#moonlitcoven

“Sir Cormac, are you alright?” Ana, your younger sister, asked as she fled to his aid. She never minded his lingering touches and had always envied that you received his “affections” as well, even though you hardly wanted them.

“Yes, yes, quite alright, Your Highness. Just lost my balance is all,” Cormac grumbled as his eyes lingered on the wire. He didn’t want to be seen as foolish enough to be bested by a simple prank, but unfortunately the evidence was far from discreet.

“Come, I’ll take you to the infirmary. I’m sure there’s something we can do about that bruise.”

You watched with disgust as your sister practically carried Sir Cormac down the hall, until the clearing of a throat broke your attention.

“Y/N, did you lay that wire?” your mother asked, the accusatory tone evident in her voice.

“No, Mother, but frankly I wish I had. Do you see the way he’s always caressing my arms?! He’s even dared to touch my back and he does it to Ana as well! Of course, she doesn’t mind, though it truly escapes me why she doesn’t. He’s horrendous.”

Your mother stifled a laugh; even though she was the Queen, you knew your mischievous and independent ways had come from her.

“Next time he tries to touch you, tell him that your Mother will have his hands,” she spoke with a smile. “I have business to attend to in the dining room, please try to stay out of trouble for once.”

She turned on her heel and left you on your own, but you knew her warning was playful. When the sound of her footsteps receded, your mind and feet began to wander. Your thoughts were consumed with all of the small, mostly harmless, pranks that had been occurring around the castle.

Just the other day, your handmaiden and close friend Luna had witnessed one of your tutors walk out of the kitchen sopping wet. She asked around and found out that a bucket of water had fallen on her head that morning seemingly out of thin air.

You wished that you would have felt sympathy for her, but she had scolded you until you cried last week because you couldn’t remember the first name of a Prince that you would never meet.

A little over a month ago you noticed that Lady Priscilla, a dreadful, awful young woman from a noble family in your Father’s Court, was itching constantly at her corset. You recalled receiving an actual stern glare from your mother for laughing at that one.

But, the little things you noticed weren’t always directed at people. Occasionally you’d find furniture askew, flower arrangements and paintings altered, sticky substances on the railings (you had gotten caught up in that a time or two). You recalled finding every piece of furniture in the Great Dining Hall practically glued to the floor once and thought your parents were going to have coronaries, but to your surprise, they laughed alongside you.

Your father had suspected you at first, of course, but when the pranks continued while you were away last month visiting your best childhood friend, Lady Hermione Granger, it was obvious you were not the culprit. No one could recall when the odd occurrences started happening, so it just became a way of life around the castle. Not that anyone minded, you’d even seen your grumpy sister crack a smile or two at the jests.

Sometimes you wished you knew who it was, that you could dismantle the mystery, partly because you wanted them to include you in their havoc. However, a far greater reason, was that over the past few months, you had found yourself smiling and laughing again after the untimely death of your elder sister, Clara, during the Great War. Whoever this mystery prankster was, you owed them a thank you about a million times over.

Fearing that you’d smack straight into a wall while your mind was reeling over the castle’s secret joker, you shook the thoughts from your head and found yourself walking towards the gardens.

As you began opening the door to the greenhouse, it suddenly flung open to reveal a rather tall and beautiful man with hair the color of a roaring fire.

“Pardon me, Princess,” he apologized immediately. “I was all too focused on not dropping these herbs and didn’t realize the door was opening.”

You realized then that you had stumbled into Mr. George Weasley, the Potions Master and Healer that your Father had employed months ago. He was supposedly brilliant; had a way with creating concoctions that even the brightest minds had never thought of. When your Mother fell ill earlier this year, George had her right as rain within days.

You also recalled from palace gossip that he used to run a business with his twin brother a few years ago, but his brother had died in the Great War and George refused to carry on the business without him.

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Weasley. Do you need some help carrying your things?”

“I-I-You know my name?” He stuttered quietly.  

“Of course I do,” you chuckled. “My Father speaks very highly of you, especially after the way you took such great care of my Mother. Thank you for that, by the way. I tried to find you to thank you in person before, but it seems we always miss each other.”

“Yes, it seems we do, and please, call me George,” he trailed off lightly, a twinkle in his deep, brown eyes.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you; you could have been gazing into each other’s eyes for hours, you couldn’t be sure, but the trance was broken when the hoard of plants fell from his arms.

“Here, please let me help,” you said as you bent down to the ground, gathering the discarded herbs.

“If your Mother or Father catches you helping the insignificant Potions Master – ”

“They would be thrilled that they had raised a kind and helpful daughter. Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

George smiled down at you, a blinding smile that reached his eyes and made the corners crinkle.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to say.”

The two of you headed off towards the East Wing of the castle where his living and work chambers were located. Once you had helped him sort out the herbs and tidy up any fallen leaves or stems, you sat down and sighed, admiring his workspace.

“I’ve always been fascinated by potion making and medicine,” you said quietly. “I wish it were part of my studies. I learned a little bit during the War to help with the wounded but nothing more in the past few years. Now that I’m older, my lessons, if you can even call them that, only consist of recalling Monarchial history and information about other kingdoms.”

You noticed George stiffen at the mention of the Great War, his cheerful demeanor suddenly disappearing from sight, but as quickly as it was gone it was back again.

“The War is what got me into all this in the first place. I figured I’d use my talents to help people if I could, and it turns out I’m pretty good at it.”

He managed a weak smile, and the sight of it broke your heart.

“I’m sorry about your brother, George. I-I heard about him in passing, some Noblewomen were discussing your tragedy like it was front page news since they never have anything better to do. I suppose I’m no better for listening, even if it wasn’t entirely on purpose, but I’m still so sorry.”

“I appreciate that, Princess. I will always miss him but in the past year I feel like I’ve finally started moving forward with my life instead of standing still.”

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, embarrassed that you had brought up such a sensitive topic upon your first time meeting George, but you couldn’t help it. You wanted him to know you were sorry, and that you understood his pain.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmured. “You lost someone as well, didn’t you?”

“My sister, Clara. She was always rebellious, even worse than me, and she was in love with a man from the village just outside the palace grounds. His name was Thomas and they were just perfect for each other. When my Father got word that Riddle’s Army was headed towards the castle, she snuck away through one of the secret passages to the village to save him, but Riddle’s Army was already there and she died with him when they destroyed the village.”

George couldn’t say anything, the tragic story rendering him speechless. Your sister’s bravery and your obvious heartache, he didn’t know what to say, but you began speaking again.

“We probably have a lot more in common than you think, Mr. Weasley,” you teased, although he didn’t miss the glimmer of tears in your eyes.

“I’d love to find out what more, Princess, and I told you to call me George.”

“I’ll call you George only if you promise to call me Y/N.”

“Your Father would have my – ”

“He would have your utmost support because I asked you to call me by my name and it’s never polite to refuse to request of a Royal, right, George?”

“Absolutely, Princ…I mean, Y/N,” George said with a smile.

You decided instantly that your name had never sounded better.

Once again, a comfortable silence fell between you two as you rose from your seat and traced your fingertips along his equipment. Cauldrons, beakers, books with the directions to make the most difficult of healing draughts, when suddenly you had an idea.

“George,” you began, turning to face him, “what would you say to a little extra work?”

“Well, that depends. Is it difficult?”

“Well, that depends. Do you find me difficult to spend time with?”

“Not in the slightest,” he answered immediately with a smile.

“In that case, how would you like to teach me your ways? I want to learn all that there is to know about potion making, herbs, plants, medicines. And who better to teach me than you?”

“If…I mean if the King and Queen do not mind, I have no objections,” George spoke, failing to stop the hopeful grin that appeared on his face.

“I’m sure they won’t but I will speak to them this evening. Shall I come find you tomorrow? Will you be here?”

“In the morning, yes. Let’s meet here at, say, nine o’clock?”

“That sounds perfect,” you said eagerly. “I’d better get back, I’m sure someone’s wondering where I’ve been, but I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow!”

With a quick wave goodbye, you swiftly made your way out of George’s workshop before he could tell that you were practically trembling with excitement.

Unbeknownst to you, George had to steady himself against a table so he wouldn’t faint at the prospect of seeing you not only again, but so soon.

Your hurried steps had brought you back to your Mother’s study and you were delighted to see she had returned from her earlier meeting.

“Mother, what would you say if I began taking lessons from Mr. Weasley?”

“Well,” your Mother began as she closed her book, “I’d be curious to know how this proposition came about.”

“I bumped into him in the gardens earlier. He’s brilliant, Mother, and you know how interested I am in his specialties.”

“Are you interested in his specialties or him?” She asked with a sly smile.

“I…I suppose maybe both?”

Your Mother stared at you for what seemed like ages, taking in the sparkle in your eyes and the giddy smile on your face that had been absent since the passing of your closest sister.

“As long as you’re able to attend to your duties and join Father in court meetings, I don’t see why not. You need something substantial to fill your time anyway, I swear you’re either always in the garden or sneaking tarts from the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you exhaled, not even realizing you had been holding your breath awaiting her response.

“Go find your brothers, supper should be ready soon. I’ll speak to your Father about these lessons and let you know what he decides.”

You nodded your head and went off in search of your younger siblings wondering what color dress you would wear tomorrow.

Elsewhere in the castle, George Weasley was in front of a mirror fiddling with his hair and already planning what he would say to you when he saw you in the morning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed another trip wire safely tucked away near the Knight’s living quarters.

For once, you didn’t stick around to wait for the inevitable chaos because the quicker you found your brothers and ushered them to supper, the quicker your day would end, and the quicker you would again be able to see Mr. George Weasley.

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