#george weasley x gryffindor!reader

[lidiasloca]

you get caught up in george's mischief

george weasley x you

fluff

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You loved George. You really did. Truly and madly. But sometimes, it was hard to love him. Just sometimes! And that is because he would often put you in the most embarrassing moments of your life with his mischief.

You could bear jokes among his family. You even had grown accustomed to his mother scolding him and Fred, which used to be uncomfortable in the beginning. And you even laughed when the mischief involved the whole family as the target. Hell, you very much appreciated that they didn’t prank you. 

George had been very adamant on that with his brother. He drew the line on you. That didn't mean he didn‘t make any jokes on you. But all of them were soft and lovely. “Apt for my Y/N,” he’d told you once. 

However, he was not so thoughtful to warn you before one of their jokes exploded in school. Sometimes even literally exploded. And that left you in the middle of a chaos.

“Miss. Y/N. Do you know anything of this,” professor Snape asked you accusingly. The twins had just flown around the great hall, throwing candy to everyone. Creating a bit of a mess of chaotic kids trying to take candy falling from the sky. 

You could only mumble shyly, “Nothing at all.”

But George and Fred were nowhere to be seen. And you knew what that meant for you. Snape raised an eyebrow, suspicion and accusation clear in his next words. “You’ll come with me nonetheless. You’ll tell me what you know.”

And you had to spend the following 40 minutes with angry Snape trying to get something out of you. Of course, George hadn’t had the courtesy to, not only warn you, but to make you know something about where they were.

“I don’t believe a word you are saying.” Snape was both exhausted and irritated. And the funny thing was, this was far from the first time he had to integrate you because of the twins. You knew the plan by memory, and though you wanted to scold George, you were exited by what came next.

“I’m telling you the truth. I know nothing.”

Snape run a hand though his face. It was odd being the only one to see him so… like this. It was also fun. “You-”

And an explosion. Contained and light. But a damn explosion. 

“What?” the professor barked, and turn to you before running to where the sound of the explosion came. “You stay here,” he commanded. But then he was gone, and you were most definitely not staying there. 

Sneaking out of the room was easy. Snape had left the door unlocked, so you only had to quietly walk an

You screamed instantly as unknown arms grabbed you from behind, one hand muffling your noise. 

“Stay quiet,” a voice whispered in your ear. George’s voice.

“G- gor- mhh,” you tried, but his grip on your mouth was tight. So you decided it was justified to kick his leg from behind as he kept you moving. 

“Ow! What was that for, sweetheart?” he asked, but once he realized he still had his hand enabling you to talk, he let go. “Oh - right, sorry,” he laughed.

“That,��� you said weekly, trying to breathe properly again. “Was for trying to kidnap me-”

“I wasn’t-”

You hushed him. “And not only that. You are also responsible for Snape kidnapping me into interrogation. So two kidnappings in a day.”

“What a great day for you,” he smiled a dazzling smile. But you were not so happy.

“Why couldn’t you warn me, you stupid stupid-”

“Don’t say stupid again, please,” he pleaded playfully.

“Stupid.” You watch his face turn into a pout. “George, we had talked about this.” And when he hears your tone is serious, he stops playing. 

“I know. I know. And I’m sorry. After we got out flying, I looked for you. That was the plan, getting you out with me. But you were nowhere to be seen. Then Fred told me Snape had taken you. And well - this was the new plan.”

“An explosion?!”

“Well,” he replies grinning, as if proud of the idea. “It worked.”

You shake your head, not helping to return his grin. 

“Eeeh, so… you are not upset?” he asked, moving his eyebrows up and down in question.

You cocked your head to the side, watching joy show in his eyes. How could you be mad at him?

“You set an explosion to come and rescue me. How could I be anything but honored?”

He let out a laugh, carefree and contagious. 

“Exactly. What a gentleman that I am, huh?”

“Don't push it,” you remarked, trying to wipe that smug smirk. “You idiot…”

He takes a step to you, trying to intimidate you. “You are so mean, sweetheart.”

You chuckled, about to express your disagreement. But Snape has other plans.

“Mr. Wesley!” You both quickly turn to the professor's voice. “Miss. Y/N! Come here. Now. Both of you.”

George and you both turned to look at each other. And the new new plan was clear.

“Run!”

-Character by J K Rowling

yess im finally writing for george weasley im so happy, hope u like it. and i will be soon posting the harry potter masterlist :))

[cloudybarnes]

Pretty Boy

Pairing: Harry Potter x reader

Summary: everyone knew you had a thing for the boy who lived, everyone, that is, except for Harry himself.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Harry is so soft in this it's insane so take this as your warning

Masterlist

✰  ✰  ✰

It wasn't like you were hiding anything.

You prided yourself in being very direct, and very much a go-getter. After transferring from Beauxbatons, you made quick friends at Hogwarts, even with Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

With Harry, you very quickly became fond of the quirky things he would say, and how flustered he would get when you were around.

Some people called you a flirt, but you liked to think you were just really clear about what you wanted.

Him.

You just weren't sure if he felt the same way about you.

"So, (Y/N)." Hermione said as you, her, Harry and Ron walked out of potions class. "Did you want to study for the exam with us? I figure I could use as much help to make sure these two know what they're doing."

"Hey!" Ron complained, "I happen to be smart sometimes too, Hermione. You're not the only one with a brain."

"You're right, Ron." Hermione said. "(Y/N) has a brain as well, that's why I've asked her to come study with us."

Ron rolled his eyes with a grumble.

"I think that'd be nice," Harry softly said.

You grinned. "Well if Harry wants me there, of course I'm down."

His cheeks turned pink as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Ron snickered and playfully elbowed Harry a couple of times. Harry swatted him away; the pink on his cheeks growing a darker shade.

Harry sheepishly smiled at you. "O-of course I want you there!" He stuttered.

You smirked at him. "Don't worry, pretty boy, I promise I'll be there."

Harry's mouth fell open slightly, as Ron started laughing. "Harry, close your mouth for Merlin's sake!" Ron teased Harry by pointing at his parted lips.

Harry swatted Ron's hands away from his face with a scowl. "Shut up, Ron," he muttered.

You laughed. "I'm just gonna catch up to you guys later. Bye, Harry." You sent a wink in his direction as you walked away. Ron's cackling laugh boomed through the hallway as you left.

✰  ✰  ✰

"Hey, (Y/N)!"

You had started walking down the hallways to get to the Gryffindor study hall where you were supposed to meet up with the golden trio when Luna stopped you.

"Hey, Luna!" You smiled as she walked towards you. "Where were you today? I didn't see you in herbology today."

Luna had been one of your closest friends outside of Hermione, Ron, and Harry. She was fun to talk to, and pretty much knew everything about you already and vice versa.

"Yeah," she smiled, "I was off in the woods taking a walk. It's very nice out there this time of year, you know that?"

You nodded, "oh yeah, it really is."

"So where are you heading off to?"

"Hermione invited me to help them study for the potions exam we've got coming up."

"Oh!" She grinned, "will Harry be there?"

You giggled, "he will be there. Did I tell you he specifically said he wanted me to come with them! I just about died, Luna, like my heart was fluttering like crazy."

Luna chuckled, "You guys need to get together already! Unless you're keeping it a secret from me," Luna squinted her eyes at you playfully.

You laughed. "No, we're not dating. Not yet at least." You winked at her.

"Ahem," a throat cleared behind you.

Turning around, you saw Harry standing there, a bewildered look on his face, and a red burning in his cheeks.

"Um," he stuttered, "I didn't mean to interrupt, I just wanted to make sure you were still coming to the study hall."

Slowly, you turned back to Luna who gave you a sorry smile.

"Well," she said, "I'm going to leave you two alone. I'll see you later, (Y/N/N)." With that, she walked away, leaving you alone with the boy who basically just heard you telling Luna you wanted to date him.

You looked back to Harry with a soft smile. Even though you laid your flirting on so thick with Harry, that wasn't as scary as this. Flirting was innocent. If he didn't reciprocate your feelings, you could always act like you were just messing around.

Now, though, it was the real deal. Even if you looked composed on the outside, you were freaking out quite a bit on the inside.

"Yeah, I'll be there." You smiled, "I'd never ditch my favorite boy."

Harry choked on a gasp.

"You okay?" You asked, stepping a little closer to him.

Harry gazed up at you with confusion, but also intrigue.

"What are you doing?" He asked softly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean like-like with me? Why do you say things like that to me?"

Instinctively, you took a step back. "I'm sorry? I didn't know you felt some type of way about how I acted." You felt horrible. Maybe you had done a little too much. Maybe you had flirted too hard and too blatantly that it scared him off.

"No!" He practically shouted. "No, I mean, ahem, I mean I don't feel any type of way about it. I mean, yeah I feel some type of way, but not like- not like a bad way, if that makes sense. I mean more like in a good way, you know? But also, like in a confused way. I'm not sure, I mean, I like when you say things like that to me, but it's also confusing because why would you say things like that to me?" Harry rambled on.

You couldn't help but chuckle a little.

He looked up at you when you laughed, and gave you a sheepish smile. "Too much?" He asked.

You shook your head with a smile. "No, just enough. So you don't think I come off too strong when I flirt with you?"

Harry grinned. "So you are flirting with me!"

You chuckled, "I would hope you consider that flirting. I'm not sure if you know this, but I don't go around calling too many people 'pretty boy' or 'my favorite boy'."

He blushed. "Yeah, that's what Ron said, but I didn't believe him. I just can't believe out of all the guys that like you, you like me instead."

You smiled, "So Ron told you I liked you?"

"Well, he may have mentioned it a time or two or twenty," he chuckled, "I just didn't believe him."

"How could I not like you? You're Harry, you're incredibly sweet, and selfless, and so much more. Anyone with eyes would like you, Harry."

His face turned ten shades of red. "That's how I feel about you, too, (Y/N). But with you, it's just obvious everyone loves you. You walk in a room and every single head turns. You laugh, and the birds start singing. You smile, and the sun quivers from how bright you light the place up."

With every word coming from Harry's lips, you found yourself more and more drawn to him. Your heart beat erratically.

"I didn't realize you thought so highly of me." It was your turn to blush now. You could feel your face getting incredibly hot by the sweet words he spoke. You never thought Harry would like you back, especially not as intensely as he's describing. Frankly, you didn't know he had such a way with words.

"I think you're incredible, (Y/N), and if you would let me, I'd like to take on a-a date sometime?" He suggested.

You grinned at him and grabbed his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'd love to, Harry."

He grinned, and held on tight to your hand.

For a minute there, the two of you just stared at each other, smiling. You started to giggle. "As much as I would love to stay here like this, we promised Hermione we would study with her and Ron."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that." Harry admitted, sheepishly.

You chuckled, "come on, let's not keep them waiting, pretty boy."

Harry grinned. "I like that nickname."

"I like you."

[writing-wh0re]

“Read it to me, darling.”

♥ pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

♥ summary: Based on this ask “you're reading a book and its so good, you dont notice george back from pratice. So he wants to test how much you love the book. ”

♥ warnings: smut 18+, oral, male performing oral, smut book (?), fingering, pussy eating, smut with little to zero plot.

♥ wc: 1090

♥ masterlist & taglist

You were surprised how quickly you were getting through this book. Determined and excited to start the third instalment in the series. 

George had been out for hours, you had noticed the rain softly washing against the window, wondering when he would pop back in to see you again. Although it wouldn’t surprise you if he kept practising in the rain. 

You eyes skim over the words, a small smile on your face as Archer and Astrid, the two main characters finally shared their first kiss. You continue to read ahead, pulling the strawberry lollipop from your lips as you turn the page, excitement filling your body. You place the sweet back in your mouth, sinking down into the bed a little bit more, knowing your coming up to the juicy part of the novel. Small butterflies fill your stomach as Archer and Astrid pine over each other, both taking their relationship to the next level, solidifying their love. 

“Love?”

“Sweetheart?”

Your book falls into your lap, your face a slight tint of pink, eyes adjusting to the man in front of you. Slightly wet with rain and sweat, his shirt off and on the end of the bed. Your eyes rake over his body, your mind wandering back to your book as you rub your thighs together, which doesn’t go as unnoticed as you thought. 

“Sorry.” You shake your head, pulling the blanket up your body, feeling a slight shame for being caught with smut. 

George smirks, taking the lollipop from between your lips, slightly glossy with sticky strawberry residue and spit. He places the sweet in his mouth, his hand under your chin. Tilting your face to look up at him. 

“Love, don't tell me I’m losing you to your book boyfriend.” 

You pout slightly, before you can speak the lollipop is back against your lips. You frown, swirling your tongue around the sweet, watching George’s eyes lock onto your actions as the bed dips under his weight, him resting on his knees in front of you. 

“Please keep reading.” He insists, a swift wink sent your way. Moving the blanket off your legs. 

A gasp falls past your lips, your fingers gripping the stem of the lollipop to ensure its safety. 

“George, I don’t-”

He places his hand around your throat, his face inches from yours, the sweet smell of strawberry wafting between you. 

“Shh, darling, I simply can’t take you away from this book, I’ll occupy myself.” 

George grabs the book from your lap, his eyes quickly skimming the words, a small smirk on his lips. He tuts, shaking his head before, his fingers tracing down the top of your thighs, slipping between your legs, tracing the outside of your panties. 

“Ah, no wonder your panties are wet.” 

Blush creeps across your face, your eyes slightly wide as the embarrassment of him reading the smut washes over you. You bury your head in the book, wishing it would swallow you and help you escape this shame. 

George chuckles, laying down on his stomach, his lips kissing up your thighs, biting the soft skin with every second kiss. 

“I want to know who you prefer by the end.”

His fingers hook inside your panties, pulling them down your legs. 

“Me or your fictional man.” 

You roll your eyes, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“Don’t be like that.” You mumble, his warm breath fanning against your folds. 

“If you stop, I stop.” His tongue softly licks up and down your slit, an eruption of butterflies soars through your stomach. 

“George.” You whisper moan, heat filling your body. 

“Don’t stop love, I'm enjoying this.” 

You sigh, picking the book up and resuming where you left off. George kisses your folds, his tongue slipping back between them, circling your clit while you re-read the same sentence. 

Fuck, this is harder than it seems. 

“Yes.” You moan, your grip on the book tightening, your hips rocking slightly. 

“Read it to me, darling.” 

“Uh.” The sound falls from your lips as his wraps around your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud. Your eyes lock with his as he softly drags his tongue up your slit. 

“Enlighten me, I won’t ask again.” 

You nod, quickly picking the book back up and finding where you left off while George continues to play with your pussy. You clear your throat before reading aloud to him. 

“Archer gripped Astrid's hair, his hand pulling the strands around his palm. He liked the contrast between her red locks and his skin. He continued to thrust into her with heated passion- Fuck George uh.”

George chuckles against your clit, his fingers now slowly pulling in and out of you. 

“Astrid moaned something that caused Archer to slow his thrusts, wanting to hear- fuck just like that - wanting to hear more of what she could offer him. He knew if he kept it at this pace she would beg, a situation Archer only dreamt of. Astrid rocked her hips back, Archer's grip tightening on the strands of hair, pulling her back against his chest, his hands falling from her fiery red locks and groping - George Oh- her bo- Yes, Yes, uhh - her boobs.” 

Your head tilts back, George's pace picking up both his fingers and his tongue. The book falls on your chest, your finger tangling in his hair, chasing your hair. You rock your hips against his lips, his hands slipping under you and squeezing your ass, helping to support your slightly elevated angle. 

“I’m close.” 

George simply responds by humming against your clit, his fingers curling inside of you. Your back arches off the bed, your book falling off your chest and onto the floor with a small thud. 

“C-cumming” You moan, your vision blurry as you squeeze your eyes shut.Your teeth biting against the strawberry lollipop as it shatters in your mouth. George slows his actions, small aftershocks shooting through your body, your legs twitching. You release a deep sigh as George pulls his fingers out of your pussy, his lips glistening with a mix of your wetness and cum. 

He reaches for the lollipop stick between your teeth. You simply open your mouth showing him the shattered remnants as he smirks, leaning forward and capturing your tongue in his mouth. Intertwining his with yours and savouring the strawberry flavour before pulling away with a lick of his lips. 

“You should read to me more often.” 

You simply blush, hiding your face in your hands and pulling the blanket back up over your legs. 

Taglist: @horrorxweasley @maybesandohnos @skarlettmikaelson @mathletemadison @wahooyahoo17 @zagreusdaughter @alina02 @addymartinsstuff @rebeldotty88 @peterpan-neverfails @thehumanistsdiary @anonreaderas @i-love-scott-mccall @sunshinemunchkin @themoonis-beautiful-tonight @veryspookybatbabe @uwiuwi @anythingandeverything97 @fckve @darling2800

[mgcldydrms]

Admirer ( George Weasley )

requested by anon: "ooh if it vibes with you I think you'd do the prompt "I'm not staring at you, I'm admiring you." with George weasley really well :3"

word count: 1.2k

warnings: a whole lot of fluff, like a lot a lot

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

author's note: I needed some fluff and this was the perfect request. thank you for sending it in. I definitely vibed with it.

navigation | main masterlist | harry potter masterlist | taglist

On some weekends, when most of your fellow students were all in Hogsmeade, you liked to stay behind and enjoy the quietness of the common room. There were still the first and second years around, but seeing as though it was now spring, most of them were outside and enjoying the warmth of the sun.

You sat on the sofa, in front of the fireplace that wasn’t lit up, yet it still felt cosy to sit there. You had your favourite book in your hands, smiling every so often whenever something funny or sweet happened to the characters. From time to time, other Gryffindors walked past you to either go up to the dormitory or to slip through the portrait hole.

You were too immersed in your book that at first, you didn’t even notice someone sitting down next to you. Only when they cleared their throat you looked up at that person. A bright smile graced your face once you noticed that it was your boyfriend, George.

“What are you doing here? I thought Fred, Lee and you would be in Hogsmeade getting new stuff for your products.”

George shook his head, moving closer to where you were. He pressed a soft kiss on your temple, quickly glancing down at the book that you were still holding tightly in your hands before he looked up into your beautiful e/c again.

“We were supposed to get a few things, but the delivery takes one more week, so we all must wait. And I, the good boyfriend that I am, thought I would come back and spend the rest of the day with my gorgeous girlfriend.”, he explained, wiggling his eyebrows.

You couldn’t help but laugh while you playfully pushed him away from you. You looked down at your book, swiftly flicking through the pages, noticing that there were only a few more pages left.

“This is really sweet, but can you give me a few more minutes? I’m almost done with this chapter and I want to finish it. It’s getting really interesting now.”

“Sure. I’ll just sit here and wait.”, your boyfriend stated, moving away from you so he could completely stretch out, his feet almost touching yours.

You uttered a quick ‘thanks’, and before you knew it, you were back in the world of your book, reading as quickly as you could without missing a thing. You didn’t want George to wait for too long. Seeing as though the young man who you were lucky enough to call your boyfriend was a year older than you, hence you weren’t really able to see one another as much as you would like. He was not only busy with schoolwork, which of course he sometimes neglected a bit too much but he was also immersed in developing his and his twin brother’s new products. So, normally the two of you mostly saw each other late at night in the common room or in one of the abandoned classrooms that no one really used anymore. You were able to spend most of your time together on the weekend though.

Occasionally, you looked up at George, wanting to know what he was up to, but whenever you glanced his way, you noticed his eyes already watching you, a soft smile gracing his lips until you looked at the words in your book again.

The more you peered over at your boyfriend, the more embarrassed you got. Why couldn’t he stop staring at you? Of course, it was adorable, but it also made you lose focus.

“Can you quit staring at me? I can’t concentrate.”, you said, shutting your book a bit too harshly.

“I’m not staring at you, I’m admiring you.”

You could feel the heat rushing up your cheeks after your boyfriend's confession. You put your book in front of your face, hearing George chuckle. He moved closer to you again, lifting his hand up only for him to lower your book.

“Why are you hiding? I love to see you blush.”

It was true. George loved to make you blush and seized every opportunity to do so. He loved the way your face was almost as red as a tomato whenever he complimented you or whenever he teased you. You were lucky though. It was mostly compliments that your boyfriend used to make you blush.

“And what were you admiring? I was just reading my book.”, you mumbled, putting the book on the floor before you sat up properly and waited for George to explain himself. You pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyebrows lightly raised.

“You looked really cute … beautiful actually. You were so concentrated on the story, and your eyes moved so quickly from side to side. Your hair fell in front of your face multiple times. Sometimes you didn’t even notice, but when you did, you pushed them back, only for them to fall back. You even tried to blow them out of your face. You pouted, I don’t know why, but it looked adorable, and - ”

“Okay. I get it.”, you said quickly.

George chuckled once more, stretching his arm so his hand could find yours, which he gently squeezed. He pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you before he pressed a gentle kiss on top of your head.

“I could see the passion you have for this book. Maybe you can lend it to me, so I can find out what it’s all about.”

You looked up at the young ginger-haired man, your eyes slightly widened, still comprehending the words your boyfriend had just said to you.

“You? You want to read? Voluntarily?”

You both couldn’t help but laugh out loud, knowing exactly that George would never read a book. He wouldn’t even read the books he needed for his classes. He always hoped that you or maybe Hermione had already read it. Although both of you were younger than the twins, you liked to read books that needed advanced knowledge.

“You just know me too well. Come on, let’s go outside.”

Your boyfriend got up from the sofa, simultaneously pulling you up as well, only for you to stand face to face now; George was just a bit … a lot taller than you.

Now it was your time to admire him. His beautiful smile, the slight crinkles by his eyes, his fluffy hair …

“Stop it.”, he interrupted you, his lips finding yours almost instantly, kissing you as lovingly as possible.

You smiled into the kiss, reluctantly pulling away, knowing that a few first years sat in the common room, watching the two of you making out in the middle of the room.

“Let’s go, admirer.”, you whispered against his lips, kissing him once more before you made your wait through the portrait hole.

[patrophthia]

christmas gift | george weasley

pairing: george weasley x reader

genre: crushies, pining, pretty much idiots in love, fluff and more fluff, fred and ginny (kinda) plays matchmakers, not proofread

wc: 1.6k

originally posted on wattpad

george glanced down at her curiously, then down at her subtle movements that had his stomach turning in knots. the tip of his ears flushing red when her fingers grazed against his neck. he coughed; causing her to stare up at him with a confuse look, her eyebrows tilted in question. "yes?"

“you're uhm-" he paused, gulping, his cheeks burning "-if you wanted to tie me up so bad you could've just said so."

she scoffed; pulling away with an eye roll as she dropped her hand. he almost frowned at the lost of contact. almost.

"what could possibly be taking him so wrong?" lee groaned, throwing his head back in exaggeration as he, fred, and [name] waited for george to join them for breakfast.

"give him a break," she replied, hands flattening out dark robes. "he and fred pulled a pretty nasty prank on filch last night. i don't doubt he's trying to get his beauty sleep."

"yeah," fred added cockily, a sly smirk creeping onto his face. "you'd know about his beauty sleep wouldn't you princess?"

"who's he?" the redhead in question asked, haphazardly running down the dormitory's stair in an ungraceful manner. she bit back a smile, watching as her friend approached them with his tie nowhere near how neat the school needed it to be.

"you," she answered; and without much thought her hands had found it's way around on george's tie, tangling themselves between the red and gold silk.

george glanced down at her curiously, then down at her subtle movements that had his stomach turning in knots. the tip of his ears flushing red when her fingers grazed against his neck. he coughed; causing her to stare up at him with a confuse look, her eyebrows tilted in question. "yes?"

"you're uhm-" he paused, gulping, his cheeks burning "-if you wanted to tie me up so bad you could've just said so."

she scoffed; pulling away with an eye roll as she dropped her hand. he almost frowned at the lost of contact. almost.

- "earth to [name]?" said a voice, trying to grab the said girl's attention. "hello?" they repeated.

she blinked when a paper ball bounced off of her skin; breaking out of her reverie as she turned to the owner of the voice with a questioning look. fred, who had been trying to grab her attention, stared back at her, his features just as confuse as her's.

"yes?" she prompted, an slight edge in her tone that didn't go unnoticed by her friends. fred frown, puzzled by her reaction.

"you alright?" he asked, sparing a quick look to his twin who shrugged in return, he was just as lost as he was. "you haven't said anything since you've read that letter," he said carefully, pointing a finger to a letter that laid on her lap. "we're starting to worry."

she gulped, quickly glancing at the note before looking back at the pair of them. george wore a concerned look, a silent question of whether she was fine.

"i'm okay," she supplied without questioning, picking up her fork and proceeding to eat whilst ignoring their worried looks. "it's just a letter from home."

"oh." there was an understanding silence that settled between the two redheads. knowing better on letting her take her time rather than egging her on. "sorry."

there was a paused —which was rare considering that these were the weasley twins she was talking to— and she felt more than just guilty for creating such a tension between the three of them.

"would you like to tell us what it's about?" george asked gently, placing a hand on her lower thigh; an act of comfort that the pair had developed over the years spent as friends.

"it's nothing really," she answered, brushing it off with an obviously fake smile. "it's the usual, 'you're a disappointment, can't believe we wasted our time on someone who couldn't even do the bare minimum' and oh! to not come home this christmas because 'there's no telling what i might do when i see a blood traitor like you' there's more to it but it's better to not ruin your christmas spirit."

seeing both fred and george weasley utterly speechless was a sight she was sure millions would pay to see yet here she was, barely able to hold her emotions in while she grinned brightly at them. damn, she really deserves an oscar (or whatever hermione said it was) for this.

"i think they're still disappointed that i wasn't a slytherin," she joked dryly. "though i can never be sure when i have such caring parents."

"i'm sorry about them," george started; being the more sympathetic and clear headed one of the pair. "you know mum loves you. so does ron and ginny and i reckon she wouldn't mind if you-"

"-yeah if you spend christmas with us." unlike george —who's tone was more soothing and indicative, fred cut in assertingly; wanting to shield her from the mere idea of having to spend christmas alone.

"i can't possibly do that to molly." she shook her head dismissively, the idea of being a burden burned in her mind. "it's too much stress- i mean, she's got seven kids to take care of then there's harry and hermione. i can't add myself into the mix and stress her out even more."

and true weasley fashion, both twins simultaneously quipped, "well it's either you spent christmas home with us or us here with you, your choice."

"i hate you." and those three words brings them to where they found themselves now. sitting side by side at the round table of 12 grimmauld place as molly passed down parcels upon parcels.

"this is for you darling," molly smiled kindly, passing [name] a green box.

she accepted it, muttering a small 'thank you' as she stared at the gift with curiousity. the box was small; no larger than a snitch, and it fitted perfectly within her palm.

from the corner of her eyes she could see that fred was intensely watching her, the corner of his mouth twitching which she could only assume was him resisting the urge to insist her on opening it.

she turned subtly, slowly facing him so he could see her clearly as she started picking apart the wrapping paper. it was an emerald green, a color she associated with harsh words said by the people who should've been caring for her but instead neglected her.

underneath the parchments laid a dark velvet box and by then fred have fought and failed on resisting the urge to tell her to, "open it."

she carefully lifted the top open; revealing a golden branch-like band with a raw cut pink gemstone laying atop of it. she looked up at fred, taking the small ring out of the box and slipped it on her finger. a perfect fit.

"it's rose-quartz, it's supposed to attract new love or whatever ginny said," he said, smirking. "you can thank me by naming you and george's first born fred," he added winking the signature crooked wink of his, the corner of his lips twisting with it.

"good godric," she muttered, feelings her cheeks heat up at his suggestion whilst george chuckled beside him. "i've got the same thing for you two. open it before i change my mind."

"okay, jokes jokes." fred reluctantly let go off his teasing, taking the present from her hand before passing it over to george.

george accepted it, weighing the parcel on the palm of his hand. "it's light," he commented, peeling away the wrapping paper as he talked. he lifted up his present, bemused. "a key?"

"a key," she repeated.

"a key?" he asked once more, not understanding the meaning behind his gift.

"a key."

"a key?"

"oh come on george! what are keys used for?" cut in ginny who had caught wind of their conversation. "to open doors?" he answered cluelessly. "oh merlin," ginny sighed, running a hand over her face. "she got you two a shop."

"a SHOP?" fred asked, his voice rising octaves. "YOU BOUGHT US A SHOP?"

"yes," [name] laughed. "i did. merry christmas."

"OH YOU ARE MY FAVORITE GRYFFINDOR," fred rushed to her side, pulling her into a tight hug.

george stared at her with a full glint in his eyes when she moved away from fred's suffocating arm. "i love you," he muttered, eyes widening with surprise.

"hmm?"

"i love you," george repeated, face twisting in shock by this revelation. and within a blink; george's lips found it's way on her, placing passionate soft kisses on her lips.

before she could reciprocate his kisses, george pulled away, looking at her with pure adoration in his eyes. "i love you."

"i love you too george."

fred gasps loudly, turning to face his younger sister as he yelled out, "GINNY THE RING WORKS."

—from bee: it’s not christmas but who cares,,, my love for george weasley goes beyond the holiday seasons. :>

[donaweasley]

And now, I can sleep peacefully after a long, hard day.

Thank you @glacial-snowflakes !! You are an angel!!

Explosive confession // George Weasley

A/N: My multifandom ass woke up and chose Harry Potter for today. I'm not the best in fluffs but I hope you like it. Also, I don't know if you like George but I know you are HP fans (for 99%) so I'm tagging you @handmaiden-of-mischief @lucywrites02 @theaudacitytowrite

Pairing: George Weasley x gn!reader, George Weasley x Gryffindor!reader, Hermione Granger x gn!reader (friends)

Word count: ~1,1k

Summary: Your sudden emotional explosion turns into a confession you weren't ready to make.

WARNINGS: a tiny little bit angsty monologue but overall just fluff

Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. It’s really motivating <3

Warm blows of wind gently caressed your face as you were hiding from the sun in the shadow of an old tree. Resting your back on the trunk, which bark started falling off from the age, you tried to focus on the muggle book you smuggled with yourself this year. Your eyes, however, decided to follow a tall, young, ginger boy instead of the words on the page you've been on for almost ten minutes.

"Why don't you tell him?"

Hermione's voice made you jump up a little, and thereby it brought you back down to Earth. You looked at her; a quiet sigh escaped your mouth as you closed the book you didn't even start reading. She could notice you were speechless - bitten lip and anxious tapping on the red floral cover of the novelette. You were looking for words, but they were too quick. When you almost caught them, they slipped from your grasp and ran away, leaving nothing but emptiness.

"I- Uh... Well... It's not that easy?" You declined your head; the sound of the words was too pathetic for you to handle. You covered your face in your hands.

"Same excuse over and over again." She sat next to you and leaned her body on your side. "It's been going on for seven years, Y/N. In ten months, you're leaving Hogwarts forever. Don't you think it is the best time to do this?"

When you didn't say a single word, she continued. "You two have been friends for so long. I'm sure you're afraid to lose him but isn't knowing the truth better than living in ignorance?"

"I honestly don't know." Your hands started to fidget with the book cover, opening it and closing it constantly as you've been coming up with words. "I've been in love with him since I can remember and... And hiding it for so long made me so miserable." You raised your head and looked ahead. Too caught up in your own thoughts, you didn't even realize George was no longer standing at the edge of the Great Lake and playing with the tentacles of the giant squid.

"How am I a Gryffindor when I'm too afraid to tell George that I love him!?" You whined, the tears slowly running down your rosy from the heat cheeks. Hermione said your name, trying to interrupt you, but it was too late - emotions that you kept hidden for so long overflowed. "How am I supposed to tell him that whenever he looks at me, butterflies in my stomach wake up and fight the battle or... Or when he smiles, my day immediately becomes a hundred times better. Or when his laugh spreads over the whole Common Room, I want to laugh too, even though I don't know the story that made him so happy. I want to spend the rest of my life listening to his voice and counting the freckles that are scattered over his beautiful, joyful face. I want to be able to wake up next to him, make him pancakes for breakfast, or play this dumb Exploding Snap even though I lose out to him every bloody time. I just- I don't know." You took a deep breath in, swiftly wiping with your shaking hands your face that was wet from the tears that couldn't stop running.

"I guess I am too afraid to face him and bear the rejection. I don't want to lose him." You summed up.

"Who said I would say 'no'?" George's voice made you stiffen.

You slowly looked to the side on which only seconds ago Hermione was sitting. But she wasn't there anymore, no. You blinked twice just to be sure your sight didn't play tricks on you.

"Quiet a confession you made here, huh?" George cupped your face in his big, warm hands and gently brushed his thumbs against your wet skin. "What was it again? Pancakes for breakfast, waking up next to me, my laugh-"

"George." You mumbled with a hoarse voice.

"I'm just playing with you." He smiled. "Just like we're going to play Exploding Snap for the rest of our lives, and you'll keep on losing?"

You pushed him on the ground and stood up, dusting yourself off the grass you'd been sitting on. "If this is funny to you, then-"

You didn't finish. Or, should you say, you COULDN'T finish. Quicker than the speed of light, he stood up. You didn't have to imagine what was kissing him like anymore. The fake vision you created in your head was replaced with the pure experience you'd never forget.

You could feel how his trembling fingers dug into your skin, gently pinning you to the tree that not so long ago was the anchor for your blue self. His lips kissed you so softly, almost like he feared you would break under their pressure, like the most valuable yet so incredibly fragile piece of glass. And George would never forgive himself if he hurt you. Could he ever do this, though? The younger twin was strong, obviously, and mischievous, but George would rather die than make you suffer in any way. And so he treated you like a preciousness he had to keep safe at all costs.

He moved away for a distance, almost invisible to the naked eye. "So... You love me, hm? Well, I'm not surprised. How could you resist my freckles scattered over my beautiful face?"

"George, for Merlin's beard. If you don't stop, I will hex the shit out of you." You said quietly, right before snuggling your face in the crook of his neck. You could feel he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"I don't think this is how you treat the love of your- Ouch!" He groaned out when you toughly poked his torso with your finger. "Okay, okay, fine! If I say I love you too, will you stop pushing and punching me?"

"Maybe. The real question is if you really do love me?"

"I do." He whispered to your ear. "Quite a disappointment, to be honest. I imagined myself confessing to you in the Great Hall, where everyone would see. Fireworks, floating Nifflers, baby dragons-"

"Dragons?"

"Yeah, you know. For special effects. Dragons that are spitting fire like little torches but cuter."

"You're impossible."

"Yeah, you know... That's why you love me."

tag: @calmmylife25 @donaweasley @gaycatlord-stuff

[incorrectharrypotterblog]

Hermione: why are threesomes only for sex

Hermione: why can’t I join in on a couples argument if I want to

[tsukimirecs]

GRYFFINDOR BOYS

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

FRED WEASLEY

mad woman

cupid crystals

a special friend

recovering a life

deep breath

strawberry letters

date after date

SIRIUS BLACK

complimentary quills

just a natural fact

brighten your days

black dog neighbour

padfoot

HARRY POTTER

harry potter and the long-lost beach episode

harry potter and the late-night company

potter love

gifts

green-eyed idiot

romancing professor potter

CHARLIE WEASLEY

creative writing class

favourites

taming the dragon tamer

lucky charm

let's pretend

GEORGE WEASLEY

heart-to-heart chase

beating a weasley

well-meaning deceit

see you again

it's definitely you

coming home

[heartthrobin]

the hate game (1)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 13.3k

warnings: enemies to lovers, so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, super grumpy!oliver, oliver's scottish accent (it's a warning in itself), alcohol consumption, super! duper! cheesy! (sorry not sorry)

an: just survived the worst two weeks of my life, but the fic is finally here! this fic was originally a full 50 chapter fic i had planned for wattpad like three years ago but i found my draft for it recently and decided it needed a revival. so enjoy it, and don't forget to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

part two/final part

Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

-

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

-

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

-

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

-

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle. 

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports. 

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge. 

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner. 

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers. 

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor. 

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed. 

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish. 

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster. 

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge. 

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you. 

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone. 

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move. 

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face. 

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches. 

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.” 

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again. 

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“ 

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.” 

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor. 

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn’t know who you were talking to. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick. 

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.” 

He’s brushing past you. 

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“ 

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded. 

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable. 

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?” 

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked. 

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone. 

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him. 

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration. 

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him. 

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.” 

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle. 

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own. 

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.” 

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness. 

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms. 

It’s quiet. 

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks. 

“Why’re you out here alone?” 

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him. 

Why do you care? 

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters. 

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.” 

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t. 

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches. 

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something. 

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent. 

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room. 

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.” 

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

-

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours. 

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!” 

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch. 

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow. 

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction. 

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way. 

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it. 

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets. 

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

-

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

-

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

-

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

-

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[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Y/n, texting Hermione: Hermione! Help I'm being kidnapped.

Hermione: Where are you?

Y/n: I'm with some strange person. In a car. Help.

Hermione: I'll call George.

George, answering his phone: Hello?

Hermione: Where's Y/n? They texted me that they were being kidnapped.

George: Y/n? What you mean, they're right next to me-

George:

George: I'll call you back. *hangs up*

George: MY NEW HAIRCUT ISN'T THAT BAD!

Y/n: WHO ARE YOU?!

[mastermindmiko]

The Ear that wasn't

pairing: George Weasley + reader

word count: 1,312

warning: injuries, death and it's a bit angst

Summary: After the battle of the seven (eight) Potters, George becomes distant, and you decide to find out why

masterlist

After moving to the Burrow, things have changed. Everyone’s more sombre, and the world seems a little darker. The impending doom of Voldemort’s terror a bit more real. Madeye died and Hedwig as well when we were attacked while moving from Privet Drive to here. It was fun pretending to be Harry for a bit, the polyjuice potion wreaked and tasted awful, but looking like someone else was amusing, that was before death eaters started throwing spells left and right at least. 

The most noticeable change in my life was the distance that George has been placing between us for a month since we came here. The first two days I stayed by his side while he was recovering from becoming ‘holey’. We couldn’t bring any medics to the Burrow, so we all had to make due with our collective medical knowledge; finding spells to ease the pain, recalling how to put on a proper bandaid, and how to stop the blood from gushing. 

Fred and I were riding together, and went to the Burrow via another route along with the others in order to confuse the death eaters as to who was Harry while George was getting hit with a sectumsempra. We arrived at the Burrow and there seeing Hermione’s sad expression looking at me and Fred made my heart lurch to my throat. I couldn’t recall a time I’d run faster inside to find George lying on the sofa. 

I spent the first few days tending to him, and spending as much time near him as possible, mostly due to the nature of our relationship and also to take care of him. We’d only gotten news about his ear when we finally reached madame pomfrey (a trustworthy person) who told us that George wouldn’t be able to get his ear back. I’d expected it, but George seemed heartbroken. 

I stayed behind after dinner, tidying up the table at a slower pace than usual, watching as George cleared the cups too. His movement is precise but never without a little whimsy. The bandage is still wrapped around his head, and he starts shoving cups between the crook of his elbow to hold more in one go. I clear my throat, “How do you feel?” 

“Well.” 

I sigh, knowing how curt all his replies have been. He heads into the kitchen and I continue to stack the rest of the plates before waving my wand, sending them into the kitchen. I walk behind them and point my wand into the sink, allowing them to gracefully pile up inside. The magical tools get to work and start rinsing. 

I look into the living room first looking for George, and I see him sitting on the couch twirling around his wand, and staring off deep in thought. Madame Pomfrey had informed us that his (additional) lack of focus could occur due to the concussion and spell, as well as some loss of balance. I gulped, “Do you need anything?” 

“No.” He grumbles, and leans back sinking into the sofa. I walk closer to him and take a seat beside him. He doesn’t bother to spare me a glance. I bit my lip and hesitantly said, “We can go take a nap for a bit in the room if you’d like?” 

“I don’t need you fussing over me.” George snaps, and I purse my lips, used to this attitude from him over the past month. I shuffled closer to him, and confessed, “I’m not fussing over you, I just want to spend time with you.” 

He sets his wand aside and sighs. He puts his head in his hands, hunching over his thighs. The fire crackles and fills up the silence between us. I place a comforting hand on his back, stroking his skin, feeling the soft material of his shirt and his vertebrae. He sighs once more, and deep in thought he whispers, “Why?” 

“Because you’re my boyfriend.” I chuckle at the absurd question, even when he wasn’t I loved spending time with him. He looks at me, palm holding his cheek, and my amusement dies down from seeing his miserable eyes, and wrinkled eyebrows. My hand lifts from his back and moves to his hand. I ask, “What’s going on, George?” 

“I-” he stutters, and looks away. I squeeze his hand supportively, and he closes his eyes. I let all the thoughts that have been jumping around in my head stay for a second of all the things he could say, the most prominent being: I don’t love you anymore. He sucks in a breath and turns back to lock into my eyes. He mused, “I’m not good-looking anymore, and I don’t want you to not want me.” 

I blink, and process. George, the ever confident, forever handsome, cocky and funny George Weasley doesn’t think he’s good-looking anymore. What would even make him think- oh…the accident. I say, “Is this about your ear?” 

He looks away once more and I know that it’s the truth. I start rubbing comforting shapes over the back of his hand, and I reach over to grab his other hand. I protested, “I don’t think you’ll ever stop being good-looking, not to me.” 

He scoffs, not believing my words. I could see his eyes begin to have a slight shine to them. I pout at his expression, and I drop his hand to reach over and cup his cheek. I turn his head towards me, and brush my thumb over his cheekbones. He let out a bitter chuckle before he smiled, sputtering, “I’m practically deformed.” 

I smile at him, and give him a look. I lean into him, smelling his familiar scent that I haven’t been able to smell in a while. The wood and biscuits engulf my senses. I kiss his lips, and his eyes flutter momentarily to a close. I let my lips linger near his before pulling away and watching his closed eyes as he sighs before looking back at me. I whisper, pulling his face to mine, “Even if you were a troll, I’d still love you George.” 

He gulps and checks my eyes for any glimmer of a lie. He leans into my hand, and pouts. He relaxes looking at my face before slowly turning his head to press a kiss to my inner palm. His lips linger and he cups my hand with both of his. He kisses it again before adding, “I don’t want you to not be attracted to me.” 

“You’re plenty attractive George with or without two ears.” I commented. He squeezes my hand, the warmth of his fingers spreading to mine, providing a comforting head during the dead of winter. I convince, “And I believe that there’s more to our relationship than just your looks, George. There’s your wit, and your kindness, and your humour- and I could go on for so long, so you’ll have to stop me, and your smile and laugh, your courage-” 

“I get it, I get it.” George chuckles, and pulls our intertwined hands back up to his lips to press a kiss on each of my knuckles, feeling his warm breath on my hand and the softness of his lips on each of my knuckles. He gazes at me sincerely and says, “Thank you.” 

“It’s only the truth.” I state, and he pulls me into a long and deep hug, resting his head into the crook of my shoulder, giving me kisses whenever he sees fit. My arms still reach after him when he pulls away to say, “I’d also still love you even if you were a troll.” 

“Thank you, that’s good to know.” I laugh, and I finally see that wonderful humorous grin of his. He stands up and encases my hand to pull me up beside him. He presses his lips to mine then suggests, “How about that nap?” 

a/n: I really wanted the gif to be the scene when Harry and Ginny are kissing and he goes "Good morningg", but alas I couldn't find one, so this will have to make do. Hope you liked this one.

[lidiasloca]

Hii how are you? I like your blog<33 Can I make a request about George Weasley? The reader is a Slytherin. There is a romantic attraction between George and the reader; they may even become lovers. One day, while the two are talking, George asks her why the Sorting Hat thought about her for so long in the past. The other house the Sorting Hat had in mind for her was Gryffindor. She has always kept it a secret because of her family, but finally decides to tell George about it.~

george's slytherin girl

george weasley x you

fluff

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

“Just tell me,” George urged for the fifth time that afternoon. It didn’t help that he was hugging you around the waist as you lay on the sofa, his sweet caresses further coercing you.

“No,” you laughed, feeling helpless against his curiosity. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Ugh,” he groaned in feigned frustration. “That just makes me want to know even more.” He squeezed your waist, making you giggle. “Tell me why the Sorting Hat took so long with you.”

You pressed your lips together, pondering whether to finally give in and confess. It had all happened such a long time ago—yet George still remembered that ridiculous Sorting Hat perched on your head. Maybe you could tell him after all.

“Alright,” you mumbled, feeling defeated.

He let out a childish giggle of pure joy, clapping his hands together like an overexcited child—although he was far from it.

“Well, do you remember we had already seen each other before the Sorting?” You waited for him to nod. “And do you recall how I went red immediately? How I tried to hide from you?”

“I didn’t think you were trying to hide from me. Was I that hideous?” he asked, grinning like a fool.

You pointedly ignored him. “Well, I was very timid back then. Very.” You took a breath. “And I kind of liked you—very much.”

His grin morphed into a cocky smirk. “Did you, now?”

“Oh, shut up.” He pretended to zip his lips. “And then it was the ceremony. You got sorted into Gryffindor, and when the Sorting Hat was on my head, I prayed it wouldn’t put me in the same house as you. I knew I’d live with the constant fear and hope of finding you around every corner. So, I begged. The Sorting Hat’s first guess was to put me in Gryffindor, but after hearing my prayer, it kindly placed me in Slytherin.”

You feared you had rushed through the story when you saw the surprised look on George’s face.

“Say something,” you said, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice.

“Sweetheart…” he breathed.

“What?” you asked, nerves bubbling up inside you.

Then he burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed at your serious face. At last, catching his breath, he said, “You are so adorable, Y/N. You got into Slytherin because you had a crush on me—shouldn’t that be in Hogwarts history books?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, really. It’s actually a pity we aren’t in the same house.”

“No, it’s not. I couldn’t have borne more than a few minutes in your presence.”

“Liar,” he replied lovingly, still sporting that smirk.

“Besides,” you continued, “I love Slytherin.”

“Alright, that’s true. But still, if you were in Gryffindor, we wouldn’t have to fight anyone who finds us in the common room,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow.

“And that’s exactly why I know I’m perfectly suited for Slytherin. I love a good quarrel.” He chuckled at the sight of your mischievous smirk. 

“My Slytherin girl.”

-Characters by J K Rowling

a/n: maybe not the sort of mistery fic you asked for, anon. hope you enjoyed it nonethelss. i really liked the idea 💞

[zoeonsaturn]

WOAH.

PERIOD.

Wizarding World Masterlist

George Weasley:

Dom!George - Smut18+

Caught in the act - Smut18+

6 feet apart rule - Fluff

Proposal - Fluff

Nurse - Fluff

Cuddles - Fluff

Daddy George - Smut18+

Soft Dom!George - Smut18+

Prompt 29 - Smut18+

I miss you - Smut18+

Slytherin - Smut18+

The Twins - Smut18+

Umbridge - Fluff

Prompts 17 & 19 - Fluff

Jealousy - Smut18+

Bloody Cormac - Angst

Two Daddies - Smut18+

Shh - Smut18+

Au!Gamer - Smut18+

Krum - Fluff

Did I stutter? - Smut18+

Please Daddy - Smut18+

Play With Me - Smut18+

Sub!George - Smut18+

Angry Sex - Smut18+ - HC

Always George - Fluff

So, Who’s Better? - Smut18+ - HC

Sex Toys - Smut18+

Nightmare - Fluff

Pink or Purple? - Fluff

I do - Smut18+

Dom!Reader - Smut18+

Braces - Fluff

Holding Hands - Fluff - HC

Birthday - Smut18+

//

Fred Weasley:

Prompts 12 & 22 - Smut18+

Prompts 15 & 19 - Fluff

Prompt’s 11 & 26 - Smut18+

Take care of you - Fluff

The Twins - Smut18+

Daddy - Smut18+

Au!Collegue - Smut18+

Advice - Smut18+

Umbridge - Fluff

Au!CEO - Smut18+

Harry Spoils Everything - Fluff

Shh, we will get caught - Smut18+

All the kinks - Smut18+

Two Daddies - Smut18+

First Orgasm - Smut18+

About Time - Smut18+

Daddy’s Belt - Smut18+

Krum - Fluff

The Moon - Fluff

Sub!Fred - Smut18+

Comfort - Fluff

So, Who’s Better? - Smut18+ - HC

Fun With Daddy - Smut18+

Holding Hands - Fluff - HC

Birthday - Smut18+

//

Ron Weasley:

First Kiss - Fluff

//

Draco Malfoy:

Prompts 4, 8 & 26 - Smut18+

Prompts 1, 6 & 12 - Smut18+

Prompts 9, 18 & 22 - Smut18+

Soft Sex - Smut18+

Green Panties - Smut18+

Mine - Smut18+

First Time - Smut18+

Gag - Smut18+

Horny Shits - Smut18+

Oh No - Smut18+

//

Oliver Wood:

3am? - Fluff

[obsessedwithceleste]

Daisy Chains and Kept Promises

George Weasley x reader

Based on this request🫶🏽

Summary: George Weasley was never one to break a promise. Especially not one sealed by a daisy chain ring.

word count: 3.2k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

It was the first sunny afternoon in what seemed like forever, but in reality had only been a few days, and the residents of the burrow were eager to escape onto the vibrant, green lawn.

“Fred, George you stay out of trouble now!” Molly shouted from the kitchen as you run out the door with the twins.

“Come on now, it’s our last summer before they ship us off to Hogwarts! We gotta make the most of it!” Fred replies, sprinting out to the shed where the Weasleys stored all their brooms.

“Hurry up Georgie, or I’m taking the good broom!” You tease as you race past the other boy, snatching the best broom from the rack before he has the chance to protest.

“Aw c’mon! Why’s she always get the good one?” Ron complains as he catches up with you all.

“Oh shut it Ronald,” George retorts, not bothering to give his youngest brother a second glance.

The four of you spend the afternoon zooming across the field, a beat up quaffle tossed between you in carefree bliss as the sun shines down on you and Ginny watches from the ground below.

Eventually you all tire and you find yourself lying in the shade of the old oak tree that loomed over the garden. Thankfully the rain had scared off the gnomes that had a habit of sneaking into the garden for a tasty treat.

“Show me how to make those daisy crowns? Like the muggles?” Ginny asks, bringing over fists full of the little white flowers.

“Not now Ginny,” Fred sighs, rolling his eyes at the young girl.

“No, no, we can do it now,” you argue, patting the ground next to you, gesturing for the younger girl to sit beside you.

“Yeah, let her stay,” George agrees, smiling fondly at you.

Fred snorts at his brother, eyes rolling once more.

“You always side with her, you’re supposed to be my twin! How are you two going to survive without each other?” Fred retorts, leaning back against the tree.

“It’ll only be a year, then y/n can join us in the fun,” George replies happily.

“Oh at this point you might as well just marry her,” Fred responds with a huff.

You feel your cheeks begin to grow red and you turn to focus all your attention on the young girl beside you, showing her how to intricately wrap the stems together to form a chain of daisies.

You’d known the twins for as long as you could remember. You’d practically grown up with them. Your father Remus did the best he could raising you on his own, he really did, but it was hard. Especially on full moons. The Weasleys always took you in on those nights, often resulting in you staying for days while Remus recovered.

George had had a soft spot for you since the beginning, always being the slightly softer twin while Fred was more severe and brash. You could remember a particularly bad night when it had been storming, the loud thunder making you shake with fear. George had stayed up with you all night, making sure the storm didn’t get you. You had been seven at the time.

It had started back then you supposed, your little crush. It had confused you at first as you had thought of all the boys as your brothers, but now, at the ripe old age of ten, you could tell that Georgie was different from the other Weasley boys.

“There!” George announces excitedly, shaking you from your thoughts as he brandishes a single daisy up into the air, its stem tied rather roughly in a small circle.

Without warning, he grasps onto your hand, sliding the makeshift ring onto your finger, looking rather pleased with himself.

“There. You’re my wife now,” he says proudly as you stare at the little flower adorning your finger.

“You didn’t do it right! You have to ask her to be your wife. Everyone knows that!” Ginny exclaims, watching the two of you with a dopey little grin on her face.

“Oh. Right. Y/n, will you be my wife?” Georgie asks, batting his eyes dramatically at you and sticking out his bottom lip.

“Yes I will,” you reply with a laugh, admiring the pretty daisy that now sat on your finger.

“You two are so gross,” Fred says, making a face.

“Oh, oh! Do the promises! The ones where you say I do!” Ginny urges excitedly, clapping her hands.

“Alright. Do you promise to always laugh at my jokes, always be there for me when I need you, and always take my side when we argue with Fred?” George asks.

Fred begins to make dramatic gagging sounds.

“I do.” You reply with a giggle as Fred just glares at you. “And do you promise to always make me smile, always protect me, and always make me hot chocolate when I can’t sleep?”

“I do.”

It was dark. The whole house was dark really. All the time. Dimly lit and constantly smelling like mold and rotting wood. And the furniture seemed to be permanently damp, the coldness settling into your bones.

You hated it here at Grimmauld Place. The constant shrieking of decrepit, old portraits, the eerie feeling of constantly being watched. The only positive attribute about living in this wretched place was the fact that Remus had never been happier.

It had taken months to do it, but after Harry had been able to help Sirius escape the dementors, Dumbledore had inconspicuously been able to move Sirius into Grimmauld place where you had been staying ever since.

It had been strange at first, no doubt. You had only just met the man, but he grew on you quickly. Like a fungus. You loved seeing how comfortable he made Remus who visibly softened whenever the other man was near. And you hadn’t seen Remus smile as wide or as often, well ever. You could tell that the two of them were just meant to be side by side, and honestly, that was enough for you. Especially in dark times like these.

“Lighten up love, we have a surprise for you before dinner,” Remus announces, entering the drawing room where you sat wrapped in a pile of blankets, a book in hand as you tried to ignore the screeching bag lady in entry way portrait.

“Is it another one of those horrendous sweaters that Sirius keeps digging up from somewhere?” You ask, nose scrunching at the thought of another one of the putrid smelling things being presented to you. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you detested the nasty things, so you had been giving them to Kreacher to dispose of rapidly. “I know I keep telling him that they’re lovely, but how many of the things does he think I need?”

Remus just laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve told him to move onto something else, but he’s determined to fill your wardrobe I think. But no. It’s not another sweater. For now at least. No, I do believe you’ll quite enjoy this little surprise.” He tells you before leaving you to your book and your thoughts.

Dinner time couldn't come fast enough as you eagerly eyed the clock every fifteen minutes, only to be disappointed by how little time had gone by.

About thirty minutes before the three of you usually ate dinner, you began hearing a chorus of voices coming from the entry way. And not the familiar voices of the Black family portraits.

"Well where is she then?" a loud voice asks.

Hearing the voice, you immediately perk up, not quite believing you'd heard correctly. This place might be driving you mad.

"Oh bloody hell mate, don't seem too eager now," comes the sarcastic response.

You'd know those voices anywhere. Practically throwing yourself from the couch, you eagerly scramble to the door and down the staircase to be greeted by the whole Weasley family grinning up at you.

"Look Georgie, there's your wife, don't get your knickers in a twist now," Fred scoffs.

You fly into George's arms, sighing contentedly as his arms wrap securely around you.

"Well hello to you too," you hear him laugh as he gives you another squeeze before releasing you.

You hadn't seen him, or the other Weasley's for that matter, in what felt like ages. He and Fred had grown their hair out, and you didn't quite remember them being so tall last you saw them. His smile never changed though.

Bashfully, you greet the rest of the Weasley bunch, even Fred giving you a quick hug, before rubbing the top of your head affectionately and effectively tossling up your hair. You stick your tongue out at the boy in response, batting his hand away.

"I missed you all, so much! I've been going absolutely bonkers being here alone for so long," you tell them.

"Well not to worry love, we'll be here all summer. Hermione too, though she's not coming for another few weeks." George tells you.

Feeling eyes on you as you laugh with the boys, turning to see both Sirius and Remus gazing at you intently, eyes flickering between you and George.

Sirius silently points at you, then George before drawing a line across his neck with his finger before giving you a wink. You feel heat creeping into your cheeks as you turn back to the boys.

"What are you all doing here?" you ask eventually as the adults begin to file into the kitchen.

"Came to be used as house elves of course," Fred replies, earning him a nudge from George.

"Mum said that Sirius volunteered the house to be headquarters for the Order," Ron butts in.

"Yeah, then mum volunteered us to help clean the place up," Ginny adds.

You make a face at that.

"We have a lot of work to do then, this place is disgusting," you tell them, leading them up the stairs to the room you'd been staying in. On your way up the stairs, George's hand never leaves yours, fingers intertwined as you guide him up the dusty staircase.

"Long as there aren't any spiders," Ron replies, eyeing the spiraling stairs with suspicion.

You just look back at the boy with concern, pity overtaking your face as his own face turns pale.

For once Grimmauld place was silent. A rare luxury you'd found, especially since the Weasley's had moved in. Not that you minded, the red headed family made the grim, old place feel alive and vibrant. Something you thought the it needed desperately. But you liked the quiet too.

It had been a strange couple of weeks as everyone, the adults especially, seemed to be on high alert. And who could blame them? Hermione had just moved in, sharing a room with you and Ginny. You could hear their breathing now as you stared up at the dark ceiling above.

After the Weasley's arrival, you had all spent countless hours decluttering Grimmauld place. Sweeping, dusting, banishing the more mouthy portraits to the attic. It was hard work, but you had loved every second of it with George making you laugh until you keeled over, tears streaming down your face. His presence just made everything better. You thought so at least.

In the darkened room, your mind drifts to the conversation you had heard between the adults just hours ago. It definitely wasn't a conversation you had been meant to overhear, but Georgie had given you a pair of extendable ears that he and Fred had developed, and you just couldn't help yourself.

"Oh really Sirius, they've all practically grown up together, George would never do anything to hurt her," Molly had said.

At the mention of George's name, you just had to find out what they were talking about.

"We never said he was going to do anything malicious, we just don't want to see her get hurt," Remus replied with a heavy sigh.

Her?

"They're practically adults, you can't protect her forever. So what if they fancy each other? They're not children!" Molly retorts.

"Oh that's rich coming from you. Just the other day you were going on about young witches and wizards rushing into marriage during the first war. And how many times have you told the twins that they're forbidden from joining the Order hmm? They're adults, Molly, you can't protect them forever," Sirius responds.

"Oh but at least I've done all I can to protect them up to this point. What have you done for y/n? Nothing. Because you've been locked up!" Molly spits. You can hear the fury in her voice.

Your fists ball up in rage at her comments. None of it was Sirius's fault. He didn't do anything wrong. How dare she?

"That's enough!" you hear Remus cut in, a sharpness in his voice that you hadn't heard before. "We weren't coming to attack George, or the way you raised any of the children. We were simply raising our concerns, as any good parents would. Now that we've made our point, if you don't wish to interfere, fine. We won't either."

After that the only thing you had heard was the shuffling of feet as they abandoned the dining room. They had most definitely been talking about you. No doubt about it. You hadn't realized they were concerned about you. They never said anything. And it was only Georgie. The two of you had been married for six years now. In all the ways that mattered to you at least. He would never hurt you. In fact, he'd made it a promise.

Mind racing and unable to sleep, you slip out of bed, careful not to make a sound as you slowly creep to the drawing room that you so often took refuge in. To your surprise however, a dim light was already flickering inside when you approached, and a familiar head of red hair sat facing away from you on the sofa.

"Georgie?" You whisper cautiously, not wanting to spook him.

His head turns in surprise, but his face lights up when he sees you.

"What are you doing this up this late, love?" he asks.

"I could ask you the same."

"Fair enough. Just a lot on my mind I suppose."

"Me too," you reply.

A silence falls between the two of you as you stand, watching mesmerized as the light flickers on and off of the boy's handsome face.

"Want me to make you a hot chocolate?" George asks finally.

A smile grows on your face and you instantly perk up at the mention of your favorite treat. George always knew how to put you to sleep, and he always made the best hot chocolate. Nodding enthusiastically, the two of you make your way down to the kitchen where George begins gathering supplies.

One thing you'd always admired about him was that he never minded doing things the muggle way. While Fred was always quick to magic his way through things, George was content taking his time.

"Help stir the milk so it doesn't burn?" he asks, gesturing to the pot now on the stove.

You silently take the wooden spoon from his hand, fingers brushing ever so slightly, before focusing on the task at hand. George sets out two mugs on the counter before helping you melt in the chocolate.

It all felt terribly domestic. As if there wasn't a sociopathic murderer on the loose. Like it was just the two of you.

It isn't long before George is pouring the dark liquid into the mugs, sprinkling in a few little marshmallows and a cinnamon stick or two and the both of you are retreating back up to the drawing room.

The first sip sends shivers of satisfaction down your spine as you lean into George who wraps his free arm around you. You pull a blanket over you and revel for a moment in the comfort.

"Care to share what's been on your mind?" George asks, breaking the silence.

"Only if you go first," you reply, not quite sure how to explain that he was really the only thing on your mind these days.

George just sighs. "It's nothing you we haven't told you before," He tells you. "Mum is just fighting for her life to keep Freddie and I out of the Order, but Moody agrees with us. We're of age. There's nothing she can do to stop us."

"Will you be safe?"

"Safe as can be. Mum has made sure they don't give us any real missions. Just patrolling Diagon Alley since that's where we set up shop."

You simply nod your head, letting it fall against the boy's chest as you feel his even breathing and let it overtake you. You'd never admit it out loud, but you were grateful for Molly to an extent. The twins had an abysmal lack of self preservation skills, and you didn't know what you would do if you lost Georgie.

"And what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

You feel your shoulders shrug as you think carefully of what to say.

"I overheard our parents talking today," you mumble, not exactly sure where you were taking this.

"Oh?"

"Dads are worried about us," you tell him, hiding your face in his chest.

"Worried?"

"I dunno. They said something about your mum talking about how a lot of wizards and witches rushed into marriage during the first war, and there was a lot of talk about you being of age and what not. It got intense. There was a lot of yelling."

You feel George's chest rumble with soft laughter at your words.

"Well that's a silly thing to be worried about considering we've been married for years now at this point," he says.

You're not sure if he's joking or not. Maybe the exhaustion was finally getting to you.

"I'm being serious Georgie. I didn't know they were so worried about me. And Sirius sounded so upset," you reply, sitting up to take another long sip of your hot chocolate.

"So am I." he responds, looking you dead in the eye. The usual mischievous gleam is gone this time and you know he's never been more serious about something. "You know I'm not one to break a promise."

The air grows heavy as you feel yourself freeze for a moment at his words before you sink back into his warm embrace.

"I still have it you know. Your ring. Your mum charmed it for me so it wouldn't wilt. She knew all along," you tell him.

"She tends to have a sixth sense when it comes to these kinds of things."

Another silence falls between the two, but this time, the silence brings comfort as you feel your eyes growing heavy. George tries to stifle a yawn, but it escapes anyway. It was later then you had realized.

"I'm glad it's real for you too," you murmur, leaning further into the boy as your eyes flutter close. Something about being in George's arms provided a sense of security you couldn't find anywhere else.

"It was always real. I'd never break a promise to you, love."

bby's first non-slytherin boy fic🫣

don't ask me if I edited this- the answer is no and I don't want to talk abt it💀

tag list: @sol-lupin-black @breeistired

[loomis-maxima]

When I tell you guys to get onto Character.ai and search up anyone and to add the voice to the conversation; I mean it. here i am, lying on my bed kicking my legs like a school girl

[ginevrapng]

𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐈 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄?

pairing: george weasley x slytherin!reader

word count: 5.2k words

content: no war au, non canon quidditch match, fluff, some angst, insecurities

a/n: this was super fun to write and my first long harry potter fic, hopefully you all enjoy it! hopefully george isn't too ooc in this. i might make a part two of this with smut but i'm not sure yet.

"did i ever tell you how beautiful you are?" spitting out your drink in shock you turn to look at your best friend and see him looking at you, swaying drunkenly. george has definitely had too much to drink tonight. before he can say anything else that you know he'll regret in the morning you cover his mouth with your hand. "honestly george, i leave you alone for an hour to talk to adrian and you get wasted and start sprouting nonsense. normally you're the one stopping me from doing stupid stuff, georgie," you giggle, vowing to make sure you don't get any drunker so you can get you both home safe.

you first met fred and george in potions in your 4th year and it was a rocky start, they didn't like slytherins and you didn't have the time and energy to waste on trying to get people to like you. however that all changed when in one class fred nearly messed up his wit-sharpening potion by putting gurdyroot in instead of ginger root, immediately you grabbed his wrist before he could put it in, straight away scolding yourself for doing such an idiot thing and dropping his hand. normally you wouldn't've minded if someone messed up their work, plus potions was your best class so it'd be less competition but sitting in front of george weasley and then right next to fred it was inevitable you took a liking to their antics, even if you never told them so or even spoke to them.

at the time fred was extremely suspicious, some girl who he'd never spoke to before stopping him from putting in an ingredient. before he could even question it you stated, "it's meant to be ginger root, you've got it wrong." you turned away from him and carried on with what you were previously doing, not wanting to see his reaction, you warned him and he'd do with that what he will. you expected him to not respond but you didn't expect utter silence from his workside. "you can believe me or not, i don't care. don't just do nothing though, snape's going to think you're up to something and it'll distract me when he comes over."

you started to get pissed off at weasley's lack of movement before you heard him not so quietly whisper to george, "oi, what's meant to be in this thing? gurdyroot?" you didn't hear what george said, you're not sure if it was because he was actually quieter or if you were slightly stunned and pleased with the fact he took some notice on what you said and didn't throw away what you said you said completely. in the corner of your eye you saw fred turn back around and almost sounded reluctant as he replied, "shit. urrr thanks.. i guess."

after that day you both took more interest in each other, only talking when having something that needed to be said but that was definitely an upgrade in your relationship. george took notice of this change but others didn't. by the end of your fourth year you talked in potions together all the time, with george joining in by leaning over to talk to you both, cheekily winking at you whenever he caught you looking at him, promptly leading to an eye roll from you and occasionally walking over to you under the guise of needing to get something where you were, leading to many detentions and you vowing to never speak to him again if he distracted you in crucial parts in class. everybody just thought george wanted to talk to fred but they were wrong.

you also listened to their prank ideas, giving impute when you can but mostly just fascinated by everything they were saying. you'd stealthily give them presents for christmas and their birthday and they'd always tease you about it but you'd always be able to tell they liked what you gave them. they also decided to bother you while you studied in the library. to this day you think about shock people must have had when fred and george said they were going to the library for the first time, madam pince probably thought she was going mad when she saw them.

it just turned into a secret, your friendship, you're not really sure how, you just knew that fred and george didn't want people to know about you. you wish you could have said the same but you had no interest in what others thought of you. you were very prideful of your house but you didn't care about your reputation, at those times you wish the twins felt the same. you would like to say it didn't bother you to keep quiet about how you're friends with them but it did, not all the time but sometimes it did get to you. you'd finally found amazing friends and they actually liked you for you and have interest in what you had to say, they were probably the closest friends you had and had ever had. you knew that you kept to yourself and you liked that fred and george somehow managed to get you to open up so being made to never speak to them in front of other people hurt sometimes. you sometimes wondered if you mattered that much in their lives.

that was answered to you after a quidditch match, slytherin against gryffindor. slytherin won by a landslide and for some reason the other team were off their game this time, whatever the reason it was a win to slytherin. you wished you could have cheered on fred and george, they are great beaters but you knew you couldn't have cheered for them, that's okay though because adrian was on the slytherin team and you two have always been close since first year. you were decked out in all green, cheering him on and the rest of the team, house spirit and all, scarf and socks matching, watching them play.

on your way back into the castle you see a small commotion and notice the green robes so you went over there to see an argument between some of the two teams. malfoy spewing rubbish like all ways. more and more people were starting to come over and you knew soon one of the professors would get there, you were not going to lose house points today, especially when you've just won the game and gained house points in return. "the only reason you're still on the slytherin team malfoy is because your father's paying flint's parents to keep you on the team." you heard potter say as you walked up towards them.

you reached your hand out to touch malfoy's shoulder pulling him back. "let's go malfoy, it's not worth it, we just won."

you froze as you heard potter talk to you, he'd never even looked at you before, now he's got it in for you. "who are you, anyway? just some other blood-purist? bet you're so proud of your house cheating." if you were more confident in that moment you would of spoken up, would've told him to shut it, that he knows nothing about you. but you realised everyone is looking at you, slytherins, gryffindors even hufflepuffs and ravenclaws and the twins are behind harry and oh god you felt sick. you tried your hardest to not look the twins in the eye or even in their direction at all. you thought that they're probably disgusted that they ever talked to you. you're nothing like what potter thought you were and everyone who knew you knew that but fred and george never did ask you questions about your beliefs, maybe afterwards they had doubts when potter said that.

you kept your head down and walked away, pushing against people, clearly trying not to cry. you just wanted to get out of there. you found out how much you mean to the twins when george see's your figure leaving, going back to the castle. without much thought about the situation he goes to correct harry, because there was no way in merlin he was going to let someone think that about you. fred beat him to it though, "she really is nothing like that harry." george pushes against everyone as he followed you, catching up with you quickly.

"don't worry about it, harry just doesn't know you."

you couldn't help it, it just came. you were overwhelmed with emotions and frustration you stop momentarily, spun to face him and shout, "that's the whole problem. he doesn't know me! leave me alone weasley, i never want to speak to you again." you walked off quickly, deciding you're done. it's over and you just want to sleep for the rest of the day.

george wasn't too fond of this idea and he catches up with you again. honestly he was slightly taken aback by your outburst, one second he saw you desperately try to stop malfoy from saying anything else due to not wanting to get into trouble and the next second harry made you run off while trying not to cry. he wished that you never saw the fight between them all, he hoped you didn't think ill of him. "please don't go, let's just go wait for fred somewhere, he's probably still fighting with malfoy."

"didn't you hear me weasley, i'm done. i'm not going to be your stupid secret. i don't want to be your bloody friend only when it suits you."

george never meant for you to think that you're a secret and he knew fred felt the same. "i'll fix this." you didn't answer but all you could think was 'no, not this time.'

you did however successfully help deescalate the argument. gryffindor's confusement with how the twins stood up for you left malfoy to throw a couple of snide comments without any reply from them, leading enough time for pansy to notice mcgonagall on her way over and warn all her house that they should leave, including a very worked up malfoy.

"what the bloody hell was that all about?" ron questions fred, everyone else turning to face him thinking exactly the same thing.

"well obviously malfoy was being a git like always."

"you know bloody well that's not what i mean."

"is she who you go see when you 'go to the library'?" ginny asks. "i mean seriously, it's not like i believe you both have suddenly started studying multiple times a week."

fred knew ginny's caught him out but he doesn't know what to say. how would they all react to finding out about you and what if you don't even want anyone in slytherin to figure out your friends with two gryffindors.

"we're friends." fred hears as he turns round to see george had come back. he didn't want for you to feel like a secret anymore. he wonders where you are and questions him. "she said she's going... actually i don't know where."

"is she okay?"

george pauses for a second, "we'll figure something out."

ginny was the only one who didn't have something to say about what they'd all just found out. she had a suspicion something was up, she just didn't know what, she really did not think that it would be something to do with a slytherin though. but everyone else definitely was not taking the news too well. not just a slytherin but someone opening being friendly with malfoy, at least in their eyes that's what it looked like.

every time you saw the twins after that you walked away, doing everything in your power to stay away from them. that did not work for long, as two days after the incident you had charms first period with george. mentally preparing yourself to see him and ignore him no matter what he said or how funny he is, you get out of bed, get ready and leave the common room.

as you left you get the fright of your life. "oh merlin, george! what are you doing lurking about?" your heart racing out due to the jump and still trying to be angry and scold him even though you missed him and fred incredibly so. you see him smirk as he tries not to laugh and you want so bad to wipe that smirk of his stupid face.

"i've come to carry your bag, you always complain that you have to carry to many books on tuesday so i've come to save you, i'm your knight in shining armour! we've got charms." before you can even retort and tell him to go away he's taken your bag and is walking off.

"hey give me my bag back!" he doesn't try to keep in his laugh this time as he then assures you that you'll have it in charms. "i need that bag now weasley, if you remember before class there's normally a little thing called breakfast."

"i did actually forget about that. let's go have some breakfast then." he carried on walking and didn't give you your bag back. you're walking in the halls together and you don't know how to react. not only are you angry at him but now you're confused because what the hell does he think he's doing and why did he suddenly care about you enough to be seen with you.

"stop thinking so much. you know me and fred really care about you and we'll make it up to you. we never wanted you to feel the way you have been feeling. godric i'll even drop a bag of dungbombs in mcgonagall's classroom because i know how much you secretly don't like her. even if you pretend you do, i see your face scrunch up in annoyance all the time when she talks."

you unsuccessfully tried to hide your smile, as you mumble about how you want your bag back and how you wasn't even thinking about that. george relaxes more as he see's you smile, there was always that insecurity that you'd never talk to him again after the quidditch match although fred was so sure you would and told him so and he's so fred was right glad.

right now though at this party fred's on his own this time with getting home. you're pretty sure he was talking to seamus finnigan and neville longbottom last time you saw him anyway so it's unlikely you'll see him again tonight if he's with all gryffindor alumni.

you've found it best to stay away from that lot anyway, as you've only properly met the twins family and harry, and you know they're probably very welcoming people now that they know who you are and the twins want you to properly meet them but you had a hard enough time meeting hermione granger for the first time, you don't want the hassle of going through that all again and even after all these years you know that she still doesn't like you, no matter how close you both are to the weasley family. you remember bursting out crying the first time they invited you to spend the holidays with them at the burrow when they found out you'd be staying at hogwarts that year for christmas.

now george has come to find you he hasn't left your side, not even by an inch, so close together you can feel each others body heat, squished on a small sofa together with your thighs touching. he tries to hold out to you and you're unsure about what he wants to do but lean into his touch anyway. "don't get your drink on my dress or i'll kill you weasley."

he grins and pulls you closer, you're now tucked under his chin, being able to feel his heartbeat. you're already hot from the summer heat and the dancing, but you welcome being so close to him, quickly getting used to the position.

'fred's normally the one who's touchier.' you didn't realise you said that out loud until george pulls you tighter to him, humming back to you.

you both sit together for a minute or two, listening to the party-goers and the music in the background. you could sit there all day with george, doing nothing in particular, just being next to him. just like at hogwarts when it was only you and him, fred's off somewhere else and you'd both sit under one of the oak trees in the shade away from everyone else and play with his hair absentmindedly, reading to him as he closes his eyes and listens. but as you go to sip your drink you hear george say, "i don't like how you and fred always touch each other." you stop moving and draw your hand back down without drinking. he really must have no filter when he's had too much to drink.

"what on earth are you talking about george? you make it sound like we're bloody all over each other. you know we don't have any kind of feelings for each other. plus does it really matter to you?"

you look to him and see his eyebrows furrowed and lips in a tight line. "you are all over each other though." he looks you in the eye while whispering. "and pucey, what's his deal, you know he was a shit quidditch player right?"

you get up to leave, george may be pissed drunk but right now he's pissing you off. you decide you'll cool off and come find him later on to take you both home. that is unless you see him making out in the corner with alicia spinnet. last time he got in a mood like this with you it was at a party in your last year at hogwarts. for some reason george just had so much to drink and started questioning why you spent the night dancing with fred and even started talking about how you went to the yule ball with flint. aware that you were both drunk you didn't want to argue you left to find fred. later when you came to find george after missing him and wanting to forget about the outburst, you saw him snogging alicia spinnet, his hands on her waist and her hands in his hair. just seeing it made you feel sick and overcome with feelings you don't want to confront as you left the party without saying bye to anyone, nearly forgetting the password for the common room as you stumble inside, wanting to forget about the entire night.

this won't be like last time though as before you can successfully make your escape george holds onto your wrist and drags you back down onto the sofa, nearly landing on his lap. with his other hand he tilts your head towards him, so you're face to face and eye level. too flustered and surprised, you don't move. you're so close to each other that you can can smell the firewhisky he's been drinking and the sandalwood shampoo he uses and his cinnamon scented body wash and cologne. you're so close you can count his freckles and you're trying desperately not too think about this. george is your best friend, george weasley is not someone who should distract you from your surroundings because all you can focus on is him.

"the only person who you should be all over is me. not pucey, not fred, not that twat flint that took you to the yule ball, not that bloody ravenclaw who kept eyeing you up in our 5th year, it's me, not them." your eyes widen as george talks softly to you. you're gazing into each others eyes and you don't think you've ever seen george look so nervous in his life. you think his eyes are beautiful, you've always thought that. like he told you he thinks yours are tonight, like how he told you how beautiful in general you are tonight. but right now it's different, he's being vulnerable and trusting you by letting you look, by letting you softly study his features in more detail than you've ever been able to in the past, it's an open invitation into his heart and soul, trying to convey to you how much you mean to him. his chocolate brown eyes are glazed over and you're unsure if it's due to him drinking or if it's because he's telling you how he feels and he's getting emotional. you see crinkles under his eyes from his countless hours of laughing and smiling and pulling pranks. how he's slowing blinking as if his eyelids feel heavy. you wonder what he can see in your eyes and during this moment you can't even begin to recall what your own eye colour is. the warmth of his eyes making you forget your own, you believe they're probably glassy due to what george confessed.

you licked your lips, suddenly finding them incredibly dry, "why?"

george slightly moves his head back further away from you, "why, what?" george didn't know what you would say but he didn't expect it to be a one word question that he's too drunk to wrap his head around to understand. he genuinely did not know where this night was going to go at the beginning but one thing lead to another and in george's eyes you started getting to touchy with someone and then all these words kept tumbling out that he thought he'd never say out loud.

"why you?" you turn your head away slightly, twidling with your fingers.

"thought it was pretty obvious after all i said love." your stomach flips at the name, "i'm mad about you." he looks at you with bated breath, waiting for your response.

"tell me you mean it." george hears your voice shake and as he leans closer to you to try and get you to look at him again he see's tears running down your face, uncontrollably. he's taken aback by seeing you cry and hates that he's the one who caused it, he's unsure of what he should do after but right now he can't help but to draw you into his arms, holding you against his side, placing a kiss on your head and stroking your back. he hears you sniffle and strokes your cheek, wiping away all the tears. "please.. please georgie. tell me you mean it."

"i-i mean it. i've never meant anything more in my life-," george starts to say but you cut him off.

"are you sure? your friends don't like me and what if alicia spinnet comes up to you and kisses you again or asks you out on a date." you whisper, still holding on tight to him. you're insecurities flowing through you.

"well firstly, i have no idea what my mates have to do with how i feel about or why it matters. and secondly..." he trails off as he then realises exactly what you said. george lifts a hand to your face and gently places under your chin tenderly, lifting your face up and facing him. "wait, are you jealous of alicia spinnet?" he studies your face, red eyes still watery and seeing you heat up and pout. he knew he got his answer and became more confident and self-assured. grinning from ear to ear, he says, "i didn't even know you saw that love. we only kissed once." you furrow your eyebrow causing george to chuckle and gently smooth out the wrinkles with his fingertips before kissing your forehead. "you seem bitter, love?" he teases.

you knows he's riling you up for a reaction but that doesn't stop the reaction. now he knows you might share feelings for him nothing will stop him from pressing your buttons in hopes that you'll get fired up and shout at him because he finds that you're so cute whenever that happens and you might even shout out your feelings and tell him how you feel. he might be able to get you to tell him how you feel about him or if it's only you being possessive of your friend after you've had a few drinks but he really hopes that isn't the case.

"weasley if you keep teasing i'm going to be mad at you," you huff. george hasn't stopped grinning though and you want so desperately to wipe that grin off his face, to have the upperhand but you've lost all capability of telling him you feel the same, you have since your fourth year and even now you worry that you aren't good enough, but you remember to before how he was looking at you and what he said about you and how pleased he looks right now and all of that worry goes away for awhile.

you lunge closer to him and close the already small gap between you two and kiss him, momentarily stunning george by your bold attention before he's smirking and kisses you harder, moving his hands so one is tracing patterns on your waist and the other delicately holding your jaw and cheek.

after kissing for so long it feels like your lips might just fall off, you reluctantly break apart, not realises how much you currently needed air until you could get some. "so you like me too, ay?"

you refuse to answer out of being shy and kiss him again, mainly to get him to stop speaking but there is one thing about george and that's after all these years he knows you like the back of his hand, so he doesn't kiss you back to watch you get frustrated, and boy did it frustrate you. you scowl as you look at him, "why'd you do that?"

george tucks some of your hair behind your ear, causing you to shiver at the action and george to smirk at your reaction. he whispers in your ear, "tell me you like me too, love." you want so desperately to hold onto him but he's moving away from you before you even get the chance to. he's looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to crack.

you soon crack, just as george knew you would. "bloody hell, george i am in love with you, alright! so kiss me now!"

"you..you what?" if you were more sober you would have instantly regretted saying that, however as soon as the words came out of your mouth you forgot what you confessed to entirely.

you grab hold of his shirt and pull him closer towards you again. "please, georgie, 'need you." that snaps him out of his thinking as he starts kissing you again, this time less soft as before. he's almost hungry now as he's holding onto you tight, and has started moving down your neck, placing kisses in his wake. you softly moan at the sensation before you're rudely interrupted by whistling.

"oi, get a room you two. it's bad enough to have seen you make heart eyes at each other for the last six years." you've never wanted a strangle fred more and it looks like george is sharing a similar sentiment, as he glares at him across the room.

"lets get out of here sweetheart before i punch him in the face." you giggle and stand up.

"that's awfully violent of you george, i'm meant to be the one that gives threats." you've started to sober up a bit now but lean against him anyway, wanting an excuse to be close.

" 'fraid i've always seen through that. you're not very scary love, i mean you scream every time you see a spider. if i trapped you and dear little ronnikins in a room with a spider, just imagine the chaos." he chuckles as he looks at you fondly and holds your hand while pulling you tighter to him, he sees through your guise of needing help to stand and keep steady but that doesn't stop him from holding on to you, any reason or excuse to hold you and touch you he's going to take it, especially now you're both sobering up.

george steers you through all of the people as you're making your way to the door. "wait georgie, do you need to say bye to everyone?" you stop in your tracks and pull in your hand back a bit.

"nah, doesn't matter." you softly smile and hold tighter onto his hand. you hum and follow him out the door.

as soon as you're out the door you're hit with the winter cold. " 'm cold," you grumbled as george was already taking his jacket off.

"here, love," he replied as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders, giving you extra warmth. "if i knew it was going to be this cold i'd have brought a scarf." he wraps you up in his arms, slinging his arm around you and sharing body heat, making in difficult to move quickly but appreciating the warmth.

"don't know why we couldn't apparate out of there, bloody annoying if you ask me." you complain.

he laughs as you make a fuss. "there were muggles there."

"what the bloody hell were muggles doing there?"

"careful, love, you're starting to sound like malfoy," he responds playfully, causing you to lightly hit his shoulder and pout.

"you know what i mean. how does he know muggles?"

"dunno honestly, but on the brightside i get to walk home with a pretty girl." you pinch his arm softly to silently tell him to quit it, getting a laugh out of him.

"there's no 'brightside', it's night. plus i'm just pretty?" you feel the need to tease him like he's been teasing you as george always wins in this kind of thing, never failing to make you shy and flustered.

"oh no, not just pretty. the most beautiful person in the world." he tells you without missing a beat. in response you kiss george's cheek, pleased and feeling fuzzy at what he said and you both walk together in comfortable silence.

"so you're in love with me," he remarked. you can hear his grin. the cogs turn in your brain as you remember what you told him.

you keep your head forward even though you want to turn away, and silently thank how you're still slightly tipsy, giving you the courage you need to not deny your deeper feelings. "shut up weasley."

george spins you to face him, your skirt flowing with the movement, the skirt that you definitely should not have worn tonight no matter how long it is. pressing your foreheads together he whispers, "i love you too. now lets get home before i freeze my bloody bullocks off."

you burst out laugh and bury your face in his neck, this time making him shiver at the touching contact. you don't think you've ever felt happier than right now, as the man you love loves you too.

you carry on your walk and swing your hands intertwined with his. "does that make me your girlfriend georgie?"

"merlin! it better be, six years is a long enough wait."