. Without any hope for success, you gently stroke George’s hair and spoke in a low whisper.

“You should really eat something, love… or have a cup of tea… how does that sound?”

To your surprise, George opened his eyes and turned his head slowly, facing you. Maybe he was more hungry than miserable, because he nodded and sighed as if collecting some strength to get out of bed.

“Okay.”

He sat up, but didn’t stand until you intertwined your fingers with his. His face looked exhausted, his eyes were bloodshot from all the crying. His hair was everywhere and his cheekbones were as sharp as a knife.

“Come on,” you said, leading him to the kitchen. “How about some music?”

He nodded and sat down to the table. You turned on the radio, leaving it on low volume and letting the slow tune to fill the cold room. You left the water to boil and looked at George again. He was sitting with his head hanging low, breathing slowly, eyes closed.

“Come,” you said again, tenderly touching his hand. “Dance with me.”

“What?” he said, visibly puzzled.

“Dance with me,” you said again, pulling him to his feet.

“Y/N…”

“Sh… it’s okay. See?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning closer so that your chest was against his. You two started swaying slowly, without any real steps, but still dancing in an intimate, loving way. You rested your chin on his shoulder, standing on your toes to reach him. After a while you felt him shaking with sobs again.

“Darling…” you said, gently wiping his face. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry…”

“No — Don’t say that. I know…”

“It’s not that…” he sniffled. “It’s… I know… I know how terrible I’ve been to you…”


“You weren’t,” you said, though a weird uneasiness came over you. He shook his head again.

“Yes, I’ve been. I… I want you to know… I want to spend my whole life with you… I do, but… I feel like I’m stuck… I don’t have my old life anymore, but I’m not ready to… to start my new one…”

“It’s okay…”

“But I need to tell you, I need you to understand…”

“I know, baby,” you said, kissing him on his cheek. “I know it’s hard, I know we’re… we’re not quite all right, but… maybe with t-time, we will be.”

“It hurts…”

“It hurts me, too,” you said, hugging him close, and he hugged you until you couldn’t breathe, until you felt nothing but him, and finally it felt as though some of the pain inside the two of you was evaporating away… You knew better times would come… But when, you had no idea.

You thought about Hogwarts again, the castle and its grounds, and you realized with another painful jolt in your heart that you would never be able to return to those times when you were so carelessly happy. You went through a war. You were not children anymore. You were both… well… older.

Part 35 - Strangers

Summary: After Fred’s death everything is dark. How can you move on when you don’t want to move on? And how can you love each other, when all love seems lost?

Warnings:Angst

Word count:2K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

Like two strangers, you were lying on each side of the bed, your backs opposite each other. The clock on the wall said it was way past two in the morning. Still, you were not asleep. You were quiet, your breathing steady and slow, and you were staring into nothing, while George’s quiet sniffs came from behind you.

You’d moved back to the little flat above the shop three months ago, after spending one more month at the Burrow. It was still hard. Without Fred the rooms felt empty and deserted. The shop was open, sure; you knew George rather wanted it open so that he can do something… but it was not as charming, not as fun as it used to be. For the two of you, at least, it wasn’t.

The bed creaked on George’s side and he got up and left the room. You didn’t turn around; you knw either he was going to the bathroom to wash his face, drive his demons away, or headed for the kitchen to drink something that’d help him sleep. You waited for minutes but he didn’t return. Then there was a crash.

You got up and ran outside; the lights were on in the kitchen. You covered your eyes for they were hurt by the brightness and stepped in.

George was standing in the middle of the kitchen, frozen, his face emotionless and bland. He was staring at one spot on the ground, where the remains of a broken teapot lay. Around it was a small puddle of water, pieces of china all around the floor.

“Reparo,” you said. You dried up the water with another wave of your wand. You looked at George. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer. He turned away, lips pressed together and leaned onto the counter. After some hesitation you stepped closer. His shoulders were shaking, his head hanging low. You knew he was able to sob quietly, a talent which he had perfected during these past months. It came in handy when he wanted to hide his cries from you. It broke your heart.

“Love…” you said as gently as you could. You wished you could hug him. “Love, come back to…”

“Stop it, Y/N,” he said, a bit colder than you found necessary. You swallowed.

“Let me help you.”

“I cannot be helped,” he said, still not turning around. “Go back to bed.”

You stood there, choking up. He had been like this ever since you got back from the Burrow. Yes, he left the house every now and then, yes, he had reopened the shop, but he was not the same George anymore. He was barely eating, he was just staring at or playing with his food. He looked so pale and so sickly, that you were seriously concerned for his health at this point. There were times, when he was frozen in shock and in realization; then he would just stay still, staring into the void, completely forgetting about the world. Usually, he got three or four hours of sleep per night; he got to bed late and woke up early, desperately doing his best to avoid dreams, dreams which you knew were haunting him since they were all about Fred.

And the worst of it was that he didn’t want to be helped. He didn’t want to be comforted. When you tried to hug him he left, when you tried to dry up his tears he turned away. You knew you needed to give him space, and it was all right, but at the same time you felt lonely and depressed as well. He had promised that he’d be there for you, but he was distant and rejecting. You were like two strangers living together.

On those rare occasions when he had better days — when he put a lock of your hair behind your ear, or touched your shoulder as he passed behind you in the shop — you felt empty. You were missing that raw energy that he had always had, that special George Weasley-like liveliness… you wished he would pull you into his arms, or would fiercly grab you while making love… but in reality he barely touched you, and even if he did, his fingertips brushed against your skin and that was it. Nothing more. After two months of moving back, you had wanted him so much your body hurt… but when you kissed him, he had refused and told you to go back to bed.

Just like he did now.

——

George was bleeding; he had cut himself with the paper when he unwrapped the package that just had arrived. How ridiculous, he thought, as he watched the owl flying out the open window, and sucked on his finger in annoyance. When the bleeding stopped, he looked at the little wooden box his mother sent him and opened it up. It was full of old letters, pieces of paper and pictures. He closed the box immediately, turning it’s little lock. He had an idea what it was, but he simply did not have the strength to care about it in the moment.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said, and you stepped in. George hid his hand with the cut finger in his pocket. He didn’t even know why.

“Someone is looking for those eatable ears,” you said, the buzzing of the jokeshop coming from behind you. “She doesn’t want to understand that we won’t have them until the end of the month.”

“Just… ask her if she wants to preorder now,” he said, barely paying attention.

“All right.”

You nodded and turned to leave, but George’s gaze fell upon the box on his desk.

“No, wait — Actually, could you take this up, please? Mum sent it. I’ll deal with those ears.  Why don’t you… Go up. We’re closing in thirty minutes anyway.”

He gave you the box and you took it; he saw something in your eyes but you turned away quickly and closed the door behind you, leaving him alone in his office. He cleaned his throat, fighting that depressed feeling he felt every time he talked to you.

The truth was, he had opened the shop again, but only to have something to spend his days with. It did not cause him pleasure anymore, but it was rather painful to spend each day selling products that they made up with Fred, together. He did not feel enthusiastic walking along the shelves; he felt as if he was missing something, he felt as if a big part of him was left somewhere.
Well, he had been feeling like this anyway, so at least he was making some money.

He also felt lost, but it was not because of Fred. It was because of you. When he looked at you during breakfast, or talking to a customer, he wondered if he’d see the spark in your eyes, the cheekiness he loved so much. He knew he was causing you pain, he knew you were crying every night… But he couldn’t bring himself to talk to you about Fred. He couldn’t.

He was staring at the floor for minutes when he finally remembered that he was supposed to help someone. He left the office, immediately being surrounded by hundreds of people laughing and joking around amongst the shelves. He felt nauseos.

He wrote down the name of the customer, then he watched as the crowd slowly faded. Then he closed the doors, turned the lights and headed for the stairs, up to the flat. He fumbled with his keys, then stepped inside, and — carefully avoiding his reflection in the mirror — loosened his tie. When he turned around, that’s when he saw you sitting on the living room floor, sobbing.

His heart jumped in fear and he hurried over, scared, that something really serious was happening, that you were in pain, that someone might had hurt you… Then he saw the wooden box next to you, a bunch of photographs lying all over the floor. He lowered himself, feeling extremely anxious.

“Y/N?” he started uncertainly. “What happened?”

You shook your head and sobbed. George wished he could hug you. He wished he was able to.

“Y/N…” he said miserably. “Tell me…”

You reached for a photograph on the floor and shoved it in his hand. It was crumbled as if you had grabbed it too firmly. He looked at it and he felt his heart pounding painfully. He thought he’d have a heart attack.

It was the three of you — him, you and Fred, in the Burrow, standing in front of the Christmas tree, when you came back from Hogwarts in your last year. It was not moving, it was made using Mr Weasley’s muggle camera, but George could still see the happiness in his eyes. And Fred… He couldn’t look at Fred for long. He stared at himself instead, but it was like looking at a stranger. He was smiling, he looked well-fed and healthy, he even looked more mascular than he was now. He chuckled darkly — he still had two ears.

He turned over the picture and put it down. He sat down next to you, examining all the papers on the floor.

“Can I bring you something?” he asked lowly. “Tea?”

You shook your head. George swallowed.

“C-coffee, then?”

“Hold me,” you said suddenly, between sobs. “Please.”

How could he explain that he couldn’t? But you were already in his arms, and he held you so gently that he barely even touched your skin. He was sitting there with you for long minutes, thinking wether he knew what he was doing or was he just a coward…

“George?” you asked, wiping your face.

“Yes?” he said huskily.

“Don’t you love me anymore?”

He stared, taken aback and you pulled away from him, looking into his eyes.

“Why would you say that?” he asked, but he knew very well what you meant.

“Because I feel it,” you said. Your voice was really heavy. “I see it when I look at you. You… you haven’t kissed me in months. You wouldn’t even touch me… I feel so out of place, and I feel like I’m just some burden, some stranger who lives here.

“You’re not — no,” George felt his whole world shaking. How could he tell you, how could he make you understand? “I love you, Y/N! I do, I really do!”

“I’m not sure I can believe that anymore…”

George shook his head violently. How could he explain to you how he was feeling? How he was constantly wishing that he could rip out his heart to stop the pain? He didn’t even have to think about Fred to be hurt, the feeling was just there, all the time, during the day, but also during the night as well. He had nightmares, visions about the battle, but sometimes it was not Fred who lay on the floor, but his mum… Ginny… you.

He hadn’t been home for a month, he just could not bare to look them in the eye. But here was different. You were with him in the shop, in the flat, in the bed… And George somehow felt that if he kept his mind off you, the nightmares would not come so often. He felt that when you kissed him, he slept worse, fighting the sick feeling in his stomach that was telling him that he’d lose you as well, that if he loved you carelessly and freely a moment would come and take you away from him as well.

But he couldn’t tell you that. You’d not understand. You’d tell him that the war was over and that you were safe now… And George didn’t want to be reassured, because he didn’t believe that everything was fine now, he didn’t believe that life was safe and sound when he was already missing the biggest part of his life… So this is why he let his head hang low at the dinner table, this is why he went form kisses to hugs, from hugs to shoulder brushes, and this is why he told you to stop when you wanted to make love to him, during those quiet nights in late August…

He realized he had zoned out again. It had been really hard for him to concentrate on anything, really. But your quiet crying brought him back to reality. No matter how hard he tried to stay away from you… he still loved you. And he hated himself for causing you pain.

Part 34 - Seven Days After

Summary: After Fred’s death, neither you or George cope with the situation well. You cry in secret, he doesn’t come out of his room. Will he listen to you when you talk to him, or will he stay distant?

Warnings: Angst, Depression

Word count:4.1K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

The funeral was quick and you were glad for that. You zoned out after it had begun; you felt guilty for not paying attention but at the same time you knew that you wouldn’t be able to handle it. You were sitting in the front row next to George and the two of you were not saying a word to each other. From the corner of your eyes you saw how his shoulders rose and fell and you knew that he was forcing himself to breathe properly. He was staring without seeing much, and after the funeral ended with the lowering of the casket, he was the first to stand up and disappear in the house.

You had not seen him ever since, and it had been five days.

You felt empty. You wanted to feel empty. Empty was better than pain. You did not want to feel anything, because that would mean that you accepted the truth, that you were living through it, and you were not ready for that. It was easier to distance yourself, to pretend that it didn’t hurt. To pretend that you were not dreaming that you were carrying his body with the Ravenclaw boy. Pretending was good. Pretending was safe.

Oh, yes, pretending was fun. But sometimes it didn’t work. Sometimes the truth came through, memories flooded your mind, and during those times it hurt much more than you could ever imagine.

“Y/N, I’m talking to you, do you hear me?”

You looked up, your eyes meeting Ginny’s. The bowl of soup in front of you was cold and watery now. Opposite you, Mrs Weasley sat, crying. Mr Weasley was gently stroking her hair.

“I don’t know what to d-do,” she sobbed, her eyes puffy and weary.

Mrs Weasley had been busying herself, continuously doing the laundry, cooking more than was necessary, dusting off furniture every two hours… literally doing anything to draw her attention away from her son. Sometimes, however, she would break down, crying her eyes out. Apparently, this was one of those occasions.

“I t-tried everything… he won’t o-open the d-door.”

“I was just telling Y/N,” said Ginny, the usual strength missing from her voice. “That maybe she should try it.”

You looked around the table and noticed that everyone was staring at you. You raised an eyebrow.

“You want me what?”

Your throat hurt as you spoke. It had been days since you said more than one sentence.

“You can…” continued Ginny. “You can try to bring him his dinner. He won’t open the door to mum or dad.”

Of course. They were talking about George.

“What makes you think he’ll let me in?”

“C’mon, Y/N…” she pleaded. “Just try. Please.”

You looked away from her, fixating on Mrs Weasley again. She was dabbing her face with an already soaked handkerchief. She looked pathetic, to be honest. You couldn’t blame her, though.

You nodded and grabbed a prepared plate with some chicken and sprouts and headed for the staircase. Each step was a misery, it felt like you were marching to your own execution. You had no idea how he was going to react. He had not talked to you since the funeral.

You reached the door that recently you had tried to ignore, for it had been too much to even ackowledge its existence. But now you stood before it, your hand raised, and you knocked, waiting for an answer that didn’t come. You knocked again, this time more loudly, but there was still no response. You were thinking about leaving the food on the floor, but you reached for your wand instead and tapped on the handle, turning the lock with a clank.

You stepped inside and your carefully built wall of denial almost crumbled. The first thing you saw were the boxes, filled with untested products and notes; then you saw left behind socks and trousers all around the floor that were clearly not George’s; and finally you saw two bed, one perfectly made, cold, empty, and one with a tall ginger figure in it, facing the wall, his eyes closed.

You did not want to stay in the room for more time than was necessary. You put the plate onto the table, then turned and left. You did not want to go back to the kitchen; you headed for Ginny’s room which you shared, lay down and stared out the window at the darkening sky. Around nine Ginny came in as well, and you pretended that you were sleeping until she closed the curtains. Then you lay on your back, facing the ceiling, doing your best not to fall asleep, because you knew that nightmares would come, and you had had enough of those.

The house was quiet, it was past midnight. You wondered if you were the only one awake, or was there anyone else who was struggling against the calling of night time horrors. You closed your eyes, focusing on your steady breathing. You were not going to give in.

A brown pair of eyes.

You sat up, panting, shaking your head. No, you cannot think about it! You took deep breaths, determined to stay calm.

A Nosebleed Nougat in a colorful wrapper.

“Ah, fuck,” you whispered, burying your face into your hands. Stop it. Don’t. Just… don’t.

‘Morning, sunshine.’

You let out a quiet moan and you pressed your palm against your mouth. You got up as quietly as you could and made your way out of the room, down the stairs, into the bathroom. You closed the door, then opened the tap and splashed cold water on your face.

Drinking tea in the kitchen. ’I love you.’

“Stop!” you whispered, holding your head, as if you were trying to drive those unwanted thoughts away. The water was still running.

The couch in the common room. A lake with skating children. A pair of sneakers on the floor.

“Stop!” you groaned, hitting your head. “Stop it! Please… stop!”

‘You’re like a sister to me.’

“Shut up…” you cried, broken, grabbing onto the sink with one hand, trying to muffle your panicky breaths with the other. “Please… I don’t… I can’t…”

You fell onto the floor and did not want to get up. You held onto the rug, squeezing it, pleading to anyone who’d listen to stop the pain, release you, make it feel better, bring him back…

You didn’t know for how long you stayed there, but what it seemed like hours later you heard movement in the house. You stood up quickly, stopped the water, then left the bathroom quietly, looking out at the sky, seeing that morning was not far away… You went back to Ginny’s, climbed back into bed, and fell asleep within minutes.

You woke up, feeling more tired than ever. Your eyes hurt from the continuous sobbing, but if you were sure about one thing, it was that no one would make a comment about it. They knew.

You walked down to the kitchen, suddenly craving company. You ate a few bites of your toast, but it was like chewing a rug. Mr Weasley already left for the day with Percy, and you could not help but think about the shop that was now standing deserted. You choked up and pushed the plate away.

“Dear?” you faced Mrs Weasley, who was holding a bowl of porridge. “Will you take this up, please?”

You looked into her eyes, and realized that they were the same brown as —”

“Sure,” you said and quickly turned away. You went for the stairs again, stopped in front of the door just like you had done yesterday. You knocked, but there was no answer. After trying the lock, you pulled your wand out again and opened the door with a tap.

George looked exactly the same as the previous night. He was facing the wall, apparently sleeping. You looked at the table where his dinner lay untouched, cold. You switched it with the bowl without a word.

“The door’s locked for a reason.”

You turned around, not believing your ears. You had not heard George’s voice for almost a week. He sounded ill.

“You can tell dad as well.”

You swallowed.

“Your mum’s downstairs,” you said huskily. “It’s me.”

He jerked his head towards you and you barely recognised him. His eyes were swollen and almost shut, his whole face had sunken during those seven days. Under his eyes huge, dark circles colored his pale skin. He looked like a skull.

“Oh,” he said finally. “Okay.”

Your stomach clenched.

“Okay?” you stared. “Please, eat something. You can even bring the bowl down when you finish.”

He didn’t answer and you casted down your eyes. You wished he had at least stood up from the bed. You could not bare to look at him anymore. You turned around and left him, closing the door behind you.

“Nothing?” Ron asked as you returned to the kitchen. You shook your head. Mrs Weasley, seeing the untouched plate, broke into tears again.

“I wish he would talk to us!” said Ginny, angrily wiping her eyes. “He could at least come down to sit with us!”

“I know,” you said, thinking the same.

A fading smile on colorless lips. A white casket.

“Stop!” you said, shivering.

“What?” said Hermione. She looked worried. “Y/N, is everything —”

But she didn’t finish. She knew nothing was okay.

You turned away, facing the sink. You felt the familiar pressure in your throat, choking you, and you felt yourself tearing up.

“I’ll feed the chickens,” you said, not looking at any of them. You hurried out of the house, your feet taking you further and further. You passed the garden, passed the lake and ended up by that tree under which you had been sitting ages ago, with George, making a flower crown, telling him that you felt safe when you were with him…

‘How is the lovely couple?’

You pressed your fists against your eyes, violently shaking your head. No, you didn’t want to think about him, you didn’t want to, you didn’t…

Fred.

Fred as he colored your hair at Shell Cottage. Fred as he handed you a butterbeer in Hogsmeade. Fred as he looked concerned, then laughed at you. Fred teasing Ron. Fred smirking in the shop. Fred hugging you before setting off to rescue Harry. Fred, on the floor, dead.

It was so much worse now, during this lovely morning, surrounded by wild flowers and nicely buzzing bees. At night, you could pretend that it was just an episode, that when the morning comes the nightmare ends, but now… What could you pretend now?

You walked back into the house not long before lunch. Even if you didn’t eat much, you needed these small events to get you through the day. A sort of habit, a system. Sitting down, talking, crying alone, repeat.

“Dear?” said Mrs Weasley and you didn’t even look at her, but took the tray with a plate of food and a glass of water and headed for the stairs. You didn’t knock this time, you tapped the handle, opened the door and stepped inside. George looked exactly how you had left him, still in his pajamas, facing the wall.

“Here’s lunch,” you said.

“I don’t know if you can tell,” he started, without looking. “But I am not hungry.”

You looked at the bowl of porridge you had left there, now soggy and disgusting.

“Please,” you said. “Please, eat something. Or just — Let’s go outside. Let’s go for a walk.”

You wanted nothing more than to be with him.

“I don’t want to go for a walk,” came the muffled answer.

“Please,” you said, then added hesitantly, “I miss you.”

It was almost as if he moved his head a little… but it might had been your imagination. You stood there, not sure what to do, choking up under your emotions again. You wished he would look at you. You wished he’d at least turned around in the bed.

“Please,” you started, tears in your eyes. “Please, just look at me…”

“Please leave me alone,” he said miserably. “Leave me alone, Y/N.”

“Please.”

You waited, and he seemed to be waiting, too. You did not want to leave, not until you tell him what’s in your mind. It seemed like hours, before he finally moved; he slowly, very slowly turned around in the bed, then put one foot down onto the floor. His pale, sunken face was glowing in the curtained, shadowy room.

You two locked eyes, and it was when you truly saw how much pain he was in. He was lost, he was exhausted, he was grieving. But you were, too.

“Please, George,” you started. “Please… I can’t do this alone anymore. It’s… killing me, no matter how hard I try, it keeps crashing down on me… I don’t know what to do, I feel so miserable, I feel so useless, and I need you, I need you more than anything but… apparently you don’t need me, so —”

His face softened and he stood up from the bed. He came closer, reached out as if he was about to hug you, but then retreated. He casted down his eyes.

“Of course I need you… I…”

He shook his head, puzzled. From up-close you saw how dry his lips were, how unhealthy his skin looked. You could clearly make out his cheekbones.

“You, staying up here… isolating yourself… it’s not good, Georgie —”

He winced hearing his name and closed his eyes as if he was trying to get rid of a thought. You stood there, watching, speaking as genuinly as you could.

“I’m not the only one… your family misses you, too —”

“They miss him,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not me.”

“That’s not true!” you said and stepped closer, this time taking his hand, too.

“They’re worried about you… Please, don’t do this… Don’t push them — don’t push us away. Staying here alone is not going to make you feel better… and it breaks my heart, you up here, feeling miserable, not eating, not —”

“Of course I’m feeling miserable!” he said, with a surprisingly rude tone. “What did you think, that I’m gonna sing and dance around the house? My brother just died!”

“I know,” you said, feeling hurt. “But don’t forget, he was a son, he… and he was like a brother to me, too.”

“Yeah? You weren’t even related,” he snarled all of a sudden. “So how d’you reckon I feel?”

You were taken aback. All of a sudden George looked like a bomb, ready to explode. You let go of his hand, and you felt yours shaking.

“I know you’re scared —” you started, but he cut you off.

“I’m not scared —”

“— but I’m scared, too. Every time I… I think of him, I’m scared, because I know I’ll have to live a life without him…”

“Stop it,” he said, closing his eyes again. You were barely holding yourself together now.

“And I’m scared to accept that he’s really gone…”

“Stop it, Y/N, I’m telling you…”

He sounded like a wounded animal. You started sobbing.

“I’m not stopping! You stop it, stop acting like he was only yours, because you’re not the only one in this house who feels fucking miserable…”


“I’m not saying I’m the only one, but he’s… he was… I knew him best, I was the closest to him! Y/N… Can you believe that?” he was half shouting, half crying. “Can you imagine what’s it like being together with someone for twenty years, and then see them on the floor, d-dead?!”

“I…”

“Everywhere I look, I see him. I look at his bed and it’s empty, I look outside and he’s not there! I’m stuck, it’s torturing me, it’s like he’s torturing me…”

“Don’t you think it’s torturing your family, too?” you yelled. You wiped your eyes, but it was a weak attempt; you couldn’t stop crying. “Have you seen your mum? How she breaks down every two hours? How she always tries to do something, to keep her mind on something else? And your dad? Comes home from work, barely speaking, barely eating? And Percy? Being all shaky and not staying long, because he wants to hide how messed up he is?”

“Yes, I’m sure they’re all —”

“And that’s not the worst!” you didn’t let him finish. “The worst is that you won’t even care, you don’t even show your face, and now it feels like we’re grieving two people, because you’re not there!”

“Well, I wish I wasn’t there!” he shouted painfully. “I honesty think that it should’ve been me, I wish it was! I wish I was the one, not him, sometimes —”

“YEAH, WELL, SOMETIMES I WISH I WAS DEAD, TOO!”

He fell silent, and you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned around, sobbing, ran down the stairs and ended up in the kitchen. When you looked up, you saw that everyone was staring. You ignored them and ran out of the house. Not looking back, you turned on your heels, jumped into the nothingness and disapparated.

——

You came back to the Burrow way past dusk. As you appeared at the little meadow the first thing you saw was the house with light coming out of its windows. You couldn’t stop yourself; you searched for George’s window, then turned your head away immediately. It was dark.

You shivered a bit, even though it wasn’t too cold. It was the middle of May, and you saw a couple of owls setting off for their night time hunting. You thought about Peanut and your heart ached again.

You didn’t want to go in just yet — you were not planning on sleeping any time soon, anyway. You walked slowly towards the backdoor, watching as a gnome hurried back into its hole by the sight of you. Finally you stopped, sitting down onto the last step outside the door, resting your chin on the back of your hands, your elbows on your knees. You stared without seeing, and you didn’t even jump when the moonlight shone upon some kind of animal crossing the garden.

You weren’t sure you wanted anyone to know where you’d been. You weren’t sure you were ready to see any of them, after what they had heard. You weren’t even sure how you felt about the things you had said. They were true, there was no doubt. But it still pained you to realize, how far you had come, when you were supposed to be happy. You won, didn’t you? The good side won, Voldemort’s reign was over, and you should be happy. Right?

You wished it was that easy.

You sniffled and looked around in the garden, finally taking in the sight. In the darkness, only illuminated by the moon and the stars, everything seemed so peaceful. It seemed almost unbelievable, and suddenly you hated all this beauty, all this peace. You were jealous of it. It was unfair, it was not right to have such peaceful things surround you, when you were so disturbed… It was unfair of nature to run its course as if nothing had happened, when something did happen, and Fred Weasley was dead.

You watched as the light breeze tingled the grass, and you looked over the hill where the small village lay; not far from it the cemetery, that was hidden from muggle eyes, that was only for wizards and in which now stood a tombstone, with a very familiar name on it.

“I wish you were here,” you said lowly, not even sure that you wanted to speak. “I miss you so much.”

You let out a shaky breath, tears swam in your eyes. Then you let out a short, nervous laugh.

“I’m sure you’d take the mickey out of me if you saw I was talking to you. But I don’t care. I’m just… scared. I’m so scared to… to one day wake up and don’t remember your face… or the sound of your voice… and I’m scared because I k-know that I need to live the rest of my life without you… I don’t know if I can d-do that…”

You wiped your tears when you heard steps from the kitchen. The door opened and someone joined you on the stairs.

“Were you talking to him?” asked Ginny kindly. You hesitated, then decided that it didn’t really matter. You nodded.

“Yeah.”

She looked at your face, but you were avoiding her eyes. Finally she turned away, following your gaze that was still fixed on the hill.

“I talked with Harry about this,” she started, playing with a grass halm. “He said… He said he was at a place, from where he came back. There’s… There’s something there… I’m sure.”

You didn’t answer. It was too nice to be true.

“I’m saying that he might have heard everything you just told him,” she continued. You bit down on your lips. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

You wiped your tears again, unable to stop crying. But for now, it was not a continuity of ugly sobs… it was silent, and somehow your soul felt a bit lighter after Ginny gently squeezed your shoulder.

The door opened again behind the two of you, and you heard an exhausted voice speak.

“Can I talk to her?”

Ginny’s mouth dropped by the sight of George, and you could understand her — she didn’t see him for a week after all. For a moment she looked as if she couldn’t decide wether to hug or shout at his brother, but eventually she just stood up, nodded and left.

You turned back to face the garden again. From the corner of your eyes you saw a pair of shoes next to you.

“Can I sit down?”

“It’s your house,” you said. For a moment, without even realizing it, you were waiting for his comment, for his little chuckle and him murmuring ‘witty’ under his breath. But it didn’t come, and as George sat down, somehow your heart broke a little more.

You were sitting in quiet for some time, and you didn’t really care. You weren’t in the mood for fighting, and you were certainly tired of convincing George about anything.

“Were you serious?” he asked finally. His voice was low and raspy, but you could still hear him in the silent garden. “Did you mean what you said?”

“What part?” you asked, without facing him.

“The last one.”

You tried to gather your thoughts, tried to make them sound nicer, but it was impossible. Your thoughts, just as you, were a mess.

“Yes,” you said. “Yes, I meant it. It’s just… so hard. I can’t sleep… I have all these flashbacks, and they hurt… and I wait at night until everyone’s asleep so I go and cry in the bathroom, how messed up is that?”

“Does it help?” he asked. “Crying?”

“No, it doesn’t do a damn thing,” you said miserably. “I am constantly switching between denying my memories and being afraid that I’ll forget him…”

“You won’t forget him.”

“You don’t know that,” you wiped your eyes. “It so hard to believe that one week ago I was talking with him, and now he’s… he’s…”

You started panting, trying to cry as quietly as possible. George’s head was hanging low and you wished he’d say something… But how could you wish that, when you knew that he was feeling even worse than how you did?

“Y/N, I want to apologize,” he said, raising his head. “I’m so sorry that I haven’t been there for you. You deserve so much better… I know that you loved him and that he loved you, too. And I’m sorry for what I’ve said, about you not being related. It doesn’t matter, it didn’t matter then, it doesn’t matter now… You’re part of my family. And you were right, about being there for each other… g-grieving together. I’m just sorry for being so selfish.”

You nodded and finally faced him. He sat there with his eyes closed, his jaw clenched. He was shaking.

“But it’s been so hard for me as well… to realize, to accept… I haven’t slept for a bloody week, every part of my body hurts… he’s everywhere…” tears ran down on his cheek. “When is it gonna get easier?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“How are we supposed to just live now?”

“I don’t know. But… I don’t wanna do it alone. I can’t do it alone.”

“Me neither,” he said and let you wipe the tears off his cheek with your thumb. “Stay with me.”

“Always,” you said, barely louder than a whisper. Then the two of you just sat there in silence, watching as the moon rose higher and higher on the sky.

Part 33 - One Last Kiss

Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts

Warnings: PAIN. (I cried writing this, so brace yourselves. I’m not kidding)

Word count:4.6K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

It all happened so fast.

April had been the time of your life - if you can say that during a war - and it could not even be compared to the previous eight months that you had spent at Shell Cottage. You had celebrated the twins’ birthday, then Lupin had come to announce the news about his newborn son. The whole month had been as though there was no war outside; you had lived in your own bubble, accompanied by George and the Weasleys and you could not had been happier.

It all happened so fast.

May had arrived, and with it the radio was shouting the news about Harry Potter who had broken into Gringotts with two of his accomplices, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Mrs Weasley had been so nervous she broke two plates during cooking; Mr Weasley had been carefully listening to the radio the whole day, waiting for any information that would reassure him that his son was all right.

Then the news came. New weather report: Lightning has struck.

It was almost as if you had been waiting for this for years now, and it was finally happening. All the Weasleys got ready, apparated to Aberforth’s place, met up with Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley and the rest of the Order. After you made your way through the tunnel and reached the Room, there was no turning back.

It all happened so fast.

And now you were marching down the stairs towards the Great Hall, and your heart was aching by the sight of the familiar corridors and hallways. You remembered those times, those lovely, peaceful times when you had been a student and you had had nothing to worry about but your exams. Those beautiful afternoons by the lake, those calm nights in the common room. And then here you were, wand in hand, ready to fight for your friends, for your loved ones, but most importantly for yourself. Because you knew that this was it.

Yes, it happened so fast.

But you had been waiting for a long time.

“Are you okay?” asked George hastily as you made your last turn down the staircase, following Kingsley.

“I’m ready,” you said and you knew he understood.

You reached the Entrance Hall and Kingsley turned to you. His low voice resonated through the room.

“I put all my faith in the best thing. You.”

Then he pushed open the huge wooden doors.

You followed him inside, taking in the scene, Harry shouting in the middle, Snape staring at him from across the hall. All around them the whole school was watching.

“How dare you stand where he stood? Tell them how it happened that night! Tell them how you looked him in the eye, a man who trusted you, and killed him! Tell them!”

Snape drew his wand, but McGonagall immediately stepped in, pushing Harry aside. You felt a hand on your arm, pulling you further away from the duelling pair. Then McGonagall won; Snape gave up and flee through the window.

“Coward!” her voice was muffled by the loud cheers of students. “Coward!”

Then a sharp pain, worse than you had ever had struck through your head and you stumbled.

“Y/N!” Fred got ahold of you, helping you stay standing. “Are you…”

Someone screamed but it felt like it was coming from inside your head. You couldn’t bare it, you wanted it to stop, you couldn’t breathe… Then an ice-cold voice spoke, a voice that you had never heard before but it made you feel more afraid, more desperate than anything in this world.

“I know that many of you will want to fight… Some of you may even think that to fight is wise… But this is folly… Give me Harry Potter… Do this and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have one hour.”

Your hand was shaking as you brushed your hair out of your face. What were you doing? What were you doing?! Your eyes met with George’s and suddenly you were not ready… Suddenly you didn’t want this… You wanted to go back to safety, back to Muriel’s and stay there for the rest of your life.

“What are you waiting for?” Pansy Parkinson’s voice dragged you back to reality. She was pointing at Harry. “Someone grab him!”

Somehow anger took over your fear and your mouth dropped, outraged. You were not the only one; within seconds thirty or so people joined Harry, shielding him from Slytherins.

“Students out of bed!” Filch’s voice made you jump. “Students out of bed!”

“They are supposed to be out of bed you blithering idiot!” snarled McGonagall. “And Mr Filch, I would like you, please, to lead Miss Parkinson and the rest of Slytherin House from the hall. The dungeons would do.”

Cheers erupted as Filch started to lead the students. Kingsley hurried towards, giving out orders and requesting people to take positions.

“… need somebody to organise defence of the entrances of the passageways into the school.”

“Sounds like a job for us,” said Fred at once and you agreed. Kingsley approved and waved you away.

“Good. Hurry up, you heard him. We don’t have much time till midnight.”

You turned away, heading for the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall. Around you people were running up and down, pushing each other, calling for lost friends and siblings.

“I’ll take the tunnel that leads to Honeydukes,” called Fred, shouting over the huddling students.

“All right,” said George, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. “Take a few people with you. I”ll take the one on the sixth floor, you know behind that ugly statue that looks like…”

“Snape, yeah, by the size of his nose,” grinned Fred. George chuckled, then his face darkened and he turned to you in realization.

“Stay with me.”

Your eyes fell on his missing ear, and you remembered how you felt that night, thinking the unthinkable, fearing the impossible… Yes, you wanted to follow him, you wanted to go where he was going, you wanted to make sure that he was all right, because… because you were scared, more scared than ever before, and you couldn’t bare even the thought of loosing him…

“No,” you said finally, going against your heart’s desire. “No, I’ll go up to the fifth. I always used that one when I wanted to get down to Hogsmeade.”

“No, Y/N,” George started. You cut him off, hoping that your voice was more stern than how you actually felt.

“We need to cover a lot of ground,” you said. “They might be coming from all over the place, we can’t risk it…”

“She’s right,” said Fred, answering George’s ask for help. He looked into his brother’s eyes, his voice confident. “Come on… She’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m gonna be okay,” you said, too. George seemed to be in anguish. He looked like he was fighting for air, looking at you and Fred in turns. Then he seemed to make a decision against his better judgement.

“Fuck! Come here,” he pulled you to him, kissing you with everything he had, not letting you go for at least a minute. When he did, he nodded. “Okay. Go then.”

“Okay,” you said, too. “Okay. George, I love —”

“No!” he said sharply. “I don’t wanna hear it!”

You cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. You knew he was scared to say goodbyes but you wanted to do it anyway… just in case.

“I love you,” you spoke loud and clearly. Then you let him go and turned to Fred. “And I love you, too.”

He opened his arms and hugged you, and you hugged him, too, until both of you felt that you couldn’t stretch out the moment any longer, because your time was up and all three of you needed to be somewhere else, someplace where the others could not follow.

“See you later, okay?” Fred said, giving you one last kiss on your cheek. “Now get out of here.”

You nodded, then looked behind you, where a bunch of people stood, waiting.

“Anyone who’s here to defend the entrances, choose groups!” you shouted. “I need two people.”

The Patil twins were the first ones to step forward. You indicated towards the stairs.

“All right. Let’s go!”

You left the others behind, running, with Parvati and Padma following you, your heart beating in your throat. You tried not to think about George, not to think about Fred, because right now you needed to focus, you needed to get ready to fight. You made your way through a couple of first year boys and looked at your watch. It was ten minutes until midnight.

The further you got from the Entrance Hall, the fewer people you met. Everyone was clearly spreading out in the castle, making sure that every corner was well defended. After you left the fourth floor, there was no one besides the three of you, and you could only hear muffled buzzing from the other parts of the building. You ran up on the last staircase leading to the fifth floor, and then you saw it, the old carpet under which lay the loose floorboard that led out of the castle. You stopped, wand in your hand.

“This is it,” you said, turning to the other two. Padma stepped to the window, her face nervous.

“I can see them,” she said. “Over the hill, I…”

“Let’s just cast some spells over the entrance,” you said quickly, deciding that you didn’t want to see the army outside. “Come, help me.”

You pulled aside the carpet, revealing the wooden planks amongst the stone tiles. You glanced at your watch every second, more anxious by the minute. You placed detective spells over the tunnel that would tell you immediately if someone was coming. Parvati and Padma got several tables from a nearby classroom and built a mediocre barricade from them. You stood behind it, your ears sharp, your hands shaking, your eyes fixed on the entrance in nervous anticipation.

Then there was a loud bang and lights like a thousand firework hit the shield over the castle. You didn’t need to look at your watch anymore. It was midnight.

It went on for several minutes, and with each blow you thought that that was it, the defence crumbled, you were going to get hit and killed… but the castle was holding on, and the whole school seemed to fall into silence, waiting.

“Maybe we’re holding on,” whispered Parvati. “Maybe —”

But then a blow, louder and stronger than any of the previous ones made the whole castle shake, and you stumbled, grabbing the leg of a table, and the floor was shaking, and the walls were trembling and you heard people screaming from all around the castle, and you saw the last pieces of the protective dome over Hogwarts falling onto the ground. Black stripes of smoke were heading in your direction. You raised your wand, people’s distant screams still echoing in your ear, and you feared that you were going to faint and suddenly your mind was empty and you couldn’t remember a single spell to use…

“Impedimenta!” screamed Padma and the first Death Eater fell backwards and out of the window. But there was more, three, seven, fifteen were coming…

A green light hit your barricade of tables and all three of you fell onto the floor, your hands over your head, someone screaming. You heard footsteps coming, and suddenly you were awake, adrenaline pumping through you and you jumped to your feet and stunned an approaching hooded man. Parvati appeared next to you, sending a Body-Bind Curse towards another man. She missed, but the Death Eater was forced to find cover from Padma’s curse. You heard yells and a painful moan, and you used the opportunity to peak from behind the remains of your shelter.

You saw Death Eaters running down the stairs on the other side of the hallway, but there was four that remained there to fight. One of them was dragging his stunned mate on the floor, so you stunned him as well.

“Let’s make the little rats come out of the hole!” you heard one of the man roar and then you were flying backwards, hitting the ground hard and you heard a crack but did not feel pain, for there was no time to feel pain. You stood up, seeing the approaching Death Eater and screamed ‘Stupefy!’ but he blocked it, his face stuck in an evil smile. You could not see either Parvati or Padma but from the corner of your eyes you saw lights in all different colors hitting each other and you heard shouts and cries from all over the place.

“Stupefy!” you screamed again, but missed. “Impedimenta!”

You hit a column and it crumbled, burying the man under itself. Dust and smoke reached your throat, choking you on the spot, and you fell onto your knees, desperately trying to breathe. You looked up, your stomach sick and you saw fire, fire you had no idea where it came from, eating up the hallway, burning the carpit and the paintings on the wall.

“Aguamenti!”

Water burst out of your wand and somehow you managed to stand up, fresh air releasing the knot in your lungs and you looked aside and saw that half of the hallway was blown open, its walls ruined, a huge opening providing a view to the grounds outside. And you saw in the distance people running, screaming, red, purple, orange, green lights flickering; you looked around and you didn’t see either Padma or Parvati but you saw a bunch of new faces and you realized that the fight had reached you. You glanced towards the secret passageway and it was torn open, several hooded figures were climbing out of it, and you ran, as fast as you had never run before.

“Impedimenta!” you shouted and you hit a crouching woman into the face. The man following her growled and sent a green light at you that missed your head by inches.

“Come on, you little prat, dance for me!” he screeched, casting a spell that you jumped away from. “You don’t like that, do you? Crucio!”

Air got stuck in your lungs and you felt pain that could not be compared to anything you had ever experienced… and you screamed in agony, and you wished it was over, you wished everything was over and you wriggled on the floor, desperate for death, hoping that it would come because you were sure even death was better than this pain.

“NO!” you heard a cry and the pain stopped but you couldn’t move. “Are you okay?”

You felt a hand on your shoulder and looking up you saw Cho, her hair messed up, her face black from the dust. You nodded, your legs shaking as you stood up, and your hand flew over your ribs in pain, remembering that some of your bones might had been broken. Around you the scene had changed within those few minutes you spent fighting; you could barely make difference between friends and enemies in the chaos.

“Come!” said Cho, pulling you away from the entrance of the passageway, then turning around and shouting, “Reducto!”

The floor beneath you shook and you saw the passageway falling in, blown up, sealing the entrance so that no living thing could come through it again. You stood, panting, holding onto that thin stick in your hand, and you were not thinking anymore, you were only acting, and you made a run for it, squeaking with every breath you took, but fighting, sending curses at every hooded figure you saw, loosing track of time, but holding on, because there was no other way to end this than to fight.

A high pitched whisper echoed in the castle, and you grabbed your head again, wincing at the sound that felt like it was coming from inside your skull.

“You have fought valiantly but in vain. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity. Harry Potter, now I speak directly to you. On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the Forbidden Forest and confront your fate. If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman and child who tries to conceal you from me.”

The voice stopped and you looked around; you stood facing Death Eaters by the dozen. They stood staring, some of them bleeding, some of them grimacing wickedly. Then, almost as if they were one entity, they burst into black stripes of smoke again, fleeing the castle.

The silence was deafening. After the explosions and screams everything seemed sinister, and now, that the adrenaline was leaving your body could you really focus on your fears again. You wondered…

“Help! Someone… Help me!”

You turned your head and saw a Ravenclaw boy lifting a body from the ground. You stumbled to him, stepping over fallen pieces of stones and rocks, and looked at the body, scared to recognise anyone familiar.

“Help!” pleaded the boy again, tears cleaning the dust off his face. “Please.”

You grabbed the leg of the girl he was holding and together you lifted her up. You felt numb. You didn’t want to think about the fact that the person in your hands was not a person anymore.

“We take everyone in the Great Hall,” you heard someone speak. “This way, come on.”

It seemed like hours had passed by the time the Entrance Hall finally came into sight. On your way down more and more people joined you, some carrying bodies, some limping, some holding a wound that was still bleeding. You kept looking around, forcing yourself not to cry, not to panic just yet. There were still a lot of people coming.

You reached the Great Hall and layed the body of the girl next to the wall, beside many many more. Your throat closed by the sight of the many lying on the floor, not moving, still. You took sudden gulps of air. You were panicking now.

You walked on, desperately looking, but there were so many people that you couldn’t see a thing. But then you saw a family, a family with ginger hair huddled together and you started walking as fast as your broken ribs let you.

“George!” you screeched. “George!”

He raised his head in anguish, but as he saw you he left everyone behind and ran, literally crashing against your body, sobbing, and you soothed his hair and whispered:

“It’s okay… I’m —”

You fell silent, seeing the pair of legs on the floor. You stood there, your mind not able to process what you were seeing. You let go of George, getting closer, and now you recognised the sneakers on those feet.

No. No, no, no, no, no. No.

Ginny stepped aside and your eyes fell on Fred, his face still and pale. Your mouth fell open, wether to moan or to scream you didn’t know. You felt a hand on your shoulder, had no idea who it was. You were staring at the lifeless body, and you stumbled over and fell onto your knees next to him, your sight blurry. Someone screamed, or maybe it was you, then you reached for his hand and it was cold, and a cry of agony escaped your lips as you started sobbing, shaking your head in denial, unable to speak. Pain was shattering your insides, it was torturing your soul and you wanted it to end, and you didn’t want to look at him anymore but you were still unable to turn your head away.

George came into view on the other side of him, and you had never seen his face so ugly, so deformed, in so much pain. His eyes met yours and you saw your own pain in them, the pain that was eating both of you up like a desease… you held out your other hand to him, and he grasped it desperately, and now you were holding one warm and one ice-cold hand…

You wanted to believe that it was not true. You were barely able to see from your tears. His eyes were closed, his lips curled even in his sleep, almost as if they resembled the great jokester he was. You let go of his hand but only to touch his cheek, gently, lovingly, then you leaned closer, saying your goodbyes with one last trembling kiss.

His cold skin burned your lips and you were not in control of yourself anymore. Still grasping George’s hand, you lay your head onto Fred’s chest, and you realized with great torment that his heart was not beating. You stayed there, listening to the silence, closing your eyes and crying, for God knows how long.

Hours had passed as you lay there, drowning in grief. Around you people were sobbing with loud chuckles, but you felt so far away from them; you were up in the Gryffindor common room, laughing about who knows what with the twins, so much younger, so much more innocent, and you didn’t open your eyes because laughing was reality, and blood and death wasn’t, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, because that would mean that Fred was gone.

Your eyes hurt from the salt, and you started blinking heavily. Your ribs ached with every breath, and you were sure that Madam Pomfrey could heal you within a minute; but if it meant leaving Fred behind for even a second, then you did not want to be cured. Through the windows you saw the night slowly fading away, and not long after that you heard the crowd around you buzzing.

“It’s him, he’s coming!”

“They’re back, they’re here!”

“Who is he holding?”

“Who is that?”

You raised your head, alarmed, but not quite understanding what was happening. People seemed to look out the windows, their faces in shock and fear.

“What’s happening?” asked Ginny, her voice crooked. You saw Ron and Hermione look at each other.

“It’s him, he’s here!”

With enormous effort you stood up, your nervousness stronger than your grief. Grabbing your wand you joined the crowd swarming outside the Great Hall, stopping between the ruins of the courtyard. Approaching, you saw him, for the first time in your life, You-Know-Who himself.

He was accompanied by his many Death Eaters, his snake, and Hagrid, who seemed to be…

“Who is that Hagrid’s carrying?” asked Ginny. “Neville, who is it?”

Then you heard the screeching sound.

“Harry Potter is dead!”

“No!” screamed Ginny. “NO!”

“Silence! Stupid girl!” he laughed, his servants joining in. “Harry Potter is dead!”

You felt every last drop of hope leaving your body. While You-Know-Who… Voldemort was speaking, you were zoning out, staring at the body in Hagrid’s hand. It didn’t matter anymore. You were a muggleborn. Your faith was sealed. Maybe death would stop this miserable pain…

Then Neville started limping forwards, an ugly old hat in his hand.

“It doesn’t matter Harry’s gone.”

“Stand down, Neville.”

“People die every day! Friends, family. Yeah, we lost Harry tonight. But he’s still with us, in here. So’s Fred… Remus… Tonks. All of them. They didn’t die in vain. But you will! Because you’re wrong! Harry’s heart did beat for us! For all of us! This is not over!”

He pulled a long sword out of the hat, his face angry and determined, but your eyes fell on Harry, who jerked himself from Hagrid’s arms, stood up, very much alive and shot a blaze of fire at the snake.

It was as though the whole school came alive, and suddenly you were running, shooting spells at every hooded figure who approached you and you were in the Great Hall again, fighting like never before, with a new kind of aspiration in your heart. You remembered something from the past, McGonagall claiming that there won’t be duelling in the Great Hall while she was a teacher here… Oh, how times had changed, you thought, as you were duelling very much so.

And then he came across you, the man you loathed and feared. He growled, his pointy teeth showing in his bloodstained mouth. Fenrir Greyback licked his lips, and you saw hunger in his eyes.

“Stupefy!” you shouted and he blocked it; then it was his turn and you ducked from the green light. “Impedimenta!”

He blocked the curse again, though stumbling under its force. You got on your feet, your ribs hurting immensely. He shot curses at you and you blocked them, one after the other, though you barely had time to fight back.

“This is it, precious,” he howled. “Oh, I remember you and your friends… what d’you think, they let me have the ginger one after we finish here?”

Fresh, hot rage ignited in you, and finally you reached a point from where there was no coming back.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Your curse hit the werewolf in the middle of his chest and he fell backwards, his face stuck in surprise, hitting the floor with a thud. You spared him one last disgusted look, then joined the others, just in time to hear Mrs Weasley yell:

“Not my daughter you bitch!”

George appeared next to you, pulling you away from his mother. Bellatrix laughed but not for long; she was blown into pieces, ceased to exist.

Voldemort was raging on the other side of the hall, seeing how his most loyal servant was finished. But then there was Harry and the fight stopped, for there was no one else but Voldemort left… and the sun was shining bright now, and you were watching the pair of them, talking about wands and lies, and you didn’t understand a thing, but it didn’t matter…

And then both of them cried out their curses… he fell onto the floor… and it was over.

Loud screaming and cheering broke out in the Great Hall and you were caught up in the hundreds embracing Harry, and you turned around, your eyes meeting George’s and he was dirty, puffy eyed, one-eared, and you jumped into his arms and kissed him, because it was over, you were free, and from now on you could love whoever you wanted, you could marry whoever you wished and you could continue your life where you had left off…

When the first wave of cheer ended, you pulled George aside, joining up with the Weasleys again. They welcomed you with hugs, laughter and cries, and eventually you settled down onto the benches, not far from where Fred lay. Your mood was switching from happiness to grief, and you were tired, so tired that you wished to sleep for days. You locked eyes with Ginny, her head resting on her mother’s shoulder, and you saw that Mrs Weasley was crying again.

“Do you know…” started Mr Weasley, looking as though he was not sure he wanted to ask the question. His voice was higher than usual. “Do you know who… who was it?”

“Rookwood,” said Ron, his lips trembling. Next to him Hermione was tearing up.

“But you got him, right Perce?” said Mr Weasley, his voice shaking. Percy nodded.

“I’ve never liked him,” he said. His voice cracked. “But now it was personal.”

“D’you mean…” you said hoarsly. “D’you mean Percy-nal?”

You heard George’s tired chuckle next to you and you turned to him. One second of his gaze was enough to see how much agony he was in… and his eyes were so like his brother’s, whose eyes, you knew, would never meet yours again.

And then the both of you started sobbing.

Part 32 - Reunited

Summary: You have been suffering alone for months, when the opportunity comes to finally be reunited with George again.

Warning:None

Word count: 2.9K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

March came and you were drifting. Tiredness came all over you; it was like a heavy blanket, covering your whole body, pinning you down so that you were unable to move. You couldn’t sleep but kept your eyes closed anyway - it was easier that way. Your slow breathing was the only noise in the room, and you could still smell the untouched food that Fleur had left on the table the night before.

You were exhausted. You felt emptyness inside, a hole in your chest. Every time you breathed you felt as though air was coursing through you but did not fill the gap inside. It was a hollow feeling.

You were in pain. Your head, your eyes, your limbs, everything. Every time you were uncomfortable, it took you loads of effort to turn around in the bed. Sometimes you just lay still, your body aching. You didn’t need to favour your body. You didn’t use it for anything. All those organs inside, they kept you alive. That was it.

Yes, you were alive. But you were not living.

Even though you were tired, you couldn’t sleep. All that thinking, all that anxiety kept you up. You heard continuous buzzing from around the room, but at the same time it seemed as though the buzzing was inside your head. You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to do something. Anything.

With a muffled groan, you got out of bed. Not wanting to wake up Bill or Fleur, you opened the door as quietly as you could and you made your way downstairs to the kitchen. It was still really early; the sun had not come up yet.

Darkness welcomed you as you sat down to the table with a cup of hot tea in your hands. You were drinking in silence and when you finished you took your cup to the dishwasher to clean it. That was when you heard the noise.

You jerked your head towards the window after hearing the sound of apparition. You saw people moving not far from the water, then someone disapparated. It was too dark to recognise them; you took out your wand and shouted.

“Bill! Fleur!”

They didn’t hear it. Keeping your eyes on the arriving people, you shouted again.

“BILL! FLEUR!”

Their door flung open and they rushed down the stairs, wand in their hands.

“What is it?” asked Bill. “What happened?”

“There are people here, I… I don’t know who.”

He looked through the window then immediately hurried out into the garden. You and Fleur followed.

“Stop where you are!” Bill yelled when you reached the stumbling people. The light of his wand illuminated their faces. “Who —”

“Help!” came a weak shout. The voice sounded familiar. “Help, please!”

“Dean?” you said and started walking towards the three people. You couldn’t believe your eyes. “Oh, my God, Dean!”

“Y/N?” said the boy in disbelief. “Y/N, is that you?”

He was kneeling in the sand, not far from Luna and an old, skeleton-like man who you recognised to be Ollivander. Bill got ahold of Dean and helped him stand up.

“What happened?” he asked with distress on his scarred face. Fleur helped Ollivander towards the house. “What is this?”

“Ron told us to come here,” said Luna who seemed to be fine, just a little dirty. “I hope it’s all right.”

“Ron?” echoed Bill, alarmed. “When did you —?”

“They got them,” said Dean who was shaking. “They got us, too, but an elf appeared and…”

“Got you?” you asked in a high voice. “Who?”

“Snatchers. But they took us somewhere… Malfoy was there, too.”

“Malfoy?” asked Bill and looked at you. You both knew what this meant. Death Eaters.

“Where’s Ron?” you asked, your stomach clenched. “And what about…”

You couldn’t finish, for a new group of people appeared about twenty metres from you. One of them had fiery ginger hair and looked as though he was holding someone, someone who looked like…

“Hermione,” you whispered. “Oh, my God!”

“Y/N, take Luna and Dean into the house,” said Bill and he hurried towards the newcomers.

“Come,” you said, still staring at the others. You recognised someone else, with dark hair and glasses. “What happened?”

“It’s really hard to explain,” said Luna. “They put me in that cellar a long time ago, but Dean just arrived.”

“They caught us, me for being muggleborn and Griphook for what he is. Then they found Harry, Ron and Hermione. They only decided after that to take us to the Malfoys.”

“But how did you get here?”

“A house elf appeared. He brought us here.”

You nodded, unable to say anything else. You led Luna and Dean into the house, where they stopped awkwardly, both of them looking dirty and muddy.

“Come,” indicated Fleur. “Eet eez all right.”

You barely closed the door when Bill opened it again, followed by Ron and Hermione. Your mouth opened by the sight of them.

“What the…”


“I need to go,” said Bill to Fleur. “They know Ron’s not sick. They know we lied. We need to evacuate the Burrow, now. They might be coming for them as we speak.”

You took a sudden gulp of air.

“What about the shop?” you squeeked. “What about George and Fred?”

“I’ll get them,” said Bill firmly. “Don’t worry. We might still have time.”

Then he ran out into the garden and disapparated. Your eyes met with Fleur’s. Your own nervousness reflected on her face.

“Where’s Ollivander?” you asked, just to say something.

“‘e eez upstairs. ‘e eez really weak.”

She walked over to check on Hermione who was holding on to Ron’s jacket, shivering.

“I make some tea,” you said and walked into the kitchen. Through the window you could see Harry, digging in the sand. Next to him lied a very small body.

You winced and blinked to clear your eyes. So that was it. Bill had talked about it many times, about how dangerous and unstable the whole situation was in the first place. If the Ministry knew that Ron was with Harry, in hiding, they would immediately assume that the whole Weasley family had been helping the Undesirable Number One. By having that disgusting ghoul pretending to be him, Ron had had an alibi. But now the secret was out. And everyone you loved was in danger again.

Your hands started to shake as you filled the cattle with water and put it on the stove. You kept looking out the window, hoping to see Bill return. What were the chances that he was faster than the Death Eaters? Could he get to the Burrow and to the shop as well? Was everyone all right, or was it taking Bill this long because something was wrong?

When the tea was ready, you put some cups on a tray and walked back to the living room. The first thing you saw was Ron stroking Hermone’s hair. You quickly looked away, for it had made you feel a certain kind of longing. You put the tray onto the table, offering it to Dean and Luna. On the sofa, Fleur was sitting, anxiously glancing towards the door every second.

It took thirty more minutes for Bill to return, which meant thirty more minutes of anxiety for you. When he finally opened the door again, he looked nervous, but pleased.

“They’re okay,” he said, looking at you and Ron. “All of them. I moved them to Muriel’s. They’re protected by the Fidelius charm. They can’t leave the house, but well… They’re safe now.”

“Oh,” Fleur crossed the room and hugged his husband. Bill kissed her forehead, then stepped away from her, facing you.

“I can take you there if you want to go.”

“What?” you said in disbelief. “What are you saying?”

“It’s the same thing as staying here. We’re all hiding now. So if you want, I can take you. Permanently.”

“Are you for real?” you asked, standing up. Bill let go of Fleur and nodded.

“I know how much you miss them.”

“Thank you!” you said. “Thank you! When are we —”

“Now. As soon as we can.”

You nodded and ran up to your room, realizing that you were still wearing your pajamas. You quickly changed, then waved your wand, stuffing everything into your trunk. You were ready in three minutes; then you grabbed your luggage and pulled it down the stairs with loud thumps. Bill was waiting for you in the living room.

“I’m ready,” you said with dry throat.

“Good. I’ve sent a patronus, dad says they’re waiting for you.

He kissed Fleur again, then took your trunk and led you out into the garden. In the distance, Harry was still digging.

“Ready?” said Bill as you reached the border. You turned around and looked at the house. You felt happy to leave this place, but you were sorry for never learning to appreciate its true beauty. Now that it wasn’t your prison, you could really see its natural charm.

“I’m ready,” you said, and stepped over the border.

“Let’s go, then.”

He offered you his hand and you took it. The salty air disappeared and immediately came the well-known feeling of twisting and turning. Then it was over and you smelled freshly cut grass and dew instead. You opened your eyes. You didn’t see anything but a meadow under the dark sky. The morning here was still yet to come.

“Here!” you heard a voice and turned immediately to saw Mr Weasley waving. “Quickly.”

You hurried to him and he gave you a hug that took you by surprise, but at the same time felt really nice. He took your luggage from Bill and took out a piece of paper from his pocket.

“Bill,” you said quickly. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it, Y/N. You’re family.”

He squeezed your shoulder with a kind smile, then turned around and he was gone. Mr Weasley lit his wand and pushed the parchment under your nose.

“Read it, now, quickly.”

You read the short text with the address and looked up. In front of you a huge garden appeared with a fountain and a stone path to an enormous house. Mr Weasley raised his wand, looking around, then burned the piece of paper.

“All clear. Let’s go.”

You stepped over the border, your heart beating really fast. You started walking, being more excited with each step. Then a door burst open with a huge bang and you saw a tall figure running towards you.

“Oh, my God,” you said and ran, too. You fell into his arms like never before, letting all the happiness take you, coursing through you, curing you, tending to the wounds that had been invisible… And you hugged him, kissed him, caressed him, and you laughed in relief and knowing that better times will come…

“Hey,” he said finally, pulling you as close as it was physically possible. “Hey, baby…” he peppered you with kisses from cheek to cheek, on your forehead, on your lips, on your jaw and you could tell that he knew that everything was going to be different now.

“Are you all right?” you said finally, staying so close that your noses were touching. “Is everyone…”

“Everyone’s okay,” said George, kissing you again. “Bill was fast, we all arrived within ten minutes or so. The others are inside.”

Mr Weasley walked past you with your luggage.

“Come inside, both of you. It’s better to…”

“Dear God!” he was interrupted by Mrs Weasley’s yells. She was running towards you, her face pure relief. She pulled you away from George, but hugging you just the same. “Y/N… Oh, dear, let me… come in, come inside, I’ll make you something to eat…”

“Mum, let her breathe,” said a cheeky voice from behind her. You looked and saw your second favorite person in the whole wide world. He beamed. “Well, look who —”

You cut him off, hugging him, and he fell silent, his hands on your back, his face buried into your shoulder. You missed him so much and you could tell that he missed you, too.

“How are you?” he asked after letting you go.

“So much better, now,” you said, smiling. A hand appeared on your waist, pulling you close.

“Let’s go inside,” said George.

“Yeah, Mum’s clearly dying to feed you,” said Fred.

He got a light hit from Mrs Weasley on his shoulder and he laughed. The three of you followed her into the house; on the way George intertwined his fingers with yours and stayed so close that you could barely walk normally. You smiled at him and you saw his eyes twinkling with joy. When you sat down to the huge table, he pulled his chair as close to you as possible and brought your hand into his lap.

“Y/N!” another sharp scream echoed in the kitchen as Ginny appeared, wrapping her hands around you. “It’s so good to see you, I missed you so much!”

“I missed you, too,” you said. “But… Aren’t you supposed to be at Hogwarts?”

“I didn’t go back after the Easter break,” she said, pulling out a chair for herself. “A lot of kids didn’t, actually.”

“We felt it was not safe,” said Mrs Weasley as she put a huge plate of sausages on the table. “Eat, dear, you look like you haven’t had a nice meal for weeks.”

You locked eyes with Fred opposite you then you turned away quickly.

“So what happened?” asked Ginny nervously. “Bill only told us that —”

“He didn’t tell us anything,” said Fred, annoyed, but pale. “Tell us, Y/N.”

“I don’t know much, either,” you shook your head. “Luna and Dean appeared with Ollivander. He looked really bad. Then Ron, Hermione and Harry came, too, and a goblin who seemed unconscious.”

“But were they… all right?” asked Mrs Weasley tensely. You remembered how Hermione looked and did a weird little nod.

“They were… alive.”

“Oh!” Mrs Weasley cried out, tears falling from her eyes. Mr Weasley gently stroke her hair.

“So what happens now?” you asked, looking around the table. “With the shop, with your work, with…”

“Don’t worry about that,” said George. “We can figure out a way to work from here.”

“Yeah, a little change of place didn’t stop us before, did it?” said Fred.

“I can’t go back to the Ministry now,” said Mr Weasley. “And Bill has to stay at home, too. But that’s the least of our troubles. What matters is that we’re all safe.”

Outside the sun was rising and you heard birds chirping. After eight months it was rather nice to hear something else than the ocean.

“When you’ve finished, Y/N, I’ve prepared a room for you on the second floor, dear,” said Mrs Weasley. “Would you like to…”

“No,” said George firmly. “She’s staying with me.”

You casted down your eyes, happy, but still afraid of Mrs Weasley’s reaction. However, she didn’t say anything, just nodded and pressed a motherly kiss on your hair when she took your empty plate away.

“Ready?” asked George and you stood up.

“Yeah.”

You were about to enter the hallway when an old lady appeared in the kitchen and spoke in a grumpy voice.

“Is this that muggleborn girl again?” she grimaced. “The one that put weed in her hair?”

“Yeah,” you said awkwardly. “That’s me.”

Aunt Muriel nodded, her lips forming a weird, not exactly kind smile.

“Careful with that boy while in my house, missy. I don’t want any more ginger kids running around, I’m a hundred and seven, I need my time to rest!”

You flushed. George wheezed.

“Come on, don’t pay attention to her,” he said as he put an arm around your shoulders. He led you through the hallway and stopped at a nice, wooden door. “That’s me, next to me is Fred’s,” he said, pointing at different rooms. “We’ll use that one as an office, I reckon it’ll be all right. We’ll figure it out later, but now I need to sleep.”

He seemed really tired indeed. He led you into the room and you sat down onto the edge of the bed. You looked around, not quite sure what to examine; Muriel’s old paintings, her fancy mirror, or the huge dressing table by the window. You felt so out of place. An hour ago you had been trying to sleep at Shell Cottage.

“What is it?” asked George and he sat down next to you. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. You didn’t know how to put your feelings into words. George frowned in concern.

“I’m okay,” you said quickly, choking up. “I just need a minute.”

He nodded and kissed your cheek.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“Yes.”

You quickly kicked off your shoes and climbed into the bed next to him. He welcomed you with open arms, kissing you deeply when your head touched the pillow. He smiled gently. His eyes shined in the color of chocolate.

“We’re together now,” he said when he saw your lips tremble. You sniffled.

“It’s been so long…”

“I know,” he said and you were shocked to see that he was blinking heavily, too. He took a few seconds, then continued. “Sleep now, okay? I can see how tired you are, love.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” you asked. You were afraid that it was nothing but a dream, and waking up alone was the worst thing you could imagine.

“Of course,” George said, his lips brushing against your forehead. “I won’t let you out of my sight ever again.”

Pike (George Weasley)

a/n: i have an addiction. i’m sorry. take this platform away from me. anyway ENEMIES TO LOVER BITCHES.

You’ve always hated George Weasley. You can’t quite explain why, but the two of you have had bad blood since the moment you met freshman year. it’s nothing either of you said or did, just the general presence of the other always set something off in the two of you. however, you weren’t going to give up partying at his frat just because you hated the red haired boy.

warnings: alcohol & cussing, unconsensual touching but it isn’t graphic(not by george obv), mentions of sex and assault/sexual violence, violence and fratboy!georgie

i’m very serious when i say do not read this if you’re easily triggered or impacted by the theme of sexual assault. there is nothing graphic in this fic but i know it is very easy to be triggered by even the smallest mention. if you ever and i mean EVER need someone to talk to about anything pertaining to the topic, my messages are always open. dealing with sexual assault in any form is one of the most traumatising things a person can go through. please never hesistate to reach out if you’re struggling. i love you guys so much, i never want to go suffer in silence.

if you or someone you know if struggling with a rape or sexual assault, you can call 800.656.HOPE (4673) to be connected to a sexual assault service provider in your area. all my hugs and kisses to you all, i love you with all my heart❤️

saturday nights on campus are nothing short of lively for you and your friends. whether you’re testing your fake ids at every bar on the main street or dancing in a sweaty frat basement, there’s never been a dull weekend.

pike has always been your favorite fraternity to attend . you’d become close with some of the pledges on your floor your freshman year and have become obsessed with shutting down every function they hold at the house. there is one part of pi kappa alpha, however, that you could do without. george weasley.

the six three, red haired monster has been getting under your skin for an entire year now. since you met in your first semester of freshman year, you and george had never been on good terms. between the constant teasing from him or your drunk screaming matches that you’ve initiated almost every weekend, it’s safe to say that you two need to be kept as far away from each other as possible.

your friends have never understood the feud. they’ve always described george as one of the nicest guys they’ve ever met. he takes their coats at the door of every pike party to hide in his room to keep them safe from the drunk kleptomaniacs or vomit that inevitably spews from the mouth of a freshman girl. he’s always kept an eye out for your friends, but when it comes to you he swears if murder was legal you’d be six feet under by now.

as you and your friends got ready in your shared apartment for the night ahead of you, the annual pike’s peak ski themed party, you loathe the fact that you’ll be forced to see him again. you wish more than anything that he wasn’t so close with your friends, but alas, he is.

“y/n, can you please promise me something?” Angelina pleads, making you pause your makeup routine to look at her as if to say ‘go on.’ “no fighting with george tonight, we all need one night when the two of you aren’t at each other’s throats.”

if only it were that easy. there have been times in the past when angie and katie have convinced you to play nice with the boy, but he always ends up starting some type of fight with you.

“angie i’ve told you, i have no problem ignoring him for the good of the group,” you reiterate the countless times you’ve tried to prove to the girls that you’re the bigger person. “it’s him you should be talking to, he always starts it.”

katie sighs, already imagining the screaming match that will ensue tonight. “well if he starts something just walk away, easy as that.”

you mull it over for a minute. as much as ignoring him will make it seem like you’ve run out of insults, your vocal chords could use the rest this weekend. you agree to try and keep your mouth shut around george.

the three of you zip up your obnoxiously bright ski jackets over the black sports bras and jeans you’re wearing. you loved pikes peak, you could put in virtually no effort and still look like you spent hours getting ready.

the pike house is already buzzing with the bass of whatever mix oliver wood put together for the party. it’s not a pike party without ollie behind the dj booth. the high that you’re on as you walk past the pledges fades as your faced with george weasley.

just ignore him.

“look at my most beautiful groupies,” he says with a smile, scanning over angie and katie. “and…whatever thatis.”

you can already feel your cheeks heat up with rage and your fists tighten. you take a deep breath and repeat katie’s words just an hour ago, ‘walk away.’ you roll your eyes at the boy and move your way through the party, eventually taking your spot next to ollie behind the dj stand.

“well hey there miss y/n,” ollie greets you, resting his headphone around his neck and pulling you into a hug. “half expected you to be beating weasley to a pulp by now.”

you laugh at his honesty, everyone expects some huge blow up between you and george within the first few minutes of a party. “trying something new, ignoring him for the night. can’t tire myself too much.”

ollie just smiles and goes back to the music. you’re adding songs to the queue and laughing along with him. you almost forgot how much you missed spending time with him, most of your interactions with the boy group ending with a fight with weasley without even being able to talk with the other boys.

across the room, george is watching you actually enjoy yourself and is fuming. he’s so used to being able to get under your skin, so you blowing him off was a major knock to his ego. he thrives on your reactions to his teasing, feeling like he doesn’t even have a purpose at this party now that you’re ignoring him.

you eventually leave oliver behind the booth and find angelina and katie, luckily they’re now where near george, rather dancing with his twin. you’ve always liked fred, but your constant arguing with his brother makes it hard for you to have any sort of friendship with him. this is the first pike party you’ve been to all year that you’re genuinely enjoying yourself. dancing with your friends, drinking without a care. the night is actually starting to look up.

you tell angie and katie that you’re off to the bathroom, the beers and seltzers finally catching up to your bladder. as you make your way through the crowd of people, you finally make it to the bathroom which is in the furthest corner of the house. before you can reach for the handle, someone is grabbing at your wrist.

“let’s go to my room.” the boy slurs, you turn to see a tall boy, far taller than you. you recognise his face but don’t know his name.

“no than-“

“i wasn’t asking,” he cuts you off and grabs your hip with his other hand. “come on i know you want to.”

“no just get off of me!” you yell trying to push his hands away from you but his death grin on your body doesn’t seem to be loosening. using your free hand you start beating the boys chest and that seems to just make him angrier. “you’re hurting me! just get off, i’m not coming to your room!”

even though you feel like your screaming the loud music seems to drown out the noise from anyone who could come and help you. even though the boy is obviously stronger than you, that doesn’t stop you from continuing to hit him in the hopes that his drunken state will take him off of you. your efforts are to no avail as his mouth connects with your neck, sucking harshly, making you scream out again. your head is thrashing, continuing to attempt to free yourself from his grasp.

“no! stop get off of me, please!” you shriek, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. before you can realize what’s going on the boy is ripped from you and pinned up against the wall. you don’t even look to see what’s happening, just trying the catch your breath.

“she said no!” you immediately recognize the voice. george weasley. he fist connects with the boys jaw, almost knocking him unconscious as he’s still pushed against the wall. “what the fuck is wrong with you pucey! don’t you ever fucking touch her again!”

george still screaming as the boy you know realize is adrian pucey, is wailing in pain as george’s fists continue to meet his body. you don’t want to watch this anymore so you grab george’s hand before he can hit adrian again.

“stop, please.” it’s softer than you wanted it to come out but george still hears you. he drops adrian to the ground and takes a hold of your shoulders. even in the dark he’s examining your face for any sign of adrian’s abuse, his eyes land on the growing bruise on your neck and his fingers lightly trace over the mark. his other hands goes to your face, using his thumb to wipe the stream of tears.

“are you okay?” he asks quietly, eyes still trained on the hickey adrian unconsensually left on your neck. “i would’ve killed him.”

“why are you doing this, weasley?” you step back from him, crossing yours arms over your chest. “go on and tell everyone how you had to pull pucey off of me. how i was crying like a little baby. how helpless i was, i know that why you’re here.”

a flash a hurt crosses his face, he shakes his head. “is that really what you think of me?”

“of course it is, you’ve never given me a reason to think anything else,” you reply, wiping the remaining tears from your cheeks. “just leave weasley, i can’t take whatever’s going to come out of your mouth, not tonight okay? i could’ve handled this myself.”

“yeah you were doing a great job of handling it before i came it,” he scoffs and goes to walk away, kicking pucey one last time for good measure, but stops himself. “would you just stop arguing and follow me?”

you go to protest but figure you’re not in any mood to argue with him. he reaches his hand out to guide you through the sea of people but your arms stay folded against your chest. he rolls his eyes and leads you up the stairs and into a bedroom. you’d never been in his bedroom before. he goes into his closet to pull out a sweatshirt and tosses it your way.

“i’m not wearing this,” you tell him, throwing it back at him and he groans at your stubborn attitude. “why am i in your room, weasley?”

“does the word thank you not exist in your vocabulary?” he asks with a bitter tone. “i don’t care if you wear it, i’m leaving.”

he slams the door behind him and leaves you by yourself again. you look in the mirror on his wall at the disheveled sight looking back at you. your mascara collected under your eyes from your tears, the dark hickey from pucey on your cheek, bruises forming on your wrist and hip. you thought you had cried all the tears out before but seeing the damage he had done pulls sobs from your lips. you’re shaking at the memory of what happened, the thought of what could have happened. you collapse on george’s floor.

almost immediately the door swings open. you’re hoping maybe george told angie or katie and they were coming to take you home but it’s just george standing there. he never left his door, seeing pucey attack you like that made him fear that it might happen to you again. he quickly shuts the door behind him and crouches next to you as you struggle to catch your breath.

“hey, hey what’s going on you were fine a few second ago,” he tries to read your face but it’s hidden in your hands. “look at me, y/n, please.”

you lift your face to look him in the eyes. your puffy eyes and red cheeks make his heart sink. this is the first time he’s looked at you and felt something other than utter annoyance. you look so sad.

“i-i’m so s-scared,” you stutter through your speech. “if you hadn’t come he could’ve, it would have turned into -”

“don’t talk like that,” he begs you, still staying a bit of a distance from you. “i was there, i stopped it. you’re safe now.”

once you calm down he pleads for you to lay down and get some rest. you finally take the sweatshirt from him and wrap it around your body. he leans down to crouch in front of you, your eyes still welled with tears. he pats your head and goes to leave. in reality he would be posted outside the door for the rest of the night, but he’d never tell you that. As he shuts off the lights and opens the door, you squeak out a plea, “can you stay? please.”

george hesitates, he knows showing any kind of compassion for you in this moment will inevitably put a rift in your strict enemies only relationship. the one he’s been so set on keeping since he started developing feelings for you last semester. the only way he could keep you close while also concealing his feelings was to pick those fights with you every weekend. this would change everything.

however, seeing you curled up in his bed, shaking under his blankets, your eyes wide with fear broke something in him. he let out a deep sigh before closing his door again and locking it behind him. he stands in place for a minute, unsure of what to do from here.

“george,” you call out, voice cracking. you hadn’t called him by his first name in months. “thank you.”

“you haven’t called me george in a while.”

“shut up, weasley,” you immediately reply, making george chuckle. he decides to sit on the edge of his bad facing you, watching you continue to shake as sporadic sobs come from your frail frame. it’s breaking his heart. He eventually comes up to lay beside you, careful not to touch you. partly due to the fact that he knows you’re probably traumatised by pucey’s attack on you and also partly due to him knowing he may not be able to control himself from taking you in arms until you stop your terrible shaking.

it wasn’t george that first moved closer, it was you. you weren’t sure if it was the fact that he just saved you from a potentially life shattering situation or the fact that his room felt like subzero but you wanted to be close to him.

“why is your room so cold?” you ask with a shiver. “i feel like i’m in the arctic.”

“don’t be such a baby it’s not that cold,” he scoffs, giving you the same tone he always has. something in you is disappointed, partly hoping that maybe this changed something. maybe you were overthinking him being so doting on you tonight. of course things wouldn’t be different. why would you want them to be? what he did tonight he would do for any girl in thai party. while you don’t get to see that side of him, angie and katie have always talked about how protective he is, you just never thought it would extend to you.

“why’d you help me?” you ask, staring at him dead in the eyes. his breath hitches, he’s not sure why. he would do it for anyone, no questions asked. he’s never been the guy to look the other way when a girl is hurting, but what was he doing all of this for you. surely he wouldn’t bring just anyone up to his room, he wouldn’t stay if they asked.

“i wasn’t going to let pucey hurt you like that, i wouldn’t let him do it to anyone,” he replies, hoping you’ll be off the topic from now on.

“you would’ve killed him if i hadn’t stopped you.” george thinks back to the moment. how angelina had pleaded for him to find you after you’d been gone for so long. how he heard your cries over the music, you screaming no. how pucey had himself attached to you and the rage bubbled over in him.

“would you come off of it?” he asked sternly, fearing if this conversation moved any further he would be confessing that he’s never actually hated you. “i forgot how annoying you were for a second there, i’m getting out of here.”

your heart sinks at his words. you were already in shambles and he decided to be his same old asshole self. it hurt. you immediately sat up and watched as he grasped the door handle but didn’t turn it.

“classic, something gets hard and you’re running away,” you spit at him. you needed someone there, you needed him there, and he was running off. “go on weasley, be the little bitch you are, run off and tell everyone how big bad george weasley beat up pucey just to leave me up in your room where he could for sure do it again.”

“you just love running that fucking mouth of yours don’t you?” george snaps, his face beginning to heat up. this is always how it starts. his tone is playfully arrogant until it switches completely. “you think i would just leave you in here where anyone could come in? are you really that stupid? i would’ve staid outside the fucking door all night if that’s what it took for you to sleep after ehat happened, i just can’t be in this fucking room with you.”

you roll your eyes at how dramatic he is. as if staying in a room with you for one night would kill him. in his mind, however, it might. seeing you curled up in his bed, in his clothes, begging for him to stay, it’s all too much for him to handle.

“yeah sure you would. you wouldn’t go chasing after your brother the second he called that some girl was asking for you. this is all for show, you’re trying to make me seem like the one you can’t coexist with you,” you shout. “then everyone can blame me for this stupid fucking fight we’ve been having for an entire year. you can be the innocent one, that’s it isn’t it?”

george can’t believe how blind you are. how you’ve failed to notice that every time you get up in his face to yell at him he loses his breath. that you can’t see that teasing you is his only way to keep you coming back to pike. that he almost killed pucey because he likes you. he so painfully likes you.

“you’re an idiot you know that?” he yells, taking his hand off the doorknob. “seriously how dumb can you be? you really think i’m doing all of this for my image?”

“then answer my fucking question, weasley,” you spit at him, becoming angrier every minute that he won’t admit his own obsession with how everyone perceives him. “why. are. you. helping. me.”

every word comes out dripping with the venom of your rage. getting george to admit he’s a self centered, self serving asshole will give you all the evidence you need to show katie and angie that this feud is his fault, not yours. he begins to pace around the room, hands going to his hair as he looks deep in thought. your eyes never leave him, watching as he slowly unwinds in front of you. it’s happening, he’s going to admit it.

“you want to know why? you really want to know why i’m doing all this? why i dedicate my fucking saturday nights to fighting with you? that’s what you really want?”

“that’s what i asked isn’t it?”

“because i fucking like you, okay?” he shouts, making your heart stop. your jaw is practically on the floor, this is not the confession you were expecting. his face softens along with his tone, “i like you.”

he’s quiet, almost inaudible over the muffled bass of the music coming from downstairs. you face hasn’t changed, your brain is empty. your completely unable to move. you begin to shake your head after a minute, repeating the words ‘no’ and ‘you’re lying.’

“fuck this,” george finally speaks up, going back to reach for the door. “have a nice life, y/n, don’t bother coming back here after tonight.”

“george stop!” you yell which makes him stop in his tracks. his first name again. it makes his heart ache. he can’t get involved, he can’t fall into your trap. he continues to make his way to get as far from you as he possibly can. “george i mean it! stop running away from me.”

you’re now off the bed, following close behind him. you’re swimming in his sweatshirt, the material falling just below your knees. you don’t know why you suddenly have the urge to touch him, to be with him but it’s there. him threatening you to never come back made your chest tighten, not because you’ll be missing parties, but you’ll be missing him. memories of your screaming matches flood your brain, the absolute high you’re on as you’re staring up at him after shouting something offensive his way. the way you can never seem to catch your breath when he’s around you. the fact that you continue coming back, knowing he’s going to hurt your feelings in some way or another, because it means you’ll be with him. as toxic and backwards as it seems, you’ve never hated george. you were utterly obsessed with him. when you finally reach him, grabbing his hand to stop him fleeing, his whole body snaps to turn toward you. he looks wild.

“what could you possibly have to say to me?” he shouts, making you step back. his words are fueled by anger and hatred. when he sees you back away from him, he immediately regrets his tone. “come to gloat? to make fun of me? save it, y/n. i don’t want to hear it.”

you don’t say a word. on the crowded staircase of your drunk classmates you do the last thing you could have ever imagined doing with george weasley. you kiss him.

he’s completely taken aback, freezing in his place as soon as he feels your soft lips against his. one hand is wrapped around the back of his neck and the other is holding his cheek. eventually, reality hits the boy and he’s pulling you into him by your hips. you wince in pain from the tender bruise aching on your hip from pucey’s hands and george immediately pulls away to see if you’re alright.

“god, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i didn’t realize he hurt you so bad,” he starts to ramble on, keeping his hands off of you to keep from hurting you. “y/n, i’m — i just — i don’t know what to say.”

your hand is still on his face, your thumb stroking over his cheek bone. you can’t believe you had just kissed the boy you had sworn to hate for the rest of your life. pulling your hands away from your body you take a hold of his that are hovering inches away from your hips. you move they to lay against your waist and move yours to return to his face. you lean yourself back up toward him again, capturing his lips for the second time tonight. he didn’t hesitate this time, pulling you closer to him.

as soon as you pull away from each other, you’re soon walking back to his room hand in hand. he closes the door and flicks on the lights. being with him now feels astronomically different. the tension that once plagued any room you two shared has melted away.

“i didn’t want to pressure you into doing that,” he says softly, his palm resting on your cheek as the two of you sit only inches from each other on his bed. “especially after what pucey did to you, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

you stop him from spiraling any further into a pit of blame. “i feel safe with you georgie, i wouldn’t have stayed in here with you, kissed you, if i didn’t. you know i’d be the last to admit this, but you saved me, i owe you one.”

a small smile tugs on his lips. he can’t help but feel his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s going a thousand miles and hour. “consider the debt repaid,” he replies, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “i don’t think i would’ve ever been able to face you after tonight if you hadn’t come running after me.”

your smile mirrors his, unable to contain the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. the two of you just stare at each other for a while, trying to imprint this moment in your memory forever.

“can i kiss you again?” he asks, his lips so close that you can feel his breath against yours. you nod against his forehead, silently begging to feel his warmth again.

kissing george is like nothing you’d ever felt before. you spent your entire life kissing boys that meant nothing to you, this feels like home. his tongue slips into your mouth, exploring every inch of you, memorising how you feel as if you’ll be stolen from him at any second. he’s thought of this exact moment for months, every time you fought, every time he spoke to you, he imagined what it would feel like to have you like this.

“still feels like a tundra in here,” you tell him after you pull away. he takes you by your good wrist and urges you to lay next to him, his arms wrapping tightly around your body wishing he would never have to let go.

“better?”

“better.” you reply, letting you hand rest against his chest, feeling his heart beat. “this is not how i imagined this night going.”

“neither,” he says, running his fingers up and down your side. “never thought i’d get to hold you like this.”

your cheeks heat up, not from your usual rage but from the sudden rush on nerves. you don’t know how to act around him when you’re not about to beat his face in. he gently pulls your face from where it’s hiding in his chest to admire you. he presses his lips softly against yours, then moves to either cheek, then to your forehead.

“what happens now?” you ask, suddenly hit with the realization that you can’t go on with the feud that’s been bubbling between the two of you for the past year. you’ll have to tell your friends that you don’t hate each other anymore, that you did the unthinkable and kissed george weasley.

“i don’t care,” he says simply. “we could continue fighting until my dying breath, i just don’t want to be without you. ever.”

“what a little sap-fest you’ve become,” you tease holding yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at the boy. “who knew the george weasley could be so sentimental.”

“oh shut up,” he nudges your shoulder, pulling his arms from around you to rest behind his head. “you’re the one who kissed me, y/n, you started this.”

you let out a giggle, resting your head against his chest. you talk for hours about everything and nothing at all. eventually you hear the music die from downstairs, your phone buzzing with texts from angie and katie worried sick about where you ran off to. you tell them you’re fine and you’ll explain tomorrow. it’s an unspoken assumption that after all these months of fighting, you’ll be sleeping in george’s bed, cuddled up to him like you have been for the last few hours. you turn from your phone to see him stripping his shirt from his body, going to pull his khakis from his body and your heart stops.

“george i-” you start, not being able to form a coherent sentence. “i’m sorry but i can’t do anything like that, not tonight, not after what happened.”

his face turns down in worry, swiftly pulling a pair of sweats from his drawer to cover his bare legs. “oh my god, no y/n that’s not where i thought this was going at all. i usually sleep without a shirt on but it that makes you uncomfortable i can put one on. i’m so sorry i wasn’t even thinking.”

you sigh in relief, of course he wasn’t going to ask you to do anything like that after what he saw. you can’t believe you assumed that of him.

“no, no i’m sorry i know you would never,” you reply, rubbing your face between your palms. “i’m just on edge.”

he sits next to you, already holding a pair of boxers for you to wear and places them in front of you. he runs his hands up your arms. “don’t apologize to me, you’re allowed to be on edge after that. i should’ve been more conscious of that. i can go to the bathroom while you change if you want, unless you want to stay in your jeans.”

you shake your head, pulling the denim off your legs and replacing them with george’s boxers. you’re safe with him, you remind yourself.

“thank you, george,” you say quietly. “for everything.”

“i’d do it again, a hundred times over if i had to,” he tells you, pulling you into his arms to hold you. “do you want to talk about it?”

you shake your head no and he nods. he lays the two of you back and pulls his blankets other you. your head lays against his bare chest, feeling the most secure you have in your life. george’s breath eventually steadies as he slips into a deep sleep. it’s the easiest he’s ever been able to fall asleep, feeling completely comfortable with you in his arms. you fall asleep soon after him, the arms of george weasley and the walls of pi kappa alpha lulling you into the sweetest dreams.

(George Weasley x Female!Potter!Reader)

(Not my gifs, credit goes to the creators)

Main Masterlist

Requested by: Anon

Requests:Open

Fandom: Harry Potter (Golden Trio Era)

Request: ‘ Can you do a female X Reader where the reader is Harry’s twin sister and falls in love with George Wesley? I couldn’t find if this was your main page or not I’m sorry ‘

Thank you so much, I loved this idea. I am so sorry it took me so long I hit a sort of block. I didn’t know what to write at first, but I hope that this is okay,

Warnings: Language and poor writing.

Words: 1.8K

Disclaimer:This is a fanfiction, the scenarios, the reader, and the dialogue are all mine.

This should only be found on my blog.

Author is always me on this blog @daydreams-magic01 ​ .

A/N: Please do not copy or plagiarise this, or put it in your own book, etc. It should only be found here. Also, please mention if I should make a taglist and if you wanted to be added. I also tried by best at being British.

Thank you.

:)

Taglist:

@regulusblackswhorecrux​

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“George,” she laughs, pushing him away, rubbing her head, “you are such an idiot.”

(Y/n) and her twin, Harry, had arrived at the Burrow a few days before, after a bizarre meeting with their headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, and it wasn’t until a few days later that she saw the twins again, finally able to set her eyes on their joke shop. Her mouth drops in awe, gazing around the store, which she couldn’t do before because George had the wonderful idea to pounce on her the second, she stepped through the door.

“I could be your idiot if you wanted me to be,” he steps in front of her and winks exaggeratively. Much to her embarrassment, her cheeks flush, and she takes in the view of him in a striped suit that matches his brother’s, except the tie, her cheeks flushing a darker shade, not noticing as he does the same to her; she wears her favourite shirt, which he immediately recognises, as well as a pair of dark blue jeans.  

“Shut up, Weasley,” she laughs, shaking her head as she pushes him away, walking past him towards Fred, “now, how about I go see my favourite twin.”

“Hey!” He laughs, which comes out rather pathetically, as he shoves his hands in his pockets and watches sadly after her. You would wince if you could see this. In fact, his youngest brother gags at the scene, earning a smack in the stomach from his future wife.

“Ronald!”

Harry, of course, does not notice the scene, eyes fixated on Ginny Weasley, acting as if she cannot feel his piercing gaze, which only leaves her rather confused.

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Many small moments followed this interaction, far more than before, but I will not explain them all, but if you did want to hear them, perhaps I could. 

The most pivotal moment is now.

It is the night before the students depart for school, meaning that all the Weasley children are gathered at the Burrow, as well as Fleur (minus Percy, who is still attempting to earn his parents’ approval) to wish their sister and brother goodbye. 

George leans against the banister, smiling fondly at the woman in front of him who is currently holding her brother in a headlock, “come on, Harry, no need to be a wimp.”

“I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you.” Harry is not enjoying the fact that he is being shamed in front of the woman he has already planned their entire future with. “Unlike you, I do Quidditch, so I am stronger. I’ll hit you.” Harry’s gaze hardens at the floor, shouting after his red-head best friend, who won’t stop laughing. 

“Oh yes, catching a tiny ball is such a task." 

Harry’s gasp is what makes everyone laugh, his cute noise of horror. He then pushes her down with his side, making her lose his grip, and he gets on top of her, "I’ll spit on you. Don’t make me do it." 

(Y/n) begins to scream, attempting to kick and push him away, but it’s no use. 

Ron’s already dying, and the excitement has set all the Weasley’s off as they begin to lunge for each other even Mister Weasley has a wild and free look on his face.

"Stop!" 

Everyone freezes. Ron with his hands around Fred’s tie, Fred’s foot seconds from hitting into George’s side, George pulling his sister’s hair, Ginny with her hands around Bill’s neck, Bill with his foot up Charlie’s arse and Charlie with a pillow in his hands, hovering over Ron’s head. Harry freezes, hands pinning down his sister’s wrist, (Y/n) with her foot in his stomach.

All turn to Mrs Weasley in fear, including her husband, who has his arm wrapped around George in an attempt to throw him.

"What do you think you are doing. Bill, put Ginny down right this instant!” Bill scoffs. He isn’t even touching her.

They drop each other, let go of each other, and Harry gets off (Y/n).

George helps her up, smiling down to her, tuning out his mother’s lecturing. She smiles back up at him, “thank you.”

“No problem.”

“George, (Y/n), stop staring at each other and listen to me.” Their cheeks flush and they immediately step back from each other, facing Mrs Weasley.

It was at that moment that the two began to hope that the other liked them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That was pathetic, why does your sister fancy my brother?” Ron groans, attempting not to gag as he flattens down his shirt, which had been rather rustled after their scrap, very relieved that his mother had stopped lecturing them all.

“She doesn’t, you numpty.” Harry shakes his head, laughing at his friend until his gaze catches Ginny’s, who is behind Ron, the world freezing around him.

“Uh, she does, mate,” Ron pulls a face, nudging his friend, knocking him out of his stupor, and pointing over to the two who are gazing romantically into each other’s eyes. Ron once again gags.

“So, I look at Ginny just like that, and we are friends,” he laughs nervously before walking away, heading over to Hermione.

“I hope the fuck not.”

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My bad, turns out this moment is far more pivotal.

“Write to me?” (Y/n) asks hopefully, fiddling with the ends of her skirt, trying to maintain eye contact despite her internal arguments. He smiles down at her, fondly, his eyes alight with adoration. 

“I will.”

A gentle breeze makes its way through the tunnel, blowing her hair slightly in her face, making her laugh as she fumbles to push it away.

“Here, let me,” he shakes his head, biting back a smile as he raises his hand, tucking it behind her ear.

His hand hesitates, and her breath gets caught in her throat, as he moves it beneath her ear to come to cup her cheek, making her smile fall. “You look beautiful.”

Well, she would hope so, seeing as she is wearing her nicest outfit because (Y/n) knew he would be here, and she wishes to snog him at least once. Well, she likes to daydream about it. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He laughs, not dropping his hand as his eyes fall to her lips, “will I see you at Christmas.”

“You should do, yeah,” she laughs nervously, brow raised, “same as the past few years.”

“Just want to make sure.”

“Come on, (Y/n)!” Mrs Weasley shouts, attempting to look over the crowd in the station, looking for the familiar ginger hair, for where (Y/n) is, her son should be too. 

The train’s whistle sounds, causing her eyes to widen and for her to jump back, “Shit. See you at Christmas, Weasley.” She leans down, grabbing her suitcase for the journey, her trunk already aboard the train. Thinking nothing of it, apparently not realising that she is no longer daydreaming, she rises to her tiptoes, pressing a quick and hard kiss to his lips, “bye!" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy : Author is always me on this blog @daydreams-magic01 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mate, I still can’t believe your sister fancies George,” Ron shakes his head, flopping into the seat beside Hermione.

“He is handsome,” Hermione says, not looking up from her book, although she does notice his look of disgust, which does make her smile. “Where is she?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he looks out of the window, trying to catch a glimpse, “I don’t know - bloody hell!” He jumps, the whistle of the training scaring the shit out of him. Of course, it barely phases Hermione who simply looks up and out of the window, immediately finding (Y/n). “She just kissed George.”

Ron gasps, shooting up, and he presses his face against the window, “I don’t see it.” He groans in annoyance.

“So, friends kiss,” Harry looks from the window, laughing at the look of horror on his friends’ faces, “some do.”

Ron squeals when the train lurches, and he is thrown onto Harry, “please, don’t kiss me." 

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"Mistletoe,” he obviously states, stepping in front of (Y/n), his common smirk on his face, hands clasped behind his back, “but you don’t need Mistletoe, do you.”

She clasps her hands to her face, her cheeks flushed as she groans, “it was an accident.”

“I would hope so,” she drops her hands, raising a brow, “I don’t want you kissing anyone else." 

"Shove off,” she presses her hands against his waistcoat, pushing him away. George does not move instead; he places his hands on top of her own as he smiles down at her. Her heart thumps in her chest as she looks between their hands and his face. 

“If you want me to, but I would rather kiss you,” he teases. 

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“They’re kissing again,” Ron sighs, shoving a mince pie in his mouth, not noticing the looks from Harry and Ginny, who he just sat between, interrupting their own moment.

“Good for (Y/n), she’s fancied him for years.”

“No, she hasn’t, Ginny,” Harry leans forward so that he can look at her over her annoying brother, “some friends kiss.”

“We are friends, and we’ve never kissed,” Ginny points out, not yet realising that her feelings are finally returned. Harry’s cheeks flush, and he falls back into his seat, eyes finding his sister, who is now far away from the Weasley brother.

“Dean used to be your friend,” Ron mumbles through the food in his mouth.

“Shut up, so did Lavender.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy : Author is always me on this blog @daydreams-magic01 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on love, at this rate we’ll miss the wedding,” George knocks on his and Fred’s bedroom door, which they let to (Y/n) for the wedding. “I want a chance to show you off before the ceremony begins.”

“Shove off,” she laughs, fumbling with the front of her dress, attempting to straighten it out. She continues to go over her outfit and hair.

“Come onnnnnnn, we might even be able to sneak in a cheeky snog.”

“You’d like that very much.”

“Yes, I would,” he sighs, turning so his back is leaning against the door, “or maybe we could tell Harry instead.”

The door opens, and if it wasn’t for the hands of his girlfriend bracing against his back, he would have fallen right onto his arse, which would have been a pleasure for (Y/n) to witness.

“My brother didn’t realise we were dating that time he caught you with your hand up my skirt, he thought we were hugging,” she pushes him back up, her familiar fond smile on her face as they link arms. 

She had seen him change earlier, but he is still as handsome as he was when she first saw his suit today, so she compliments him once again, and he returns with several mumbles and stumbles.

At this rate, Harry won’t think anything of it when she births their first child. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perchance a Parchment (George Weasley x Reader) - Part 6

Harry Potter - George Weasley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.6k

Series Summary: One last shot to save the business is the bit of energy needed to accept the inevitable, and forgive a couple Weasleys along the way. Is friendship possible with the enemy? And is love possible with the mysterious man behind your letters?

Series Masterlist //Masterlist

A/N: So sorry for the infinite detail. I got pregnant, gave birth, and now I’m back on my bullshit.

The day of the Story Extravaganza came more quickly than you liked, though there was not really much more you could do to pack the day with fun for your customers. Discount book shelves lined the street outside your front door (with the permission of the neighboring businesses) and inside was a stage where authors came and read from their favorite works, their newest manuscripts, and their unpublished pieces that might never see the light of day. It was stimulating, exciting, and completely packed. And more important than anything to you, the sea of faces was mostly ones you recognized— the mother and son who come ever week to story time to get a break from the newborn at home, the older couple who lived above the shop several doors down who made a habit of picking out new reads for each other, the ministry workers who frequently browsed during lunch with teas in hand and work chatter still on their lips. Everywhere you turned was a reminder of the positive impact your shop had on the community, and the frequent thank yous from the lips of your clients only made you beam with pride.

In all the hubbub, sales and profits were the furthest things from your mind. Enjoying the swell of enthusiasm and letting the feeling of community and passion overwhelm you was the only goal. After the break up with Tom, feelings had been less than positive. If the pile of empty pumpkin pasty wrappers beside your bed and the collection of sappy romance novels filling the space Tom once laid were any indication, you were not handling things well. But it wasn’t for love and loss than you felt down. It was for the understanding that change was here and on the horizon still. Come tomorrow, come next week, come a moon’s turn from now your life would be rebuilt into something you couldn’t predict or understand. And mourning, even if over something inevitable, still takes energy.

Tom had made a stop into the shop the night before to wish you good luck. His broom was probably somewhere over the Swiss alps now, well on its way to Egypt. His luggage would be coming days behind but you knew Tom would do just fine with the clothes on his back, as long as he had work to distract him. The image of him deep in a tomb, decoding ruins and diving into histories, warmed your heart. He was a good man, just not your man, and that was okay.

The letters with Rhubarb had resumed over the course of the week, mostly as an errant place to put your thoughts on paper as you tried to organize the big event. Who would blame you for being weary of putting your heart out there for a man who stood you up? But each response you received was supportive, thoughtful, honest, and caring— the same exact man you fell for before that night at the restaurant. Being restrained was proving difficult because with each passing day you were feeling more powerful, more secure, more bold. If you could get through the fall of your business and the fall of your relationship, you knew you could endure any rejection Rhubarb might send your way.

A poet just finished a recitation of romantic verse and a guitarist was taking the stage to sing through some of his children’s songs that were featured in a new collection of picture books when you felt a tap of your shoulder.

“Not to ruin your lovely day, but I thought you’d want to know the Weasleys arrived,” Patty whispered in your ear, gesturing with her head to the front window display where three red-haired men stood together examining a stand filled with books you selected as perfect books for new beginnings.

Your stomach dropped, but not in anger like you expected. It was the empty feeling right before butterflies form. And when the closer of the two twins turned to look at you, your eyes met and the butterflies began their flutter in earnest.

“God, do I have to be so attracted to the villain here?”

“I don’t think you meant to say that out loud,” Patty laughed, pulling your attention back to her. “They don’t seem to be here to make trouble. This is an event for the community and like it or not, their part of the Diagon Alley community, probably for good.”

She didn’t have to finish the thought. You put on your brightest saleswoman smile and began to walk over to the brothers who were sharing a laugh and seemed completely in their element among your crowded establishment.

It had been your intent to talk to George, maybe ever apologize for the other night at the restaurant — not that you regretted it — but the taller, more low-key of the men intercepted her.

“You must be Y/N,” the man outstretched his hand to shake. “Bill Weasley. It’s truly a lovely shop you have here. My brother George hasn’t stopped talking about it since he stopped in a few weeks ago.”

You took the outstretched hand without hesitation.

“Your brothers have a funny way of showing it, Bill.”

He drops your hand as he laughs. “They’re young and dumb, just two kids who started a business out of their dorm room, selling illegal treats to industrious first years. I think sometimes they still feel like teenagers, just trying not to get caught by their professors.”

There’s a fondness in Bill’s gaze as he looks back at his brothers that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Aren’t we all just playing at adulthood, really,” you say more to yourself than Bill, “I wish someone would have told us we’d be just as directionless and confused and uncertain in our twenties as we were in our teens, just with higher stakes and even higher expectations.”

Bill nods, almost as though he wanted you to say just that.

He steps a little closer to you as a group of customers move past to take seats for the next performance. Bill uses the movement as an excuse to whisper.

“I also have to say it’s a pleasure not just to see the shop George won’t shut up about, but also to meet the woman he can’t stop talking about either.”

Your eyebrows raise so high that Bill lets out a gruff snicker.

“That tongue-lashing you gave him the other day made quite the impression. I think the boy is smitten.”

“I called him a soulless miser with no conscience and you’re telling me he doesn’t hate me?” The cynicism in your voice is ripe and Bill smiles.

“My brother has never been one to leg it from a little conflict. An honest kick in the arse is probably the best thing you could have done to win his admiration.”

It’s a long moment of silence between you as you look over Bill’s shoulder and observe his brother. George had a smile on his face at something Fred had said and had roped another one of your customers into their conversation. This was his element, making a comfortable environment in relative chaos. You had to admit you admired him, too, even if he was the primary reason you were in this mess.

Though that was the problem, wasn’t it— blaming the Weasleys for your failing business. It wasn’t true. If they hadn’t taken the lease offer, someone else would have. You were struggling, you had to admit that to yourself, and as much as you valued your mission, you knew profits were never high enough to warrant such a valuable storefront. No, George Weasley wasn’t the problem, he was just a symbol of a ton of other problems you weren’t willing to saddle yourself with the guilt of. George Weasley was a person— handsome and charismatic and funny and the person taking over your lease. That last one was just a fact, not a failing.

You took a deep breath and willed yourself to walk past Bill to tap the rust-haired enchanter on the shoulder. When he turned around, his eyes were wide but his smile sure.

“Y/N, I know I have no right to be in your store after that… encounter we shared last week, but we wanted to show our support. We know it’s probably a little too late, but it’s clear you’ve made something special here. It deserves our attention.”

His voice was light and rushed, nervous maybe despite his confident posture. It somehow fit him, this combination of boyish uncertainty and manly confidence.

You stuck your hand out to George and made your back straight.

“George Weasley, consider this a peace offering, a treaty between our shops.”

“And what have I done to earn such an offer?” George asked, staring at your hand.

It took you a moment to realize what whiplash it must be for him. One week you are screaming at him to leave you alone and the next you are offering your arm. But the trust is a lot can change in a week.

“You did nothing. It’s me who did something.”

“And what might that be?”

A smile grazed your lips as you looked up into his shining brown eyes, the same color as the rich woods that paneled the walls of your shop, the color of comfort, warmth and home.

“I gave up fighting. I’m accepting life as it comes, warts and all.”

George’s lips spread into a beautiful smiling, paralleling your own.

“I can shake to that,” he said, taking my hand in his warm palm and collapsing tight. When we let go, his eyes dropped down to his feet and the nervous boy was back once more.

“You know, if we aren’t fighting anymore, perhaps, maybe, we could even be friends.” When he looked up again his eyes found mine, honest and pure.

“I… I think I could consider that.”

This third smile is such a change from the previous two. It’s brightness is contagious. And when one of the authors taps me on the shoulder to ask about her signing slot, the energy consumes you again, this time more powerful for the healing power of letting things go.

As George left your store, having purchased a few books from your recommendations shelf, a few for him and one for his mother, he felt lighter than he had all week. He had a plan now and it seemed like it might actually work.

“So explain to me now why we just went in there and acted like we aren’t public enemy number one?” Fred asked as they began down the road to their shop.

“Because I’m trying something new on for size.”

“What’s that?”

“Friendship.”

He said it with such earnestness that Fred had to stop walking immediately.

“You’re completely head-over-heels in love with this woman and you’re trying to just be her friend?”

George sighed and leaned against the wall where Fred stopped.

“She can’t love George, not yet, but she can love Rhubarb. Until we can love both of us, I don’t really have another option,” George said, looking down at his hand, the one you had shook, with a smile. “I’m going to be there for her. That’s all I can do. And if Rhubarb is busy wooing her on the side for me, then so be it.”

“You don’t feel bad just lying. Like you know. You know who she is and you just aren’t going to say anything?” George’s smile fell as Fred’s questioning but Bill placed a hand on his shoulder in support.

“When it comes to matters of the heart, sometimes you need space to heal. George is giving Y/N space. When they’re ready, they’ll know. But one thing I can say is that when I told her you fancied her, the look on her face was surprisingly not disgusted.”

“Real encouraging, Bill,” George sighed.

“It was as far from disgust as it could be, little brother. It was… hopeful.”

George nodded slow, processing Bill’s words, “I’ve lost her trust but I’ve got hope. I’m not fighting these feelings. I’m not fighting my faults. I’m… I’m going to be here if and when she wants me.”

Fred laughed and started his walking again, “That’s romantic and all that, but damn is it foolish. You two just need to pull each other behind some stakes and have the proper angry make-out you both desire.”

George scowled at his twin hard, “I’d much prefer a blissful make-out, one where she can’t keep the smile off her lips.”

“Suit yourself. Hate sex can be hot.”

“And hate sex happens only once.”

“I don’t think we’ve made so much money in a month, let alone a day!,” Patty laughs as she closes out the register. “You’d think we were selling elixir of life, not novels, at this rate.”

“In some ways we are. Stories let you live a million lives.”

“Enough with your poetics and just be happy we’ve got the cash to cover the rent.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say as you plop down on your favorite chair, ignoring the insane mess of empty shelves and slightly askew furniture. “The landlord stopped in during the puppet show. He said there was no amount of money we could pay to keep our lease. He’d rather a tenant he doesn’t have to worry about— his words.”

Patricia drops a pile of coins back into the drawer. “Merlin’s beard, what an ass.”

You simply shrug, “Is it bad that I’m over it?”

“No, it’s bad that you had to go through all of this to get to the point that you’re over it.”

Patty came to sit beside you, throwing her own head against the chair with a sigh.

“I think it’s for the best. This was fun. We made something good, and now we move on,” you said, playing with the hem of your shirt, trying to will the tears away. You knew this was coming and you honestly accepted it, but that didn’t make it hurt less.

“You’ll figure something out. You always do.”

Just then, the cracked door flies open the rest of the wall, the hard flapping wings of an owl loudly filling your room. Diomedes comes to sit on your shoulder, a scroll tied securely to his leg.

Cherry,

I hope today brought with you joy, fulfillment, a feeling of love, and most importantly closure to you. You put your heart and soul into making something that mattered to people and now you got to see it all together, all at once, all on one day. I’m in awe of you, your dedication, your forgiveness, and your love. It’s truly something remarkable and I hope you know that.

I’ve been thinking about you all day. I’m not sure I’ve much else to say other than that whatever this next chapter is for you, I hope I can somehow be a part of it if you’ll let me. Next time you want to meet, I promise to be there. I’m not fighting anymore.

Rhubarb

Something in the phrasing of that last sentence struck you as oddly familiar but that feeling fled as quickly as it came. You weren’t ready to meet again — to trust would take some time — but you’d get there, of that you were sure. One big life change at a time.book

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Harry Potter - George Weasley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3k

Summary:Series finale! With the business sold, George pursues a friendship. But with a friend like George, and a lover like Rhubarb, what is a woman’s heart to do? 

Series Masterlist//Masterlist

A/N: Apologies this too me years to actually finish. I’m glad it is done, though I do have vision for an epilogue. I love George and I want to do more one-shots with him since this story just lost steam for me. Also since this story is based on You’ve Got Mail, we had to include the final kiss gif! 

“I think that’s the last box,” Patty says from the living room of your new flat. Cardboard and tape cover the floor in a spread that denotes only chaos. You throw the last shipping label onto the package and let out a breath.

“Every last unsold book, boxed and ready to head to a home that needs them,” you smile.

“How you managed to connect with so many schools and children’s programs, I’ll never understand.”

You let out a laugh, “You don’t have to wonder. George reached out to his brother Percy who works at the ministry. He basically just printed me out a list and I sent some letters.”

Patty falls down onto your couch and raises an eyebrow your way.

“Just George now?”

You turn to her with a hand on your hip.

“What’s that question supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying, that’s a big change from a month ago when he was just Weasley and you said it with such venom I thought you were speaking parseltongue.” 

Heat spreads across your cheeks, and you know Patty sees it. But she isn’t wrong. It’s been a big change in such a short period of time. It started with George showing up the day the closed sign was officially placed on your store, offering any help you might need with moving out the last of your things. At first, it felt a little patronizing, like he was simply trying to get to your space more quickly. But one look at his smile and the way he kicked at the ground, nervous you might say no, made it clear he was really only trying to be helpful. And George has yet to fail you on that front. He moved boxes and furniture. He sat with you over tea as you debated your next step and hunted for a new flat. He used his family of contacts to get these books to new homes. And all of it he did without any air of superiority you always assumed the Weasley twins would have. He was open, honest, kind, funny, distractingly handsome, and worst of all, exactly what you wanted. He wasn’t complacent like Tom. He didn’t fill space the way he seemed to around everyone else. No, with you he gave you space to grow to meet him. He stepped back so you could step forward— always there, always listening, always supportive. And while you could not be sure you were ready for love again, you were having a hard time picturing that future with anyone else.

“Do you just want me to admit it, Patty?”

She smiles sweetly at you, playing with a rogue curl that fell in front of her face. “I’d love nothing more, darling.”

You let out a long sigh, “I’m falling for him, okay? But—”

“No buts, Y/N. None. Life doesn’t happen on some arbitrary timeline. You don’t have to wait some set amount of time to be over Tom—”

You shake your head at her, “I don’t care about Tom. It’s just…”

Patty frowns, her expression confused. “Rhubarb?”

You nod and sit down on a box, your head between your hands.

While George had been everything you wanted in his actions, Rhubarb had been everything you wanted in words. Falling for George meant having to acknowledge the reality that everything George was doing was simply friendship. And if you interpret his actions as more, that wasn’t because he did anything to make it so. Every coffee date ended with a smile, a “See ya later,” and a quick hug, one that didn’t linger and didn’t presume. Sure, maybe some of it was flirting, but George Weasley making a woman laugh was not some great seduction tactic, it was merely George being himself. You were just victim to his naturally charming personality.

But with Rhubarb, there was no guessing. Rhubarb spoke all the things you would love to hear from George’s ears. Words of passion, desire, longing, interest. Words of a man who wished for something real and deep, to know you heart and soul. But he had also stood you up before. Words were nothing without actions.

It was becoming hard to decide where you should invest your energies: the man who is present but may not see you as more than a friend, or the man who is absent but who wants you with conviction. Why couldn’t you have both?

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. With a quick look at Patty, you answered. 

“Sorry for intruding,” George said, his hand running through his hair and the shoulders of his jacket wet from the sudden showers. “But when it started raining, I thought you might need a hand getting those boxes to the train.”

He lifted his face, granting you the sight of that breathtaking smile surrounded by those rosy pink lips and that skin covered in a constellation of freckles. Your hand was raising to touch them before you could stop yourself.

“Y/N?” George asked as your fingers grazed his cheek.

You caught yourself, feeling the awkward intimacy of the moment immediately. Your fingers brushed his soft skin. Your faces were far too close together. Your eyes were locked on each other in curious question. 

Your pulse quickened as you managed to stutter out, “You’ve got some rain on your cheek.” You brushed the invisible droplet with the pad of your thumb, George’s inquisitive eyes trained on you the entire time. And when your finger finally left his cheek, he smiled.

“Told you the rain would be a problem.”

You laughed, and somehow George moved closed. He didn’t pull away, leaving your body electric with the need to touch him again.

Only then did Patty hum.

“George, thank you for helping her. I’ll let you two get to it.”

She walked over and kissed my cheek before slipping out the door behind George. She winked at me as she turned down the sidewalk.

George stepped into my flat fully and took in the boxes. 

“Wow, you really are doing a lot of good. You’re far too kind for this world, Y/N.”

When he turned around, he took me in his arms, making me gasp. He held me tight, his voice close to my ear.

“I know I’ve said sorry a million times, but I hope you know how truly impressed I am with you. You’re gratuitous and giving, hardworking and smart. You’re sassy and sensitive. I know whatever comes next, you’re going to be just amazing.”

He breathed into my neck and suddenly it all snapped. Every feeling of friendship dissipated with that single breath and the goosebumps it created. 

You pulled away, looking up into George’s eyes. Once again, his only shined with curiosity. But when you began moving your face towards his, he didn’t pull away. And when your lips touched, those goosebumps only spread, moving with them a shiver that radiated from your fingers to the very tips of your toes. And when he kissed you back, nothing could have felt more kinetic.

“Y/N…” George whispered against your mouth before pursuing yours once again. And as you met him with the same enthusiasm, you had to pull away. 

George’s eyes grew with confusion as he slowly regained himself, his grip on your back loosening.

“George…” you tried to explain, but there weren’t words yet. 

He gave you a smile, somehow understanding without even needing to hear a word.

“How about I take a few of these boxes and we can talk again tomorrow?”

“That’s… thanks, George.”

You couldn’t even lift your head to watch him leave, but you heard the door close. With a stabilizing breath, you went over to your writing desk. Letters from Rhubarb over the past few weeks littered the top. You read a few, trying to understand the swirling emotions inside yourself.

Cherry,

I thought about you today when I picked up my morning paper. The woman at the counter was reading a book about the Knights of the Round Table— a serious historical breakdown, not the adventures you’ve shared with me. And somehow it seemed so silly that something that could be filled with such magic was being boiled down to facts and figures, devoid of life and meaning. 

It’s kind of like love. You can analyze it forever, work out your pet peeves, your pleasures, take all the right steps to finding the perfect person. But the adventure — the magic — that’s what makes a love story worth reading. 

We may have not had the perfect path. Hell, we may not even be the perfect pair. But you are magic, Cherry. Perfect magic. 

Your Rhubarb.

My sweetest Cherry,

I know things are tough right now. I also know things are incredibly exciting. You have the world ahead of you, and no one is prepared for what you’re going to bring. If you open another store or use your cultural skills with the ministry or try something completely new, you’ll do it because you’re a capable woman. The possibilities are endless and that’s as scary as it is thrilling.

That’s what I felt that night we were supposed to meet. Fear and exhilaration, anxiety and anticipation. What a complicated set of emotions. You stole my heart, you did, but you also took away every safe barrier I’ve ever created for myself to keep the hurt away. 

You are my greatest potential pain. My greatest potential gain. And just like you now, standing at the precipice, there are so many possible directions, some good and some bad, some with joy and some with pain. But knowing joy is possible is a beautiful thing.

Whenever you’re ready, I’m here to take a step off the precipice with you. I’m ready to fall, no matter where we land.

With love,

Rhubarb

Tell me Cherry, how are you liking the new apartment? Are you making the space all your own? I can picture your living room filled with your favorite books, but also a ton of materials for hosting others. What does that sentence even mean? What are materials for hosting parties? Pillows? A bar cart? I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it inviting for everyone.

I believe I told you I have quite the large family, and my mother loves to host parties, even though we never have the space for it. Her biggest secret to hosting success is to keep everyone well-fed. I’ll send you a serving tray once you let me know the color scheme you’re going for in the kitchen. Maybe someday you’ll let me attend one of your parties. I can’t wait until the day that I can hold my arms around your waist, kiss your head while you greet guests, telling everyone how delicious your pastries are. I’d be a very proud man having you on my arm. So, so proud.

And even proud now,

Rhubarb

With a heavy sigh, you took your quill in your hands. Diomedes rubbed his face into your knuckles, pushing the ink towards the paper.

Dearest Rhubarb, 

Your support over this past month, as my world came crashing down around me, has meant so much. While you haven’t been able to be here in person, the words you have penned have made me feel seen in a way I didn’t realize I needed, that I didn’t realize I had missed for so long. You’ve given me confidence, and for that I am thankful.

But I also must be honest, not having you here in person… it has made it hard for my heart to know what it wants.

Let’s meet. Tomorrow at 6PM in Queen Mary’s Rose Garden in Regent’s Park. I can’t promise anything, but I need to know who you are. I need to see your face. I want to see what could be… I just need to know.

Cherry 

“Fred, god, what do I do?” George screamed at his brother while shaking your note in his hands.

Fred shrugged and stoked the fire. “I told you lying was a bad idea.”

“That’s precious, Fred, when lying is basically the only reason we have a business.”

Bill stood in the corner, looking out the window where your Diomedes had just entered, flying only a couple blocks from your flat. Bill chuckled to himself at the realization that if you had just watched your bird as he flew out into the night, this all would have been solved without any chaos.

“And what’s so funny over there, William?” George asked, his voice still laced with desperation.

“You know I’m going to tell you what I’ve always told you. This isn’t your decision alone. It’s Y/Ns. You have to put yourself out there. If she reciprocates, great. If she’s absolutely fuming and never wants to speak to you again, well, you have to take that, too.”

George fell onto the couch, his arm thrown over his head dramatically. 

“I’m supposed to just walk into that park tomorrow and let the woman I love with every fiber of my being — a woman who just kissed me today and blew my mind with how good she made it feel — just walk away from me forever?”

“If she wants to, yes.” 

George let out an angry grunt before stomping over to his desk.

His quill moved over the paper faster than he thought possible. But he didn’t want to second guess himself. He just had to do it.

My Cherry,

Wear red. And I’ll be carrying my copy of the Merlin Adventures.

See you at 6PM.

All my love,

Rhubarb

George hadn’t reached out yet today like he said he would, which was odd for the George you had been coming to know. George was chaos, yes, but only in the frantic way his mind sometimes worked. In the practical, George was consistent and steady, more like a river than a monsoon. Strong and powerful but peaceful and predictable, not nearly what you expected when you first met the twins. 

But maybe not hearing from George was a good thing. It took away a lot of the conflict you felt about today’s meeting. You had feelings for two men in completely different ways. And the feelings for both came with their own complications. Rhubarb was a ghost, a phantom who could mold himself to be just who he needed to be to please you. George was real, warts and all, but a new friend and a previous enemy. It was tenuous at best to assume that George might feel the same way, even if he did reciprocate the kiss. But that could easily be brushed aside. Men like when women kiss them, even if they don’t necessarily want to be emotionally involved with them. 

But god, did you want it. The kisses, the emotions, all of it…

Pulling you from your thoughts was the sound of footsteps. It was close to dinner time now and families could be seen using the park to cut through to their homes for the night, or to play games with friends. A breeze blew through the trees and as you wrapped yourself tighter in your red slip dress, a tweed jacket fell on your shoulders.

“Don’t go catching a cold on me now, Cherry.”

You turned your face upward to spy the warm freckled cheeks and beautiful smile of George Weasley.

“Thank you, George,” you said with a smile, only then processing what he just said.

Your eyes traveled down to his arms, which hold a copy of your favorite book close to his chest.

“It’s you…” Your voice was a whisper. George looked in your eyes, unsure what you would do next. The fear and doubt you saw there hurt.

Soon you were up from the bench and tossing yourself into his arms.

“It’s you,” you breathed into his neck, “Merlin, I had hoped it was you.”

George dropped the book, his arms wrapping snuggly around you as his voice let out the biggest, most beautiful laugh.

“And here I was thinking you were going to punch me in the face.”

He kissed the top of your head and you could feel how unwilling he was to let you go. And all it did was make you hold tighter, cry harder, pull his lips to yours with passion.

“You never stood me up.”

“No, I didn’t. And I never would.”

So many elements of the past few months fall into place. George was both the man with the words and the man with the actions. He was heart, body, and spirit. He was yours, without question. And while something about him spending the day with you in person and writing letters to you at night felt a little mischievous, what was George but mischievous? And what choice had you given him when the one time he tried to reveal himself, you gave him such a strong tongue-lashing that you felt guilty for weeks.

“Rhubarb,” you whispered against his wanting mouth.

“Yes, my love,” he said between kisses.

“Is this the red outfit you were hoping I’d wear?” you lifted your eyes to George in playful question.

“Absolutely not,” he said with a frown.

Before you could speak in protest, he held a hand to your mouth.

“I made dinner plans. Figured we might have something to celebrate. And if we didn’t, I’d have a nice quiet place to drink away my sorrows.”

The corner of George’s mouth lifted roguishly. 

“But this dress, this dress isn’t making me want to take you to a restaurant. It’s making me want to take you home.”

You leaned up to kiss him again. His strong arms lifted you off the ground, glee and peace and sensuality mingling together in a cocktail of overwhelming emotions.

“Take me home, George. Take me home.”

And that’s a wrap all! This isn’t how I initially envisioned the ending. It was planned as 8 episodes, but oh well. I think I like it, and I hope you do too.

Epilogue hopefully out later next week.

-Lia

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George Weasley would be so proud of me.. I AM A QUIDDITCH PLAYER AND A BEATER

With Stamina of 4/10 and strength 5/10

I swear the bludger won’t even move an inch when i hit it

Y/n : Hermione, please do something with my book

Hermione : What is wrong with it?

Y/n : George charmed it, at first it was sweet, now my eardrums can’t take it anymore

Hermione :*opening the book*

Book :

Y/n as a prefect

Draco : Y/n, where is Potter?

Y/n :DETENTION!

Draco :Wha-?

Snape : Miss y/n what are you doing lurking in the dungeon?

Y/n :DETENTION!

Snape : You can’t give me det-

George :*blows up the slytherin dorm* Hey y/n!

Y/n : Hi! Do you want a chocolate?

George : y/n, i love seeing you in my clothes. But-

Y/n :But?

George : At this state, i have nothing to wear

Y/n :*wearing george’s clothes all at once* But you can use fred’s!

this is how you fall in love (g.w.)

“i had a nightmare but now that i’m not scared”

based off “this is how you fall in love” by chelsea cutler and jeremy zucker

warning: mention of death and nightmares

word count: 1.3k

It was all so incredibly loud, the yelling and the crashing against his mother’s arms. Freddie laid out on the stretcher with ghostly pale skin and dirt over his brow, his normal smile replace by the ghost of a smile.

Ghost.

George could only hope Fred would be a happy ghost as he held his body to his chest, he didn’t deserve to spend the afterlife in pain. Freddie never deserved pain, someone that gentle always got the short end of the stick.

Ron collapsed across from him, his body shaking as he brushes ginger hair from his eye. George had been crying so hard he couldn’t even feel the tears as they stretch the length of his face.

Freddie was dead.

He hadn’t been out of Hogwarts but a year or so, yet he was on the floor of the very Great Hall the two would scream jokes at the top of their lungs. They grew up in these halls, yet he was lifeless all the same.

The room was caving in, the roof falling in as everyone ran screaming from the madness. George didn’t move, he couldn’t. He wanted to join Freddie, he didn’t want to be in a world that let young boys die for another young boy, where war was a normal Sunday afternoon.

“George.”

Freddie was calling him, he was going to see Freddie.

“George!”

The voice was panic, yelling for him to move. Did Freddie not want to see him?

“George!”

His body jolted from the pillow, his body clammy against the rough sheets of the Queen size bed. The finger on his shoulder was cool over his skin, calming his racing heart. He glanced around the room, the ceiling was perfectly intact and the dresser across from him told him he wasn’t in the Great Hall.

“Sweets?”

George jumped, whipping around to find his lover’s worried face inches from his own. Their lips in a delicate frown as their finger drew constellations over his freckles.

It was all a sick twisted dream. Fred died four years ago, he was long gone from the Burrow and the joke shop.

“Do you want something to drink?”

He couldn’t explain the release he felt hearing their voice, as if they pulled the nasty roots from his soil in order to plant the prettiest tulips. As if just their voice could ground him back to the world.

“Maybe,” his voice was hoarse, “some tea?”

They rushed from bed, their finger leaving a warmth against his skin as they hurried from the room. They didn’t bother putting on a robe in the freezing house in the late hours of a December night. George was the only thing on their mind.

He slowly eased from the bed, slipping out onto the carpet on the floor. His slippers would’ve only made his feet sweat, he was still coming down from the cold sweats, but he grabs the blue robe flung over the chair. Draping it over his arm, slowly making his way down the narrow hall of the house.

The pictures hung on the wall bought a small smile to his face, his mother and his lover holding one another and Percy with the twins before they ever entered Hogwarts. The wall on the right was dedicated to pictures of Fred, ones of (Y/N) and Fred from the Great Hall, and family pictures at the Burrow. George wished he took more pictures, he never liked how he looked enough, but he wished he would’ve just to have a small piece of Fred still with him.

His feet slide across the hardwood floor, easily finding (Y/N) rushing around the kitchen in the bright kitchen light. They glide around the room like a ballroom, their feet jumping over every loose board and missing each corner by an inch. They were used to the quirks of the kitchen they had lived in so long. They fit right in with the soft yellow walls and the green high stools as if the moment was out of a film the muggle would give awards too.

“You should’ve stayed in bed,” George was bought back, watching as they pour some tea into the mug.

“I hated the way the sheets felt on my legs,” he walked through the threshold, leaning on the small kitchen island while studying their face. Their lip held between their teeth and their eyebrows so focused on the milk mixture with the golden liquid.

“I’ll change ‘em, put the silks on,” they slide the tea across the island, trying to move around the change the sheets in the hurry. George stuck his arm out, grabbing their bicep before they could make it to the living room.

“Please don’t leave.”

Their body was beside his in a second, their finger tracing on his shoulder again, as if they weren’t running from the room seconds ago. He never thought people were meant to be fixed, no it never made sense, but he couldn’t help but feel grounded just by their touch alone.

“You always make it better,” his voice was barely above a whisper as he took a small sip from his cup. Perfect, just like he would’ve made it himself.

“I’m just here for you,” their breath fanning over his back, the sticky sweat running from the sweet breath of his lover.

“How do you do it so easily? How do you make it better?”

George never thought anyone would comfort him like Freddie, they were twins. You couldn’t match their bond, and while they didn’t, (Y/N) always could touch him on a different level. Of course, they could really touch him, like their finger on his skin or the kisses on his neck, but the grip they had on his heart was like a headlock.

“Love,” they answer would’ve made George laugh at any other time, telling them they watch too much Disney, but he couldn’t help but wonder.

“You think?”

“I know, falling in love can make things better when done right,” their chin rested on his back. He felt so at home like the nightmare was thought away in a far-off land.

“How do you do that? Falling in love?”

George knew he loved (Y/N), they’ve been saying it and showing it for years, but he never quite remember how it happened. He couldn’t recall a moment in time where he came to the conclusion, he just remembered saying it one day and saying it every day after that.

“This,” their words were confident, “this is how you fall in love.”

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t pinpoint it because there wasn’t a moment where it wasn’t like this. They always held him and made his tea perfect, never pushing to talk about anything. He always wondered about the world and they always seemed to have an answer, even when they didn’t. It had always been like this for the two, it was always like this between them. They had been slowly falling in love before every poet and writer’s very eyes, but at this moment as their finger traced stars on his back and the heat from the tea fanned over his chin, he knew his love was always this deep.

“I love you,” his arm wrapped around their shoulder, bringing them against his chest.

“I love you,” their eyelashes brushed against his pale skin, making his heart rate spike out of pure enjoyment of the domestic life before him.

He knew Freddie would be watching him, a proud smile on his face as he held on to his rock. He knew Freddie would want someone like (Y/N) to take care of him if he couldn’t do it himself.

He knew Freddie could feel the love he felt even from the afterlife.

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send in story ideas for the weasley twins!! i’m in the mood for witty laughter rn