Bonnie

Not yours—George’s. That low, rolling sound that always seemed to carry through the corridors of Hogwarts, chasing away any gloom lingering in the air. You didn’t know how he managed it, but wherever George Weasley went, he brought the sun with him.

And you? You were content to stay in the shade.

Your paths had crossed so many times that it felt inevitable. You shared classes, the Gryffindor common room, countless Quidditch matches, and a mutual knack for being in the right place at the wrong time. George always seemed to notice you in those moments—the way your head tilted when you were thinking, or how your lips curved ever so slightly when you were holding back a smile.

And then there was the teasing.

“You know, you’d be brilliant at a joke shop,” he said once, sliding into the seat beside you in the library. “With that sense of humor you’ve been hiding, you could put even Fred and me out of business.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t deny it. There was something about George that made you feel like you could be a little sharper, a little bolder than usual. He brought it out of you without even trying.

But you never let it go further than that.

Not when his gaze lingered on you a little too long. Not when your heart stuttered every time he gave you that crooked grin. Not even when he sat beside you at every Gryffindor party, leaning close as if the rest of the room didn’t matter.

Because you knew George. He was everything you weren’t—reckless where you were careful, loud where you were quiet, bold where you were hesitant. You were convinced he was destined for something far brighter than the mundane life you imagined for yourself.

But one evening in your sixth year, as you sat together on the Astronomy Tower steps, watching the stars and listening to the hum of the castle below, you let yourself wonder.

“What’s it like?” you asked softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

George turned his head, the moonlight catching the copper in his hair. “What’s what like?”

“To be you.” You gestured vaguely, as if that explained anything. “To be fearless.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t his usual bright laugh—it was softer, quieter. “I’m not fearless, you know.”

You raised a brow, unconvinced.

“I’m serious!” he insisted, his grin faltering. “I just… don’t let it stop me. That’s all.”

You didn’t realize how closely he was watching you until you turned to meet his gaze. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you and the vast, endless sky.

But before you could say anything, before the moment could stretch into something more, George stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his robes. “Come on,” he said lightly, holding out a hand to help you up. “Fred’s probably wondering where I’ve gone off to.”

You hesitated, staring at his hand, before finally taking it. His grip was warm and steady, and you found yourself wishing he wouldn’t let go.

But he did.

And that was how it always went with George Weasley. Close, but never close enough.

&

It was easy to get used to George’s presence. Too easy.

He had a way of slipping into your life, filling spaces you didn’t realize were empty until he was there. Like tonight, at the edge of the Black Lake. The two of you sat on a crumbling old log, shivering slightly as the early spring breeze rippled across the water.

“I swear, if Snape gives us one more essay, I’m going to feed him to the giant squid,” George said, tossing a pebble into the lake with a dramatic flourish.

You snorted, hugging your knees to your chest. “The squid doesn’t deserve that. It’s innocent.”

He turned to look at you, his grin widening. “You’re right. That was cruel of me. Maybe I’ll just charm his robes to flash neon pink for a week instead.”

“Now that would be brilliant,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

Moments like these had become your sanctuary—just you and George, away from the noise of the castle, away from the world that always seemed to demand more from both of you. You weren’t sure when it had started, but somewhere along the way, this had become your unspoken ritual.

“Hey.” His voice broke the silence, softer now. “You ever think about what you want to do after all this?”

You glanced at him, frowning slightly. “After Hogwarts?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the stars. “Fred and I—we’ve got plans, you know? Big ones. But sometimes I wonder if I’ll… I don’t know. If I’ll actually go through with it.”

You blinked. “You? Not go through with something? That doesn’t sound like the George Weasley I know.”

He laughed, a little self-conscious this time. “Yeah, well, it’s different when it’s something that really matters, isn’t it? You start thinking about everything that could go wrong.”

You didn’t reply right away. Instead, you looked out at the lake, watching the moonlight dance on its surface.

“I think you’ll do it,” you said finally.

George turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “You’re George Weasley. You’ll figure it out.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, out of nowhere, he said, “What about you? What’s your big dream?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t a question you were used to answering, and the words felt foreign in your mouth. “I don’t know. I guess I’d like to… see the world. Do something that feels like it matters, you know? Something worth remembering.”

George tilted his head, his gaze steady. “You will.”

You gave a small, rueful smile. “You don’t know that.”

“Course I do,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re you.”

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you quickly looked away, pretending to adjust your scarf.

“Tell you what,” George said suddenly, sitting up straight. “If you ever feel like you’re stuck—like you can’t do whatever it is you’re meant to do—you tell me. And I’ll fix it.”

You raised a skeptical brow. “You’ll fix it?”

“Yep.” He grinned, utterly confident. “Whatever it takes.”

“George, you can’t just—”

“Promise me,” he interrupted, holding out his pinky.

You stared at him, incredulous. “A pinky promise? Are we five years old?”

“Hey, don’t underestimate the power of a pinky promise,” he said, wiggling his finger at you.

You sighed, but there was no resisting that grin. Hooking your pinky with his, you said, “Fine. I promise.”

“Good,” he said, his voice unexpectedly serious. “Because I mean it.”

And for some reason, you believed him.

&

The common room was quieter than usual. The muffled sounds of laughter and chatter from the dormitories seemed distant, leaving the space feeling oddly intimate. You and George were seated side by side on the old, worn sofa, the firelight casting flickering shadows across the room.

“I don’t know how you do it,” George said, breaking the silence. His voice was softer than usual, missing its typical teasing edge.

“Do what?” you asked, looking up from the parchment in your lap.

“Keep all of this together.” He gestured vaguely, his hand brushing the air. “Homework. Prefect duties. The whole ‘saving the school from falling apart’ thing. It’s… impressive.”

You laughed lightly, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” he said, his tone earnest. “I’ve always known you could handle anything.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and for a moment, the air between you shifted. His gaze lingered on you, softer and steadier than you’d ever seen, and you felt it—the weight of something unspoken, something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

“You’ve always known?” you teased, trying to lighten the moment, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

George’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Yeah. Always.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that made your heart race, the kind that felt like a question waiting to be answered.

His hand was resting on the edge of the sofa, just inches from yours. Neither of you moved, but the space between you felt impossibly small.

“George,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. “Yeah?”

You didn’t know what you were going to say. Or maybe you did, but the words were stuck in your throat, tangled with nerves and the fear of ruining something that had always been… undefined.

Before you could find the courage to speak—or before he could, either—the sound of footsteps on the staircase broke the moment.

Fred appeared, his expression unusually grim as he glanced between the two of you. “George,” he said, his tone clipped. “We’ve got to finish up. Now.”

George pulled back, the warmth of the moment dissipating in an instant. “Right. Be there in a minute.”

Fred hesitated, his eyes flicking to you as if debating whether to say more, but then he nodded and disappeared back up the stairs.

You frowned, looking at George. “Finish what?”

George hesitated, and you could see the conflict in his expression. He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the sofa. “I was going to tell you earlier… Fred and I are leaving.”

The words didn’t make sense at first. “Leaving?”

“Hogwarts,” he clarified, his voice quiet. “We’re not coming back after this weekend.”

You stared at him, your mind struggling to catch up. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he said, his tone steady but tinged with regret. “We’ve been planning it for a while. The shop’s ready, and… we just can’t stay here anymore.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking in. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I’m telling you now,” he said softly. “I didn’t want to leave without saying something. Not to you.”

The words were meant to comfort, but they only made the ache in your chest worse.

“And what?” you asked, your voice trembling. “You were just going to leave and hope I’d understand?”

“I thought you would understand,” he said, his voice growing quieter. “You’ve always been the one who gets it. Who gets me.”

You couldn’t find the words to respond. The hurt was too raw, too fresh.

George shifted closer, his hand brushing yours for just a moment before pulling back. “This doesn’t mean goodbye forever, you know.”

You looked at him, searching his face for something—reassurance, hope, anything to ease the ache in your chest. His eyes softened, and you thought of that day by the Black Lake, the promise you both made that had lingered between you ever since.

“You’re still holding onto it, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, understanding what he meant without needing clarification. “Of course I am.”

“So am I,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’ll still be there when we see each other again.”

It wasn’t the confession you wanted. But it was the only one either of you could offer, here and now.

&

The first few months without George felt like a puzzle missing its most vital piece. Life at Hogwarts carried on, but without his presence—his laugh echoing down the corridors, his clever remarks that made you bite back smiles in even the most serious situations—everything felt muted.

You tried to throw yourself into schoolwork, into your duties as a prefect, into your friendships. But no amount of distraction could stop you from replaying that last night in the common room, the quiet promise he left hanging in the air between you.

It’ll still be there when we see each other again.

The words haunted you, both a comfort and a curse. How long would “when” take? And what would “it” look like when you found it again?

You didn’t owl him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to—it was that you didn’t know what to say. What could you possibly write to someone who’d carved himself into your life so completely, only to leave? So you stayed silent. And, maddeningly, so did he.

Then the war began to loom over everything. Whispers of Voldemort’s return became shouts, and the weight of fear settled like a fog across the castle. The once vibrant halls of Hogwarts grew darker—both literally and figuratively. Students were no longer concerned with petty rivalries or Quidditch matches; they were concerned with survival.

You told yourself you didn’t think about George much anymore, but that was a lie. In the moments of quiet, when the threat of war felt heaviest, your mind wandered back to him. You wondered where he was, if he was safe, if he ever thought of you.

And then the war came in full force.

The news of Dumbledore’s death shook the castle, and the arrival of the Carrows solidified the nightmare. You tried to be brave, to stand strong, but bravery was harder when you didn’t have someone like George by your side to remind you that the world could still be good, still be funny, even when it felt like it was falling apart.

You fought, of course. You stood beside your friends, doing everything you could to resist the tyranny that had overtaken Hogwarts. But you felt the loss of him like an ache in your chest, a hollowness that you couldn’t quite fill.

When the war finally ended, and the dust of the Battle of Hogwarts settled, you didn’t feel victorious. You felt exhausted, broken, and adrift.

The first time you saw George again, it wasn’t planned.

You’d stepped into Diagon Alley on a whim, needing to pick up a few supplies. The destruction from the war was still evident in the cracked cobblestones and the boarded-up windows of shops that had yet to reopen. It was quieter than you remembered, the air heavy with the echoes of what had been lost.

You weren’t even sure why you stopped in front of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something else. Either way, you found yourself staring up at the garish purple sign, at the brightly colored window display that seemed so at odds with the somber mood of the alley.

And then you saw him.

He was standing behind the counter, speaking to a customer with a faint smile on his face. His hair was longer than you remembered, a little shaggier, and there were dark circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there before. But he was alive. He was George.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you considered turning around and walking away. What would you even say to him after all this time? But before you could decide, he looked up—and his eyes locked onto yours.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then his smile softened, something unreadable flickering across his face, and he waved you over.

“Look what the Nifflers dragged in,” he said when you reached the counter. His voice was lighter than you expected, but you could hear the tension beneath it.

You laughed softly, though it sounded more like a sigh. “I didn’t mean to stop by. I just… saw the shop.”

“And thought, ‘Why not see how George Weasley’s holding up?’” he teased, though the question felt heavier than it should have.

“Something like that.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there, just looking at each other. The war had left its mark on both of you, in ways that words couldn’t fully capture.

“Fred told me you fought,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “That you helped protect the castle.”

You nodded. “I did what I could.”

“Sounds like you did a hell of a lot more than that.” His gaze softened, and for the first time in years, you saw the George you remembered—the one who believed in you, even when you didn’t believe in yourself.

“What about you?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. “How are you holding up?”

His smile faltered, and he looked down at the counter. “Some days are better than others.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

That day, you didn’t talk about what had happened between you—not yet. But when he offered you a cup of tea in the backroom, and you accepted, it felt like the first step toward something.

Not a new beginning, exactly. But maybe the start of healing.

&

It was never a conscious decision, the way you and George fell into each other’s lives again. It wasn’t planned, wasn’t something either of you sought out. But it happened—slowly, quietly, like the tide creeping back to the shore after the storm.

It began with the little things.

A lingering glance across the shop. The sound of his laugh breaking through the dull ache in your chest. The way he always seemed to know when you needed silence or when you needed a distraction.

You weren’t sure if he realized it, or if you were just too aware of it yourself.

One evening, after the shop had closed and Fred had disappeared upstairs with a quick “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you found yourself in the small backroom again.

George was finishing inventory, scribbling on a clipboard as you sipped tea at the worn wooden table. The shop was quiet now, except for the scratch of his quill and the occasional creak of the chair as he shifted.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he said eventually, not looking up.

You glanced at him, at the way his brow furrowed in concentration. “I don’t mind,” you replied. It was the truth.

His quill paused, just for a moment. “Alright,” he murmured, returning to his list.

It was like that most nights. He didn’t ask why you stayed, and you didn’t offer an explanation. You just…did.

But somewhere along the way, the silence between you shifted.

One night, as you leaned against the counter while he reorganized a shelf, he turned to you, his expression softer than usual.

“Do you ever think about it?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet.

“About what?”

“Us. Before.”

Your heart stuttered at the question. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, even though the weight of it was almost too much. “Sometimes.”

He nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Me too.”

You wanted to say more, to ask him what he thought about, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you looked away, pretending to study the box of biscuits on the counter.

“Do you think it would’ve worked?” he pressed gently, his tone almost hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

You exhaled, the breath shaky in your chest. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Neither of you said anything after that. But the moment lingered, hanging in the air long after the silence returned.

Over the next few weeks, the rhythm between you shifted.

It was subtle at first—the way his hand lingered near yours when he handed you a cup of tea, the way his smile softened when you laughed.

One evening, as you sat on the worn sofa in the backroom, you found yourself leaning closer to him, your knees brushing against his. He didn’t move away.

“It’s strange,” you murmured, staring down at your cup.

“What is?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “It feels…”

“Like it’s where it’s supposed to be,” he finished for you.

You looked up at him, startled by the certainty in his voice. His gaze met yours, steady and unguarded.

Your breath caught, but you forced yourself to smile. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve missed this,” he said quietly.

Your heart clenched at the admission. “Me too.”

It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t a confession. But it was enough.

And slowly, without either of you realizing, you began to slip back into each other’s orbits.

The first time you noticed the shift was on a particularly quiet evening.

You were helping George restock the shelves, your hands brushing more often than they should. Every time it happened, he glanced at you, his expression unreadable but warm.

When you reached for the same jar of powdered moonstone, your fingers collided, and neither of you moved for a moment.

“You take it,” you said softly, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

“Alright,” he replied, but his hand lingered on yours a beat too long.

Later, as you sat on the sofa with him, a shared blanket draped over your legs, you caught yourself leaning into his shoulder. It felt natural, effortless.

But that night, as you walked home, the weight of it hit you. You were falling for him again—if you’d ever stopped.

The turning point came quietly, slipping into your life like a thief in the night.

It was Fred who noticed first.

“You two are ridiculous, you know that?” he said one evening, watching the way George’s gaze lingered on you as you laughed.

“What are you on about?” George replied, but his ears turned pink, and he avoided Fred’s knowing grin.

Fred just shook his head, muttering something under his breath about hopeless idiots.

&

The letter came in a crisp white envelope, bearing the emblem of the prestigious Parisian institution. When you unfolded it, your breath caught.

It was everything you’d worked for, everything you’d ever wanted. And yet, the words on the page felt heavier than you could have imagined.

You held the letter in trembling hands as you sat on the sofa in the backroom of the shop. George was across from you, scribbling notes for a new product, utterly unaware of the storm brewing in your mind.

“George,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up, concern flickering in his eyes the moment he saw your expression. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, holding the letter out to him. He took it, his brows knitting together as he read.

When he finished, he looked back at you, his face carefully neutral. “This is incredible,” he said, though his voice lacked the enthusiasm you expected.

“It is,” you said, forcing a smile. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“But?” he prompted, tilting his head.

“But…I only just got back to you,” you admitted, your voice cracking at the edges. “How can I leave again? How can I walk away now, after everything?”

He didn’t reply right away. He leaned back in his chair, the letter still in his hand, his eyes fixed on some distant point in the room.

Finally, he sighed. “You have to go,” he said quietly.

The words hit you like a Bludger to the chest. “What?”

“You have to go,” he repeated, looking at you now. “You’ve worked so hard for this, and I—” He paused, his jaw tightening. “I can’t be the reason you don’t take it.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “But what about us?”

“What about us?” he echoed, his voice softer now. “We’ve always been ‘almost.’ Always just…missing each other. I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to look back and regret not going because of me.”

You shook your head, the tears spilling over now. “I don’t want to leave you.”

He stood, crossing the room to kneel in front of you. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears.

“Do you remember the promise we made at the Black Lake?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, your heart aching at the memory.

“We promised we’d fix it,” he said. “And this…this is me fixing it. You need to do this.”

“But what about you?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be here. The shop will be here. And if it’s meant to be…” He trailed off, his gaze searching yours.

“If it’s meant to be, we’ll find our way back,” you finished for him, your voice trembling.

He nodded. “We always do, don’t we?”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. Neither of you said anything for a long time, the silence filling with everything you couldn’t say aloud.

Finally, he pulled back, his hands dropping to his sides. “Go,” he said firmly, though his voice was laced with emotion. “Go make your mark in Paris. And when you’re ready…come back.”

You nodded, though it felt like your heart was shattering with every breath.

It wasn’t what you wanted, not really. But deep down, you knew he was right.

You had to go.

&

You didn’t expect the shop to feel so foreign.

When you left a year ago, you promised yourself you’d come back. You didn’t imagine how much could change in the meantime, or how distant you would feel from the place you once called home.

The bell above the door chimed, and you stepped inside. The familiar scent of sugar, sawdust, and something faintly explosive greeted you, pulling a small smile from your lips.

“Welcome to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!” a voice called cheerfully from behind the counter.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, you thought it was George. But as you looked up, your stomach dropped. It wasn’t him.

The girl standing there was about your age, with blonde hair pulled into a neat ponytail and a bright, effortless smile.

“Can I help you find anything?” she asked.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I’m—uh—I’m looking for George.”

She tilted her head, her smile faltering slightly. “Oh, he’s upstairs, working on a new design. Should I get him?”

Before you could answer, you heard his voice from the staircase.

“No need, Ella, I’ve got it,” George said, appearing at the top of the stairs.

He froze when he saw you.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice catching in your throat.

“Hey,” he replied, his expression unreadable as he descended the stairs.

It had been a year since you’d seen him. A year of letters exchanged sporadically, each one growing shorter and more distant. A year of wondering if the promise you made still held any weight.

George reached the bottom step, his hands shoved into his pockets. He didn’t look at you right away, his eyes darting between you and Ella, who was now watching the two of you with open curiosity.

“I’ll—uh—just stock the shelves in the back,” she said quickly, giving you both a polite smile before disappearing into the storeroom.

You and George stood in silence, the air between you heavy and uncertain.

“You’re back,” he said finally.

You nodded. “I’m back.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he glanced toward the storeroom door where Ella had vanished. “When did you get in?”

“This morning,” you said, fidgeting with the strap of your bag. “I wanted to see the shop.”

“And how was Paris?” he asked, his tone casual, though there was something beneath it you couldn’t quite place.

“It was…” You trailed off, searching for the right word. “Lonely.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the guarded expression on his face cracking ever so slightly.

“But you did it,” he said. “You lived your dream.”

You nodded, though it felt hollow now. “And you? How’s everything here?”

“Good,” he said, his voice tight. “The shop’s doing well. Fred’s…Fred.”

“And Ella?” you asked before you could stop yourself, the name tasting bitter on your tongue.

He blinked, caught off guard. “She helps out around here,” he said simply, though the way he shifted on his feet made you wonder.

“She seems nice,” you said, forcing a smile.

George didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied you, his gaze searching your face like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” he said quietly.

“Neither did I,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a step closer, and for a moment, you thought he might say something more. But the door to the storeroom swung open, and Ella reappeared, carrying a box of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

“Where should I put this?” she asked, oblivious to the tension in the room.

George cleared his throat, stepping back. “Uh, by the display in the front.”

Ella nodded and walked past, her presence a stark reminder of how much had changed.

You took a step back, too, your heart sinking. “I should go,” you said quickly, your voice wavering.

“Wait—” George started, but you were already at the door.

“It was good to see you,” you said, forcing a smile you didn’t feel. “Really.”

Before he could say anything else, you slipped out the door, the bell chiming behind you.

As you walked away, you realized that the shop wasn’t the only thing that felt foreign now.

So did he.

&

The first time you ran into George again, it was at the Leaky Cauldron. He was alone, sitting at the bar with a Butterbeer in hand, lost in thought. He looked up as you passed, his gaze catching yours, and for a moment, it felt like the past year hadn’t happened.

You both hesitated, each waiting for the other to speak.

“Hey,” he finally said, his voice soft.

“Hey,” you replied, your heart stumbling over itself.

It wasn’t much of a conversation. Polite smiles, an exchange of awkward pleasantries, and then you were gone again, the weight of his presence pressing against your chest long after you left.

The next time, it was in Diagon Alley. He was with Ella.

You hadn’t meant to stop, but the sight of him—of them—froze you in place. She was laughing at something he said, her hand brushing against his arm, and it felt like a knife twisting in your gut.

He called out for you, noticing you before you could slip away.

Ella turned, her smile bright and welcoming, blissfully unaware of the history standing between you and George. “Hi! It’s so good to see you again.”

You forced a smile, nodding at her before meeting George’s eyes. They were unreadable, as always.

“Hi,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Have you been well?” George asked, his tone careful, like he was afraid the wrong word might shatter whatever fragile thread was holding this moment together.

“Fine,” you lied, your throat tight. “You?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Good.”

You didn’t stay long.

It became a pattern after that. You’d see him at the shop, or out with mutual friends, or walking through the Alley. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes he wasn’t. The encounters were brief, stilted, like neither of you knew how to exist in the same space anymore.

And then, one night, everything came to a head.

The rain came down in relentless sheets, drenching the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. You hadn’t expected anyone to show up on your doorstep, least of all George, but when the knock echoed through your flat, some part of you already knew.

You opened the door, and there he stood—soaked to the bone, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his eyes holding something that made your chest tighten. Neither of you spoke at first, the rain filling the silence between you, as if it could drown the years of longing and missed chances.

“George,” you finally said, stepping aside to let him in. He hesitated, his hand gripping the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright, before crossing the threshold.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he muttered, brushing past you.

You closed the door behind him, your mind spinning. “What’s wrong?”

He turned to you, his expression unreadable, but his hands—his hands trembled. “This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between you. “This has been wrong for years, hasn’t it?”

Your heart sank. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” he snapped, his voice louder than you’d ever heard it. “I’ve been trying to move on—Merlin, I thought I had. And then you came back.”

You flinched, the words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” he interrupted. “Didn’t mean to show up and turn everything upside down again?”

The anger in his voice mirrored the storm outside, but it wasn’t just anger—it was pain, and it made your throat tighten. “You think this is easy for me?” you shot back, your own voice rising. “I never stopped thinking about you, George. Not for a single day. But you—you had someone else. You made your choice.”

His laughter was bitter. “You think it was that simple? That I just—what? Stopped caring about you because Ella showed up? No. I tried to forget you because you left!”

“I didn’t leave you,” you said, your voice cracking. “I left for me. Because I needed to, and you told me to go.”

“And look where it got us,” he said, his voice breaking as he raked a hand through his damp hair. “You’re back, and everything’s worse than it’s ever been. I thought I could pretend. I thought if I saw you enough, it would get easier. But it doesn’t.”

You took a shaky step closer, your pulse pounding in your ears. “Why are you here, George?”

“Because I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t stand seeing you, and I can’t stand not seeing you. It’s maddening.”

The air between you crackled with everything unsaid, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance. “Then stop pretending,” you said, your voice trembling.

He froze as your words hung in the air. You were so close now, you could feel the heat radiating from him, see the way his jaw clenched, how his breathing quickened.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft or sweet or anything you’d imagined all those years ago. It was desperate, filled with anger and longing and all the things you’d both kept bottled up.

But it wasn’t right.

You broke away first, stumbling back, your breath ragged. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head.

George’s chest heaved as he stared at you, his expression unreadable. “Why not?”

“Because this isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” you said, tears pricking at your eyes. “Not like this. Not when you’re still with her.”

He ran a hand down his face, his frustration evident. “I know.”

Your heart twisted, the revelation sending a jolt through you. “This is wrong. We’re wrong.”

“I know,” he said again, his voice breaking.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “Fix this, George,” you said, your voice trembling. “Fix us.”

You were begging him, begging him to keep his promise from all these years ago.

His gaze softened, but the pain in his eyes didn’t fade. “I don’t know how to fix us,” he admitted, the words cutting through you like a blade.

The silence that followed was deafening, and when he finally turned to leave, you let him go, tears streaming down your face.

When the door clicked shut, you sank to the floor, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady your breathing, but it was no use. You were falling apart, and for the first time in years, you weren’t sure if George would be there to pick up the pieces.

&

The days turned into weeks, and somehow, miraculously, your path and George’s didn’t cross again. Not in Diagon Alley, not in the pubs, not even through your mutual friends. It was as though the universe had decided you both needed the space to finally breathe.

At first, it felt like suffocating. You’d always thought the hardest part was seeing him, knowing he was there but not yours. But the silence—the void he left—it was worse. There were no chance encounters to brace for, no stolen glances to both dread and crave. Just emptiness.

You threw yourself into work, into anything that could keep your mind occupied. Yet, every time you returned to your flat, the quiet was unbearable. You found yourself staring at the spot where George had stood that night, hearing the echo of his voice.

“I don’t know how to fix us.”

You hated him for that. And yet, you couldn’t blame him.

Healing wasn’t linear. Some days you convinced yourself you were better off—stronger for having walked away from something that would’ve broken you in the end. Other days, you broke all over again, mourning not just George, but the version of yourself that had loved him so completely, so recklessly.

Months passed. Then a year.

You didn’t know when the ache dulled, only that one day, it hurt just a little less. The rain no longer reminded you of that night, and Diagon Alley became just another street. You stopped looking for his face in the crowd, stopped imagining what you’d say if you saw him.

And then, of course, the universe brought him back.

It was late spring, the air warm but still carrying the crispness of a lingering chill. You were on your way out of Flourish and Blotts, balancing a stack of books in your arms, when you heard his voice.

“Let me get that for you.”

Your heart stopped.

You turned slowly, and there he was. George Weasley, standing before you, his hair a little longer, his smile softer, and his eyes—those same eyes—holding a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name.

“George,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He reached out, taking the top few books from your stack without waiting for an answer. His hand brushed yours briefly, and it sent a shock through you, one you hadn’t felt in so long.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, his tone light, almost careful.

You laughed, though it came out more bitter than you’d intended. “That’s a loaded question, don’t you think?”

His smile faltered for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

You both stood there, awkwardly, as the world moved on around you. For the first time in years, you didn’t know what to say to him.

“Ella’s gone,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

Your breath caught, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “Oh.”

“It’s been a while now,” he continued, his voice quieter. “I thought… you might want to know.”

“Why?” you asked, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the books in his arms. “Because I didn’t want you to think I hadn’t changed. That I didn’t learn anything from… from us.”

Us.

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the books in your hands. “And did you?”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the noise of the street seemed to fade. “I think so.”

It was such a simple answer, yet it carried the weight of everything you’d both endured—apart and together.

“I thought I’d run into you sooner,” he said, a ghost of a smile returning to his lips.

“Maybe it wasn’t time,” you said softly.

“Maybe.”

The pause stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy this time. It felt… necessary.

“You look good,” he said suddenly, his smile growing a little. “Happier.”

“I’m trying,” you admitted. “It’s not perfect, but… I’m getting there.”

“Good,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made your chest ache.

For a moment, it felt like old times. Like you could slip back into the rhythm you’d once had, but you knew better now. You both did.

“Well,” you said, adjusting the books in your arms. “I should get going.”

“Yeah,” he said, handing his share of the books back to you. But before you could turn, he stopped you. “Wait.”

You looked back at him, your heart racing.

“I still don’t know how to fix us,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the noise of the street. “But if you want to try… I’d like to figure it out together.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to hope.

You gave him a small smile, one that felt genuine and warm, despite the lingering ache in your chest. “Maybe this time, we’ll get it right.”

He nodded, and the smile he gave you in return was filled with something you hadn’t seen in years. Not certainty, not closure, but something close enough to start again.

"did i ever tell you how beautiful you are?" spitting out your drink in shock you turn to look at your best friend and see him looking at you, swaying drunkenly. george has definitely had too much to drink tonight. before he can say anything else that you know he'll regret in the morning you cover his mouth with your hand. "honestly george, i leave you alone for an hour to talk to adrian and you get wasted and start sprouting nonsense. normally you're the one stopping me from doing stupid stuff, georgie," you giggle, vowing to make sure you don't get any drunker so you can get you both home safe.

you first met fred and george in potions in your 4th year and it was a rocky start, they didn't like slytherins and you didn't have the time and energy to waste on trying to get people to like you. however that all changed when in one class fred nearly messed up his wit-sharpening potion by putting gurdyroot in instead of ginger root, immediately you grabbed his wrist before he could put it in, straight away scolding yourself for doing such an idiot thing and dropping his hand. normally you wouldn't've minded if someone messed up their work, plus potions was your best class so it'd be less competition but sitting in front of george weasley and then right next to fred it was inevitable you took a liking to their antics, even if you never told them so or even spoke to them.

at the time fred was extremely suspicious, some girl who he'd never spoke to before stopping him from putting in an ingredient. before he could even question it you stated, "it's meant to be ginger root, you've got it wrong." you turned away from him and carried on with what you were previously doing, not wanting to see his reaction, you warned him and he'd do with that what he will. you expected him to not respond but you didn't expect utter silence from his workside. "you can believe me or not, i don't care. don't just do nothing though, snape's going to think you're up to something and it'll distract me when he comes over."

you started to get pissed off at weasley's lack of movement before you heard him not so quietly whisper to george, "oi, what's meant to be in this thing? gurdyroot?" you didn't hear what george said, you're not sure if it was because he was actually quieter or if you were slightly stunned and pleased with the fact he took some notice on what you said and didn't throw away what you said you said completely. in the corner of your eye you saw fred turn back around and almost sounded reluctant as he replied, "shit. urrr thanks.. i guess."

after that day you both took more interest in each other, only talking when having something that needed to be said but that was definitely an upgrade in your relationship. george took notice of this change but others didn't. by the end of your fourth year you talked in potions together all the time, with george joining in by leaning over to talk to you both, cheekily winking at you whenever he caught you looking at him, promptly leading to an eye roll from you and occasionally walking over to you under the guise of needing to get something where you were, leading to many detentions and you vowing to never speak to him again if he distracted you in crucial parts in class. everybody just thought george wanted to talk to fred but they were wrong.

you also listened to their prank ideas, giving impute when you can but mostly just fascinated by everything they were saying. you'd stealthily give them presents for christmas and their birthday and they'd always tease you about it but you'd always be able to tell they liked what you gave them. they also decided to bother you while you studied in the library. to this day you think about shock people must have had when fred and george said they were going to the library for the first time, madam pince probably thought she was going mad when she saw them.

it just turned into a secret, your friendship, you're not really sure how, you just knew that fred and george didn't want people to know about you. you wish you could have said the same but you had no interest in what others thought of you. you were very prideful of your house but you didn't care about your reputation, at those times you wish the twins felt the same. you would like to say it didn't bother you to keep quiet about how you're friends with them but it did, not all the time but sometimes it did get to you. you'd finally found amazing friends and they actually liked you for you and have interest in what you had to say, they were probably the closest friends you had and had ever had. you knew that you kept to yourself and you liked that fred and george somehow managed to get you to open up so being made to never speak to them in front of other people hurt sometimes. you sometimes wondered if you mattered that much in their lives.

that was answered to you after a quidditch match, slytherin against gryffindor. slytherin won by a landslide and for some reason the other team were off their game this time, whatever the reason it was a win to slytherin. you wished you could have cheered on fred and george, they are great beaters but you knew you couldn't have cheered for them, that's okay though because adrian was on the slytherin team and you two have always been close since first year. you were decked out in all green, cheering him on and the rest of the team, house spirit and all, scarf and socks matching, watching them play.

on your way back into the castle you see a small commotion and notice the green robes so you went over there to see an argument between some of the two teams. malfoy spewing rubbish like all ways. more and more people were starting to come over and you knew soon one of the professors would get there, you were not going to lose house points today, especially when you've just won the game and gained house points in return. "the only reason you're still on the slytherin team malfoy is because your father's paying flint's parents to keep you on the team." you heard potter say as you walked up towards them.

you reached your hand out to touch malfoy's shoulder pulling him back. "let's go malfoy, it's not worth it, we just won."

you froze as you heard potter talk to you, he'd never even looked at you before, now he's got it in for you. "who are you, anyway? just some other blood-purist? bet you're so proud of your house cheating." if you were more confident in that moment you would of spoken up, would've told him to shut it, that he knows nothing about you. but you realised everyone is looking at you, slytherins, gryffindors even hufflepuffs and ravenclaws and the twins are behind harry and oh god you felt sick. you tried your hardest to not look the twins in the eye or even in their direction at all. you thought that they're probably disgusted that they ever talked to you. you're nothing like what potter thought you were and everyone who knew you knew that but fred and george never did ask you questions about your beliefs, maybe afterwards they had doubts when potter said that.

you kept your head down and walked away, pushing against people, clearly trying not to cry. you just wanted to get out of there. you found out how much you mean to the twins when george see's your figure leaving, going back to the castle. without much thought about the situation he goes to correct harry, because there was no way in merlin he was going to let someone think that about you. fred beat him to it though, "she really is nothing like that harry." george pushes against everyone as he followed you, catching up with you quickly.

"don't worry about it, harry just doesn't know you."

you couldn't help it, it just came. you were overwhelmed with emotions and frustration you stop momentarily, spun to face him and shout, "that's the whole problem. he doesn't know me! leave me alone weasley, i never want to speak to you again." you walked off quickly, deciding you're done. it's over and you just want to sleep for the rest of the day.

george wasn't too fond of this idea and he catches up with you again. honestly he was slightly taken aback by your outburst, one second he saw you desperately try to stop malfoy from saying anything else due to not wanting to get into trouble and the next second harry made you run off while trying not to cry. he wished that you never saw the fight between them all, he hoped you didn't think ill of him. "please don't go, let's just go wait for fred somewhere, he's probably still fighting with malfoy."

"didn't you hear me weasley, i'm done. i'm not going to be your stupid secret. i don't want to be your bloody friend only when it suits you."

george never meant for you to think that you're a secret and he knew fred felt the same. "i'll fix this." you didn't answer but all you could think was 'no, not this time.'

you did however successfully help deescalate the argument. gryffindor's confusement with how the twins stood up for you left malfoy to throw a couple of snide comments without any reply from them, leading enough time for pansy to notice mcgonagall on her way over and warn all her house that they should leave, including a very worked up malfoy.

"what the bloody hell was that all about?" ron questions fred, everyone else turning to face him thinking exactly the same thing.

"well obviously malfoy was being a git like always."

"you know bloody well that's not what i mean."

"is she who you go see when you 'go to the library'?" ginny asks. "i mean seriously, it's not like i believe you both have suddenly started studying multiple times a week."

fred knew ginny's caught him out but he doesn't know what to say. how would they all react to finding out about you and what if you don't even want anyone in slytherin to figure out your friends with two gryffindors.

"we're friends." fred hears as he turns round to see george had come back. he didn't want for you to feel like a secret anymore. he wonders where you are and questions him. "she said she's going... actually i don't know where."

"is she okay?"

george pauses for a second, "we'll figure something out."

ginny was the only one who didn't have something to say about what they'd all just found out. she had a suspicion something was up, she just didn't know what, she really did not think that it would be something to do with a slytherin though. but everyone else definitely was not taking the news too well. not just a slytherin but someone opening being friendly with malfoy, at least in their eyes that's what it looked like.

every time you saw the twins after that you walked away, doing everything in your power to stay away from them. that did not work for long, as two days after the incident you had charms first period with george. mentally preparing yourself to see him and ignore him no matter what he said or how funny he is, you get out of bed, get ready and leave the common room.

as you left you get the fright of your life. "oh merlin, george! what are you doing lurking about?" your heart racing out due to the jump and still trying to be angry and scold him even though you missed him and fred incredibly so. you see him smirk as he tries not to laugh and you want so bad to wipe that smirk of his stupid face.

"i've come to carry your bag, you always complain that you have to carry to many books on tuesday so i've come to save you, i'm your knight in shining armour! we've got charms." before you can even retort and tell him to go away he's taken your bag and is walking off.

"hey give me my bag back!" he doesn't try to keep in his laugh this time as he then assures you that you'll have it in charms. "i need that bag now weasley, if you remember before class there's normally a little thing called breakfast."

"i did actually forget about that. let's go have some breakfast then." he carried on walking and didn't give you your bag back. you're walking in the halls together and you don't know how to react. not only are you angry at him but now you're confused because what the hell does he think he's doing and why did he suddenly care about you enough to be seen with you.

"stop thinking so much. you know me and fred really care about you and we'll make it up to you. we never wanted you to feel the way you have been feeling. godric i'll even drop a bag of dungbombs in mcgonagall's classroom because i know how much you secretly don't like her. even if you pretend you do, i see your face scrunch up in annoyance all the time when she talks."

you unsuccessfully tried to hide your smile, as you mumble about how you want your bag back and how you wasn't even thinking about that. george relaxes more as he see's you smile, there was always that insecurity that you'd never talk to him again after the quidditch match although fred was so sure you would and told him so and he's so fred was right glad.

right now though at this party fred's on his own this time with getting home. you're pretty sure he was talking to seamus finnigan and neville longbottom last time you saw him anyway so it's unlikely you'll see him again tonight if he's with all gryffindor alumni.

you've found it best to stay away from that lot anyway, as you've only properly met the twins family and harry, and you know they're probably very welcoming people now that they know who you are and the twins want you to properly meet them but you had a hard enough time meeting hermione granger for the first time, you don't want the hassle of going through that all again and even after all these years you know that she still doesn't like you, no matter how close you both are to the weasley family. you remember bursting out crying the first time they invited you to spend the holidays with them at the burrow when they found out you'd be staying at hogwarts that year for christmas.

now george has come to find you he hasn't left your side, not even by an inch, so close together you can feel each others body heat, squished on a small sofa together with your thighs touching. he tries to hold out to you and you're unsure about what he wants to do but lean into his touch anyway. "don't get your drink on my dress or i'll kill you weasley."

he grins and pulls you closer, you're now tucked under his chin, being able to feel his heartbeat. you're already hot from the summer heat and the dancing, but you welcome being so close to him, quickly getting used to the position.

'fred's normally the one who's touchier.' you didn't realise you said that out loud until george pulls you tighter to him, humming back to you.

you both sit together for a minute or two, listening to the party-goers and the music in the background. you could sit there all day with george, doing nothing in particular, just being next to him. just like at hogwarts when it was only you and him, fred's off somewhere else and you'd both sit under one of the oak trees in the shade away from everyone else and play with his hair absentmindedly, reading to him as he closes his eyes and listens. but as you go to sip your drink you hear george say, "i don't like how you and fred always touch each other." you stop moving and draw your hand back down without drinking. he really must have no filter when he's had too much to drink.

"what on earth are you talking about george? you make it sound like we're bloody all over each other. you know we don't have any kind of feelings for each other. plus does it really matter to you?"

you look to him and see his eyebrows furrowed and lips in a tight line. "you are all over each other though." he looks you in the eye while whispering. "and pucey, what's his deal, you know he was a shit quidditch player right?"

you get up to leave, george may be pissed drunk but right now he's pissing you off. you decide you'll cool off and come find him later on to take you both home. that is unless you see him making out in the corner with alicia spinnet. last time he got in a mood like this with you it was at a party in your last year at hogwarts. for some reason george just had so much to drink and started questioning why you spent the night dancing with fred and even started talking about how you went to the yule ball with flint. aware that you were both drunk you didn't want to argue you left to find fred. later when you came to find george after missing him and wanting to forget about the outburst, you saw him snogging alicia spinnet, his hands on her waist and her hands in his hair. just seeing it made you feel sick and overcome with feelings you don't want to confront as you left the party without saying bye to anyone, nearly forgetting the password for the common room as you stumble inside, wanting to forget about the entire night.

this won't be like last time though as before you can successfully make your escape george holds onto your wrist and drags you back down onto the sofa, nearly landing on his lap. with his other hand he tilts your head towards him, so you're face to face and eye level. too flustered and surprised, you don't move. you're so close to each other that you can can smell the firewhisky he's been drinking and the sandalwood shampoo he uses and his cinnamon scented body wash and cologne. you're so close you can count his freckles and you're trying desperately not too think about this. george is your best friend, george weasley is not someone who should distract you from your surroundings because all you can focus on is him.

"the only person who you should be all over is me. not pucey, not fred, not that twat flint that took you to the yule ball, not that bloody ravenclaw who kept eyeing you up in our 5th year, it's me, not them." your eyes widen as george talks softly to you. you're gazing into each others eyes and you don't think you've ever seen george look so nervous in his life. you think his eyes are beautiful, you've always thought that. like he told you he thinks yours are tonight, like how he told you how beautiful in general you are tonight. but right now it's different, he's being vulnerable and trusting you by letting you look, by letting you softly study his features in more detail than you've ever been able to in the past, it's an open invitation into his heart and soul, trying to convey to you how much you mean to him. his chocolate brown eyes are glazed over and you're unsure if it's due to him drinking or if it's because he's telling you how he feels and he's getting emotional. you see crinkles under his eyes from his countless hours of laughing and smiling and pulling pranks. how he's slowing blinking as if his eyelids feel heavy. you wonder what he can see in your eyes and during this moment you can't even begin to recall what your own eye colour is. the warmth of his eyes making you forget your own, you believe they're probably glassy due to what george confessed.

you licked your lips, suddenly finding them incredibly dry, "why?"

george slightly moves his head back further away from you, "why, what?" george didn't know what you would say but he didn't expect it to be a one word question that he's too drunk to wrap his head around to understand. he genuinely did not know where this night was going to go at the beginning but one thing lead to another and in george's eyes you started getting to touchy with someone and then all these words kept tumbling out that he thought he'd never say out loud.

"why you?" you turn your head away slightly, twidling with your fingers.

"thought it was pretty obvious after all i said love." your stomach flips at the name, "i'm mad about you." he looks at you with bated breath, waiting for your response.

"tell me you mean it." george hears your voice shake and as he leans closer to you to try and get you to look at him again he see's tears running down your face, uncontrollably. he's taken aback by seeing you cry and hates that he's the one who caused it, he's unsure of what he should do after but right now he can't help but to draw you into his arms, holding you against his side, placing a kiss on your head and stroking your back. he hears you sniffle and strokes your cheek, wiping away all the tears. "please.. please georgie. tell me you mean it."

"i-i mean it. i've never meant anything more in my life-," george starts to say but you cut him off.

"are you sure? your friends don't like me and what if alicia spinnet comes up to you and kisses you again or asks you out on a date." you whisper, still holding on tight to him. you're insecurities flowing through you.

"well firstly, i have no idea what my mates have to do with how i feel about or why it matters. and secondly..." he trails off as he then realises exactly what you said. george lifts a hand to your face and gently places under your chin tenderly, lifting your face up and facing him. "wait, are you jealous of alicia spinnet?" he studies your face, red eyes still watery and seeing you heat up and pout. he knew he got his answer and became more confident and self-assured. grinning from ear to ear, he says, "i didn't even know you saw that love. we only kissed once." you furrow your eyebrow causing george to chuckle and gently smooth out the wrinkles with his fingertips before kissing your forehead. "you seem bitter, love?" he teases.

you knows he's riling you up for a reaction but that doesn't stop the reaction. now he knows you might share feelings for him nothing will stop him from pressing your buttons in hopes that you'll get fired up and shout at him because he finds that you're so cute whenever that happens and you might even shout out your feelings and tell him how you feel. he might be able to get you to tell him how you feel about him or if it's only you being possessive of your friend after you've had a few drinks but he really hopes that isn't the case.

"weasley if you keep teasing i'm going to be mad at you," you huff. george hasn't stopped grinning though and you want so desperately to wipe that grin off his face, to have the upperhand but you've lost all capability of telling him you feel the same, you have since your fourth year and even now you worry that you aren't good enough, but you remember to before how he was looking at you and what he said about you and how pleased he looks right now and all of that worry goes away for awhile.

you lunge closer to him and close the already small gap between you two and kiss him, momentarily stunning george by your bold attention before he's smirking and kisses you harder, moving his hands so one is tracing patterns on your waist and the other delicately holding your jaw and cheek.

after kissing for so long it feels like your lips might just fall off, you reluctantly break apart, not realises how much you currently needed air until you could get some. "so you like me too, ay?"

you refuse to answer out of being shy and kiss him again, mainly to get him to stop speaking but there is one thing about george and that's after all these years he knows you like the back of his hand, so he doesn't kiss you back to watch you get frustrated, and boy did it frustrate you. you scowl as you look at him, "why'd you do that?"

george tucks some of your hair behind your ear, causing you to shiver at the action and george to smirk at your reaction. he whispers in your ear, "tell me you like me too, love." you want so desperately to hold onto him but he's moving away from you before you even get the chance to. he's looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to crack.

you soon crack, just as george knew you would. "bloody hell, george i am in love with you, alright! so kiss me now!"

"you..you what?" if you were more sober you would have instantly regretted saying that, however as soon as the words came out of your mouth you forgot what you confessed to entirely.

you grab hold of his shirt and pull him closer towards you again. "please, georgie, 'need you." that snaps him out of his thinking as he starts kissing you again, this time less soft as before. he's almost hungry now as he's holding onto you tight, and has started moving down your neck, placing kisses in his wake. you softly moan at the sensation before you're rudely interrupted by whistling.

"oi, get a room you two. it's bad enough to have seen you make heart eyes at each other for the last six years." you've never wanted a strangle fred more and it looks like george is sharing a similar sentiment, as he glares at him across the room.

"lets get out of here sweetheart before i punch him in the face." you giggle and stand up.

"that's awfully violent of you george, i'm meant to be the one that gives threats." you've started to sober up a bit now but lean against him anyway, wanting an excuse to be close.

" 'fraid i've always seen through that. you're not very scary love, i mean you scream every time you see a spider. if i trapped you and dear little ronnikins in a room with a spider, just imagine the chaos." he chuckles as he looks at you fondly and holds your hand while pulling you tighter to him, he sees through your guise of needing help to stand and keep steady but that doesn't stop him from holding on to you, any reason or excuse to hold you and touch you he's going to take it, especially now you're both sobering up.

george steers you through all of the people as you're making your way to the door. "wait georgie, do you need to say bye to everyone?" you stop in your tracks and pull in your hand back a bit.

"nah, doesn't matter." you softly smile and hold tighter onto his hand. you hum and follow him out the door.

as soon as you're out the door you're hit with the winter cold. " 'm cold," you grumbled as george was already taking his jacket off.

"here, love," he replied as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders, giving you extra warmth. "if i knew it was going to be this cold i'd have brought a scarf." he wraps you up in his arms, slinging his arm around you and sharing body heat, making in difficult to move quickly but appreciating the warmth.

"don't know why we couldn't apparate out of there, bloody annoying if you ask me." you complain.

he laughs as you make a fuss. "there were muggles there."

"what the bloody hell were muggles doing there?"

"careful, love, you're starting to sound like malfoy," he responds playfully, causing you to lightly hit his shoulder and pout.

"you know what i mean. how does he know muggles?"

"dunno honestly, but on the brightside i get to walk home with a pretty girl." you pinch his arm softly to silently tell him to quit it, getting a laugh out of him.

"there's no 'brightside', it's night. plus i'm just pretty?" you feel the need to tease him like he's been teasing you as george always wins in this kind of thing, never failing to make you shy and flustered.

"oh no, not just pretty. the most beautiful person in the world." he tells you without missing a beat. in response you kiss george's cheek, pleased and feeling fuzzy at what he said and you both walk together in comfortable silence.

"so you're in love with me," he remarked. you can hear his grin. the cogs turn in your brain as you remember what you told him.

you keep your head forward even though you want to turn away, and silently thank how you're still slightly tipsy, giving you the courage you need to not deny your deeper feelings. "shut up weasley."

george spins you to face him, your skirt flowing with the movement, the skirt that you definitely should not have worn tonight no matter how long it is. pressing your foreheads together he whispers, "i love you too. now lets get home before i freeze my bloody bullocks off."

you burst out laugh and bury your face in his neck, this time making him shiver at the touching contact. you don't think you've ever felt happier than right now, as the man you love loves you too.

you carry on your walk and swing your hands intertwined with his. "does that make me your girlfriend georgie?"

shy george having a crush on you

put your head on my shoulder

and i would do it again

truly madly deeply

loved and lost you

the stolen sweater

vanilla & charcoal

isn't it annoying?

not stupid at all

tea with lilies

unforgettable

temptations

yes or no

spinnet?

admirer

willows

mute

♡a little more

♡take control

♡make you mine

♡for what it's worth

♡george w.an innocence kink

all the love to the authors of all these masterpieces: @shadowbriar @mgcldydrms @gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley @weelittleweasley @ickle-ronniekins @maricoolerthanme @thoseofgreatambition @grangersnotes @iheartmysun @wzrd-wheezes @elfenbensord @lcisabc23 @storycomesalive @georgeweasleyslostearhq @shadowsinger11 @mayraki @wickedw3asleys @hpimaginesandblurbs @acciojaeyun