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First Year:
Rushing through the corridors, late for Potions is not how you wanted to start your day, but it seemed like there was to be no luck for you this morning.
Having woken late, you had rushed getting dressed and forgot your bag as you raced from your bedroom, having to double back to get it. By that time, breakfast had almost finished so you threw back a piece of cold toast slathered with raspberry jam before necking a glass of orange juice and sprinting from the Great Hall.
Turning onto the corridor in which Snape’s classroom is located, you run straight into someone. The force of hitting them, you fall onto your bum and the person you ran into is pitched forwards, caught luckily by their friend.
They turn quickly; their eyes dropping to your figure on the floor, ready to start shouting. However, it seems their argument dies at the same time. Your eyes widen as you realise who you’ve run into: Fred and George Weasley. The latter rubbing their shoulder where your face had been only moments ago.
“Merlin,” You stutter, “I am so sorry, I was rushing, and I didn’t see you there.”
His twin, Fred you think, covers his mouth politely as he laughs. George elbows him as he smiles at you. “No harm, no foul,” George reassures.
You release a long sigh; unaware just how on edge you felt around the twins already making themselves a name larger than the Marauders who once roamed these very halls. You smile sheepishly at the redhead, already a few inches taller than you despite being the same age, and gesture to the now empty corridor, “I guess I better get going to class. I don’t want to be late – Snape will have my head if I am.”
George nods his head, “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you around then.”
You turn away from him; hoisting your bag further up your shoulder, “I’ll see you around, George.”
Second Year:
“(Y/N),” A humour filled voice calls out from behind you.
Turning, you come face to face with George Weasley. You startle slightly; not having spoken much to the twin since you had run into him through your first year. A conversation would be had every now and then, but it mainly consisted of group work with other students in attendance.
Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you greet the redhead. He smiles at you politely before gesturing to the empty seat next to you, “Do you mind if I sit here?”
You shake your head, “Of course not, but why aren’t you sitting next to Fred?”
George smiles at you gratefully as he sits down next to you, “They’ve split us into different Herbology classes.”
You grin at his answer, “Do I want to know why?”
He shakes his head; opening his notebook and reaching into his bag for his quill. “Probably not, but I’m not too bothered.”
“You aren’t?”
George shakes his head once more, shrugging his shoulders, “I get to sit next to you.”
You turn your eyes from him quickly; not expecting an answer like that. He laughs lightly as he notes down the date and aim for this lesson. “I think we’re going to be good friends, (Y/N).”
Third Year:
Your Third Year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry starts a little differently to your last two. For starters, you don’t sit with your usual friends. Instead, you wave to them from the platform at Kings Cross before joining Fred and George as they wait for you with their younger brother, Ron, in tow.
Your friendship with the twins developed quickly after that first Herbology lesson with George. He had carried on talking to you after the class; walking you to your next one without complaint and then meeting you later with Fred.
Warming to them both, you couldn’t help but feel closer to George. He had a knack for knowing exactly what you were thinking and feeling at any given moment; able to pull you from stressing too much over essays. He always seemed to be there too; for you to talk to, for you to unload your worries on to.
The friendship was something you already cherished; it bringing out a more playful side to you that you could no longer ignore in their presence. Whenever you could, you would lend an ear to their plans for pranks – offering your opinion over where best to throw a dungbomb in order to affect the most people.
Third Year did not start the same as your first and second year; this year you felt surer of yourself, felt happier with the person you were becoming. You had George to thank for that.
-------
“Ron!” You call out; grabbing the attention of the youngest Weasley boy. His ears turn red with unwanted attention, and you can’t help but take glee in it. “How are you?” You ask, “Are you settling in okay? And this must be Harry?”
If possible, Ron blushes harder. He nods before finding his voice, “I’m okay. I’m settling in fine; you sound like my mum (Y/N). Yes, this is Harry.”
You smile widely at the messy haired boy before turning your attention back to Ron. “Your mother is an angel, Ron, so I’m taking that as a compliment. Who else would send me a hand-knitted jumper for Christmas?”
Ron snorts, “What’s up, (Y/N)?”
“Have you seen your brother at all?” You ask; eyes scanning for George amongst the growing crowd of students making their way to their next class.
Ron raises an eyebrow, “Which one?”
You fix him with a flat stare; unimpressed with the sass coming from the eleven year old boy. “George. I’m looking for George,” You state for clarity’s sake.
Ron shakes his head, “We saw him at breakfast, but I haven’t seen him since. Have you, Harry?”
Harry shakes his head too. “Have you checked the library?” He offers in kindness.
You bite your lip; wondering about the ever so slight chance of the Weasley twin being in the library. You smile gratefully at the young Gryffindors, “Thank you, boys. I’ll see you later.”
You make to turn, but at the last minute, you swivel back to ruffle Ron’s hair into an undignified mess. He shouts in protest as you run off. As you leave, you hear Harry ask after your identity. Ron tells him who you are and what you mean to the family, but he rounds off with, “George would not stop talking about them over summer.”
Turning onto the corridor for the library, you file that piece of information away for later. For a time when you’re also ready to confront the ever growing feelings for the redhead.
Fourth Year:
Fourth Year begins much like the last. You meet Fred and George at Kings Cross; ruffling Ron’s hair and smiling warmly at Ginny – the last of the Weasley brood to start Hogwarts. She smiles back, but it’s watery and you reach out a hand for her to take in comfort – her goodbyes to her mother already said as you all board the train.
The train ride is loud, but you still find the time to catch up with George. He asks about your summer as if you didn’t spend half of it at the Burrow; you regale him of your time abroad with your family – travelling through the north of France on an extended history lesson.
You hate to admit it, but you bask in his attention, having missed him fiercely through your time abroad that no amount of letters helped. You missed hearing his laughter; it eliciting goosebumps on your skin with each chortle.
Watching the Scottish countryside pass you at an alarming rate, you wonder whether Fourth Year is going to feel similar to third. If your heart has any say in this, it would be the first to tell you that no – this year was not going to feel anything like the last.
--------
Despite the warmth of the fire, the common room is cold as you sit next to George. What started as a happy, carefree atmosphere was plunged into ice, becoming frozen and stilted with words about a missing sibling.
“They said her name… and I just, I stopped hearing anything else,” George whispers; voice close to breaking as he buries his face in his hands.
You open your mouth to offer words of comfort; to offer words of anything, but nothing comes out. How do you comfort something like this? How do offer words of help when you can’t compare the situation to anything you have ever experienced?
At the last minute, as George turns his head to face you, you bring his head to your shoulder, and this time you’re the one to provide wordless comfort.
You feel him shudder against you; overcome with the news of his missing sister. The news had come in a couple of hours ago; George, Fred and Ron escorted from the common room by Professor McGonagall, leaving you alone with Harry and Hermione who were both just as confused as you.
Upon their return, you rushed immediately to George’s side, noting his paleness and the slight tremble to his hands. You couldn’t count on both hands how many times you had asked him – pleaded with him – to tell you what had happened for him to react like this, but for a while, all he did was shake his head, unable to put into the words the news he had received.
It was Ron who worked up the courage. Taking a deep breath to slow his racing heart, he had announced, “Ginny has gone missing. She was seen going into the Forbidden Forest, but no-one ever saw her come out.”
At that point, Fred left the room. You made to go after him; to check on him, but George’s hand clamped down on your knee, keeping you next to him. Shooting him a puzzled glance, all he said was “Stay,” and that was enough for you.
It didn’t take long for you to find yourself alone with George. Fred having returned but going straight to bed; Ron and his friends following straight after though you all know that no sleep would be had amongst anyone. Not until Ginny was found safe and sound.
You remain on the couch; George’s head remaining on your shoulder as you run one hand through his hair and the other holds his hand tightly. The fire continues to burn; devouring the logs that breathe new life into its flames. Silently, you both watch – too tired emotionally to consider talking to the other.
It’s as you watch the fire turning the logs to ash that you discover the lengths you would go too to protect George from ever feeling like this again.
Fifth Year:
Fifth Year brings with it OWLs. It brings with it the stresses of academic excellence tied in with your growing feelings for the lanky redhead that you found yourself attached to.
The further into Fifth Year, the more you come to understand that your feelings for George Weasley are no longer platonic. In fact, you seem to be harbouring quite the crush on the redhead despite your adamant denials to Hermione, who swore blind that it wasn’t completely obvious and that you had nothing to worry about – George hadn’t noticed a thing.
However, you could no longer the way George made you feel. How simply looking at him had you losing breath; how a simple smile from him had your heart racing so fast that you felt absolutely certain it was to give out. There wasn’t a lot he had to do to have your stomach erupting into butterflies and your palms becoming sweaty; all he had to do was say hello and ask how you were feeling for your mouth to run dry.
You felt the fool more often than not; your worries and fears having you second guess each interaction with him, yet sometimes. Sometimes, you swore you would catch him watching you with the same yearning in his eyes that you know is reflected in yours.
It was moments such as that, that had your fears and worries dissipating, giving way to the more harmful emotion of hope. It blooms in your chest; spreading through your veins like a wildfire as you let yourself think that somewhere in the future, George may just feel the same as you.
------
A hand runs through your hair, and you smile in your sleep, turning your face to it.
“Love,” An all too familiar voice sounds, “It’s almost curfew.”
You grumble; snuggling further into your cushion, feeling confused when it starts to move. You crack one eye open; shooting up when you come to see that you’ve fallen asleep on George’s shoulder. You press your hand to your mouth in shock but also checking that you haven’t drooled on him through your nap. “George,” You ramble, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise I was that tired.”
George waves a hand in a dismissive fashion; ignoring your apology, “Love, I’ve known you a few years now. I’m sure falling asleep on each other was bound to happen at some point.”
That does nothing to comfort you. “Regardless,” You protest, “I doubt the last thing you wanted was for me snoring away on your shoulder.”
George smiles, “It’s fine, love. Besides, they were only small snores.”
“George!” You shout; batting a hand on his shoulder playfully, “I do not snore!”
George mimics zipping his mouth shut; keeping his answer a secret, leaving you in the dark as to whether you snore or not.
Rolling your eyes at the redhead, you ask, “How long was I out?”
“About an hour and a half.”
“Oh…” You trail off; glancing at the clock for the first time tonight, noting how close it was to curfew. You run a hand down your face, “I should probably head back to my common room.”
George clears his throat; running a hand through his hair as he suggests, “Or you could stay here?”
“What?”
“Stay here?” He suggests once more, “By the time you get back to your common room, you’ll no longer be tired and there’s always the chance you’ll get caught by Filch and it really isn’t worth a detention, is it?”
A playful smile spreads over your lips as you shake your head, “It’s not worth getting caught at all. But are you sure?”
George nods, standing and holding out a hand for you, “I’m sure. How different can it be from all the sleepovers over the summers we’ve known each other?”
You take his outstretched hand; keeping it tight within yours as he leads you to his room.
“How are you with sharing a bed with me? I’ll share with Fred or Lee if it makes you uncomfortable.”
A sleepy smile breaks over your face, and George realises then and there that he would do just about anything for you to look at him like that always.
“I just fell asleep on you on the couch. How different is sharing a bed?”
George nods wordlessly; squeezing your hand before letting it drop to rifle through his trunk. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for; an old worn out shirt and a pair of joggers for you to wear to bed.
You smile your thanks as you take it from George. You move to unbutton your blouse at which point George splutters a cough, turning his back on you. He feels the blush heat his cheeks as he hears you laugh quietly.
You pull his t-shirt over your torso; enjoying the softness against your skin and inhaling his familiar scent of gunpowder and honeysuckle. “You can turn around now, George.”
An awkward air settles over the room as George meets your eyes, but it doesn’t last long before your burst into laughter. You offer him the same privacy as he gets changed for bed; he clears his throat to let you know it’s safe turn around. Almost imperceptibly, the air changes between you two, becoming charged with an electricity neither of you were aware of before. It’s heady; it’s has your skin feeling flushed, making you more aware of the plans for tonight.
Reaching up on your tiptoes, you press a soft kiss to his cheek. Pulling back, you whisper, “Thank you for letting me stay the night, George.”
He averts his eyes; unable to meet your gaze for the rush of emotions running through his body from such a simple action. He nods wordlessly once more; smiling at you shyly as he pulls back the covers.
Space is limited in the single beds; it ends up that you lay half over George as his arms wrap around you, keeping you in place.
That night, the both of you come to realisation that sharing a bed means much more now.
Sixth Year:
“An ageing potion?” You demand; entering the hospital wing, feeling nothing short of anger aimed at the twins.
George’s eyes widen as he looks to Fred who wisely turns his attention elsewhere. He watches you take in the aftermath of being vaulted across the room by an age line; the grey hair and the long white beard. He can see the anger simmering through your entire body, but your eyes hold a different emotion – one George cannot put a finger on right not, but he would argue it’s something close to love.
At this point, he can no longer tell his feelings for you apart from what he feels daily. He’s utterly infatuated with you, as his mother likes to remind him each time he goes home. George has stopped disagreeing with her; happy to accept the fact that he fell in love with you a long time ago and has no plans in foreseeable future to ever stop.
You hold a hand over your mouth; repressing the sob that wants to escape. The very thought of him entering such a dangerous competition becoming too much for you. George’s face falls when he sees the tears in your eyes; he reaches out a hand for you, “Love…”
You fall into his embrace willingly; hiding your face in his shoulder as the tears fall down your face. Sniffling pitifully, you fist your hands into his robes, gripping onto him for dear life.
No words are dared uttered as George lets you collect yourself; his hand running through your hair and down your back in a motion that he knows soothes you.
“Why would you do such a foolish thing?” You ask; needing to know why they would put their lives at risk so willingly.
George has the decency to look somewhat ashamed as he utters his answer, “Eternal glory and the prize is a thousand galleons.”
You shake your head in disbelief, “If it had worked, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“But it didn’t, so it’s okay.”
“It isn’t, George! This tournament is so dangerous it poses a real threat to lives. If anything was to happen to you-” A sob breaks free from your lips; halting your sentence as your mind steadfastly refuses to even entertain the very thought of living a life without the Weasley twin.
George pulls you back into his embrace; arms wrapping around you tightly as he rocks you as best he can from where he sits on the hospital bed. His beard tickles your face as you hide it in his chest, clamping your lips shut against the wave of tears threatening to overflow.
One, two, three kisses are placed to the top of your head before George coaxes your face out from where its hidden. Tear filled eyes meet his brown ones to which George suddenly feels rotten about the whole ordeal. He hushes you quietly; offering any and all words of comfort so he no longer has to listen to the utterly heart wrenching noise of your sobs – made all the worse knowing that he was the one to cause them.
“Love, we meant nothing by it, you know that.”
“George, you don’t enter a competition that could quite literally kill for money.”
“What else are we to do if we want to open the shop?”
“We go to a bank and fill out a form for a loan.”
“We?”
You raise your eyebrow, determination lacing your tone and distracting you from your tears, “What? Did you think you were getting rid of me that easily? I won’t work in the shop, but I’ll help you open it in any way I can.”
He hooks an arm around your shoulder; pulling you in once again to drop more kisses to the top of your head, unable to help the emotions surging through him.
Over your shoulder, George makes eye contact with his twin brother. Fred had watched the entire exchange in both awe and with a tinge of jealousy; he couldn’t help but hope he would find something similar to what you and George have. That love that doesn’t need to be named, despite the both of you being somewhat aware of the other’s feelings.
Fred winks at his brother; offering him a thumbs up as he lays down on the bed and closes his eyes. Any attempt to give the near couple one form of privacy or another.
As Fred closes his eyes, George turns his attention back to you. The words don’t need to be said, but he whispers them to you regardless, “I would never leave you. Never.”
He feels you relax against him; the tension seeping from your body as the words land exactly where he meant them too. You fall into the embrace more; gripping onto him tighter and inhaling the smell that is so intoxicatingly him – honeysuckle and gunpowder, and just like that, your heart has calmed, and your mind no longer races with possibilities that may never happen.
Seventh Year:
NEWTs take over your life in Seventh Year; spending more and more time in the library much to the dismay of George. He kicks up a fuss each time you tell him your plans for the evening, yet each evening he doesn’t leave your side as he studies with you.
Truthfully, it’s hard to focus with him so close to you. It’s hard to do much of anything when you have to resist the urge to kiss him senseless each time he smiles at you or flicks a piece of parchment your way.
At this point in your friendship, it could be argued by many outsiders that you were in fact in a relationship. Having been asked many times by younger students, each denial felt like a stab to the gut which is only further reinforced each time you catch him staring at you.
Biting your lip, you return your focus to your studies. Ashamedly admitting to yourself that you had to berate yourself countless times throughout the day for daydreaming about the teenager you’re certain you’ve loved since you were fifteen years old and only just learning the meaning of the word.
Seventh Year was your final year at Hogwarts, and though you were more than certain that George would feature heavily in your life beyond it, you couldn’t help the raw hope that built in your chest and flooded your veins at the mere idea of loving him as more than a friend.
-----------
“You know, I promised myself I would do something at graduation,” George states; pulling you to one side as families begin to gather after the ceremony and students are congratulated further.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” You comment; an eyebrow raised.
George nods; a smile gracing his face, “Yeah, I promised myself I would tell you how I feel about you.”
“And just how do you feel about me, Weasley?”
If it’s at all possible, George’s smile grows larger, “I’m absolutely mad for you, love. So mad for you in fact, that I don’t imagine another future without you in it. So what do you say? Fancy living out the rest of your days with a man who has a thing for pranks and plans on owning a joke shop?”
“I can do you one better.”
“Well I have to hear this.”
You beam up at him; hand already circling his tie, “I fancy living out the rest of my days with my best friend by my side. Morning, noon, and night.”
Arms circling your waist, George laughs lightly, “I think I prefer the sound of that.”
Brushing your lips against his, you whisper, “I knew you would.”