#kickass reader

The Quidditch pitch was alive with noise — cheers, the pounding of feet on grass, and the shrill whistle signaling the end of the match. George Weasley’s team had won, and the stands erupted in celebration.

But none of that mattered to you.

Your eyes were locked on him as he jogged off the pitch, sweat gleaming on his forehead, his fiery hair tousled by the wind. You pushed through the crowd, boots kicking up dirt, heart pounding wildly in your chest.

Without a second thought, you grabbed the collar of his jersey, pulling him toward you in front of the entire stadium.

Your lips met his in a fierce, breathless kiss — loud, unashamed, and full of everything you’d kept bottled up for years. The crowd gasped, silence cutting through the chaos for a heartbeat before erupting into cheers again.

You pulled back slowly, lips tingling, and met his stunned, flushed expression.

“Hi,” you said, like you hadn’t just devoured him in front of the entire school.

“…Hi,” he blinked.

“You played well.”

“You kissed me.”

“Well spotted Weasley.”

🌷🌸

You didn’t let go of his hand as you left the pitch together. If anything, your grip tightened. You were glowing—mud on your boots, wind in your hair, and something burning wild in your chest.

That’s when it happened.

A familiar figure stepped into your path in the corridor—tall, older, all smug Slytherin superiority and bitter pride. He’d never liked you. And apparently, today was his final straw.

“Oh, look. The Gryffindor pet’s still wagging her tail.”

George tensed beside you, face darkening, “Mate, not today”

“Nah, I think today’s perfect. Thought we had standards, but apparently anyone can wear green these days—”

You were already moving.

CRACK.

Your fist slammed into the boy’s nose, cracking with a disgusting crunch. He stumbled back, blood spraying across his robes as he collapsed against the wall.

“Say that again,” you snapped, fists still clenched.

The boy’s back was half-slumped against the wall, nose bleeding from the punch you’d just given him. You were turning away, satisfied, about to keep walking.

But then—he laughed.

A low, nasally sound through his broken nose.

“No wonder you’re with a Weasley,” he spat, eyes narrowed through the blood. “Takes a poor little mud-loving mongrel to fall for a charity case like that.”

THUD.

You kicked him—hard, boot to the chest, right against the ribs. He hit the wall again and gasped for breath like he’d been hit with a Bludger.

Then you crouched slowly, eyes cool and unreadable.

“Got anything else to say?”

He shook his head, gagging quietly, the smugness fully gone.

You stood. Adjusted your sleeve.

“Didn’t think so.”

George was frozen, somewhere between concerned, aroused, and mentally planning the wedding.

“Remind me never to piss you off.”

“You’d never be that stupid.”

“…No. Definitely not….and wait…wait, you kissed me, then punched and kicked a guy.”

You gave a slow shrug. “And?”

“And I think I’m in love.”

You paused. Blinked at him.

Then grabbed his hand. “Come with me.”

🌷🌸

You pulled him into an empty, overgrown courtyard behind the Owlery—hidden away from the castle noise. Moonlight spilled in through the archways. Moss clung to the stones like time had forgotten them.

You didn’t let go of his hand.

George was quiet now, that usual playful spark replaced with something more cautious. More vulnerable.

“So… about the whole kiss thing.”

You turned toward him. “What about it?”

George dragged both hands down his face like he couldn’t deal with what just happened, “You kiss me and then assaulted someone. Was that just… post-game adrenaline, or…”

“What? No! You fool. That guy he …he deserved it!–George… if you want to back out now—if you think I’m too much—“

He stared at you. Absolutely still. Then, softly…

“No. No, that’s not what I meant.”

A beat passed.

“Then what do you mean?”

He stepped in closer. His voice was lower now—gentler. There was something fragile behind his usual grin.

“I’ve liked you for years,” George said. “Not a little bit. Like—full-blown, eat-my-heart, ruin-my-life liked you.”

You snorted. “Very poetic.”

He went a bit red. “Well. I just… I’ve liked you for so long, and I thought you never saw me like that.”

You looked at him, brow raised. “I was scared. You’re everything I’m not—loud, kind, loved. I didn’t think you’d ever want someone like me.”

“Someone like you?”

“You know. A Slytherin. A pain. Complicated.”

He shook his head, stepped closer, hands brushing your arms.

“You’re brave. Smart. Funny when you want to be. And completely unhinged in the most incredible way.”

You blinked. “So you don’t mind that I’m a little…”

“A little terrifying? Love, I’ve watched you jinx someone without blinking. I think I fell for you in fourth year.”

You stared. Heart pounding.

“So what now?”

He leaned in. Pressed his forehead to yours.

“Now we stop pretending.”

You kissed him again. Slower. Softer.

No audience. No noise. Just the two of you.

Until—

“OH THANK MERLIN.”

You both broke apart to see Fred Weasley leaning against a statue with the smuggest look in recorded history.

“Finally! I’ve been watching you two do this ridiculous flirty eye-contact dance for years. You could’ve saved me so much time if you just started snogging earlier.”

George groaned. “Fred—”

“Nope. I’m allowed. I earned this. I’ve been third-wheeling since fourth year.”

You glared. “Did you seriously follow us?”

“I was worried! She decked someone, Georgie. Full-on fist to the face! I thought I’d have to bail her out of Azkaban.”

“Would’ve been worth it,” George muttered, still blinking like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

“You two make me sick,” Fred added cheerfully before leaving. “Mushy little psychos.”

George muttered something about legally disowning his brother and then turned to you, face still pink.

You just smirked and tucked your fingers into his.

“You realise this means I’m yours now, right?”

“Good,” he said, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Because I’m yours too.”

🌷🌸

Extra lil bit

You hadn’t even made it through the Great Hall doors the next morning when someone hissed your name.

“Miss [L/N]. My office. Now.”

You turned slowly.

Snape stood in the shadows like a bad omen, black robes already flaring dramatically despite zero wind. He didn’t wait for you to reply—just pivoted with a billow and glided away like a massive depressed bat.

George gave you a wide-eyed look from the Gryffindor table.

You sighed. “If I die, tell Fred he’s not allowed at my funeral.”

🌷🌸

Snape’s office smelled like old parchment, stronger potions, and years of withheld emotions. You stood silently in front of his desk as he slowly—slowly—sat down, folded his hands, and just stared at you for a moment.

Then—

“What. Exactly. Were you thinking.”

You blinked. “About what, sir?”

“Don’t play coy. I am not in the mood.”

You crossed your arms. “In my defence, he had it coming! I kissed George Weasley and what—now I’m the reason for Slytherins downfall? I just knocked him off his pedestal”

Snape’s nostrils flared. A vein may have twitched.

“Yes. So I’ve heard. Quite loudly. Across three corridors. Because you punched a fellow student—broke his nose—and then kicked him against a stone wall.”

“And yet, here I stand, unpunished. Which says a lot.”

Snape stood. Slowly. The temperature dropped three degrees.

“Miss [L/N], you are in Slytherin House. That alone demands a measure of tact, discretion, and control. You are not some reckless Gryffindor brawling in the halls over every emotional outburst.”

You nodded. “Right. But…”

Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“…admit it. It was kinda cool.”

He stared.

“Miss [L/N].”

“Sir.”

“This is not a joke.”

You bit your lip. “I know. I’m just saying—he said what he said, I responded accordingly!”

Snape began to pace now, robes whispering behind him.

“I expect better of you. I expect my students not to be the source of a castle-wide spectacle. And I certainly do not expect my Slytherins to be fawning over Gryffindors in broad daylight like a bloody comedic act!”

You blinked. “You watched the kiss?”

“It was impossible to miss.”

“…Thoughts?”

He stopped. Faced you fully. Arms crossed.

“Get. Out.”

You dipped your head. “As you wish, Professor.”

And as you turned to leave—

“Miss [L/N].”

He gave you one last glare. “No more hospital visits. No more broken noses. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you must commit violence, at least use a silent hex like a civilized witch.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if I hear so much as a whisper about Weasley sneaking into the dungeons after hours—”

“You won’t.”

Snape exhaled, picked up a quill, and stabbed it into an inkpot like it had wronged him.