Whispers in the Infirmary
Pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader
Summary: After colliding during the Quidditch match, Y/N and George end up in the infirmary. Spending time together, they get to know each other better, discovering shared interests and beginning to grow closer.
Warnings: Explicit content / Soft smut /Public-ish setting (Hospital Wings) / Slow burn, warmth & intimacy
The crowd was going wild. The stadium trembled with cheers as broomsticks whooshed through the air and the commentator's voice echoed across the pitch. The sun glinted off the golden hoops, and the wind tugged at the players’ robes as they soared around the field in full concentration.
I was flying fast, too fast maybe—but the Quaffle was just within reach. My fingers stretched toward it, my heart pounding in rhythm with the roar of the stands. I barely registered the blur of red coming at me from the side until it was too late.
CRACK.
The impact knocked the breath out of me. My shoulder slammed into something—someone—and then the world spun. A flash of red hair. A grunt. And then everything went black.
When I opened my eyes, the light was too bright. Everything felt heavy. My head throbbed, my body ached, and for a moment, I had no idea where I was.
The sterile scent of potion-soaked linens and the faint clink of glass told me before my eyes adjusted: the hospital wing.
I blinked, groaning softly. My limbs protested even the smallest movement. Turning my head just slightly, I caught sight of another bed—and then I saw him.
George Weasley. Lying flat on his back, leg in a cast, with a bruised temple and a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite it all.
“Hey,” he said, voice raspy but amused, “you’ve got a pretty solid shoulder.”
I blinked again, then gave a hoarse laugh.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I mumbled, voice rough.
He grinned. “Though next time, maybe we don’t try to tackle each other midair, yeah?”
Before I could reply, the infirmary door creaked open and in tumbled a group of Gryffindor boys, loud and laughing, still in their red robes, carrying bags of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, and other sweets.
“Oy, our hero!” Lee Jordan called out, heading straight to George’s bed. “You’re alive. Thank Merlin. Thought Madam Pomfrey might turn you into some kind of anatomy model.”
“Still breathing after that slam—unbelievable,” another added, giving George’s shoulder a pat.
They all started replaying the collision, laughing and mimicking the moment of impact like it was some grand prank.
“But the way you flew, George, it was like—WHAM!” Lee flung his arms dramatically. “And the other one—who even was that?”
No one looked at me. Not even a glance.
I was right there, barely a meter away, lying in the next bed. It was like I didn’t exist.
A tight knot formed in my chest.
George cleared his throat loudly. Deliberately.
“She’s right there,” he said flatly, tilting his head slightly toward me. “Still breathing too, in case you were wondering.”
The Gryffindors froze, as if just now remembering they weren’t alone.
They all turned toward me at once.
“Oh. Hey,” they said in near unison, a weird chorus of awkward realization.
“Glad you... made it,” one of them added, and just like that, they turned back to George, continuing their chatter as if I’d vanished again.
I just smiled faintly to myself. Honestly? I didn’t expect much else. Gryffindor had its own rhythm, its own bubble.
Eventually, they filtered out, leaving behind empty wrappers and a pile of sweets dumped at George’s side. The room quieted, shadows deepening as evening set in. Somewhere in the back, I heard the clink of potion bottles as Madam Pomfrey tidied up.
“You want one?” George asked, holding out a Chocolate Frog toward me.
I gave him a sideways look, then smirked, reaching for it.
“Only if it doesn’t try to hop out of my hand.”
He shifted upright a little, wincing as pain shot through his leg.
“Didn’t expect the match to end with me stuck in a hospital bed,” he said, exhaling. “Though I’ve had worse roommates.”
I laughed, biting off a corner of chocolate.
“I wasn’t planning to collide full-speed with a Weasley today, but here we are.”
George grinned, almost proudly.
“Well, at least you’re fast. Most people can’t keep up.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That a compliment or a challenge?”
“A bit of both.”
Silence settled for a moment — not awkward, just... easy. Warm.
“You following the World Cup?” he asked suddenly.
I perked up.
“Ireland. Always. Their Seeker is unreal.”
George’s grin widened.
“Knew you had good taste. Me too. And their Beaters? Brilliant. Especially the younger one—always goes in from the left. Genius.”
We started talking. About teams, strategies, unfair fouls, jaw-dropping plays, childhood favorites, unforgettable moments. Time slipped away unnoticed. The lights dimmed fully, but I didn’t care. George’s voice was alive and full of fire, and that was enough.
And I realized — maybe this hospital stay wouldn’t be so bad after all.
The days slipped by almost unnoticed.
Every evening, almost like clockwork, Fred would sneak into the hospital wing with a bag stuffed full of sweets. Biscuits, eclairs, sometimes even magically-warmed cocoa that never went cold. He always said it was for George, but his eyes would flick toward me with a silent grin.
He shared with me too. No words — just pushing the plate my way, then disappearing again with a cheeky remark tossed over his shoulder.
George and I talked. About everything. Quidditch, classes, professors, nonsense. Dreams. Annoyances. Things that made us laugh.
We laughed a lot. And sometimes we just sat in silence — and that was enough too.
My body healed quickly — bruises faded, muscle aches eased, and Madam Pomfrey's spells worked their magic. George looked better by the day as well. The swelling was gone, the cuts on his face were now faint lines. The only thing keeping him in bed was the cast still wrapped around his leg.
That afternoon, Madam Pomfrey came to my bed with her clipboard and a faint smile.
“You’ll be ready to return to your dorm tomorrow, dear. Everything’s looking good.” She turned to George. “But you, Mr. Weasley… you’re staying with us a bit longer.”
I nodded, but there was a weight in my chest — a strange tightness, a quiet ache. I wasn’t ready for this to be over.
That evening, it was just the two of us. For the first time.
"It’s a bit of a shame you’re getting released tomorrow," he said quietly, with that slight smile that always appeared when he tried to hide something more sincere. "You know, I’d probably feel a lot better if I got a kiss to help with all this pain," he joked, looking at me with a spark in his eye.
I stood up and leaned over him, kissing him on the lips. His hands immediately wrapped around me more firmly, pulling me closer. "If you’re uncomfortable" he murmured softly "you can sit on my bed."
I hesitated for a moment, wondering what exactly I was doing. But I did it… gently, sitting down right on him.
Our lips met again, and during the kiss, I felt myself move slightly. A soft moan escaped his lips, adding a little spice to the moment. "That seems to really help," George joked with a grin. "I’m glad you think so," I replied, smiling at him before we lost ourselves in the kiss once more.
With every closeness, I could feel his body more and more through the thin pajamas.
His hands settled gently on my hips, as if trying to make sure I was really there.
He kissed me. At first, softly, like he wanted to memorize every inch of my skin. Then more deeply, with growing intensity. His hands roamed over my back, fingers tangled in my hair. Soft sighs mixed with shallow breaths. His body trembled beneath mine, and mine responded to his touch.
He looked at me as if he couldn’t believe this was happening. We touched slowly, cautiously, but with an increasing need, until everything else ceased to exist. Just him and me. Skin, whispers, kisses.
There was no rush — only warmth, tenderness, and breath mingling in the darkness.
I sat down on him slowly, feeling his weight beneath me. His hands tightened around my waist, pulling me closer. Every movement was deliberate, gentle, yet charged with tension.
I closed my eyes as I felt him enter me—deeply, slowly, with anticipation. I let out a soft sigh, and his breath quickened against my neck.
My body tensed, craving more, gently gripping, molding to him. His hands roamed my back, holding me steady as I moved slowly, rhythmically.
I felt every movement, as if time slowed down and the world outside ceased to exist. With each motion, our bodies fit more closely together, and the tension grew. I let out a louder sigh, gripping his shoulders tightly as we approached the edge.
“Are you okay?” I asked, breathing lightly, not wanting to break the moment.
He looked at me through half-closed eyes, a slight sweat on his brow and a smile that said more than words.
“I feel amazing,” he replied, his voice slightly breaking, his eyes shining more intensely than ever.
His hand moved slowly against my skin, tracing a path between my thighs — right where my heart fluttered wildly. I clenched tightly around him, my body taut with longing and hunger. I tilted my head back, eyes closing as a soft sigh escaped his lips — I couldn’t tell if it was from the pain in his leg or the rising pleasure between us.
Every small movement sent a shiver through me — the brush of his fingers, the warmth radiating from his body.
Then together we reached the peak, lost in that moment as if nothing else mattered.
And as I lay on his chest, calm and happy, my fingers lazily tracing his shoulder, I spoke softly. "Tomorrow, I’ll bring you a bag full of sweets. I promise."
He laughed quietly, kissing my hair.
"If there are eclairs, I’m already in love."
