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George realized very early in life that Emma was more important than anyone else to him. He knew that even before they went to Hogwarts, but it was not like he knew what that meant, or that it had to mean something. What name it had.
He realized what it really was when he was thirteen, after a espetacular match won against Ravenclaw. Merlin, he had managed to block the Quaffle throw by Lizzie Bennet! He felt like nothing in the world could stop him.
They had a celebration in the Gryffindor dormitory, with music, butterbeer and singing. He remembered laughing at a moment, and the other being kissed.
Jennifer was in the same year as him, and he had never thought about her too much, even though everyone agreed she was the most beautiful girl in their House that year. He kissed her back because it seemed like he was supposed to,—even though he was not completely sure what exactly he was supposed to do, since he never kissed anyone's lips before.
She was soft and warm and beautiful and good humored and smart; but apparently somehow that wasn't enough because that same night he dreamed he was kissing someone else. He woke up panting and frustrated, realising that, yes, of course he was in love with Emma Woodhouse . How could he ever not be?
———
By his sixth year at school he had accepted that it wasn't some fleeting infatuation that was going to fade and leave him satisfied with only having her friendship. Because it was not just butterflies and shaky legs when he was around her, it was also this warm peaceful feeling of unspoken connection that never faded away no matter how many years passed. Because once, when he heard his brother talking about wanting to have kids, George realized that if he was to raise children, it was her he wanted by his side.
“Will, would you vote for me?” Emma asked, arriving on their study table, her voice was soft, her smile inviting and George knew it would hurt even before he felt it.
He should have been used to it by then, because Emma had flirted with Will for so long and he had seen it so many times and he knew both of them like the palms of his hands: knew that they were not attracted to one another and that they probably never would be.
But there was this ugly little thing in the back of his mind that sometimes said: what if Emma starts to mean it? What if Will starts to reciprocate it? And the worst thing was, if for some unimagble reason he was held at wand point and coerced to choose someone—anyone—for Emma to have a romantic relationship with, he would have chosen Will.
Because Will knew Emma. Because he wouldn’t hurt her. Because at least they would be somewhat evenfooted: because none of them had harbored all-consuming feelings for the other. In secret. For years. Too many years. Enough years to stop being embarrassing to become sad.
Because even if someday Emma changed her mind, decided that she actually wanted a relationship, George was not the person for her. because sometimes he scared himself with how deep and for how long his feelings had run. Someone like Will would be better, would be kinder, and they would slowly descend together into love, into something healthier, lighter, purer, than whatever lived, lurked and raged inside his chest.
“Vote for you?” Will asked and there was a real possibility he had no idea wof what she was talking about.
“Yes, in the annual tally, for most charming of the year.Don’t you remember? I tell you every year, we had the idea for it from that thing people say. I have to beat Knightley, I have a bet going on and someone has to show Harriet how to get things done.”
“I don’t really vote on these things,” he said simply. “And what thing do people say?”
Emma sighed and he could understand the feeling, Will had a talent for ignoring everything he considered uninteresting. “Half of the school has a crush on Emma Woodhouse, the other one on George Knitghley. So we started testing it. There are other categories of course, a bunch of them.” She began negotiating again, “please? I’ll ask Father to send one or two of those horrid dusty books you love so much, something your Aunt doesn't have in her library. I'll give them to you.”
Will seemed to consider it, “sure, I’ll do it.”
“I knew I could count on you, that's why you are my favorite,” she said in the usual flirtatious tone. Then, turning to the younger girl who had been hiding behind her all that time, she advised, “see, Harriet, a smile and a wink can get very far, but one has to know who they are dealing with and adapt accordingly.”
“That's not fair,” said George, loosening his tie. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not? There aren't any rules about it,” she smirked like the perfect little Slytherin she was and he pretended no to feel his body grow warmer with her gaze.
He did like the challenge. “Oh yeah? Will, I was just thinking about writing to your aunt to say hi, ask how she is doing and maybe drop a word or two about how you finally took interest in Emma, that you are even thinking about marriage ,” he underlined the word with venom, a smile on his face.
Will clearly didn’t care about the whole thing very much because his automatic reaction was to say, “sorry, Emma,” before going back to writing his letter.
She let out a frustrated noise, “what’s your problem?”
“You,” George said in a winning smile, and it wasn’t even a lie.
“You know what, George Knitghtley? You are going to regret this. You are going to regret this so much,” her cheeks were a little pink from anger as she left.
“Oh, I'm trembling, please someone hold me before I pass out from dread,” he told her leaving form. Then turned to his friend, “she is insufferable lately, have you noticed? Like a hurricane.”
“She is the same. Getting herself busy with whatever. You know how Emma is, she can't stand still,” he didn’t seem worried.
George, on the other hand, had time to think about it. “Maybe… Or maybe it's the thing with Anne and that Weston guy.”
“Who?”
“Anne Taylor.”
Will noded, probably remembering Emma’s best friend, “what about her?”
“Remember when Emma got into the whole matchmaking stuff? Tring to set them up?”
“Sure,” he said, though George was pretty sure he didn’t.
“They started dating a while ago and I think… I think Emma is feeling lonely, maybe? All the grand act of taking the other girl under her wing, Harriet. Like she is trying to mold her into something she deems adequate.”
For the first time that day in the library, Will really looked up from his letter, “maybe she is just trying to figure things out, maybe she doesn’t know how to make friends other way.”
“Of course she knows how to make friends. She’s around Lizzie Bennet all the time now, did you notice?”
His friend made a choking sound, “I don’t think I did.”
A line of thought began to form, “do you think she would accept if I invited her for a match?”
Will was staring at the letter even though he wasn’t writing anymore. “I think she is very busy and besides, you are in different teams.”
“Camaraderie is important. But you're probably right. Pity though."
“Are you… interested in her?” he asked, reticent.
“I mean, no? She is a great player and if she asked me out I would accept but I’m not going to go around and ask her instead. I just like playing quidditch with her, she is awesome at it.”
George had felt interest for some girls over the years, mostly physically, but still. Normally he didn’t pursue their attention, because it didn’t feel right, when he knew it wasn’t completely genuine. But if someone asked him and understood when he made clear that he wasn’t interested in commitment, he was happy to go out or anything of the sort with them.
Will’s brow was frowned, “so you would be interested if she was interested but you are not really interested?”
“Something like that,” he told his friend, who seemed to relax at it.
———
Elton's screaming was still ringing in her ears and Emma felt cornered even though he was not there with her anymore. She made her way to the library in a daze, she would study with George that day, who was having some trouble at DADA and he would help her with Potions.
“Emma, what happened?” he asked the minute she arrived. He had a quill tucked behind his ear.
“It was just… I was trying to set Harriet and Elton up but, I guess It didn't go acord to plan.” She didn’t want to say anything further but his face was questioning, “he said he was interested in me instead. I don’t even know what to tell Harriet.”
“The truth. She won’t even care probably, since you fabricated all of this. Frankly, I told you already, Martin is a good kid, shy and everything, but he really likes her.”
“It's not fabricated! And really, the boy doesn't even know how to hold a wand and he is always talking about those weird superhero things…”
Their voices were whispered, but sharp enough to feel like they were shouting.“He has a hobby, Emma, and last time I looked, Harriet was very happy listening to him talk about it. I even saw her reading some comics she borrowed from him. Much better than entitled people like Elton, who think everything is theirs to take because of how full their vaults are in Gringotts.”
“Aren't you the one to talk about that? You live in a manor for Merlin’s sake!”
“Just because I’m privileged doesn't mean I am not aware of my privilege, or that I find it fair. Sometimes, Emma… Sometimes you make me wonder if you do, because it looks like me you want to treat people like pieces in a chess board not giving a fuck about whatever is that they feel. Like you believe you are a goddess or something. Like you believe your judgement is better than everyone else's.”
“How dare you! You are the one lecturing me right now on how your judgement overrules mine. You don’t understand, Knightley. And I really don’t know why I expected you to.”
And she left, because she couldn't stand having him say things that made her question herself and dig enough to find the wickedness inside.
———
The seventh year was different. If it was bad or good different, George couldn’t say, but it was different.
Those days had him, Emma, Will and Lizzie Bennet—yes, he was now friends with the best chaser of his year, thank you very much—like a tight group. They wouldn’t spend all their time together but they would see each other at least once a day. It was nice, fun and he even wondered more than once if they would be like those groups of friends that bleed into adulthood.
Gryffindor's team was thriving with him as captain, his studies were going well and it could have been a perfectly good year. Except Emma had decided Frank Churchill has the best thing since sliced bread.
He didn’t like Frank. Frank was obnoxious and false and a grade O liar and apparently Emma decided to spend all of her free time with him.
George even committed the mistake of accepting to study with them and Harriet twice a week. He really needed help at DADA and Emma’s notes were always pristine, full of practical examples and helpful associations.
He needed those notes.
Except he almost always ended up either pissed or worn out after being around them interacting for too long. He almost never managed to study, so he helped Harriet out with her homework instead, it was a little like interacting with Georgiana: knowing she was not his little sister but feeling the brotherly instinct all the same.
Emma and Frank acted like a couple or at least like two people who wanted to date each other, that he was sure of. And it hurt more than he thought it would. Even though it was a long time coming.
He stopped meeting them about six weeks later, when he saw Frank Churchill tuck a lock of Emma’s hair behind her ear.
———
“Are you serious?” Emma asked, more to check it was real, because she felt very distant at that moment.
“Yes, unfortunately, my dearest, I couldn’t tell you before, you certainly understand don’t you?” Frank was holding her hands in his like what he said changed nothing.
“I… I am not really interested in understanding, but… I think, for some reason I don’t care either. I hope you are happy with Jane." Everything she said was true, even though it surprised her. "And thank you for the flowers.”
That day, she was quiet during her classes, trying to wrap her head around everything. Like the fact that she didn't even feel jealousy, even though it was a common feeling towards Jane.
She left the bouquet in the common area of the dormitory in a vase.
The next day in the morning, Harriet was waiting for her outside Slytherin’s dormitory.
“Please don’t be mad, I didn’t tell you earlier because I was a little embarrassed, but I want to ask George to go out with me.”
“Who?”
“George Knightley, from Gryffindor.”
“Oh, of course,” she said feeling something grow tight in her chest
“I was planning on talking to him today, maybe,” said Harriet, looking at Emma carefully. “Is everything ok?”
She smiled and did her best to sound good humored, “I just have so much to study today, you have no idea. Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Don’t tell anyone you saw me, I need to concentrate today. A lot of work to be done,” she lied because she was good at it, because she wished to be alone and because her throat burned.
“No problem. See you later.”
She left the castle and spent a lot of the time that day walking on the border of the forbidden forest, trying to put her thoughts in order, forcing herself to do it chronologically.
She had become close with Harriet last year and decided that she could be a good role model for the girl. Harriet was young, naive and didn’t seem to be fully integrated in the Wizarding World yet, even though she was only a year younger than Emma. Harriet was a Hufflepuff muggleborn and didn’t seem to have any of the tools that you were bound to use on a daily basis as an adult, especially a wizard one.
Emma took that as a project. What could go wrong, really?
Martin, a Gryffindor from Harriet’s year, asked her out and Hariet, diligent as ever, came to Emma for advice. Emma could have let her accept it, but she did point out casually that it was the first time Harriet was asked out and would she ‘want to close the doors so soon before looking at other options?’ It worked for her relief at the time.
She had a fight with George the day Harriet said no to Martin. He accused her of meddling and not letting people make their own choices and didn’t even remember what she responded back to him, now, months later.
Emma set out to find someone suited for Harriet and decided the Slytherin Elton was a good option, so she began to encourage the both of them to interact. It was going perfectly as planned for a month before Elton ruined everything by saying he was interested in Emma.
She had another fight with George that time around.
When she told Harriet, she cried for a whole half hour and three days later acted like nothing had happened.
And then there was seventh year and with seventh year came Frank and his galantery, his joviality and charm and she found herself deciding sometime after Christmas that she and Frank were a good match, that maybe they should date.
Emma made the decision the same way she would when choosing the classes for her curriculum, in a practical manner. At the time it didn’t strike her as odd to decide matters of the heart in such a fashion.
And then, just the day before Frank had told her about how he was dating Jane and she felt, well, she felt absolutely nothing. Almost detached from the situation actually, like it wasn’t even happening to her.
She tried to find jealousy, anger or even indignation inside herself, but didn’t. Maybe she felt a little affected the day before, mostly because it felt a lot like Frank had been lying to her, but now, she felt nothing about it.
Because she could only think about how Harriet would ask George out and he would say yes. He would say yes and it hurt Emma to think about it.
It had begun to rain so she started to make her way back to the castle.
She had had plans on matchmaking all of her friends over the years, and even some colleagues, but Emma never had tried to pair George with anyone, she realized suddenly, not even in her thoughts.
Something inside her twisted in a funny way and she realised she didn’t want to go back to the castle, so she sat on the pitch’s bleachers and began to think about her whole relationship with George through new lenses.
The same lenses that made something burn inside of her that morning when Harriet told her about her plans.
———
News travelled fast at Hogwarts. So on a rainy day at breakfast, as soon as George heard Jane Fairfax and Frank Churchill were dating, he cursed and started looking for Emma.
He spent almost the whole day at it.
From the library window, he could see the sun had begun to lower and it was pouring outside. He also saw a figure who had a ribbon on her hair seated on the pitch bleachers in the rain. He cursed once again and began his way down the castle.
It took a solid ten minutes before he walked out the gates, towards Emma.
She didn’t notice him at first. Just stayed unmoving, head propped in her fists.
“Emma, let’s get inside.”
She looked at him, seemed surprised, but didn't answer.
“Come on. You will get sick and your father will blame me.”
She lowered her hands to her skirt, and George really tried his best not to look at her legs.
“Emma, please.”
“I don’t want to go inside,” she said in a small voice he didn't think he heard before.
He wanted to argue, he really did, but in the end of the day, Emma was hurting about the whole thing anyway, so being rude wouldn't change a thing.
“Okay, we won't go inside, come on,” he took her hand in his, realizing it was too cold. How long had she been out here?
He walked them to the broom shed near the pitch, opened it with his key, lit up the meager light, took a package out of his pocket, laid his robes on the floor and guided her inside before closing it.They were cramped together sitting on the floor and it was inevitable for their legs to touch. He handed her the package wrapped in paper he had gotten in the kitchens. She stared at it for a whole minute.
“Will said you weren’t around for lunch either” he justified, feeling awkward, unused to her silence and apathy.
“I wasn’t hungry,” Emma said distractedly, before opening the wrapping slowly. “It’s my favorite,” she said, looking at the strawberry tart like it was a puzzle she had to solve.
“I know,” he said. I know too much about you , he thought.
She gave in to silence again, eating in big bites and chewing slowly; and he found himself looking for puffiness under her eyes, or redness, because he wanted to know if the bastard made her cry. In that light he couldn't tell, but knew the answer was probably yes.
“Did he even break up with you first?” he finnaly blurted out when she was done and hadcrumpled the paper in her hand, because he couldn't hold his own tongue.
She looked at him like she didn't understand, “Frank? There is nothing to break up. But I can’t say I wasn’t surprised with... the news.”
“Bullshit,” he said, letting out the anger that had built up for most of the day, “that’s bullshit and you know it. He has been walking around giving up flowers, kissing your cheeks, holding your hands, flirting with you for everyone to see and you tell me there is nothing to break up? It’s common decency. Even if it’s not said out loud, he would know what he was doing if he had half a brain. Which he clearly doesn’t. Starts dating someone a day after he gives you flowers.”
“He didn’t start dating her now,” she said simply, before chewing on the last of the pastry.
“What does that mean,” his words came out curt and clipped, not even sounding like a question.
“Long story short: his family doesn't approve of her, they dated in secret for over a year now. His father started to get suspicions for some reason or other, and he decided to protect her, by demonstrating interest in me, someone his father would approve of. You know the drill. Rich pureblood, poor muggleborn. Star-crossed lovers, like a romance novel.”
“Are you telling me he has been leading you on since the beginning?” he whispered cautiously.
She didn't answer, but he can see the shame in her posture, for having been tricked, and it was all it took to make him snap: "Fuck this. I am going to break his posh little nose.” he declared, starting to get up— she caught his wrist before he could fully rise.
“Stay. Sit down,” she demanded, so he did. “Don’t worry. He didn’t break my heart or anything like that.”
He held her hands in his, sighing as he tried to harm them up. Trying to convince himself that she wasn’t lying, that it wasn’t heartbreak he saw in her eyes. Trying not to plan murder, mostly.
“Remember when we would pretend the broom closet back in the manor was a castle?” she asked, as if a way of distracting him.
“I do, your highness.” he said even though his voice sounded grumpy.
She gave him the tinest smile before inclining herself in his direction and resting her head on his shoulder and her chest on his chest, hands holding his elbows.
Having her this close and this hurt made him want to cry. “Why did you have to choose the biggest idiot around?,” his voice sounded small and frustrated to his own ears.
“I don’t know,” she told him, “it was easy with him.”
He chuckled bitterly. “Well, love is not supposed to be easy. It hurts and fucks you up and leaves you out of breath sometimes. It’s supposed to be easy to walk away from either,” he says, maybe talking more to himself than to her, really. But he notices her face is turned to him, and she seems a little better. “It’s not supposed to be easy to flirt around for months and don’t really get anywhere.”
She lifted her head to his, “why?” she asked with her doe eyes.
He took her face in his hands. “Because… resisting takes effort. Controlling desire takes effort,” hiding how you feel takes effort, he could add. "It's emotionally exhausting and it takes a toll on you," he finished.
Because she had this intrigued expression on her eyes as they darted to his lips for a moment before coming back to his own eyes. And she was so close. And her hands were on his shoulders. And she ran her tongue on her lips.
So he kissed her.
She let out the cutest surprised sound against his lips and he made sure she had relaxed enough to close her eyes.. So he parted his lips and ran his tongue on her bottom lip and she squirmed against him, pressing closer to his chest. He couldn’t contain the groan that escaped him.
He moved his tongue as gently as he could on her mouth, lowering one of his hands to her waist. She took a moment before responding, but when she did, it was by taking his lower lip against her teeth. He gripped harder on her waist, and in turn she moaned against him.
He savoured her little noises, trying his best to keep his hands still, to go slow, even though his mouth wandered to her neck.
She sighed his name. "George,” she said again, something faltering in her voice. He let go of her neck and looked at her.
Something in her eyes shifted before he could really tell. “Stop,” she told him, so he let go of her waist. “You… How could you—” she made a frustrated noise. “Is this some game to you? Like a after party when your stupid team wins?”
“What on Morgana's name are you talking about?” he ask, because really, what was she talking about?
“Just get off me,” she said even though it made no sense since she was the one on top of him. She got up and walked out the door, so he got on his feet to go after her.
“Emma, wait!” he pleaded, taking her arm.
“Let go of me. This is wrong. We can’t do this and you know it.”
When he recovered from the shock of it, she was already crossing the open gates. And she was right, because what good would it do to her to snog him around to recover from Frank and break it up later making him feel worse than before? Knowing how it felt to have her?
———
Emma couldn’t be another girl for George. She was not the sort to take what she could get, she was the all or nothing sort. And she couldn’t have done that to Harriet either, so when she got inside she felt sick-dirty-wrong-useless.
She stole a bottle of firewhisky from the kitchen by distracting the house elves with some conversation and found a place on an unused tower.
She never drank much firewhisky before, but it was telling that she did the same as her father when the sorrow of her mother's death was too much. It was the only way she was taught to deal with emotional hurt — she supposed — by trying not to feel it.
———
“Harriet, you are not really interested in me,” George told her, wishing he didn’t have to deal with this. It was too early, he barely had breakfast and had woken up with a headache.
“Of course I am,” her smile faltered like someone who didn’t know yet they were telling a lie.
“Do me a favor then, take some time for yourself and think about the things you felt since this mess started, when Martin asked you out. If you still think you are interested in me then we’ll talk.”
“But Martin…”
“Think about Martin, Elton and me. How it all felt, I think you’ll understand soon enough if you think about it.”
“Are you just… Are you declining my invitation then?”
“Not exactly, because I am pretty sure you don’t even want to go out with me, but let’s say I’m, to simplify things.”
“Is it… is it because of Emma?” she asked at the same time he saw Emma leave the Great Hall, looking directly at them.
“What did she tell you?”
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just that… forget it. Just forget about the invitation to Hogsmeade as well, it was silly of me.”
He didn’t have the brainpower to console her and when he looked again, Emma was gone.
———
Emma was supposed to talk to George. Lizzie and Will thought so, and she almost missed when they weren’t on good terms, they never would back each other like that at the beginning of the year.
Lizzie said, "how were things supposed to be fixed if you don't talk?" and Will agreed.
And she knew they were right. But she saw George with Harriet and what was she supposed to do but hurt?
“Emma, I want to tell you something,” said Harriet with her shy voice later that day, in the afternoon when they were at the library.
She didn’t want to hear it, because she knew it was about George, but she also didn’t want to explain to Harriet why she didn’t want to hear it, so she nodded.
“I’ve been thinking about it, I don’t think I heard a word a professor said today. I talked to George and he told me something that— I don’t think I cared about Elton or that I am interested in George. Rejection hurts coming from anyone, of course, but… I think I just convinced myself I liked them?”
Emma’s breath caught, “why would you say that?”
“Because he told me to think about everything that happened and I realized I only really liked Martin of the three of them,” she had a small sad smile.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It makes me feel bad to know that I hurt him.”
“You can always say you are sorry. It’s a start.”
“Do you…? I mean—”
“I know I wasn’t a good friend, and I influenced you far more than it was healthy. I'm sorry. So please, do what you wish to do. I was wrong about many things, who says I can’t be about Martin?”
Harriet left earlier than intended, saying she was going to look for the Gryffindor.
It took about half an hour sitting alone for her to gather enough courage to look for George. She found him quite easily in the prefect’s lounge with Lizzie and Will.
Her friend gave one look at her before saying, "Will and I have some research to do in the library."
"Do we?" he asked, but it took one look from Lizzie for him to say, "we do," and for them to leave.
“You said ‘no’ to Harriet,” she announced, like it was the latest news, breaking the silence.
“Martin still talks to me about her, you know, heartbroken. Besides, why would I not? Are you making a joke?” he looked bitter, she realised.
It took her some time to also realise he was waiting for an answer. “You seemed to like her. You would always help her around and give her attention.”
“Because she is your friend? And younger? And I’m a prefect? Why are you even talking about this?” he looked frustrated, tired.
She crossed her arms against her chest. “I thought you would say yes. She told me yesterday morning she would ask you and I thought you would say yes because you are always so caring with her, so gentle and you are not at all like that with me—” she felt her voice die, but added for good measure, “and I already knew about Frank since yesterday. It was not because of it that I was—” sitting in the rain and crying.
He gave a sigh, a long suffering one, and walked to stand a palm apart from her, holding her cheek in his hand. “I can’t treat you softly Emma, I can only love you with all I have, nothing less.”
The thing on her stomach turned once again, but she felt warm, that time around. “Do you? Are you sure?” she whispered.
“I am sure. I had enough time to think about it,” he said, like he was telling a private joke.
“I have never been in love before,” she confessed, because it probably was what she felt for him: love, “but I know now that I wish the person by your side to be no one but me. And it’s selfish, I know, but I guess I am selfish. I don’t want to have to share you.”
He snorted, running a hand through her hair, “you never had to share me with anyone Emma, there was no one but you.”
She couldn't hold back her outrage, “of course there was! There was Jennifer, and Audrey and Tina and Annabell and don’t you dare lie to me because I know you went out with every single one of them. And I bet you snogged all of them too,” the final bit sounded immature and insecure to make herself cringe.
He actually had the audacity to laugh, the bastard. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, like it clarified everything and held her hand. “Amortenia smells like jasmine since I was first around it in the fourth year, like the stupid, too expensive perfume I know you buy whenever you go to Paris. So you see, I am yours, there’s no sharing required.”
Her chest felt fuller after that. “I don’t know everything about what I feel yet."
"That's ok, you don't need to," he was smiling
"And there’s things we need to talk about.”
“That's fine too,” he looked carefree again, more like himself.
“But” — she felt her cheeks grow warm,— “could I kiss you again?”
"Whenever you like,” he said and his smile made her feel soft inside.