georgeshotsexywifey6

He knew you weren't prepared for his urges. But how could he refuse you, his delicate dove, who was agreeing to give into his indulgence?

Perhaps, it was too soon that you asked for it. Because you certainly could not keep up with it.

His hand held onto your shoulder. The other held your hips. the skin denting from applied pressure from his fingers. Already red, perhaps black and blue the next morning.

The sound of skin against skin echoed the walls. Your body jerking forward with every slap of his hips against yours. The room also filled with your cries.

Hands pushing on his thighs, pushing him away. This annoyed Hannibal. His hands left your shoulders and cupped your jaw. Pulling you up, to his chest. Your head against his shoulder as he looked.

He could cum just at the sight of you. Tears running down. Lips bruised from the pressured kisses. Some markings already created from where he nipped before. Mine.

"shh— don't resist, love", he whispered against your ear. His words breathy and airy. You could feel the strained breaths against your now sensitive skin. A shiver running down her whole body. The sheen layer of sweat doing nothing to subside it.

"you wanted this, Didn't you?", he continued. His hips still moving. You could feel the tip dragging across your already bruised inner walls. Your whines get louder.

God, he would have enjoyed those little whimpers from you, any other time. But now, he needed to focus in the feel of you.

His hand slipped from your jaw to over your mouth. Trapping the noises against the barrier of his palm. "You look so beautiful, darling. So. . Pretty", he whispered against your neck.

Pressing kisses until he reached your ear again. "All mine to play with, right? All mine" he groaned. His hand splayed across your stomach as the rock of his hips got harder but slower.

Making you scream into his hand everytime he pushed into you after pulling all the way out. Hannibal leaned back slightly to look down, seeing his cock slip in and out so slowly. Like a sensual dance. Glistening against the low light like the pearls under the night sky.

He wanted to consume you. Ingest you so you'd be a part of him forever. Live in his skin, flesh, mind, heart. Wherever you could reach, he would be yours.

The thoughts ran across his mind. He could feel your tears against his hand. Oh, how he loved to see you broken down. Perhaps, he could never go back from this now.

He needed you like this. So pilant. Like a soft pillow against his sharpened edges. Taking him in with warmth.

Hannibal could feel himself near. His forehead resting against your shoulder. He could feel you trembling. His lips parted as he let out a sharp breath before painting your inner walls with his seed.

His hand slowly released around your mouth as it rested against your neck. He placed soft kisses on your jaw, "so good for me, dove."

He slowly pulled out as he carefully, with gentle caress laid you down against the sheets. Small whimpers left you. He laid besides you. His forehead against yours as he took another breath to calm himself.

"shh, I'm right here. It's alright. . . Always such a good girl for me" he whispered softly. His lips continued to place soft kisses against your cheek and forehead.

He pulled back as he looked at you. Eyes unfocused, lips parted, sweat looking like silver under the moonlight. His hand carefully brushed some of the damp hair away from your face. He got a taste of his urges and now he can't wait to indulge more.

a/n: I love requests. Keep them coming.

Confused, he had looked for you before classes started, but you quickly greeted him with a small kiss on the corner of his lips before scurrying away with Nessa.

Fred had asked him if he had scared you away or if the Puddifoot’s curse was true—the one that said couples that went there were bound to break up—but he was just as puzzled as his twin. The day had gone alright; you two had talked a lot, and you had had even more fun than some of the real couples.

It took various days until he finally had enough of you slipping away without even looking back for him to finally confront you.

“Do you not want to keep doing this anymore?” he had asked, voice low as he approached you after your arithmancy class.

“What?” You said, stopping in your tracks and lifting your head to look at him.

“You’re avoiding me,” replied George, grabbing your waist and guiding you towards one deserted hallway.

You said nothing, allowing him to take you wherever he wanted without opposing. What you did do was grab his hand and interlock them, as if to reassure him before you could talk. That was a nice signal. If you were clasping your hands together, then that meant you were still willing to play along with the farce.

Once you two had arrived in an empty hallway, you rested your back against the wall and opened your mouth to speak. But he shushed you, scanning the bricks on the wall next to you. When he finally found what he was looking for, he turned to look at you and smirked.

“Want to see something wicked?” he said slowly.

“What?” you asked, your eyes big with curiosity. “Another secret passage?”

“Better,” he said, widening his eyes at you.

He pressed down on one of the wall bricks and said a few words, then, as if Moses, the wall parted, and there was an opening to an obscure place. You got your face close to it, but the darkness made it impossible to see.

George looked over his shoulder before grabbing your hand and pulling you inside the open wall. It closed behind you two, and automatically, candles lit up the whole place.

You let out a gasp when you saw what was in front of you.

An unused, cosy room.

A big, abandoned classroom full of furniture and the smell of fireworks. It was filled with Fred’s and George’s things, and covered in potion books and Quidditch magazines. An old small kitchen and an icebox were placed in one corner of the room, opposite the blackboard full of potion recipes and calculations. The chimney was lit, and even a small library was self-dusting its books.

In the centre, a nest of spiral cushions sprawled across the floor, soft coils of fabric that invited you to sink into them as if the room itself were exhaling. They looked comfortable, colourful and super soft.

When he and his twin found the classroom, it already had some furniture that turned the forgotten classroom into a small house, and George had made sure to rearrange the place to cater to their necessities. Since neither he nor Fred usually slept there, they had brought the nest; sneaking a sofa was much more complicated than putting together some cushions.

Besides, whoever built up and decorated the place had made George and Fred’s experimentations easier, so there was no need for anything else. 

You threw yourself at the pillows, the softness absorbing your fall when your back hit it.

“Oh, it’s so comfortable,” you sighed.

From one of the shelves, he grabbed a blanket and tossed it at you before he lowered himself to lie beside you.

“You did this?”

“No, Fred and I found it,” he muttered, positioning himself sideways and resting his head on his hand. “We only brought a few things.”

You grabbed a blanket from beside the pillows and pulled it over your legs, covering his, too. “When did you two find this place?”

“By the end of the first year, we have been using it ever since.”

George grabbed one of your hands and started playing with your fingers, looking for the words to start speaking. But you cut him off by quickly going back to what he had asked before.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you mumbled, your thumb rubbing small circles on the gap between his thumb and index.

“No?” he raised a brow. “Fred thinks the Puddifoot’s curse is real.”

You rolled your eyes. “It cannot happen between us because we are not a real couple,” you said, as if it were the simplest thing, then smirked. “Really, I’m not avoiding you.”

He had feared that whatever had happened in the small library owned by your aunt had driven you away, that the interactions that day had made you realise you didn’t want to play pretend with him anymore.

“You’re overthinking a lot of things.” Your free hand travelled to his face to smooth the frown softly that he didn’t even realise was there. “We’re still boyfriend and girlfriend; you can tell Fred to stop believing he won the bet.”

“He’s been bragging already." He gave you a side smile.

“That baboon-faced Bashi-bazouk!” You squinted your eyes at the ceiling before looking back at George. “Don’t worry, as soon as we are out of here, we are settling that.” You smiled wickedly.

“Somehow, I’m scared," George playfully shuddered.

A comfortable silence settled over you two as George let what you said sink in. You hadn’t been avoiding him; good. Very good. Excellent, brilliant.

Then why weren’t you spending time with him?

“Then, what’s happening?” he asked.

He saw the way your brows furrowed slightly, your eyes flickering between him and the specs of dust floating in the air. He saw the way your pupils dilated and how they glazed over, lost in thought.

One, two seconds passed before you sighed and looked at him, your expression torn between a softness he had never seen and the fierce protectiveness he himself felt around his siblings.

“If I tell you, can you promise not to tell anybody?” You raised a brow, lifting yourself on your elbow to face him fully.

“I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” You lifted your pinky.

He blinked, then surrounded your finger with his palm. “What’s that?”

“Pinky promise!” you repeated, your mouth ajar in surprise. “It’s a promise that can’t ever be broken! It’s a pact!”

“Like an Unbreakable Vow?” he asked, confused.

“Yes!” you said, then clicked your tongue. “Not really. You don’t use magic. Just your own word.”

“Oh, so it’s Muggle.” He nodded.

“Yes. And you need to fulfil the promise.” You pointed at him. “Or you will end up a drunkard, a gambler like my dad.”

You grabbed his hand and lifted his pinky, closing all the other fingers, and then you intertwined yours with his.

“Swear you won’t tell.”

“I solemnly swear I won’t ever tell anyone,” he said, seriously.

You nodded, then planted a kiss on your thumb, and he copied you. 

He didn’t let go of your hand, and neither did you when you started speaking.

“Nessa just confessed she’s in love with Roselanna Láncome from 7th year,” you breathed. “And she wants to confess.”

Oh. Nessa liked girls. Okay. George nodded at your words, trying not to appear too surprised. Well, 'surprised' was not the word he would use to describe his reaction. More like confused.

“Láncome?” He furrowed his brows. “Roselanna from Ravenclaw? The one who’s very openly homophobic?”

You groaned, and your head slipped from your hand. “I know!”

“How could Nessa fall in love with someone like her?” He saw you shrug. “And more than that, Rosie will destroy her if she confesses.”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “But I guess Roselanna was somehow nice to her? And she used tarot and found that their destinies are interlocked or something like that!”

“Couldn’t that mean rivals?”

“Nessa is very volatile; you don’t know what’s happening in her brain most of the time. I’m trying to stop her from confessing.” You started playing with his fingers. “Nobody can know that Ness likes girls; she’s supposed to be engaged to some snobby boy from Slytherin.”

The fingertip of your index started softly caressing his palm, going over the callouses formed after many hours of practising swinging and hitting bludgers. It sent shivers down his spine, skin erupting in goosebumps when the edge of your nails scratched the lines.

“And Nessa’s parents are bigots, idiots who only care about power and money. They almost disinherit her when she was sorted into Hufflepuff.”

Nails dragged up the sleeve of his sweater, up to his wrist, where his pulse was starting to pick up. Your thumb settled there, not really pressing, just a presence made known.

His breath hitched, but you remained unaware of it.

“If she lands a good job after Hogwarts, she’s cutting off contact with them,” you mumbled, absentmindedly rubbing his skin. “But in the meantime, she has to deal with them, her fiancé, and also being pathetically in love with this horrible girl.”

George swallowed hard. He really tried to listen to you talking, but your touches were being so distracting. And your smell, the one that he had been trying to ignore since they had arrived, was etching itself on his brain.

Your shampoo smelt like wild berries, and it combined with the scent he picked from your lips when they made the pinky promise. It was sweetly distracting, a fragrance that kept changing every day, making him stop everything just to try and guess what the undertones were.

And you didn’t even realise that he always took a moment to analyse you that way. To take in the subtle differences, to stare at the way your lips shone with different shades of pink or red.

Today it was a peachier pink than yesterday’s cherry red.

“That’s why we will make her forget Rosie!” You said loudly, your free hand hitting him playfully on his arm.

“What?” he said, snapping his eyes from your lips back to your eyes.

“Matchmaking, George!” You smiled brightly. “We’ll find Nessa a girl to be lesbian with.”

***

The sunrays hitting George’s face were a welcome sensation, warming him against the cold winter breeze that made one shiver and look for a thick woolly coat. The gentle rustle of trees above him was lulling him towards a peaceful sleep as he rested his back against your chest.

Citrus mixed with the smell of flowers that surrounded them, enveloping him in a cloud of you so heavy he could not detangle from it. It was injecting itself into every pore of his being.

Worst of all was that he didn’t even know whether he liked your presence or feared what came with it.

“Fred’s looking.” He heard you mumble, your breath brushing against the shell of his ear.

“Didn’t you say you were going to correct him?” His voice came out groggy.

“I did.”

You nudged his cheek with your nose, arms surrounding his neck. His hands found your calves and started softly caressing you above your winter tights.

He hummed. “He’s still watching?”

Hiding your face on his neck, you nodded. “Your brother, Ron, is watching too.”

George finally opened his eyes and, without being too obvious, he started looking for his brothers, finding them several metres away, looking at both of you with rapt curiosity. They were talking to each other in short sentences, as if they were weighing what they were seeing and cataloguing it.

Of course, they were seeing first-hand that the bet was still on, that your distance had been something external to the relationship. And after days of George having to listen to them brag that he would have to start testing the products soon, it felt sooo blistering good to be on track once again.

He tilted his head to look at you, and from under, he saw the way your long, curled lashes fell to look at him. Your eyes shone with mischievous glee as your hands rubbed small circles on his chest.

“Tell me, my fair gentleman—are you in the mood for a little spectacle?” you teased.

He smirked, “I’m always up for a—”

But he was cut abruptly by your lips on his. It was short, a pressing of lips that sent the butterflies in his stomach flying, and sticky due to your cherry gloss that smeared all over his mouth. Like the first kiss you had stolen from him, it was surprising. Though this time, he had been somewhat prepared for it.

And when you separated, your lips travelled to kiss the bump on his nose, then his cheek. His face burnt red pretty fast when the string of kisses continued until your chapstick was all over him.

Squirming in your grasp, he let out a chuckle and moved his face away from your attacks. “Stop! I’m not a make-up remover.”

“No?” you said, placing a kiss right on his lobe.

His shoulder lifted, shielding his ear from your relentless attack. Shivers ran down his spine when you did so, yet you didn’t stop and continued trailing down the spot behind his ear to the mole on his neck. Despite his protests, he made no real effort to pull away from you, and the big smile on his face betrayed no real intent behind his curse words.

In fact, his long string of curses only made you bite him.

He yelped. “Fuck, no!” He tried covering his neck by lifting both his shoulders.  

“That tongue of yours is far too wicked, sir,” you giggled.

You settled your cheek against the crown of his head, his ruffled hair offering a fluffy bed for you to rest. And he could only bask in the way your hair cascaded against his face, covering the dazed look on his face, the delighted expression that he couldn’t shake away.

Being with you was easy, as if he were suddenly bathing under a tender sun that had little to no intention of hurting him. He liked the time he spent with you and loved how, somehow, he always ended with his cheeks aching after smiling so much.

Radiantly, in his eyes, you shone brighter with every day that passed.

He could see why everybody liked you. It wasn’t merely because you were mental and funny, but because you genuinely were able to change somebody’s mood from gloomy to cheerful in an instant. His mood always improved when he was with you. His serotonin made person. And it wasn’t because you made something in particular, or because you really tried. It was just you.

“I’m starting to think they are voyeurs,” you said after a while.

“Coming from Fred, I wouldn’t be surprised,” George mumbled, his eyes closing again, comfortable surrounded by your warmth.

His hands went back to trace small circles on your calves, small patterns and incoherent words, his potions homework, pet names. And he felt the way your body shuddered with every soft caress.

“He’s a creep.” Your fingers started to slowly rub the gloss stains on his face, trying to erase them.

“No can do." He shrugged, turning his face up to you so you would have better access to clean it.

Time slowed down when the soft tips of your fingers started to gently remove the marks of your kisses from his face. You were treating him too softly, too delicately. If you continued being like that, he would become used to it—spoilt.

But this farce had an expiration date, an ending set in stone. He couldn’t get accustomed to you hovering over him, touching him, lending him your warmth. After George won the bet, he would go back to his life without you.

That thought, for some reason, made his stomach churn. Hundreds of needles prickled at his skin at the thought of it, as if his body refused to forfeit what he had gained.

“What are you going to do with Nessa?” he suddenly asked, sitting up and getting away from your chest.

He saw the way your hand stood frozen mid-air and how your face betrayed a confusion you weren’t quick enough to mask before you smiled wickedly at him.

That, he understood. Wicked was uncomplicated, something someone mustn’t linger too much on. Wicked was fun, unhurried, and not subject to change.

“We've got to find a nice girl for her,” you purred. “So if you happen to know a girl who likes girls, it’s your time to suggest it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t really know the queer,” he shrugged, and his hand reached to pick a small leaf from your hair.

You didn’t dodge it like the first time he had tried to touch even a single strand of your hair. He smiled at that, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes as he held your eyes with an expression that made you look away quickly.

“I was thinking Natalie McDonald,” you proposed, your hands picking at the edge of the blanket they had laid on the ground.

“Gryffindor fourth year?” He asked, lifting a brow. “Bit young, innit?”

You frowned, and your nose scrunched up. “Oh, please. 7th year boys date 4th year girls all the time, and no one bats an eye.”

“I don’t.”

“You only fake date." You squeezed his cheeks with one hand and scrunched your own lips as if you were a duck.

“I only fake-date you,” he managed.

“I have never seen you dating anybody.”

He shook away from your grasp. “I don’t date.”

“Why?” you asked, your body tilting towards him. “It’s not like you don’t have girls who would date you.”

It was something Fred had asked him countless times with different voice tones, more or less rude words. It was the reason he was even in your presence.

Never having had a girlfriend had been the problem that had started the whole madness of the bet. It was a shameful thing, something that needed to be corrected, erased so he could adhere to the standard school experience.

Dating, flirting, and being with someone had never been that appealing to him. Attraction was something flaunted around so carelessly that he had to force himself to feel it just like anybody else. Yet, for him, feeling drawn to people was a Herculean feat. It was hard to achieve, and even harder to act on it once he felt it.

“I guess I’ve never been that attracted to anyone,” he stammered.

You hummed, then nodded softly, accepting his vague answer without further questioning. He learnt, over the course of the weeks, that you knew how to read him pretty well. You just knew when something was a hard topic for him, and you would only nod and take whatever answer he gave.

No pressure, not you trying to get a more elaborate answer. Just… understanding.

“Well, there’s always Daphne Greengrass.”

His lips curled up. “For Nessa? A Slytherin?”

“A girl, George.” You nodded, suddenly agreeing with whatever you had thought. “Bicurious.”

“How do you know that?” he chuckled, surprised.

it happened slowly, in the quiet moments that no one else saw.

one day she was rolling her eyes at george's terrible jokes, and the next she was looking forward to defense class just to see him. it wasn't just the big things, it was the way he’d nudge her shoulder when she got too stressed about exams, or the way he always seemed to know when she needed a distraction.

"you're gonna burn yourself out," he said one night in the library, his voice dropping into that low, serious tone he only used with her.

"i'm fine." she muttered.

"you've read the same sentence four times. i've been counting."

she blinked, her face heating up. he was right. george gently closed her book, his fingers lingering on hers for a second longer than necessary. "come on. let's get out of here. i know a spot."

they ended up on the astronomy tower, sitting side by side with their legs dangling over the edge. it was freezing, but every time their shoulders brushed, she felt like she was standing too close to a fire.

"better?" he asked, looking at her with an expression that definitely wasn't 'just friends.'

"yeah," she breathed. "thanks, george."

he just grinned, bumping his arm against hers. "always got your back. even if you are a bit of a nerd."

but the real shift came when cedric diggory started 'helping' her with potions. suddenly, george wasn't just playful— he was possessive. he’d find excuses to interrupt their study sessions, or he’d spend the whole night texting her just to keep her attention on him.

the more cedric showed up, the more george leaned in. and she realized, somewhere between george's protective streaks and the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching, that they weren't just friends anymore.

they were right on the edge of something real.

by early december, the scottish wind was biting, but she barely noticed. mostly because she was too busy trying not to overthink every single thing george weasley did.

the problem was, he made it impossible.

"you're shivering," george noted one morning as they walked across the courtyard. before she could argue, he was already pulling his crimson scarf from his neck. he stepped into her space, looping the thick wool around her. his knuckles brushed her freezing jaw, lingering for a fraction of a second.

"george, i'm fine," she lied.

"shut up, your lips are literally blue," he murmured, tugging the ends of the scarf to pull her slightly closer. "keep it."

she buried her nose in it. it smelled exactly like him—cinnamon, parchment, and a faint hint of fireworks after fooling around with them all day.

that weekend was the hogsmeade trip. george had asked her to go on tuesday. just the two of them. he didn't call it a date, but when she slipped on a patch of ice near zonko's, his hand shot out to catch hers.

and then... he just didn't let go.

they walked all the way to the three broomsticks with his fingers laced through hers, his thumb tracing absent circles on the back of her hand. her heart was beating so loudly she was terrified he could hear it.

he bought her hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, remembering exactly how she liked it without asking. they sat in a booth in the back, tucked away from the crowd.

"you're spoiling me today," she teased, tracing the rim of her mug to give her hands something to do.

george leaned across the small table, his playful smirk softening into something much more dangerous. "maybe i want to."

his eyes dropped to her lips. the air between them suddenly felt thick, heavy with everything they weren't saying. he leaned in closer. her breath hitched.

"GEORGE!!"

the door banged open. fred and lee jordan burst into the pub, covered in snow and grinning like maniacs. "we've been looking everywhere! the new decoy detonators are ready to test!"

george shut his eyes, exhaling a sharp, frustrated breath before pulling back. the moment completely shattered. "yeah," he called out, his voice slightly tight. "coming."

the tension was left completely unresolved.

which is exactly why, two days later, when cedric diggory casually offered to help her catch up on the potions notes she missed during her distracted weekend, george absolutely lost his mind.

she was sitting by the common room fire when her phone vibrated in her pocket.

george: "so heard you were working with diggory today"

y/n stared at her screen, biting her lip to hide a smile.

she typed back: "yeah? he offered to help me with potions :)"

almost instantly, the bubbles appeared.

george: "cool cool cool"

george: "totally fine with me"

y/n: "you sure about that? lol"

george: "100%. why should i care anyway."

she could practically hear the sarcasm dripping through the screen.

y/n: "george"

george: "okay FINE. maybe i'm a bit bothered. better?"

y/n: "at least you admitted it"

george: "only to you though..."

y/n: "your secrets safe with me ;)"

george: "so... does that mean you'll ditch diggory and help me instead??"

y/n: "you're really not gonna let this go huh"

george: "nope, he's got his chance already"

y/n: "i had ONE tutoring session with him"

george: "exactly!! one too many."

y/n: "you're being ridiculous, george. "

george: "maybe, but you're still texting me instead of him... ;)"

she scoffed, feeling that familiar flutter in her chest.

y/n: "that's because you won't stop texting me"

george: "see, you DO like me"

y/n: "i like that you're entertaining, that's different"

george: "for now...but im growing on you, i can feel it"

y/n: "you're insufferableee"

george: "you loveee me"

she didn't reply to that last one. she couldn't. it hit a little too close to the truth.

Hogsmeade was no exception. Or more like, the place where you had taken him was no exception.

Garlands of various shades of pink and red hearts hung from the ceiling for clients to look at. Red roses were placed in every corner of the space. Balloons floated above them like heart-shaped clouds.

The smell of freshly baked pastries and coffee filled the air, yet it was coated with a whiff of vanilla and hormones that seemed characteristic of the tea shop.

If George thought that the romantic ambience at Hogwarts was slightly sickening, then Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop was a puke-inducing, teenage whorehouse for the hormonal.

'It's not that bad,’ you had said before entering. But it had been worse, so much worse.

Upon entering, the first thing his eyes caught was a couple lip-locked in a tight embrace. The girl was practically on top of her boyfriend, and the guy’s hand was under her skirt; the coffees completely forgotten on their table.

Then he turned his gaze and surveyed the parlour, only to realise there were plenty of students there, enjoying the evening on dates. Not all were kissing, but most of them were, and that made George wonder if he was in some sort of hallucination where his worst nightmare had somehow turned real.

“Okay, no.” You chuckled, horrified, too. “It is bad.”

But when he was about to suggest turning around and going to Honeydukes, a chirpy employee swayed them towards a small booth. You both were automatically pressed to one another, shoulder to shoulder, and very impressed by the woman’s very stealthy tactic for trapping clients.

The woman handed you both the menu and quickly went her way towards a couple who seemed about to start the act in the middle of the shop. George watched in awe as the waitress was able to de-escalate the situation without making them stop.

“How?” George mumbled in your ear.

“Practice.” You laced your arms with his and got impossibly close to look at the menu together. “Makes me feel like we need to up the ante, right?” You joked.

“Right.” He finally took his gaze away from the disgusting scene. “Remind me again why we are here." His blue eyes looked at you accusingly.

Of course, George knew the fame that this tea shop had. And he had seen it from outside before and laughed once at Lee when he was dragged in by one of his girlfriends. He knew it was bad, but he had never thought it would be this bad.

Three days ago, you had convinced him of coming here by staring at him with big doe eyes that shone brighter than the most prominent star and pursed lips that smelt of cocoa powder and coffee.

It had been impossible to resist the soft flutter of your eyelashes. It was shameful to admit that he couldn’t stop the burning sensation on his cheeks when you had smiled and placed a small kiss on his nose when he said yes.

He was regretting that. And you were smirking, positively thriving in the situation.

“Because we need to go on dates.” You said as you scanned the menu. “And Puddifoot’s baked goods are so good.”

“You like this?” He turned around to you, surprised that you had never mentioned being here before.

A tiny ball of anxiety grew inside him, as little as a pearl, but there nonetheless, like something small starting to simmer beneath the surface. It came out of nowhere, making him shudder and breathe sharply.

“I mean, yeah.” You turned your eyes up at him. “I always order takeaway because I don’t like seeing people snogging right in front of my food.”

As if the knot were one of the balloons floating above, it deflated quickly, making him release a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. His mind quickly worked to justify the sudden tension in his body.

It was normal to feel anxious about your partner being with a person before; it was part of being in a relationship, fake or not. He had mentioned he disliked open relationships, so thinking of a third was bound to make him uncomfortable. 

Yes, that was it.

There was no reason why he shouldn’t feel uncomfortable. He had been doing some pretty romantic shit with you these weeks, so obviously, he had formed a beautiful friendship with you. He could feel uncomfortable at the thought of you doing this type of thing with others.

“Oh,” he mumbled, regaining his footing instantly. “I heard the food is spiked with aphrodisiacs.” He made a mock surprised face.

“Oh my god, I heard that rumour too,” you chuckled. “I mean, I don’t even know who would start such unfounded rumours." Indignantly, you furrowed your brows, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Me, I did it,” he smirked, his hand shooting to smooth the creases on your forehead. “Because this is a bawdy house in plain sight.”

You gasped exaggeratedly. “How dare you?” You took his hand and intertwined it with yours. “The aphrodisiacs have nothing to do with Madam Puddifoot’s personal activities.”

“My bad.” He squeezed your hand. “I never wanted to speak ill of such an honourable lady.”

There was a small sound that made you two turn your heads quickly towards it. And you fake gagged when you realised what was happening once you saw that a girl was squirming on top of her date.

You both looked at each other, faces contorted with incredulous awe, before erupting into giggles.

It felt like a punch in the face when he looked at you and found you were exploding with mirth and playfulness, full of life. Your eyes were nearly closed, wrinkled by the big smile on your face. Warmth spread through his body at an alarming speed.

Despite his initial horror, being with you always felt nice and comfortable, no matter the place. Which was more than some of the boys and girls at other tables could say, judging by the way some of them squirmed like scaredy-cats.

His heart skipped a beat, and the much too familiar sensation of his cheeks turning red appeared. He couldn’t believe he was having fun at a date in Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop.

Who also appeared was the cheerful waitress, asking if they were ready to order. You took it upon yourself to ask the woman for every ingredient of each special dessert of the day, asking if it had any peanut or ginger in it.

“Can I ask why?” She asked, not so chirpy anymore, after the third time you had asked.

“He’s allergic,” you said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

George looked at you, his brow raised. He had never told you of his allergies, much less that he hated ginger, which was an ingredient in the star drink on the menu.

“How do you know I don’t like ginger?” He asked after the waitress was gone with their order in hand.

“You avoid those it like the plague, I figured.” You shrugged.

Not many people knew he had any allergies at all, so it was a big thing, especially when he hadn’t been the one who told you he was allergic. You noticed—like you always did when he was spiralling, anxious, or embarrassed.

Had you been paying attention to him just like he inevitably did?

You just did things that left him speechless and then acted as if they were no big deal. Maybe it wasn’t, but the nagging in his brain told him that perhaps he should pay more attention to everything.

Surprisingly, you had been right about the pastries being delicious. They were creamy and soft and sugary enough not to be too sweet. The tea was of good quality, and the flavour was strong, just as he enjoyed it.

He observed the way you savoured the pastry. You ate first the spongy cake—sometimes drinking your coffee—and then the filling. It was a ritual he had seen you do plenty of times; you left your favourite part for the last.

He had given you a few bites of his cake, shoving his spoon in your mouth after you had claimed it was his and you shouldn’t eat too much of it.

“Try this,” you said and brought a spoonful of your dessert towards his lips. “How is it?”

“It is so good,” he practically groaned as the lemon-tasting cake touched his taste buds. “Oh my God, I should offer Madam Puddifoot my apologies.”

You winked at him and kept eating your cake.

“You shouldn’t judge a book by its—” You paused yourself before finishing the phrase, turning your head towards George in shock, your mouth opened, and your eyes filled with disgust.

He turned to look where you had been looking and, like you, turned his gaze away instantly. You blinked and covered your peripheral view with your palm.

“Tell me I didn’t just see what we just saw,” you mumbled.

There, in the middle of the shop, sitting in one of the love seats, was a student from Durmstrang cosying with a Ravenclaw girl. It wasn’t that which was shocking, but the incredibly visible problem the guy had, which he didn’t even bother to cover.

George believed half the men there had the same problem, but the thing was that none of those guys were sitting in one of the most visible places of the whole shop.

“You know, I think it’s enough.” You snorted nervously. “Let’s pay and go before someone starts getting freaky on the table.”

He wholeheartedly agreed.

***

He followed you towards a small, second-hand bookshop in one of the less commercial zones of Hogsmeade. He had almost never been there, not because he never stepped foot into a bookshop willingly—kind of true, though—but because he hardly ever went to this part of the town.

Apparently, you knew who the owner was, and even when the store seemed closed, she allowed you two to enter without even sparing George a glance before she disappeared behind a door and left you two alone.

“That’s my cousin,” you mumbled to him as he watched her run away.

"Does your family live in Hogsmeade?” He asked, back resting against a bookshelf.

“Yes,” you nodded. “Most of them do.”

You paced around the small library before you picked a worn book and opened it. You showed him what was inside: a very ugly drawing of a princess and a frog.

“This book has been here since I was ten." You looked at the cover. “Every time I come here, I wonder if someone has finally taken it home, but no, it’s still here.”

He walked behind you, looking at the book over your shoulder. “You drew that?”

“Yes.” You traced the smudgy lines of the drawing. “It was my favourite. It’s a Muggle book.”

You turned around, and you jumped softly, as if you hadn’t felt the way he had stalked near you until his chest was almost glued to your back. When you looked up, he saw you biting your lip before returning your gaze to the book.

“You talk a lot of muggle culture,” he mumbled, fearing that if he spoke too loudly, he would make your cousin come back.

“My dad was a Muggleborn." You tilted your head and smiled softly. “He used to read me a lot of Muggle books.” You spun to see him.

That had been the first time you had mentioned your dad without a jab at him, without that acidic humour that he had learnt to laugh and shrug off quickly. Perhaps you covered the hurt behind playful words, because he could see the nostalgia in the way your mouth lifted up almost unwillingly.

It was gut-wrenching in a way he never imagined. He was used to the occasional marks of sarcastic anger that emerged from time to time, but not to the sad wistfulness in your eyes.

He felt it viscerally in his heart. Not the occasional pull he felt when you laughed, or the tickle on his stomach when you kissed his cheek. It was neither the anxiousness from before nor the nervousness of overthinking.

This was much deeper. Something he couldn’t control.

“What is it about?” He asked, voice tender, his hands coming to tuck strands of hair behind your ears.

You pursed your lips, thinking, then spoke. “A spoilt princess gets helped by a frog to get a ball from a pond; she promised him her friendship but went back on her word. The frog follows her, and the princess's father makes her fulfil the promise. The frog wants to sleep on her bed; the princess smashes the frog against the wall, and he turns into a prince.” You chuckle.

He raised a brow at the way you laughed, the playful gleam he loved so much in your eyes. “I thought it would be a love story.” He squeezed your cheeks.

You scoffed. “The book is a collection of tales from the Grimm brothers. Have you heard of Cinderella?”

“The one that loses her shoe?”

“That.” You flipped the pages and pointed at one. “It’s much more interesting here.”

“Why?” Though, by the way you were smirking, he could almost guess it was something extremely wicked. It made him smile, too.

“The stepsisters cut their own feet to fit into Cinderella’s shoe. And when Cinderella marries the prince, her dove eats the stepsisters’ eyes.” You grimly told the story in an ominous voice that made him let out an amused snort.

“Violent.” He said while grabbing the book. “Something children would enjoy greatly.”

“I did,” you mumbled. “I was a very morbid child, though. My mum refuses to let me read the story to my brother.” You shrugged, but then the small smirk slowly vanished.

“Do you think your cousin will mind if we borrow this one?” He asked. “I would love to read it.”

“She won’t. She’s not the owner; my aunt is.” You grabbed the book and shoved it in your purse. “Besides, if she doesn’t want me to snitch that the shop was closed, she'd better not refuse.”

“Will you threaten her for me?” He asked, his tone comically high for him.

“Everything for you, love.”

You winked, and he feigned as if he had been shot straight through the heart by an arrow, his blood rushing loudly in his ears as his back hit the bookshelf lightly. His eyes were lowered for a few seconds, maintaining the role of a wounded man.

He stared at the floor, his mind repeating the word 'love' again and again.

“Oh no, let me call the healers!” You bubbled over with laughter in front of him, your hand coming down on his hair. “An ambulance!”

He lurched forward suddenly, grabbing your waist and lifting you in the air. You shrieked very loudly as you grasped his clothes. For a second, he feared your cousin would come running and enter the bookshop again, but there was nothing.

“Let me down!” You giggled, your hand travelling to his neck and started tickling him.

When your finger wiggled on his collarbone, he quickly set you down on the floor, though his hands remained on your waist, almost grounding himself in the moment instead of letting his mind ruminate more.

Your smile plastered on your face made him smile too, wildly, unrestrained. 

The dust floating around the old store caught in the setting sun, glowing like glitter behind your back. He believed he heard a shift of something, maybe a page of a sentient book changing.

He was, perhaps, too aware of the way you were near him, your hands now gripping the collar of his shirt as if it were a safety net.

“Have I ever told you how violent you can be?” he muffled, his eyes fluttering between yours.

“No,” you chortled. “But you tell me I’m mental all the time.”

“Seems about right,” he laughed.

He stared at you as you slowly retrieved your hands and clasped them behind your back. There was a small tension that he didn’t know if you could feel too, almost as if the comfort had turned slightly sharp.

In the solitude of the bookshop, George grabbed your cheeks and pressed a light kiss on your forehead. He lingered a bit, the scent of your shampoo invading his senses.

“Let’s head back.” He whispered.

He offered his hand. You nodded and took it.

“Okay.”

***

The Hufflepuff girls’ room was filled with only the soft snores of your Heidi and the occasional shuffling of some of your other roommates. There wasn’t even a candle lit, and the windows were nearly all the way closed, making the yellowish room appear almost black.

You lay on your bed, eyes open wide despite the heaviness in your limbs. The tick-tock of the clock made you well aware that it was already very late in the night, but you couldn’t stop replaying today’s Hogsmeade date.

It was supposed to be a debriefing date. They were supposed to talk about their feelings regarding the last two weeks now that they were away from their friends and all the annoying people who didn’t know they were crafting a fabricated story. Food was merely a given while discussing their plans.

But that hadn’t happened, and instead you two had done everything but discuss the bet. Hell, he had even taken a few pictures with your muggle camera, making you pose while they walked back towards the meeting point to go back to the castle.

He had been so close to you, his blue eyes ingrained in your memory like a tattoo. 

They had been active today, observing you in every move you made. At the time, you had disregarded it as him trying not to appear nervous in a place filled with lovey-dovey couples. You had believed he was watching how you acted to try to act the same.

But then you had taken him to the bookshop, and his eyes still followed you. Still searching, prodding inside yours. Then he had kissed your forehead.

It had felt intimate, extremely so. Even after kissing him on the lips a couple of weeks ago, he managed to make the forehead kiss even more devoted than that.

Affection was starting to grow inside your heart with a vice grip. It was squeezing your heart every so often when he looked at you more than he should have, when he hugged you and acted all tender and mellow.

You had thought that you had buried all your feelings for him long ago, forgotten in a vault full of awful memories of that third year.

That crush had been circumstantial. 

You had needed an outlet, something to hope for while your father slipped through your fingers and your mum started working more each day. It had been something you had cherished very dearly but was never to be revised again.

And you knew that involving yourself in the bet was a bad idea, but you simply couldn’t help yourself. It hit too close to home not to do something about it.

Yes, not wanting a girl to fall for whatever Fred and George tried to achieve with all of that had been part of it. The winnings, too, although you really didn’t need them. But you would’ve hated to see your parents’ story repeat.

In doing so, you trapped yourself.

“You’re awake.”

A voice coming from your side made you startle. You turned quickly and found Nessa crouching beside your bed.

“Nessa, what are you doing awake?” You whispered, confused as to why she was still wearing her day clothes so late in the night.

“Wanna hit the kitchens?” She asked, her tone slightly shifting to embarrassment.

“Did something happen?” You sat down, your full attention now on her.

She avoided your gaze for a bit, then spoke. “Let’s have some cake, please?”

Seeing Nessa so out of her whimsical persona baffled you so much that whatever thought you had was automatically erased. You grabbed her hand and nodded.

It had been two hour when Cedric had finally escape his ever adoring fans and made his way to you.

"Hey you." He greeted.

You look up from the book you were reading and a shiver went down your spine. "Hey."

"Couldn't help. but notice you all alone over here. Butterbeer?" Cedric holds out one of the butterbeer in his hand to you.

You take it and he takes it as an invite to sit on a pillow on the floor in front of you.

"Thanks." you said and then down the drink in one go. If your lucky, the alcohol will numb the sick feeling. Cedric huffs out a laugh of disbelief.

"Impressive." Cedric said. "Um…look I'm sorry for what Axel said about Potter. I'm sure he didn't mean…"

"No I think he did…I know what people think of Harry behind his back." you tell him.

"Well I don't think what everyone else might think." Cedric takes a sip of butterbeer before speaking again. "I think he's a good kid, with good intentions that had something very unfortunate happen to him. I wouldn't know what to do if I lost my parents." Someone called Cedric's name.

"You should probably get back." you said.

"Join me." Cedric asked getting up from the floor.

You decline with a smile, "I think I'm going to turn in actually."

"Oh…yeah I guess it is pretty late…or early. I don't exactly know what time it is." Cedric said.

He bid you a goodnight before going back to his friends.

November 1st, 1994

There was trouble in paradise, of course there was. It seem the trio couldn't go one year without them fighting with each other. This time it was Harry and Ron, who seem to not be speaking to each other.

"He doesn't still think I entered myself does he?" Harry asked Hermione.

Hermione hesitated, "Well um…I don't think so…not really."

"Not really? What the bloody hell is that suppose to mean?"

"Well…I think he's jealous…" Hermione said.

"Jealous?!" Harry said incredulously, "What would he have to be jealous of? That I'm in the tournament? Hermione, I don't want to be."

"Look," Hermione pleaded, "It's always you, Harry. The one who gets all the attention and before you say anything I know you don't ask for it. But Ron is…well always shunted to the side."

"Great, really great." Harry said bitterly, "Well tell him he's welcome to swap places with me. Getting gawked at everywhere you go, people wanting to see your bloody forehead."

"I'm not going to be your owl, tell him yourself." said Hermione.

"I'm not running around the castle after him trying to make him grow up! Maybe he'll believe me once I've broken my neck or-"

"Harry!" you gasped. Harry and Hermione jumped at the sound of your voice. They forgot that you were even there. Even though they joined you at the table. "Don't say things like that." you tell him. The boy mumble out a 'sorry'.

"You should write to Sirius, he going to want to know what's been happening." Hermione whispered.

You perked up, "You've been writing to Sirius? How is he?"

Harry and Hermione had finally gotten around to telling you what happen after you were attacked the end of term.

"He's fine, I suppose. He asks about you actually…a lot, but no I was writing to Sirius…I've stop now." Harry stated.

"He asked you to keep him posted on everything going on." Hermione reminded him.

"He already came back to the country and risk getting caught all because of my scar. He'll burst into the castle if I tell him about the Triwizard Tournament."

The imagine of Sirius Black bursting into the castle like your gran popped into your head, but Sirius wouldn't risk getting thrown back into Azkaban…right?

"He's going to find out anyways through the Daily Prophet, so better that it comes from you." Hermione said sternly.

"Alright, alright find, but he told me not to use Hedwig." Harry said.

"You can use Atlas, I've got to send Remus a letter anyways. " you told Harry.

You hadn't sent a letter to your father since before the World Cup. You wish he was still teaching, wanting nothing more than his comforting present and advice. You have been keeping the vision from Halloween night all to yourself so far. You didn't really know what to make of it.

That's the lie you keep telling yourself anyway.

November 6th, 1994

It has been almost a week since Halloween and Hogwarts was divided. Well…not really. The Gryffindors were the only ones who were proud and in support of Harry being a Hogwarts Champion, while everyone else (Syltherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuff) made it vastly known that they weren't happy that Harry was chosen and that Cedric was their true champion.

"Are we going to talk about what happen Halloween night?" George asked you for the fourth time this week. It was just the two of you sitting in your favorite spot out in the open courtyard/lawn where flying classes took place or the occasional game of Summor's Court would be set up.

"You already know the answer to that." you stated as you read your book.

"Love" George began.

"George" you warned.

"What's going to happen? It's bothering you, you're doing better at hiding it than last year, but I know you well enough. Try all you want, but you can't hide anything from me." George counter.

You looked up from your book glancing for a quick distraction. It came in the form of second year students. On the opposite side of the House Crest on their robes lied a pin. It was purple and the words POTTER STINKS flashed on it.

"Oi, you lots." You called to them. They turned frighten that an older student was addressing them. "Where did you get those badges?"

The second years (who were a mix of houses minus Gryffindor) all stared at each other, scared to talk until a Hufflepuff girl finally spilled.

"It came from the Slytherins, they made them." she said.

"Oi!" the Slytherin in the group yelled.

"Take them off now! All of you." you said sternly and they all obey. Taking off the badges and handed them to you before running off.

George, who was still behind you on the ground, look at you with a knowing expression.

"Did you just use children as an excuse to not talk about your problems?"

"I don't have a problem. Halloween was just a fluke." You sat back down and opened your book again.

"A fluke sure…" George said, reaching a hand out to tuck a strain of hair that fell over your face.

You followed his hand to look at him. His eyes were on his own fingers that were now toying with the strand of hair.

"How about we talk about what's got you so distracted lately?" you countered.

George's fingers paused their movement and his eyes met yours. There is a buzz in the air, you have been feeling it since the summer.

"Nothing." he mumbles out.

"Oh please. Talk about knowing on another. I think I know you better than Fred does."

"Impossible." George said, dropping his hand.

A comfortable tension fell upon the two of you.

"It's almost time for class and I need to stop by the owlery." you said a few moments later. You got up and waited for George to follow suite, but he doesn't.

"Yeah I should maybe get to transfiguration before McGonagall has my head." George said.

Your eyebrow knit in confusion. Even if he didn't realize that he did, George followed you like a shadow. A comforting present beside or behind you.

"Okay…yeah." You tried not to sound sad.

Up in the owlery…well actually you didn't make it all the way up because Atlas met you halfway up the stairs.

"Eger, aren't we?" you said to the owl.

Atlas hoots at you when you put the letter down.

"Even if I tell Dumbledore, there is nothing he can do about it. Cedric said they are all magically contracted to compete." you explained to Atlas. "He right though…knowing one's fate is a heavy burden to carry, but maybe I can prevent it."

November 22nd, 1994

You were sitting with Daphne for a change during lunch period. The first task was a couple of days away and the chatter about it was greater than it was for the picking of the champions.

"Okay what's going on with you?" Daphne asked breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?" you questioned.

"Don't act like you don't know." she said. Your fork clatter onto your plate. "You know I've always been in your corner."

"George?"

"Doesn't matter who told me." Daphne stated.

You sigh, "I…caught glimpses of the tournament on Halloween night." you explained, "It doesn't end good..."

"Who?" She inquired.

You hesitated, "Cedric– but I'm not quite sure, it's a little unclear."

"Talk to Dumbledore about it?"

"I haven't talk to anyone about it…well beside Remus and now you."

"You should tell your boyfriend, so he can leave me alone." Daphne stated.

"He's not my-"

The conversation was interrupted by the presence of another – Harry. He looked dreadful, tired even. You frown as you looked at him.

"Harry, what's wrong?" you held your hand up to his forehead to feel if he was possibly getting sick.

He swatted your hand away, "Dragons."

Daphne paused her eating and the two of you shared a look.

"Dragons?" you repeated.

Harry nods, "That's the first task, I've just came from telling Cedric. Also I've…" he paused his sentence and looked over at Daphne. "Um…"

He turns back to you and sits down to address you. Harry talks lowly about his conversation with Sirius in the Gryffindor common room fire place. Sirius has reason to believe that someone tried to comprise Mad-Eye Moody. With the recent Death Eater activity, Dumbledore knew he had to get extra protection this year because of the tournament. Seem it didn't work, whoever still manage to get Harry into harms way. You thought for a moment.

"Your dream…the one you had before the World Cup, you never told me what it was about." you said. Harry hesitated with the presence of Daphne there. "It's okay, she can be trusted."

Daphne smile, "Yeah, I'm not gonna tell Draco all your deep, dark secrets."

"Well um…I was in a graveyard." You sucked in a breath that Harry didn't seem to notice, but Daphne did. "There was a big statue of a reaper on one, but I couldn't read the names on the grave, then I was in a house. It was like I was seeing from someone else perspective. I was looking into a room, Wormtail was there."

Wormtail aka Peter Pettigrew. Wormtail was what your father and Sirius called him because of his animagus form. Fitting for him now, you think. He escape on that faithful night where everything changed.

"There was also another man, but I didn't recognize him from anywhere." continued Harry, "They were talking to him about how they needed to kill another and then I or whoever I was got caught and that was it…the last thing I heard was the killing curse being mutter."

You nod your head as you take it all in, still stuck on the graveyard part. What are the odds that you both seen a graveyard? Was it the same graveyard?

"Your dream and Sirius' concern line up with each other. We might have bigger problems then just someone giving you a death wish." you said.

November 24th, 1994

The first task is taking place today and all afternoon classes have been cancelled. You were jittery all morning. At one point during Charms, Beth had placed her hand upon your knee because you were bouncing it so much. If you were feeling like this, you couldn't imagine how Harry was feeling or even Cedric.

Up where the dragon arena was, you stood with the twins, who decided to start a gambling pool like Bagman did at the World Cup. You would scold them if you weren't so worked up. You saw Professor McGonagall guide Harry to the champion tent

When Harry saw you, he left McGonagall side and wrapped you in a hug. You squeeze your arms around him. He had gotten taller somehow since you hugged him last at the World Cup, what did Mrs Weasley feed this kid? For once, you let your second sight open intentionally. Just to ease your nerves, but all you see was a dragon and Harry on top of the Gryffindor tower. He pulls away from the hug, but you keep your hands on each other.

"You're going to be fine." You tell him or maybe you tell yourself, you weren't sure.

"Yeah, Charlie will be there if anything happens." George chimed in.

"Ah mum would kill him if he let anything happen to you." Fred added. They were doing their best to try and ease both of your nerves.

"You know what you are going to do?" you asked Harry.

He nods, "Yeah um…I was practicing with Hermione. I've got it."

You pull him into another hug before he walks into the tent. You let out a breathe as you turn to walk to the seating area with the twins, but a twisting feeling in your stomach made you stop. You know who was the cause of it before even turning around – Cedric.

He look just as nervous as Harry, only he was doing a better job at hiding it, but you could still tell.

"Good luck out there." You say to him. Cedric relaxes a little.

"Thanks…I think the nerves just hit me all at once." He said. When you saw him this morning, he seemed fine. Surrounded by his friends who were definitely more excited than Cedric was.

You set up and place a hand on his shoulder. To an outsider it looked like a comforting gesture, but really you just needed an excuse to use your second sight again. Only it didn't work the same way as it did with Harry. Instead you saw darkness and then a sudden flash of green. You're hand drops from his shoulder as you jumped back.

Cedric thinks you trip, so he throws his hands on your waist to steady you. A flash goes off a that exact moment It was blinding. You and Cedric both turn and saw Rita Skeeter, who a great big smile on her face.

"Romance blossoming…mm…everyone loves a good love story." She said. Cedric quickly takes his hand off your waist. "If everything goes unfortunate today…you two may even make the front page."

The last thing you needed was attention. Rita winks at you before moving on to find something else to capture. You looked at Cedric one last time. His cheeks were a lite red color though you couldn't determine if it was because of what just happen or the cold.

Behind you, the twins had witness the whole thing. George, unbeknownst to anyone but Fred, was glaring dagger at Rita or maybe he was looking at Cedric…Fred couldn't really tell. Fred elbow his brother just as you turned back to walk with them.

"Oooh." Fred sings as he wiggles his eyebrow at you.

"Shut up, Fred." you say as you walk pass them.

"Bets! Place your bets!" Fred yelled behind you as you walked through the stands.

"Bets taken! Bets taken here!" shouted George.

"Step up, folks! Who fancies a flutter in today's bloodbath?" Fred asked the crowd.

"Are you two seriously placing bets?" Beau asked when you arrived at your spots She, Beth, Erik, and Ryan were standing in the row behind.

"Of course. Care to place one?" Fred gesture to George, who was wearing the betting box.

"Your attention, please." Dumbledore's voice rang out through the crowd. "This is a great day for all of us." There was a roar from the dragons nearby. It made everyone jump and cheer. This was really going to happen.

"Each of the three tasks involves very considerable danger." Dumbledore continues. "Please keep to your seats at all times. This will minimize any risks you may be exposed to."

To think they said that this tournament had more safety measure than the last.

"I'm sure we all wish our four champions the greatest of luck!" The crowd is cheering again. Dumbledore exits the judges box and disappears to the tent.

It wasn't long before the first dragon was put into the arena. A Swedish Short-Snout was what George told you. A canon sounded and a moment later Cedric enters the battle ground. The crowd started to chant his name as he ready himself. George and Fred started to boo, but Beth knocked the both of them in the head.

Just like at the World Cup, Ludo Bagman was commentating what was happening. You cringe as Cedric dodge the Short-Snout. Holding you breath as you watch anxiously. Cedric got third-degree burns when his transfiguration trick didn't follow through all the way. You wince as you watched it happen, but he still managed to grab the Golden Egg.

"Very good indeed! Bagman shouted, "Next from Beauxbatons, Miss Fleur Delacour!"

Soon it was Harry's time and your nerves have not gone down. In the judges box, you can the other three traumatize from what happen. The canon sounded again and to your surprise the crowd started to chant Harry's name.

You grabbed onto George when the Hungarian Horntail breathed its fire at Harry. Everyone on the side of the fire gasp and leaned back away from the heat. The Horntail was much more brutal than the other three dragons. Slamming it's tail down trying to smash poor Harry like a pumpkin.

"YOUR WAND, HARRY! YOUR WAND!" Hermione shouted down at him. She was standing beside you, with Ron beside her, looking very guilty.

"Accio Firebolt!" Harry said with his wand raised.

The crowd cheered when Harry climbed onto his broomstick. Of course, it was his natural gift, Quidditch. The task became as nothing more than a game of Quidditch to Harry. He was trying to bait the dragon to fly, to chase him.

It was working…a little too well as the Horntail spread her leathery wings and began to fly up to Harry. She rose high enough until the chain collar that was tighten. As the Horntail flew up, Harry dived quickly to seized the egg. Seeing Harry near her eggs, broke something within the Horntail and before anyone could react, the Horntail snapped the chain of her collar.

The crowd gasp in horror, there was now a loose dragon on the ground and it wanted Harry bad. Your grip on George's arm tighten, you fear you might have left a bruise. The dragon keepers rushed to the battle ground to try and subdue the Horntail, but she just breathe her fire at them and then started after Harry.

"FLY HARRY!" You yelled.

Harry began to fly out of the arena with the Horntail tailing him. The dragon's tail knocked into the judges box on it's way out and the crowd applauded at the sudden entertainment they were getting.

"Well done dragon!" Fred cheer, which earned him another knock on the head from Beth.

You think your going to be sick. You press yourself into George's arm, who instead moves to allow you to tuck yourself into his chest instead and throw an arm around you.

There was a silence in the air that was waiting to burst. Everyone was looking towards the castle where Harry and the Horntail had few off too. Some of the Dragon Keepers got on brooms and went after them. It felt like a lifetime to you, but really only ten minutes go by before Harry with a smokey trail behind him emerges from the fog and back onto the battlefield.

George squeeze your upper arm as the crowd began to cheer. You look back up to see him land safely back on the ground, golden egg in hand. There were Professors waiting for him on the ground. McGonagall rushed him back to the champion tent and you felt like you could finally breathe again.

Hermione and Ron quickly left the stands as soon as Harry was out of sight. Thank Merlin, George still had an arm around you because all the anxiety wanted to make you collapse.

"Are you alright?" George asked rubbing your arm.

"That boy gonna be the death of me." you joked, but George didn't think it was funny.

"Don't say that…" he mumble. George removed his arm around you and you frown at the missing warmth he had provided.

"I'm kidding…it's you and Fred who will be the death of me." you say.

Back at the Gryffindor common room, Harry stood in the middle of the crowd as fellow Gryffindor cheer for him. You stood with Beth, who accompany you wanting to give her praise to Harry and to also make sure you were okay. The twins held Harry up on their shoulders.

"Knew you wouldn't die, Harry." said Fred.

"Lose a leg-" said George.

"or an arm."

Harry found you in the crowd later. You engulf him into a hug that squeeze him so tight that you might pop a rib if you continue. He tapped out of the hug and when you release him, you punch him.

"Ow! What was that for?" Harry asked, rubbing his shoulder.

"For scaring me, you dimwit." you said.

"You were scare?! How did you think I felt?"

Beth laughed, "It was very brave of you Harry."

"Thanks…let's just hope the next task doesn't involve me dangling from 50 feet on the side of the castle." Harry joked.

In the 6th year, the twins had told you their plans after graduating, which you have always supported. Of course, you'll support them, though you'll miss the late night jokes, shared detentions, passing notes during class, and sometimes even finishing each other's sentences.

Then one day it hits you, not gently, not softly, but it feels like a hit from a brick.

But more importantly, your feelings towards George, not Fred, but George. Sure, they looked similar, but George had attracted you the most. He was softer, but that wasn't the problem at all. The problem was the mixed signals he was giving, and you know you wanna be with that chaotic man.

You noticed how he acted towards you, but you don't really wanna seem like you're assuming everything. You notice the way he leans too close when he talks, the way he laughed, the way he casually throws his arm over your shoulder.

And now you can't function without thinking about it.

You liked—…loved him so much it made you so confused on how to act normally towards him, so what did you do? Avoid him, of course.

Great hall? You sat somewhere further, him visiting the library to find you? You immediately left, astronomy tower, late at night? You heard footsteps and immediately dipped.

This was quite a bad decision, but could you even handle the growing awkwardness between you two? You felt bad when he looked disappointed that he couldn't find you at all.

It's been exactly 2 days since you started avoiding him, and he thinks that you're just busy studying and all, but one person noticed, Fred, his twin, and his partner in crime.

Fred had always noticed the way you look at his twin. It was like he had hung the moon, the way your expression softens, and the way you were willing enough to do pranks that could cost detentions just to see him happy.

Fred being a great brother had cornered you in the library, knowing you were there, though from other students' eyes it seemed like Fred was causing trouble because, him? read?

“You've been dodging Georgie like he's cursed or like he has offended you. If so, spill. Care to explain, or do you wanna make me guess, y/n?” he questioned you, a slight knowing smirk coming to his face.

“What? I'm not—” “Do you like George, y/n?” he grinned while you deny everything badly.

Fred leans closer, his voice dropping. “You know, if you keep running, you'll trip over your own feelings. You should really just confront him.” He said.

You glared at him. “That's rich coming from you, Fred. And it's not easy!” you huff, to which he grinned. “Just tell him Y/n, it's not like he bites.”

And Fred, being Fred of course, teases you endlessly.

You overheard him talking to Fred to confront you, because even he notices George getting quieter and more bothered than the usual chaos.

You continued on your daily life, but without George this time. You do miss him, but he's your friend. You need to stop feeling something for him.

You felt guilty for avoiding him like this, without saying or telling him anything, and you couldn't help but miss laughing with him.

The Great Hall is louder than usual, probably because you weren't sitting beside George, who always whispers jokes or sarcastic comments.

It was overwhelming, but it was for the better, right?

You remember the night in the third year when you couldn't sleep. George had found you pacing around the common room. He noticed five books that you have probably read already scattered around the floor. It was a known habit of yours.

He made you sit with him in silence, handing you a chocolate frog as if that could fix everything. Well, it almost did.

Meanwhile, George, you had caught his eye during charms, his usual grin replaced with a frown. He had been fiddling with his quill instead of planning something mischievous with Fred.

You immediately looked away, and he blinked a few times, like the situation hadn't caught up with him yet. There was space between you two that hadn't been there before.

You and George used to walk together. Now you two just happened to be going the same way, it was obvious that you were avoiding him, but he didn't know why. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling in annoyance.

His jaw tightened as he tried to piece things together. He tried to recall what he did wrong. He swore he had been nice to you the whole week.

He tried so much to act normal, but he keeps glancing at you like he's waiting for you to talk to him again. He tries to approach you multiple times but chickens out.

He followed his train of thought carefully, piece by piece, but none of it made sense to him. He felt frustrated.

‘Did I do something? Did I cross a line? Why won't she just talk to me?' His thoughts were interrupted by Fred, who told him his new idea, but his mind was still somewhere else.

George had started trying to catch you before you left, and he even waited for you outside!

Thankfully, you managed to escape, unfortunately for George.

. . .

George wasn't supposed to be up this late, but… he grabbed Marauder's Map on his nightstand before grabbing his wand.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” He said. At first, nothing seems to happen. Then, almost like ink bleeding through the paper, fine lines begin to spread across the parchment.

Corridors appear, stretching and connecting. Staircases shift into place. Rooms materialise with labels. Then, a small number of tiny moving dots begin to show up inside the castle, with their name written beside their footsteps.

He looked for your name, knowing you have troubles sleeping. And there you were, astronomy tower.

“Mischief managed.” The writing fades instantly, leaving behind just a normal piece of parchment like nothing was ever there at all. George set down the parchment before sneaking off to the dark corridors.

When he arrived after a few minutes, you looked at him before you tried to leave.

He grabbed your wrist, preventing you from walking away. Then he finally snaps. He wasn't angry, but just emotionally overwhelmed from the amount of feelings crashing into him.

“Will you just tell me what I did?” he asked, his words came out sharp, but there was something underneath them.

“…oh, it's uh nothing. Just needed space.” You try to brush it off, but he doesn't let you. His grip around your wrist is tightening, but not enough to hurt you.

“You don't just stop talking to me for days without a reason.” The tension between you two sat heavily in the air.

Neither of you two spoke, because speaking meant admitting what they were both avoiding.

You let out a heavy sigh, and you hesitated. You pressed your lips together, as if holding back from saying everything.

And it all just went out of you.

The thoughts turned into words instantly, escaping before you could calm down. “It's because I love you, okay?! And I don't know how to be around you anymore without ruining everything! I liked you since our 2nd year, George! And I'm afraid that it'll ruin us!” you blurred out before closing your mouth shut, shocked by yourself.

You expected the harsh truth, but instead, he just stared, also shocked.

“…you like me?” He asked as if confirming if your confession was real, you hesitated before nodding, avoiding his eye.

You immediately tried to take it back, “forget I said anything— you were cut off by his laugh. You didn't know if you were getting mocked or not, but you could hear the relief.

“I thought you hated me,” he said before his voice went quieter “I’ve liked you for ages,” he confessed. He steps closer, still cautious, before joking to at least ease the tension. “All this drama because you fancy me? Bit dramatic, don’t you think?” he grinned, his mischievous smile coming back to his face,

You smack his shoulder, annoyed already. He gently takes your hand like it’s made of glass “Next time, just tell me, yeah? Saves me the confusion and sadness.”

The next day, he starts intentionally sitting closer, while Fred loudly celebrates and keeps saying “told you so,” which earns him a glare from you.

“So… what did I do that made you fall madly in love with me?” that question almost earned him getting choked by you.

A/N : lol mb if it this short💔

© lecz3li (04.28.26)

When George looked up, he was greeted by the sight of a wooden trapdoor in the ceiling. It was rusty and unused, and it looked worm-eaten in some places.

He helped you climb the ladder, holding it steady so you wouldn’t fall.

“Don’t look up,” you had teased.

“I won’t.”

And although he was almost tempted to look up—to see the way you would yell at him to not spy—he didn’t, the thought of making you uncomfortable was enough to stop him.

Soon, you were both out of the passage, looking equally dishevelled. 

You stopped, looked at him, and grabbed from his head a small leaf that had stuck between the orange strands of his hair. He mumbled a thank you before taking your hand in his and pulling you close.

His eyes travelled to your lips, a magnet drawing him towards them. It was compulsory, a reflex. His thumb went up to rub away some of the smudged lip balm that shone with glittery particles under the moonlight.

Squeezing his hand to reassure him everything was good, you tugged at him to bring you both inside the castle.

By the time you two arrived at the Great Hall, many people were already stepping out, the weekend doing nothing to stop the schedule from being enforced. And when George looked at his watch, he realised it was already seven. He had woken up from his nap at fifteen past six.

A blush started to spread to his cheeks when he realised what had stalled them so much.

“Gryffindor table, right?” You asked him.

The shy gleam that he had previously seen in your eyes had been quickly replaced by your usual calm aura, and the combative fire was back.

“Yup,” he merely mumbled.

He sighed, trying to get rid of any thought that wasn’t the objective of today: making his brothers and friends believe he was playing to win the bet.

When he walked to the table, there weren’t any whispers or gossip that followed them, yet he could feel the way your friends were staring at your intertwined hands. They had seen both of you spending time together, but never this overtly.

And his own group weren’t going to be any better.

Fred’s small sliver of morals had disappeared; he looked like a cat that had trapped the mouse right under its paw.

All his friends had already finished eating and were only catching up. Ron was animatedly talking with Hermione and Harry; Fred was caressing his invisible bread, and Lee was showing Ginny something in his notebook.

“A little late, isn’t it?” Fred spoke first.

Every pair of eyes was looking at them. He saw Ginny, the one who had talked to you about the bet, gazing at their intertwined hands before a smirk formed slowly on her face.

Oh. God. Ginny had planned everything.

He gasped, a small intake of air that for everyone might have seemed like him sighing. And when he turned to look at you, you were squinting at Fred, staring into his eyes with a forceful kind of eye contact—sizing him up and down. 

He almost, almost, felt sorry for his brother.

George squeezed your hand, then helped you sit down on the benches at the table, gentlemanly waiting until you were all comfortable before he himself sat down.

Clearing his throat, he answered. “Got caught up.”

“Doing what?” Lee asked, looking suspiciously amused.

Now everyone’s attention was on them; even Hermione, who had expressed her disapproval of the bet several times, seemed to be even the slightest bit curious about the new development.

“Getting my makeup done,” he mumbled as he grabbed the jug of orange juice and poured some of it into your cup.

“We can see that,” Ginny said, her tone amused.

He turned confused to look at her, and then, like the little minx she was, she pointed at her mouth, doing circles with her index finger. For a few seconds, he couldn’t understand what she said.

It wasn’t until you grabbed his chin to make him look at you and rubbed your thumb against his lips that he remembered. His eyebrows furrowed, and his nose scrunched, cheeks almost catching on fire. The lip balm.

“So, anything you want to tell us, George?” asked Fred.

George didn’t look at Fred; instead, he searched in your eyes. He didn’t know why staring at you had become part of his innermost private habit since he started hanging out with you these past few day. It was starting to be part of the composition of his brain; he needed to see you in order to act; he needed to be sure you were on the same page.

And he didn’t know if you knew this; he guessed you didn’t. Every single time his eyes found yours, you did this micro-expression; it was less than half a second where your eyes softened, and they shone the brightest. Then you blinked, and a taunting sneer replaced everything.

Especially, you did it when you sensed his discomfort.

Reading your reactions and expressions was something he did  pretty well, he realised. It wasn’t something he noticed he could do until right now. That alone made him blink back at you. It was a sort of very confusing way of communicating.

George cleared his throat and looked at his twin. He carefully contorted his face into a teasing smile, just like the one on your face. “No, why?”

“What is she doing here?” Ron blurted.

“I’m eating.” You said as you grabbed the fork and impaled a few chips, brow rising as you surveyed every one of his friends and siblings. “Good evening, by the way.”

“We can see that you’re eating,” Fred muttered as he watched you biting your beef.

But it was the tone that made George take in a deep breath before he shook his head and closed his eyes at his brother.

“Are you trying to imply something, Frederick Weasley?” You pointed at him with your knife, lips pressed together and eyes squinted.

If Fred was trying to make you hate him more, then he was doing it with flying colours. Well, not hate, but you were still salty about the bet and the way they had intended George to use a girl just to prove a point.

“Nope, nothing at all,” Fred answered quickly.

Fred retracted his attack for a total of five seconds before he was back at it. His eyes were full of intent, not malicious but definitely devilish. It nearly made George wish he kissed you longer just so you two would’ve skipped dinner.

But it wasn’t Fred who spoke first; it was, surprisingly, Hermione. “Are you two together?”

You seemed to mull over your words, then you carefully answered. “Well, yes…” You shrugged. “We are.”

Ron choked on his drink, Lee snapped his book closed, and Hermione looked at him as if he were the worst human being alive. Harry looked like he already had too much on his plate to care, and Fred and Ginny smirked.

George, on the other hand, shuddered. For the first time, he felt like he couldn’t lie. It was much too real. You two were together for the whole world to see.

Saying you were his girlfriend to Beth had felt slow and careful; maybe it was because he had been the one who made the decision to say it. Now it felt like the control he had regained on the staircase dripped out of his body bit by bit.

You were the one in control now. And he was watching you act nonchalant, as if mere minutes ago you hadn’t been blushing head to toe, stammering.

Perhaps he felt envious of you; perhaps he simply wished he had your capacity to pull yourself together that quickly.

But what he had overthought had finally arrived, and it was impossible for him to be calm. Especially when Fred was looking at him as if he could guess all his secrets with only one look.

“Is that right?” Ginny asked, looking at you as if she knew better. And she probably did.

“Yes,” George said quickly, and his little sister’s analysing eyes snapped to him. “She’s my girlfriend.” His voice trembled for an instant, but no one noticed. 

Except you. You crossed your legs and nudged his calf with your foot. It was subtle—soothing. 

“Really?” Ron's incredulous tone grated on him. “Since when?”

“Yeah, George, since when?” Fred parroted.

“A few days ago,” he replied, avoiding everybody’s eyes and taking a first bite of his meal, urged by you.

Lee lifted a brow. “When, exactly?”

You looked at him and smiled a bit. For them, it looked almost tender. For him, he knew that smile. It was the self-contained, I’m merely a girl, perfect prefect, deceiving smile.

“This week,” you vaguely replied, eyes wandering toward Ginny.

“Bit fast, innit?” Fred clicked his tongue, then he looked at George very intently. “You were never the one to jump into a relationship fast; if I were her, I would doubt if you had any ulterior motives.”

Nobody at the table spoke for a few seconds. The hubbub of students laughing and talking to one another further away was the only thing that could be heard.

George stared at Fred. Blue against blue.

He was absolutely, positively furious. What was Fred’s problem? He was the one who had made this bet so George could get a girlfriend, and when he did, he tried to sabotage it. For what? So he would lose and be the one experimented on for a year?

That seemed unlikely. For Fred, the bet was merely a way of making him have a girlfriend. But one could never know with Fred. He was as volatile as a ticking bomb.

God, George was going to kill him. Lee and Ron too. He would spare Harry, as he seemed to have been roped into the bet by proxy. Then he was going to kill himself for agreeing to this madness. Then you would dress in the pretty black dress you said you had and weep in his sister’s arms.

You let out a giggle just when his thoughts were getting a bit more morbid. “I mean, no man will ever not have ulterior motives, isn’t it?” 

You turned to look at him, eyes filled with seething rage covered by a sweet tone and a giggle. That made him feel a bit better; you were just as mad as him.

“Do you want to take advantage of me, George?” You said, your hand travelling to play with the ends of his hair, your lashes fluttering.

“Only a bit,” he joked and planted a kiss on the tip of your nose.

You gasped playfully. “Sir, do behave, at least while I am looking.”

“You must forgive me; I seem to have forgotten my manners.” He tilted his head and squished your cheeks with one hand, making you hit him lightly on his chest.

Someone on the table cleared their throat very loudly and dramatically, making George roll his eyes and look at the one who did it, which was, unsurprisingly, Fred. But everyone looked slightly uncomfortable by the display.

“What?” George snapped.

“You two are being disgusting,” Fred gagged.

“You are disgusting," you snarled before going back to your food.

Hermione, who seemed to be the least uncomfortable with the whole PDA and absolute madness of the table, spoke again. “So, is it official?” She tilted her head.

"Yes", you smiled at him and nodded.

Hermione merely offered you a half smile before she turned her eyes towards George and threw in his direction the coldest, most appalled grimace she could muster.

Right, she knew about the bet and had been the only one who had tried to make Fred see reason, unsuccessfully, considering how much respect Fred had for her. And you knew Hermione knew, but Hermione didn’t know you knew.

“I do hope you’re happy,” she mumbled, though it held much more meaning behind it than the mere act of congratulating.

You looked at her and smiled so brightly it stole his breath away. “Very.”

***

The next day couldn’t have come quicker, and much to George’s chagrin, he was sitting in the Great Hall next to you, surrounded again by people scrutinising him. This time, though, the people weren’t his group, but yours.

Contrary to what people might think of Hufflepuff, they could be pretty scary when they wanted to be. Especially your best friend, who was also part of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and was always fighting during the matches.

Fred hadn’t been lying when he said your friends were even crazier than you.

In front of him was your best friend, Heidi, looking up and down at him with scorn on her face, as if the thought of him being in front of her was ridiculous. Next to Heidi was Nessa, who was shuffling a tarot deck with impressive dexterity. She was regarding him the same way Professor Trelawney looked at everyone. But it was more whimsical, somehow. As if she knew something people didn’t.

Nessa placed the deck in the middle of the table and looked at George. “Cut.”

With hesitant hands, George’s hand shot towards the deck and did as Nessa told, his finger barely touching the cards. Heidi crossed her arms, and, sitting almost on top of her, Gabriel Truman tilted his body further, curious.

“Wow, I’ve never seen you do it without complaining,” Truman mumbled, amused by the development.

Nessa gathered the deck and gave the first card a few taps with her fingertips, as if she were awakening them. She placed five of them on the table in a small semicircle, and before she started revealing them, she closed her eyes and intertwined her hands.

George looked at you, discombobulated by the way none of them had spoken to him before the impromptu tarot lecture. You merely winked at him and took a bite out of your pancake.

Heidi snapped her fingers at him, startling him. “Pay attention!”

“Heid, stop being rude.” Gabriel rolled his eyes.

When Nessa turned the first card around, she laughed. “The fool.”

One by one, Nessa started turning them around, revealing them in front of George: Justice, Two of Cups, Five of Wands, and The Star. She gave a non-committal nod before she turned to you and nodded.

“He really walked straight into this, ain’t he?”

He saw the way your lips turned into a thin line and then giggled softly. “Well, yes.”

George’s eyes jumped between Nessa and you before he turned to Heidi, who was nodding along, and Gabriel, who seemed more interested in watching a Beauxbaton girl from afar than watching the lecture.

“I don’t understand.” He muttered, his face comically contorted in confusion.

You kissed him on the cheek and brought his plate of food closer to him. “She’s just trying to get into your head.”

He blushed fully. The affection was still foreign in public. Yes, you kissed him on the cheek twice before, but never in public while he was being given a tarot lecture with your friends watching you both.

His mind betrayed him, replaying the moment he had kissed you yesterday, your soft lips pressed against his, and how your lip balm had spread on his skin as it did now on his cheek.

Heidi raised a brow before she turned to Nessa. “Explain.”

Nessa shrugged. “You’re not here for the reason you say you are.” She pointed to the justice.

George had never believed Trelawney’s tarot nonsense—yet this felt oddly accurate. Though Nessa seemed more like she merely wanted to mess him up a little bit than anything else, the punch to the gut had been real

She grabbed the Two of Cups, The Justice and The Fool. “You’re in deep. What began carelessly won’t end carelessly.”

With that, Nessa started gathering the cards quickly, her eyes boring into him like she knew more than she was letting on. And George felt exposed under her stare. What did she mean by deep? There was nothing deep in what they were doing. It was just to avoid getting people hurt, a mutually beneficial agreement that had nothing to do with feelings.

Then he turned towards you, who were smiling while saying something to your friends, and his mind travelled back to yesterday again.

Maybe the kiss had shifted something he hadn’t meant to move. But George could say one hundred per cent that he did not like you. Really. He liked your presence; that was it. 

Maybe he did need to be more careful. He knew this was something that could explode in each other's faces pretty hard, and he couldn’t afford to actually let you be hurt by him being so… foolish.

“But you’re late.” Nessa settled the deck on the table with a loud thud; whatever Heidi was mumbling about to you and Gabriel was silenced.

George blinked. “To what?” His mouth suddenly went dry.

Nessa smiled, a sardonic pull on the way she shrugged only one shoulder.

“I really can’t tell.”

***

The sun was slowly setting on the horizon, filling the Hogwarts grounds with a nice, warm light that bathed the students’ cold away for a moment. The month changing did not stop the freezing, almost below-zero temperatures, yet George found himself near the great lake.

Sitting above a blanket against a tree, he was waiting for you to come and find him after finishing your extracurriculars for the day. As he had already laid a career path chosen that didn’t include a lot of subjects that were being taught, he had dropped out of a lot of classes, leaving him with more free time than you did.

The wind was lazily hitting his cheeks, slowly gaining more force as the day gave way to the night. Not even his thick, wool sweater was able to stop the goosebumps from erupting on his body when he felt frosty fingers touching his half-covered cheeks.

He opened his eyes quickly and grabbed your hands, pushing them away from his body as you giggled. He wiggled the scarf off his mouth and called your name, reproachful, virtually whining.

“What are you doing? Sneaking an attack like that?” He clicked his tongue.

“You were about to fall asleep.” You chuckled and sat down beside him.

You took a blanket—well, not a blanket, a really big pink pashmina shawl—and covered their legs with it. Automatically, George was invaded by your perfume. Flowery, citrussy, like a splash of summer in the middle of winter. It made him incredibly warm.

“How was Arithmancy?” he asked, his hands sneaking under the shawl to warm them.

It was as if you were waiting for someone to ask you, because as soon as he asked, you exploded into a verbose rant. He had been listening to it, really, but there was only so much he could understand about equations until his brain started to fog. Which was a bum because he was good with numbers; he just didn’t have the same passion you had.

In his mind, it occurred to him that you could be a good acquisition for the shop. They would definitely need a bookkeeper to help them once the business became famous all around the wizarding world—a man could only dream of such a thing as international recognition.

He dismissed the thought immediately. Definitely not; that was absurd. He and Fred could do an excellent job at bookkeeping. 

“I’m talking too much, am I not?” You bit your lips and scoffed, embarrassed.

“No,” he shook his head. “I was just thinking of today.”

“Oh.” You opened your mouth in a cutesy O, and his eyes wandered.

You were wearing another lip balm; he tried to decipher which one it was from the array of them he had seen you wear all these days. It wasn’t lemon; you had used it yesterday. Your perfume made it complicated for him to get a whiff of it. Maybe it was bubblegum or raspberries.

"Were they my friends?” you mumbled. “People tend to think they are weird. Cedric's friends mostly. But Cedric is not that much around nowadays, so we couldn’t care less.” You tilted your head and scrunched your nose. “I’m going to start rooting for Harry on the next task.”

“Does Nessa know about the bet?” He said, slowly, like he didn’t know whether to ask you or not.

His fancy had been running wild since Nessa had made that tarot lecture over breakfast. And he had been nervously debating whether he should ask you or not, not really wanting to upset you by saying the wrong words and making you believe he didn’t trust you.

“No.” You crushed the thought that had been running wild in his mind. “The only one who knows what is happening is Ginny.” You placed a hand on his knee, and even with layers of clothes and the shawl, he was able to feel the warmth. “Nessa is messing with your head. She acts all whimsical and stuff. But she’s not a seer or something.”  

“Oh, okay,” he muttered. “Does she just not like me?” Now there was a spark of doubt. “Not only Nessa, but Heidi too.”

Of course, he had felt the hostility in Heidi since the moment he entered the Great Hall today, but he had attributed all that to the animosity of Quidditch. But Truman had been somewhat nice, and George remembered clearly when, last year, he and Fred had transformed his face to look like a toad.

“Nessa does that to everybody; it wasn’t a target.” You patted his knee. “She and Heidi act the same when Gabriel introduces new girlfriends. They fully believe you’re my boyfriend.” You squinted your eyes at the horizon, thinking. “But they kind of don’t have the best perspective on you or Fred.”

“If you’re thinking of that time Nessa’s bag exploded in the middle of the class,” he started, a small smirk appearing on his face. “That was Fred.”

“And what about that time Heidi’s shoulder got dislocated by a wild Bludger?” You lifted a brow.

“It was Quidditch!” He defended himself.

“It was Muggle softball!” you retorted. “And we were playing with non-magical equipment.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “That might have been my fault.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t even want to know how you were able to sneak a Bludger without anyone realising.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” he smirked.

You sighed. “They’ll warm up. Eventually.”

“They need to.” He mumbled close to your ear, watching you closely. “It’s going to be a long few months.”

You turned to look at him, a small sparkle of something in your eyes that made his heart skip a beat.