#Weasley Household

[kfvarela]

Un día lluvioso 🌧️

A rainy day 🌧️

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[braveclementine]

Chapter 2

Warnings: None, Readers under 18 can read this book. It is solely fluff- nothing sexual

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

.💚💚.

Dear Elizabeth, Ron just wrote me to tell me that he and Fred and George are going to try and save Harry. That's the way he put it anyways. I think he just means going and picking him up. I certainly hope they don't do anything dangerous or against the wizarding rules. I'm incredibly busy with homework and studying-I'm sure you're doing the same. I just wrote a letter to Ron saying that I'm going to Diagon Alley next Wednesday. Will you be able to make it? . I'm still waiting to hear back from Ron. I figure we should get our Hogwarts letters sometime this week. Love, Hermione

I sighed, setting aside the letter. Hogwarts again. Now don't get me wrong, I love Hogwarts, it's my home away from home but. . .I closed my eyes, laying down on the bed. I'd nearly been killed three times and had jumped from a window to escape death. I could only imagine what horrible things were going to happen this year.

Knock it off, I scolded myself. You put yourself in that situation, if you had just been as obedient as every other kid, you wouldn't have been in that situation. Just don't do anything stupid or irresponsible this year.

Easier said than done though. I turned away from the letter and went over to the music player, putting on a Beatles record. Then, laying down on my bed, I closed my eyes, thinking, looking into this upcoming year.

My visions worked funny. I can't just see into a year, it's like there's a block on them until I get closer to the actual date. But sometimes- and only sometimes- if I concentrated enough, I could get a farther view.

"I wanna hold your hand. . ."

I concentrated farther. The visions moved fast, some of them melting together and others stood out like pictures on a wall. A sudden image of a young blond man with extravagant clothes was standing in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Then red paint on a wall. Then, water on the floor. A potion bubbling in the bathroom. Then, hissing and-

"ELIZABETH!" Dad called from somewhere downstairs.

I jumped, falling off my bed and knocking over the record player. It crashed to the ground. "Idiot." I muttered, pushing myself up off the ground, getting to my feet. I wasn't entirely sure if I was talking about myself or dad.

Dad appeared in the doorway. He surveyed the damage and then grimaced. "Trying to meditate?"

"Something like that," I muttered, pulling out my wand and pointing it at the record player.

"Elizabeth." Dad's voice had warning in it and I sighed, putting down my wand. Dad pulled out his own wand. "Reparo." He said calmly and the record player was repaired. Then, putting his own wand away, he said, "You know you're not supposed to do magic outside of school."

I picked up the player, putting it on my dresser. I'd just said I was going to stop being a rebel and here I was, already breaking the new found resolution. Maybe I should wait until New Years to make the resolution. "Sorry, I forgot."

"Come on downstairs, we have stuff to talk about." Dad said, leaving the room.

Seeing that there was no choice, I followed. I slumped into a seat at the breakfast table. "What happened?" I asked dully. I had forgotten about going and seeing him when he went up to his room last night.

"I got a erm, new job." Dad said uncomfortably, stirring his tea. I sat up and stared at him, trying to find out what was so bad about this new opportunity.

"Okay. . ." I said slowly, thinking, frowning in concentration.

"I'm going to have to leave next Wednesday." He said, "Which means that I won't be able to transport you to Kings Crossing on September 1st."

"Oh that's okay!" I said immediately. Whatever made things easier for Dad. "Ronald Weasley invited me to stay at his house. We're all planning on meeting up at Diagon Alley next Wednesday anyways. I can just go and stay with him. Or Hermione probably wouldn't mind either."

Dad blinked in surprise. "You didn't tell me your friends asked you to stay over."

I blushed. "Grounded, remember?"

Dad gave me an amused smile. "You're going to stay out of trouble this year, right?"

"Yes, and I'm going to make the Hufflepuff Quidditch team." I said. "So that broom doesn't go to waste."

At that moment, my rabbit Sushi sprinted through the room, did a lap around the table, and then did binkies back into the hallway.

"Awww." I squealed, my whole body tightening up in happiness. "You're so-" Then I stopped, turning to my dad and asked seriously. "Wait, who's going to take care of Sushi?"

Dad chuckled, "You would be worried about that, wouldn't you?" He smoothed my hair back with his hand, "I already asked Trang's parents to watch him. They're delighted."

"Oh good." I said happily, relaxing. "I'm going to go upstairs and pack."

"Already?" Dad asked in surprise.

"Well, I also have to send an answer to Ron and my bedroom's a mess so I need to locate everything." I said, blushing again.

"Oh, that's right." Dad said, taking a sip of tea. "I'll be cooking dinner tonight."

"Aww, dad I can still do that." I said.

Dad waved his hand. "It'll taste fine."

I hesitated. "Wait, no."

Dad frowned. "I don't cook that badly."

I laughed. "It's not that, I want to celebrate this new job opportunity. Come on, I'll take you out to eat."

Dad looked even more surprised than he had before. "Take me out to eat? Where?"

I jumped up and down in joy. "There's this great restaurant that you haven't been to before. It's called Panda Inn here. But in the U.S. it's called Panda Express. Apparently, they're supposed to have this delicious chicken that Trang calls Orange chicken. I've been wanting to try it for a long time now!"

Dad laughed and grinned. "So is this celebration for me or for you to try out your chicken?"

"Guilty." I said, grinning back.

"Oh," Dad said, picking up a piece of mail. "This came for you."

I grabbed it. "My Hogwarts letter!" I flipped it over and glared at him. "It's already open. That's a crime you know."

Dad laughed. "Only if you tell. The books ought to be interesting though."

I read over the list quickly.

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

"I have to get and read all of these?" I asked revolted by the matching of letters like a children's book. "What a waste of money."

I finally got a real laugh out of dad. Then he grinned at me, "Wonder what he wrote about the Werewolves?"

I gave him a reluctant smile. "I'll read that one first and tell you."

"Alright, so go get ready." Dad said, finishing off his tea, "I'll be waiting."

I stared at him, raising an eyebrow. "Dad, it's a Muggle restaurant."

"So?" He looked at me confused.

"You need to go get dressed in Muggle clothes." I said, my lips twitching upwards into an amused smile. I waved a hand at his wizarding robes.

"Oh that's right." He muttered. "Let's see who gets ready the fastest."

I giggled sprinting up the stairs, and I heard a crack in the dining room, telling me he had apparated. "CHEATER!" I shouted, dashing into my bedroom. I heard him laughing from his room.

I pulled on my shoes and grabbed my purse, quickly checking to see how much money I had. I flipped through the bills- £60. Great, that should be enough to cover dinner tonight. I turned out the light and then dashed back downstairs. Yes! I'd beaten dad.

I bit my lip, slightly amused. I was eleven- almost twelve- why was I being so childish? I had this problem a lot. This was something we hadn't done since I was maybe eight. I sighed. Perhaps dad felt bad about leaving, or maybe there was something he wasn't telling me.

Dad popped down next to me with another crack. "Alright you win."

I grinned up at him. I'd question him tonight at dinner. "Let's go."

.💚💚.

𝕴 𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖉 𝖎𝖓 bed, staring up at the ceiling. I kept messing with the ring dad had given me for my birthday. Turning it over, feeling along it. It was a baby dragon ring, sometimes it curled its tail around my finger tighter. Sometimes it moved its head and I felt a little warmth along my palm. It was green, and sparkly, and felt like it was made of glass but it wasn't.

I sighed, rolling over, and carefully placed it on the bedside table. It curled up and I stared at it. I tried to figure out what was nagging me.

I closed my eyes, trying to sleep. Trang was leaving for America tomorrow, I was going to go and see her off at the airport.

I fell into sleep.

A shadowy figure stood on the edge of a large walkway. There were hissing noises and a snake slithered out and reached up to the person's waist. It was an anaconda snake, a type of water snake- native to the Amazon Rainforest in Brazil.

'Dangeroussss thingssss are going to happen. . . more dangerousssss than perhapssss the firsst time. . .' The boy whispered to the snake. He stayed in the shadows so all I could see was that he was tall. So the boy spoke parseltongue? But how could I possibly understand what they were saying? Oh, right, I must be dreaming.

The snake's tongue flicked in and out, 'find the ssssprocket, find the ssink, it all worksss asss well asss you think.'

So snakes could rhyme? Strange.

The boy turned to face me and all I could see were two, glowing red eyes.

I woke up with a start, sweating. I looked over at the clock. It was six in the morning. I slumped back down on my bed. Once my breathing returned back to normal, I climbed out of bed to start my day.

I quickly got dressed for a muggy day- jeans, a T-shirt, and a light rain jacket. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and tucked my locket under my shirt. I hadn't felt it burn in ages, so I felt safe wearing it under my clothes again.

I hesitated, looking at the ring, and finally realized why I felt so weird last night- I hadn't sent Harry anything for his birthday. But, he could definitely still be at his house, I hadn't heard back from Ron yet for confirmation about staying with him next week.

I picked up the dragon ring and put it close to my finger. It curled around it and I smiled. I was going to have to thank Dad again.

I grabbed my purse, put on my leather black combat boots, and ran down the stairs to go see Trang off at the airport.

.💚💚.

𝕭𝖞 ��𝖊𝖉𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖉𝖆𝖞, 𝕴 was packed and ready to go. My trunk was full of my Hogwarts robes, quills, ink bottles, and textbooks that I would need this year. Any book I didn't need was left on my bed. Any book I didn't need, but I wanted to bring, were packed in my leather school bag.

Dad had already left an hour ago so I didn't need to worry about good-byes anymore. I dragged my heavy trunk into the fireplace. I pulled my bag over my head, slinging it on my shoulder. I checked my pocket to make sure that my wand was still there.

I checked that I was wearing my locket, bracelet from Fred last Christmas, and my dragon ring. Then, I grabbed a handful of floo powder from the pot next to the fireplace and stepped into the fireplace. I threw it down and shouted "Diagon alley!"

I felt the spinning sensation and clutched tightly to my trunk so we'd both get out at the right time. When I saw the grate, I leaned forward and fell out. My trunk clattered down next to me and I quickly set it right side up and started pulling it towards the exit. Damn, why was this thing so freaking heavy?

"Elizabeth! Hey Elizabeth!" I heard my name being shouted by a familiar voice. I turned, a smile on my face.

George and Fred Weasley ran up to me. Their bright red hair was combed back the same way. They were still rather thin and tall.

"Hey guys." I said cheerfully, punching George's arm and smiling at Fred, "What's up?"

"Nothing much." George said, chuckling, punching me back lightly. "You?"

"I'm not looking forward to these stupid books we have to buy." I said with an eye roll. "They're ridiculously expensive and sound incredibly stupid."

Fred and George laughed but looked strained.

"Yeah, they are expensive." Fred said quietly, mostly to himself.

I bit my lip. I shouldn't be complaining. I'd grown up poor, but now I had a huge allowance from my parents. On the other hand, Fred and George had grown up poor and were still poor. I decided to get enough gold out of the bank so they could buy their own sets.

Mr. Weasley got out of the fire next and Fred introduced me to him.

"Harry should be coming next." Mr. Weasley said, when we were done with introductions. I waited eagerly, unable to control my excitement. While Harry didn't know that we were related, I did, and I was glad we were friends.

However, the next person that came out of the fire was Percy Weasley. He looked around as he came up to his father and asked, "Did Harry not come out?"

We all shook our heads. Percy cursed and said, "Harry went before me but he mixed up his words."

We all froze. "So. . . we don't know where he is?" I asked.

Percy nodded. Ron came out of the fire next. I closed my eyes, trying to see if I could find Harry. There- he was in a dark shop, a man with blond hair in the room with him. It looked like Harry was hiding in something. I didn't know exactly where he was, but in the end I could only figure one place like this.

"Elizabeth?" Fred asked. "You okay?"

"Oh, um yeah." I said. I quickly put my trunk up against the wall with other trunks, and locked it. Then I took off, Fred yelling my name behind me. Now which was was Knockturn Alley? I ran down the streets, probably looking crazy.

Then, I ran into Hagrid, who was walking up the streets with Harry.

"Lousy Muggles, If I'd known-" Hagrid was saying. "Careful where yer goin' Elizabeth!" he added as I bounced off of him. He reached out with a large hand and caught me before I fell on the street.

"Thanks Hagrid. Hi Harry!" I beamed.

"Hi Elizabeth." Harry said, smiling back shyly.

I heard a voice behind me saying "Harry! Elizabeth! Over here!"

I turned to see Hermione running down the Gringotts steps. "Hello Elizabeth!" Hermione said, embracing me.

Harry, Hermione, and I walked up the Gringotts steps with Hagrid.

"What happened to your glasses?" Hermione was asking Harry. "Hello, Hagrid- Oh it's wonderful to see you two again- are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?"

"As soon as I've found the Weasleys," Harry said with a grin, giving me a proper hug now that things had settled down.

"Let me see your glasses." I said, holding my hand out.

"Yeh won't have long ter wait." Hagrid said with a grin, pointing down the street.

The three of us peered down the street. Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley were all sprinting up the street towards us. I pulled out my wand and tapped Harry's glasses with my wand. "Reparo." His glasses snapped together and the glass shards connected again.

"Thanks." Harry said, putting his glasses back on.

"Yeh know yer not su'ppose ter be doin' magic outside of school Elizabeth." Hagrid chastised but he was grinning. The Ministry wouldn't know I was doing magic underage considering Diagon Alley was pretty much as magical and non-Muggle as you could get in London.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said panting, as they caught up to us. "We hoped you'd only gone one grate too far. . . Molly's frantic- she's coming now-" He mopped his brow with a handkerchief.

"Where'd you turn out?" Ron asked, curious.

"Knockturn Alley." Hagrid said grimly.

"Excellent." Fred, George, and I all said together and then we all grinned at each other.

"We've never been allowed in." Ron said, sounding jealous.

"I should ruddy well think not." Hagrid growled at him.

I saw Mrs. Weasley running up the steps now, a handbag swinging violently from one hand, a little red-headed girl clutching her other hand. That must be Fred's little sister Ginny.

I started walking into Gringotts. I wanted to get the money so that I could get it to Fred and George before they left. Harry, Ron, and Hermione ran up to join me.

"Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry asked. That must've been the store that I'd seen him in.

"Lucius Malfoy?" I asked.

"Yeah, and Draco." Harry said, giving me a surprised.

"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" Mr. Weasley asked from behind us.

"No, he was selling-" Harry said.

"So he's worried. Oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something. . ." Mr. Weasley said slowly and with some sort of satisfaction.

I didn't know Lucius Malfoy, but if he was anything like his son, than he was probably an evil git. Plus, I was fairly certain that he had been a Death Eater. By fairly certain I meant 100%. Oh the things rich people get away with.

We entered Gringotts and I told Harry and Ron to come with me. Ron was more than willing and we left Hermione in the main hall with her parents, who were exchanging Muggle Money for Wizarding coins. Mrs. Weasley went her separate way with Ginny.

We went to Harry's vault first. He had quite a bit of money, though perhaps a bit less than I did. Then we went to my vault. I filled two bags and then we went back up to the surface. I gave Ron half of one of the bags and winked at him and then went off to join Fred and George. I heard Ron sputtering behind me and Harry laughing.

Fred, George, and I met up with Lee Jordan outside the bank. I heard Mrs. Weasley shout from behind us. "And not one step down Knockturn Alley!"

Fred, George, and I laughed. That was the first place we visited. Fred and George went down two steps, Lee went down three. I went down the entire way and then sprinted back up. It became a competition until someone appeared at the end of the corridor and we all sprinted the entire way back towards Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop.

We relaxed, laughing.

"Mum's going to kill us if she finds out." George muttered, looking through the different types of fireworks.

"She's not going to find out." I said pleasantly. "So don't worry about it."

"Oh yeah, Ron says that you're coming to stay with us for the last couple weeks of vacation." Fred said, "Is that true?"

I nodded, "Yeah, my dad got a new work assignment and he had to leave today, so I had no way to get to Hogwarts later. So, since Ron had already invited me to stay, I accepted."

Ron, Hermione, and Harry came into the shop some time later, when we were about to leave. I wandered off on my own for a little bit, buying parchment and new quills. I also bought different types of ink. I was really going to miss my Muggle pens again this year.

I met up with Fred, George, Lee, Hermione, Ron, and Harry as we made our way to Flourish and Blotts. There were many other people trying to get into the shop. I looked at all the witches, a little amused, a little annoyed, cause there were not many wizards.

There was a banner in the window saying:

GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography MAGICAL ME today 12:30 P.M. to 4:30 P.M.

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist." She smoothed her hair between her hands. It was a battle lost before she started it- her hair was never going to stop being bushy on its own.

I hung back with Fred, George, and Lee, internally groaning. Bloody hell, what a mess this was. I probably wouldn't be able to check the shelves for extra books because the walls would be crowded by witches. Maybe the owner would have some put away specially for me like he sometimes did when he thought I'd like something. Dad and I were his best customers.

We squeezed inside, past the adults. Hermione, Ron, Harry, and I each grabbed the Grade 2 book we needed off the stack by the door. Fred, George, and Lee each got books that they needed for their fourth year.

We went to stand next to the Weasley's and Grangers. I found myself next to Harry and turned to talk to him.

"How was your summer?"

"Could've been better." He said. "Honestly, I would've written back."

I grinned. "Oh I know, Dobby stopped you?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?" He asked in surprise.

"I know a lot of things." I said quickly. "But I actually just overheard you telling Hagrid."

Harry laughed.

At that moment, Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view and seated himself at a long table. There were many portraits of his face, winking and flashing on the table. The real man himself was wearing robes of light blue that matched his eyes. His hair was wavy and he wore a wizard's hat at an angle so not to mess up those waves. I stared at him with a mixture of horror and also giddiness.

He was extremely handsome though, I did have to admit that. I felt my cheeks grow red and I rubbed them, cursing internally. Stupid female hormones.

There was a short man wearing black and brandishing a black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash that emitted a smell of apricots. The reporter stepped backwards onto Ron's foot. "Get out of the way." The photographer snarled. "This is for the Daily Prophet-"

"Big Deal." Ron snarled back, holding his foot and rubbing it.

Lockhart apparently heard their interaction because he looked up at Ron. Then he moved his eyes along our line, eyeing Harry and then me. He leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It can't be Harry Potter?"

"Oh bloody hell." I muttered as everyone in the store started whispering even more excitedly than they had moments ago when Lockhart had appeared.

The crowd parted as Lockhart walked down the stairs towards us. He grabbed Harry's arm and then, to my surprise, grabbed my arm as well, dragging us both up to the front of the room. I looked back at Fred, panicking. He looked just as surprised as I did.

Lockhart put one arm around each of our shoulders. I didn't smile as the photographer took pictures. "Nice big smile, Harry." Lockhart said through his own teeth. I didn't dare look at him in case the newspaper made my action out to be something other than disgust or confusion. As it was, I was panicking.

He didn't let us go when the pictures were done and I was starting to get strangely uncomfortable. "Ladies and gentlemen." He said loudly and the crowd quieted down. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!

"When young Harry and his sister here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, they only wanted to buy my autobiography- which I shall be happy to present them now, free of charge-" The crowd applauded, but I risked a glance at Harry. He looked at me, looking as confused as I was. The only difference being that my heart was pounding like crazy. Did Lockhart know somehow? I mean, surely not? I looked at the Weasleys. They were looking back and forth between Harry and I. The crowd was whispering. This was a complete nightmare. I should never have come. That seemed to be my signature line.

"They had no idea-" Lockhart continued, not caring about anything else but his little announcement. "that they would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. They and their schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

I groaned out loud but no one could hear me for the explosion of noise that burst in the bookshop. I wanted to die of embarrassment. I found myself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart, even more books than I needed for school.

I struggled back down to the Weasleys, Harry following me. I handed the books to Fred. "Keep them, I don't want them. Especially since he gave them to me for an incorrect reason."

"So you're not really my sister?" Harry asked behind me, and thankfully he was grinning.

I shook my head, my heart breaking that I couldn't tell him that I was. "I don't know why he thought that, we don't even look alike."

The Weasleys all seemed to accept this, but the others in the shop that had overheard were not as convinced and rumors were spreading. I was sure something was going to make the headlines. Bloody hell.

Harry tipped his books into Ginny's cauldron, telling her she could have his books. He'd buy his own. We went up and bought our books and then waited by Ginny's cauldron. I handed George money so that he could buy his own set. When Lee had his set, we all started to walk towards the back of the shop.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" Said a sneering voice. We looked up to see Draco Malfoy and I tightened my grip on my huge stack of books. "Famous Harry Potter. Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" Ginny said suddenly. I'd never heard her voice before but she had such a sweet voice.

"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" Malfoy drawled, giving Ginny a look over.

"Shut the hell up Malfoy." I snarled.

"Oh Kane." Malfoy said, sneering. "How'd you like being compared to someone as pathetic as Potter?"

"I would be quite proud to be Harry's sister." I said, speaking the truth for once on the subject of our sibling hood.

Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both of them clutching stacks of books.

"Oh, it's you." Ron said, giving Malfoy a disgusted look. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"

For a moment I was confused and then I remembered that they believed Dobby was the House Elf of the Malfoys. Of course, they were right, but I wasn't going to tell them that.

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley." Malfoy retorted, looking a bit confused himself. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."

Ron went as red as Ginny and dropped his books into her cauldron. She nearly dropped the cauldron under the weight of two stacks of Lockhart books. Hermione and Harry reached out and grabbed the back of Ron's shirt as he went to hit Draco.

Fred and George were giving Malfoy an angry look. I touched Fred's hand softly and looked up at him and shook my head. It wasn't worth it. Lee was looking angry too, his arms crossed.

"Ron! Fred! George!" Mr. Weasley said struggling through the crowd to get to the back of the store. I felt my stomach drop, seeing a small glimpse of what was about to happen. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

Now, I tugged on Fred's arm, trying to get us to leave before. . .

"Well, well, well- Arthur Weasley." A tall man with long blond hair and piercing gray-blue eyes was standing there now. He could almost be called handsome in his own way if he didn't have such a cruel, smirking look on his face. I felt my cheeks grow red again, the way they had when looking at Lockhart. Hm, maybe there was something wrong with me today. But he was quite good-looking. I supposed even bad people could look good.

"Lucius." Mr. Weasley said, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids. . . I hope they're paying you overtime?"

I gritted my teeth as he reached into Ginny's cauldron and picking out an extremely battered second-hand copy of her Transfiguration book.

"Obviously not." Mr. Malfoy said, his lip curled upwards. Draco stood to the side, smirking. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Fred and George gave a start and I grabbed both of them by the arms. My bag with all my books was cutting into my shoulder. Lee helped me out, restraining them. Mr. Weasley flushed a dark red. Mrs. Weasley, and the Grangers started coming over.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy." Mr. Weasley said under his breath.

"Like you." I piped up, giving him a jaunty smile.

Mr. Malfoy's gaze flicked over to me, and Draco dropped his smile. Fred smiled and relaxed. I no longer felt a reason to restrain him anymore.

Then, Malfoy's eyes flicked over to where Mr. and Mrs. Granger were standing, watching the whole occurrence with Mrs. Weasley, who looked extremely nervous. "Clearly," Mr. Malfoy said, narrowing his eyes at the Grangers. Hermione blushed red and Mrs. Granger took a step back and shot a terrified look at her husband. "The company you keep, Weasley. . .and I thought your family could sink no lower-"

Hermione flushed even darker than the rest of us, and there was a thud as Ginny's cauldron went flying. I ducked to avoid it, Lee quickly pulling me out of the way.

Multiple people were yelling. Fred and George were yelling "Get him Dad!"; Draco was yelling, "Get your filthy hands off of him!"; Mrs. Weasley was shouting "No, Arthur, no!"; The assistant was shouting, "Gentlemen, please- please, the books!"

Then there was a louder voice, not yelling, but louder and much calmer saying, "Break it up, there, gents, break it up-"

Hagrid waded through the crowd and he pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart from each other, holding them each in one hand. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had a bruised eye. He was still holding Ginny's Transfiguration book. He thrusted it back in her cauldron, his eyes glittering with malice and an image flashed in my mind of a little black book.

Without another word, he pulled himself from Hagrid's grip and tried to march out the bookstore with dignity. Well! That wasn't happening. Pulling my wand I quickly whispered, "Offendo." Lucio's Malfoy tripped over his own two feet and fell flat on his face. There was some tittering and laughter from the crowd. Draco looked back and glared at me. I smiled and waved and turned my back on him. I slipped my wand back up my sleeve.

We were leaving now, with the urging of Hagrid. I trailed behind the rest of the group with Lee. Hermione was with her parents, Harry was with Ron, and the rest of the Weasleys were crowded around their parents. Lee and I walked in silence until we were about to part.

"I saw that tripping jinx." Lee said with a smile. "Nice work, I'm going to find a lot of hard spells this year for you to try."

I smiled back, "Thanks Lee. Have a great rest of your vacation."

I waved and hurried to catch up with the rest of the group. We were going to leave through the Leaky Cauldron instead of the Floo station. I went to get my trunk and then met up with the others in Leaky Cauldron.

We said good-bye to the Grangers and Hermione. I decided, as I stepped into the fireplace, that I could wait for Hogwarts to start. Who didn't like a nice vacation?

⬅️➡️

[greenerteacups]

Hi GT, I hope you are doing well! who is your favorite Weasley?

Thank you! Absolute treat of a question. Oh, man. It's Ron, right? It was always going to be Ron.

So here's the thing: the Weasleys are a really well-characterized family in that you can kind of see a lot of character emerge through limited sketches and contextual information. Bill is Number One Boy, the best at everything, oldest child who was always confident and at peace with his indisputable place in the family; so he's a chill, cool, incredibly competent guy who naturally takes-charge. Charlie is a patented never-grew-out-of-your-middle-school-dragons-phase Weird Kid, but like, mindfully and enthusiastically so, because his parents probably still had plenty of time to support and nurture his interests; plus he's also different to Bill and excels in different ways, so they aren't too competitive (as we see). Percy is the first one to suffer from the pressure of mounting expectations, and he's very quickly followed by the twins, who do the classic "if I can't be the best I'll be the worst" late-sibling trick of acting up for attention, so he gets lost in the shuffle. (The fight between Ron and Percy in Chapter 58 is, hence, in substantially about the relationship between the two most-ignored members of the Weasley family, and that's why Ron is so much angrier at him than the rest of them. Like I've said before, Ron always thinks he's got it the worst, but he takes pride in being able to kinda "tough it out," and nothing pisses him off like other people's self-pity.) Ginny is obviously the baby of the family, a girl with everyone wrapped around her finger, and I love her, but I feel like we didn't get enough grit in her portrait— she's just really successful in everything she does, in a way that can read as flat to some people, and certainly read as flat to me my first time through the books. In fact, Ginny reminds me a lot of Bill: first daughter/first son, described often as "cool" and clever and good at basically everything, charming and generally liked by all. Which is lovely. A delight to read, just like the twins are. But my taste in characters ranges way more fucked-up and mean.

Ron is the last boy, "sixth son of a woman who wanted a daughter" (fascinating line that complicates everything we know about Molly's relationship with her kids — and BTW, how the hell does Ron know that, and how old was he when he learned it? And this also comes into play with Molly's cry of "not my daughter" to Bellatrix which like, as a moment obviously fucking rules, but also — there's a reason she says daughter, not "child," right? Do you see what I'm digging at? Anyway). Ron meets Harry and recognizes himself in how Harry defaults to thinking people don't care about him, or won't help him if he asks, because — although they come from very different circumstances, Ron's home was completely loving, just not as nurturing as he always needed it to be — Ron usually goes in assuming people don't care about him, too. So his first instinct is to go: "Alright. Well, I'll care about you, then, weird stranger. Do you want to share my horrible sandwich, and also my life, perhaps?" Goddamn! Sixth of seven in a house with never enough to go around, and he's immediately like: "fuck it, room for one more." Because he could have been Percy — and you can see it in the way that Ron is mean, sometimes, he's not careful with his words and he struggles with empathy and he's got a vengeful streak that comes out when he's pissed — but he isn't selfish enough, he loves too much and too easily, and it takes shockingly little to earn his loyalty. You just have to pay a little attention to him.

[solongdaisymayy]

Traditions (Fred & George's Version)

written for #WeasleyWeek hosted by @thethreebroomsticksfic. – Day 5: Fred and George Weasley

shoutout to @lanaturnergetup, queen of George Weasley fics & all things present tense, for looking over this fic! ☺️

Read it below or on AO3 !

It’s one of the oldest, most well known traditions in the Wizarding World, receiving your Hogwarts letter the summer you’re eleven. Criminally less talked about, George reckons, is the insane barrage of questions from a newly admitted first year, all centered around life at Hogwarts. 

“Oh, just you wait, you’ll see what they have in store for you. It’s fun watching the new midgets be sorted,” Fred says when Ron comes down for breakfast on a Monday morning, this time inquiring about the sorting ceremony. Unfortunately for Ron, they've specifically been instructed not to give this bit of information away.

“But how are we sorted? What do we have to do?” Ron asks, taking the seat beside Dad and loading his plate with scrambled eggs and sausages. 

A tawny owl carrying an envelope with the Hogwarts seal arrived for Ron just last week, and he’s talked of little else since. His wondrous curiosity – this wide-eyed eagerness to know where each class is located and what time dinner starts and how soon he can try out for the Quidditch team – would all be sweet, were it not for the fact that Ron has been directing most of these questions towards him and Fred. 

George, groaning, reaches for the pot of tea and wonders dismally if pretending he’s lost his hearing might prompt Ron into shutting up for the rest of summer. The temptation to just tell Ron the truth is growing stronger by the minute. So what if Ron knows all they had to do was pull on a tatty old hat? It surely won’t ruin his first day at Hogwarts, not the way Mum and Dad went on about it. Does it really have to be kept a secret?

Fred, however, waves a hand at Ron, throws George a quick sidelong glance, brow raised. “Just a small test. Doesn’t take too long either, the sorting ceremony.”

George sighs but gives in. For tradition, as they say.

“It’ll be over faster than you can say ‘blimey’. You’ll barely even feel the pain before - poof!” He snaps his fingers. “You’re done, just like that. New house, new mates, you’ve got it all.”

The color drains from Ron’s face. “Pain? What d’you-”

“Don’t worry, you can scream if you��d like.” Fred is the picture of calm as he addresses Ron, who's frowning. “We’re all used to it by now, watching the wee ones squirm. It rarely lasts longer than a minute.”

Dad, his face hidden behind the morning paper, clears his throat loudly.

“Right, right,” Fred says hastily, “but we’re not supposed to talk about it. You’ll find out soon enough, only a few more weeks.”

“Just don’t look too scared when you get there,” George advises, buttering his toast before slathering it with generous amounts of marmalade. “They won’t sort you into Gryffindor, then, and you’ll fail our house test.”

“And that would be a shame,” Fred yawns. “Mum’ll have to disown you.” 

“That’s enough,” Dad interrupts, his voice straining suspiciously behind that newspaper. “Ron, don’t worry, and don’t listen to these two. It’ll be fine, trust me.”

Ron nods, unsure, and stares down at his plate. George tries his best to keep his mouth straight. It’s always so easy, messing around with Ron. 

Ten minutes later, and he’s passing Ron on his way to the kitchen for some of yesterday’s scones. George, glancing down at his younger brother, falters for a heartbeat. He should just let it go, really, but he can’t resist. Biting back a laugh, he pats Ron's head, offers the boy a sympathetic smile when he looks around.

Ron’s expression turns, if possible, ever more morose as he turns back to his cold eggs. 

“Listen, if you fail the sorting ceremony, Ronnie,” George assures him, “there’s always Hagrid’s apprenticeship to look forward to.”

Fred grins. “Yeah, no shame in working with Chizpurfles and Chimeras, dear brother.”

“Working with what? Is that legal?”

“So long as you don’t lose a limb, sure.”

Dad makes a sound, somewhere between a cough and a laugh. 

It’s tradition, too, George reckons, to keep the children guessing about life at Hogwarts.

[moonybemine]

yall i made more hp sims today i might post an intro to some of them in the morning my mary sim is sooo cute😭

[bentknife]

my little sister finally caved and decided to watch the harry potter series. i’m proud to say she instantly became a ron stan and ronmione shipper

[harleyification]

Oooooo Soror Renata for the wip game?

I can't sleep tonight, so I'll go ahead and answer since I now have the time!

Soror Renata is actually one of my Harry Potter fanfics! GASP-- HARRY POTTER?! In the good year of our lord, 2023?! I know, it's cringe, but hear me out - back in 2020 through 2021, I needed...something different. I was in a very rough patch at the time, and my brain wasn't attaching to any of my comfort fixations. So, I decided to look up Drarry, since it is literally THE defining ship that has shaped modern fandom as we know it. And like...I got addicted, asjdkladja

Not just Drarry, no. But to the Weasley's.

I seen myself in the Weasley's.

And I went into that HP fixation fully knowing exactly what JK Rowling is. So, in an act of retaliation in the only way that I knew how, I decided to make a transgender coming of age fic. With Ronald Weasley.

I turned Harry's best friend into a trans girl who is trying to find her way through a prejudiced society that not only hates her family for being blood traitors, but also trying to navigate her way through her family's closeminded misunderstandings and traditions of what her identity should be. Because ultimately, the Weasley's are still prejudiced and privileged in their own ways due to being purebloods, especially Molly Weasley and her thinking of what it means to be a proper woman.

Soror Renata is a very personal fic for me. I'm no longer fixated on HP, but I still wanna finish it someday, because...it's a story about me, too. A story that I've wanted to see as a trans teen trying to find security in how he identifies - wondering if it's okay to figure yourself out so *late* when all you ever hear is stories about trans people knowing when they were children. Soror Renata is about Ron as she comes to find out that she has centered herself around her family so much that she holds herself back from who she really is inside, because she has internalized their own harsh beliefs and wraps them up safely behind blind loyalty. There are a lot of hints throughout Ron's life that tells her that she isn't the boy that people thinks she is, but she doesn't realize that they mean anything until her 5th to 6th year. And she doesn't deal with it in relief. She deals with it like another metal weight to her heart, because...because she already has so much on her plate, and now she finds out that her life is going to be even harder from now on because she can't stand living life in a masculine-shaped lie. She refuses to be anything less then who she truly is, and goddamnit it's gonna hurt. So can't she cry about it just this one time? Then, afterwards, she'll be ready to face tomorrow, again and again, even as the insults get worse, even as the family fights increase, even as Voldemort returns and she has to keep her best friends alive. She'll keep fighting, even when she's too tired to do so, because she is a Weasley and she doesn't back down easily. And eventually...when the dust has settled, years upon years later...she'll realize that it's all been worth it. As she holds her sweet, sweet newborn baby girl Rosie in her arms, and realizes that she's a mother. It's all been worth it.

Soror Renata fucks me up SO MUCH, even just talking about it makes me wanna CRY A FUCKING RIVER, It means so so so much to me and my own journey as a trans man, and I *need* to finish it someday for my own mental health, jkajdaksldjakl

[painedpen]

Fuck Terfs *Trans’ Ginny Weasley’s gender*

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

A Weekend at the Weasley's

| George Weasley x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you and george become best friends after a poorly timed prank. george has been pestering you for weeks to stay with him at the Burrow for a weekend over the holidays, and you finally cave.

cw: smut (MDNI 18+), dead parents, pining, Percy being a weirdo, quidditch injury and bruising, george still has two ears and a twin, lots of dirty talk and petnames, equal parts fluff and smut

an: george and reader are over eighteen in this fic. timeline is def wrong. but who caaaaaaares bc it's not me!

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“C’mon, feathers,” George begged, shifting from his place on the couch to kneeling on the floor in front of you. “I promise you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“George, I don’t—”

“Would I ever put you in harm’s way?”

You scoffed. “Well, there was the time you lit my potions homework on fire, and the time you transfigured my chocolate frog into an actual frog. Or the time you and Fred—”

“Besides that!” He huffed, resting his chin on your knees, blinking up at you with round eyes. “Pleeeeaaasssseee, y/n? Come to the Burrow with me.”

You sighed, ignoring the way the Gryffindor common room fireplace made his brown eyes almost golden, freshly brewed espresso with nutty foam. You couldn’t deny George was handsome, most girls at Hogwarts fawned over him or his twin, or both. But George was your friend, as you often repeated to yourself in moments like these, when that mischievous smirk softened to a smile just for you.

“Bloody hell. Fine!” You shoved him off of you to escape his puppy-eyed trap.

“Yes!” He whooped, jumping to his feet. “It’s about time my mum meets my best girl—shit!”

You chucked your Potions books at his head. “Not your girl,” you huffed.

“Says you,” he teased, returning the book to you before flopping back down on the red couch, legs draped across your lap.

“Read the damn pages, Weasley.”

You tried to reimmerse yourself in your studies, but can’t seem to fall back into the reading, losing track of each sentence before it’s finished. George had been pestering you for weeks to spend a portion of the upcoming holiday break with him at the Weasley household, and up until now, you’d successfully resisted. But then he found out your grandparents were going on a trip to Spain for two weeks and became unbearable.

When George set his mind to something, he was stubborn as an ox.

And, despite yourself, you wanted to spend a few more days with him. You loved the Weasley siblings you’d met at school, and heard countless tales of Molly Weasley’s unbelievable Sunday roasts. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?

You were reserved by a nature, a studious and creative Ravenclaw from a muggle household. All things that stood at odds with one, ginger-haired George Weasley. But when a prank in fourth year set for Professor Snape backfired on you, his top student, and ruined your robes, the twins felt so awful they’d taken you to the Three Broomsticks for what George dubbed a “Butterbeer of Forgiveness”.

An unexpected friendship bloomed, and you’d been close with the twin’s ever since, George in particular. You loved Fred, and had countless memories with him, but you and George connected on a deeper level. From the moment you’d met, it was as if you’d always known one another. You could read him almost as well as Fred could, and George could read you better than anyone.

It was unnerving, exhilirating, and by far the most important relationship in your young life. Which is why you squashed any wandering thought about his freckles, his jawline, the way his forearms flexed while he read, or the way his chest heaved after a Quidditch match, his hands spidered with veins after hours of gripping the Beater’s Bat.

And when he called you things like his ‘best girl’, it turned your knees to jelly, your mind inside out. There was no way you’d finish your work now.

“I’m going back to the Tower. I have no idea how you Gryffindor’s get any work done with all this gold.” You stuffed your books into you back and stood, adjusting your robes.

“I’ll walk you,” George said, tossing his book aside. It looked like he hadn’t made any progress either.

“No, no. Finish your work. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall for breakfast, bags packed.”

“It’s a date!” He called as you walk away, and you can practically hear the grin on his face.

“Not a date!” You tossed over your shoulder as you stepped through the portrait.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“My darlings!” Molly cooed, collecting her youngest two children into a massive hug at the train station terminal. You hid behind George, hoping somehow that she’d overlook your presence entirely. But of course, George wasn’t having it.

“Mum, this is y/n!” He grabbed you by the shoulders and thrust you out in front.

“George,” you hissed, but Molly was already upon you.

“Oh, y/n! I’ve heard so much about you! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. We were absolutely delighted when George’s letter arrived telling us you’d be accompanying him,” she chirped, fussing with your h/c hair and blue and bronze scarf.

“It’s lovely to meet you too, Mrs. Weasley,” you said, smiling at her and her quieter husband, who was busy chatting with Harry and Ron.

George slung an arm over your shoulder, wafting his cinnamon-y cologne over you. “Shall we?”

You scowled up at him as he dragged you along behind his family, oblivious to your hesitation, or willfully ignoring it.

The crowded car ride home was chaotic, with everyone speaking loudly over one another, George and Fred the loudest of all in either ear, and by the time you arrived, you heart was thrumming loudly in your head, your chest tight with anxiety.

All you could think about was throwing yourself out of the car door and running back to Hogwarts on foot.

Everyone poured out of the car, bounding across the lawn and up to the slightly crooked, red-roofed home, smoke buffeting cheerfully from the many chimneys.

“Y/n?” George said, pausing when he realized you weren’t in step beside him. Something in your expression gave you away, and his smile fell. “Hey, what is it?” he asked, jogging back towards you and placing his hands on your arms.

“I, it’s…” words failed you as emotion pinched your throat.

“Too much?” he asked, giving you a sympathetic smile.

You nodded, shame scorching your cheeks as you looked down at your feet. The tips of his boots were touching yours, so much larger, a worn brown leather juxtaposing your shining black.

“It’s going to be alright, love,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms to warm you up. “It means a lot to me that you’re here, even if it’s a bit overwhelming. But, hey—” he tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at his handsome, wind-bitten face. “They love you already.”

“You told them about me?” You asked, your nerves alchemizing from wasps to butterflies.

“Of course I did.” He chuckled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re probably sick to death of hearing about you, honestly.”

“Like how I’ve been tutoring you in Potions for two years?” you taunted.

“I’m sure they assumed after I told them your were the brightest witch in our year.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, ginger hair falling across his brow, and your heart gave a new sort of thump. One that made you a bit queasy with it’s intensity.

“I don’t know about brightest,” you argued as he tucked you under his arm once again, leading you toward the open front door.

“I do,” he murmured, ushering you inside and into his mother’s waiting embrace.

“C’mere, sweetheart. Help me with these rolls.” She tugged you down the hall, leaving George to be ambushed by his brothers.

“Who’s the eagle?” You heard what you assumed it be the eldest ask before you were whisked into the hearth-like kitchen.

Twenty minutes later and you were back at George’s side, sandwiched between him and Ginny at the dinner table, while everyone fought for a foothold in the conversation.

George’s thigh was warm against your own, familiar and grounding, and you resisted the urge to lean into him fully for shelter. Dutifully, he started filling both of your plates as dishes went by, allowing you to sit and take it all in. He snagged the bowl of garlic potatoes from Ron and added a giant scoop to your plate, knowing they were your favorite.

“Thank you,” you mumbled to him, and he gave your shoulder a light bump in response.

“So, y/n. George mentioned you’re a Potions whiz?” Arthur asked through a mouthful of roll.

Heat crept up your neck as everyone’s attention swiveled to you. “It’s my favorite subject, yes sir,” you answered sheepishly.

“She passed her Potions O.W.L. in fourth year,” George said proudly, beaming down at you. “She’s onto custom lesson plans with Snivelus now.”

“George!” Molly corrected, but he only laughed.

“That’s impressive,” Percy said, nodding at you from across the table. “Brilliant and beautiful.”

“I, uh, thanks,” you stutter, stuffing a forkful of potatoes into your mouth.

George stiffened, but his smile never wavered. “That she is.”

“So, what do your parents do? Were they in Ravenclaw as well?” Arthur asked.

The blood drained from your face. You had so hoped this wouldn’t come up.

George’s hand fell onto your leg, his long fingers looping around your pinky and twining your hand with his. “She lives with her grandparents. Muggles,” George said, the finality in his tone ensuring there would be no further questions.

Arthur stuttered an apology, and the rest of the table looked away nervously. But Molly smiled proudly at her son, a slightly flush to her round cheeks.

Again, your heart gave that brutal pang, and your hand squeezed his a little more tightly.

The meal continued on, and you blessedly fell into the background while the other’s talked about their work and the school year. Or, you at least thought you fell into the background, but every time you glanced up, you found Percy’s gaze lingering on you, hawkish.

You had met the third eldest brother on many occasions, as he often escorted you from the Gryffindor common room to the Tower when curfew struck. But he’d never looked at you like that. And frankly, it made your skin crawl.

You weren’t naive. You knew you were beautiful, intelligent, witty, all of the things that drew a wandering eye. But Percy was far from someone you’d be interested in. And you were here with George, after all, even if it was for purely platonic reasons.

You shifted a little when Percy’s gaze lingered a fraction too long, and accidentally alerted George to your discomfort. He leaned down towards you, his height ensuring your head barely reached his shoulder.

“Okay, feathers?” He murmured, but caught Percy flinching his gaze away at the same moment. “Percy bothering you?” he whispered, and you shook your head no. An obvious lie by the way you shifted marginally closer to George when Percy’s gaze returned. “I’ll handle it.” George straightened, slipping back into his ongoing conversation with Fred and Charlie, but you felt his hand skim past your leg, brushing against your calf as he reached for his wand.

The contact sent a tremor through your muscles, your nerves stretching towards every point of contact with him until it was all you could think about.

“George, what are you—”

He coughed something that sounded an awful lot like ‘incendio’ into his elbow, wand hand flicking under the table at the same moment. Percy leapt up, the crotch of his trousers igniting with flame.

Everyone but you and the twins scrambled up, Molly quickly tossing the cauldron of water at Percy’s pants.

“Could’ve been a little more subtle,” Fred chastised George with a smirk.

“I wasn’t going for subtlety,” George replied. “I was going for ‘burning his bollocks off’.”

You hide your snicker behind your hand, the last of your anxiety unraveling. George was with you, you were safe.

Once the fire was out, dinner was disbanded with the twins being sentenced to dishes duty, since it had to be one of them that set their brother’s trousers on fire. You were whisked off on a house tour by Ginny, who eagerly showed you the in’s and out’s of the Burrow until you were dragging your feet, eyes heavy with exhaustion. But you had to admit that you were feeling more at ease, the Burrow and it’s residents wrapping around you like a favorite blanket.

You collapsed into bed just after midnight, a flickering glow in your chest, and a red-haired trickster in your thoughts.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Two more days passed at the Weasley residence, filled with games, oversized meals, books, and antics. There was never a dull moment with the twins and Charlie around.

But the best part, by far, was watching George’s mischevious walls come down, and seeing the softer, more relaxed version of him step forth. He was a devoted brother and son, often forgoing his own needs to help his mother reach something in the kitchen, or offer Ron a bit of girl advice. He spent many hours in deep conversation with is father and older brothers, speaking to a wide breadth of subjects you had no idea he had any knowledge about.

George, that bottomless bundle of fizzing energy, seemed even more lively around his favorite people, his heart on full display. And, if you were honest, it was doing funny things to your head and heart.

You found yourself searching for his eyes across the room, smiling at silly things he’d said hours prior, ghosting your fingers over the places he’d brushed against you while passing by. You’d even take a whiff of his coat when he’d come in after a walk with Charlie and tossed it onto the banister.

He seemed older somehow, more mature than you’d ever given him credit for, and it was undoing the years of resolve you’d cultivated to preserve your friendship.

It didn’t help that he constantly referred to you as ‘his girl’, and any number of tooth-aching pet names. Could he really mean it? You always assumed it was part of some joke you were the butt of, but now…

“George and y/n!” Molly called across the dinner table, breaking you from your thoughts. “Dishes, please!”

Your heart skipped a beat. You and George hadn’t had a moment alone since you’d arrived, and you were eager to soak up some undivided attention.

“Yes, ma’am,” George said cheerfully, rising to start collecting the plates. You hopped up to join him, and everyone else filtered out of the kitchen, arguing about what game to play that evening.

You scrapped while he scrubbed, and fell into easy conversation about the past few days.

“My mum really loves you, y’know,” he said, dunking a plate under the soapy water. “Dad too. He was raving about your thoughts on electric kettles yesterday.”

“I like them a lot too,” you replied, turning to hide your blush while tossing a half-eaten roll in the bin.

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing down at you. “I really hope you’re enjoying yourself. I know I sort of forced you to come, and then you were so anxious. And I know the house is loud and drafty, and the meals are a bit chaotic, and fucking Percy can’t keep his damn eyes to himself—”

Not knowing how else to soothe his worries, you stood on your toes and pressed a kiss into his cheek, derailing his rant into stunned silence.

“I’m really glad you brought me, Georgie,” you said, holding his wide-eyed expression for a moment before reaching for another dish.

He caught your wrist in his soapy hand, turning you back towards him. Your heart leapt into your throat at the intensity of his gaze, his jaw feathering with tension as his eyes searched your face. They were so dark, nearly black from his dilated pupils. His dry hand rose slowly, as if afraid you might startle. He dragged the back of his fingers along your cheek before sliding them into the hair at the nape of your neck.

“Tell me if I’ve misread this,” he murmured, tilting your head up towards him, his lips close enough that you could feel his warm breath across your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

Your heart galloped away, your mind turning to goo as the full scope of his longing came into focus. Heat unspooled through you at the way he angled your head to accommodate his towering frame, in complete control, but giving you every opportunity to stop him.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you gave a small shake of your head. No, please don’t stop.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his nose brushing against yours as he drew you closer. You pressed your body to his, desperate for his solidity, his warmth, as you trembled with anticipation. He guided your hand to rest around his neck, and you dug your fingers into his hair.

“George,” you breathed, his name a plea, a desperate prayer.

He closed the last millimeter of distance, caressing your lips with his, a delicate, wishful kiss. More cautious than you’d ever seen him. You tightened your grip on his hair, rising onto your toes to kiss him back a bit harder.

You felt the tension in his body unwind and his hand grasped your waist, his tongue sliding along your lower lip, teasing, promising, and your bones turned to mush, your lower belly fluttering with excitement.

“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat and you sprang away from George, grabbing a plate as if they hadn’t seen what you were doing. Bill leaned against the doorway, a knowing smirk on his face. “Father has requested that y/n joins him for a cuppa before the chess tourney begins. Something about doorbells?”

“Oh! Of course!” You replied, dropping the dish into the sink and drying your hands on the towel over the stove. “Thanks, Bill!” You hurry past the eldest Weasley son, cheeks absolutely flaming.

You could barely hold a conversation with Arthur, to fixated on the way your body hummed in the wake of his son’s touch. You were eager to finish what you’d started, but by the time you and Arthur emerged from his study, George was wrapped up in a game of Wizard’s Chess with Ron.

George’s eyes tracked you as you moved into the room, perching on an armchair by the fireplace. Bill shook his head, elbowing Charlie, who chuckled into his whiskey.

“Y/n, want to play against me?” Fred asked from his spot on the floor, crisscross in front of a chessboard on the coffee table.

“Sure,” you said, happy for the distraction.

“Losers rotate out until the winners from each table play one another,” Fred explained as you sat across from him. “Percy always wins, but he’s sulking in his room.” Fred winked, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

Quickly, you lose yourself in the game, and it doesn’t take long before you have Fred’s Queen cornered, a path to victory clear. In a final move, you take Fred’s Queen and win the game in ten minutes flat.

“Merlin, she kicked your ass!” Ron shouted, and the room bursts into laughter.

You flushed under the praise and start reorganizing the pieces. Despite yourself, your eyes flicked toward George, but found he was already looking at you, a warmth in his dark eyes that made your hands quit working, and you knocked over the piece you just arranged.

“My turn!” Ginny said, shoving Fred out of the way.

“Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” George asked, rising to his feet after swiftly defeating Harry.

A chorus of no’s rang out, but you’re already absorbed into the game, finding that Ginny was much better at chess than Fred. You started to make your third move, finding an opening, when you felt a calloused hand brush along the side of your neck, sliding beneath your hair to rest heavily against your skin.

“Need anything, love?” George whispered in your ear, and the blood rushed from your head, leaving you vaguely dizzy, eyes sparkling when you blinked up at him.

“N-no, I’m fine. Thank you,” you stuttered.

“A tea would be nice, darling brother!” Ginny said, jerking you back to the present, and the move you forgot entirely.

“Coming right up.” George’s hand squeezed your neck lightly before falling away, and he disappeared into the kitchen.

The rest of the night carried on like that, lingering glances and scalding touches, the heat between the two of you bordering on incendiary.

You were taking a small break from kicking Weasley ass when Percy emerged from his room, leveling a challenging glare at George. “I’ll take next round,” he said, fixing Charlie with a look.

“Fine.” George made his final move, knocking over Charlie’s queen. “Have a seat.”

Charlie vacated the spot, muttering something about ‘fucking dorks’, and Percy sat across from his younger brother. The energy shifted in the room, going from jovial and teasing to almost hostile. Weasley’s were competitive by nature, the twins in particular, but the tension heightened considerably beyond that as they sized each other up.

Piece by piece, they started moving around the board, an even match as far as you could tell. But based on the murmurings of the family, Percy was off his game a bit, and you had a feeling it had something to do with the way his eyes kept drifting back towards you.

Interesting, you thought, rising from your place on the couch to circle their table, feigning curiosity in the game. Percy visibly tensed, his eyes darting from you to the board and back again. George, however, relaxed, his typical cocky demeanor easing back into his body language.

Thanks to your distraction, Percy missed an easy move, giving George the first upper hand of the game. You leaned a bit into Percy’s space, and his hands began to tremble. When you walked away, he compensated for his hesitation with a rash move, exposing his Queen.

You knew George noted it but he opted for a subtler move, then leaned back in his chair to watch Percy squirm, a slight smirk on his face. When Percy realized what he’d done, he flushed with irritation, his shoulders squared and tight.

And for my final move…

You leaned down to George, nearly resting your chin on his shoulder. His spiced cologne greeted you, tinged with the cinnamon punch of the firewhiskey he’d been sipping on throughout the games. “I didn’t know you were so good at Wizard’s Chess,” you murmured, close enough that your lips grazed the shell of his ear.

His smirk grew as Percy fidgeted, unable to pick a move, struggling to not stare down your sweater. “I have many talents you’ve yet to experience,” he replied, voice low enough that only you could hear him. A thrill rushed through you, so you bowed out before you took things too far, leaving George to deal the killing blow.

Shortly after, you won your final match against Bill, who you suspected threw the game in your favor, and suddenly it was you sitting across from George, the whole family crowded around the table, watching with bated breath.

“Hello, darling,” George cooed, smiling.

“Weasley,” you clipped, all business.

His eyes flashed at the challenge, and he took a slow sip of whiskey. “Ladies first,” he said, setting the glass down.

You started him off easy, confident that you had this in the bag. George was smart, but most of his skill came from his ability to disarm, not his ability to play chess. You, as it so happened, were skilled at both.

It didn’t take long for George’s cocky smirk to fall, his brow to knit together with focus as you guided him slowly into a trap of your own design.

His brow suddenly quirked up, the corner of his mouth lifting, you knew you’d been caught.

“Clever girl,” he purred, moving his Rook and collapsing the trap you’d spent ten rounds constructing. “Almost had me,” he taunted, leaning back in his chair. His legs reached all the way across to yours in his languid position, his sock feet tapping absently against the legs of your chair.

You only hummed in response, crossing your legs. While searching the board, you stretched your stocking-covered foot towards him, sliding it along the inside of his calf. His muscles tensed for a moment, his eyes widening a fraction, before he settled down, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes.

You made your move, but didn’t stop dragging your foot up and along his knee, skimming his inner thigh. He sat up a little straighter, narrowing his eyes at the board, and you expected him to make his move, when you feel a hand clasp around your ankle, his touch a brand even through your thick stockings. His eyes lifted to yours, and the hunger in them stole your breath.

You’d never seen your sweet, good-natured friend look so menacing.

“I should know better than to play chess with a Ravenclaw,” he said, making a weak play with a pawn. “Starting to feel like I don’t stand a chance.”

His family laughed, reminding you that you were, in fact, completely surrounded by his parents and siblings, and you dropped your foot. That fucking trickster, he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

“I don’t know,” you said, stealing the pawn and trapping his King. “You’re doing better than I expected for a younger twin.”

A chorus off oooh’s met your dig, and George huffed a laugh before freeing his King. “You’ll regret that,” he warned with a devilish smile.

“And you’ll regret that.” George fell right into your trap. You skirted his King, stealing his Queen right out from under him. His jaw dropped, and the family erupted into cheers.

“We have a new champion!” Molly cheered, hauling you up to celebrate.

You grinned, allowing them to parade you around. George smiled up at you, a real, proud smile, and it made your stomach somersault. Then, the grandfather clock chimed midnight, rattling the house on it’s structure.

“Alright, enough excitement! Everyone off to bed!” Molly ordered. George’s eyes locked on you, gauging what you would do next. For the first time, you cursed sharing a room with Ginny, and cursed Fred for being born.

As everyone grabbed their things and scattered off to bed, George managed to catch you at the second stair landing before Ginny’s room, startling you.

“Well played, feathers,” he said, brushing his fingertips over your forearm as he looks up at you.

“You were a formiddable opponent.” You shivered under his touch, the heat from earlier instantly flaring back to life.

He stepped up a stair, bringing himself a head taller than you, close enough that you could smell the fire whiskey on his lips.

Could I taste it too?

“Goodnight, love.” He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before breezing past you and bounding up the next set of steps to his shared room with Fred.

You leaned against the wall to catch your breath, heart pounding in your chest. This was not the turn you expected this trip to take, but you couldn’t pretend that a part of you hadn’t wished for it. That it wasn’t why you tried so hard to avoid the trip all together.

But now that you and George had crossed that line, you couldn’t imagine what you’d been so afraid of. You only wished you’d done it sooner.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The following morning, you’re one of the last to drift down to the kitchen, having spent most of the night tossing and turning, too worked up to sleep properly. You rounded the corner and come to a stop, surprised to find George alone in the kitchen.

“Morning,” he said with a lazy smile.

“Good morning.” You padded towards him, accepting the coffee cup from his outstretched hand. “How’d you sleep?” you asked, blowing gently on the steaming brew.

“Didn’t,” he said, shifting closer to you. His hair was still a little messy from sleep, or lackthereof, his expression soft and voice gravelly.

“Why not?” You asked, taking a tentative sip before setting the mug down on the counter.

“Couldn’t stop thinking...” He dipped his head towards you, his nose brushing your temple.

“About?” The word came out breathless, the coil of want you'd been battling all night tightening with a vengeance.

“What it would feel like to kiss you again,” he murmured, kicking your heart into overdrive.

“And why don’t you?” Your hand creeped along his t-shirt, feeling the muscles along his abdomen sculpted by years of Quiddtich.

“Gotta set up the pitch. We’re playing this afternoon.” His demeanor shifted, all playful and energetic innocence. “See you out there!” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then hurried outside, leaving you wet and bewildered in the overheated kitchen.

An hour later, you were perched precariously on an old broom, knuckles white from gripping it so hard. Ginny rocketed past you with ease, nearly throwing you off balance.

“I think you need a new nickname,” George teased, steadying you. “Feathers may not be apt.”

You risked removing one hand to show him what a real bird looks like, and he barked a laugh before banking away from you.

Soon, the game was in full swing, with you, Ron, Fred, and Charlie against George, Ginny, Harry, and Bill. You had only ever ridden a broom in first year, so you were massively out of your depth.

You were given the role of Seeker, opposite Harry, and had no hope of accomplishing a damn thing. Harry was like lightning on his Firebolt, and you bobbed around like a lame pigeon.

Thankfully, none of them seemed to be taking the game very seriously. You were content to float around the property, occasionally remembering that you we're supposed to be looking for something small and golden.

After awhile the boys started to get rowdier, pushing and shoving and bludgeoning.. You tried to steer clear, watching George whack the hell out of any bludger that dare cross his airspace. You would not want to be on the other end of one of those.

“Y/n, watch out!” Ginny cried.

You looked back from where you were staring off into space, just in time to see George barreling towards you, a bludger about five feet in front of him.

You tried to move, to steer the broom literally anywhere, but it wouldn't cooperate. At the last second you managed to pull up, but not far enough. The bludger hit you square in the stomach, knocking the wind from your lungs and nearly forcing up your breakfast with the power of it. Stars danced behind your eyes, your grip began to slip from the handle as darkness raced towards you.

Something else slammed into you, wrapping itself around you—

“Y/n? Baby, are you alright?” George. You could tell you were moving, but couldn't seem to make your eyes focus, keep your body from trembling. Your cheeks were wet, the breeze frigid against your damp skin. Am I crying?

Then you were on the ground, blessed ground, and then you were up again, cradled against George's chest.

He was shouting at someone you couldn't see. “I swear on fucking Dumbledore, I'm going to beat you bloody with that fucking bat—”

“George!”

“Get her some ice,” he barked at someone else. “I'm right here, love, you're okay. Just try and breathe.”

You clung to his dampening shirt, the shock and pain keeping you teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. You could hear other people talking, but your whole world narrowed to two points: George's heartbeat and the blinding pain radiating from your stomach.

“It hurts,” you whimpered, barely recognizing the pitiful sound of your own voice.

“I know, love. I know. I’ve got you, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, soft and trembling. A moment later, he laid you on the couch, careful not to jostle you more than necessary.

Molly passed something into George's hands. “For the pain,” she whispered.

George crouched down next to you, holding the edge of the cup to your lips. “Take a sip, sweetheart.” You shook your head, your Potions safety training overpowering your reason. “Please, y/n. Let me take the pain away.”

You took a small sip, the tea pungent and floral, but immediately the edges of the pain began to soften. But the relief was short-lived. Exhaustion followed close behind it, dragging you down into a dreamless sleep.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

When you come to, the Weasley house was dark around you. The only light came from the moon spilling through window panes and the smoldering fire across from the couch.

A light snore drew your attention, and you looked up to see George above you, his head lolled onto the back of the couch, sleeping soundly. Your head was resting in his lap, his sweater piled under your head as pillow, and his large hand was stretched across your stomach, fingers splayed from your ribs to your hip bones.

God, your stomach. You moved to sit up, memories of earlier filtering through the fading grogginess of the Potion Molly gave you, but surprisingly, your stomach was only a little sore. More like an overexerted muscle than rearranged organs and cracked ribs.

George stirred, lifting his head to peer at your through half-closed lids.

“What are you doing down here?” you asked, sweeping a strand of red hair from his brow.

He came fully awake then, straightening. “How do you feel?” He asked, caressing your cheek, then running his hands over your arms, your ribs, the swell of your hips.

“The Potion did its job, I feel mostly fine,” you said, catching his hands to stop their exploration, and the buzzy desire they coaxed to life.

“Are you sure?” His features softened with relief, his fingers twining with yours.

“I'm sure. Thank you for saving me.” You leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, ignoring the slight protest in your abdomen muscles.

“Always,” George said, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “I'm sorry I wasn't close enough to stop it from hitting you in the first place. It happened so fast—”

“Love, it wasn't your fault,” you shushed, reaching out to cup his face and stroking your thumb along his cheekbone.

“I just…” he trailed off, leaning into your palm. “I always want to be there to protect you. Or for whatever you else you might need. Do you need anything now? Water, tea? Are you hungry? You missed dinner—”

“George,” you cut him off. “Right now, I need you.”

Desire eclipsed the worry on his face, his eyes shading. “Are you sure you're not in pain? No fogginess or headaches—”

You leaned in and kissed him, a light, floaty peck, silencing his incessant questioning. You appreciated his concern, but there were other parts of you that needed his attention far more. He immediately took charge of the kiss, shifting his weight to lay you back onto the couch. His body rested heavily between your thighs, his mouth devouring yours in fervent, searing kisses.

His tongue lapped at your bottom lip and you opened for him, allowing him to take everything he sought. He kissed you like he didn't know if he'd get another chance, like he'd been waiting his entire life for this moment. It stole your breath, made your toes curl and your pussy pulse with excitement, slick already collecting between your thighs.

You nipped at his lower lip, earning a soft grunt in appreciation. His hips canted forward a fraction, though it seemed he was holding himself back. His lips traveled along your jaw, down the valley of your throat with teasing licks and love bites and you arched into him, a moan spilling from your lips before you could stop it.

“Shh, baby. You have to be quiet f’me.” George nudged your shirt up with his fingers, kissing along the purplish bruises marring your stomach. “My poor girl.” His thumbs traced the curves of your stomach softly, almost reverent as he gazed up at you. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. so perfect. I’ve wanted to touch you for so long, to feel you beneath me, fuck, hear the pretty little sounds you make for me.” He was rambling now, lost in the act of worshiping your body, his hands and lips traveling gently over your skin.

“How long?” you asked, breathless, raking your fingers through his hair while he nursed a mark just under your right tit.

He looked up at you through is lashes, his lips leaving your skin with a pop. “Since that night at the Three Broomsticks,” he said, shifting upwards so he could look you in the eye.

“The ‘Butterbeer of Forgiveness’?” You mouth fell open, shock rocking through you.

He snickered. “Of course, why do you think I kept sending Fred to the bar?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ran your fingers over his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against your skin.

“I—” his voice caught, his gaze averting from you. “I loved you too much to risk losing you.”

Elation soared through you, and you couldn’t stop the smile that split your face. “George,” you said, bumping your nose against his. His eyes flicked back to you, watery and rimmed with red. “I love you too.”

His smile was like the first sun after an endless winter, and he kissed you like the first torrential rain of spring. The heat of summer came quickly though, and soon you were gasping for him again, your hips pressing against the hard ridge in his pants.

“Need you,” you whined into his mouth.

“I’m here, love.” He kissed down your throat again, pausing for only a moment to nip at your taught nipples through your shirt before continuing his downward decent. “Lift up for me.” You lifted your hips, allowing him to tug down your jeans, exposing your sodden red panties to his greedy eyes. “Gryffindor red, huh?” he teased, and you threw your arms over your face to hide your blush. “All for me?”

You nodded, your heart in your throat.

“It’s a shame I’ll have to ruin them.’

“What—” Riiiip! The cold air lapped against your slick pussy, chased by the heat of George’s tongue as he dragged it through your folds. “Oh, fuck—”

“Shhh,” he warned, before flicking his tongue against your swollen clit.

You bit down on the back of your wrist to keep from crying out when he switched from licking to sucking, the walls of your cunt fluttering around nothing. He moved down, flattening his tongue against your entrance and collecting the wetness that pooled there. He gave a light hum of pleasure that had your eyes crossing, his tongue delving deeper in search of another taste.

“So fucking good,” he mumbled against you, the vibrations of his low voice making your sensitive clit tingle. You tugged on his hair, encouraging him to pay attention to where you needed him most. “I know, I know.” He pressed a kiss to your clit, teasing you for just a moment longer before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking hard.

You very nearly cried out, having to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Pleasure shot through you, singeing your nerves and liquifying your muscles. So quickly you were unraveling for him, going stupid under his ministrations.

A long digit prodded at your entrance, collecting some wetness before easing inside of you. Your cunt welcomed him gladly, clamping down around his finger.

“Merlin, baby. You're so tight,” he panted, shifting to watch you take another one of his fingers, slick already running into his palm. “Relax, love. Shh, “ he soothed, curling his fingers to pet the inside of your walls, making your mind go blank as bliss washed through you. “That's it, darling. Just like that.”

The knot in your stomach began to wind tighter, burning through you as you fought to relax, to be good for him. But your orgasm was so fucking close, just a little more—

His lips found your clit again, sucking in time with your racing heart as his fingers coaxed you open, and the knot severed. Your peak slammed into you, stealing your breath so you couldn't even cry out to warn him, to sing his praises the way he deserved. Your muscles locked, your cunt bearing down as him as pleasure tore through you until you could do nothing but shiver beneath him.

“Shit, y/n. That was fucking beautiful,” he cooed, easing his fingers out of you and lapping up the release coating him to the wrist. “You alright?” He shifted upwards, kissing your bruised abdomen before pecking your lips, your eyes still glassy and unfocused.

“I've never come that hard,” you pant, throwing your arms around his neck and raining kisses over his slick-soaked face. “What the fuck.”

He chuckled, flushing under your attention. “Happy to oblige.”

You caught the last word in your mouth, kissing him deeply, desperately. Your body was already keying itself up again, and by the twitching length against your hip, he was desperate for you too.

He hooked an arm under your back and hauled you up to straddle his lap, his back pressed against the couch. “This okay?” He asked, sliding his rough hands under your shirt to skate along your skin.

You nodded, rolling your hips to drag your bare pussy along the bulge in his jeans, a skitter of pleasure making your breath hitch.

“Fuck, y/n,” he hissed, hips bucking up against you.

“Yes, please fuck me.” You kissed along his jaw and nibbled at his ear lobe, reaching between your bodies to find his zipper.

He did the same, helping you undo the button and tug down the zipper, his cock springing free from his boxers. The head nudged against your clit, hard and heated, and you whimpered.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he lifted you slightly, guiding the head to your dripping entrance. Slowly, he eased you down into him, your pussy more than ready to accommodate his length. A rough groan resounded from his chest, and you silenced it with another kiss. His cock stretched you open, hitting that spongy, sinful spot before sliding deeper until he bottomed out, the head nudging your cervix.

“So fucking tight, baby. Bloody hell,” he whispered, voice strained.

“Feels so fucking good,” you whine, grinding your hips against his.

George buried his face into your neck, stifling a moan. His grip loosened, allowing you to start lifting and lowering yourself, riding him slowly, savoring every inch of his cock as it dragged through you.

“M’not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” he warned, mouthing at your neck with sloppy kisses.

You smirked, bracing your hands against the back of the couch to pick up the pace, your thighs and abs burning from the exertion. But he felt so fucking good, stretching you open, the root of his cock dragging along your clit.

His lifted up again only to snap his hips against yours, his hands a vice on your waist as he started pounding into you from below.

“Oh, fuck, Georgie—”

“Quiet, love. You don't want the whole house to hear how good I make you feel, do you?”

You nodded, a whine escaping through your teeth. One of his hands came up to cover your mouth, silencing the sound and infringing on your air supply, callouses rubbing against your kiss-swollen skin.

“I’d love nothing more than for Percy to hear you screaming for me, but this is just for us,” he whispered, breathless as he fucked into you. “Gonna come for me again?”

Your fingers dug into the couch, another peak racing towards you. You bounced with his movements, desperately chasing your high, the ache in your abdomen long forgotten.

“That's it, love. Fuck, m’gonna come.” He threw his head back, a strangled groan accompanying the kick of his cock inside you, stretching your further before pumping you full of his release.

The hot surge of his orgasm sent you flying over the edge, ecstasy pulling your under while your cunt milked him dry with vicious pulls. You muffled your cry into his shoulder as he fucked you through it, until you both collapsed onto the couch, thoroughly spent and panting.

His lips found your forehead, your temple, his hands gliding along your spine, over your hips, soothing you as you trembled against him.

“I love you,” he breathed into your hair. “I can't believe you're here with me.”

You grazed the racing pulse under his jaw with your nose. “I love you, too.” It was exhilarating to say, almost as thrilling as the orgasm you just shared, a massive weight was lifted off your shoulders.

“So, can I call you my girl without being corrected now?” He teased, tickling your ribs.

“I suppose.” You giggled, pecking the corner of his smirk.

The following morning, you descended from your room to find George at the bottom of the stairs, shirtless, twirling his Beater Bat in his right hand. The same hand that brought you the most earth shattering orgasm of your life.

“What on earth are you doing?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his middle and kissing his cheek, admiring the violet mark you left above his clavicle.

“Waiting for Ron,” Fred supplied from the kitchen.

“Who’s waiting for me—oh fuck.” Ron stopped dead at the top of the stairs, still dressed in his pajamas, staring wide eyed at George, or more specifically, the bat in his hand.

“I just want to talk,” George said, gently moving you aside before prowling up the stairs towards his younger brother.

Ron took off up the stairs, their steps thundering through the house as George gave chase.

“George! Shit,” you huffed, glancing at the rest of the family who'd come to see what the fuss was about.

“I'll let ‘im get a good whack in,” Molly said, smiling at you. “Since you're his girl and all.”

Your cheeks flamed, but they only met you with warm hugs and laughter, like they'd been expecting this from the beginning.

Crack!

“Ow!”

"That's for hurting my girl, you git."

Fin. 🐦‍⬛

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Thank you so much for reading!

If you enjoyed, you can check out my published work here.

Much love,

Allie

[sparsilees]

tom riddle is a yapper. he loves his monologues and dramatics.

draco malfoy is a yapper. he, too, loves the sound of his voice and dramatics.

ron weasley has no qualms about being loud and seen. he grew up in a large household, fighting to be heard over his siblings.

harry potter grew up in a cupboard, friendless except for the spiders, and learned to subdue and suppress and submit at the dursleys. he isn’t loud, he isn’t boisterous, he isn’t talkative, he doesn’t like socialising, he keeps his opinions in his head and his feelings buried inside, he has very few close friends, he doesn’t reveal his worries and struggles easily, he dislikes showing his pain and weakness, and he sure doesn’t give up his secrets and personal details freely, sometimes not even to ron and hermione.

this is what canon harry’s like—very quiet and an introvert, someone who speaks when spoken to or has cause to broadcast his voice, and someone who’d rather blend into the walls than draw unnecessary attention to himself.

[kfvarela]

Next ⏩

[nincompoopydoo]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ  nincompoopydoo // WIZARDING WORLD MASTERLIST

theseus scamander

⋆ caught in a crossfire [series]: Theseus and his team of Aurors are tasked with a mission to take down a recent movement formed by dark wizards and witches with the intention to erase all muggles. The night takes a turn when you arrive at the scene unknowingly and it seems you’re the next target. ⋆ in search of a grecian beast: As you, Theseus, and Newt find yourselves on a secluded Grecian beach along the Aegean Sea, an endeavor unfolds to seek out a Hippocampus. However, plans don’t turn out as expected. ⋆ for old times' sake: Theseus attempts to convince you to leave your desk. ⋆ happy christmas, dung brain: you visit the Scamander household on Christmas, seeing Theseus after a long time and the two of you’re not sure what to do with all these feelings. ⋆ bertie botts: Theseus gets injured during a fight and you’re mad. ⋆ overnight shift [series]: you and Theseus were known rivals among the Aurors at the British Ministry of Magic. ⋆ false signs: unsaid feelings turn into what seemed as unrequited love to Theseus but it turns out you’re in love with him as much as he is in love with you. ⋆ tea at newt's: newt plays accidental matchmaker. ⋆ envy: you’re jealous, although you hate to admit it, of Theseus’ rather flirtatious assistant. ⋆ trespassing: trespassing during a mission leads to a life or death situation when you and Theseus find yourselves entangled with a dangerous dark wizard. ⋆ war and anguish: theseus returns home as a war hero but you’re engaged and he doesn’t know what to do with himself and his feelings for you. ⋆ crimson cheeks and ivory snow: you spend a snowy day learning to ice-skate with the help of your crush, Theseus. ⋆ behind the sofa: you rant to Newt about his brother’s constant teasing at the workplace which led you to seek a hiding spot behind the sofa when Theseus unexpectedly shows up at his brother’s place. ⋆ shadows on ancient stone walls: soulmate AU: Where the outline of your shadow is your soulmate.

newt scamander

⋆ scamander: you are constantly being used by a ‘friend’ of yours but when you reached your limits, Newt is there to comfort you.

james potter

⋆ healed [series]: you and James had been the best of friends since your Hogwarts days. Thus, you grew strong feelings for the boy, feelings stronger than just plain platonic although you knew about James’ extreme infatuation for the beautiful and intelligent ginger, Lily James. ⋆ you owe me butterbeer: you and James are best friends and you are constantly helping him get Lily’s attention, even if you didn’t like doing so, simply because of your crush on James himself. However, things take a turn and James catches on a little later that he may not truly have feelings for the redhead but instead for someone who has been there with him all along. ⋆ mistletoe and holy moly, are you trying to kiss me?: James is trying to get you to kiss him under the mistletoe.

sirius black

⋆ flowers: you’re the quirky and socially awkward girl that Sirius has a crush on but his flirting ways seem to not work on you. ⋆ prejudice: you’re a Slytherin who stood up for a Ravenclaw against your own housemates which caused you to be attacked. Having been sent to the infirmary, you’re met with the charming Sirius Black.

remus lupin

⋆ alive and true: having found a lost friend, living in the countryside of Yorkshire, feelings of once hidden affection start to bloom in the need to be alive and good things to be real. ⋆ war changes you: Remus comes to visit you at the Hogwarts infirmary involuntarily sparking some old feelings you might have had for each other after not seeing each other for so long.

fred weasley

⋆ good, pure, and beautiful: the Leaky Cauldron serves as a sanctuary to drink your problems away for the night but a certain ginger always seems to find his way to you. ⋆ sheperd's pie: you desperately need a break from studying for your upcoming OWLs which left Fred Weasley, your best friend, the responsibility of coaxing you to do just that despite you being quite headstrong. ⋆ near death: Fred Weasley dies. Nearly.

george weasley

⋆ where two lonesomes meet: in the midst of a Christmas market sits a bench where two walls meet. Here is where two lonesomes meet. ⋆ nature mourns with the mourning: you and George finally find solace after the Battle of Hogwarts. ⋆ five to four: you comfort George after the Battle of Hogwarts. ⋆ snowball fight at midnight, that's christmas to me: where George simply had the audacity to force you to a battle of snowball in the middle of the night, out in the cold.

[arkadijxpancakes]

Yes. The Weasleys had too many kids. An analysis. (Part 2 of 2)

So, where were we? Right. The Weasleys have so many kids that it fucks with their family dynamic and with the mental health of everyone involved. Last time, we looked at Molly and Arthur during the war. We ended in 1981, which means that all kids are born, now. Molly is still nursing. (It’s common to nurse kids up to two or three years, while slowly weaning them, so I assume that this is what Molly does.) She’s finally done with becoming pregnant every other year, however. And it’s about time, because her workload is bigger, than any single person can handle. And while it will decrease over time, it will stay enormous for the next couple of years.

1982 – Bill (who will be 12 at the end of the year) starts Hogwarts. It’s his first lick of freedom. There is no babysitting-duty at Hogwarts. All he has to do is stay out of trouble and earn good grades. Other than that, he is free to do what he wants. He will be the only Weasley-sibling in Hogwarts for two years. Because of this, his parents probably have enough money in reserve to buy him a full Hogwarts-kit without resorting to second-hand-stuff too much. (He might get second-hand books, but his robes and wand are probably new.)

At home, life is still hard for Molly. She has one less kid to take care of, but the kids who are still in her care are a handful. She still needs to teach Charlie. Percy got 6 over the summer and is a little nerd, so she is likely teaching him, too. Fred and George are still chaos incarnate. (And they are just getting started, really.)

Bill’s duties (chores around the home and watching his younger brothers) get passed down to Charlie. Percy might try his hand on this, too, because he is still in direct competition with the twins and Mum gives him attention when he helps her.

The war is over and the Weasleys start to feel the effects of this. As Death Eaters are captured and sentenced, the Wizarding World starts to feel safe, again. The stress eases off (but Molly is probably still grieving.) 

Arthur’s work schedule slowly goes back to more normal levels, allowing him to spend more time at home. However, he missed out on a big chunk of his children’s childhood. It’s also hard to return to his role as a parent, because at this point, the roles of the family are pretty much established: Molly is in charge and does most of the work. Some of the easier chores are passed down to her kids (first Bill, now Charlie, later Percy). This includes watching over his younger brothers while Molly takes care of her toddlers. It’s kind of hard for him to integrate himself into this dynamic. (Just imagine him doing the laundry or the dishes – it’s very likely that he has a different way for doing this, which could easily disrupt Molly’s workflow or simply just annoy her.) 

I think he will mostly stick to the stuff he did when Bill and Charlie were little. So he’s taking his kids out for trips on the weekends. But this is difficult, too, because it’s not Bill and Charlie anymore, but Charlie, Percy, Fred and George. Their dynamic is entirely different, and it’s hard to keep an eye on all of them, while also satisfying their needs equally. (Especially because Percy, Fred and George start to clash.) As a result, the trips are probably not as frequent as they once were.

It’s also possible that Arthur picks up his Muggle-hobby at this point. (Picking up this hobby causes him to spend at least some evenings in his shed, tinkering with Muggle-stuff instead of helping his wife. I imagine him to fade into the background a little bit, while he leaves the household and child-rearing to his wife.)

1984 – Charlie starts Hogwarts.

There are now two Weasley-Siblings at Hogwarts, but things are still pretty chill for them. It’s still just Bill and Charlie, after all. Bill is probably considered trustworthy enough by his teachers to receive a time-turner, so he can take all electives Hogwarts has to offer. (I do wonder how much Molly’s expectations are playing into this. She clearly expects her children to do well at Hogwarts, both in terms of grades and behavior. At this point, he is either a massive nerd like Hermione, trying to perform well to fulfill his mother’s expectations, or both. He is also setting a standard for his siblings here, whether this is on his own accord or because of pressure he receives from Molly.)

At home, Percy (now 8) takes over Charlie’s duties. He tries to control Fred and George. It’s likely that he fails miserably. They are just too close age-wise for this to work. 

Fred and George are 6 now and start to play rough. Last year, Fred turned Ron’s teddy bear into a giant spider (which probably caused Ron to develop arachnophobia). Next year, they will try to talk Ron into making an Unbreakable Vow with them. So keeping an eye on them is getting harder, not easier.

At this point in time, Scabbers exceeds the life span of his species. Rats can get up to two or three years old. (And Rowling knows this. This information is included in book 3, when Ron takes Scabbers to the pet store to have the witch there check on him.) This is Scabbers third year with the Weasleys, so his time is up. No one seems to notice, though. I don’t blame Percy (or the other kids) for this, but Molly and Arthur should notice that they don’t have to replace a rat or have a talk about how Scabbers is happier in the great rat heaven. They don’t and I wonder why. My suggestions are: a) They are either not paying any attention to Percy and his pet (which would suck) or b) Scabbers is turning into Peter and uses a wand (his own or Molly’s) to confund them as needed (which would suck even more).

1987 – Percy starts Hogwarts.

At the end of the 1986/87 school year, Bill (who is a prefect now) takes his OWL in all 12 courses Hogwarts has to offer. It’s possible he returns his time turner after this or keeps it until his graduation to deal with his NEWT-workload. He now starts his sixth year. Charlie is in his fourth year and is already on the Quidditch team. Molly is very, very proud of both of them.

Percy is a wee first year and doesn’t have to watch out for any younger siblings for once. He can focus on learning instead. He is probably the first boy in the family to end up with hand-me-down robes, as he has a similar build as Bill and Bill has probably outgrown his first set.

Scabbers is six, now. So he has lived twice as long as a normal rat would. Still, no one has caught up to the fact that he is awfully old for a rat. It’s very likely that he accompanies Percy to Hogwarts. (It should be noted that Hogwarts only allows cats, owls and toads as pets, so Percy probably got a permission to bring a rat instead. However, no one at the school notices Scabber’s age either.)

Life at home is still chaotic. Fred and George are 10, Ron is 8 and Ginny is 7. Molly is probably teaching all of them. Her workload is slowly going down to a more manageable level, but keeping the twins in check is still a challenge.

She probably doesn’t expect Fred and George to do chores and watch over their siblings. (At least not in the same way she expected from her older kids.) Mostly, because she can’t trust them to do it. (Remember the Unbreakable Vow? Yeah, that.) Additionally, Ron simply has no authority over them, so that’s not an option either.

1989 – Fred and George start Hogwarts.

In his seventh year, Bill was made Head Boy. By now, he took his NEWTs and left school. He probably returns home for a little while, before he takes the first chance he gets to fuck off to Egypt and play with cursed tombs. (We should probably talk about English wizards, Egyptian treasures and colonialism here, but that’s a completely different can of worms.)

Charlie took his OWL and is now in his sixth year. He’s still on the Quidditch team and should be Quidditch Captain by now. He’s also a prefect. So between them, they got all the big achievements Hogwarts has to offer: Prefect (both of them), Head Boy (Bill) and Quidditch Captain (Charlie). Bill also got 12 OWL, which is an achievement on its own. Molly will measure her other children against this later.

Speaking of Molly: While her home life is going to relax a lot this year, her expectations are still around. She is still expecting her kids to do well in school. Considering that Fred and George are now at Hogwarts, the old demand “Watch over your younger siblings!” is back and in full swing. I can’t see Charlie doing it – he has his head full of dragons and Quidditch and lived five blissful years in Hogwarts without the need to look after anyone all that much. Sure, Percy was at school, but he has already learned to look after himself. I don’t think Charlie will start with this now. Not unless the twins interfere with his prefect- or Quidditch-duties or are completely out of line.

Percy is a different story, however. He is in his third year and still taking after Bill. Just like Bill he takes all electives, so it is likely that he also gets a time turner for this. At this point, Percy has ingrained the idea that he needs to perform exceptionally well at school and Bill set an incredible high bar to reach, but he is willing to do just that. He also spent a lot more time at home dealing with the twins. Molly’s expectations for him to be a good boy and to look after his younger brothers will now put pressure on him again. He will probably try to control their chaotic behavior, but they are 11 now, and they will listen to him even less than before.

For Fred and George, this is heaven. They finally escaped the watchful eyes of their mother and have a whole new world to explore. So many secret passageways and even more victims to play pranks on. Percy is annoying, but they can play pranks on him, too. They will soon steal the Marauder’s Map from Filch’s office, which will open up even more possibilities. It’s great. 10/10, no notes.

Life at home is finally manageable. It’s just Molly, Ron and Ginny (and also Arthur and his Muggle-stuff). This is probably a nice time for Ron, because there are no older siblings around to steal his limelight. However, at this point he has the family dynamic internalized and his self-esteem is pretty low overall.

1991 – Ron starts Hogwarts.

By now, Charlie has left Hogwarts. It is unlikely that he actually finished his education, however. When Harry becomes a member of the Gryffindor team in Philosopher’s Stone, Fred says: “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team is going to be brilliant.” Had Charlie finished his education, he would have left in summer 1991. The quote is from autumn 1991. In this case, the quote would make no sense, because there were no matches for Gryffindor to lose between Charlie leaving and Harry becoming Gryffindor’s new seeker. So he must have left before then, probably sometime in his sixth or seventh year, after his seventeenth birthday.

It’s important to note that we don’t read about any fights over this. I can’t imagine Molly being happy with this, but he must have had her permission. (Otherwise we would know about it. Molly can’t shut up about the failures of the twins, she would not shut up about Charlie’s failures either.)

Percy is in his fifth year and a prefect. By now he is the career-driven rules lawyer we meet in canon. He will end this school year by taking all 12 OWL – just like Bill. (When Ron is made prefect in OotP, Molly makes sure to tell everyone that he is now a prefect, just like his older brothers, and she seems very comfortable doing so. I assume, Percy heard his fair share of this, when he was made prefect.)

The twins are in their third year and members of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. By now, they have earned themselves a reputation as pranksters.

Ron is the sixth Weasley-kid to enter Hogwarts. While his older siblings might have gotten some second-hand stuff, everything he owns was basically handed down to him: Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand and Percy’s old pet rat. To be clear: none of those things make much sense to hand down (or at least not to Ron).

Bill’s old robes should have gone to Percy after Bill left Hogwarts. They should be of a similar height, while Ron (as an eleven-year-old) should be somewhat smaller. Instead of handling it that way, Percy got new robes as a reward and Bill’s robes were handed down to Ron. This is clear favoritism on Molly’s part. It’s no surprise that Ron (who already feels overlooked by his parents) feels upset about it.

Giving him Charlie’s old wand makes even less sense. We know, that the wand chooses its wizard. Charlie’s wand did not choose Ron, so it would not perform as well for him. In addition, in book 1 the wand is described as follows: “He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.”

That thing is basically falling apart. That was either a lot of wear and tear during Charlie’s time at Hogwarts (considering the fact that we have not heard anything about this with other wands, this is unlikely) or the wand was already a hand-me-down when Charlie got it. In either case, giving Ron a wand that has its core more or less poking out, doesn’t sound very safe. I wonder why Arthur and Molly decided to do this. Did they expect Ron to have a great learning experience with a damaged wand? Did they want Ron to use the wand until it eventually did break, saving them another year or two before they had to buy a new one? (And yes, they would indeed need to buy him a new one in his third year, but they had no way of knowing that. Unless there are prophecies for that kind of shit. And even then. The fuck?)

Money is tight, of course. But is it really that tight? They could afford to get Percy an owl, after all. And buying a wand for their son is an expense they've had 11 years to plan. I understand getting second-hand robes and cauldrons, as they see a lot of wear and tear. But this should not apply to a wand in the same way. This is just really, really odd.

And then there is the elephant – and with elephant I mean rat – in the room: Scabbers. Firstly, that rat should be dead for at least seven years by now. No one seems to notice. No one cares. What the fuck.

Secondly, why is Percy giving his pet to Ron? There just isn’t a great explanation for this. Scabbers has been his pet for ten years. TEN. Percy should be attached to his pet like glue. After all, he has Scabbers since he can remember. Why is he willing to part with his rat? The only reasons I can think of:

1) He does it because Molly asks him to. She is clearly playing favorites, here. Not only does he get new robes when he becomes prefect, but he also receives his very own owl as a gift. It’s possible that this owl comes with strings attached, and Percy is required to give Scabbers to Ron to get the owl. Which would be a pretty fucked up situation for every child involved and should’ve been handled differently.

2) Percy wants to get rid of Scabbers. He doesn’t know about Scabbers’ Peter-shaped secret, of course (otherwise he would’ve reported this). But it is possible that he feels, on a subconscious level, that something about Scabbers is off. Not in a dangerous way (again, he would’ve reported this), just in an unpleasant way. (This would still be odd. Especially when we consider that no one noticed Scabbers age.)

3) Scabbers has decided that it’s time to jump ship. Percy just turned fifteen this year. He is old enough to grow suspicious of his seemingly immortal rat. It’s possible that he cozied up to Ron to manipulate both boys into making the switch. Or he turned into Peter and confunded some Weasleys. Who knows. He’s still a Death Eater and mass murderer on the run, after all.

1992 – Ginny starts Hogwarts.

The flock has left the nest. Molly’s work is mostly over. It’s just her and Arthur who stay at the burrow. She still takes care of the household, but the responsibility for her kids rest on other people’s shoulders, now. There is nothing left to do, except knitting, sending care packages, worrying about her kids careers and hexing the occasional howler. Molly could get a job now or pick up a hobby or two. I mean, she does read Gilderoy Lockhart’s shitty books. She is a fan of his, after all. But she doesn’t seem to enter any community over this (no fan club, no reading circle, no nothing. It’s just her). And there are no other hobbies outside of that. 

Apropos community: We don’t really see her having a community. She is a pretty important side character, but the books never mention that she has friends or other contacts outside her family. It seems like she is focusing on her kids and only on her kids.

Which would explain her meddling. Because Molly meddles a lot, when it comes to her kids and their futures. She keeps putting pressure on Percy to look after his younger siblings – this will expand to Harry after she gets to know him. Percy (still a good boy) does as she wishes. It’s not healthy, neither for him nor for his relationship with his siblings (who are mostly annoyed by him), but Molly either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. In the future, she will be very cross with Hermione after reading Rita Skeeters articles about her. She will also be upset about the twins' career choice and Bill's choice of girlfriend…

And yeah, that’s basically it. At this point, the family dynamic is firmly established and ingrained in her children’s heads. Percy is already set up to explode in the near future. Being Molly’s Golden Child is neither good nor healthy, especially considering all the pressure that comes along with it. His relationship with his siblings isn’t all that great, either.

Fun fact: We don’t know if anyone ever told him about Scabbers’ Peter-shaped secret. If it did happen, it was probably pretty traumatic. That shit-show was his pet for ten fucking years and he handed it down to his younger brother. That’s nightmare fuel, even if Peter never hurt any of them.

The twins have firmly established themselves as troublemakers. At least some of their “jokes” really aren’t funny and border on cruel, neglectful and/or harmful. (Remember the Unbreakable Vow? Yeah, still not funny. In 1993, they also tried to lock Percy in a pyramid. Yes, I don’t think they wanted to hurt him, not really, but that thing was still a cursed tomb. Things could have gone wrong, and at that point they were old enough to know better. In their last year they tested their joke-sweets on younger students who were neither adequately informed nor old enough to consent for something like this. Yes, they tested the sweets on themselves first, but something could still have gone wrong because of allergies and all that stuff. And after they left Hogwarts and started their joke shop, they do sell love potions to students, complete with options to smuggle that shit into school. Additionally, instead of going bad/losing their potency, those love potions get stronger with age. This alone is a horror story waiting to happen.)

Ron is affected, too. His self-esteem is pretty low when he starts Hogwarts and it will stay that way throughout the series. This will inform a lot of his decisions (especially the bad ones) in the future. 

We don’t know much about how all of this affected Bill, Charlie and Ginny. Bill and Charlie just aren’t as involved in the narrative, and Ginny stays kind of… bland and love interest-ish… throughout the story.

So… yeah?

Am I saying that the Weasleys did not love their kids? No, of course not. Especially Molly shows her love regularly. (Her love is more like a water hose than a watering can, however. Very intense and focussed on a single spot at a time, instead of reaching all her kids equally.)

What I am saying is that the Weasleys, as a family, are pretty dysfunctional. Many factors are playing into this – Molly’s and Arthur’s dynamic as a couple and as parents, the number of their kids, the war, etc. It’s impacting all of them negatively. Molly is stressed out, Arthur is out of touch and some of their kids lose their trust (either in their parents, in their siblings or in themselves.) It also makes their love feel conditional. The twins feel this whenever Molly is comparing them with their older (more well-behaved) brothers. Percy feels this when he comes home with that promotion and is demoted from Golden Child to family-traitor within a heartbeat. Ron has internalized it and desperately seeks attention and affection elsewhere.

They still love each other, but it’s a difficult position to be in for most of them.

And the worst thing: I don’t think Rowling notices any of this. She did not intend the family to be as dysfunctional as it is. She keeps portraying the Weasleys as this great, loving family who took Harry in when he needed it the most. And of course they did – but that’s not all there is to it. There are so many issues that go unresolved in the books. Molly never learns to back off. The responsibility for the conflict between Arthur and Percy is placed entirely on Percy, despite Arthur being at fault, too. The twins never really learn that a prank can go too far. Ron doesn’t really solve his self-esteem-issues. Rowling does start to give him some character development regarding his self-esteem-issues multiple times, but he always seems to revert back over the course of the summer holidays. 

The family really deserved more effort to go into the writing.

Note: This analysis is not meant to say that stay-at-home parents are bad or that Molly should have gotten a job while having seven little kids at home. What I am criticizing is the way we treat care work. Because it is work, and a lot of work. A stay-at-home parent is often on call 24/7. A stay-at-home parent never really gets to take a break, never can take a day off, and never just can leave their work for another day. But they do deserve breaks and days off, just like any person with a day job. And that is where their partners and the rest of their families come in.

And this is the other thing I wanted to criticize here: The way we glorify living as a nuclear family. It’s said that you need a village to raise a kid and I do think this is true. Having more people involved in child-rearing (be it relatives, neighbors or professionals like teachers) is a boon. Families had access to this for millennia. Raising your kids with the help of your family and your village was normal, up until very recently. And it’s a shame that the Weasleys seemingly had no help like this. And yes, I do see the fault with Rowling, who wrote them that way. She basically took the concept of the nuclear families of the 1980s and 1990s and slapped it onto the family, without any world building at all.

(Please also note, that I consider stay-at-home parents to be different from tradwives. When I use the term “tradwife”, I am specifically referring to stay-at-home mothers who do not just take care of their household and their kids, but who also commit themselves to having as many kids as possible and who tend to take on other duties (like homeschooling) as well. The most common examples of this are probably families who belong to fundamentalist Christian churches or cults.)

[luv4freddie]

Polaroid Love - F.W

Fred goes to work with his father and comes home with a muggle Polaroid camera, deciding the best use of it would be to take horrendous pictures of his girlfriend.

Fred x fem!Muggleborn reader, established relationship, reader gets red, house and age not specific, tooth rotting fluff bc I love lovesick Fred, 1.2 k words

Being a muggleborn at the Weasley household was an experience, to say the least.

In the last week since you’ve been at the Burrow, you’ve explained what rubber ducks are for, how to operate a microwave, and Pythagorean theorem.

Today Aurthur took the boys to work with him, so you were currently helping Molly cook dinner.

You had yet to understand the witchy way of cooking, so you were stuck mixing a bowl by hand while Molly sent knives, pots, and pasta flying all across the room.

You ducked a flying cutting board right as the group of rowdy boys entered the front door, your boyfriends voice in particular carrying over the noise of clattering dish ware.

“Honey, we’re home.” Aurthur calls, and Molly meets them all at the door, asking you to ‘keep an eye on’ the multitude of activity in the kitchen.

You look around with wide eyes, imagining all the magical pots dropping to the floor and spoons stopping their stirring, Molly walking in and wondering how you were so incompetent that you would never be able to cook and therefore would be a horrible wife to her son.

You’re only snapped out of your reverie by a flash of light in your eyes, and you tumble back to your current environment— all the dishes are still floating, the spoons were still moving, and Fred was staring at you with a giant grin on his face.

“Hi Freddie!” You light up at the sight of your boyfriend, but don’t allow his attempt at hugging you, too focused on not disappointing your (hopefully) future mother-in-law.

“They’re not gonna stop working unless mom makes them, these things are always going.”

But you refuse to budge, and Molly walks in to see you holding your boyfriend away with one hand on his chest while you continue trying to stir with the other.

She lets out a laugh, telling Fred to leave you alone and go wash up before dinner.

“One kiss? Pleaseeee?” He gives you puppy eyes, and your face goes bright red.

“Not in front of your parents!” You hiss, but he steals a one anyway before running up the stairs and out of the way of the punch you tried to throw at him.

Molly pretends not to have seen, and you let your face cool down before asking what she wants you to do next.

Fifteen minutes later you’re sat at the large table, sandwiched between the twins while Ron talks to you from across the table.

“It was pretty fun, and we all got muggle souvenirs afterward, can you explain to me what this is?” He asks, holding up a PEZ dispenser with a cartoon character head on top.

You laugh, explaining how to get the candy out and watching as a few of the Weasley’s around the table stop to watch, Aurthur positively beaming at the discovery.

“Take a bite before dad can ask you something,” Fred whispers urgently in your ear, and you go to say something back but see Aurthur open his mouth on the other side of the table and you quickly scoop as much pasta into your mouth as you can fit.

You hear Fred laugh at you, and you turn to give him a glare; although it’s less scary due to the copious amounts of noodle hanging out of your mouth.

A flash once again momentarily blinds you, and you finally realize what it is when you see the small Polaroid camera in your boyfriend’s hand.

You go to yell at him, but still have pasta in your mouth so you settle for an angry groan and another smack to his arm.

You watch in horror as a piece of film comes out of the camera, which your boyfriend takes gingerly and looks at expectantly as it develops.

You finally manage to swallow your large bite, and you snatch the photo from his grasp, immediately being greeted by your own face, round with food in your cheeks and wide eyes while strands of pasta hang down your chin and sauce sits on the corners of your mouth.

“Freddie,” you groan in annoyance, but he just takes the photo back from your hands and looks at it proudly.

“It’s a lovely representation of you, darling.”

“It is not!!”

George is laughing too, and you turn back to your plate, trying not to think about the fact that your boyfriend now has two horrible pictures of you for keepsakes.

You try to help clean up after dinner, but Molly insists that someone else does it since you helped cook, so you head upstairs to your boyfriend’s room while Ron and Ginny grumble.

“Evening, love,” Fred greets as you enter the twins’ room.

“Y/n,” George greets as well, tipping his nonexistent hat to you before turning his back to you so he can start a letter to Angelina.

Your boyfriend uses the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, trapping you in his embrace and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I missed you today.” He mumbles into your hair.

“It wasn’t even a full day,” you laugh, the sound muffled by his chest.

He scoffs, sitting down on his bed and pulling you onto his lap.

“So what, I’m not allowed to miss my girl?”

You feel your cheeks warming at the claim of being his, and you give him a teasing smile, “well when you say it like that..”

Before you can even move there’s another flash and you immediately groan, burying your head into the crook of your boyfriend’s neck.

“I’m really starting to resent your dad for getting you that.”

You feel his shoulders shake with laughter, but all he says is “I think it’s my second favorite possession.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, pulling back so he can see it.

“Second favorite?”

“Yep. After these pictures.” He grins, now holding up all three photos he’s taken of you since being home.

“Why can’t you just take pictures like a normal person?” You ask, looking at the two new photos, the one from earlier of you with a wooden spoon in your hand and eyes looking around while bowls float around your head, and the newest one of you sat on Fred’s legs with pink cheeks and a grin on your face.

“Normal people don’t get to keep your happy face in their pockets though, now do they?”

You watch as he puts the photos back, and you melt at the thought of your boyfriend wanting to document your joy to keep as his own.

“I’m always wearing my happy face when I’m around you, Freddie.”

He grins (ignoring George’s gagging) and pulls you down onto his bed, smothering you in kisses until he can no longer keep himself up and your face is brighter than his hair.

“Guess I’ll have to get more film then.”

And he does.

In fact, by the time you get back to Hogwarts from the holidays he’s got a whole wall of polaroids .

You in his Christmas sweater with a proud smile on your face and an F across your chest, you being squeezed by his mother in the worlds tightest hug, you on a broom in his backyard and a quaffle in your arms, you asleep on his bed, even one of you puckering up as if to give the camera a kiss.

And no matter how many times he looks at them, Fred still stares at the photos with a lovesick smile on his face, absolutely in awe at the ability to capture pictures that are so you, so full of light and love that he feels like the luckiest man on Earth to get to be yours.

[lowdownlolo]

꧁✬◦°⋆⋆°◦. 𝓃ℯℯ𝒹 𝒶 𝒷𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀 | 𝒻𝓇ℯ𝒹 𝓌ℯ𝒶𝓈𝓁ℯ𝓎 ◦°⋆⋆°◦✬꧂

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞…

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐜, 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩, 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐢𝐠?, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐦𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐥𝐨 𝐥𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐡𝐞𝐲𝐚! 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 , 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧! 😘💋

The warm glow of the fireplace flickered softly against the walls of the Weasley family home, casting shadows that danced across the mismatched furniture.

The scent of freshly baked bread and the faint trace of Molly Weasley’s famous stews filled the air. It was a quiet afternoon, the kind where time seemed to slow, the peaceful hum of the household wrapping everyone in a sense of comfort.

You sat beside Molly in the living room, the two of you working on your knitting—her hands deftly looping yarn, while yours fumbled a bit more with the intricate pattern. She occasionally looked up at you with a knowing smile, offering a quiet piece of advice now and then. The only sound beyond the crackling of the fire was the occasional soft click of needles, the very definition of domestic tranquility.

But that peace was subtly interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open, followed by the unmistakable voice of Fred Weasley, his tone full of mischief as always.

“Well, well, well,” he said, his deep laugh already warming the room. “Looks like I’m interrupting a cozy little knitting circle, huh?”

You looked up just in time to catch Fred’s mischievous grin. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. The sight of him, all broad shoulders and that trademark twinkle in his eyes, made your heart flutter in a way that was both familiar and entirely new.

Molly gave him a fond but exasperated look. “Fred, don’t make trouble. Your brother’s not here to help you get into trouble today.”

Fred’s eyes shifted to you, the playful smirk on his face softening just slightly. “I’m not here to cause trouble… Not today, at least.” He moved further into the room, his gaze never leaving you as he made his way towards the fire.

You could feel the warmth of his attention on you, a subtle, quiet pressure that made your pulse quicken. You tried to focus back on the yarn in your hands, but it was hard to ignore the way Fred’s presence seemed to fill up the space around you. He was close now, standing just a few feet away, his figure framed by the firelight. The flickering flames caught the gleam of his hair, making the room seem a little warmer, a little more alive.

Molly hummed contentedly, oblivious to the tension that had started to settle between you and her son. She seemed to have no idea what was brewing underneath the quiet exchange, her attention fully on her knitting.

You, however, couldn’t help but feel your cheeks flush as Fred’s gaze lingered on you, his usual teasing demeanor now carrying something a little deeper, a little more intense. The way he looked at you was enough to make your pulse skip, a quiet thrill building at the back of your mind.

The warmth of the fire and the soft click of knitting needles seemed to fade as Mrs Weasley goes out of the room to check on the cooking, and Fred took a step closer, his voice low and almost playful as he said, “Need help with that?”

Your fingers paused mid-motion, the yarn slipping slightly between them as you tried to focus on his words, though the way he was looking at you made it hard to think clearly.

“Help with knitting?” you asked, your voice coming out a little breathier than you’d intended. You could feel his eyes on you, studying you in a way that made the warmth of the fire seem suddenly too hot.

Fred’s smirk widened, the corners of his mouth curling up in that way that always made your heart race. “Well, you seem like you could use some,” he teased, taking a step closer. His voice was soft, but there was a playfulness underneath it, the kind that always seemed to pull you in, no matter how much you tried to fight it.

You could feel the tension building between you, a quiet charge in the air, like the moment right before a storm. His gaze flickered down to the knitting needles in your hands, and then back up to your face, lingering just a little too long before he spoke again. “Or maybe,” he said, his tone dipping lower, “you just need a break.”

Before you could respond, Fred reached out, his fingers brushing against yours in a slow, deliberate movement. The contact was light, but it sent a jolt of heat rushing through you. He kept his touch there for just a moment too long, and when he finally pulled away, you were left with the memory of the warmth of his skin, the spark of his presence that you couldn’t quite shake.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breath. “Fred,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrayed you, a slight tremor slipping through. “What are you doing?”

He leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “Just making sure you’re alright,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something darker, something more intimate. “Sometimes, the best kind of help isn’t about knitting or anything else… it’s just about being here.”

You could feel the weight of his words, the closeness between you. His proximity made it hard to think, harder still to focus on anything other than the way his presence seemed to pull you in, the way his hand had brushed against yours. The air in the room felt thick now, heavy with something unspoken.

Just as you were about to respond, Molly’s cheerful voice broke through the moment. “Fred, dear, can you help me with the washing up after you’re done staring at the fire?”

Fred straightened up, glancing over his shoulder at his mother with an exaggerated sigh. “You just can’t let me have a moment to myself, can you?” he called back, but there was no real annoyance in his voice—just the same easygoing humor that had always been a part of him.

You found yourself trying to gather your thoughts, but Fred’s lingering gaze was like a quiet hum in your chest, distracting, unsettling. “Right, I’ll—uh, I’ll help,” he said, taking a step back, though his eyes stayed on you a moment longer.

As he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of that brief, heated exchange still hanging in the air, a quiet promise of something you weren’t sure you were ready for, but that you couldn’t quite shake from your thoughts.

Fred hesitated for a moment in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame as he glanced back at you, a quiet intensity still in his eyes. The playful grin was gone, replaced by something deeper, something more serious. He wasn’t rushing out the door now; it seemed like he was waiting for something—waiting for you.

You shifted uncomfortably on the couch, suddenly aware of how much space was between you, and how much it felt like there shouldn’t be. The fire crackled softly in the background, but the tension in the room was palpable now, thickening the air with each passing second. You tried to focus on your knitting again, but your hands felt shaky, the yarn slipping between your fingers more than before.

Finally, Fred spoke, his voice lower, quieter. “You know,” he began, stepping back into the room, his footsteps almost silent on the old wooden floor, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so distracted.” He smiled, but it was soft, more thoughtful than usual. “Not that I mind.”

You swallowed, still unsure what to say. “I’m not distracted,” you murmured, but even to your own ears, it sounded less convincing.

Fred raised an eyebrow, moving slowly towards you, his movements smooth, like he knew exactly what effect he was having on you. “Sure you’re not,” he said, the teasing note back in his voice, but with a hint of something more tender beneath it. “Because you’ve been holding that needle for five minutes, and you’re not even knitting anymore.”

You finally looked up, meeting his gaze directly for the first time since the earlier touch, and the look in his eyes sent a thrill racing through you. He wasn’t just teasing now—he was waiting for you to make the next move, to say something, anything. And for the first time, you didn’t want to hold back.

“Maybe I don’t want to knit anymore,” you said softly, and the words hung in the air between you, a daring challenge wrapped in the quiet of the room.

Fred’s lips parted, a flicker of surprise in his expression, before he took a step closer, his body leaning towards yours. “What do you want, then?” His voice was a whisper now, a soft invitation. “Because I’m not sure I can resist finding out.”

You barely had time to react before he was right there, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, the tension thick in the space between you. His eyes darkened, the playful glint replaced by something deeper, something more hungry.

The fire crackled again, loud in the quiet of the room, but the only sound that seemed to matter now was the soft rush of your breath as Fred leaned in just enough for you to feel his warmth against you.

“Fred…” You whispered his name, but it came out more like a question than a plea, the uncertainty mixed with something else—something that felt too good to push away.

He smiled faintly, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek in a soft caress. “It’s alright,” he murmured, his voice low, the promise of something more in his tone. “I won’t push you, but if you want to… well, I’m not going anywhere.”

The air between you and Fred crackles with an invisible force, like a magnetic pulse drawing you together. His warm gaze locks with yours, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The chaos of the Burrow feels distant now, as though the world has narrowed to just the two of you.

Fred leans in slightly, his breath warm against your skin, and your heart races in anticipation. You hesitate, glancing toward the door, half expecting one of his siblings—or worse, Mrs. Weasley—to burst in and shatter the moment. But Fred seems undeterred, his focus solely on you.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, his tone playful but tender. “I think we’ve got a few seconds before Mum starts shouting about something.”

A nervous laugh escapes you, but before you can say anything, Fred closes the gap, his lips brushing softly against yours, igniting a spark that drowns out every other thought. For once, the Weasley chaos feels miles away, and the moment is entirely yours. The kiss deepens, slow and sweet, as though neither of you wants to rush the moment. Fred’s hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin, grounding you in the warmth of his touch. His presence is magnetic, and for a fleeting moment, nothing else matters.

But then, just as you’d feared, a loud thump echoes from the staircase, followed by the unmistakable voice of George.

“Oi, Fred! Mum says—” George’s voice cuts off abruptly as he rounds the corner, freezing in place as his eyes widen in mock horror. “Well, well, well. What have we here?”

Fred groans, leaning his forehead against yours, his grin breaking through despite the interruption. “Of course it’s George,” he mutters, his tone somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

You pull back slightly, heat rushing to your face as George crosses his arms, smirking like he’s just uncovered the greatest secret of his life. “Fred, you didn’t tell me we were having guest entertainment tonight,” George teases, his eyebrows wiggling.

“George,” Fred says, standing up straight and glaring at his twin, though there’s no real anger in his tone. “If you don’t turn around and walk away right now, I’ll make sure all your socks disappear for a month.”

George gasps, clutching his chest in mock despair. “Not my socks! Anything but that!” He shoots you a playful wink before backing toward the stairs. “Don’t let me stop you two. Carry on with your business,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing as quickly as he came.

Fred groans again, shaking his head, but when he looks back at you, his smile is soft and genuine. “Sorry about him. He’s… well, he’s George.”

You laugh, unable to stay embarrassed for long. “I’d be more worried if he didn’t make a scene.”

Fred chuckles, reaching for your hand and lacing his fingers with yours. “Next time, we’ll find somewhere a bit more private. But for now…” His grin turns mischievous as he tugs you closer. “Where were we?”

taglist: @wingyattium

[mywhisperingwords]

spaces between us | george f. weasley

summary: after you break up with george you try to be friends word count: 8k masterlist

The air between you and George was heavy with the unsaid.

You both sat on the worn couch in the flat George shared with Fred, the familiar clutter of the Weasley household swirling around you mixed with the things that belonged to you—yet it felt distant, like a memory you were watching through a foggy window.

George had been quiet for the last few minutes, and you had let him be. There wasn’t anything left to say, not really. You both knew what was coming.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” he finally said, his voice low, strained in a way you hadn’t heard before. The words stung, but you had known they were coming. You had been waiting for them, for what felt like ages.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak immediately. The lump in your throat felt like it could choke you if you let it. You couldn’t cry—not now, not when you had already made the decision yourself, even if the reality of it hurt more than you had anticipated.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he added, looking at you with something that was almost regret, but not quite. There was a certain heaviness in his eyes, like he had known this was coming long before you had admitted it to yourself.

“I know,” you whispered, the words tasting like betrayal. You could see how much it cost him to say them, and yet you could feel how much it cost you, too. “I don’t want to hurt you either.”

There was a long pause, the silence stretching between you like a rope pulled tight, and neither of you knew if it would snap or hold steady.

“I just… I don’t see how we fit anymore,” he said, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Not the way we used to. We’re not heading in the same direction, and I think we both know it.”

You couldn’t help but agree. In the beginning, it had been so easy, so natural. But now, every conversation, every plan for the future, felt like a tug of war. You wanted different things—needed different things—and it wasn’t fair to either of you to pretend otherwise.

“You’re right,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Your chest ached with the truth of it, but the clarity brought no comfort. “We want different futures. And we’ve tried, haven’t we? We’ve tried so hard to make this work, but it’s not enough anymore.”

He looked at you then, searching your face, looking for something he couldn’t quite place. You had loved each other so fiercely, so completely, that it felt impossible to think it was over. And yet, here you were.

“I still love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, it felt like the ground beneath you might crumble. “I love you too, George,” you whispered, the ache in your chest deepening. “But love isn’t enough. Not when we’re this far apart.”

He nodded, though his jaw was tight, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you wished things were different. You wished the two of you had been the exception, the ones who defied the odds. But life didn’t work that way. Not this time.

“I think… I think we need to let each other go,” you said, your voice shaking just slightly. But the decision was clear, like a bruise that had been forming under the skin for months and was now finally ready to break.

George didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just stared at you, and you could see the fight inside him—he wanted to argue, to convince you there was another way, but he knew. You both knew.

Finally, he exhaled, the breath sounding like it had been stuck in his chest for far too long. “Yeah. You’re right.”

The words were final, and it felt like the world had shifted, like a chapter of your life had ended without any ceremony. And yet, it was still so painfully, heartbreakingly quiet.

You stood slowly, trying to keep your composure, but it was hard. Every part of you wanted to stay, to tell him that you could fix this, that you could still make it work. But the truth was clear now. You weren’t meant to be forever, and maybe that was the hardest part of all.

“I’ll go,” you said, your voice barely audible. “I’ll… I’ll leave you to it.”

“Goodbye, then,” George said, his voice low and hoarse, like it had taken everything he had just to say that.

And that was it. There were no grand declarations, no final words to ease the hurt. Just the silence, stretching between you as you turned and walked away, the door clicking shut behind you as the weight of everything settled in.

It had to happen, but that didn’t mean it didn’t break you both.

&.

The dim glow of the pub was familiar, the smell of butterbeer and roasted nuts mixing with the hum of quiet chatter. It was the place where all the memories seemed to hang in the air like ghosts—old friends, old arguments, old jokes. It had been a few weeks since you and George had split, and though the sting was still fresh, the weight had lessened. In some ways, the idea of seeing him again didn’t feel so much like reopening a wound but more like standing at the edge of an uncharted sea, ready to take the first tentative step into a new chapter.

You were already at the table, a drink in hand, waiting. Fred had promised to meet you both here, along with a few others. Everyone had been understanding, but the unspoken tension was still there. George had always been a part of the group, and you had too. It felt strange, like you were both trying to piece together something broken but determined to make it work.

The door opened, and George walked in. His hair was a bit longer now, his gait the same easy stride that had once made you feel like nothing could get in his way. He spotted you immediately, and for a moment, his eyes flickered with that old, familiar warmth—the kind that used to make your heart skip.

You both froze for a heartbeat, but it was over almost as soon as it started. He gave a tight smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. You returned it, though it felt more like a polite mask than anything genuine. The air between you both was thinner now, but it was still there, that invisible thread tying you together.

“Guess we’re both early,” you said, trying to ease the tension, even as your stomach twisted.

“Yeah,” he said, taking a seat across from you, his posture stiff. “Wanted to beat Fred here for once.”

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly at that. “Good luck with that.”

He smirked, just for a moment, before leaning back in his chair. There was a long silence, but it wasn’t awkward—not really. Just two people trying to navigate a new dynamic, one they weren’t used to.

Fred, as expected, was the next to arrive, followed by the rest of the gang—Angelina, Lee, and Alicia. They greeted each other with the usual enthusiasm, but there was a softness in the way they looked between you and George, as if trying to gauge how things stood.

After the initial pleasantries, Fred’s gaze darted between you and George, and you could almost hear the unsaid words hanging in the air. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he shot you both a pointed look.

“So,” Fred said, his voice deliberately casual but with that teasing edge that only he could pull off. “You two doing okay?”

You met his eyes, the corner of your mouth lifting. “We’re good. We’ve been talking.”

George nodded in agreement, but there was something quiet in his expression. It wasn’t sadness anymore, more like acceptance—a kind of reluctant understanding.

Alicia, always the one to be direct, looked between you both and then at Fred, as if weighing the words she was about to say. “So, are we… allowed to still hang out together? I mean, not just for the sake of being polite, but because we genuinely still want to be around each other?”

You met George’s gaze, the question hanging in the air. You didn’t want to make anyone choose between you, not Fred, not Lee, not even yourself. It wasn’t fair. They were your friends, too.

“I think,” you began, your voice steady, “it would be silly for us to pretend we’re just going to disappear from each other’s lives. We’ve been friends too long for that.”

George nodded, looking down at his drink for a moment. When he spoke, it was quieter than usual, his voice rough but clear. “Yeah. I don’t want things to be awkward between us, not with the group. We all still care about each other, and I don’t want that to change.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, his smirk softer this time. “So you two are saying you’re still friends? Not just for the sake of the group?”

You glanced at George, and there was something almost relieved in the way his eyes softened. “Yeah,” you said with a sigh. “Not just for the group. We still care about each other. Just… in a different way.”

Fred nodded, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, then. Glad to hear it. Wouldn’t want to have to choose who’s getting a pint tonight.”

There was a laugh from Lee, and it cut through the last of the tension. The moment felt like a fragile thing—one that could shatter if any of you stepped too hard, but there was something unspoken in the way you all settled into your seats again, like maybe it would be okay after all.

“Good,” Fred said, raising his glass. “So, it’s settled. You two can still hate each other’s guts on the Quidditch pitch, but the rest of the time—friends.”

There was a collective nod around the table, and you felt a weight lift, but only slightly. It was a start. You didn’t expect everything to be smooth sailing from here on out, but you didn’t have to pretend, either. You didn’t have to pretend that you didn’t love George, but also that love didn’t always mean being together.

And maybe that was enough for now.

As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed easily, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you were finally starting to breathe again. You could see George laughing with Fred across the table, and there was something normal about it, something familiar. It was as if you were both finding your way back to a place that wasn’t defined by the past, but by the people who had always been there for you, no matter what.

&

Fred’s flat was buzzing with laughter and chatter as the group gathered for one of their regular nights in. The coffee table groaned under the weight of mismatched glasses, half-eaten snacks, and a deck of cards long abandoned for more interesting conversation.

Alicia leaned back against the armrest of the couch, her drink held precariously in one hand as she playfully swatted at Fred with the other. Angelina was in the armchair opposite, one leg draped casually over the side, laughing at a joke Lee had just finished telling. The warmth of their camaraderie filled the room, but for you, it felt strangely distant.

You perched on the edge of the loveseat, acutely aware of George seated on the floor beside you. His shoulder brushed against your knee every time he shifted, a casual closeness that felt anything but casual.

Lee clapped his hands together, breaking the flow of conversation with the air of someone about to drop a bombshell. “Right, so here’s the thing,” he said, pointing a finger at George. “I have this friend you need to meet. She’s brilliant—smart, gorgeous, funny. Honestly, mate, you’d hit it off instantly.”

The room stilled for just a beat, the words hanging in the air like an unresolved chord.

“Lee,” Angelina said with a skeptical grin, “are you matchmaking again? Remember last time? That poor girl was mortified when you called her ‘a real fixer-upper.’”

Everyone erupted into laughter, and you forced a chuckle, feeling the warmth in your face betray you.

George joined in the laughter, though it sounded more reserved than usual. He scratched the back of his neck, his gaze flickering to you for the briefest of moments. “I don’t know, mate,” he said lightly. “Sounds like a lot of pressure.”

“It’s not,” Lee insisted, leaning forward with dramatic earnestness. “This girl’s low-maintenance, chill. Nothing serious, unless you want it to be. Just dinner, that’s all I’m saying.”

Alicia raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you play matchmaker, Jordan? What’s in it for you?”

“The joy of knowing I’ve improved George’s love life,” Lee shot back with mock indignation.

Fred, lounging on the floor by Angelina, snorted. “Low bar, that.”

George threw a balled-up napkin at him, but his lips twitched with amusement. He glanced your way again, this time more deliberately.

“Should I?” he asked, his tone half-joking, half-uncertain.

Everyone seemed to take it as rhetorical, laughter rippling through the room. But you could tell, from the way his voice softened at the end, that the question was meant for you.

Your chest tightened, the air suddenly too thin. This was your moment to say something, to offer even the smallest thread of hesitation, to admit—if only indirectly—that the idea of him with someone else made you feel like the floor was falling out from under you.

Instead, you plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack under the weight of your own lie. “Why not?” you said, your voice somehow light and steady despite the chaos inside. “It sounds like fun.”

George’s expression flickered, surprise crossing his features before he nodded slowly. “Yeah, maybe,” he said, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Maybe it would be.”

Fred’s eyes darted to you, catching the strained smile you aimed at no one in particular. He didn’t say anything, but the furrow of his brow told you he’d noticed.

“Alright then!” Lee crowed, oblivious to the undercurrents shifting in the room. “I’ll set it up. George, trust me—this is going to change your life.”

George chuckled, though it sounded hollow to you. He glanced at you one last time, searching for something in your expression that you refused to show.

Angelina raised her glass. “To Lee’s matchmaking ventures,” she declared, her tone lighthearted.

“To disaster,” Alicia quipped, clinking her glass against Angelina’s.

“To George’s ‘maybe,’” Fred added, smirking as he lifted his drink.

The laughter carried on around you, filling the room with warmth that felt entirely at odds with the ache building in your chest.

George didn’t notice when you stood and excused yourself to the kitchen, your voice carefully cheerful. But Fred did.

He followed a moment later, leaning against the doorway as you filled a glass of water you didn’t actually want. “Careful, love,” he said softly, his usual humor muted. “You’re starting to crack that perfect facade of yours.”

You didn’t look at him, afraid that one glance at his knowing expression would undo you completely. “I’m fine,” you said.

“Yeah,” Fred said dryly, “and I’m a bloody prefect.”

You set the glass down harder than necessary, finally meeting his gaze. “What do you want me to say, Fred? That I’m jealous? That I want to scream at him not to go? That it feels like I’m losing him all over again?”

Fred’s smirk was gone, replaced by something quieter. “Maybe not to me,” he said gently. “But someone needs to hear it.”

You shook your head, your throat tightening painfully. “It’s too late for that.”

Fred didn’t argue, though his expression told you he disagreed.

In the next room, the laughter continued, but it felt worlds away.

&

The pub was already bustling when you arrived, the faint hum of laughter and clinking glasses spilling out onto the cobbled street. You stepped inside, scanning the crowd until you spotted the familiar faces of your friends at your usual booth near the back. Fred waved you over, a wide grin plastered on his face, and you managed to muster a smile in return.

The group had claimed the largest table in the corner, pint glasses and plates of chips scattered haphazardly across its surface. George was seated across from you, his arm draped casually over the back of the bench. Beside him sat a girl you didn’t recognize—his date.

Her name was Emily. You’d heard about her through the grapevine in the weeks since Lee had first suggested the match. She was everything Lee had promised: pretty, sweet, easygoing. Too easygoing, you thought bitterly, though you knew it was unfair.

You slipped into the seat beside Fred, grateful for his familiar presence. He nudged your shoulder lightly in greeting, his expression flickering with a quiet kind of concern that he didn’t voice.

The mood at the table was light, laughter flowing easily as everyone shared stories and teased each other. Emily was holding her own well, chiming in with anecdotes that had even Angelina chuckling. You tried to focus on the conversation, on the warmth of your friends, but your gaze kept drifting to George.

He looked happy—at ease in a way that felt both foreign and painfully familiar. His hand rested on the table, just inches from Emily’s, and you caught yourself staring at the space between them, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d reach out and close it.

Fred’s knee knocked against yours under the table, jolting you from your thoughts. When you glanced at him, he didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow as if to say You okay?

You nodded quickly, not trusting yourself to speak.

“So, Emily,” Alicia said, leaning forward with a sly grin. “What dirt has George spilled about us so far? Be honest—who did he warn you about first?”

“Oh, definitely Lee,” Emily said with a laugh. “He called you the instigator.”

Lee clutched his chest dramatically. “I’m wounded, truly. And here I thought George was my greatest defender.”

“Defender?” Angelina snorted. “You mean enabler.”

The group dissolved into laughter again, but you couldn’t join in. Your hand curled tightly around your glass, the condensation slick against your palm.

Fred shifted beside you, his hand brushing briefly against yours. It wasn’t much—just a fleeting, grounding touch—but it was enough to steady you for the moment.

“Alright,” Alicia said, still grinning. “But who’s the biggest troublemaker?”

George smiled, glancing at Emily. “That’d be Fred. Hands down.”

Fred gasped in mock outrage. “You wound me, dear brother! I’m a paragon of virtue.”

“Virtue my arse,” Angelina shot back. “Remember that time you charmed all the chairs in the common room to sing Christmas carols in July?”

“That was a masterpiece,” Fred retorted.

You laughed softly at that, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. Fred caught the glimmer of amusement in your eyes and grinned, but the moment was fleeting.

“George,” Emily said, leaning toward him slightly, “you didn’t tell me your brother was so—what’s the word?—chaotic.”

“Oh, he’s chaotic, alright,” George said with a chuckle. “But he keeps things interesting.”

You swallowed hard, the warmth of the group’s laughter suddenly feeling stifling. You pushed your glass away and excused yourself, heading toward the bar.

The pub was crowded, and you had to weave through clusters of people to find a quiet corner. You leaned against the counter, taking a deep breath as you tried to push down the ache clawing at your chest.

You weren’t alone for long. Fred appeared beside you, leaning his elbows on the counter like he’d just wandered over by chance. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said lightly.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start.”

He didn’t respond right away, just studied you with that infuriatingly perceptive look of his. “You’re holding up well,” he said finally.

“Am I?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Fred didn’t push, didn’t press for details you weren’t ready to give. Instead, he ordered two glasses of water from the bartender and slid one in front of you. “Stay hydrated, love. You’ll need your strength for all the passive-aggressive smiling you’re doing.”

Despite yourself, you smiled—a real one this time. “Thanks, Fred.”

“Anytime,” he said, tipping his glass toward you in a silent toast.

Back at the table, you noticed Alicia watching you when you returned. Her gaze lingered just a second too long, a flicker of understanding in her eyes as you resumed your seat.

And then the conversation shifted, the moment passed, and the night carried on. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that Alicia had seen more than you’d meant to show.

&

The shop smelled faintly of sawdust and peppermint, the mingling scents of George and Fred’s latest inventions.

You walked in, the sound of laughter drawing you toward the counter where your friends had gathered. Angelina was seated on the edge, legs swinging as she grinned at Alicia, while Fred leaned casually against a display shelf, munching on a chocolate bar that was undoubtedly not for sale.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Fred teased when he spotted you.

“Traffic,” you lied, shrugging off your coat. In truth, you’d spent an extra ten minutes pacing your flat, convincing yourself this evening would be fine.

“Well, now we can properly celebrate,” Alicia said, raising the glass of Butterbeer she’d somehow acquired. “To Angie and her ridiculously impressive promotion!”

“Ridiculous is right,” Angelina said, though her tone was proud. “I’ve been putting up with that boss for years. About time I was running things instead.”

“You’re a force to be reckoned with, Angie,” Fred said, lifting his own imaginary toast. “Soon you’ll own the place.”

“She’ll own the world,” Alicia added.

The conversation carried on easily, the group’s familiar banter filling the shop with warmth. You felt yourself relaxing slightly, content to linger on the edges of the chatter. But then George walked in, his arrival announced by the jingle of the bell above the door.

And Emily was with him.

Your stomach tightened, but you forced a smile, nodding in her direction as the group greeted her warmly.

“Emily!” Lee called out from behind the counter. “Thought you were gonna miss the party.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, her voice bright as she slipped off her coat.

You tried not to notice the way George hovered close to her, his hand brushing against her back as he guided her toward the others. But Fred noticed. Of course he did. He caught your eye from across the room, his brow furrowing slightly before he looked away.

It wasn’t long before George found you lingering near one of the shelves. “Can we talk for a second?” he asked, his voice low.

You hesitated but nodded, letting him lead you toward the stockroom. The door swung shut behind you, muffling the laughter from the shop floor.

“Are you okay?” he asked, turning to face you.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the directness of the question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His jaw tightened, his hands fidgeting in his pockets. “I mean… with everything. With her being here. I just—I don’t want this to be weird for you.”

“It’s not weird,” you lied, forcing a shrug. “She’s nice. And… it’s good for you, George. You deserve someone like her.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, searching your face as if trying to find the cracks in your carefully constructed armor. “Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“Positive,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “This is what we both wanted, right? To move on?”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah. Right.”

You hated the way your chest ached at his quiet agreement, but you didn’t let it show.

By the time you both rejoined the group, Angelina was already rallying everyone to head out for dinner. She caught your arm as you grabbed your coat, her voice low. “Hey. Just so you know… I didn’t mean to make things harder for you by inviting her. If I’d known, I—”

“It’s fine,” you cut in quickly, offering her a tight smile.

Angelina hesitated, her gaze softening. “If you ever need to talk—or scream into a pillow or hex someone—I’m here. And so are Alicia and Fred.”

“I know,” you said, your voice quieter now. “Thanks, Angie.”

The restaurant was warm and bustling, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread wafting through the air. The group was seated at a long table near the back, laughter and chatter filling the space as plates were passed around.

Emily was seated beside George, and though they weren’t overtly affectionate, every small interaction between them felt like a dagger. You caught glimpses: the way he leaned in to hear something she said, the soft laugh that followed.

Fred, seated across from you, kept a watchful eye, his foot nudging yours gently under the table whenever he noticed your gaze lingering too long. Alicia, beside him, was more subtle, her hand brushing your arm in quiet reassurance when she passed you the butter.

You tried to focus on the celebration, on Angelina’s stories and Fred’s relentless teasing. But your mind kept circling back to the way George seemed so… settled.

It wasn’t until dessert that you realized he wasn’t.

You glanced up to find his gaze on you, his expression unreadable as he caught you watching him. He didn’t look away immediately, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the room had faded into the background.

But then Emily said something, drawing his attention back to her, and the moment was gone.

Later that night, you returned to your flat, the quiet pressing in on you like a weight. The space felt colder, lonelier, despite the familiar comfort of your favorite blanket and the faint scent of the candles you’d lit earlier.

You sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at the photo on the coffee table—a candid shot of the whole group at the Burrow last Christmas. George’s arm was draped over your shoulder, his smile wide and easy, his love for you written in every line of his face.

The tears came before you could stop them, hot and bitter as they streaked down your cheeks.

“What have I done?” you whispered to the empty room, your voice breaking.

You curled into yourself, clutching the blanket as the memories crashed over you—the sound of his laugh, the warmth of his touch, the way he used to look at you like you were his whole world.

And now he was trying to build a new one, and you’d all but handed him the bricks.

&

The days turned into weeks, and everywhere you went, it seemed George and Emily were there too.

At the shop, they shared quiet laughter over a joke you couldn’t hear while you restocked shelves. You kept your focus on your work, determined not to let your gaze linger too long. But when Fred saw you sneaking a glance, he tossed a Pygmy Puff your way, grinning. “Eyes on the merchandise, mate.”

At group hangouts, George held the door open for Emily, his hand brushing the small of her back. Fred, always attuned to your silences, leaned over to tell you a completely nonsensical story about a gnome invasion at the Burrow until you were laughing despite yourself.

At the pub, Emily whispered something into George’s ear that made him smile. You excused yourself to the restroom, pretending not to care. When you returned, Fred had taken your seat, shielding your view with a well-timed joke. “You missed it,” he said cheerfully. “Lee just volunteered to dye his eyebrows purple for charity.”

Still, no amount of distraction could stop the nights from ending the same way: alone in your flat, convincing yourself this arrangement was fine.

&

The pub was packed, as usual, the booth filled with your friends’ laughter and clinking glasses. You’d purposely chosen a seat at the far end, keeping your distance from George and Emily, who sat close together.

Fred slid in beside you, nudging a Butterbeer toward your hand. “Looked like you needed this,” he said, his voice low enough to keep the conversation between you.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking a small sip.

Angelina and Alicia were caught up in animated wedding talk—a friend of theirs, Lee was attempting to outwit Fred with puns, and the mood was light and cheerful. But as always, your attention wandered to George.

And that’s when you saw him.

At the bar, a familiar face from Hogwarts stood, chatting easily with the bartender. His sandy hair was messier than you remembered, but the confident smile was unmistakable.

“Is that Sam Turner?” Alicia asked, her eyes narrowing as she followed your gaze.

“Yeah,” you said after a pause. “I’ll be back.”

You crossed the pub, tapping Sam on the shoulder. When he turned and recognized you, his face lit up. “Well, look who it is!”

“Long time, no see,” you said, laughing as he pulled you into a friendly hug.

The two of you fell into easy conversation, catching up on the years since Hogwarts. Sam’s eyes darted toward your friends’ booth, his brow furrowing slightly. “Is that George Weasley?”

“Yeah.”

“And—hold on. Is he with someone? I thought you two were…”

“We’re not,” you said quickly, forcing a small laugh. “Not anymore.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “I thought you two were, like, forever. Everyone thought so.”

You forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow. “Well, everyone was wrong.”

He studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Always.”

“This friends-with-your-ex thing? It’s the stupidest idea ever. Especially with someone like George. Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but anyone with eyes could see how much he loved you. And how much you loved him.”

Your stomach twisted, his words hitting far too close to home.

“You don’t just move on from something like that,” Sam continued. “And pretending you can? It’s only going to hurt you more.”

Before you could respond, you felt eyes on you. George was watching from the booth, his expression unreadable. When you met his gaze, he quickly turned away, joining the conversation around him.

George sat stiffly, his drink untouched as the laughter around him grew louder. Fred leaned closer, his voice barely audible over the noise. “Something bothering you?”

George shook his head. “Just tired.”

Fred’s eyes followed George’s gaze toward the bar, where you were still talking to Sam, laughing at something he’d said.

“Old school friend,” Fred said casually, leaning back in his seat.

George frowned. “I know who he is.”

Fred didn’t miss the subtle tension in George’s shoulders, the way his jaw tightened slightly. “You okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” George asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Fred smirked faintly but didn’t press. “No reason at all.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice again. “But, just saying, you’re sitting next to someone who might think differently.”

George glanced at Emily, who was engrossed in a conversation with Angelina and Lee. His fingers drummed against his glass before he stilled them, forcing a faint smile. “It’s fine.”

“Sure,” Fred said lightly, taking a long sip of his drink.

You walked home that night, Sam’s words echoing in your mind. You don’t just move on from something like that. The thought twisted in your chest, mingling with everything you’d tried so hard to suppress.

Back at the flat, George sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees, his hands rubbing at his temples. Across the hall, Fred knocked softly on the doorframe.

“Mind if I be totally honest with you?” Fred asked, stepping inside without waiting for an answer.

George looked up, his face drawn.

“You’re not as fine with this as you think you are,” Fred said bluntly.

George’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m trying to move on.”

Fred tilted his head, studying his brother for a long moment. “Are you? Or are you just pretending it’s the right thing to do?”

George didn’t respond, but the answer was written all over his face.

&

Angelina and Alicia’s flat was warm and welcoming, filled with the familiar hum of chatter and laughter. The group had fallen into their usual rhythm—Fred monopolizing the snacks, Lee annoying Angelina with some awful jokes, and George quietly leaning against the armrest of the sofa.

You’d settled into a corner, nursing your drink and trying not to focus on the way Emily sat beside George, her hand brushing his every so often. The sting was duller now, but it hadn’t faded. It lurked beneath the surface, masked by forced smiles and careful avoidance.

“And once things settle down at work,” Emily was saying, her voice carrying over the conversation, “George and I were talking about maybe taking a trip. Italy, wasn’t it?”

You froze. Your grip tightened on the glass, your heart dropping as you felt the weight of her words.

George shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, we, uh… talked about it.”

Your eyes flickered to him. He looked as though he wanted to melt into the couch, his forced smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Emily didn’t notice. “I mean, it’s just an idea for now,” she continued, her tone light. “But it would be nice to plan something—maybe even a little further down the line. You know, something long-term.”

Fred coughed loudly, earning a warning glare from Alicia. Lee, sensing the tension, cracked a joke about George needing sunscreen in Italy, which earned a few chuckles.

You barely heard it. Your chest felt tight, a familiar ache blooming there.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Angelina said, though her glance at you was fleeting and full of understanding.

You forced a smile and nodded along, not trusting your voice to stay steady.

It didn’t take long for the walls to close in. The laughter and conversation seemed to grow louder, each sound pulling you further away from the carefully constructed calm you’d maintained all evening.

You excused yourself quietly, slipping out into the hallway. The cool air outside hit you as you leaned against the wall, trying to steady your breathing. You hadn’t made it far when you heard the door creak open behind you.

“Wait.”

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

George stepped out, his footsteps hesitant. “Are you all right?”

You swallowed, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

A bitter laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “What gave it away?”

He sighed, stepping closer. “Look, if this is about Emily—”

“It’s not about Emily,” you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. You turned to face him, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “This is about us, George. Or whatever it is we’ve been pretending to be these past few weeks.”

His brow furrowed. “We’re trying to be friends.”

“That’s the problem,” you said, your voice trembling. “We can’t be friends. We could never be just friends.”

George blinked, taken aback. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t keep pretending, George,” you said, your voice breaking. “I can’t sit there and watch you fall for someone else—someone who isn’t me—and act like it doesn’t kill me inside.”

His expression softened, his shoulders dropping. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” you cut him off. “You’re trying to move on, and you should. You deserve to be happy. But I can’t… I can’t be here for it. I can’t be your friend and watch it happen.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you.

“I thought I could do this,” you admitted, tears burning in your eyes. “I thought I could put everything aside because it was worth keeping you in my life. But I was wrong. I can’t. Not like this.”

George ran a hand through his hair, his own voice strained. “You think this is easy for me?”

“You’re doing a better job of pretending than I am,” you said quietly, wiping at your eyes.

His gaze dropped, his jaw tightening. “You think Emily’s what I want?”

“I don’t know, George,” you said, your voice breaking again. “But she’s what you have now. And I can’t be around for that. I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. I just…” You took a deep breath, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t.”

George looked at you, the conflict in his eyes so raw it made your chest ache. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but no words came.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking. And before he could respond, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the dim light of the hallway.

&

The pub was alive with its usual hum of chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the familiar aroma of butterbeer mingling with something stronger. Fred leaned back in his chair, lazily twirling a coaster between his fingers while Lee enthusiastically retold a particularly embarrassing story from their Hogwarts days.

Angelina rolled her eyes. “Lee, you’ve told that story a thousand times. Nobody cares about the time you ‘accidentally’ turned your hair pink in Potions.”

“It wasn’t accidental,” Alicia muttered, smirking as she sipped her drink.

Even George chuckled weakly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He’d been quiet all night, a shadow of the vibrant, quick-witted man they all knew.

“Oi, George,” Fred said, tossing the coaster onto the table. “You’re quieter than usual. What’s eating you?”

George glanced up, startled, as though he hadn’t realized they were watching him. “Nothing.”

Fred gave him a look. “Mate, come on. You’ve been sulking for weeks.”

Alicia raised an eyebrow. “Does this have something to do with Emily? Where is she, by the way?”

George hesitated, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. Finally, he exhaled heavily. “We broke up.”

There was a collective pause around the table, the sudden confession sinking in.

“What?” Angelina asked, leaning forward. “When?”

“About a week ago,” George admitted, his voice low.

Fred frowned. “And you’re just now telling us?”

George shrugged, looking down at his drink. “It’s not exactly something I wanted to talk about.”

Angelina exchanged a glance with Alicia, who folded her arms. “Did something happen? I mean, you two seemed fine.”

“That’s the thing,” George said, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “I thought we were fine too. But Emily said… She said I wasn’t really there. That I was… distracted.”

“Distracted how?” Lee asked, genuinely curious.

George hesitated, his jaw tightening. “She said it always felt like I was waiting for someone else. That I wasn’t really trying to move on—I was just… pretending.”

Fred stilled, the teasing glint in his eyes fading as he studied his brother. “And was she right?”

George didn’t answer right away. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “Maybe she was. I mean, I cared about her—I really did. But it was never… It wasn’t the same.”

The words hung in the air, and everyone knew who he meant without him having to say it.

Alicia’s lips parted in quiet realization. “Oh, George…”

“She told me to,” George said suddenly, his voice cracking. He looked up, his eyes shining with a mixture of regret and confusion. “She told me to move on. To give Emily a chance. She said it was fine—that she was fine.”

Fred leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “And you believed that?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” George snapped, his frustration spilling over. “She told me to! She sat there with that forced smile of hers and practically pushed me into it. I didn’t want to hurt her, but she said it was okay, so I tried to believe her.”

Fred’s eyes darkened, but it was Alicia who spoke next. “George, you know her better than anyone. Did she seem fine?”

George opened his mouth, then closed it again, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know. I thought she was… I mean, she said she was.”

Angelina shook her head, her tone gentle but firm. “George, she wasn’t fine. She never was.”

“What do you mean?”

“You really think she was okay with all of this?” Alicia asked, her voice soft but pointed. “George, she loves you. She’s always loved you. She’s been breaking herself into pieces just to make sure you were happy.”

Fred finally spoke, his voice quiet but resolute. “She didn’t push you toward Emily because she was fine. She did it because she thought it was what you wanted. And she couldn’t stand in the way of that.”

George stared at him, his throat working as he tried to process the words. “But I…” He paused, his voice cracking. “I didn’t want Emily. I just wanted her to tell me not to.”

“She wasn’t going to do that,” Angelina said softly. “Because she thought she was doing the right thing. She thought it was what you needed.”

The silence that followed was heavy, each of them lost in their thoughts.

Finally, Lee let out a low whistle, breaking the tension. “Blimey. This is like something out of one of those tragic novels Alicia keeps making us read.”

Alicia threw a crumpled napkin at him, though her smile was faint. “Not the time, Lee.”

Fred leaned back in his chair, his jaw tight. “Well, you’ve cocked this up, haven’t you?”

“Fred!” Angelina hissed, though even she didn’t sound particularly mad.

“No, he’s right,” George muttered, his hands tightening into fists. “I’ve made a bloody mess of everything. And now she’s shut herself away, and I don’t even know how to fix it.”

Fred’s expression softened slightly. “You know how to fix it. You’ve just got to stop being a coward about it.”

George met his brother’s gaze, and for the first time that evening, a flicker of determination appeared in his eyes.

Angelina leaned forward, her tone gentler now. “George, she loves you. But if you don’t tell her how you feel, she’ll think you’ve moved on for good. You need to be honest with her—for both your sakes.”

George nodded slowly, his resolve hardening. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I need to talk to her.”

Fred smirked, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit. Now go on, before she barricades her flat entirely.”

The group watched as George stood, grabbing his coat and heading toward the door.

“Do you think he’ll actually do it?” Lee asked, raising an eyebrow.

Fred leaned back, a smug grin on his face. “If he doesn’t, I’ll drag him there myself.”

&

The knock at your door sends a jolt through your chest, breaking the silence you’ve wrapped yourself in for days. You freeze, staring at the handle like it might burn you if you got too close. You could ignore it—you should ignore it. But then you hear his voice, muffled yet unmistakable.

“Can we talk?”

It’s soft, tentative, and it holds a weight that settles in your stomach. You grip the edge of the counter as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright. You’ve spent days fortifying yourself, layering walls of logic and pain around your heart to keep him out. To keep yourself safe.

But his voice slips through the cracks.

Your feet move before your mind can stop them, carrying you to the door. When you open it, George is standing there, looking like he’s been standing in the rain even though the sky is clear. His hands are stuffed in his jacket pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s bracing for something.

For you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hi.” The word feels too small, too fragile, for the storm brewing in your chest.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his brown eyes searching yours.

You hesitate, the weight of the last few weeks pressing against your ribs. But then you step aside, letting him in, because you’ve never been able to turn him away.

He walks into your flat, and for a moment, he just stands there, like he doesn’t know where to start. His presence fills the space, making it feel both too small and too big all at once.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You swallow hard, your voice tight when you ask, “For what?”

“For everything. For making this harder than it already was. For… not seeing what it was doing to you.”

You look away, your eyes tracing the edge of the table. “It’s not just you, George. I went along with it. I thought I could handle it.”

“But you couldn’t,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “And I hate that I didn’t realize it sooner.”

Your chest tightens as his words settle over you. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? We’re here, and it’s still broken.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. “It doesn’t have to stay broken.”

You laugh softly, but it’s bitter, hollow. “We tried, George. We tried, and we couldn’t make it work. What’s different now?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Because I was an idiot. Because I thought… I thought if I tried to move on, it would hurt less. But it didn’t. It just made me realize that no one else could ever be you.”

Your breath hitches, his words hitting you square in the chest. You try to look away, but he steps into your line of sight, his voice soft yet steady.

“I broke up with Emily.”

Your heart skips, but you force yourself to keep your expression neutral. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t love her,” he says simply, his gaze unwavering. “Because I was only with her because I thought it was what you wanted. Because the only person I want… is you.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and raw. You feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground beneath you crumbling away.

“But what about everything else?” you ask, your voice trembling. “What about the reasons we broke up in the first place? We still want different things, George. Love isn’t enough to fix that.”

He nods, his jaw tightening. “I know. And I’ve been thinking about that a lot. I don’t have all the answers, but… I know I don’t want a future that doesn’t have you in it. We can figure the rest out together. If you’ll let me.”

You stare at him, your heart torn between hope and fear. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve been without you,” he says, his voice breaking. “And it was the worst thing I’ve ever felt. I don’t care if it’s messy or hard—I just want you, however I can have you.”

His words chip away at the walls you’ve built, and before you know it, you’re stepping forward, your arms wrapping around him. He pulls you close, his breath warm against your hair.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” you whisper, your voice muffled against his chest.

“You won’t,” he promises, his grip tightening. “Not if I can help it.”

It’s not perfect—it’s far from it—but for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe again. You know there’s still so much to work through, but as you stand there in his arms, you feel something you haven’t in a long time.

Hope.