kicking myself over not liking a george fic that I wanted to read, because now I can't find it 🥲. I think it was posted this year? it was written as a letter and was called something along the lines of "to my sweetheart" or something like that! please, if you guys know who this was, lmk so i can read it 💔
Morning light had begun to peak through the curtains of George's bedroom window. Just enough to shine a small beam of light across your peaceful bodies. George had woken up a good hour ago now. But he hadn't moved. He stayed still, breathing deeply against your hair, which was tucked up beneath his chin, while your face was nestled against his neck. His eyes remained closed. Occasionally whispering how lucky he is against your forehead, his thumb circling small patterns onto your back. It was only when the birds began their morning song that you blinked awake. It was just for a moment. Humming softly as if to unconsciously let him know of your state, pressing a lazy kiss to his collarbone before falling back to sleep. His breath stuttered for a moment, looking down at you with a tired, lopsided smile. You look so precious to him like this. Merlin. He swore he could stay like this forever. It's still early. He's sure the both of you could get away with staying like this, even for just a bit longer.
not sure why the 2 links in my pinned take you to a web browser now instead of keeping you on tumblr... it's changed since tumblr has updated.. does anyone know how to fix this? 🥲
not sure why the 2 links in my pinned take you to a web browser now instead of keeping you on tumblr... it's changed since tumblr has updated.. does anyone know how to fix this? 🥲
I will edit that halloween fic someday... I just find it hard to read my own work sometimes. that one specifically as I can see all of its flaws so easily (when will it end).. I hope y'all can forgive me for being over a year late with that.. 🥲
I've personally always believed that purple is Georges favourite colour, and orange is Freds favourite colour... but I've seen it be pretty 50/50 on which colour people think they prefer. What do you guys think?
Summary: Snow falls softly at Hogwarts, but George Weasley’s mischief sparks warmth in the library—and maybe, something more.
Word Count: 1247 words
Prompts: Library. Mutual pining. A hug that lingers.
A/N: A lovely sweet anon requested this one, so I hope you see it. I have missed writing my favourite Weasley.
The library was quiet, the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of a quill the only sounds breaking the stillness. Snow fell softly against the windows, casting shifting patterns of light on the stone walls. Christmas was just a week away, and most of the students had already left for the holidays, leaving the Hogwarts library eerily empty. You had told yourself you stayed back for the quiet. The peace. But the truth was, the silence felt heavier than you’d expected, wrapping around you like a too-tight scarf.
“You’re staring at that book like it insulted your gran,” a familiar voice broke your concentration, and your heart did a little flip. George Weasley slid into the chair across from you, his signature mischievous grin firmly in place.
“Maybe it did,” you quipped, snapping the book shut. “I’m not entirely convinced Potions theory isn’t some form of cruel punishment.”
George chuckled, leaning back in his chair, and you couldn’t help but admire the way the firelight turned his hair into copper and gold. He was always so at ease, like the world bent just slightly to accommodate him.
“What are you still doing here, anyway? I thought you’d have escaped this place by now.”
“I could ask you the same thing,” you countered, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugged, an easy motion that somehow felt practiced. “Fred and I thought we’d stick around. Fewer teachers means more room for…creative experimentation.”
“Ah, I see. And by ‘creative experimentation,’ you mean causing as much chaos as possible?”
“Precisely.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and for a moment, his grin softened into something thoughtful. “But what about you? Why spend your holidays buried in books when you could be…I don’t know, having fun?”
You hesitated, twirling your quill between your fingers. The truth was, you’d stayed back partly because you enjoyed the quiet, but mostly because of him. George. His laugh, his jokes, the way he made everything seem brighter. Not that you’d ever admit it.
“Maybe I like the quiet,” you said finally, glancing away to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. “It’s…peaceful.”
“Fair enough,” he said, though there was a glint of something knowing in his eyes. “But don’t you ever get lonely?”
“Not when I have people like you interrupting me,” you teased, grateful for the shift in tone.
He laughed, the sound warm and rich, shattering the stillness of the library. For a moment, the cold stone walls seemed to fall away, and all that was left was him.
Over the next few days, George seemed to pop up wherever you went. In the Great Hall during meals, he’d slide into the seat beside you with a cheeky comment about your “intense focus” on your soup. In the common room, he’d swipe your parchment to doodle absurd caricatures of Snape, complete with a crooked nose and bat wings. And in the library, he’d appear from behind the stacks, always with a joke or a story that left you laughing despite yourself.
“You know,” he said one evening, as you both sat in the library again, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”
“Avoiding you?” you repeated, feigning innocence as you turned a page in your book. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, leaning back in his chair and tapping a finger to his chin, the picture of mock seriousness. “Maybe because you’re worried you’ll fall madly in love with me.”
You rolled your eyes, though your heart raced. “Please. I think I’ll manage.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a wink. But his grin faltered—just for a second, the smallest crack in his usual bravado. His eyes lingered on you, softening in a way that made your stomach twist, before he quickly glanced away.
It wasn’t until the evening before Christmas Eve that things came to a head. You were alone in the library, the faint strains of carols drifting from the enchanted suits of armor in the corridors. The fireplace crackled softly, casting long shadows across the rows of books, and snow tapped gently against the frosted windows. The quiet was almost soothing, and you’d been lost in thought when you heard footsteps behind you.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually studying so close to Christmas,” George’s voice rang out, tinged with mock horror.
You turned, startled, to find him standing there, a box wrapped in red and gold paper in his hands. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and there was a certain nervousness in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“What’s that?” you asked, eyeing the package.
“A present,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “For you.”
“For me?” You blinked, surprised. “Why?”
“Why not?” he said with a shrug, though his grin was unusually subdued. He stepped closer and set the box carefully on the table. “Go on, open it.”
Your fingers brushed the crisp paper as you peeled it back, the firelight reflecting off the gold paper. Inside was a small, intricately carved wooden box. You lifted the lid to reveal a quill, its handle engraved with your initials and the crest of your house. The silver feathers shimmered faintly, catching the glow of the fire.
“George…” you began, your voice catching. You ran your fingers over the smooth handle, marveling at the detail. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”
“I thought you could use something special for all those notes you’re always scribbling,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your gaze. “Figured it might make studying a bit less miserable.”
“It’s perfect,” you said, looking up at him, your chest tightening. “Really. Thank you.”
He grinned, but this time there was a softness to it, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.
“You know,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter, “I wasn’t entirely honest earlier.”
“About what?” you asked, though your pulse quickened.
“Why I stayed for the holidays,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. His hand drifted to the edge of the table, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the wood.
Your breath caught. “Why did you?”
He looked up then, his brown eyes meeting yours with an openness that made your stomach flip. “Because I… I didn’t want to spend so much time away from you.”
The words hung in the air between you, soft and tentative, like snowflakes that might melt if you moved too suddenly. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, before you could think twice, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. He froze for a heartbeat, then pulled you close, his hold firm and warm and lingering just a little too long to be purely friendly.
“You’re an idiot,” you murmured against his shoulder, though your tone was affectionate. “But thank you.”
His breath was warm against your hair. “For what?”
“For staying,” you said softly, tightening your hold for just a moment longer.
When you finally pulled back, his hands lingered on your arms, his touch warm despite the chill in the air.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, his gaze locked on yours.
“Merry Christmas, George,” you replied, a smile tugging at your lips.
And as the snow continued to fall outside, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something wonderful.
Autumn was arguably the best season to experience at Hogwarts, alongside winter. The fallen auburn leaves which would crunch with each step, the festivities, the food- Merlin the food. Nothing spoke 'Halloween' quite like the grand feasts perfectly laid out before you; with rich roasts and decadent deserts stretching far across each table. And not to mention the decorations! Each pumpkin carved with careful precision, paper cutouts jumping out when least expected, and even the shadows seemed to partake in purposefully scaring your peers. It was a sight to behold. You felt bad for muggles when you thought about it; how, besides the literal, they'd never be so lucky as to live in such a magical place. Even some other magical folk would never be so fortunate. But you are. And you're determined to enjoy your last few years at Hogwarts while you can.
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