#george weasleyreader
Summary:The Great Hall is quiet. Too quiet. You go looking for your boys—Fred and George—to see what sort of trouble you’re getting yourself into today. As always, trouble finds you first, as does your dumbass boyfriend and his twin.
Requested by @pearlll09:So uh I’m a bit of a simp for the weasley twins… your prompt list gave me an idea! If you want, pick a twin you’d be comfortable writing (i usually go for george cause he doesn’t die ToT) and do a reader insert with happy 7 - I’m sure that whoever ends up with the line, it will be great :)
Prompt:“Hey! I may be a dumbass, but I’m yourdumbass.”
Key: (H/h) - Hogwarts house, (Y/N) - your name
Warnings:mild cursing, threats, gender neutral reader!!
Word Count: 1,169 (nice)
Author’s Note: u always give me the best characters pearl ty!!! I’m a simp for George Weasley too so this was a lot of fun to write ajsldfkj. I couldn’t find a good excuse to use a poem for the title, so this one has a normal title smh my head.
*
The Great Hall is mostly quiet, which is highly unusual. Although, the absence of the Weasley twins might explain that absurdity.
You don’t see the matching heads of ginger hair when you enter for breakfast that morning. There are three other gingers at the Gryffindor table, but no two of them are closely paired, so they must be the other Weasleys. You make a beeline for the short-haired one that isn’t speaking loudly and obnoxiously—that’d be Percy—who isn’t sitting far from the long-haired one—Ginny.
“Good morning, you three!” you declare, sitting down right next to Harry, who sits across from Hermione and Ron.
(You shouldn’t really be sitting with them, a fifth year (H/h) that you are, but you’re a common enough staple of the Weasley family that it’s not entirely unexpectedeither.)
“Good morning, (Y/N),” the trio echoes in sync, which makes you grin.
“Gotten up to any trouble yet?” you ask, which is a frighteningly common question, especially concerning the Weasleys.
Hermione sighs. “The day is still young.”
“Oh, poor Hermione,” you say dramatically, reaching over to pat her shoulder in false comfort. “Just admit you like it as much as they do and your life will be much easier, promise.”
“(Y/N)’s speaking from experience,” Ron adds through a mouthful of food.
You nod proudly. “Speaking of my experience—have you seen my boys this morning?”
“No sign of them yet, thank Merlin,” their younger brother says immediately. “Why? Something planned?”
Your shrug is mischievous. “Maybe.”
“Theyalways have something planned,” Hermione counters.
Harry smiles. “I saw them in the common room this morning; heard something about Filch, too, but that’s it. They’ll be in time for Quidditch practise, won’t they?”
“On time? Maybe. But they’ll definitely be there,” you agree with a snicker. “I should go find them.”
Before you can leave, Ron huffs. “At least eat something, (Y/N).”
Harry raises his eyebrows at the very clear Mom tone to his voice, the same tone that has you rolling your eyes. You reach across the table anyway, snatching up a jam-covered piece of toast and standing.
“Better, Mum?” you ask once you’ve swallowed.
He scoffs, flushing. “Shut up.”
“You’d miss the voice of reason,” you retort. “Cheers, kids. See you in a bit!”
“Kids?” you hear Hermione snort after you leave. “We’re only two years below!”
“(Y/N) calls everyone younger a kid, ‘Mione,” Ron reminds her fondly. “Don’t take it personally.”
You dart out of the Great Hall, taking a loose path to Filch’s office. If Fred and George aren’t there, at least Filch might have an idea of where they have been this morning. He and Mrs Norris always have their eyes on you three, but they’ve never caught you long enough to make a dent in your rebellious streak. Merlin, if Molly Weasley can’t stop you, nobody can. And despite her best efforts, she is slowly losing that fight.
Whistling a merry tune, you turn a corner, only to stop and grin at the sound of a familiar gleeful laugh. It’s more of a devilish cackle, actually.
Down the hall, two distinct redheads are sprinting in your direction.
(Fred is the one that cackles. George prefers a good snicker.)
“What in Merlin’s name have you two—?”
“No time to talk, Filch on our tail, run!” George summarizes as they come upon you, grabbing your arm and dragging you along.
Back down the hall, a very pissed off caretaker screams: “YOU FILTHY BRATS! GET BACK HERE! I’LL HANG YOU BY YOUR TOES!”
You laugh, a loud and clear sound that bounces off the walls. It has George grinning wider than before as the two of you split off from Fred, the other twin disappearing as quickly as they’d appeared. Your boyfriend’s hand slips from your sleeve, but you immediately grasp his hand instead.
Dragged around another corner, you realise immediately that your boys must have planned this daring escape, because George quickly ducks into a tiny alcove with an empty wardrobe.
He closes the door behind you, the both of you crammed into the small space.
You press your fingers against his lips to quiet his heavy breathing, which earns you a huff of indignation. Not about to laugh aloud at the pout on his face, you simply smile.
Footsteps storm outside, right past the alcove. They pass, but neither of you move, too cautious to let Filch lure you into a false sense of security. He’s quiet for a long moment, but then he starts walking away, the taps of his boots growing ever further.
The moment he’s out of earshot, George lets out a breath of relief.
You start laughing quietly into his shoulder, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulder.
“It’s not even 9, George,” you wheeze, wiping at unshed tears.
“Perfect timing, right? Now he’ll be mad all day,” he says with a pleased smile. “I thought it was brilliant.”
You lean forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re a dumbass!”
“Hey! I may be a dumbass, but I’m yourdumbass.” He buries a hand in your hair, pouting again.
“My dumbass,” you clarify, rolling your eyes. “Harry was worried you’d miss Quidditch.”
“Never,” he declares. “Ridiculous, that. Oliver would have our heads.”
You snicker. “If you’re late again, he’s going to hunt you down. You know that, right? Worse than when you dyed his hair.”
“Let’s remember who saved me last time he got mad,” he teases, booping your nose.
“Because I love you and I always get you out of trouble.”
A sappy smile crosses his features. “Yeah. You’re good at that.”
He leans forward—a task that’s not difficult in the small space—kissing you gently, which has you smiling into it.
The wardrobe doors fly open and you split apart, faces flushed and smiling ridiculously.
“Oi!” says Fred, faking disgust. “No time for making out, lovebirds! We have Quidditch practise to get to!”
“Shut up, Fred,” you and George say in sync, bursting into laughter.
He scoffs, grabbing his brother’s shirt and dragging him out of the wardrobe. Instead of that same rough movement with you, he offers you a hand, which you take. Gracefully stepping out of the wardrobe, you snicker when the twins shove each other.
“Knock it off, you two,” you chide, taking George’s arm in yours. You pull Fred over to you and do the same on your other side, grinning.
“Good morning, (Y/N),” Fred finally greets properly.
You snort. “It was until someone decided to drag me away from breakfast.”
“I can make it up to you,” George says instantly, maneuvering your arms so that you’re holding hands instead. “Trip to the kitchens before Quidditch?”
“Soundslovely,” you decide. “And then we should talk about our product line-up, because I have some ideas.”
He grins. “Of course you do. You’re brilliant.”
Fred fakes a gag. George lets go of your hand just long enough to smack the back of his head, making you snicker.
“Boys.”
*
River’s Tags: @hahaboop&@mystoragehatesme
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