"Quit fretting, you'll tire yourself out before the tea's served," Cedric coos, cresting the top of the stairs and tugging you close behind. He whips around suddenly with a dashing bright smile on his gentle face.

"I know," you grumble, "just can't help but... wonder? It sounds silly, but what if Slughorn made a mistake—"

"You're right, it does sound silly, so I'll spare you the embarrassment of continuing." He turns you round, whisking you into a nook along the hall on the way to the office where the dinner is to be held.

You gaze at him in the dim winter light, fighting a shiver when his fingers brush an eyelash from your cheek.

"If we run, we'll make it back to the dormitories before anyone notices," you whisper. You're all butterflies at the suggestion, knowing he'll be disappointed. He's only ever wanted what was best for you. And since you accepted his romantic pursuits, you've become his full-time responsibility.

"Or we can walk into that room, enjoy quiet conversation, and then leave having earned social connections and a few more people who know I'm yours entirely."

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you.

"You're so," you groan, grabbing his waist and snarling, "good! Can't you misbehave or act miserably or even speak poorly of someone just once?"

Just then, his eyes catch the light. A fleeting flicker, really. A rogue candle flame in the playful glint of his gaze, but you catch it, and he leans closer, caging you against the wall.

"Depends on your idea of misbehaving," he whispers.

"I've a sneaky feeling you have your own ideas, Diggory."

His heart flutters at the temptation in your voice, in your warmth, in your hands curled into his waist. Like the first time he ever kissed you, he leans close again, a hitch in his breath when his lips finally meet yours in a spark. From there, it's all muscle memory and the tandem beat of your hearts. He stops his hands from slipping any lower down your pretty dress. The same one he zipped up the curve of your back not an hour ago.

What he'd give to misbehave like that. Here. In the face of responsibility and important arrangements. To misbehave for your sake, just because you begged. Asked, really, but he'd drop everything just the same if it was only a vague suggestion. If he could somehow read your mind, he'd bend to your every whim and you'd never have to utter a word.

In losing track of himself, he sighs. Right into the softness of your mouth because he knows you know how he likes your fingers twisted in his soft, chestnut hair. You do just that and grin when he grows noisy like you knew he would.

"Hello?" A curious, soprano voice calls from the stairwell.

"Shit," you hiss. You pull away when his resilience won't let him, the butt of your skull meeting the hard stone with a thud. "Ow."

"Are you hurt?" he whispers, ushering you further into the cranny and cradling your head in his palm. Your fingers hold his wrist and you chuckle at the sheen of his wet mouth in the firelight. He presses his sure palm to your lips to muffle the raucous sound. "Merlin's Beard, you've gone loopy. I'll heal you with a kiss!"

"Is someone there?" The voice whines again.

His lips only serve to make you cackle harder into the darkness, it's no help that he's grinning now, too. If that voice belongs to a ghoul or a vengeful spirit, they'll have to answer to your wrath before they're allowed to pass. Though, as of now, your wrath is characterized by a fit of giggles and sighs at the mercy of his mouth.

Footsteps clack down the hall, nearing your compromising position in the dark. The sound rings in your ears until you're forced to press him deeper into the nook, leaving yourself exposed to the soft light save for your arm, which he is lovingly latched to.

"Oh!" The girl warbles, taking a step back when she finally sees you. "It's you."

You recognize her as Ginny Weasley, you'd opposed her many times on the pitch. She looks fairly put together. Lovely, you suppose, not scowling or drenched in sweat the way most Quidditch games end. You're not so sure you have the same effect, dizzy and flustered as you are. Cedric's fingers squeeze yours from his place in the shadows.

"Yes, It's me!" you chirp, "Here I am!" It's like some spirit has possessed you. Some spirit under heavy influence of recreational drugs and endless confections maybe.

"Right," she says, nodding awkwardly and peering into the darkness behind you which traces his fingers over your knuckles and bows to kiss each one. You ought to smack the darkness upside the head for his thorough display of misbehavior. "We should probably go inside, or we'll be late."

"Oh, Merlin—must've lost track of time. I'll catch you inside, I just have something I need to..." you sigh, wiggling your hand out of his featherlight grip and perching it on your hip "I'll just be a minute."

"Alright. I'll let them know you're just...?"

"Getting fresh air!"

"Getting fresh air. Right," Ginny says, backing away towards the office door with a tight-lipped smile. Once the door bangs shut again, you draw Cedric into the light with a scowl to rival hellfire.

It makes his tummy turn with excitement. Makes him feel boyish and fresh and giddy. He can't decide whether he'd like to ravish you or let you ravish him. Either way, he's lucky like shiny pennies or rain on your wedding day. Which reminds him, but that's a story for another day. His soul is solidly and irrevocably tethered to yours whether you accept a metal band on your finger or not. Another day.

"Diggory!" you shout, and he catches your hand as it flies toward his shoulder. He's smiling, laughing at your expense. You think you ought to punish his awfully handsome face with some sort of kiss. An eye for an eye, as they say.

"Getting fresh air? Is that really the first thing that came to your mind?" he says through his laughter, drawing you in by the hips, “I think I should tell you now that the nearest window is at the complete opposite end of the hall!"

"If only I hadn't been distracted—"

But you're bested again by his large, warm hands spread across your lower back. And his smile tempting you. He could get anything he ever wanted with that kind of smile, drawn up at the corners and dimpling his rosy cheeks. Curse him and the tiny flakes of gold flowing through his bloodline.

"You were saying?"

"Nothing! We're late," you mutter, face hot and fingers tight as he's dragged across the way to the door. And as the heavy hinges squeal open, he thinks he'd like to misbehave for you more often so long as you'd string him along forever.

Slamming his hands on the arms of the chair, George shot up, his heart pounding in his chest. Without thinking, he stormed across the room, each step fueled by his growing anger.

“Fred!” George barked, cutting through the noise. The common room fell into a sudden, uncomfortable silence.

Fred, still standing on the chair, looked down at George, eyebrows raised. “What? You finally wanna join in? It was legendary, wasn’t it? Y/N’s face was—"

“Legendary?” George cut him off, his voice sharp, full of venom. “You think that was legendary? Humiliating her in front of the whole school?” His fists balled at his sides, the anger spilling out before he could stop himself.

Fred’s grin faltered, confusion spreading across his face. “Come on, George. It was just a prank—what’s gotten into you?”

George let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “What’s gotten into me? Fred, you’ve gone too far this time! Y/N’s not just some target for your stupid pranks!” His voice rose, filling the room. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Fred hopped off the chair, his own frustration bubbling up. “George, it’s just for a laugh! Everyone here thinks it’s funny—why are you so bent out of shape over this?”

“Because it’s not funny to humiliate someone, Fred!” George snapped, stepping closer, his voice shaking with intensity. “It’s cruel! And you don’t even see it! You keep going on like everything’s a joke, but it’s not! Not to me, and definitely not to her.”

Fred’s eyes narrowed, defensive now. “Mate, we’ve always done this! You’re acting like I committed some crime! Y/N can handle it, she’s tough.”

“She shouldn’t have to handle it!” George nearly shouted, his patience fraying. “Do you know how much she hates us now? How much she hates me because she thinks I’m just like you?”

Fred blinked, thrown by the sudden intensity. “Wait, hates you? I don’t understand—why are you so worked up over this?”

George exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from exploding. His next words were thick with emotion. “Because, Fred… I care about her. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. And you… you’re ruining everything.”

For a moment, Fred stood frozen, the weight of George’s confession hitting him like a hex. “You care about her?” he repeated, slowly, like the words didn’t make sense.

George took a step back, hands trembling with the force of what he’d just admitted. “Yeah. I do. And every time you pull these pranks, you push her further away. She thinks I’m just another part of your game.”

Fred shook his head, still not fully grasping the situation. “But… it’s just us having a laugh. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“A big deal?” George’s voice cracked. “Fred, I’m not you. I don’t want to spend my life making jokes at other people’s expense. I want her to see me for who I am, not who she thinks I am because of you.”

Fred stared at George, his smile long gone, replaced with something closer to guilt. “I didn’t know…” he muttered, finally starting to understand. “I didn’t mean to mess things up for you, George. I thought she… well, you know, I thought she could take it.”

“Well, she can’t!” George snapped. “And even if she could, it doesn’t make it right.”

Fred stood there, his shoulders slumping slightly, the reality of what George was saying settling in. “I didn’t realize you felt that way,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, or you.”

George shook his head, the anger simmering down but not fully gone. “Just… stop, Fred. Stop with the pranks. Give her some space. I need to figure out how to fix this, and I can’t do that if you keep pulling this crap.”

Fred nodded, finally backing down, his usual humor replaced by a rare moment of sincerity. “Alright. I’ll back off. I didn’t mean to make things worse for you, George. I swear.”

George took a deep breath, the tension slowly easing from his shoulders. “I know,” he muttered, his voice softer now. “But this isn’t just about me. It’s about her. And I’m not going to stand by and watch you hurt her anymore.”

As Fred nodded again, George turned away, the weight of their conversation pressing down on him. He knew this was only the beginning—now came the harder part. Finding a way to show Y/N that he was different.

But for the first time in days, George felt like he could finally breathe.

----------

The Black Lake shimmered in the moonlight, its surface calm and quiet, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions that had been swirling inside Y/N for hours. She sat on the edge of the dock, her arms wrapped around her knees as she stared out at the water, hoping for a moment of peace.

But peace had been elusive. The whispers and stares that followed her around the castle since the Quidditch match had made sure of that. Everywhere she went, people were talking about Fred’s prank, about her humiliation, and the confrontation between the twins that had somehow made things even worse. No matter where she turned, she couldn’t escape the gossip.

And then there was George.

The entire rest of the day, he had tried to approach her, to explain himself, but each time, she’d walked away. She didn’t want to hear any more excuses. The anger, the embarrassment, and the sting of betrayal still burned too deeply. She had avoided him at every opportunity, until now.

Footsteps crunched on the grass behind her, and she didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Her heart quickened, and she immediately moved to stand, ready to walk away like she had every other time.

“Y/N, wait,” George’s voice called out, firm but pleading.

“I don’t want to hear it, George,” she snapped, not turning around. She stood up, preparing to leave, but then she realized the dock led to nowhere. Her escape route was cut off by the lake, and the only way back was through him.

She hesitated, torn between the urge to flee and the exhaustion of avoiding him for days. She took a step forward, determined to leave, but George reached out, his hand gently grasping her arm.

“Please,” he said softly, his grip firm but not forceful, just enough to stop her in her tracks. “Just hear me out.”

Y/N tensed, her body rigid as she kept her back to him. “Why should I? I’ve heard enough from everyone else. You, Fred—this whole school can’t stop talking about it. I don’t need to hear anything more.”

“Y/N…” George’s voice was low, pained, and for the first time, she heard something in it that made her pause—something raw, something that didn’t sound like the George she thought she knew. “This isn’t about what everyone else is saying. It’s about you and me.”

She clenched her jaw, trying to keep her walls up, but the gentle touch of his hand on her arm grounded her. Reluctantly, she turned to face him, though she kept her distance. His face was cast in the soft glow of the moon, and there was none of the usual mischief in his eyes. They were serious, filled with a vulnerability that caught her off guard.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all day,” George began, his voice steady but laced with regret. “I know what Fred did was awful. I know you hate us both for it. But I need you to understand that I didn’t want this to happen. I never wanted to see you hurt like that.”

Y/N folded her arms over her chest, her expression guarded. “Then why didn’t you stop him? You’re his brother. You knew what he was planning, didn’t you?”

George shook his head, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “I didn’t know it would be that bad. Fred… he doesn’t always think about the consequences. And I should have stopped him. I should’ve done something sooner. But by the time I realized how much it was hurting you, it was too late.”

She looked away, her throat tightening with the memory of the laughter, the banner, the humiliation that had swallowed her whole. “Everyone’s talking about your little confrontation,” she muttered bitterly. “Like it’s some big story, as if it makes a difference.”

“It wasn’t about making a scene,” George said quietly, taking a cautious step closer. “I told Fred off because I couldn’t stand what he did to you. I care about you, Y/N. I’ve been a fool for letting things get this far. But I’m not him. I’m not part of those pranks anymore.”

Y/N’s heart raced, torn between the lingering hurt and the sincerity she saw in his eyes. She hated that she wanted to believe him, hated the way his words tugged at something deep inside her. “Why should I trust you now?” she asked, her voice shaking with the effort of holding back her emotions.

“Because I’m here,” George replied softly, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not running away or hiding behind jokes. I’m here, asking you to give me a chance to make things right. No more pranks, no more tricks—just me. The real me.”

Y/N stared at him, her defenses crumbling, but fear still clung to her. She didn’t know if she could let herself trust him, not after everything. But there was something in his eyes, something honest and vulnerable, that made her want to believe him.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the water.

George’s hand slid from her arm, and he took a step back, giving her space. “I understand,” he said softly. “But I’ll wait. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

With that, he turned and began to walk away, leaving Y/N standing by the lake, her heart a tangled mess of emotions. As he disappeared into the night, she realized that for the first time in days, she didn’t feel the urge to run. Instead, she stood there, watching him go, her heart caught between the lingering pain and the faint flicker of hope.

---------

Y/N lay awake in her Hufflepuff dormitory, staring up at the ceiling as thoughts swirled around her like leaves caught in a gust of wind. The warmth and coziness of the room, usually a comfort, felt stifling tonight. Her roommates were asleep, but even surrounded by peers, she felt isolated, trapped in her own thoughts.

Her mind kept drifting back to the conversation by the Black Lake. George’s face, the raw sincerity in his eyes, and his words replayed on a loop, tangled with feelings she’d been trying to bury. she had been avoiding him, letting her anger and hurt take charge, and it had been exhausting. She was tired of running, but more than that, she was tired of feeling betrayed.

The prank had shattered her trust, and the embarrassment had made her want to hide. It wasn’t just the laughter that echoed in her mind; it was the betrayal, the way she had thought they were ‘kinda friends’ who would never cross that line. The realization that Fred had humiliated her while George had stood by made her question everything.

Y/N turned over in bed, clutching her pillow to her chest, her thoughts spiraling. Could she really trust George again?

He had seemed so sincere by the lake, different from the prankster she’d always known. The way he had looked at her—like she mattered, like he truly regretted what had happened—had stirred something in her, but the hurt still lingered. She hated that she wanted to believe him, but fear kept her from letting go of the past.

George had said he wasn’t part of the pranks anymore, that he was done with tricks, but how could she be sure? How could she let herself trust someone who had watched her hurt without stepping in?

“I care about you, Y/N.”

His words echoed in her mind, tugging at her heart. He had said he would wait, and that felt like a small comfort. But how long would she keep him waiting? She needed time to figure out if she could let go of the hurt, if she could open her heart again and let him prove he wasn’t just another prankster looking for laughs.

Deep down, she wanted to believe in second chances. But trust, once broken, wasn’t easy to rebuild. As she finally closed her eyes, the soft light from the enchanted lamps flickering like her uncertain thoughts, Y/N knew that this decision wouldn’t come easily. She would see where her heart led her, and tomorrow, she would take the first step toward deciding whether to confront George again or keep her distance. For now, she would let herself rest, knowing that the path forward was still unclear.

----------

Days have passed since the Quidditch match, and the atmosphere in the library is thick with unspoken words. Y/N sits at a table near the window, surrounded by stacks of books, but her focus drifts as sunlight dances across the pages. She tries to lose herself in her studies, but her mind is a tangled web of confusion and hurt.

George walks in, his usual confidence tempered by uncertainty. He scans the room until his eyes land on Y/N. Taking a deep breath, he approaches her table.

“Mind if I sit?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

Y/N glances up, surprised to see him so close. She hesitates, her heart pounding. Instead of speaking, she quietly nods, her throat too tight to form words.

George takes the seat beside her instead of across from her like usual, and Y/N feels a flutter of nerves at the sudden closeness. He’s never been this near before, and it throws her off balance. The space between them feels charged, filled with the weight of their unspoken feelings.

The silence stretches on, heavy and thick. George tries to look at the book in front of him, but his attention keeps drifting to Y/N. She avoids eye contact, staring intently at the pages, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

Suddenly, the calm is shattered when a group of first-years nearby accidentally knocks over a stack of books. The loud clatter echoes through the library, causing both George and Y/N to jump in surprise.

“Sorry!” one of the first-years squeaks, scrambling to pick up the fallen books.

Y/N steals a glance at George, and for a brief moment, their eyes connect, holding each other’s gaze longer than either of them intended. The world around them fades, the chaos of the library becoming a distant hum. It’s as if they are the only two people left, suspended in a trance that begs for connection.

George’s heart races as he sees something shift in her expression, a flicker of vulnerability. In that moment of connection, he leans in slightly, and Y/N mirrors his movement, as if pulled by an invisible force.

Before they know it, they share a soft kiss, tentative and filled with unspoken emotions, a culmination of all the tension between them.

When they pull apart, Y/N’s cheeks flush crimson, and she hastily lifts the book in front of her, hiding her face behind it like a shield. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammers, ”Icant-” the words barely escaping her lips before she bolts from the table, her heart racing in a mix of exhilaration and panic.

George watches her go, bewildered and exhilarated, the kiss lingering on his lips. The rush of emotions fills him with hope, but as she disappears down the corridor, he feels a surge of worry.

As Y/N rushes away, clutching the book to her chest, her mind spins. She realizes how much she truly felt for George in that brief moment, and she knows she must confront her feelings. The questions swirl around her like leaves in the wind: How much does she care for him? And is she ready to take the leap of faith that love requires?

CHAPTER 1 🪐

THE HUFFLEPUFF COMMON ROOM was buzzing. Hufflepuff had just beaten Ravenclaw in the first match of the season, and everyone in the house seemed elated to finally get a win.

The door to the common room swung open, and Charles Prescott, Hufflepuff's star Seeker strutted in. A cheer erupted from the crowd and Charlie grinned, like he had been expecting it all along.

"CHARLIE!"

(Y/n) (L/n) was standing on one of the couches in the corner, waving her firewiskey above her head to grab his attention. Aurora (often refered to as Rory) Clementine, her best friend, was sitting criss-crossed beside her, looking unimpressed.

Charlie spotted them immediately and made his way over. With a dramatic sigh, he flopped onto the couch.

"It's exhausting being this talented," Charlie groaned, letting his head fall back.

"Oh, poor you," Rory said flatly, handing him a glass with something there Professors would not approve of inside . "It must be so hard being Hufflepuffs newest hero."

(Y/n) smirked and leaned forward, shoving his shoulder. "It's getting harder to put up with your ego every day."

"I'm humble," Charlie argued, completely serious as he took a huge gulp of his drink.

"You're the opposite of humble," Rory deadpanned.

Charlie grinned. "Unbearably charming, then."

Before (Y/n) could come up with a retort, Charlie leaned toward her. "Speaking of unbearable," he said, "how many drinks have you had? You're looking a little too happy tonight. Should I prepare for you to need rescuing?"

She snorted, waving him off. "Please. This isn't my first party, Prescott."

"Oh, is that a challenge?"

Rory rolled her eyes, muttering something about the two of them being "basically insufferable" as they bantered back and forth. She reached for a handful of popcorn just as the conversation shifted, but her hand froze halfway.

"Don't look now," Rory muttered, leaning closer to (Y/n), "but Creepy Gryffindor is staring at you again."

(Y/n) frowned, glancing over her shoulder. Sure enough, Adam Abbott was standing by the snack table with a few of his Gryffindor friends. He had this smirk on his face that instantly made her regret looking. When he caught her eye, he raised his drink like he was toasting her.

She turned back around so quickly. "Why is he here?"

"Because ugly Gryffindors don't know how to stay in their own common room," Rory said.

Charlie, who had been watching the interaction, looked between the two of them. "Do I need to punch him?"

"No," (Y/n) said, though the idea of someone dumping pumpkin juice on Adam's head was tempting. "He's just... being werid. Like always."

"If he gets creepier, let me know," Charlie said, sitting up a little straighter. "I've been told my right hook is impressive."

Rory snorted, leaning back against the couch. "Yeah? By who?"

"Oh, you know, the guys," Charlie said casually, waving a hand like it was obvious.

"What guys?" Rory pressed, smirking. "Your favorite Gryffindor nuisances? Because I don't think their judgment counts for much."

Charlie scoffed. "No, not James and Sirius. Like the guys. Quidditch guys."

"Quidditch guys," Rory repeated slowly. "You mean the ones who can't walk past a mirror without checking their hair? That's your judge of character?"

"Hey, just because they care about their hair doesn't mean they don't appreciate a solid right hook," Charlie shot back, punching the air.

"Right," Rory said dryly. "Because when I think of someone who knows combat skills, I definitely think of Quidditch players."

"Laugh all you want, Clem, but my hook's legit. Ask MacMillan—he still flinches every time I go near him."

Rory rolled her eyes, fighting back a laugh. "You probably tripped and accidentally hit him."

"Okay, there was the one time but that an accident," Charlie admitted, "and it still worked, didn't it?"

"Sure," Rory said, dragging out the word. "Very intimidating, Prescott. Truly terrifying."

"I am terrifying," Charlie said, puffing up his chest dramatically.

(Y/n), who had been quietly sipping her beverage and watching them bicker, chimed in. "Charlie, the only thing terrifying about you is how seriously you take your hair routine."

"Oh, come on!" Charlie groaned, throwing his head back. "Not you too, (Y/n)."

"You use more product than I do," she said, grinning.

"That's because I'm an athlete," Charlie argued. "Do you know how much wind damage my hair takes? It's called self-care."

"Sure, Charlie," Rory said. "Wind damage. Not vanity at all."

"Whatever," Charlie muttered, crossing his arms. "At least I'm not letting some creepy Gryffindor guy wander around thinking he's hot stuff. I'll punch him if I have to."

Rory grinned. "You're all talk."

"Am not."

"Are too," she shot back.

"Want me to prove it?" Charlie challenged, leaning forward like he was about to march across the room and confront Adam then and there.

(Y/n) put a hand on his arm to stop him, laughing. "Okay, tough guy we get it. You're very strong and scary."

"Thank you," Charlie said, sitting back with a satisfied smirk.

Rory rolled her eyes again, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You're ridiculous, Prescott."

"And yet you can't get enough of me," Charlie said, flashing her a grin.

"Yeah right," Rory scoffed, acting annoyed despite the smile she was fighting to suppress.

—

The party raged on, people were packed into every corner. At some point, the "infamous" Marauders made their grand entrance, causing a ripple of excitement to sweep through the crowd.

Sirius Black and James Potter burst through the door each of them holding a bottle of firewhisky in one hand and wearing matching grins that promised nothing but mischief.

Sirius was devilishly handsome as always. His dark, shoulder-length hair was messy, yet well kept. He strode into the center of the room like he owned the place. Nobody could ever enchant a room as quickly and confidently as Sirius could. Well, maybe James.

James was glowing with his chaotic energy. His jet-black hair stuck up in every direction, a clear sign that he'd been messing with it as usual. He had his usual smirk, an obvious indication he was up to mischief settled on his face.

Arriving a few seconds later was Remus Lupin, who didn't try to command attention the way his friends did. His brown hair was neatly combed, though a few strands had fallen into his face. There were faint scars that traced his face and hands. Unlike James and Sirius, who radiated chaos, Remus had a calmness about him.

The room erupted into cheers and laughter at the sight of the trio, Sirius immediately raising his firewhisky bottle in a toast to no one in particular. "Hufflepuffs know how to party!" he declared.

James, however, had spotted someone in the crowd (Y/n). His grin widened, and he cut through the crowd with ease, ignoring the people around him, calling for his attention.

"Oi, (Y/n)!" he called, his voice cutting over the noise.

(Y/n), who had been sitting in the middle of the couch next to Charlie, raised her eyebrows as James approached. "Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence," she teased, with a fond smile.

James plopped down on the empty seat next to (Y/n), sprawled his legs across their lap. "And miss the biggest party of the year? Not a chance," he said, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Besides, you'd miss me if I didn't show up."

"You saw me like three days ago," (Y/n) said, rolling her eyes but laughing anyway.

"Three days too long," James said, grinning. "What've you been up to? Causing trouble without me?"

(Y/n) smirked. "Unlike you, I try not to draw attention to myself."

"Rubbish," James said, leaning closer. "You were just as bad as me when we were kids."

"That's because I didn't know any better," (Y/n) shot back, nudging him playfully.

(Y/n) had grown up with James; their families were close, and almost all of her earliest memories involved running through the Potters' backyard with James, both of them covered in dirt and laughing about something only they found funny. Even as they grew up they never grew apart, and James never changed. He was still the same loud and funny kid (Y/n) had met when she was four.

While James and (Y/n) talked, Sirius had started leading a group in a random drinking game Peter had told him about the day prior. Remus, however, had found a quieter corner, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand. His dark eyes occasionally flicked toward (Y/n) and James, a frown creasing his face as he watched them.

(Y/n) glanced over at him briefly and caught his gaze. For a moment, the noise of the party seemed to fade, and she felt a warmth rise to her cheeks. Was it all the alcohol in her system or was it the way Remus looked at her, so calm and observant?? She quickly looked back to James, hoping he hadn't noticed.

James, of course, was oblivious, already launching into a story about some ridiculous prank he and Sirius had pulled. (Y/n) listened, but her mind kept drifting back to the boy in the corner.

He leaned against one of the bookshelves, watching the chaos with that soft expression he always seemed to have. He wasn't like his friends—loud and dramatic and always at the center of the action. He was quieter, steadier. He didn't need anyone to notice him the way Sirius or James did.

(Y/n) noticed, though. She glanced over at him more than once, catching the way his hair fell into his eyes when he looked down, or the way his lips quirked into the faintest smile when James tried (and failed) to charm one of the badger statues into dancing.

(Y/n) tried to follow along to James' stories, laughing at all the right moments, but her focus was slipping in and out. The warmth from the firewhisky she'd been sipping earlier still buzzed pleasantly through her veins, making her head feel light. It didn't help that her gaze kept wandering across the room.

Her eyes landed, again and again, on the boy in the corner. (Y/n) kept glancing over at him without even meaning to, catching his movements. She shook her head, trying to focus back on James's story, but her thoughts kept drifting.

"You're staring," came Charlie's amused voice, far too close to her ear for comfort.

(Y/n) startled, the sudden voice causing her to nearly spill her drink. She twisted to glare at him, her cheeks already heating. "I am not," she hissed, voice a little louder than intended.

"Oh, you so are," Charlie said, grinning. He leaned back, resting his elbows on the couch's backrest with the kind of confidence only a Prescott could manage.

(Y/n) groaned, her face burning as she pushed his shoulder weakly. "Shut up, Charlie."

"No, no, this is important. I'm just stating the facts," he said, feigning innocence. "And for the record, you're not very subtle."

"I hate you," she mumbled, covering her face with her hands to block out the smug expression on his.

"No, you don't," Charlie said with a smirk, snatching her half-empty drink off the table beside her. "But it's okay. Everyone's a sucker for a quiet, brooding type. He's got that mysterious thing going on."

(Y/n) peeked through her fingers to glare at him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thanks for the insight, cupid."

Charlie simply winked, taking a swig from her cup. She turned away from him with a groan, her mind already drifting back to the boy in the corner.

Remus hadn't moved, but his eyes had flicked up, meeting hers for the briefest moment. She quickly turned back to Charlie, pretending to focus on his nonsense, but the warmth in her cheeks was impossible to ignore.

Overall you liked to think you were a kind person. You tried to be very accepting of everyone, regardless of bloodline, or ethnicity, or sexuality, or house! People deserved the benefit of the doubt - you believed that deep in your soul.

But there was something about the Slytherin Anthony Crowley that set off alarms in your head.

Before now, you had never talked to him. You’d had him in a number of classes since first year. Now in sixth year, you had to admit he was an attractive young man. He’d decided to grow out his hair over the summer, something a lot of people seemed to notice but never mention. Most of it was gathered into a half-bun on the back of his head, and what did hang down was wavy, curling up at the ends.

But you didn’t really care about appearances. At least, not physical ones. From what you had heard about his personality Crowley was as Slytherin as they came - that was to say, he wasn’t a very nice person. He screwed around in classes, he made snide comments about other houses, and it was rumored that he’d set fire to a young Gryffindor’s robes between potions and herbology class.

If the circumstances were any different, you probably would have never interacted with the hot-headed Slytherin. But here you were, sitting in the count yard with him and your good friend Aziraphale, who had made it his job to introduce the two of you. From what you could gather, Aziraphale and Crowley had met on the train first year, and had slowly but surely become best friends. It had been a surprise to you, as you’d never actually seen them hang out before, or ever heard Aziraphale mention Crowley.

Everyone had their secrets. Still, if Aziraphale trusted him surely you could as well?

You had been as open minded as possible while talking with him. You tried to get to know him, but Crowley was very shut off and wasn’t afraid to tell you to piss off if you were asking things he thought were ‘too personal’ like his favorite color and what class he had next. And he didn’t seem too interested in getting to know you, either. You’d heard Aziraphale chastise him on multiple occasions for being so rude only for Crowley to blow him off.

Christmas Break was coming up fast now, and this year you would remain at Hogwarts while your parents went to Africa on business. It upset you, but you knew the work your parents did was important to them.

‘This is the big one, sweetheart.’ Your dad had written. ‘We’ll celebrate Christmas together once school is out’.

It had been all you could think about since breakfast, when the letter had arrived. You could tell by the looks on your friends faces that they knew something was off, but no one said anything. They were all busy talking about all the exciting things they were going to do over break. And with the Hogsmead visit coming up, they also spoke about who they would go with. You had been looking forward to the visit, and planned to go with your roommate Anathema, but you weren’t looking forward to also be spending time with her boyfriend Newt. He was clingy to say the least and you suspected you wouldn’t get to talk much with Anathema.

You had your books gathered in your arms, rushing to potions, and not exactly paying attention to where you were going when someone popped around the corner and you walked full force into them. You yelped as the books fell from your arms, landing onto the person’s foot.

“Damn it!” You looked up, heart suddenly racing as a pair of violet eyes glared down at you.

Most people knew who Gabriel was - a Seventh year Slytherin with an even worse rep than Crowley. You’d done your best to avoid him and his crowd, but it looked like you’d really done it this time. Beside him stood two of his friends, Michael and Uriel.

Yeah. You were fucked.

“Oh, my god, I am so sorry-” Your natural instinct kicked in, apologies spilling from your mouth. You dropped down, reaching for your books, but the three began to kick them away from your hands.

“Do you even watch where the hell you’re going?” Gabriel sneered at you. You managed to get a hand on one of the books, only for Michael to stamp their foot down on your fingers. You cried out in pain, pulling your hand back to your chest as you fell onto your butt. “You’ve made me late to class, Hufflepuff.”

“All of us.” Uriel said coldly.

“I didn’t mean to-” You tried again, tears forming in your eyes.

“Look, Gabriel, she’s crying.” Michael taunted. “She makes us late, and she’s crying.”

“Maybe we should teach the crybaby a lesson.” Gabriel said, smiling suddenly. You began to scramble backwards, letting out a small yelp as you hit someone else. You looked up, catching a flash of red hair and a green tie before Crowley was stepping in front of you, books clutched to his chest as he stood tall.

“Leave her alone.” He hissed at them. Gabriel scoffed.

“What are you gonna do about it, mudblood?” Gabriel drew his wand, and Crowley did the same with lightning speed. “You’re a disgrace to the Slytherin name.”

“If you knew me,” Crowley began. “You’d know I don’t care.” Then, he turned his wand down to your books, which sat between their feet, and your eyes widened as he spat out, “Incendio.” And the books roared into flames at Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel’s feet. The three Slytherin jumped back in surprise, giving Crowley enough time to help you to your feet, racing with you down the hall. 

You can hear them following you, which distracted you from the fact your books had just gone up in flames, and which carried you further and faster down the halls.

There were no students left, and Crowley seemed to know the exact halls to take to avoid any adults who would yell at you if they saw you out of class.

“Get back here, Crowley!” Gabriel shouted. “Get back here you filthy mudblood!”

Crowley yanked you left, and you allowed him to pull you through a large set of double doors. He then lead you to a nearby column that had just enough room to hide both of you from view. As the doors flew open, you bit your tongue to keep from screaming as Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel stampeded past the two of you. Your breathing calmed down after a moment, finally free from them.

But you weren’t out of the woods yet.

“They’re gone,” Crowley said from behind you, his warm breath ticking the back of your neck.. “So could you please move so I can get out.”

“Oh, my lord, I’m sorry.” You squeaked, quickly rushing away from him. Crowley steps out from behind the column and brushes himself off with his free hand. “Um, thank you. For helping me.”

“It’s nothing.” He said, shaking his head gently. Then, you remembered what had happened, and a sudden wave of anger came over you.

“You set fire to my books!” You snapped suddenly, and his head lifted up. “You set my bloody books on fire!” He stared at you from behind his dark sunglasses for a good few moments.

“Wow,” He said suddenly. “I honestly didn’t think you could get mad.”

“How dare-”

“Here.” He said, shoving his books into your arms. “I never use them anyway.” You looked down, surprised to find that he’d handed you the exact same books you had dropped. They were in much better condition than the ones you had owned.

“I, uh, what-”

“We’re late for class.” Crowley turned on his heels, prepared to head back in the direction of class. “C’mon.” A sudden burst of confidence had you reaching out to him, grabbing the fabric of his cloak sleeve. He stopped, turning back to you.

“Why… Why are you being so… kind to me?” You asked. Crowley didn’t try to pull away from you, but he took a moment to answer.

“I don’t know.” He said. “Just felt… right.”

“Right enough to set my books on fire?”

“Are you not going to let that one go?” His tone surprised you. You’d expected it to be sarcastic, or even annoyed. But he sounded amused. “Look, it seemed like the only way out, and like I said I don’t use my books so… yeah.”

“That’s very kind,” She said. “I honestly didn’t think you could be kind.” Then, you pulled your hand away. “I honestly thought you hated me.”

“Hate’s a strong word, (name).” Crowley said. “I, uh, I don’t hate you.”

“I’m glad.” You said.

“So, uh. Class?” Class. You had to get to class. But there was one last thing you wanted to ask.

“Oh, yeah.” He began walking again, but you gently called his name. He stopped, and turned back again. “Do you, uh,” You refused to look at his face. Not being able to see where he was looking unnerved you a bit. “Are you going to Hogsmead with anybody?”

“I, um, I was, uh,” He stuttered. “I usually go alone.”

“Oh,” You nodded. “Well, I was wondering if you’d maybe want to go with me?” The long silence that followed made you panic. You’d gone to far, you were sure of it.

“Are you sure you want to go with me?” Crowley spoke up suddenly. “I haven’t exactly been very… friendly.”

“I’m sure.” You confirmed. “I mean, I don’t have to if you don’t want me to-”

“No, no, I never said that.” Crowley rushed out. “I guess I could let you join me.” He shrugged, holding out his arm to you. You rolled your eyes, and gently interlocked your arm with his.

“How kind.” You teased gently. Crowley rolled his eyes, but began walking.

Avoiding him became a full-time job. She deliberately chose the far side of the Great Hall at meals, strategically positioned herself at the edge of the library, and spent countless evenings wandering the grounds, always making sure to steer clear of the Quidditch pitch where George and Fred often practiced.

Y/N’s feelings were a tangled mess, and she didn’t know how to sort through them. She was still angry at George for his part in the pranks, yet there was something undeniably magnetic about him. The memory of his warm lips against hers haunted her thoughts, a constant reminder of the connection they had shared. She felt both drawn to him and terrified of what that meant.

Meanwhile, George respected her need for space, though it pained him deeply. He watched her from a distance, his heart aching every time he caught a glimpse of her laughter with her friends or the way her brow furrowed in concentration as she read. Each day without her felt like a missed opportunity, and he longed for a chance to explain himself fully—to show her the depth of his feelings and how he was willing to change.

As the days turned into a week, their friends began to notice the tension in the air. Whispers started circulating among the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, with speculation running rampant about what had transpired in the library. “Did you see Y/N? She hasn’t spoken to George in days!” one student remarked. “I heard they had some sort of argument,” another added, eyes wide with intrigue.

Y/N could feel the pressure mounting, the weight of their scrutiny bearing down on her. It was hard to focus on her studies or enjoy time with her friends when every conversation seemed to pivot toward George and the kiss.

“You okay, Y/N?” one of her housemates asked during lunch, concern etched on their face. “You’ve seemed a bit off lately.”

Y/N forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine, just… busy with classes,” she replied, hoping to deflect further questioning. But deep down, she felt far from fine. The uncertainty of her feelings and the pressure of the rumors left her feeling more isolated than ever.

As she sat there, pushing her food around on her plate, she caught a glimpse of George across the hall. He was talking with Fred, laughter in his eyes, but the moment their gazes met, everything fell silent. George’s smile faltered, and for a brief moment, the world around them faded away.

Y/N’s heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears. She quickly looked away, panic rising in her chest. She wasn’t ready to face him—not yet. The thought of addressing what happened between them felt insurmountable.

“I just need more time,” she whispered to herself, feeling overwhelmed.

But deep down, Y/N knew she couldn’t avoid him forever. The connection they had forged—though fraught with confusion and anger—was real, and it demanded acknowledgment. As the days wore on, the conflict inside her grew louder, urging her to confront her feelings head-on.

Back at the Gryffindor table, George felt the weight of the silence that enveloped them whenever Y/N was near. He wanted nothing more than to bridge the gap between them, to reach out and tell her that he was still there, still waiting. But he didn’t want to pressure her; he wanted her to come to him when she was ready.

With each passing day, George resolved to find the right moment to speak to her again. He just hoped that when that moment came, Y/N would be ready to listen. The thought of her staying in turmoil was unbearable, and he silently vowed to do whatever it took to show her that he was sincere in his feelings.

--------

The library was quiet, the only sounds being the rustle of pages and the occasional creak of the wooden shelves. Y/N found herself wandering through the aisles, drawn to the familiar haven of books and solitude. But tonight, her mind was elsewhere—she was here for George.

After days of avoidance, she had finally mustered the courage to seek him out. It felt like a leap into the unknown, but she needed to confront the turmoil inside her. With each step toward the back of the library, her heart raced, anticipation and anxiety twisting together in her chest.

As she rounded the corner, she spotted him at a table, hunched over a stack of books, his usual grin replaced by a look of deep concentration. He seemed lost in thought, and for a moment, Y/N hesitated, unsure if she should interrupt. But the weight of her unresolved feelings urged her forward.

“George?” she called softly, her voice breaking the serene atmosphere.

He looked up, surprise flashing across his face. “Y/N,” he said, quickly sitting up straighter. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped closer, her hands nervously twisting together. “I… I wanted to talk.”

George nodded, his expression serious as he gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Of course. Please, sit.”

As she settled into the chair, Y/N felt the tension crackle between them. She knew what she needed to say, but the words felt heavy on her tongue. “I’m sorry for how I reacted the other day,” she began, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I was angry and confused, and I took it out on you.”

George’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “It’s okay. I understand. I never meant to hurt you.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I should have stopped the pranks a long time ago. Fred can be relentless, but I should have done more to protect you. I’m really sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice touched her, and Y/N felt some of the tension begin to ease. “I know it’s not all your fault, but I guess I just… I didn’t want to feel vulnerable. I’ve spent so much time hiding from everyone, and your pranks made me feel exposed.”

“I get that,” George replied, his tone earnest. “I didn’t realize how deeply it affected you until it was too late. I promise, I’m done with the pranks for good. I just want to be someone you can trust.”

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling a mix of relief and lingering uncertainty. “I want to believe you, George. I really do.” She hesitated, her heart pounding as she continued. “I’ve started to feel something for you too, but it scares me. I don’t want to be hurt again.”

George’s expression shifted, hope flickering in his eyes. “I’d never want to hurt you, Y/N. I care about you, more than I can put into words. I’ve fallen for you, and I’m willing to be patient, to show you that I’m not like that.”

She felt a warmth spreading through her, a cautious hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way forward. “I appreciate that,” she said, her voice softening. “I just need time to process everything. To learn to trust you.”

“I can wait,” George assured her, his sincerity washing over her like a soothing balm. “I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of their conversation settling around them. Y/N felt the walls she had built start to crumble, a flicker of connection igniting between them. The tension that had once felt suffocating began to transform into something hopeful, something worth exploring.

“I’ve always admired your strength, you know,” George said quietly, breaking the silence. “You have this quiet way of standing your ground, even when it feels like the whole world is against you. It’s something I really respect.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat at his words, a shy smile creeping onto her lips. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

With that, they shared a moment of understanding, two hearts gradually opening up to the possibility of something new. The fear still lingered in the corners of Y/N’s mind, but George’s presence felt grounding, like a promise of support amid the chaos.

As the night wore on, they talked about everything and nothing, laughter gradually returning to their conversation. The bond between them began to shift, transforming the tension of the past into a tentative but hopeful future. And while Y/N knew she still had a long way to go in learning to trust, she felt ready to take the first steps alongside George, together navigating the path toward something more.

---------

With each passing day, Y/N and George began to carve out a new rhythm together. Their interactions were a delicate dance of tentative steps and unspoken emotions, as they gradually rebuilt the trust that had been shattered. It felt both exhilarating and terrifying, but each moment brought them closer to something that felt real.

The soft evening light filtered through the library windows, casting golden hues across the tables and shelves. George sat beside Y/N, his gaze flickering from his notes to her profile as she read, oblivious to his attention. He didn’t even know how they’d ended up studying together—somehow, after their kiss by the lake, their paths seemed to cross more naturally, as if the universe itself wanted them to be near each other.

The silence between them was comfortable, with only the occasional sound of a page turning or a quill scratching across parchment. Still, George couldn’t shake the flutter in his stomach, a quiet thrill every time their shoulders brushed as they leaned closer to share notes.

He watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, her brow furrowing as she scribbled a correction on her page. Without thinking, he whispered, “You look adorable when you’re concentrating, you know.”

Y/N glanced up, a hint of a blush rising in her cheeks. She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. “And you look ridiculous when you pretend to know anything about Potions.”

George chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guilty as charged. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to sit here with you.”

Her cheeks reddened even more, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the laughter fading into something softer. It was like they were both testing the waters of this new closeness, careful not to push too far but unable to ignore the magnetism between them.

Finally, she broke the gaze, focusing on her parchment again. “You know, I didn’t think you’d be interested in spending so much time in the library.”

“Neither did I,” George admitted, leaning closer. “But maybe it’s growing on me.” He glanced down at her notes, nodding as if he understood. “Or maybe it’s just the company.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re terrible at studying, you know.”

“Ah, well, maybe you can teach me a thing or two,” he replied, his voice light but his expression earnest.

A comfortable quiet settled over them again, but this time, George felt a warm satisfaction. There was a new ease between them, a budding friendship colored by the thrill of something more. And though neither of them said it out loud, they both felt it—the steady pull drawing them closer, bit by bit.

In the corridors of Hogwarts, small encounters became charged with electricity. There were days when Y/N would walk past George, their shoulders brushing just enough to send a thrill through her. She’d glance over her shoulder, catching his eye for a split second before her heart raced and she looked away, a smile tugging at her lips. George would return the gaze, his expression softening, a silent understanding passing between them.

In Charms class one afternoon, Y/N found herself seated beside George once again. It had become a familiar arrangement, as if some invisible force always pulled them into each other’s orbit. Today, Professor Flitwick was lecturing on wand techniques, and although Y/N tried to focus on his instructions, the warmth of George beside her was impossible to ignore.

As Professor Flitwick turned to demonstrate on the blackboard, George leaned in close, his voice a soft murmur. “Reckon he’s going to make us try that spell next?” he asked, his breath tickling her ear.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, her heart beating a little faster. “Probably,” she replied, forcing herself to sound steady. “Though I don’t think you’re paying attention enough to pull it off.” She smirked, her own quiet bravery surprising her.

George’s eyes sparkled, his grin widening. “Cheeky,” he whispered back, pretending to take exaggerated notes in response. His arm brushed hers, and though it was barely a touch, it sent a jolt through her.

A moment later, both of them reached for the Charms textbook between them. Their fingers collided, lingering for just a second too long before she pulled back with a shy, “Sorry.”

But George didn’t flinch, his hand remaining steady on the book, his gaze warm and reassuring. “No need to apologize,” he replied softly, his voice carrying a gentle sincerity that made her heart flutter. “I don’t mind.”

The words lingered between them, heavy with an unspoken promise. Y/N dared a glance up at him, finding that his eyes held something deeper, something that made her wonder if he felt the same invisible pull she did. For the rest of the class, their hands would brush occasionally, and with each touch, the world around them seemed to fade just a little bit more.

In the library, their shared study sessions turned into something more. They’d sit close together, their heads bent over the same book, and George would occasionally let his arm rest against hers, a silent invitation. Y/N felt a mix of excitement and caution, her heart fluttering at the proximity. Each time she caught George looking at her, a warmth spread through her, though she quickly brushed it off as mere friendship.

“Are you always this distracted during study sessions?” he teased one day, his voice low, playful, yet filled with a sincerity that made her stomach flutter.

“I’m just trying to focus,” Y/N replied, trying to sound serious but failing as a smile broke through. “It’s hard when you keep talking.”

George leaned a little closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I could help you with that. Less talking, more studying?”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and free. “Maybe you should try it, then.”

Their shared moments were interspersed with lingering touches—George would hand her a book, their fingers brushing, and Y/N would feel a spark. Or he’d help her adjust her bag as they left class, his hand resting on her shoulder a beat longer than necessary. Each small interaction was filled with a weighty significance, and with every shared laugh or stolen glance, the connection between them deepened.

Yet, amid these moments of growing intimacy, Y/N remained guarded. She often found herself wrestling with the fear that she might be setting herself up for heartbreak again. There were flashes of doubt that crossed her mind, reminders of the pranks and the humiliation that had come before. Would George be able to prove he was more than just a prankster? Would he stay once the novelty wore off?

But George, ever patient, didn’t push her. He understood that trust couldn’t be rushed and was willing to wait for as long as it took. He knew he had to prove himself to her—not just with words but through actions that demonstrated his genuine care and respect for her.

One afternoon, they found themselves taking a leisurely stroll around the lake, the sun dipping low in the sky, painting everything in warm hues of orange and pink. The air was filled with the scent of autumn leaves and the distant sound of laughter from students playing Quidditch.

“Do you ever miss being just a regular student?” George asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“Sometimes,” Y/N admitted, glancing at him. “But I think I’m learning to appreciate the chaos.”

George chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s not all chaos, you know. Some of it’s… fun.”

“Fun for you, maybe,” she shot back, but there was no bite in her words, only a hint of teasing.

They reached the edge of the lake, and George picked up a small pebble, skipping it across the water. “What about this?” he asked. “Just you and me, no pranks, no chaos.”

Y/N smiled, feeling the warmth of the moment wash over her. “I like that idea.”

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in a breathtaking display of colors, they stood side by side, their shoulders almost touching, hearts racing in sync with the rhythm of the world around them.

In that tranquil moment, Y/N realized she was slowly starting to trust him, bit by bit. And though she still held reservations, the promise of something deeper began to bloom within her—a tentative but undeniable hope for what could be.

“George,” she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” he replied, glancing at her, his expression attentive.

Y/N took a breath, feeling the weight of her words. “I think I’m ready to see where this goes.”

A smile broke across George’s face, lighting up his features with genuine joy. “Really?” he asked, the hope in his voice unmistakable.

“Yeah,” she said, her heart racing. “But just take it slow, okay? I don’t want to rush into anything.”

“Absolutely,” he assured her, his voice steady and sincere. “We’ll take it at your pace.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over them, Y/N felt a new sense of clarity. She was ready to embrace this slow-burning romance, to explore the depths of their connection, and to finally allow herself to be vulnerable. And as they stood there, side by side, Y/N realized that she was no longer afraid of what lay ahead. With George by her side, she felt ready to step into the unknown, together.

As the days turned into weeks, Y/N and George settled into a rhythm that felt comfortable and genuine. Their relationship flourished in the quiet spaces they carved out for themselves—away from the prying eyes of Hogwarts, where they could truly be themselves without the weight of expectations or the shadow of past pranks.

The two of them often found solace in the nooks of the library or under the sprawling branches of the ancient trees around the Black Lake, where they would share laughter and secrets. George had traded in his mischievous pranks for thoughtful gestures that spoke volumes of his affection. He’d surprise Y/N with her favorite sweets from Honeydukes or bring her a rare book he thought she’d enjoy, his eyes lighting up with joy whenever she smiled.

On this particular evening, as the sun dipped low out of the sky, painting the horizon with shades of purple and blue, they found themselves sitting on the edge of the lake again. The air was crisp, the gentle lapping of the water creating a soothing backdrop to their conversation. The lake had become a safe space for the two, especially after dark. It was quiet, private, no one to disrupt them.

Y/N leaned back on her hands, her gaze fixed on the shimmering surface of the water. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually starting to enjoy being around you,” she teased, glancing sideways at George.

He chuckled, his face breaking into a warm smile. “You know, I take that as a huge compliment coming from you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at her lips. “Just don’t get used to it. I’m still cautious about all of this.”

George’s expression softened, and he turned to face her more fully. “I get it. Trust takes time, and I’m not going anywhere. I want to be the kind of guy you can count on.”

She nodded, her heart swelling with warmth at his sincerity. “I really appreciate that. You’ve been so patient with me, and it means a lot.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sounds being the rustling leaves and the distant chirping of birds settling in for the night. The sun’s last rays cast a golden glow around them, creating an intimate cocoon of warmth that made Y/N feel safe and cherished.

“Can I ask you something?” George said, breaking the quiet.

“Sure,” she replied, curiosity piquing.

“What’s been the biggest surprise for you in all of this?” He gestured between them, his expression serious.

Y/N took a moment to ponder. “Honestly? I think it’s how easy it is to be around you now. I was so caught up in the past—your pranks, my frustration—that I didn’t see the kind person behind it all. You’ve changed.”

George looked pleased, but he also seemed to be searching for something. “I’m glad to hear that, but I also want you to know that I’m still a bit of a prankster at heart. It’s just… I’ve learned when to tone it down.”

Y/N laughed softly. “You can be playful, just not at my expense, okay?”

“Deal,” he replied, grinning. Then he grew serious again, leaning closer. “But seriously, I want to show you that I’m not just some prank-loving fool. You’re important to me, and I want to be someone who makes you feel valued.”

“George…” she started, unsure of where her thoughts were leading.

But he interrupted her gently. “I know I’ve messed up in the past, but I want to make it right. I want to be a part of your world, Y/N.”

And just like that, all the walls she had built around her heart began to crumble. It was still a cautious step forward, but Y/N felt a wave of trust wash over her. The ache of past hurt didn’t disappear completely, but with George’s unwavering support, it became easier to envision a future without that burden.

“Okay,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s take this one day at a time.”

With that, George’s face broke into a wide grin, his joy contagious. “I can do that.”

They spent the rest of the evening basking in the warmth of their connection, sharing stories and dreams for the future. Each laugh and shared glance brought them closer, a sweet reminder that they were building something beautiful together—a foundation of trust, respect, and undeniable chemistry.

As the stars twinkle overhead, Y/N leaned against George’s shoulder, feeling a sense of peace wash over her. The weight of her past began to fade, replaced by a sense of hope for what lay ahead.

In that moment, with George by her side, she finally felt at ease, ready to embrace the unfolding journey of their relationship. Together, they were no longer just a quiet Hufflepuff and a mischievous Gryffindor; they were two souls discovering a deeper understanding of love, trust, and companionship—a new beginning filled with endless possibilities.

---------

Squeak.

(Name) giggled.

Squeak.

They giggled again.

Squeak.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Gabriel all but snapped at them, causing the young Hufflepuff to jump in surprise. They turned to their friend (if he could even be called that) and with a smile, presented the small, yellow, rubber duck they had received from their parents earlier that morning.

“Just look at it!” They said. “Isn’t it fascinating? I’ve been told Muggles use them in the bath, though I can’t imagine what for.” Upon seeing the rather annoyed look on Gabriel’s face they pulled back the duck.

“It’s annoying.” He said simply.

“It’s fascinating.” They corrected him. “Muggles are so simple, yet so complicated!”

“You’re obsessed.” Gabriel said, distaste evident in his voice. (Name) rolled their eyes.

“Not obsessed, just… mildly interested.”

“Well, whatever it is, can you take it back to your own common room? You’re giving me a headache.” His words hurt, not that (Name) would ever admit that. They weren’t about to let his bad mood bring them down. They were enjoying their rubber duck, after all

“You’re no fun.” They grumbled, squeaking the toy again. Gabriel screwed his eyes shut and let out a loud sigh.

“I’ll tell you what. I know someone else who’s just as obsessed with this crap as you are - if I introduce you to him, will you leave me alone?” They wanted to scoff, but held it back.

“I wasn’t trying to bother you in the first place, Gabriel.” They seethed.

“Do you want to meet him or not?”

—-

“What house did you say he's in?” (Name) asked as they waited with Gabriel outside the library. Gabriel was tapping his foot impatiently and only seemed to grow more impatient at their question.

“Ravenclaw.” He deadpanned. (Name) nodded, but said nothing. They were afraid another question would make the Gryffindor pop. So they stood, silently, and waited. After another five minutes a Ravenclaw who appeared to be in their year began walking down the hall towards them. He had short hair, so blond it was almost white, and the prettiest blue eyes (name) had ever seen.

(Name) wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, but what else could this be?

“Oh, hello Gabriel.” The boy said as he approached, a soft but nervous smile on his face. (Name) was glad they wasn’t the only person Gabriel made uncomfortable.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel smiled, but it was not kind. It didn’t reach his eyes, something (name) had noticed every time he smiled. “I knew I would find you here - this is (name).” He motioned to (name), who waved gently at him. “(Name) here is interested in that, weird, muggle stuff you seem to love.”

“Really?” The boy’s eyes lit up and he turned his full attention to (name). “Is that true?”

“Oh, yes, I love muggle inventions. Really, everything.” (Name) said, nodding enthusiastically.

They began to dig among their robes until they found the duck and presented it as they had to Gabriel. Unlike said Gryffindor, Aziraphale almost seem to burst with joy, eyes widening in surprise and mouth opening.

“My parents sent me this! My mum says they found it in a muggle toy store in London!”

“I’ve heard about these!” Aziraphale lifted a hand, but hesitated. “May I?”

“Of course.” (Name) said, and Aziraphale gingerly took the duck. (Name) watched as he examined it, turning it over in his hands. Neither of them had noticed that Gabriel had slipped away. Aziraphale paused his turning and stared it down. (Name) wanted to laugh for a moment, and couldn’t help but snort when Aziraphale pressed down, causing the duck to squeak loudly, turning a few heads and making the poor boy almost drop the item.

It was the start of a beautiful friendship, and, maybe, the start of something more.

---

(Name) did not appreciate the house stereotypes.

Most people assumed Aziraphale was a goody-two-shoes. That he got all his work done on time, in full, for every class - if only they knew that was far from the truth. (Name) had, on various occasions, watched from the Hufflepuff table as Aziraphale rushed through his home work during breakfast, and had witnessed first hand his sarcasm and sass towards the teachers who thought they knew everything.

He was a genius, no doubt, but was also the biggest dumbass (name) had ever met.

Then there was the idea that Slytherins were evil. (Name) really didn’t like that stereotype. Most others didn’t doubt the idea. (Name) liked to give them the benefit of the doubt, though - that’s how (name) and Aziraphale befriended Crowley, a Slytherin in their year, and an all around kind, good person when he wasn’t playing the bad guy (“If that’s how everyone sees me, why should I play any different?”).

But if there was one stereotype they absolutely hated, it was that Hufflepuffs were ‘soft’ and ‘submissive’ and ‘always kind’. It grated on their nerves, the idea that they would only ever be seen as soft, and Gabriel was pushing them over the line now.

“Look, why don’t you just go back to your common room and bother people who care.”

“Go to hell, Gabriel.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, go to hell.” They hissed at him.

“Well aren’t you a little ballsy Hufflepuff? What’re you gonna do? Friendship bracelet me to death?” Gabriel taunted. (Name) had never felt more satisfied punching someone in the face, not that they had ever done so before. Even though they knew they’d never hear the end of it from their parents, they truly were satisfied. Maybe Gabriel would finally leave them alone.

---

“I’m still confused.” Crowley said as he dangled off one of the trees beside the lake, his uniform robes creating a curtain that shaded his friends from the light. “Did you get away with it or not?”

“Kind of,” (name) sighed. “I mean, of course, Gabriel went and snitched to our head boy, but you wanna know how many points he deducted?”

“Fifty.” Crowley said, but there was an air to his words that didn’t sound as if he was actually trying.

“Two.” (Name) corrected him. “I didn’t even know you could deduct just two points.”

“That’s nothing!” Crowley scoffed. “I once got deducted 50 points for hiding a frog leg in some girl’s bag after she tried to sabotage my potion second year.”

“It’s not a competition, Crowley.” Aziraphale sighed.

“What about you?” (Name) asked suddenly. “Have you ever lost your house points, Aziraphale?”

“Wha- me?” He stuttered, cheeks suddenly flushing red.

“Oh, he has.” Crowley said, smiling. “He most definitely has,” The young man dropped from his position on the tree, showering the two in leaves and sunlight. “And I want to know the story.” Crowley dropped down onto his stomach and propped his head up with both hands, waiting for Aziraphale. (Name) giggled at their antics, but they too were curious.

“Well, I, uh…” Aziraphale turned away, pretending to be interested in some far off plants. Then, he let out a deep sigh. “I, uh, I was caught trying to… sneak into the restricted section. Of the library.”

“No way,” (Name)’s eyes widened. “Who caught you!?”

“Professor Sprout.” Aziraphale sighed. “She was escorting a student to a section on Mandrakes and caught me trying to get in.”

“I don’t know whether to call you brave or call you stupid.” (Name) remarked playfully. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, and bumped them shoulder with his own. It quickly turned into a war of back and forth bumping and pushing, the two laughing and squealing.

Then it all stopped as Crowley spoke up.

“You two are so sweet I think it’s giving me cavities.” (Name) was suddenly very aware of Aziraphale’s arm around them, holding them in place as he tried to dig his fingers into their side, and their hands on his chest trying to push him off.

“W-what?” They said. (Name) and Aziraphale pulled back from each other.

“Oh, come on you two,” Crowley groaned, rolling his eyes and taking a proper seat in the grass. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Crowley I really don’t think-” Aziraphale began, but Crowley cut him off.

“They liked you, Aziraphale,” (Name)’s eyes widened in surprise at this statement. Sure, they’d never tried to hide it from Crowley, but they’d never outright said it. “And, for the record, he likes you too.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale seethed.

“Tell him, (name),” Crowley said suddenly. “Bet you won’t.” This caught their attention.

“Excuse me?” They sat up a bit straighter.

“I said, I bet you won’t admit it.”

“Crowley, I think you need to leave it alone-”

“Say it again, to my face.” (Name) seethed, catching Aziraphale by surprise. Crowley leaned forward, staring them in the eyes.

“Two Galleon you won’t tell him.” It was on.

“Aziraphale,” (Name) turned to him, a sudden intensity in their eyes. They didn’t care about the money, but they never backed down from a bet. “I fell in love with you the moment I met you and your fascination with my rubber duck.”

“I-wha-oh-dear-” Aziraphale’s face flushed a bright pink, but he didn’t move away from them, which (name) took as a good sign.

“And if Crowley isn’t being an absolute bastard and lying, that means you like me too.”

“Well he’s- oh dear - he’s not -”

“For somebody’s sake just kiss him already.” Crowley fell back into the grass, exasperated. “Bet you won’t-”

“Piss off.” (name) hissed, but turned to Aziraphale again.

“Can I?” They asked.

“Can you- uh - can you what?”

“Kiss you, stupid.” They said, glaring playfully. Aziraphale swallowed hard, but nodded.