Some Things George Weasley Doesn’t Joke About
Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!reader
Summary: He was supposed to be just your friend. The funny one. The one who never took anything seriously.
Until you started sitting too close to Cedric Diggory.
Warnings: Slow Burn / Soft Jealousy Spiral / Friends to Lovers / Cedric Diggory as an Unintentional Rival / Sibling Chaos & Teasing
It started the way most bad decisions usually do.
With laughter.
With noise.
With Fred and George Weasley in the middle of it. And with you, right there beside them like you had always belonged there.
You weren’t the quiet type.
Never had been.
If anything, you were worse.
Loud when you shouldn’t be. Smiling when you were supposed to be serious. Saying things that made professors sigh and classmates laugh in the same breath.
Somehow, you had ended up orbiting the Weasley twins like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Fred liked to call it “a shared lack of survival instincts.”
George called it “friendship.”
And you just called it home.
You sat with them at meals when you could, snuck out with them when you shouldn’t, and got dragged into half of their ideas whether you agreed or not.
Which, most of the time, you did.
Right now, the three of you were sprawled somewhere just outside the corridor near the courtyard, half-hidden from professors and fully hidden from responsibility.
Fred was mid-story, hands moving as he spoke. George was laughing already, like he knew how it ended. And you were leaning back against the stone wall, trying not to choke on your own laughter.
“You did what to Ron’s wand?” you asked, breathless.
Fred looked far too pleased with himself. “I didn’t do anything,” he said innocently.
George snorted. “That’s the problem. He didn’t do anything. That’s when it’s worst.”
You shook your head, wiping your eyes. “You’re both going to be the reason Hogwarts burns down one day.”
Fred tilted his head at you. “And you’ll be right next to us cheering it on.”
You opened your mouth but didn’t get to answer, because footsteps cut through the moment.
Sharp.
Familiar enough to make all three of you pause at the same time.
You didn’t even have to turn around to know.
Professor McGonagall.
“Miss L/N,” McGonagall said crisply.
Not angry.
Worse.
Controlled.
You stood up slowly. “Professor.”
Her eyes moved between you and the twins. Then she spoke: “I’ve been informed that your academic performance this term is… concerning.”
Fred let out a quiet, almost invisible sound beside you—something between amusement and “oh this is going to be good.”
You shot him a warning look.
McGonagall continued. “If your grades do not improve, you will not pass this year.”
Silence.
Even Fred stopped smirking.
You swallowed.
“I’ll… fix it,” you said quickly.
“I hope so,” McGonagall replied. “Because repeating a year would be… embarrassing, for someone of your capability.”
That hit a little harder than you expected.
Then she added: “I will be arranging mandatory tutoring sessions for you. Mr Diggory has agreed to assist you.”
Fred blinked.
George’s eyebrows lifted.
You, on the other hand “…Cedric Diggory?” you repeated slowly.
“Yes.”
There was a pause where your brain tried to compute it.
Cedric Diggory.
Perfect grades.
Perfect posture.
Perfect smile.
Perfect everything you were not.
You exhaled.
“…Right.”
McGonagall gave you a look. “You will begin tomorrow.”
And just like that, she turned and walked away.
Leaving silence behind her.
Fred was the first to break it. “Well,” he said lightly, but his tone had shifted. “That’s your downfall sorted.”
“Shut up,” you groaned.
George didn’t laugh immediately, which was unusual. When you looked at him, he was watching you. Not teasing, not joking.
Just watching.
Then he smiled.
“Maybe he’s not that bad,” George said.
Fred looked at him like he’d grown a second head.
You blinked. “You’re joking.”
George shrugged. “Maybe you’ll learn something.”
Fred scoffed. “She won’t survive ten minutes of Diggory’s voice.”
You threw a pebble at him.
It missed.
Unfortunately.
Fred caught it anyway, grinning again like nothing had changed.
But something had.
Even if none of you said it out loud yet.
The first study session was a disaster. You were late on purpose. Not very late—just enough to make a point.
Cedric Diggory was already sitting at one of the long library tables when you arrived, books neatly stacked beside him, parchment organized in perfectly straight lines.
You stopped at the end of the table and stared.
“I just want it officially written down somewhere that McGonagall is ruining my life.” You dropped into the chair across from him dramatically.
Cedric slid a book toward you. “Open to page seventy-two.”
You stared at him in disbelief. “No greeting?”
“I said hello when you walked in.”
“That barely counted.”
Cedric leaned back slightly in his chair, studying you for a second. “You talk a lot when you don’t want to do something.”
You narrowed your eyes. “And you sound exactly like someone who color-codes his notes.”
“I do color-code my notes.”
“Of course you do.”
Somehow, impossibly, that made him laugh quietly and annoyingly it suited him.
You decided immediately that this was unacceptable.
The next hour was painful. Not because Cedric was mean.
That would’ve been easier.
No, Cedric was patient.
Calm.
Infuriatingly calm.
Every time you tried to derail the lesson, he just looked at you steadily until you eventually answered the question anyway.
By the time the session ended, your brain hurt.
“You survived,” Cedric observed as you packed your bag dramatically.
“Barely.”
“You answered everything correctly by the end.”
You froze slightly. “…I did?”
Cedric nodded once. “You’re not bad at this.”
The words hit strangely, because most professors sounded frustrated when they spoke to you.
Cedric just sounded certain like he hadn’t doubted it.
You looked away first. “That’s suspiciously encouraging.”
“I’m trying a new strategy.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Manipulation?”
A small smile appeared again. “Positive reinforcement.”
“Disgusting.”
Cedric laughed quietly under his breath as he stood.
And for some reason—
you smiled back.
The common room was loud when you returned later that evening.
Fred and George were exactly where you expected them to be: occupying far too much space on one sofa while Lee Jordan sat nearby looking like he was seconds away from regretting knowing either of them.
Fred noticed you first. “Well?” he asked immediately. “Did Diggory bore you to death?”
George looked up from where he’d been absentmindedly spinning a quill between his fingers.
You dropped onto the armchair across from them with a dramatic sigh.
“He organizes his notes by color.”
Fred made a horrified face.
George snorted softly.
“And he says things like ‘focus’ with a straight face.”
“That poor man,” Fred muttered. “He has no idea what he’s dealing with.”
You grinned slightly, but George noticed something before Fred did. The way your mouth twitched when you talked about Cedric.
The fact that you were still talking about him.
“You’re smiling,” George said suddenly.
You blinked. “No I’m not.”
“You are,” he replied calmly.
Fred pointed immediately. “Oh, she is.”
“I am not.”
“You fancy the prefect,” Fred gasped dramatically.
You threw a cushion at him.
He caught it easily.
“Shut up.”
George was still watching you though.
Quieter than Fred now.
More observant.
“What’s he actually like?” George asked.
You opened your mouth automatically with another insult ready but paused.
Cedric’s quiet laugh flashed unexpectedly through your head.
The way he’d looked at you across the table and said: You’re not bad at this.
Your stomach did something strange.
“…Annoying,” you answered finally.
Fred grinned. “There she is.”
But George noticed the hesitation.
And for the first time something small and unfamiliar twisted unpleasantly in his chest.
Over the next two weeks, something deeply irritating started happening. You stopped trying to skip the study sessions.
At first, Fred thought it was a joke. Then he thought maybe McGonagall had threatened you with public humiliation.
George just watched.
And noticed things.
Small things.
The way you fixed your hair before going to the library now. The fact that you actually brought the right books. The way you came back complaining about Cedric while smiling at absolutely nothing.
It was suspicious.
Very suspicious.
“You’re spending an unnatural amount of time with Diggory,” Fred announced one evening from upside down on the common room sofa.
You looked up from your parchment. “You spend an unnatural amount of time upside down.”
“That’s different.”
“It’s really not.”
George sat nearby pretending to read while listening to every word.
Fred pointed at you accusingly. “You laughed at something he said earlier.”
“It wasn’t that funny.”
“But you laughed.”
You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Merlin, are you jealous?”
Fred looked scandalized. “Of Cedric Diggory? Absolutely not. He irons his shirts.”
“He probably irons his socks too,” Lee added.
George stayed quiet.
Because unlike Fred, George wasn’t joking anymore, and that was becoming a problem.
The next study session was somehow worse.
“You’re distracted again,” Cedric said calmly from across the table.
“I’m literally reading.”
“You’ve been staring at the same sentence for three minutes.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That sounds made up.”
Cedric leaned forward slightly, resting one arm on the table. “You know, you’re very different when your friends aren’t around.”
You blinked. “…Excuse me?”
“You act louder around the twins.”
“That’s because they’re loud.”
Cedric’s mouth twitched. His attention entirely on you in a way that made your stomach feel strange lately.
You looked down quickly.
“I still think you’re annoying.”
“I think,” Cedric said calmly, “you just like arguing with me.”
You opened your mouth immediately then stopped.
Cedric noticed the silence instantly.
And smiled.
George was already in the common room when you came in.
Alone.
That was the first thing that felt wrong.
Fred was usually there too. Half causing trouble, half laughing too loudly at something that wasn’t funny. But tonight it was just George, sitting on the sofa near the fire with a book open on his knee.
He looked up the moment you stepped in.
“You’re late,” he said.
It sounded like a joke.
It wasn’t.
“I had study sessions.”
“I noticed.”
That made you pause.
“Diggory again?” he said lightly, closing the book with one hand.
You sighed and dropped into the sofa across from him.
“I’ve got something for you.”
You squinted. “That sounds suspiciously like trouble.”
“It’s not. It’s Transfiguration.”
You stared at it.
“What is this?”
“Notes.”
That made you laugh once. “You don’t have notes.”
George raised an eyebrow. “I do now.”
You opened the first page and stopped laughing immediately, because it wasn’t just notes.
It was structured. Diagrams. Color-coded arrows. Tiny corrections in the margins. Underlined key spells. Even little sarcastic comments scribbled next to difficult sections like:
‘this part is evil, good luck’
and
‘McGonagall will absolutely ask this just to ruin your day’
You looked up slowly.
“…You did this?”
George shrugged. “Don’t sound so shocked.”
“This is—” You flipped another page. “This is actually good.”
“I know.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Since when are you secretly good at Transfiguration?”
“Since you started spending all your time in the library,” he said lightly.
The room shifted.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… quieter.
You looked at him properly now.
“George…”
He cut you off immediately, too fast. “It’s nothing. Just figured you needed help if you’re trying to avoid repeating a year.”
You frowned. “That’s not why I’m—”
“You’re always with him lately.”
Cedric.
The name wasn’t said out loud, but it didn’t need to be.
You opened your mouth.
Closed it again.
George leaned slightly closer, tapping one of the pages. “I went through your syllabus. Twice. Some of this stuff is actually useful if you don’t want to die in McGonagall’s exam.”
“You read it twice?” you asked quietly.
He shrugged again, but this time it wasn’t convincing.
There were faint ink stains on his fingers.
Like he’d been writing for hours.
Like he’d actually sat there and worked.
For you.
Something in your chest tightened unexpectedly.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” you said.
“I know.”
Silence.
Then softer, almost careless again:
“But I did it anyway.”
You looked down at the notes again.
Then at him.
Really looked.
The jokes were still there. The grin was still there. But underneath it—something quieter. Focused. Slightly tense, like he was waiting for your reaction more than he wanted to admit.
“You highlighted half of it,” you said.
“Yeah.”
“With different colours.”
“Helps with memory.”
“That is the most responsible thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
George snorted. “Don’t get used to it.”
You smiled.
And that was the problem.
Because George noticed that too.
His eyes softened just slightly.
“You know,” he said, voice lower now, “you’re actually listening to me for once.”
“I always listen to you.”
“No,” he said quietly. “Not like this.”
Something shifted again.
He reached out—slowly this time—and turned one of your pages so it faced you properly. His fingers brushed the edge of yours.
Didn’t move away.
Didn’t pretend it was accidental.
Just stayed there.
Close.
“Start here,” he said. “If you can master that section, McGonagall won’t have anything to complain about.”
You nodded faintly, but you weren’t reading anymore.
Not properly.
Because George was too close.
His shoulder leaned in slightly as he pointed something out.
“Here,” he added, tapping a line. “This is where everyone messes up.”
“I don’t think I mess up everything,” you muttered.
A small smile.
“You do when you panic.”
“I don’t panic.”
“You absolutely panic.”
You turned your head to argue—and found him already looking at you.
Not joking now.
Not teasing.
Just watching.
The air between you changed again.
Slower.
He stopped talking.
You stopped pretending you were reading.
“George…” you said, quieter this time.
He didn’t answer immediately.
His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your mouth.
Then back up.
And something in his expression tightened like he’d made a decision he wasn’t fully ready for.
“You’ve been gone a lot lately,” he said.
“You know I’ve been studying.”
“With him.”
The words weren’t sharp.
But they landed like something heavier than anger.
You opened your mouth—
Nothing came out.
George exhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep himself steady.
Then he leaned back slightly, forcing space between you again, but not enough to erase what just happened.
“I don’t like it,” he admitted.
That made you freeze.
Because George didn’t say things like that.
Not seriously.
Not like this.
“…You don’t like Cedric or?” you asked carefully.
George huffed a short laugh. “No. I don’t like that you’ve started looking at everything like it’s somewhere else you need to be.”
Your throat went tight.
Then, almost like he regretted how honest that sounded, he reached for the notes again.
“Anyway,” he added quickly, “I could do this better than him.”
And this time there was no joke at all.
“For you.”
Your breath caught slightly.
That was the moment the distance between you stopped being safe.
He was close now.
Close enough that if you moved even slightly—
Your knees brushed his.
He leaned in just a fraction more.
His gaze flicked to your lips again—this time slower.
Intentional.
And for a second, it felt like everything had narrowed down to this one moment.
His hand slid to your cheek.
Warm.
Real.
And then he kissed you.
It was George in every possible way—soft at first, unsure for half a second like he still couldn’t believe you were there… and then something in him finally let go.
The kiss deepened.
Slow.
Careful.
Like he was afraid of ruining it if he moved too fast.
Your hand lifted without thinking, grabbing lightly at the front of his shirt, pulling him closer like you finally made a decision you’d been avoiding for too long.
George made a quiet sound against your mouth—something between relief and disbelief—and leaned in.
Like he’d been waiting for this without admitting it even to himself.
The world narrowed.
Fire crackling somewhere behind you.
Paper forgotten.
Everything else gone.
Just him.
Just warmth.
Just—
The door slammed open.
“—YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT LEE JUST—”
You both moved apart too fast.
Too obvious.
Fred froze in the doorway.
Looked at both of you.
Slow smile forming.
“…Oh,” he said.
Long pause.
Then brighter:
“Oh, this is bad.”
George leaned back in his chair immediately. “We were studying.”
Fred nodded slowly. “Sure.”
You grabbed the first random book on the table. “Transfiguration.”
Fred raised an eyebrow.
Then grinned wider.
“I leave you alone for ONE evening,” he said, delighted, “and you start… bonding academically.”
George sighed.
You stared at the ceiling.
Fred walked further in, shaking his head.
“This is going to be so entertaining.”
And George, under his breath, only for you to hear:
“…We’re dead.”
