#weasley x reader

[comfortcharacterwrites]

Fake-Date Me - G.W.

sum - When George Weasley asked you to fake-date him to get the girl he likes jealous, you find yourself slowly falling in love as he sets his eyes on someone that isn't you.

word count - 4.2k

content - light cursing, fake-dating, angst, fluff, (sorta) bookstore trope, best friends to lovers, she fell first, he fell harder

note - ugh this fic was so fun to write, and I felt myself falling in love with this man all over again. To all the george girlies out there, I hope you like this! - ccw

masterlist

"Oi, (Name)!"

Your head snapped up, your neck muscles complaining as you swivelled it, and spotted George, grinning mischievously by the doorway.

"Whatever it is that you're planning, it's a no," you sigh, looking back down at your Charms essay.

"Just hear me out," George wheedled, draping his long arms over your shoulders and looking at you upside-down, his face inches from yours. Your breath unwillingly hitched, and your face warmed as you rolled your eyes and playfully blew at his.

George made a whining sound. "Hey! Those are my eyes," and you responded in turn by blowing them again. The Weasley sighed, getting out of your face and sitting across from you. If there was any indication that he noticed your flushing cheeks, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he looked at you seriously, his hands clasped.

"Look, there's a girl I like," George admits, his shoulders dropping. Your eyes widen. You did not expect this. "She's... I don't know, she doesn't really notice me, if I'm being honest and I don't know how to get her to."

You blinked. "Who wouldn't notice you? You and Fred have gotta be the loudest, most obnoxious-"

"Okay shut up," George deadpans, and you smirk as he rubs his neck nervously. "Look, I'll just go straight to the point. I need to make her jealous."

"Okay, and?"

"And I need your help." George gives a miniscule shrug, looking sheepish yet cheeky at the same time. How he does it, you have no idea. "Fake-date me."

"Wait," you paused, your hand in the air, homework forgotten as you frowned. "You want me to help you by fake-dating you?"

"Uhm... yes?" George said, watching as your eyes bulged slightly for a moment. And then you burst out laughing. "What?" he asked, looking at you weird as you cackled.

You paused, wiping a tear from your eye. "Wait- you're serious?"

"Yeah..."

"Georgie, it's never going to work."

George squinted, tilting his fingers to form a frame around your head. "By my calculations... I think it could." he smiled brightly. "C'mon, (name), we'll never know until we try. What is there to lose?"

"My dignity, for one." You throw back. "Plus, there's nothing in it for me."

"I'll buy you that book you've been eyeing."

You paused at that, mulling it over for a moment as you stared at George, who grinned at you like he already knew you'd agree.

"Oh, fine, you git. It's a deal."

You shook on it.

—

The next morning, you were surprised to see George standing by the staircase. You lazily combed through your hair, barely containing a yawn. "Oh, hello."

"G'morning. Did you sleep well, darling?" George greeted smoothly, a charming smile on his freckly face. You froze.

Oh right.

You quickly composed yourself, smiling back at him. "It was nice. Missed you in my bed, though."

This time, it was George's eyes who widened, and you smiled cheekily up at him. He'd almost forgotten why you've been his greatest rival — and best friend — for almost 4 years now. And he couldn't just let you have the upper hand, could he?

"Well," he drawled, slipping his hand on your waist as you walked towards the door. "I'll be sure to warm that side of the bed soon enough." He grinned smugly at the flush that adorned your face and the people gawking as the two of you neared the door.

"By the way," you hummed, tiptoeing to whisper in his ear with a sly smile. "You still haven't told me who the girl is."

George's ears turned a dark shade of red, and he nudged you. "I'll tell you later. She's here." he muttered. He briefly glanced at his right.

Oh, Katie! Your eyes lit up in understanding, and a wide smile spread on your face as you tightened your grip on George's arm. "Then by all means, darling, let's go have breakfast."

And the two of you left the room.

"What the fuck just happened?" Ron spluttered.

—

Fake-dating George was a cinch. You two were already very close before you decided to do this anyway, so all you had to do was sprinkle in some sweet words, throw back sugary, teasing compliments when George flirted with you, and occasionally lean yourself against him, topped with either a sly smile or a light laugh. It was also so easy, in fact, that you could've gone like this for ages.

Well until he tried to kiss you, that is.

"Uhm, George, what are you doing?" you'd whispered that night, leaning back as your best friend slowly leaned into you. You took a step back, flustered.

"I'm trying to kiss you," he hissed, opening one eye, and continued with his approach. You cringed, stepping back a little, and did the worst possible thing you could do.

You bolted.

And now, as you stared up onto the ceiling, the lights turned off and your roommates snoring, you turned around, buried your face into your pillow, and quietly screamed.

Why? Why did I run? You despaired, closing your eyes tightly in embarrassment. You could still remember George's stunned face right before you closed the door, Katie's curious face by the back of the room.

Tomorrow's going to suck.

—

Breakfast was strange.

You sat down that morning, staring at the piece of toast in your hand as your friends chattered away beside you. You couldn't stop your thoughts from racing, George Weasley being the center of that mental cyclone. No understanding came to you whatsoever, as you took a tentative bite out of the bread, about why in the world George would try to kiss you when you haven't even talked about that certain part of the plan yet, and worse — why you ran.

But, you supposed as you nibbled on the edge, maybe some part of you was scared that it'd become more real, silly as it sounded. After all, George had eyes for Katie, and you had eyes on that book in Flourish and Blotts.

You were so deep in thought that you hadn't even realized George taking a seat by your side. You froze, unsure of what to do or say. Luckily, he took the lead.

"Sleep well?" he said, as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened the other night.

You swallowed, deciding that playing along was best. All you had to do was wait for Katie to notice him, and you could both go back to your normal selves. "Could do with a little bit less of the cold, but yes."

George hummed, stealing the last bit of toast from you with a playful grin. You shot him a half-hearted glare. "Wanna claim my offer? I could keep you warm, you know."

And strangely, uninvited, your breath caught in your throat. "Soon, Weasley," you replied breezily, but you weren't exactly sure if he had caught the way you blinked for a stunned moment and replied half a beat later.

If there was any indication that he did, he didn't show it, merely throwing you a grin and continuing on with eating his breakfast. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

What in the world is happening to me?

—

You started to notice more things about George. Small things that you never really saw, even if he always seems like an open book. For one, he likes the strawberry jam on his toast instead of the blueberry. He dots his parchments with black ink whenever he's distracted during class. His right dimple always lights up before his left. He loves to play with whatever is in his hands, whether it was a pen, a quill, a new product of theirs, your fingers. When you slip your hand into his, your fingers twining together, he'd pull on them, massaging the knuckles with confident pulls and gentle pushes.

Today was a sunny day. You and the rest of the school were sitting on the Quidditch stands, spectating the Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff match, which was currently at 140-130. You bundled up further; it was really quite cold as Christmas was approaching slowly.

Beside you sat George, who begged you to stay with him instead of your friends, and you begrudgingly agreed, rolling your eyes and telling yourself that it was all for the act, because it is. You shivered, your breath coming out in a small puff of air, and you briefly wondered if there was a chance snow would start to fall today.

Then, without a word, George shrugged off his coat, leaving him in only a light sweater, and gently draped it on you.

You flushed as he shot you a smile, turning back to the game without so much of a word. Dazed, you did the same, trying not to think too much about your heart beating faster, and how the coat smelled slightly of him.

You failed, however, to catch the small, soft smile creeping onto George's face as you burrowed almost instinctively into the leather of his coat.

—

Things began to change, and you noticed this. Less and less would George glance at Katie whenever she entered a room, instead continuing on with whatever conversation the two of you were having with each other. That charming smile on his face would appear more often as you joined him to walk to class, his hand automatically clasping yours as you strode along the hallway.

Your fingers just felt so- so natural whenever they lock with his, and you loved the way his thumb rubbed over your knuckles — a habit of his, you assumed.

And then one day, you realized something had changed.

Mornings, all you thought about was George. What you would do today, what he would say to make you 'blush', what you'd retort back that would make that beautiful smile of his adorn him. How he'd run the pad of his thumb gently across your knuckles, absentmindedly tracing comforting circles on your palm whenever you sighed on a particularly hard assignment. You sucked in a breath, almost giddy from excitement, and for some reason, you found yourself paying more attention to the outfit you were going to wear that day

And then you rushed down the stairs, a silly smile trying to break through your quivering lips. You burst out of the common room, ran up to George with a huge grin, and threw yourself at him in a hug.

A small, surprised puff of air escaped him as your bodies collided on impact. But you didn't really care. Well, that is until you realized just what exactly you were doing and froze.

You scrambled off him, beet red in embarrassment, and cleared your throat. "Georgie."

George smiled down at you, his eyes twinkling. "Sweetheart." he greeted back teasingly, watching as you flushed a deeper red.

"Oh, shut it, you." you smacked his chest lightly, already reaching for his hand. Ah, well, what an embarrassing blunder but you supposed that your plan would be just to play it off for the rest of the day. Simple, right?

—

The plan went to trash.

And now you were here, sitting beside George, feeling sick to your stomach as a girl strut over to him with a smirk, and threw him a sultry smile. "Hey, George," she greeted, her voice sweet and smooth.

She continued to flirt as your hand loosened from George's grip. She continued as your breath stuttered slightly. She continued as your jaw clenched mid-chew. And she continued as your shoulders slumped, as you slowly stood up, excused yourself, and left for your room.

The girl, oblivious, continued to flirt as George shot your retreating figure a dismayed frown.

—

Lying down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, you decided something.

"I'm ending it," you whispered.

As painful, as strange as it sounded when it was never even real, tears pricked the edges of your eyes. You were falling rapidly in love with George Weasley, and he was slowly breaking your heart in the process, you knew it. You weren't stupid.

And frankly, you didn't want that, at all. So you'd just avoid it. Perfectly simple. All you have to do is say a few parting words, shoot him a pained smile and a final hug, and distance yourself as he pursues Katie who'd been recently throwing him not-so-subtle glances anyway.

Yet, thinking of it brought a dull ache to your heart. You swallowed hard, hugging your pillow to your chest, and sighing through your nose. Oh, how you were going to miss him! Miss his charming smiles, his mischievous smirks, his hand massages. How his eyes light up seconds before he'd burst out laughing. How his dimple would slightly peek out when he found something amusing. How he'd grin at you, laying a gentle, respectful arm around your shoulder as you walked through the hallways, uttering, "Mclaggen looking particularly like an ogre today." Your laughter bubbling out of you as he shot you a secret glance, all melty eyes and soft smiles.

But you could do it, couldn't you? You had to. For both of your sakes.

—

"Hey, George?"

He hummed, "Yes, love?"

Your heart skipped a beat at that nickname, and you looked away, clearing your throat. You wanted desperately to play along, but your mind could not agree with your heart. Taking a deep breath, you opened your mouth.

"I think we should end this."

George froze in his steps. His eyebrows furrowed as he slowly turned to you, confusion evident in his eyes. "What?" he breathed, as if scared that talking any louder would further scare you away.

You gulped, looking anywhere but him. "I don't know, George. Don't you think that this has gone long enough? I mean, Katie's obviously interested in you now, and that was the whole reason for the plan, wasn't it? You got what you wanted, so I don't see the point in continuing this further." your hands squeezed your robes, nervous, and you silently begged Merlin to take it easy on you.

And then George looked at you. Really looked. He pursed his lips, wetting them lightly with the tip of his tongue. A small furrow appeared between his eyebrows, and he opened his mouth, only to close it again. Disappointment washed over his face, if only for a moment, and you were hesitant to believe that you weren't just imagining it.

A quiet, "okay," was all he said. "okay," and then he was off on his way to class with a smile at you, seemingly normal.

And then that was it. No more 'you and George'. Now it was just George, and just you.

Sadness spread across your chest, your lips turning down at the corners as you continued to walk to class.

I guess that's it, then.

—

One week later, you heard a tapping on your window.

"Pigwidgeon?" You whispered, incredulous. You recognized the small, brown, tawny owl as the twins used to send him countless times to send you letters during summer, and also because of the prominent spot right next to his eye, which you'd always found uniquely pretty. Pigwidgeon cooed at you as you gently stroked her head, taking the letter from her beak and opening it.

Dear (name),

Don't think I've forgotten to give you that book. I still owe you, love.

Meet me in Flourish and Blotts at 5 noon. I've got the fat, gold galleons here for my one and only best mate and her big, bookish dreams.

George

Uninvited, a smile crept on your face. You sighed, your gaze staying on the word 'love' longer than necessary. It was so much like George to send you a letter when he could just talk to you, really, that you played along and hastily wrote one back.

Dear George,

Thank you, you redheaded dimwit. I'll be expecting those round, golden coins. See you later.

(Name)

—

George was already at Flourish and Blotts when you got there. At first, he didn't see you, occupied with peering at a book in his hands. For a moment, you allowed yourself to stare at him, to imagine that this man — with those soft, honey eyes, the smile that wasn't quite a smile, the freckles that gently dotted his charming features — was yours.

You shook your head lightly, stamping down the light, fluttery feeling in your heart, and entered the shop. "Hey," you greeted softly as the wind chimes tinkled.

George startled turning to look at you. Up close, he was even more beautiful than you could ever imagine. "Hi," he breathes, a smile spreading on his lips.

You twiddled your fingers behind your back, awkwardly grinning. "So, um, letter-writing, huh?"

George rubbed his neck, chuckling. "Dunno. Remembered once you said you liked it when people send letters. Claimed it was more romantic."

You blinked, the fluttery feeling growing. "Didn't realize you were paying attention," you uttered quietly. In response, George gave a tiny shrug, that shy smile still on his face.

You reached out to touch the books in the shelf, smiling gently at the feeling of the rounded and solid spines. Taking a deep breath, you sighed, closing your eyes. "I love the smell of books." You continued to walk further down the aisle, gazing at the art and the crisp pages, humming every so often when you read the back cover's summary of a few books.

What you didn't realize, however, is while you admired the books, George was admiring you.

A few moments later, you gasped. "Found it!" You pulled out a thick book, lightly running your fingers over the cover in awe as you whispered, "Oh, I'm actually holding it, aren't I?" in disbelief.

"Yeah," George chuckled softly. "You are."

"I've been wanting to read this forever," you squealed quietly, hugging the book to your chest as you spun in a small circle. George almost died right there and then, forcing himself to keep up his composure. He cleared his throat, suppressing a huge grin, and took the book from you. The two of you walked towards the bookseller, George's heart racing, and you light on your steps.

"Thanks, George," you quietly mumbled, as the two of you walked back to Hogwarts after paying. He shrugged again, giving a small hum of acknowledgement.

"We had a deal," he says, shooting you a glance and looking quickly away.

You let yourself soak in the moment for a minute. Snow fell around the two of you, adorning George's hair with little specks of white, and faintly, you could hear cheerful carols playing in the distance. Laughter from students, children, and families alike echoed around Diagon Alley, and Christmas ornaments twinkled brightly at every corner, winking at the passersby. A thought briefly flitted through your mind.

Perhaps, in another life, this could've been a date.

—

After the bookshop, things only got harder.

You had a hard time looking at George in the eyes now, and even as his best friend, your relationship just wasn't the same anymore. Jokes sounded forced to your ears now and smiles awkward. When once you'd be content with staying with George for hours on end, doing nothing but staying in each other's company, now you could barely stay five minutes alone with him for fear of doing something stupid, or bursting into tears.

And it hurt. It hurt not to be with him. It hurt to see him talk with Katie with that smile of his. It hurt to think of the times when he called you 'love'. It hurt because he agreed to end it so quickly that you knew it really meant nothing to him in the end.

You felt so silly, too. Crying over a guy at night, who probably didn't even think about you as much as you did him, who was probably daydreaming about her now while silent tears and muffled sniffles were covered by your pillow.

You didn't know that, at this very moment, George's fingers were twitching, crossing and uncrossing over and over again in hope, as his mind filled with nothing but your radiant smile.

He missed those smiles; he missed the times when they were aimed towards him. Katie had nothing on him now, honestly, and he wasn't sure when exactly he realized — probably midway through the whole 'plan' — that all along, it was never the chaser but you.

He smiled sadly to himself, lovesick and lovestruck, as he remembered how your lips felt on his cheek, and decided subconsciously to himself that he would continue to wait for you no matter how long it would take.

—

End-of-year exams occupied you lots before you were able to start on the book. The moment you finished the last test — history of magic, which you knew you probably passed — you collapsed on your bed, reached across your bedside table, and opened the book.

“Candice was never one who believed in romance... until she met a man who changed her life, who saw her like she hung the moon and the stars for him. And if only Candice had told him earlier that she wanted to give it a chance, he wouldn't have given up and found another woman.”

Closing the book gently, four hours later, you wiped your tears.

Ridiculous. It was ridiculous that you were crying this much over a book, and yet. Something struck true in the story, a bell chiming lightly in your head like when you'd opened the door to Flourish and Blotts. You bit your lip, sniffling softly. Nothing ever rang truer than the thought that currently reigned over your head.

Candice was you. The man was George. And if you didn't do or say anything, try and give it a chance, you would lose him and inevitably end up in the tragic lovers' story.

Heart pounding in your ears, you stood up. As if in a trance, you burst out of your room, running down the staircase leading from the girls' dorms, your hair flying, and rushing to the one place you knew George would be.

Breathless, you slammed the door open to the Astronomy Tower.

And there he was. Standing by the edge, watching the view of the courtyard quietly while snow fell overhead in a brilliant shower of fluffy white.

"George," you whispered.

He turned to you, shock and confusion painting his features. "(Name)? You okay?"

"Yes!" you breathlessly said, walking wobbly over to where he was standing. He looked down at you, amusement and fondness twinkling in his eyes, and at that very moment you wanted very much to leap up and kiss him senseless.

"George," you repeated.

"Yes, love?" he said, the shy smile and his right dimple back on his face.

You crossed your fingers behind your back, George doing the same unbeknownst to you. You took a deep breath. This is it.

"I just wanted to say that uhm... I'm kinda in love with you. And that maybe I wanna give this a chance, if you'd give me a chance, if- if it's not too late. I hope it's not too late. Is it? You don't have to answer that. Just wanted to let you know. Uhm, that's all, goodbye!"

You turned on your heel, your heart beating out of your chest. But before you could run off from sheer embarrassment — why did you have to ramble like that? — George gently held your arm and pulled you to his chest. Your breath caught in your throat.

He hummed, smiling down at you. "‘That's all’, huh?" he teased, his breath tickling your face, his lips just inches away from you.

"Well, I kinda also really, really wanna kiss you. But yeah that's it." You whispered, looking up at him. Your heart fluttered as his smile slowly widened.

"It's not too late," he whispered, and then his mouth was on yours. Embarrassingly, you let out a small squeak the moment they touched. Yet, it only took you a beat before you leaned into the kiss, your fingers curling on his coat and pulling him closer as his hands settled gently on your waist. It was soft and gentle and wonderful, and it felt like everything. Cheesy as it was, you did feel the fireworks shivering up your spine.

You never wanted it to end, but he pulled away first, to your disappointment.

"Merlin," you whispered, looking up at George, whose eyes were all melty again as he looked at you.

"Yeah, Merlin," he chuckled, and you eagerly leaned in to steal another small kiss.

"How long?" you whispered once you pulled away. "I thought, Katie..."

George shrugged, smiling bashfully, beautifully. "I guess, somewhere midway I decided that I've been chasing the wrong girl. And then I just waited, and it all paid off in the end."

You smiled softly and he lightly pecked your nose, grinning. "I'm kinda, really in love with you, too," he admits in a whisper.

Eyes closed, you smiled, your forehead resting against his. Thank you, Candice.

Maybe fake-dating George wasn't such a mistake after all.

[raidenssblog]

hallways

Pairing - George Weasley x reader You and George walk the halls of Hogwarts just talking quietly before George asks you to visit the burrow for Christmas.

The late afternoon air around Hogwarts was crisp, the kind that carried the scent of damp grass and distant wood smoke. The grounds were quiet now that most students were inside finishing homework or crowding the common rooms.

You and George walked side by side along the worn path that circled the edge of the Black Lake, your footsteps crunching softly over scattered gravel.

George had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his robes, shoulders slightly hunched against the chill, though every so often he bumped into you deliberately with his elbow.

“Careful,” you said with a small laugh. “You’re going to push me straight into the lake.” “That would be tragic,” he replied immediately. “Think of all the homework you’d miss.”

“You’d miss me.” George tilted his head dramatically, pretending to consider it. “Hmm… possibly.” You nudged him back, and he grinned, wide, crooked, the kind of smile that always meant he was enjoying himself far too much.

Walking with him had become strangely natural over the past few months. What had started as occasional conversations after class had slowly turned into this: quiet walks around the castle grounds, talking about anything and everything. Sometimes jokes, sometimes nonsense, sometimes things that were surprisingly real.

Tonight it was a bit of both.

“So,” George said after a moment, kicking a small stone off the path, “Fred and I tried a new experiment earlier.”

“That sentence already sounds dangerous.”

“It was only slightly dangerous.”

you rolled your eyes with a smile “That’s not reassuring.”

“Well the Canary Cream prototype may have… exploded.”

You stopped walking. “Exploded?”

“Small explosion,” he clarified quickly, holding his fingers a tiny distance apart. “Very small.”

“And?”

“And now Lee Jordan is still yellow.” You burst out laughing, and George looked extremely pleased with himself. “That’s horrible.”

“He volunteered!” George protested. “Well...he didn’t exactly volunteer, but he didn’t say no fast enough.”

The two of you continued walking, the castle towering behind you now, its windows glowing warm against the fading sky, for a moment, the conversation drifted into a comfortable silence.

George glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

There was something on his mind. You could tell. Normally he would have filled the silence with another joke by now, instead, he rubbed the back of his neck. “So… Christmas holidays are coming up.”

You nodded. “Finally. I think if Professor Snape gives us one more essay I might actually die.”

“That would ruin my holiday plans.” You raised an eyebrow. “Your holiday plans?” George slowed his pace slightly. “Yeah… about that.”

He kicked another stone off the path, clearly trying to look casual and failing miserably. “My mum, well, she likes when we bring friends home for Christmas.”

“Friends?” you repeated, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. He glanced at you, suddenly looking a bit nervous. “Right. Friends. Obviously.” You could see the faint pink creeping into his cheeks from the cold, or maybe not the cold.

George stopped walking entirely and turned to face you.

“Listen,” he said quickly, words rushing out now. “The Burrow’s a bit chaotic. Loud. Mum cooks enough food to feed an army and Fred will probably try to prank you within five minutes of arriving.”

“That sounds exactly like Hogwarts.”

“Fair point.” He hesitated again. “But… I thought it might be nice if you came.” Your heart skipped slightly.

George tried to shrug like it wasn’t a big deal, though his ears were now definitely red. “I mean—you don’t have to. Obviously. Just thought you might like it. And Mum’s been asking about you ever since I mentioned you helped us test that new Skiving Snackbox prototype.”

“You told your mum about me?” you asked. “Accidentally,” he said quickly. “Fred told her first actually. Traitor.” You laughed softly. The wind stirred the lake beside you, rippling the dark water.

George shifted on his feet. “So… what do you think?” he asked. “Want to spend Christmas with my family?” There was something hopeful in the way he looked at you—like he was trying very hard not to seem like he cared too much about your answer.

You stepped a little closer to him. “George.”

“Yeah?”

“I’d love to.” For a second he blinked in surprise. Then that brilliant grin spread across his face again. “Brilliant,” he said. “Absolutely brilliant.”

He started walking again, a noticeable bounce in his step now. “Just warning you though,” he added. “Once Mum meets you, you’re stuck with us forever.”

You bumped his shoulder again.

“I think I can survive that.” George glanced at you, smiling a little softer this time.

“Good,” he said quietly, and the two of you continued walking around the grounds, the castle lights glowing behind you as the sky slowly faded into night.

[chubbyreaderwriter]

fred weasley x reader? maybe a soulmates au, but you don't think he wants to be your soulmate at first because of your body? you could take this in whatever direction but i thought itd be fun

who doesn't love a good soulmate au. I think I stayed close to the ask but I know I have a tendency to side track

Jester's Hat

Fred Weasley x Chubby/Plus Size Reader

Imagine: On your 18th birthday, you recognise your soulmate mark as your best friend's but you're certain he doesn't think about you like that. So you hide it, but turns out you're pretty forgetful when it comes to keeping your charms topped up.

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: none

Masterlist

Every witch and wizard got their soulmate mark when they turned 18. It would appear on the inside of their wrist. To a muggle it might look like a faded tattoo or a very specifically shaped birthmark but to everyone in the wizarding world, it was very important. 18th birthdays were a huge deal here because of it, everyone hoping they’d wake up and recognise it instantly or committing it to memory in the hopes they’d find their soulmate on the street the next morning like a muggle rom-com movie.

You loved and hated the idea of soulmates equally. On one hand, the idea of someone who was perfect for you in every way and would love you no matter what? Yeah who wouldn’t want that? But on the other hand, there was a very real possibility that you might never find your soulmate, the world was a very big place and you couldn’t walk around checking people’s wrists until you found them. You tried to shake those thoughts and think of the positives.

You could picture it now, waking up cuddled in bed as the sun trickled in through the curtains, sharing soft kisses in the morning as your hand stroked through their ginger hair- wait hold on. Your eyes widened and you shook your head to focus on your homework in front of you instead, trying your hardest not to blush to gain attention of your fellow Gryffindors around you in the common room. You truly weren’t trying to picture anyone specific but your mind had input your best friend into your fantasy. You had fooled yourself into thinking you were over your silly little crush on the Weasley twin, but you were brought right back to reality.

Unfortunately, your amazing tactic of looking down at your parchment wasn’t good enough to escape the attention of your best friends, who had spied you as soon as they walked into the common room. Fred and George grinned at each other, seeing you in such a daze, they had to mess with you a little. They crept up beside you, heads popping out from either shoulder. You screamed and jumped so high they couldn’t help but laugh at you. George giggled as he watched you place your hand over your chest. “What the hell is wrong with you two!” Fred grinned, “Sorry love, we just couldn’t help ourselves,”

“Yeah (Y/N), you just looked so out of it, what were you thinking of anyways?” You glanced at George as he spoke, trying, and failing, not to blush at the recollection of your little fantasy. The twins shared a look and their grins widened at your red cheeks, “Oh my, did we catch you at a bad time?” Fred wiggled his eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes, pushing his shoulder trying to get some space between you two but he didn’t budge. Your blush only deepened at his smirk, “Oh piss off, I wasn’t thinking of anything.” There was no real malice behind your words, which the boys took as permission to push even further.

George sat next to you to lean his elbow on the table, resting his palm on his head, “Hm really? Looked to me like you were busy fantasising about something real juicy.” You glanced between them, heart racing at Fred’s intense stare. Your breath caught for a moment before you realised you were supposed to be angry, shaking your head. “It’s none of your business.” You quickly recognised that was the wrong thing to say as George’s face lit up. “My my, does our little (Y/N) have a crush?” You covered your burning face with your hands, muffling a groan of annoyance. With your eyes covered you weren’t able to see the way Fred was glaring at his brother, his jaw hardened at the thought of you having a crush on some guy.

George only grinned wider at his brother, poking you in the shoulder, “Come on, you have to tell us, we’re your best friends. It’s McClaggen isn’t it?” That insinuation was enough to bring you out of your embarrassment. You shoved George hard enough he fell backwards off the bench, “How dare you even imply I would look twice at that oafish buffoon! I have much better taste than that.”

George was eager to scramble back onto his seat at the same time Fred finally sat down on the other side of you. It always made your heart race to have him so close to you but you pushed it down. He was one of your best friends, and there was no way he was interested in you, so you just had to get over it. You placed your hand over George’s mouth when you saw he was going to speak again, “Shut up, I’m supposed to be the one pestering you guys. It’s your 18th birthday tomorrow, are you excited to see your soulmate marks?”

Both of them perked up at your question, Fred being the first to answer, “I’m honestly really excited, I can’t wait to see it.” You smiled at him, “Neither can I. You will show it to me first won’t you? After George of course.” The smile Fred gave you almost made you melt into your seat, “Of course, love.” George looked at his brother over your head, giving him a knowing grin. Fred in turn stomped on his brother’s foot under the table which made George bit his lip to not cry out. You turned to face the other twin, “What about you George, are you excited?” “Of course I am, and so many girls have had their birthdays already too, I can start scouting straight away.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing at your friends. The three of you sat there for a while longer before your eyes got tired and you needed to head to sleep. Tomorrow was a Saturday but you’d made plans to hang out with Angelina.

You were at the Great Hall gossiping with Angelina at breakfast when you were ambushed by Fred and George, each of them taking a seat either side of you two, Fred next to you and George next to Angelina. You smiled at them both, “Happy Birthday guys, now cmon let me see!” Angelina gasped, “Did you guys get your soulmate marks?” The twins responded by pulling up their sleeves to show off their marks. You looked at George’s first, it was a little red and gold striped jester’s hat with the middle point turning towards the left side and the bells on the hat were gold as well. You turned to look at Fred’s, surprised at how similar they were. His was also a red and gold jester’s hat but the middle point was turning towards the right and the bells were silver instead of gold. You weren’t sure what made you do it but your fingers unconsciously came up to trace over the mark.

“No fucking way.” Angelina’s voice pulled you out of your trance, yanking your hand back as though Fred’s skin was burning you. Fred tried to not look disappointed at the lack of your touch, turning his head to also look at Angelina. The girl in question was now tugging her sleeve down to show George her soulmate mark which just so happened to be identical to the twin sitting next to her. You felt your jaw drop before your lips stretched into a smile, your eyes darting between George and Angelina. The former only grinned, looking into Angelina’s eyes and said “Wicked.”

Angelina could only giggle in surprise and astonishment. George made a dramatic move of getting up off his seat to hold his arm out for Angelina, “Fancy going to Hogsmeade with me today?” Angelina beamed, “Definitely.” You spluttered, “Angelina?! Today was supposed to be a girls day,” Angelina winced, apologising as she got up and wrapped her hand around George’s arm, “Sorry (Y/N), but you can see that this is more important, we’ll hang out tomorrow!” She shouted over her shoulder as she walked away.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Fred’s voice had you spinning around to face him, “I know, I can’t believe she ditched me.” Fred laughed at you, “I was talking about how my brother managed to meet his soulmate in quite literally five minutes.” You allowed yourself to smile at that, “Yeah I suppose you’re right, how lucky is that. So, are you going to head off on your quest to find your one true love?” You dramatically placed your hand over your heart and your other over your forehead. Your actions granted you a laugh and it was worth it, you felt like you were melting inside every time you heard him laughing.

Fred sighed, “No I think I’m going to wait. After all, it hasn’t been your birthday yet.” He smirked at you, his voice teasing. Your eyes widened and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Fred laughed again after a moment of silence, “Relax (Y/N), I’m only kidding.” You forced a laugh out, hoping it sounded natural. Of course he was only kidding. You knew he wouldn’t want to be stuck with you for the rest of his life. You looked down at your plate, your appetite suddenly gone. Fred nudged your shoulder, “Come on, since we’ve both been ditched, I guess you’re stuck with me today. You can help me reply to the growing mound of letters I’ve had from Mum demanding photographic evidence of my mark. I’ll even let you be there when he most definitely receives a howler for not telling her he found his soulmate already.” You giggled at that, getting up to follow him back to the common room.

~~~

The days and weeks flew on by and before you knew it, your birthday was tomorrow. You couldn’t help the growing nerves bubbling inside of you even as you sat on your bed, leg bouncing as your hands gripped the edge of the mattress either side of you. “(Y/N)? You okay? You look like you’re gonna spew.” You raised your head to see Katie looking at you with deep concern.

Angelina glanced up from over her Quidditch magazine, “She’s just nervous cause she gets her mark tomorrow.” You huffed, moving to lie down instead, crossing your arms over your stomach and staring up at the canopy. “It’s just that, what if I never find them? It would be my luck to be doomed to be all alone for eternity.” Katie’s face scrunched at your ‘woe is me’ demeanour. Angelina smirked, tossing her magazine to the side to crawl to the edge of your bed, which was placed opposite your own. “I think you’re more nervous about recognising your mark. Hoping to be more than friends with a certain red head eh (Y/N)?”

You spluttered, sitting up at Angelina’s accusation, though no words came out, too stunned by the truth her words held. “What?! No! We’re just friends, completely platonic.”

“Hm I dunno, I don’t know many blokes who call their ‘platonic’ female friends ‘love’ as often as Fred does to you. And you’re always together, you’re always laughing and smiling around him. C’mon just admit it, we all know it anyways.” You didn’t trust yourself to form words, choosing to let out a screech of rage as you started to lob all of your pillows at Angelina, slightly satisfied when you managed to hit her in the face, sending her backwards with an undignified squeak. Katie tutted at you, “Is that any way to treat your future sister in law?” She continued to laugh at you even as she held her hands up to her face, protecting herself as you now assaulted her instead, “You’re both horrible friends!”

Angelina and Katie’s laughing eventually made you crack, or perhaps it was from all the pillow throwing you were just too tired to be angry, but you let out a small laugh of your own. Katie sighed as she got her breath back, “Alright, time for bed, fun’s over.” Angelina rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath but closing her curtains nonetheless. You waved your wand, watching as the curtains closed and you were submerged in darkness, your hand subconsciously rubbing against your wrist as you rolled onto your side. Letting out a soft sigh, you reached for your duvet, pulling the covers over you and closed your eyes, the stress of a whole day being a nervous wreck had made you pretty tired and it didn’t take long before you fell asleep.

The next morning you woke up before your alarm, like usual. You weren’t exactly a morning person but you often struggled to sleep for long periods of time. The sunlight was shining through the window, beaming against the curtains and giving enough light to be able to see inside your canopy. You groaned, bringing your left hand up to rub over your face, swiping the sleep out of your eyes. Your hand hovered a couple inches from your face as you blinked yourself awake. As your eyes focused, you couldn’t help but focus on the new addition your wrist bared.

Fuck.

‘Um okay, what the fuck do I do here?’ Your thoughts were going haywire as you stared, unblinking, at the distinct mark on your wrist. You quickly waved your wand, brightening your vision, hoping it was a trick of the light. But no, you were looking at a jester’s hat, with silver bells and the middle point was turned to the right.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as you continued to stare, unable to take your eyes off of it. A rush of happiness overcame you before it was quickly swallowed up by an overwhelming sense of dread. Even though soulmate marks were never wrong, you couldn't help but doubt whether or not you should be happy about this new discovery. There was no way to deny you'd been crushing on Fred for a few years now but you had no way of confirming if those feelings were reciprocated. What if Fred only wants to be with you because of a stupid mark on your wrist? Third grade you would have immediately jumped at the chance to be bound forever to Fred Weasley but now you were older and more insecure, thanks to unfair societal expectations on how a young witch should look and act, you could only feel sad at the possibility that Fred might only want you because of some mark on your wrist.

No. You couldn't do that to him. You had to cover this up, now. There was no way you could tell Angelina or Katie either, knowing the former of the two would definitely rat you out to her new boyfriend, which just so happened to be your soulmate's brother. Merlin, why can't everything just be simple for once?

You glanced around the room to see that neither of the other two girls had risen from their beds yet, thankfully. You were quick to make a move to put a tight long sleeve t-shirt on underneath your uniform to make sure the sleeves wouldn't accidentally roll up. Second guessing yourself, you grabbed your wand to cast an illusion charm, the mark disappearing before your eyes. You would have to make sure to reapply the charm every couple hours or so, lest it wear off.

Just as you finished correcting the placement of your tie, you saw both Angelina and Katie's curtains open. Katie stretched her arms over her head before sitting up to stare quizzically at you, "(Y/N)? Why are you up so early? Oh and Happy Birthday!" At Katie's cheerful tone, Angelina groaned, rolling over to face where you stood a little bit away from her bed. She gasped, glancing down at your wrist, "C'mon show us! show us! This is so exciting!" Your smile dropped, busying yourself with your robes, looking down as you spoke,

"Yeah that's not happening?" Angelina frowned, "Well why not?" She gasped again, this time even louder as she rose onto her knees to point an accusatory finger in your direction, "You know who it is! Oh come on (Y/N) now you have to show us."

You shook your head, your hand covering your wrist as if to keep it hidden even though she wouldn't be able to see it through your charm. "I'm sorry but that's just not happening." Angelina's pestering was making your heart race, the pressure of the conversation getting to you.

Katie's eyes went back and forth between the two of you, "Angelina, maybe just-" "Why are you hiding this from us? We're your best friends. How come you won't tell us who it is? Is it-"

"I said no!" Both Angelina and Katie froze as you raised your voice. Guilt bubbled in your throat, your hand gripping tightly around your wrist as you looked to the floor. The uncomfortable silence felt like it was going to swallow you up whole. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. I'll see you guys later?" You were too embarrassed about your behaviour to stay and wait for an answer, choosing to grab your book bag and head out of the dorm room, closing the door behind you to take a deep breath, a pathetic attempt to calm yourself down.

You rubbed your fingers over your forehead as you walked down the stairs, planning on heading straight to the Great Hall for breakfast. You got about halfway across the common room before you heard your name called behind you. Your feet faltered in step, the deep familiar voice reaching your ears. Oh no. Anyone but him right now.

You tried going over your options in your head.

Taking the coward’s way out, you walked a little faster to get out of the common room, ignoring the confused tone in Fred’s voice as he tried to get your attention again. The painting closed behind you and you felt like you could breathe a little bit easier but you still weren’t safe from questioning. As if they could sense your urgency, the stairs thankfully stayed still until you reached the ground floor to hightail it towards the Great Hall.

Walking the almost empty corridors gave you time to think, although you still had no clue how you were going to explain your behaviour to your friends. Merlin, you knew this stupid soulmate mark was going to be bad news. You’d had it for like two hours and you were already going crazy over it.

Finally reaching the Great Hall, you were able to sit down in your usual space and place your head in your hands. Your head had started to throb as the beginnings of a headache started forming. You could feel your eyes welling up with tears but you tried to take deep breaths to calm down. ‘Oh for Merlin’s sake,’ you thought to yourself, ‘this is so stupid! I’m so embarrassed.’ You had managed to calm yourself down but still sat with your head in your hands. That was until you could hear more and more students trickling into the Great Hall and you heard someone sitting opposite you, followed by a gentle nudge of their foot against yours.

“Oi, (Y/L/N), what gives? You just completely ignored me back there.” Your jaw clenched in anticipation at Fred’s annoyed tone. You took a deep breath and raised your head from the comfort of your palms, allowing the ginger boy to see your red eyes and puffy face. You could barely manage to make your eyes meet his, but as you did, you saw his face crumple with worry, his hand immediately reaching over the table to rub your forearm, “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Why did he have to ask that? Doesn’t he know that when you ask someone who’s upset what’s the matter then they get even more upset? Your vision blurred until the tears that had threatened to spill finally dropped down your cheeks.

Hastily wiping the evidence of your turmoil on the sleeve of your robes, you averted your eyes, preferring to look down at the table. Fred wasn’t happy with that, “Don’t cry, love, c’mon you can talk to me. Hey why don’t you show me your mark?” Fred’s soft smile twitched into a small frown at your scoff.

“The whole reason I’m upset is cause of that stupid mark.” One look at the confused expression on Fred’s face had you sighing deeply before explaining further, “I know who it is.” Unfortunately, your extra explanation only increased his curiosity. Fred’s brow furrowed even further,

“Riiiight? And the fact you know who your soulmate is makes you upset because..?” You rolled your eyes at Fred, knowing how it didn’t quite make sense.

You softly shook your head, “You wouldn’t understand.”

Fred leaned forward to cross his arms on the table, trying to minimise the distance between you two “try me.”

The soft glare you were giving him to express your disapproval at his nagging did nothing to make him back down. Fred had no problem staring right back at you, his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile, knowing full well you were going to give up shortly. And damn it, he was right. With a groan and a muttered curse under your breath, you gave in.

“I hate you, fine.” Choosing to ignore Fred’s reply of “No you don’t,” you looked down at your hands, picking at your nails and scowling as you tried to muster up the words to explain your feelings without revealing anything. “I’m pretty sure this person doesn’t like me that way and I don’t want to be with someone who only wants to be with me because of some stupid mark on my wrist. I deserve more than that so I don’t want to show it to anyone.”

Fred’s hand reached out to gently cup over your right wrist, gaining the reward of having you lift your head to meet his eyes again. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the addition of his identical twin brother plopping down into the seat next to him, “Merlin sake Fred, I’ve been looking all over for you,” George’s eyes glanced down at Fred’s hand on your wrist. He wiggled his eyebrows, “My my, didn’t realise I was interrupting something~ my apologies (Y/N).”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hands down into your lap. Fred could count on one hand the amount of times he'd wished his twin brother was never born and still have spare fingers left over, but this was definitely one of those times. Fred's jaw clenched, using all his restraint not to pull his wand out and hex his brother right then and there.

As if the addition of George's company wasn't enough, along came Angelina and Katie, both of them sitting on either side of you. The dark skinned girl spoke first, softly placing her hand on your shoulder, "Listen, I'm sorry for earlier. I...I shouldn't have pushed so hard. You can tell us when you're ready."

"Yeah (Y/N), we look out for each other. It's our duty as Gryffindors to stick together." You looked between Katie and Angelina, giving them a small smile, "It's okay. I admit I overreacted too, I was just feeling down about the whole thing and I took it out on you guys. We all good?" Angelina grinned, nodding enthusiastically.

George cleared his throat, "Well, now that's out the way, you wanna hang out in the common room later?" His question was directed to Angelina, who all but swooned at the ginger boy. You rolled your eyes, "Merlin, get a room." The two lovebirds paid you no mind but you scored a laugh from both Katie and Fred. The three of you talked about your lessons scheduled for the day whilst you ate breakfast. The first bell rang, indicating the time to start the school day, and you got up, heading towards your first lesson which was Transfiguration for you.

-

After a full day of lessons, you felt exhausted. Now that you were in your seventh year, the professors were even more hard on you as they pushed you more and more for your NEWT exams due at the end of the school year, which was just in a couple months. You barely remember getting to the common room, but you were grateful to be sitting on the plush couch at that moment, the fabric feeling as though it was soaking up all your troubles.

You enjoyed the peace and quiet, your eyes flickering closed as you had been staring into the fire, getting sleepier as the dancing flames sent you into a trance. That was until Fred bounced down onto the space next to you, jerking you awake. You groaned, head rolling to lie on the back of the couch, "Seriously? You're bugging me again? Where's your brother?"

Fred mockingly pouted at your harsh words, placing his hand over his chest. "You hurt me (Y/N). I thought you loved spending time with me, I am so clearly the reason for that sparkle in your eyes." You rolled your eyes at his little speech, catching yourself smiling at his stupidity. Fred sighed, "Besides George is too busy smooching the face off Angelina so you're stuck with me."

"Ah there it is, I knew it was too good to be true that I'd be your first choice." Fred's smile only grew at you teasing him back.

"Don't be silly, love, of course you're my first choice." There it was again. Love. You couldn't help but hope it meant something more, though you wouldn't let yourself get your hopes up. It would be nothing short of mortifying if you were completely wrong. You didn't trust your words, choosing to retaliate by pushing his shoulder. Albeit, a little harder than you expected. He fell off the couch, onto his back. You covered your mouth but it didn't stop your laugh escaping.

Fred's mouth parted in shock, "Oh? You think that's funny? Huh?" You laughed even more, until Fred came back up, poking his fingers into your side. You jerked as he tickled you trying to grab his hands to make him stop, but it grew increasingly difficult as they kept moving and the more you laughed, the harder it was to breathe.

"Stop. Stop please, I surrender already!" You finally managed to grab Fred's wrist with your left hand. He laughed as he lifted it up above your head, "Not good enough, love. Apologise or I'll-" Fred's voice cut off and his tickling stopped. Thank merlin as your sides were starting to hurt. You caught your breath, feeling your cheeks flush as you realised the intimate position you were in, with him kneeling over you as you had slid down onto your back on the couch. Your brow furrowed as you saw him staring above your head. Tilting your head back to look, you felt your heart stop as your eyes locked on your exposed wrist.

Shit. When was the last time you cast the charm?

Your throat bobbed with a gulp, slowing looking back at Fred, "Um.." you uttered into the awkward silence. At the sound of your voice, Fred's eyes locked on yours. His gaze was so intense you couldn't bring yourself to look away, though you could feel your face burning.

"It's me? You thought I wouldn't- that I didn't like you that way? Love, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you like that since you first helped me and George prank Filch in our second year." Your blush was now turning into embarrassment. You let out a quiet, "Oh," the awkwardness of it all making you cough out a giggle which in turn forced a laugh from Fred. Realising he was still holding onto your wrist, he leaned back to let you sit up properly. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you straightened up, "Well, now I just feel a bit silly."

"Don't be, I obviously didn't do a very good job of making it clear to you, love." You and Fred shared a grin, the latter glancing around the room to see quite a few students there. He stood up, reaching his hand out for you to take, "Come on, let's go."

"Where are we going?" you asked as you slid your hand into his, letting him help you up and walk you out of the common room. "I wanna show you something me and George found a couple years ago. I think we need some privacy." You raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, which only made him laugh, "Oh come on, trust me. We're soulmates after all." His giddiness was infectious, the two of you running through the halls, holding hands, giggles echoing through the empty stone corridors. You were sure the rest of your life would be nothing but giggling with Fred by your side. Clearly, you were worried for nothing, the boy you fancied since third year had fancied you even longer. But that didn't matter anymore, you had binding proof the two of you were meant for one another now. No more hiding your feelings.

[romanczukowsky]

Just Pretend

Pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader (Y/N)

Summary: When George Weasley enlists Y/N to pretend to be his girlfriend—just to fend off a persistent admirer—he thinks it’s a harmless solution. But as fake smiles and staged hand-holding turn into late-night confessions and stolen kisses, one question lingers: is this just a pretend romance, or is it becoming something real?

Content Warnings: Slow Burn / Fake Dating / Light angst / Fluff / Emotional Tension / Slow-Build Romance / Count (approx): 5,500

The Gryffindor common room hummed with the quiet chaos of evening. Most students had retreated to their dormitories, but a few lingered over homework—or in George’s case, tinkering with sketches and ideas for the shop he and Fred dreamed of opening someday.

George was crouched over a parchment, quill in hand, half-writing, half-doodling, when the interruption arrived.

“George!” The voice was bright, insistent, almost sing-song, and immediately made him groan.

He looked up to see a girl—one he had encountered a few times before—beaming as though she owned the room. She had a notebook clutched to her chest and eyes sparkling with what George assumed was hope… or persistence.

“Uh… hi,” he said, cautious.

“George! I was wondering if you’d like to—”

“Nope,” George said quickly, holding up a hand. “Not today.”

She blinked, unfazed. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow’s… complicated,” he mumbled. He had said it before, and he knew it sounded vague, but the truth was simpler: he wasn’t interested. Not in her. Not like that. Not ever.

Her bright smile didn’t falter. “How about Wednesday?”

George sighed so hard he almost toppled his chair. “I… I’m busy.”

“Thursday?” she tried.

George’s teeth ground together. “Look—” he began, then stopped himself. He didn’t want to be cruel. He never did. He tried to be polite, nice, charming when he could, but this—this was relentless. “I can’t. Not now. I’m… busy.”

The girl tilted her head, her smile unwavering. “Well, maybe some other time then!”

George exhaled shakily as she walked away, still smiling like the world was hers to conquer. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s… unstoppable.”

Fred, who had been lounging nearby with his usual lazy grin, raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve got a problem, mate.”

“I do not want a problem!” George hissed, glaring in Fred’s direction. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been polite. I’ve been… evasive. And she still doesn’t get it!”

Fred chuckled, rolling his eyes. “George, you’ve got the patience of a saint. I would’ve ended it in one sentence and sent her crying into next week.”

George shook his head quickly. “I’m not cruel, Fred. That’s not… I can’t just—”

Fred leaned back, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Alright… think, George. What if… what if you didn’t have to be cruel at all?”

George raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

Fred’s grin widened, mischievous and bright. “I’m talking about a little… subterfuge. A plan. A masterpiece, really. You… pretend you’ve got someone. A girlfriend. Suddenly, she’s gone. Problem solved.”

George stared at him. “You mean… like, make someone fake-date me?”

Fred shrugged casually. “Exactly. And it has to be someone convincing… someone she wouldn’t expect… someone you can actually stand to be around.”

George’s mind whirled. “I don’t… I don’t have time for this, Fred. I barely have time to invent things, let alone… romance someone.”

“Ah, but you do have someone in mind,” Fred said knowingly. “And I think she might just be willing to help.”

George blinked, heart skipping a beat. He knew immediately who Fred meant. Y/N. Someone he had known for years. Someone who had always been… kind, clever, funny. Someone he had secretly—long ago—loved, but never told.

“You… you think she’d do it?” George asked cautiously.

Fred nodded, eyes glinting. “She owes you a few favors already, doesn’t she? And besides… she’s smart. She’ll see the plan, maybe have fun with it. Perfect cover.”

George chewed his lip, hesitant. “I… I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

Fred leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial. “George… it’s perfect. No one gets hurt. You don’t have to be mean. And maybe… just maybe, you might find it’s not as bad as you think.”

George let out a shaky laugh, rubbing his neck. “I guess… I can ask her. But only if she’s okay with it.”

Fred clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “That’s the spirit. Trust me, mate—by the end of this, you’ll either be free of her—or… well, something tells me, you might find yourself enjoying it a little more than you expect.”

George groaned softly. “Fred… you’re evil.”

“And that’s why you love me,” Fred replied smoothly, settling back into his chair with a smug smile.

You sat near the Gryffindor common room fire, absently twirling a quill between your fingers, when you felt a presence looming nearby. Looking up, you saw George—red hair slightly mussed, eyes darting nervously in your direction. He was different somehow, more hesitant than usual, and you felt a flutter of curiosity mixed with a trace of apprehension.

“Y/N?” His voice was quieter than usual, almost unsure.

You looked up fully, trying to read him. “Yes?” you said cautiously, unsure if you should sit up straighter or pretend to be engrossed in your parchment.

George shifted from foot to foot, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh… I, well… I was wondering if you’d… maybe… help me with something.”

You raised an eyebrow, quill poised mid-air. “Help you? With what?”

He ran a hand through his hair again, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s… a bit silly, but… there’s this girl who’s been… well… persistent.” His mouth twitched with a faint grin, though his eyes betrayed real frustration. “And I… I need a way to, you know… politely make her… give me some space.”

You leaned back slightly, intrigued. “You want me to…?”

George hesitated, as if the words were difficult to say. “Pretend. Pretend I’ve… got someone. A girlfriend. Just for a little while. So… she’ll leave me alone.”

You blinked, heart skipping in an odd rhythm. This was sudden, yes, but… you’d helped him before. You knew George, the clever, mischievous twin who could charm nearly anyone, but the thought of pretending with him—of being close, of sitting beside him, letting him put his arm around you—made your chest tighten.

“Are… you sure?” you asked carefully, not wanting to rush him. “I mean… it’s a bit… strange.”

George swallowed, gaze dropping to his hands. “I… I don’t want to hurt her. And… I don’t want to be cruel. But I also… I just… I need her to get the message.”

You nodded slowly, feeling a quiet warmth in your chest. “Alright,” you said softly. “I can help. But only if we… set some rules first.”

A smile tugged at his lips, one that seemed almost relieved. “Rules,” he echoed. “Yes. Good idea. We… we can do rules.”

You spent the next few minutes discussing the plan, your pulse steadying as he explained what he needed from you: small gestures, hand-holding, sitting close, subtle glances—all designed for Miss X to notice, but nothing hurtful. You couldn’t help but notice how his nervous energy eased slightly as he talked, how the corners of his mouth lifted when he laughed quietly at one of your suggestions.

When the conversation finally ended, he stepped back, hands tucked into his pockets, a faint blush on his cheeks. “So… tomorrow?” he asked. “You’ll… help me?”

“I’ll help,” you confirmed, feeling a strange mixture of excitement and apprehension. “But… George… if this works too well…” You hesitated, unsure if you wanted to say it, then shrugged. “Well, we’ll see.”

He laughed softly, a sound that made your heart flutter unexpectedly. “Right. Tomorrow it is. And… thank you, Y/N. Really.”

You watched him walk away, trying not to notice how fast your heart was beating, how your mind was already imagining the awkward, close moments ahead. Pretending to be his girlfriend—just for a little while—suddenly didn’t feel quite so innocent.

The next morning, you found yourself nervously adjusting the sleeve of your robe as you waited in the Gryffindor common room. George arrived moments later, hair tousled like he had just rolled out of bed, and his usual lopsided grin was tinged with something unreadable. You had to bite back a laugh. He looked… almost human in his nerves.

“Morning,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

“Morning,” you replied, smoothing your skirt as casually as you could. You felt your pulse quicken despite the calm tone. This was it. The first day of your little plan.

George glanced around, then leaned slightly closer. “So… we sit together for lunch, right? And maybe, you know, hold hands a little? Just… subtly.”

You nodded, heart hammering. “Subtly. Got it. Don’t want to traumatize anyone.”

“Not traumatize. Just… convince,” he whispered, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

By the time lunch rolled around, you were strategically seated next to him, and he offered the briefest of smiles. Your hand brushed his when you reached for a plate, and you were certain the world had slowed down for a split second. His fingers lingered against yours for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, and your stomach did a very undignified somersault.

Throughout the meal, you maintained the “fake” act—sharing laughs, leaning in to hear each other over the chatter, subtle touches along the arm. And every time someone glanced at the two of you, you felt a rush of satisfaction. Mission: convince the girl that George had moved on—successful.

The afternoon passed in a series of small, intimate gestures that were meant to be for show but felt… a little too nice. Fingers brushing, accidental touches on the knee, quiet laughter, shared glances that lingered longer than intended. The room seemed to shrink around the two of you, and somewhere at the edge of your mind, you realized this was turning into something more than just acting.

As evening fell, you both ended up back on the couch near the fire. George’s hand found yours, this time without hesitation, and you let him hold it. The glow of the flames painted his face in gold, highlighting the freckles across his cheeks, and you had to admit, he looked… irresistible.

Then, movement in the corner caught your eye. She, determined as ever, was standing nearby, eyes narrowing as if plotting an approach. Your heart gave a little flutter—not fear, exactly, but anticipation.

“You ready?” Fred’s voice whispered in George’s ear, mischievous and urgent.

George swallowed, fingers tightening around yours. “Now?”

“Now,” Fred confirmed.

Before you could overthink it, George leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. It was brief, delicate, and perfectly innocent, but it made your knees go weak and your chest flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. The fire crackled beside you, the world outside seemed to fade, and all you could focus on was the warmth of him.

When he pulled back slightly, his eyes searched yours, a mixture of uncertainty and something far deeper flickering there. You were left breathless, smiling shyly, and she, for once, didn’t quite know where to look.

The game had begun, but suddenly, it felt like maybe neither of you wanted to stop playing.

For the next few weeks, the whole “fake dating” arrangement turned into something almost… routine.

Not boring — never boring with George — but familiar. Natural. Almost embarrassingly easy.

Except for her.

Even after she witnessed George kissing you by the fireplace — a kiss that was supposed to be quick, small, strategic — she refused to back down. If anything, the sight seemed to ignite something competitive in her.

Whenever you weren’t glued to George’s side, she was there.

If you had Herbology while George had Charms — she intercepted him the moment he stepped out of class. If you went to the library for five minutes — she reappeared like she’d smelled opportunity in the air. If you overslept and arrived late to breakfast — she was already leaning toward him, batting her lashes so violently she could’ve generated wind.

But George was always looking for you.

Every time you walked into the room, his entire expression changed. His shoulders relaxed, his eyebrows lifted, and his whole face softened as if someone had gently untied a knot inside him.

Sometimes he’d reach his hand toward you before he even realized he was doing it. Sometimes his eyes lingered on your face too long — longer than necessary for the act. Sometimes he smiled in a way that didn’t fit the plan at all.

And then came the hallway moment.

A morning between classes, students buzzing around, books tucked under arms, parchment rustling. You had just turned the corner when you spotted George standing by the wall — and her standing far, far too close to him, her chin lifted like she was about to deliver a declaration of eternal affection.

George looked seconds away from combusting.

The moment he noticed you, relief washed over him so strongly that even she noticed the shift. His eyes brightened, his shoulders eased, and he actually took a full step toward you like gravity pulled him there.

“George,” she said sweetly, “I still wanted to ask...”

And that was when George did something he hadn’t done before. Something not in the script. Something not rehearsed or planned or whispered by Fred behind his back.

“I have someone now,” he said.

It wasn’t said cruelly. It wasn’t said dramatically. It wasn’t even loud.

It was calm. Firm. Undeniably true.

And her lips parted, eyes wide, shock flickering over her face like she’d been struck by a Confundus Charm.

And you felt George’s hand slide into yours. Not for show. Not because someone was watching.

He just… did it.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles — slow, warm, instinctive.

She stared at your joined hands, her jaw tightening, the faintest crack appearing in her perfect confidence.

“I–I see,” she said stiffly, voice brittle at the edges.

George didn’t gloat. He didn’t smirk. He simply nodded and gently tugged you closer, placing you at his side like you’d always belonged there.

She spun on her heel and walked away, stiff as a board.

You stayed there for a moment, your hand still in his, your heartbeat far too loud in your ears.

George exhaled shakily, looking down at your linked fingers… then at you.

“Sorry,” he murmured, cheeks flushed. “I… didn’t really think that through. It just felt like the right moment.” His voice softened. “And… it felt right holding your hand too.”

The moment lingered longer than either of you expected. The hallway had emptied, the echoes of footsteps fading into distant chatter, and yet neither of you moved. George’s thumb brushed over your knuckles again, slower this time, almost like he was memorizing the shape of your hand. You let out a quiet breath, feeling the warmth of him settle around you.

The walk back to the Gryffindor common room was quieter than usual. You fell into step beside him, shoulders occasionally brushing. Each shared glance felt lighter, less like part of a plan and more like… you were just two people walking together.

Conversation flowed easily, filled with soft laughter and small teasing remarks, the kind that lingered longer than necessary and made your chest tighten in that familiar way.

Over the next few days, the rhythm between you and George became natural. You’d walk to classes together, shoulders brushing along corridors. You’d linger outside the Great Hall, sharing stories about classes, small jokes, and the kind of glances that made your heart do something unpredictable.

Fred would call out from across the hall, trying to draw George into one of his schemes, and more often than not, George would wave him off with a smile meant only for you. You noticed it, of course — you were always first.

One afternoon, the two of you found yourselves sitting on the stone steps of the courtyard, watching Fred and Oliver Wood play an impromptu game of Quidditch with a small, enchanted ball. The sun cast a warm glow over everything, making the world seem smaller, quieter, just for you two. George leaned back slightly, letting the warmth of the sun and the gentle presence of your hand beside his settle in.

After a long pause, you tilted your head toward him, voice soft but teasing. “How long do you want to keep pretending?”

The question slipped out quietly, almost accidentally, but the second it was in the air, you felt the shift. George froze, startled stillness, like someone had pressed pause on him.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“Pretending?” he repeated, his voice softer, confused around the edges.

You swallowed, trying to keep your tone light. “You know. Us. The whole… fake dating thing. Now that she knows — now that you told her you have someone... how long do you want to keep this going?”

“I…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he was flustered.

“George… I, uh… I was invited out for coffee. Just… a friendly thing.”

He glanced at you, expression tightening for a fraction of a second before he let out a light, grumpy huff. “Right,” he muttered, voice low, “sure… go, have fun. It’s… fine. Remember, we’re… just pretending.”

You smiled, sensing the subtle tension beneath his words, but you squeezed his hand lightly anyway. “Of course. Just pretend.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head with mock irritation, but there was warmth in his smile that made it impossible to stay frustrated with him.

The two of you walked back to the common room together. Close. Too close. Your shoulder brushed his once, twice, and each time he looked down at you like he was memorizing something he shouldn’t.

When you stepped into the Gryffindor common room, Angelina and Lee were sprawled on the rug playing Exploding Snap. Both looked up at the same time.

You sat beside them, cross-legged, joining the game as naturally as if you had always been part of this small, chaotic circle. George sat too, but something about him was… off. He laughed at Lee’s jokes, teased Angelina, tossed you little smiles — but it was all slightly delayed, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere near you, but not quite reaching you.

And then she walked in.

Not storming. Just… entering. But every head turned anyway because her presence was loud even when her footsteps weren’t. Her eyes landed on you and George instantly. On your knees touching. On the cards in his hands. On your quiet smile.

You leaned in slightly, your voice brushing his ear. “Do you want me to kiss you?” A whisper meant for him alone. “Since she’s watching?”

George turned to you, and the look he gave you… It was something warmer. Something deeper. Something that made your pulse skip.

He shook his head gently. “No,” he murmured. “Not for that.”

You blinked, surprised by the meaning tucked between his words.

Another round passed. George lost on purpose just to make you laugh. He almost succeeded.

Then, out of nowhere, he set his cards down.

“I think…” He cleared his throat. “I think I’m gonna head to bed. Bit tired.”

Lee snorted. “You? Tired? Since when?”

But George just gave a small, tight smile — the kind that didn’t reach his eyes — and got up.

You watched him walk toward the boys’ staircase. His hand brushed the railing, and for a moment he hesitated, like he wanted to look back at you.

He didn’t.

He disappeared up the stairs.

And the space beside you felt strangely colder without him.

The dormitory was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against the walls and made every little creak of the castle feel louder. You had long since drifted off to sleep, tucked under your blankets, but your ears were still alert—because somehow, the low murmur of voices from the boys’ dormitory reached even across the hall.

George was awake. Of course he was. You could imagine him lying there, tossing from one side to the other, his tousled hair catching the moonlight like fire.

Fred’s voice was a soft whisper, almost conspiratorial, from somewhere nearby. “Oi, George… you awake?”

A muffled groan answered him.

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re actually sleeping through all that brain ticking of yours,” Fred teased. “You were dead on your feet earlier. Exhausted.”

No reply.

Fred rolled onto his side, closer, lowering his voice so even a ghost would have had trouble hearing. “You’re not fooling me, you know. Not a chance.”

Another turn from George. A restless sigh.

“Alright, spill it,” Fred said, a little sharper, though still quiet. “What’s keeping you up, huh?”

Finally, a soft, almost inaudible grunt. Nothing more.

“A tiresome girl again, isn’t it?” Fred’s voice dropped lower, playful but probing. “She’s haunting your thoughts, isn’t she?”

George didn’t answer. Not a word.

Fred’s voice softened, teasing but gentle. “Look, mate… you don’t have to say anything. I’m not gonna force it. But… whatever it is, you’re not exactly fooling anyone.”

The room settled into silence again, only the quiet rustle of blanketst. And somewhere in that quiet, that even when George didn’t speak, Fred understood far more than he let on.

The morning sunlight filtered lazily through the tall windows of the Gryffindor common room. George sat at a small table near the fire, quill in hand, hunched over a scrap of parchment. His red hair was messier than usual, and there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before—an almost purposeful avoidance of anyone, including you.

You paused by the doorway, noticing him buried in sketches. He didn’t look up.

“Morning,” you said softly, trying not to startle him.

“Mm… morning,” he mumbled, barely audible, his voice rough with sleep and something else you couldn’t quite place. He offered a small, uncomfortable smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and quickly straightened in his seat.

Before you could respond, he rose, grabbing his bag. “I… uh, I’ve got… stuff to do,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. The words were clipped, almost rehearsed, and yet there was a strange vulnerability to them.

He left the common room quickly, quill still in hand, and you noticed the sketchbook he had been working in, lying carelessly on the table.

You hesitated, then reached for it. “George—” you whispered, lifting the book. His absence made the room feel too quiet, too empty. “I’ll just… give this back,” you murmured to yourself.

Stepping toward the portrait hole, you followed the path he had taken. The floorboards creaked beneath your feet, your heart picking up pace for reasons you didn’t yet understand. Just as you were about to step through, your foot caught on the edge of the rug.

The sketchbook slipped from your hands, tumbling to the floor with a soft thud. You bent down quickly, heart hammering, and flipped it open.

Your eyes widened.

There, across the cream-colored pages, was your face—drawn with delicate strokes, soft shadows, and that same mischievous spark in your eyes that George always noticed but never mentioned. Every detail was there: the curve of your jaw, the way your hair fell across your forehead, the faint smile that made him so warm in the hallway the other day.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you traced the lines, slowly connecting the dots in your mind. Every glance, every brush of hands, every laugh they had shared… it all began to make sense. George wasn’t just pretending. Not really.

A soft sigh escaped you, almost involuntary. The coffee with the Hufflepuff suddenly seemed less urgent, less pressing. The sketchbook rested in your hands, a tangible proof of something more than words. Something real.

You stood frozen for a moment, the sunlight catching the pages, illuminating not just the pencil lines, but the quiet confession of George’s feelings, hidden in every stroke.

And in that silence, you finally understood.

But the whole day passed, and George seemed to be avoiding you like the plague. Even the simplest attempts to talk to him ended with him suddenly vanishing around a corner or finding some “urgent matter” elsewhere in the castle.

In the Great Hall, his usual spot was empty. In the library, someone mentioned seeing him only in passing, hunched over some notes, entirely absorbed and alone. You felt as though an invisible glass wall had sprung up between you two, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t break through it—not even with a glance.

By evening, the situation hadn’t improved. The common room was quiet, only a few students lingering near the fire. But George was nowhere to be seen. Your chest tightened with a mix of frustration and worry as you scanned the room, but there was simply no sign of him.

Finally, you approached Fred, who was lazily spreading out another Exploding Snap board. “Fred… do you happen to know where George is?” you asked, trying to keep your voice calm despite the growing tension in your chest.

Fred shrugged, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “I think he’s in the dormitory, probably crashed after Quidditch practice. You know, sleeping… recovery and all that.”

You didn’t believe him for a second. His eyes sparkled with amusement, clearly enjoying that you fell for the story even a little. “Sure… exhausted… right,” you thought, your determination hardening. You knew you had to find him.

Night had fallen over the castle, and the Gryffindor common room lay quiet, bathed in the soft, flickering glow of the dying fire. You couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning in your bed, you felt restless, heart thumping in a mix of anticipation and frustration.

George’s sketchbook still sat beside you, heavy in your hands, and the image of his drawing—your own face captured in delicate, careful lines—kept playing in your mind.

Finally, you sat up, tugging the blankets around your shoulders. “I can’t just wait,” you muttered to yourself. “I need to give this back… and I need to know what’s going on.”

Slipping quietly from the dormitory, you moved through the darkened corridor. Every step brought your nerves into sharper focus, your heart skipping each time you thought of George.

Reaching the boys’ dormitory, you paused at the door, gripping the sketchbook tightly. You knocked lightly, barely making a sound, and called softly, “George? Are you awake?”

A groan came from inside, followed by the scraping of sheets. The door creaked open a crack, revealing George’s red hair in wild disarray, eyes bleary and half-lidded. “Y/N… what are you—?”

“I… I wanted to give this back,” you whispered, holding out the sketchbook. “And… maybe… talk?”

His eyebrows furrowed, a flicker of guilt—or maybe relief—crossing his face. He leaned against the doorframe, clearly not fully awake, and muttered, “It’s… late. Why are you even up?”

You swallowed, stepping closer, the firelight from the hallway catching the sketchbook in your hands. “I couldn’t sleep. I… I need to know what’s going on, George. You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

For a moment, he said nothing, eyes flicking to the sketchbook, then back to you. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping. “How did you like the coffee… I mean… How was your date?”

You shook your head quickly. “I… I didn’t go,” you admitted softly. “I… couldn’t. I… didn’t want to.”

George blinked, confusion flashing across his face, quickly replaced by something else—something raw, vulnerable, almost like fear wrapped in longing. He ran a hand through his messy hair, tugging at the strands as if trying to organize his thoughts. “You… you didn’t?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“No,” you said gently, stepping closer, the soft glow of the hallway catching your features. “I needed to know… why you’ve been avoiding me all day. What’s going on, George?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to speak but wasn’t sure how. Finally, he let out a shaky breath, shoulders sagging as if the weight of holding it all in had been too much. “Y/N… I… I’ve been avoiding you because… because I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to admit how… how much I feel… for you.”

Your heart skipped. The words hung in the quiet night, heavy and trembling, but undeniably true. “George…” you whispered, stepping closer, letting your fingers brush against his. “You… like me?”

He looked at you, eyes dark and sincere, something fierce but soft all at once. “I… I do. I like you. More than I should, maybe. But I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about you.” His voice cracked slightly, but there was no shame in it, only honesty.

You felt your chest tighten, emotions swirling—excitement, relief, something tender and urgent. Slowly, instinctively, you closed the last distance between you. Your hand rested against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “George,” you murmured, your voice low, “I… think like you too.”

He blinked, stunned, and then a small, incredulous smile spread across his face. “You… you do?”

You nodded, letting your lips meet his in a soft, tentative kiss. At first gentle, almost questioning, testing the waters—but as soon as he responded, tilting his head slightly, it deepened.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and your arms threaded around his neck. The world outside the dormitory seemed to vanish, leaving only the warmth, the quiet, and the undeniable connection between you.

Then, when you both pulled back just enough to breathe, eyes locking, George’s hands didn’t let go. Instead, they tightened, and before you could react, he pressed you against the wall. His lips captured yours again—this time deep, insistent, and undeniably hungry, the kind of kiss he had clearly imagined for far too long.

His knee brushed between your thighs, pressing you subtly but insistently as the heat of the moment spiraled. Your hands clutched his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. Every motion was deliberate, desperate, yet careful—controlled chaos, a fire neither of you wanted to douse.

Breaths mingled, soft gasps escaping as he tilted his head, lips and tongue moving over yours with a hunger that was equal parts need and reverence. Every second was charged, the world outside fading until only the two of you existed in that corridor, pressed close, hearts pounding, a tangle of warmth and want.

Finally, when he pulled back slightly, foreheads resting together, breaths heavy and uneven, he chuckled low, almost sheepishly, but there was fire in his eyes. “Well… I think I’ll finally sleep tonight,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Properly, for the first time in… forever.”

You laughed softly, pressing a hand to his chest, still feeling the rapid beat beneath your palm. “Good. You deserve it.”

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, savoring the heat, the closeness, the unspoken promise lingering in the hallway’s quiet glow.

George eased the door of the boys’ dormitory closed, tiptoeing across the wooden floor like a spy on a mission. Heart still racing, cheeks warm from the kiss, he crouched near his bed, ready to slip under the covers without making a sound.

Perfect… until a familiar, mischievous voice cut through the quiet.

“Oi.”

George froze. Slowly, painfully, he turned his head.

Fred was perched on his own bed, propped up on one elbow, eyes glinting in the dim firelight from the common room. “Really, George? At this hour?” His grin was not just amused—it was predatory. “I can smell romance in the air. Or is that… late-night scheming with Y/N? Hmm?”

Fred chuckled, leaning back, clearly enjoying every second. “Let’s just say, if there were a House Cup for sneaky midnight romance, you’d have already lost points, and not for the kissing… oh no, definitely not for the kissing.”

George peeked over the pillow, eyes wide, mortified. “Haha, how do you even—”

Fred shrugged lazily, leaning against the headboard. “Let’s just say I have my ways. And I also know I’d charge extra points if I could see the look on your face right now.”

George groaned, rolling onto his side, cheeks still burning. “I can’t even… I just—”

“Relax, mate,” Fred said, smirking like he owned the entire castle. “But… next time? Maybe a little quieter. Or at least… invite me to the afterparty.”

George let out a shaky laugh, finally letting himself sink into the covers. “You’re evil.”

Fred winked, stretching out on his bed. “And that’s why you love me. Now, go to sleep… if you can. I’ll be here, keeping score.”

George exhaled, eyes closing, muttering under his breath, “Finally… maybe now I can actually sleep.”

And somewhere in the shadows, Fred’s grin widened. He was definitely not going to let George forget this night.

[angelphie]

Center of Attention ♟️

- ron weasley x fem!ravenclaw!reader / fluff

"ron weasley was never the center of attention, so it was unusual for him to experience all the love & attention that you gave him"

wc : 0.5k

writing 4 the first time - @angelphie

: Growing up, Ron would be used to the feeling of not having the limelight directed to him. The attention was always diverted to someone else usually being his sister Ginny or his one of a kind friend Harry. Even his own family would flock over Harry instead of him.

So when you and Ron started dating it felt unusual that you were spending all your time towards him (like what a good girlfriend does) It wasn't something he felt everyday.

Playing chess was something you did regularly, in the library, while Harry and Hermione were busy doing something that most likely involved books. "Wait..yeah, checkmate!" Ron smiles teasingly at you "I'm pretty bloody good aren't I?" He leans forward giving you a challenging smirk "Well, I suppose so..but I just made it easy for you" You were very competitive, as competitive as Ron. "Yeah right!" he said in a teasing tone. You loved that smirk of his, even if it annoyed you sometimes.

Your matches continued on for hours and Ron really enjoyed it. Deep down he liked how you were only focused on him, and him only. It felt weird at first but he's kind of warmed up to the idea of it.

At the courtyard it was almost evening, Ron has you in his arms into a tight hug, making you unable to get away or move. You've been there talking for hours and hours. But it seems like he just can't get enough of you. "Oh stop it! I have to go back to the ravenclaw tower, it's almost curfew!" You struggle "It's hard to breathe you know!" You tried to shake your arms but Ron just wouldn't budge. He liked watching you panic, you just did it in a very cute way in his deffense. "Shhhh" He put his finger on your lips, finally letting you go.

You made plans with him to go to hogsmede that weekend, together. "Pleaseee, I really want to spend time with you..We haven't been together all week!" You and Ron were in different houses so spending time and going on dates wasn't the easiest task to achieve.

After continuous nagging and begging, (He just was teasing you) Ron finally agreed with a sheepish smile and a blushing face "Er- sure, I mean if it's alright with you and you have no plans and-" You pulled Ron into a hug smiling into his chest, muffling something along the words of "Thank you, you idiot"

Ron liked how you didn't mind when he rambles about quidditch all day or when he talks about Viktor Krum. He found it weird how you never got tired of him and his constant nonsense, he was secretly scared that you would grow tired of him, but you never did. Your full attention was always on him and spending time together was garaunteed in your blossoming relationship. It was the first time that he was the center of attention. He loved it, but he loved you more. 🍪

please consider checking out my other works!

authors note : this is my first time writing but I loveee reading literature I just can't find any good ron weasley fluff so I was like, "why not write it myself lmao" so (்▿்)

by angelphie

edit : thank you all of the support!

6-6-7?

[weezyweasleys-fg]

hii i was wondering if u could do a fic wherein reader is watching the quidditch world cup and george and them have a bet to see who wins 💗

Eyes on the Prize | G.W

summary: Love's all sweet with George Weasley until you put it on the line for a Quidditch game.

c/w: short fic, characters are aged up above twenty, taunting and teasing, romantic rivalry, mentions of sex and implied intercourse at the end

wc: 1.7k

It was deafening.

Was it the pounding of your heart? Your hard breathing?

Oh, it was all of those.

But we can't forget the cause of it all. The loud roars and charismatically patriotic cheers of both the witches and wizards that came to rally on their teams for the long-awaited, nail-biting, Quidditch World Cup.

The smell of smoke and the faint aroma of Butterbeer and Firewhiskey swirled in the air, confetti rained like the first snowfall, and millions of different colors and lights flashed and strobed as far as the eye could see. The energy was electrifying, fit to get anyone riled up for a good game.

It surely riled up your Quidditch fanatic of a boyfriend, George Weasley.

With the stuck-up bigwigs a bit farther down in a more privately occupied platform, their heads tilted up with "their noses nearly touching the heavens above," said George, the so-called 'normal' onlookers seemed to have twice as much fun at least. You know, the ones who actually came to watch the game and not just attend as a show of status.

"We're nearly there!" George exclaimed through the booming chaos, his grin so wide it nearly tore his cheeks in half, his hand tightly clasped around yours as you sifted and squeezed through the crowds of onlookers standing shoulder-to-shoulder and couldn't keep still from excitement.

"What about your family?!" You yelled back, glancing behind you to see Molly, Arthur, Fred, Ginny, and Ron with Hermione and Harry slowly begin to disappear.

"You're with me, aren't you?! They know it's a date!" Replied George, looking back at you, his hair brushing over his face from the wind that practically competed with the Seekers' speeds. "And besides, it's one less mouth! Less yelling, more for them to properly enjoy the game!"

"I think you forget that Fred's got twice the mouth on him than all your family combined!" You exclaimed, pulling on his hand to tug yourself closer until your body was nestled by George's side as you neared your spot for tonight's game.

"Well then, that's their trouble to deal with," he said, his tone a bit more shushed as you finally halted in your steps. "Because tonight, it’s gonna be you, me, and QUIDDITCH!" He opened his arms wide, the wind suspiciously on cue as it blew on his clothes. "Yeahhh!!!" He roared, shaking his fists enthusiastically in the air.

You snorted, gazing admiringly at your boyfriend before shifting your gaze for a proper look at the little date spot he had insisted both of you separate from the rest of his family and his own twin brother for. The view was no less than spectacular, with an even higher vantage point than the one you were in the first time you'd watched The Cup with his family.

"George… this is… Merlin, it’s beautiful! I thought the view with your family was good, but this — this is unreal."

Smug, he responded. "Told you I’d find the best seat in the house. Reserved just for us."

"You mean you dragged me halfway up the stadium so you could show off."

"Guilty. But admit it, the view’s worth every step." He smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close enough so you were now hip-to-hip. "And I bet seeing the Bulgarians lose from up here would be just as entertaining as well."

"Humble yourself, Weasley." You grinned pridefully, tugging George closer by his green and white striped scarf. "Bet you'll be eating your own words today once Bulgaria takes home The Cup."

He cocked up an eyebrow, his eyes glinting as an amused smirk painted his lips. "Oh? You sure starting a bet with me's a good idea?"

"But I'm not. I’m just getting you ready for your defeat, mate!"

George wrapped his hands around your wrists, using the contact to pull you closer. "As if!" He shot back. "C’mon, love, with Ireland’s Seeker flying like lightning and form so sharp it could cut through a Bludger, we’ve got this in the bag! Those Bulgarians will be chasing shadows like a Chaser trying to score with no Quaffle!"

You mock gasped. "Please, have you seen Krum play? He's a maniac on the field!" 

"Maniac, Schmaniac!" George mocked your words in a way that was familiar, gently dropping your hands back down.

He smirked. "More like reckless. Ireland'll crush him."

"Fearless," you countered. "He dives for the Snitch like no one else."

"Into a broken neck, maybe."

"Face it — Bulgaria’s better. Krum will win."

You watched George’s grin widen as he laughed. “We’ll see,” he said, that mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

He leaned in with all the confidence in the world. “Let’s bet on it then!”

You crossed your arms, already wary of where this was heading. “Okay, we’re really going that route. Loser gets…?”

His answer was immediate, a wicked little smirk playing on his lips. “No sex for a week.”

You scoffed out loud before you could stop yourself. “Barbaric.” The word slipped out sharp and incredulous, and honestly, you meant it.

He gasped like you’d insulted his honour, but his eyes were still sparkling. George leaned closer, voice low and teasing. “Barbaric? Love, this is mercy compared to what Fred suggested.”

You heart flipped despite yourself. Merlin help you, you were already losing this bet in your head.

"... And what did he suggest?" You asked, genuinely curious. But knowing Fred, you'd already known it would've been something completely diabolical.

George, all casual with his eyes staring out into the vast arena, answered. "Streak across the pitch after the final match wearing nothing but a Bulgarian or Irish flag as a cape."

You blinked a few times, your prejudice proving you right once again. Shuddering, you shook your head. "Yeah, that's definitely a Fred thing to propose... And the winner?"

"A date with yours truly."

"We're already going out, George."

"Oh... right." He scratched the back of his neck, ears slowly going red. The overwhelming atmosphere had him forgetting something as simple as his own girlfriend. But you'll let it slide just for today.

You barked out a laugh, tossing your head back momentarily. At least George is thrilled to see you take it with a lightheartedness he loved about you. Just then, an idea came up. Simple, but not one everyone would like to lose a bet on.

Your hand quickly found George's forearm, catching his attention quickly when he snapped his head back to you. "Butterbeer."

The man furrowed his eyebrows at you, a confused smile on his lips. "Yeah...?" 

"Loser supplies Butterbeer for everyone during our entire stay here." 

"Now that's just mental!" He protested. “In case you've forgotten a thing or two about my brothers, they've got bottomless pits for stomachs! You're gonna run either of us out of money!"

You grinned, patting his cheek playfully. "Best get your Galleons on the ready, then, business boy."

"We're gonna be begging for Sickles outside the classrooms, hope you know," he grumbled.

And with square shoulders and an ecstatic smile, you were nothing short of confident with tonight's affairs. That endless supply of Butterbeer's already as good as yours.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

So, you lost. He won.

"Chin up, y/n." He beamed, wrapping the winning team's scarf around your neck as you continued to spew words of disbelief and disapproval. "It's a good time to join me on the obviously better team."

The stadium was still alive with electric cheers when you snapped.

You were sulking with a scarf of the wrong colour wrapped unwillingly around your neck, still smarting from both the loss and the embarrassing terms of your bet.

“I know damn well that McKenna cheated! Everyone saw that Wronski feint — there’s no way she made that catch fair!” You exclaimed, pointing at the field with your opened hand.

“Mhm, and here we have the rare y/n in her natural habitat,” he commentated, tugging at your sleeve to try and level your head. "Complaining and yelling like the players could hear a word she's saying because she can't admit her team is a load of bollocks."

“I demand a review, George! That was interference with the Bludger — did you see it?”  

George grinned. “No, but I saw you nearly leap out of your seat. Thought you were going to dive onto the pitch yourself.”  

“You’re not taking this seriously!”  

“Of course I am! I’m very concerned for the Ref’s safety. If looks could kill, you’d have him Petrified by now.”  

“George!”  

“Yes, love?” He leaned closer, smirking. “Are you auditioning to be the next Quidditch commentator? Because the angry shouting is spot on. You'd be putting Lee out of duty.”  

“This is an outrage!”  

“Mm, adorable outrage. I might have to start fouling Bludgers myself just to see this again.”

“I'm not losing this bet! I’ll prove it!”

"Oh no, you won't!" George finally caught up, grabbing you around the waist and spinning you back toward the stands. His face was red—half with effort, half with genuine amusement. “Merlin’s beard, woman! You’re going to get us banned from The Cup!”

“I don’t care!” you growled, though your bottom lip wobbled, equal parts indignation and embarrassment bubbling in your chest. “You tricked me into this ridiculous bet and now everyone thinks your team is flawless!”

He pressed his forehead to yours, laughing under his breath despite himself. “So your plan is to start an international Quidditch controversy… just to prove me wrong?”

“… Yes.”

“Brilliant,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm and affection all at once. “Bloody brilliant. Next time, I’m betting you a single Chocolate Frog. Much safer for world peace and keeping my head on my shoulders.”

Even as the crowd cheered and whistled, George swept you off before other spectators could scold you for your outburst, muttering about your dangerous mix of pride, stubbornness… and love of Butterbeer debts you’d rather not pay.

Now you're left with no sex for a week, and a wallet that's about to be inhabited by little white butterflies by the end of the tournament.

But who's George kidding? Merlin knows that man worships your intimacy more than some Quidditch event. He may have won (quite prideful about it too, running around when the Irish nailed the final score, and nearly blowing his voice out yelling to Fred in hopes he'd hear), but lost the bet he set all the same.

On the same night you both wagered it. Behind the stadium where no one crossed, in a little booth George had enchanted to be soundproof. 

He allowed you to really vent out your frustrations, then.

[sophiemass]

🖤You Need Vitamins (#2)

🖤 Summary: After the Yule Ball, and with no apparent girlfriend in sight, George makes a bet with Fred. Get a girlfriend and keep her until the next school year, or be the sole product tester until they open the shop.

🖤 Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader.

🖤 Warnings: Fake dating, maybe OOC George.

🖤 Word count: 4.7k

🖤A/N: The last scene is a later addition, so it's actually glued with water, but it sets up a bit of ground(? for the next chapter. The next update will be on the 1st or 2nd of April, depending on whether I write a birthday fic or not, lol. Just like @eliiiiiiieeee, if you want to be tagged, drop a comment!

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There was a beat of silence, a stunned kind of quiet that made him suddenly aware that they were completely alone now. George blinked once. His heart hammering in his chest was the only sound he was able to hear through the blood rushing to his ears.

You were staring at him, eyes shining brighter than he had ever noticed, as if the spark of mischief highlighted the shadow of colour in them. Expectantly, you looked back and forth between his eyes.

He took a shuddering breath, forcing his body to work again. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again—his mind couldn’t yet conjure a thought.

“What?” he finally managed, breathless and confused.

“I said, 'I'll pretend to be your girlfriend.'" The smirk on your lips seemed to grow even more wicked than before.

He licked his lips, his mind racing through a million questions. “Why?”

You placed your hands on your waist, your weight shifting from one foot to another, displeasure clearly written all over your face. “Because if Fred thinks he can make a bet and use girls to get what he wants, then he needs to think again.”

“Weren’t you mad at me like thirty seconds ago?” His lips were partially opened, his eyes half-lidded, and his brows pinched together.

“I am mad,” you nodded. “Women do not deserve to be an unwilling part of a bet.”

“Then why did you agree?” George enquired, a bit wary now of your sudden change of heart.

You tilted your head, one finger coming up to start playing with a strand of your hair, an air of disdain exuding from the gesture. “Because I want to.” You shrugged, offering no other explanation.

“So, you’ll help me because you want to?” His tone was slightly breathless, brows raised, and eyes opened wide.

His cerulean eyes looked for any type of deceit inside yours. He only found playfulness alongside a trace of fire that had been directed fully towards his twin. He finally relaxed his tense shoulders and sighed.

“Yes.” Your arms fell to either side of your body. “But you have to share your winnings with me.”

“Will you?” He questioned again, disbelief written all over his face. “Really?”

“For the love of God," you snapped. “Yes, George Weasley. I will help you with this idiotic bet.”

“Thank you.” He exhaled, partially relieved.

George felt like he could take a full, deep breath without choking with the pressure. He had been playing nonchalant, as if losing the bet didn’t affect him. The reality was that he couldn’t even dare to start thinking about being the sole product tester without feeling the fear creeping inside his body.

He was aware of how dangerous the first batches of products were and how much the overuse or underuse of an ingredient in a potion could change its effect, making it unpredictable. They were currently developing a few more things that, in the case of losing, he would have to taste the products time and time again until they achieved the desired effect.

It was only fair that the testing was evenly distributed between him and Fred, and whoever liked being brave enough to try it for a few sickles. Being the only one to try the formulas was not an act of bravery; it was foolishness dressed as courage.

For the first time since mid-January—after he first realised his morals were stronger than he thought—he felt like he had a chance at winning.

You rolled your eyes, a rogue little smile pulling at your lips. “I’m not doing this for you; I’m doing it because I like bets.” You clicked your tongue and lifted a brow. “And because this time Fred needs to lose.”

Oh. Oh. He remembered now. Last year, during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, you had placed a bet at their gambling booth. You had bet on Fleur for the win, whilst they had offered 10:1 odds for Fleur, and Fred had teased you relentlessly about it when Fleur ended up last.

George had remained tight-lipped during that time; the twitch in your brow whenever Fred appeared by your side was enough to keep him quiet for fear of you learning he had come up with the idea of the odds.

“Err, we are good, right?” he stammered, asking just for good measure.

“As long as you don’t get on my last nerve, we are.” You extended your hand towards him. “Partners?”

He hesitated, his mind telling him this was the worst way of winning the bet, that something was going to end up going wrong, that Fred would know they were conspiring against him. But then he looked, really looked at you.

Behind the playfulness and the fire of vengeance in your eyes, there was another thing, the sparkle of something he couldn’t quite point out. It was something that made him feel even more upset and guilty.

There was a hidden something, another reason for your involvement, and George could only begin to guess what it was.

He shook your hand. “Partners.”

***

There was the unmistakable sensation of a pair of eyes burning through the side of his head. It wasn’t sudden or unwanted. It was a reaction that he knew would happen since the moment he set foot inside the classroom and sat down.

Flitwick roamed around the classroom, correcting postures and pronunciation, and students, those interested, were listening with avid attention. Of course, neither George nor Fred was part of the latter.

Red-faced, panting and breathless, you and George had arrived at the classroom fifteen minutes after the class had started. That alone had gathered the attention of every busybody student, but especially Fred’s. The professor had scolded you both and graciously ignored the way you were looking at each other complicitly.

The rumour mill had started in that moment, and intense, blue eyes were trying to get him to turn his attention to look towards his left, which he purposely avoided.

Several seats away from George, you were writing down notes about the class here and there, but your attention wasn’t undivided. And as George threw a small paper ball at you, you turned your head slightly and smiled. A devilishly wicked pull of lips that garnered even more whispers.

Fred had already been there when you two arrived and had looked at George with enquiring eyes when he didn’t immediately explain why he had stopped you earlier, why you two were smiling or why you two were suddenly exchanging notes in class.

He saw all those questions written in his twin’s eyes and watched the way Fred's jaw was slightly tense and how his eyes burnt at him, switching between looking at George and at you.

“What’s up with you?” Fred mumbled, feigning uninterest.

“What’s up with what?” replied George, his eyes lowering towards his hands on the table.

“With you and her.” Fred pointed at you with his chin.

Okay. George breathed in, then out. It was time to start acting. Maybe it was because he was, in fact, still a bit tense about the whole ordeal or because you had just responded to his note with a silly remark, but he believed he could act flustered when he already felt his stomach fluttering slightly.  

“Just…” He messed up his hair. “We talked.” Nervously, he avoided looking into Fred’s. His twin knew him too well to not know when he was being truthful or lying, so for once, he was glad he truly felt embarrassed.

“About?” Fred raised a brow.

George shrugged. “Stuff.”

“Stuff?” Lee wondered, and when George turned to his right, he saw the brown-eyed man looking at him knowingly. “You finally decided you want to win the bet?”  

“There’s no way you chose her,” Fred coughed. “She’s mental, mate.”

“She’s not mental,” George defended you.

You were absolutely mental. Not in the wrong way, but in a brilliant, totally scary way. Yes, you were very sweet and caring and always nice to everybody. But that meant it was more terrifying when you suddenly schemed against someone.

“She once put beetle eyes in my water bottle because I got a better mark on an exam than her!” Lee shuddered. 

“You very loudly mocked that she got half a point less than you,” retorted George.

“Georgie, you cannot seriously defend her in this,” Lee shrieked, which garnered the attention of some students, including Flitwick. “Sorry!”

They remained silent for a bit before George spoke after Flitwick had finally taken his chastising eyes off them. “I will defend her; she’s always nice otherwise.” He looked at his twin. “You’re always nicking her notes and relying on her when you need an alibi.”

“Which is why I know she’s mental. We recognise each other,” he added.

George rolled his eyes and looked at you again. You were now attempting to do the charm alongside your friend; you were giggling at something she said and moving your mouth rapidly while a small spark came out of your wand.

As if sensing him, you turned your head, found his eyes and winked.

Averting his gaze from you, George fumbled with his wand for a beat before stealing a peek at you. You were still watching him.

“Oh god,” he gulped, his cheeks heating up in a pretty pink.

“See, mental,” Fred derided.

***

After classes ended, Fred had begrudgingly let George go, even if he had given vague excuses as to why he needed to suddenly take a stroll through the hallways.

He had dropped his books out of his bag and lost his tie in the small stop he did in his room to grab a few snacks and a small Muggle notebook. Soon he found himself standing outside the opulent white door of the prefects' bathroom.

“Wow, this is where all the money goes?” mumbled George as he looked at the nice bathroom after he said the password.

The toilet stalls reinforced with a sturdy material instead of the flimsy wood weren't what caught his attention, nor was the pool-like hot-tub in the middle of the room, or the jewels encrusted in the bath taps, or the immense mirror on the wall.

What caught his attention was the fact that you were sitting by the edge of the tub, your feet inside it, relaxed as if you had no care in the world. It was a high contrast to him, whose shoulders had tensed as soon as he had entered the room.

“Are you going to enter or just stare in awe?” you said after a few seconds of him standing at the entrance.

George ushered inside, not really knowing what to do. He was in uncharted territory. Planning jokes he knew, but this?

He sighed as he slowly moved towards you, taking off his shoes and rolling his trousers up so he could dip his feet in the water just like you were doing. The water was warm and slightly bubbly, making him sigh again as some of the tension eased the moment his skin contacted it.

You were looking at him with curiosity, as if the mere act of him dipping his feet inside was interesting. “You’re less tense, yes?”

“Yes,” he said as he took a bag of crisps from his bag.

You turned your body and grabbed a bottle from the toiletries supply a little bit further. “It says it is a muscle relaxer with potent effects to battle fatigue, insomnia, menstrual cramps and headaches.” You mumbled as you read the label. “Fancy stuff. Smells like candy floss.”

For a few minutes, neither of you said anything, enjoying the delicate scent of whatever liquid you had dropped into the water. It wasn’t until he opened the bag of crisps and offered them to you that he started talking.

The conditions of the bet, what he would earn if he won, what he would have to do if he lost, and how much time they had until the first deadline approached. He was crestfallen, almost too ashamed by the way he had handled Fred and his schemes.

“That’s it?” you enquired after he finished. “He poked a bit about your sexuality, and you caved?”

George didn’t answer; he rather shrugged and clicked his tongue before nodding. Saying it out loud sounded much stupider than thinking about it. It sounded much more like a boy with a very fragile masculinity.

“And are you? Gay, I mean.” You still had that teasing lilt, but it was softer now.

He turned to fully look at you, at your eyes. You were looking for truthful answers; you weren’t being annoying like Fred or Ron had been. It was almost the same question Fred had asked, yet completely different. The subtext wasn’t to mock him for his lack of interest in girls, but you were genuinely curious.

The defensiveness he expected to feel wasn’t there. So he decided to answer with the truth.

You grabbed a lollipop from your school robe and popped it into your mouth while he mulled over the answer.

"No." His eyes flickered quickly towards your lips before he turned his gaze to his feet. “I mean, I tried, but I just… I didn’t like it.” His tone was almost a whisper, something he wasn’t meant to tell anyone.  

You let out a soft hum of appreciation before speaking again. “Great, because otherwise PDA would’ve been really awkward.”

He almost choked on the crisp he was chewing. “What?”

“Well, yes.” From your bag, you took out a scrap of parchment. “We must establish boundaries, yes? I have some questions we must address."

You shoved the paper towards his hands and urged him to read it. His eyes slowly scanned the contents.

How much PDA allowed? Hand holding, hugs, cheek kisses, kisses on the mouth, on any other part of the body, hand on waist, playing with each other’s hair.

If someone feels uncomfortable with a situation while performing, what happens?

Check-ins to keep on track?

Absolutely no-go’s?

What happens if someone falls in love with another person during this? Keep going? Talk? Open the fake relationship?

He snorted in disbelief.

“When did you have the time to think about any of this?” He asked, amazed and slightly put off by your quick thinking.

“Oh, that is nothing.” You showed him another piece of parchment with more questions. “We must define the story of how we got together for the people who don’t know about the bet; we also must share some personal details to avoid letting people assume we don’t know each other.”

George half-listened to you. His head was spinning a bit with all the talking and the questions he had never thought of, and with you being so nonchalant about it.

Not even he was able to think of so many things for a prank in that little timeframe. He usually took an entire day with his attention fully dedicated to it. You had done it while also paying attention to Flitwick, Sinistra and whichever other professor you had had in your extracurriculars.

“You’re alright?” You placed a hand on his shoulders.

“Yes, just a bit surprised.” He shook his head, trying to clear his mind to give you his full attention.

Fred would be beside himself once he learnt just how much of a mastermind you were and how it was all used to pull a fast one on him. He would be amazed, probably. He would call you crazy to your face. Or that was probably George himself.

His eyes scanned the pieces of parchment you placed on his thighs, appreciative. “You’re mental.” He chuckled as he rubbed his face.

“Takes one to know one,” you said, pointing at him, your cheeks slightly red.

“You’re blushing.” He pointed, an observation that made you go even redder.

“Shut up, you blush too.” You kicked your feet, splashing some of the soppy, sweet-scented water on their uniforms.

But you had a completely valid point. He hadn’t really thought about the implications of going into a fake relationship; he just thought they would go with the flow. The relief that he felt once he realised he had the chance to win had clouded his judgement a bit, making him unable to think of anything else but the fact that he was going to pretend he was your boyfriend.

Having boundaries just in case was even better than shitting their way around like Fred would do. It gave them a floor to rest on, just in case something went awry or someone questioned stuff about them.

"Okay." He grabbed the first parchment. “Check-ins to keep track? We can do that when we go on dates.”

“We’ll go on dates?” you wondered, taking the lollipop out of your blue-stained lips.

“Of course, what kind of boyfriend doesn’t take his girlfriend on dates?” You looked like you were about to give an example of whom, so he spoke again. “If any of us feels uncomfortable, we just say it.” His lips turned sideways. “Or maybe we say to the other that we have a headache or that we have to take some air.”

You nodded. “What if someone falls in love with another person?” You bit your lips.

“Uhm, the goal of this fake thing is to win the bet, right?” He messed with his hair. “Until the deadline is met, dating other people is strictly forbidden.”

“Okay, so that’s like a normal relationship.” Your lips pressed together, as if you were trying to suppress a smile.

“It is what we are trying to imitate, so being with other people means cheating,” he added.

“But we’re not a real couple." You pointed at him with your lollipop. “What if there’s nobody around and I want to flirt with a cute guy?”

“Absolutely not,” hissed George.

The image of you, his supposed girlfriend, flirting and canoodling with another man at some party or at a Hogsmeade trip made him feel extremely upset. It was a matter of principle. Of being loyal. He hated polycules.

“You will get jealous?” you taunted.

“Very," he declared, his face devoid of expression.

You poked him under the ribs, and he yelped at the ticklish sensation that erupted on his body. His hand trembled when he poked you back, but you merely rubbed the place and smirked, completely unaffected.

But after a beat, you lifted both hands on either side of your head and closed your eyes, conceding.

The gentle drip of the tap made the silence that settled between them seem even louder, making it slightly hard to breathe without feeling like he was about to disrupt something.

Surprisingly, the water of the tub stayed hot, not losing its warmth even after several minutes of being exposed to the cold air of January. George’s skin felt tender and wrinkly now, the water doing wonders for his calves. He could use a bath in a pool like this after Quidditch practice.

He watched as your feet played on the surface, making small waves that spread and hit him on his knees. For a moment, his eyes strayed to the way your skirt sat haphazardly on your thighs. It was then that he realised you weren’t wearing your tights, and somehow that made him feel even warmer than before.

“What about the others?” you mumbled.

The remaining questions weighed in his head, and the more he thought about them, the more complicated he believed this whole thing would be.

His 'no's' were pretty simple: no flirting with other people, no cheating, and no badmouthing him behind his back. He obviously hated the idea of being ridiculised, of being the butt of a joke meant to humiliate him. And there were the ones he thought were meant to be universal: no hitting, no insults, no verbal abuse.

You nodded along with his list and added your own when he finished. “Okay, I agree with all of them, but I would like to add something more.” You took the lollipop out of your mouth. “I won’t accept any type of misogynist behaviour like the one that led you to this.” You tilted your head, and your hardened gaze found his.

“I don’t plan on being a git.” He maintained your stare for a few seconds before shying away awkwardly and glaring back at the rippling water.

“We’ll see,” you scoffed before stealing a crisp from the bag he was holding. “So, now physical boundaries.”

Holding your hand, hugging and kissing your cheek would be easy enough. Those touches were innocent; even first years did it without batting an eye. So he agreed to those, and so did you.

Playing with his hair was an easy yes for him. He loved it when Ginny used him as a dummy for her hair experiments and braided his hair, and he had loved even more when his mum or dad passed their hands through his scalp when he was little. He would honestly love it if you did it.

You didn’t agree with him on that.

“It’s hard to maintain the curls." You shrugged. “But you do have the perfect length to play with it.”

Your hand shot up, and your fingers buried themselves in his hair. He almost slipped and fell into the pool when he leaned further to pursue the sensation of your fingertips massaging his scalp. His eyes had closed without him realising, and he had to embarrassingly stop the purr that threatened to escape his throat.

The last time someone had touched his hair was when he kissed that boy. The way he had pulled had been too harsh, too rough. Your fingers were soft, gentle, almost soothing.

“Oh, I didn’t know this about you.”

You were beaming at him, as if the idea of disarming him by a simple touch of hair were incredibly exciting. Maybe it was. He had just placed on your hands a way of controlling him.

He cleared his throat, and your hands promptly disappeared from his scalp. It had been such a long time since someone had played with his hair that he almost groaned at the lost sensation, but managed to stop himself from humiliating himself any further.

“Hand on waist is fine,” you said after reading the question again; he agreed.

There were only two other demonstrations of physical affection remaining. The tricky ones. Kisses. Mouth or in any other part of the body.

The first time he did it had been in a broom closet after playing the bottle game in a Quidditch afterparty with a girl older than him. He hadn’t known what to do, but she had grabbed his face and snogged him hard. It had been sloppy. Too many teeth, too much slurping.

Years down the line, George had learnt the way he liked to kiss. And that was with no pressure, and not with someone he met the very same day. He had grown to like them—except for that time with that boy—but they still weren’t that big of a deal to him.

Kisses served as the prelude to sex. Something he needed to do if he wanted to have a somewhat successful night. Something rehearsed that led to the end goal. He didn’t mind kisses, but he didn’t crave them. And he didn’t really see the appeal of snogging for hours like he knew Fred did in broom closets.

Body kisses, however, were another deal. All his sexual encounters had ranged from disaster to mildly good. Those that he had been able to enjoy had had one thing in common: hickeys.

It was different. He liked the way the lips connected with the sensitive skin of his neck, how they would breathe on his pulse and then slowly press their wet mouth there.

“I don’t mind kisses either,” you mentioned, your hand twirling the lollipop, deep in thought. “Snogging is fine too.” You shrugged.

“And the other?” He stuttered as you smirked

Slowly, he watched as you completely turned your body towards him. Your eyes, which he had come to avidly seek, shone incredibly bright under the artificial lights of the floating candles. His mouth felt dry, and his cheeks started to match the colour of his hair.

You tilted your head and, low, nearly purring, said, "We'll see.”

***

“We have to be convincing.”

The Hogwarts library was incredibly big, hosting students from all houses at all hours of the day, but as of today, the library wasn’t just a place for students to do their duties in peace; rather, it had turned into your new meeting spot.

George spoke once again. “If we want them to believe us, we have to be comfortable with each other.” 

“I’m always comfortable,” you answered, a small smirk playing on your lips.

George rolled his eyes and looked at you, his face contorted into a weird, self-contained smile.

Only a day had passed since you two agreed to fake a relationship. He had spent the night thinking, turning and tossing in bed. By the morning, he had come to terms with the fact that he would have to pretend for half a year that he was the partner of a pseudo-friend.

Your questions had planted a seed of doubt inside his mind. Would he be comfortable with everything? He had agreed to almost all the PDA you had proposed, but once it came to action, would he really be fine?

“You don’t know.” He balanced himself on the two back legs of his chair. “Have you ever had a boyfriend before?” Arching a brow, he turned to look at you.

“Is it important?” You folded your arms, your lips turning into a thin line.

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “And I’m not judging, but agreeing to physical touch is not the same as being comfortable with it.”

Before Madam Pince could see him, he sneaked out a small sweet and popped it into his mouth, offering one to you before hiding it in his robe again.

“Look, I’ve never had a girlfriend. I’ve kissed girls, but I’ve never gone on a date, much less walked through the hallways while grabbing someone’s hand.” He gently explained. “Virtually, it’s not a big deal, but enacting it? That might be hard.”

You remained silent for a beat, your nails tapping on the wooden surface of the table you two had found at the farthest edge of the library. Your eyes seemed far away for half a second, lost in thought, before you finally looked inside his eyes.

“So, what? What do we do?”

Up until yesterday, you had only thought of the actual fake relationship, the boundaries and useful information that both of you should know about each other. And that was great, but he thought the before was important too.

Not that you hadn’t thought the same, but your major focus had been to tackle the relationship.

Physical touch was an important part of every relationship; whether there was too much or too little of it, people always formed an impression of the couple from the way they acted around each other.

Perhaps he had been overthinking it, but he had feared seeming much too cold towards you if they jumped straight into the relationship part. Yes, Fred, Lee, Ron and Harry would probably not mind, as they knew it was part of a bet, but people didn’t know, and you weren’t supposed to act as you knew.

It was quite confusing, if he was honest.

“We spend as much time together as we can.”

His blue eyes fluttered towards yours. He saw the spark of something, maybe the fire he had seen when you were angry at him, or the twinkle of mischief he was starting to think was a permanent feature of your face.

One of his hands slithered its way to the table and grabbed your hand. It was smaller than his, much too small, and soft. You hadn’t had the callouses Quidditch had carved into his palms, and rather kept your nails painted a pinkish nude.

His heart almost skipped a beat when your thumb slowly stroked the back of his hand.

“And we get comfortable.”

Swallowing, he shifted his hand until he intertwined their fingers, and then he lifted his gaze. There was a gleam—no fire, no mischief—something completely different that he was still not able to decipher.

“Okay.”

You squeezed his hand and smiled.

[blog-of-agony-and-despair]

Never!

A 12 year old Fred Weasley walks into the medical wing of Hogwarts, an almost anxious look on his face. There aren’t too many, just a couple of sixth year and one or two second.

Madam Pomfrey sees him walk into and has to stop herself from sighing.

Fred is what she calls a regular. “ah, Mr. weasley. What is it this time- firework burn? Too many puking pasties?” She tuts and motions for him to sit on one of the cots.

He swallows as he sits down on the cot closest to her, holding his stomach. “No..” He frowns, looking up at her with big, tear-filled, brown, eyes.

She raises an eyebrow. He’s not normally so…quiet. The energy she’s used to is non-existent. “Well, what then?” She turns to him, her hands on her hips.

A moment goes..then two- then three before he blurts out- “I think y/n y/l/n hexed me!”

Her lips part in confusion. She wasn’t too familiar with you- you’ve come in once or twice over a headache or the flu but nothing too serious. She knows you’re a bright student who would never hex someone…not without good reason, anyway.

“Mr. Weasley..I doubt she hexed you, but why do you think that?” She looks him over? Looking for any physical evidence or proof you did anything to him.

He takes a deep breath and his hands go to his stomach. “Everytime I look or think about her I feel sick. Really sick- and my hands get sweaty and my heart beats faster.” He scoffs. “And I can’t stop thinking about her and my stomach gets all weird, like I’ve been hit by a bludger, but worse- she must have done something! We should tell Dumbledore- or snape- Can you fix it?!”

She lets herself think it over for a couple of moments before she laughs softly- “Does this only happen when they’re there..?” He shakes his head quickly- “No, it happens when I think about her too..”

“Do you..find yourself thinking about her a lot?”

He nods.

She can only laugh harder.

“What’s so funny?! I’m being serious!” He huffs, watching her laugh with a distraught expression. He’s not used to being taken seriously but this was different! This was real- something was genuinely wrong with him!

“She didn’t hex you.” She explains gently, smiling in amusement. “You have feelings for her..”

The words hit Fred..hard.

No…surely not…

“Wha?..no I don’t.” He scoffs- that was stupid. He’d never like you- right?

She nods her head- “yes you do. Heart racing, thinking about her a lot, sweating-”

“This was stupid!” He stands up and quickly walks towards the door to leave. “I don’t fancy y/n! I would never fancy her!” He scoffs to himself.

“She hasn’t hexed you, Mr. Weasley. You’d be smart not to repeat that to anyone else.” She calls out towards him before turning towards another cot to help someone else.

He continues to grumble to himself until he gets to his common room- then his dorm room, before he throws himself onto his bed- his face buried into his pillow, a hot pink flush on his cheeks and his ears red as he thinks over her words…

He didn’t fancy you…! He NEVER would!…

Right?

…

Madame pomfrey, 10 years later, sits on the fourth row, left side, of the aisle. The aisle you’re currently walking down- the aisle where, at the end, a 22 year old Fredrick Gideon Weasley is stood- seconds away from crying at how gorgeous you look in a wedding dress.