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It was no secret that the captains of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw quidditch teams utterly despised each other. From the moment Dream unintentionally turned George’s hair pink (he did eventually manage to change it back, much to Dream’s dismay) on their first trip on the Hogwarts Express, way back in first year, their rivalry had been unmatched. George had gotten his revenge the very next day, by enlisting the help of a fifth year student to turn Dream’s freckles neon green. It had taken four whole hours for him to realise, and a trip to the hospital wing to get it fixed, and their battles only progressed from there.
The rest of first year was spent ‘subtly’ adding ingredients to each other’s potions - one time of which also resulted in both of their cauldrons exploding, accidentally, of course. Sapnap found it absolutely hilarious, although Professor Slughorn was naturally not quite so impressed.
By no means did anything stop when they came back from their holidays and into second year. Now that they were both on the quidditch teams for their houses, there was only another element to add to their mess of a competitive rivalry. Of course, this was still accompanied by regular petty pranks, and it was more often than not that they each found their textbooks magically rewritten in different languages, or their various possessions charmed to shrink so small that they were almost invisible.
Entering third year, on their very first day back, George locked Dream in a storage cupboard under the marble staircase, meaning that he very nearly missed the beginning of the Feast. Dream made sure to get him back by ‘accidentally’ shoving him into the lake during one of their care of magical creatures lessons: a feat that ended in George having to be held back by three other students, so he didn’t cast the slug-vomiting charm onto (a doubled over and wheezing with laughter) Dream.
With fourth year came the breaking of their unspoken ‘no direct charms or curses’ rule, and led to them frequently facing each other in duels by twilight. They were never extremely serious, always with a focus on criticising and mocking the other’s performance.
“Oh come on now, expelliarmus? Could you possibly get any more unoriginal?”
“Please, as if you don’t try to use petrificus totalus on me every single night , if you want a fight, probably not the most exciting move to put me in full-body bind now is it?”
“I mean, you could at least try to use a shield charm or something, idiot.”
“Says the one who can’t even keep a hold of his wand.”
Which were usually accompanied by frequent eyerolls, smirks and not so subtle curious glances at the others’ lips. Not that they would ever acknowledge anything, though.
In fifth year, the Slytherin quidditch team was in need of a new captain. And of course, being the star chaser that he was, Dream was chosen to fill that position. Something that he didn’t let George forget at all quickly, making sure to rub his face in his superior position at every available opportunity. Which made victory even sweeter when George’s team beat Dream’s in the final match of the season.
Sixth year began the same as any other, except George also entered the castle with a brand new Quidditch Captain badge pinned to his chest. They were equals once more - fate had set them on a level playing field and both boys intended to use that to their fullest advantage. A run in at Hogsmeade that term also resulted in both of them getting kicked out of the Three Broomsticks for spilling butterbeer everywhere and clearing the place out with stink bombs, but they preferred not to talk about that particular incident. Dream had won that year’s quidditch finals by ten points. George pretended not to care. (Spoiler alert: he really, really did.)
Now they were starting their seventh and final year, the rivalry six years in the making still burning hotter than ever, the flames reignited by whatever misfortune decided that they were both to be crammed into the same compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Dream had shown up late, barely making it onto the train in time, and it just so happened that there were no more available seats, aside from the ones directly opposite George. Curse the stupid second years who didn’t have the courtesy to not spread themselves out over half the train.
Reluctantly, he slid open the glass door and sat down; there was no way he could be bothered to fight a bunch of twelve year olds at eleven in the morning, all for a single seat. Dark eyes glanced up at him, narrowed, and their gaze turned almost immediately into a heated glare.
“What are you doing here?” George scowled.
“What do you think I’m doing?” Dream raised an eyebrow, kicking his feet up beside George, the Ravenclaw’s nose scrunching up in what was obviously intended to be disgust.
‘He actually looks adorable,’ Dream smiled to himself, gazing at George for a second before he realised the atrocity of a thought that had just crossed his mind. He fought hard to keep a blush off his face, opting instead to nudge his converse-clad feet against George’s leg. It most definitely wasn’t in the hopes of him doing that cute annoying thing with his nose again, because that would be utterly ridiculous.
“Well, so far, I’m under the impression that you’re only here in an attempt to piss me off.” George quipped, shoving Dream’s foot away from him and in turn delivering a swift kick to the Slytherin’s shin.
“OW- What the fuck was that for?”
“What do you mean ‘what was that for?’ you dumbarse, you were kicking me -”
It was almost as though they had forgotten that there were, in fact, other people sitting with them. Their feelings (of hatred, naturally) for each other had grown stronger with each year, and now they could hardly stand in the same room without insulting each other and/or threatening to transfigure the other into a niffler.
Wilbur, Karl and Tina were already engaged in conversation when Dream had walked in, and were still trying to continue talking despite the very loud argument now taking place beside them. They were almost used to it by now, having been friends with George for nearly six years, they had learned that Dream came in a sort of package deal; it was unavoidable.
However what they couldn’t get used to was how painfully obvious it was to anyone who wasn’t Dream or George that their self-proclaimed loathing for each other was not at all like anyone else's. Most people didn’t use any excuse to see their ‘worst enemy’. Most people didn’t spend their nights - which could be better spent studying or sleeping - at the top of the astronomy tower playfully bantering with the person that they ‘hated’ whilst ending up in increasingly compromising positions after their duels. Most people didn’t kiss their ‘arch-nemesis’ at a post-match party in fifth year after accidentally drinking too much smuggled fire whiskey, then refuse to ever talk about it again.
Then again, most people didn’t have a relationship quite like Dream and George’s. Said relationship being not romantic at all, of course, mortal enemies at worst and acquaintances at best. It was all they ever were, and all they ever would be, even if there was a tiny part of them both that, deep down, hoped that maybe they could be more. But that desire was so miniscule that it was never once acted upon, masked by denial and stubbornness that had only strengthened as the years progressed.
So now here they were, seventeen years old and still practically playing footsie like they would have done when they were eleven.
When they bought food from the trolley witch at lunch time, and George handed Dream a couple of his Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, he was foolish to think that there wasn’t some ulterior motive behind it - and George grinned as Dream choked on the vomit flavoured jelly bean. And when the sky darkened as they neared the castle, Dream didn’t miss the opportunity to take a jab at George’s muggle clothing, (‘ Who even wears purple and orange polka dot socks, are you okay? Like, mentally?’ ‘I’m colour blind, idiot. At least I actually have an excuse for dressing ugly, unlike you, who’s just distasteful’).
They both pretended not to be sneaking glances at each other when they were changing into their school robes, and if they did happen to make eye contact, then they could silently agree that nothing ever happened in the first place. Because they weren’t trying to catch glimpses of the other’s bare skin - why would they be? That would be false information and absolutely stupid, they didn’t like each other like that . In fact, they didn’t like each other at all. End of discussion.
Ten minutes later, the train finally came to a halt in Hogsmeade station, rain lashing against the windows and onto the platform behind them. Some students were already outside, cloaks pulled over their heads in an attempt to at least somewhat shield themselves from the torrential downpour.
“Your hair is longer,” Dream commented absentmindedly, tilting his head slightly as he gazed intently at George.
“Congrats, you have eyes,” George retorted, fumbling in his pockets for his wand as he did so. He took out his wand, before closing his eyes and tapping it against his face, granting him perplexed looks from all the other boys, only Tina remaining unperturbed.
“George, you weirdo, what are you doing?” Wilbur questioned, looking at his friend as if he’d gone insane. George only shrugged, as if it was obvious.
“Impervius charm," Tina supplied helpfully, as though the others were supposed to know what she was talking about. She glanced around at the three blank faces staring back at her, and then shared a brief, exasperated look with George, “Now we know why you all only got an ‘Acceptable’ on your charms OWL’s.”
“Hey!” Karl pushed her shoulder playfully, without any real malice, “That was uncalled for.”
“Not uncalled for if it’s true.” George grinned, “Anyway, have fun being able to see anything in the rain, losers.” With that, he opened the door and stepped into the bustling hallway, leaving the others behind as he disappeared into the crowd. Dream was still staring after him with a slightly wistful expression, eyes out of focus on the spot where George had vanished.
“Dream, dude, when are you going to stop being dumb and just ask him out already?” Wilbur asked.
“What? I don’t-” Dream protested, snapping out of his trance.
“Oh come on, you don’t have to pretend that you still hate him just because of this rivals thing you two have got going on. If you like him, stop being so stubborn and just go for it.” Tina lectured, albeit with an understanding smile.
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Dream stated firmly, although the tone of his words was heavily contradicted by the pink flush spreading rapidly across his face.
“Sure you don’t,” Karl giggled.
“You’ll see it someday. Anyway, let’s get going, or the train will leave again with us still on it.” Wilbur said, with a final pat to Dream’s shoulder as he departed.
Dream was left standing there, blush still prominent on his skin, mouth agape slightly in confusion. Needless to say, when he did eventually start heading towards the castle, he had a lot to think about. Although when he caught sight of George half an hour later from across the Great Hall, laughing with Fundy at the Ravenclaw table, he allowed himself for just a second to consider that maybe there was some truth to Wilbur’s words after all.
-
It was only a month into the term, and George was already swamped in homework. For someone who prided themselves on being fairly good at timekeeping, it wasn’t like him to be hunched over his transfiguration essay in the library at 7am, when he should really be in the hall eating breakfast. But with masses of work due for other subjects, as well as quidditch practice (where he now had to not only work on himself, but also coach the rest of the team) and still finding time to mess with Dream, he had somehow forgotten to finish off this particular assignment. Oh well, the look on the Slytherin captain’s face had been worth it, even if it did mean giving up eating anything this morning. And that he had to spend an extra fifteen minutes figuring out how to change his eyebrows back to normal after he woke up, because Dream had thought that turning them blue would be such a hilarious, original form of revenge.
At that moment, Dream himself entered the library, walking briskly between the shelves to slump down at a table near to George’s own, hastily pulling a roll of parchment, a ruffled feather quill and a half empty pot of ink out of his bag. It appeared that he hadn’t even noticed George, who had momentarily paused his frantic writing to observe Dream. He was unthinkingly holding his own quill over his essay, not noticing the steady drip of black ink falling from it, obscuring the words he had written not even two minutes ago. Looking away from the other boy, George realised his mistake, quickly moving his quill out of the way and letting out a barely audible “fuck!”
Evidently, Dream heard, finally catching sight of the Ravenclaw and sending him a lazy smile. George only glared half-heartedly back at him, brain still too tired to muster up much spite.
“Candy, what are you doing here?” Dream whisper-shouted, and George rolled his eyes at the nickname.
Since the first interaction they had ever had, where George’s hair was turned a pastel pink by none other than Dream himself, he had taken to calling George ‘cotton candy’ (‘ it's literally called candyfloss, you American twat’) which had been shortened down to just ‘candy’ over time. The nickname was probably one of the reasons that most of the school had assumed that they were dating, before they both made a point to reassure everyone otherwise. Admittedly, yes, it did sound a bit like a pet name but, seriously? Them? Dating? People were delusional to think so. As if he’d ever date that stupid, cute, irritating, charming, dumb blonde excuse for a human being, who pissed him off 24/7 and made his insides feel all weird whenever he called him a pet name or their hands brushed together accidentally. Nope, not happening.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” George said exasperatedly, turning back to his essay, that was likely now not going to be finished in time.
“Admiring my beautiful face?” Dream grinned, putting his chin in his palm and winking.
“You wish.” George huffed in - slightly forced - annoyance, averting his eyes from where they had indeed been surveying Dream’s features. Not that he’d ever admit to it.
“Maybe I do.” Dream muttered, before seemingly realising what he’d said and turning swiftly back to his own table, leaving George’s cheeks quite a few shades darker than they had been previously. He didn’t mean it though, obviously not.
After a few minutes - namely, when he was certain that he was no longer blushing like an idiot - George attempted again to strike up conversation. For what reason, he had no idea, but he still asked, “Dream?”
No response.
“Drea-” He repeated, looking over his shoulder, only to see a vacant seat where Dream had been minutes prior. It was fine. Completely fine. Actually, it was better, even, now that he’d gone. No distractions, no more arrogant Slytherin chasers who carried no other intent other than to piss him off. Yet as he scribbled down the last paragraph before packing up his things and hurrying off to lessons, he still felt ever so slightly disappointed that he’d left without saying goodbye.
-
Two months had passed, and the quidditch season had already begun. Due to all four teams training more often than ever, it had become extremely difficult to book the pitch, meaning that the Ravenclaw team were getting nowhere near enough time to train for their first match of the season. Two nights a week was hardly enough, especially since the Gryffindor team was somehow managing to practice almost every day. And the teachers said that they didn't have favourites.
All of this made it even more frustrating when on Wednesday evening, George and his team walked out onto the field, brooms in hand, to see the Slytherins already in the air.
“DREAM!” George yelled up to the other captain, his frustration visible to the other, even if he was 40 feet high. Dream signalled to the other green-clad players, and flew down to where George was scowling at him, arms crossed firmly across his chest.
“Hey Candy, what’s up?” Dream said nonchalantly, still floating a few inches above the grass, ignoring how George looked as though he was seconds away from slapping him across the face. Hard. Despite the fact that he probably couldn’t even reach him from where he was.
“You. You’re what’s up.”
“What?”
“I booked the pitch! We don’t get enough time to train as it is and you and your stupid team decide to come take over our time here!” George snapped, gesturing upwards to where the rest of the Slytherins were still conducting shooting drills through the goalposts.
“Look, there’s got to be a misunderstanding, we booked-” Dream started, climbing off his broom and stepping towards George.
“Misunderstanding? I’m sure, I’m sure. You just don’t want to admit that you did this on purpo-” George started, but stopped abruptly at a loud thud. A thud that had in fact come from the poorly shot bludger that smacked him in the back of the head. He blinked once, twice, then everything went black.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Physically? Yes, eventually, but it’s a good job you brought him here. Most likely he'll have quite a severe concussion, and possibly memory loss too. It was a nasty hit he took.”
“Wait, permanent memory loss?”
“It’s unlikely, but possible. We won’t know anything until he wakes up.”
George screwed up his eyes, head pounding. The words he could hear didn’t make any sense. He didn’t know where he was. Oh, and his head felt like it was about to explode.
He couldn’t help but groan out loud as another wave of pain coursed through his skull, and the voices stopped abruptly.
“George?”
That was his name, right? Or was it? His memories were fuzzy, muffled almost, and it was difficult to keep track of his train of thought. He still didn’t know where he was.
“George? Can you hear me?” The voice asked again. Admittedly, it was a very nice voice, a foreign accent that wrapped around the syllables and made them sound warm? It was strange though: it seemed familiar somehow, yet he couldn’t place who it belonged to. He decided that it would be best to open his eyes. But he doesn’t even have time to look at the owner of the pretty voice, because he is almost immediately scooped up into an inescapable rib-crushing hug. The position was fairly uncomfortable, but it was comforting to simply be held, albeit it be for a short time.
“George, holy shit, I thought you were going to die. You have no idea how happy I am that you’re okay, oh my god-”
“I was going to die?” George frowned into the stranger’s shoulder, still wrapped in their arms, still struggling to remember what happened.
“Well, not exactly, but you could’ve and disregarding our stupid rivalry I’ve known you for so long and I genuinely was so worried for you-” they rambled, not taking a break for breath and holding George impossibly closer to their chest than before.
“Wait, hold on,” George questioned, becoming more confused by the second, “Rivalry?”
“Yeah, well, if I had to put a name to it. All those years we spent doing dumb shit to each other deserves some kind of title, does it not?”
At this, George mustered up the strength to pull away from the embrace he had been trapped in, looking directly into the stranger’s face. The guy was attractive, George could give him that, with wavy blonde hair that fell just above his sparkling honey-coloured eyes (they could also have been green, but he would never be able to tell unless he asked) and the freckles that brushed over his otherwise clear skin. It then dawned on him that he had been visibly ogling the boy for quite a while, and he drew his gaze hurriedly away from the soft lips that were so close to his own. The very same lips that were now pulled up at the corner in a slight smirk, as their owner gazed right back at George.
“If I’d have known that all it took was a bludger to the head to make you realise you liked me, I could’ve arranged that much sooner,” the stranger laughed, showcasing a set of brilliant pearly white teeth.
“I- Uhm- Sorry, do I know you?” George stuttered. That was all it took for their laughter to cease, their smile to drop off their lips, and their eyes - the ones that had sparkled so brightly only seconds ago - to cloud over with shock and sadness.
“What? You…” they inhaled deeply, shakily, steadying themselves before asking, “You don’t remember who I am?”
“Should I?” George asked.
They gave no response, searching George’s eyes as if to try and find a trace of humour, something to tell them that he was joking.
“Look, uh,” George began again, “I know it may sound stupid because I don’t even remember you, but I just have this feeling. I don’t know what it is about you but it's like- It’s like I just know that I can trust you, if that makes sense?”
“Well, to be honest, it really doesn’t make sense,” they started, biting his lip. “Actually, you know what, never mind. I’m Dream.”
“Nice to meet you Dream,” George said with a smile, and was given a slightly pained smile in return, “I’m George, but I figured you already knew that.”
“Yeah, I do. But I usually call you Candy.”
“Candy?” George checked, and Dream nodded. “That’s so random though.”
“Long story short, I accidentally turned your hair pink when we first met, and it kinda stuck.” At this, George laughed, but winced when his head throbbed again.
The nurse chose this moment to come over, bearing a tray of medicine and food.
“Dream, didn’t I tell you? This boy needs rest!” she scolded, ushering him away from George’s bedside.
“I’ll come visit again soon,” Dream assured him, giving a fleeting wave before he disappeared through the doors of the hospital wing.
He stayed true to his word, and did indeed come and visit George the very next day. George couldn’t help but smile when he saw Dream approaching, and he tried to sit up against the headboard of his bed as he neared, despite how heavy his body still felt.
“Heya Candy,” Dream said, sitting down at the end of George’s bed and giving him a fond smile, “Feeling any better?”
“Better now that you’re here,” George smiled, “This place is boring as shit.”
“I can imagine, I was in here last year when I got hit by a horn tongue hex. That was only for a couple hours, but I was bored out of my mind.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, who was it that hexed you?” George queried, cocking his head to the side slightly, a habit of his that Dream had always found overwhelmingly endearing. It took him a second to realise that George had asked him something, and he shook his head to try and clear it, eliciting a small giggle from the injured Ravenclaw. Dream felt his heart melt into a lovesick puddle all over again.
“Well, funny story,” Dream finally explained, unconsciously reaching out from where he was sitting to take one of George’s hands between two of his own, simply holding it like he had never been allowed to do before, “It was actually you.”
George made an indignant noise, scoffing as if to say, ‘Yeah, right.'
“It’s true!” Dream defended, with a face and voice far too happy to be reassuring someone that they were indeed the one who put him in the hospital wing. “That wasn’t the first time either, you think you let me get away with turning your hair pink? Or pushing you into the lake?”
“Dream.” George started, looking up from where his eyes had been trained on their intertwined fingers, to look the Slytherin dead in the eyes, “You mean to tell me that you’ve been hiding the fact that you pushed me into a fucking lake?”
“In my defence, it was way back in third year-”
“I’m beginning to understand how I managed to curse a face as handsome as yours, I was quite confused for a second there,” George teased, flicking his eyes over Dream, his tongue briefly swiping over his lips for emphasis. Dream looked utterly stunned, and George laughed, wincing afterwards when his head moved around just a little too much to not be painful.
“You can’t just do that!” Dream spluttered, his grip on George’s hand tightening as he used his other hand to cover said ‘handsome face’, whilst George watched in amusement.
“Do what?” George asked innocently.
“Say stuff like that,” Dream said exasperatedly, slowly bringing his hand away from his face to run distractedly through his hair.
“What? That you’re pretty?”
“Precisely.”
“Why am I not allowed to tell the truth?” Dream choked, and George laughed again. “Oh come on, this isn’t even that bad, I could be saying so much worse, you know.”
“Yeah, I know, I’m just… severely unprepared for any of this, I guess. You never used to compliment me at all before.” At this, George looked confused, gazing again at Dream with an intensity that made the Slytherin squirm, dropping his gaze back to their still-intertwined fingers.
“Did I not?” George asked. Dream shook his head. “That’s… interesting.”
“How so?” Dream queried, trying to move swiftly onwards from how easily George could get him to blush.
“Like I said before,” George said, voice lowering to a murmur as they both heard the nurse moving around a few beds to their left, tending to another patient (an unfortunate fifth year who had been partially transformed into a badger by one of her classmates in a charms lesson), “I’m just surprised that it took me getting knocked out to realise how attractive you are.”
Dream smiled, in spite of himself, and couldn’t resist detaching his hand from where it rested against George’s to trail his fingertips up his arm, tracing over the bared expanse of ivory skin. George’s eyes had closed automatically, allowing Dream to study him without judgement, to take in the way his nose twitched slightly when a daring touch slid briefly under the sleeve of his shirt, and how a small smile made its way onto plush cherry lips when the hand on his arm came to rest cradling his face instead.
By this point, Dream was unsure as to why they were so dead set on maintaining their mutual dislike of one another, if they could have had something as beautiful as this all these years. Though, he doesn’t think he minded any of it, really. It wasn’t as though he didn’t use those nightly duels as an excuse to see George any extra moment he could. Who was anyone to believe that the pranks he organised were fuelled by anything other than the desire for George to seek him out, to give him attention in return? (As well as the fact that said Ravenclaw was alarmingly alluring when he was angry, but he refused to admit that to anyone.)
“George?” Dream asked quietly, softly, unwilling to shatter the tranquillity of the moment so soon. George hummed in lieu of a response, and only leaned further into the palm on his jaw, skin warm and comforting against his own. “Do you want me to tell you?”
“Tell me what, exactly?”
“Everything.”
“Okay,” George smiled, and Dream knew that if given the choice, he’d split his soul in two just to see it again, “I think everything would be a good place to start.”
-
You’d think it would be harder, realising that you’re actually in love with your self-proclaimed enemy. Although Dream supposed that George losing all memories of their past together did help ease the tension a little, a fact that surprisingly remained even after Dream filled him in on what he’d forgotten. George merely laughed at the recounts of every stupid thing that they’d done to one another throughout their school years, and did nothing more than raise an eyebrow when he eventually learned that the majority of the school thought that they were together.
After so many years of distrust and mutual dislike, it shouldn’t be this easy to become so enamoured with every little thing George did. But Dream found himself falling anyway, and he made no attempt to stop himself, or the barely disguised feelings and words that threatened to fall from his lips every time the object of his affection so much as smiled at him. It was actually starting to become a bit of a problem.
Of course, he wasn’t the only one that went to see George in the hospital wing. Karl, Wilbur and Tina also visited frequently - once, the entire of the Ravenclaw quidditch team showed up at once, only to be shooed away ('Only six visitors at a time!’) by the matron. But, admittedly, he was the only one that visited every day, the only one to waste hours of his weekend by George’s side, time he could be spending on homework and studying for his NEWTs. It was worth it though. As cheesy as it sounded, if he got to make George happy, then he didn’t care how many sleepless nights he had to spend making up for missing assignments because of it.
It hadn’t taken them long to realise that Dream was the only one that George had entirely forgotten. Something that George apologised for countless times, despite Dream’s reassurance that it was fine, that it was out of his control, that it wasn’t his fault. Dream would be lying though if he denied that it didn’t hurt more than just a little: seeing Wilbur reminisce about events that had happened years ago, Karl complain about certain classes they shared, Tina remind him of the time that they’d stolen books from the Restricted Section in the library, and witnessing George laughing at the memories that he still somehow possessed.
For a while, he had held onto the hope that there was still a chance for George to suddenly remember everything. As the days had passed, he grew less optimistic, and instead tried to focus on how to ensure that this time around, nothing would go wrong. The universe had given them a second chance for a reason, and he aimed not to fuck things up again, just as he had unknowingly done back when he was only eleven years old. It was different this time though. It had to be.
Then again, what would happen if George did remember? Would he want to go back to how things were before? Or would he still be accepting of this new connection they had forged since, and possibly something more? He would be stupid to think that there wouldn’t be any repercussions that came with change, but it was only natural to wish that everything would go perfectly. The only thing he had was hope, and Dream would be damned if he didn’t cling to it until the very last second he could.
The routine he had fallen into since the accident was simple, but frustrating. Obviously he enjoyed each minute he got to spend with George, all the time he got to fill him in on what he couldn’t remember, and recount the tales of their many endeavours. But Dream wanted to be able to show him all the places he mentioned, to walk by the lake, to sit by the common room fireplace. Dream wanted to take him back up to the astronomy tower, where they had already spent so many nights as enemies, and hold him under the stars. Which is why the day George got discharged from the hospital didn’t even feel like reality.
He had just got out of his last lesson - a particularly strenuous Defence Against the Dark Arts class - when he felt a hand on his shoulder and a warm breath against the back of his neck.
“Boo,” George whispered, and Dream jumped in spite of himself, wheeling around to face the grinning brunet.
“You’re not funny,” Dream deadpanned, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to resist smiling too.
“Hello to you too,” George laughed, “If all I get are insults then I might as well just go back to the hospital wing.”
That’s when it hit Dream. George was here. In the entrance hall. Away from the hospital wing. He was here .
“As if,” Dream scoffed, surprised at himself that he managed to keep his voice so steady, “If I stopped visiting you, you’d have died of boredom by now, don’t kid yourself.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t stop visiting me. You’d miss me too much and give in after less than twelve hours,” George said smugly, and Dream hated the fact that it was the truth.
“I’d last more than twelve hours,” Dream defended himself, though lacking any real conviction.
“Okay, I’m sorry, I underestimated you. Maybe thirteen.”
“You’re an idiot,” Dream huffed, reaching out to playfully shove his shoulder. He was stopped, however, by George catching his hand and linking their fingers together, letting their joined hands drop to his side before tugging Dream towards the marble staircase.
“You just can’t believe I’m here. What was all that talk about the astronomy tower for if you’re just going to stand there and gawk at me?”
They moved through the castle quickly, hurrying past groups of other students who did nothing but stare in shock and confusion. Ignoring a shout that was probably directed at them (that vaguely sounded like Karl), Dream pushed open the door leading to a spiralling stone staircase, holding it open and gesturing for George to step through.
“Why would you even bother to act like a gentleman if you’re not even going to curtsey for me? I have to say, I’m slightly disappointed in you,” George mocked, still panting slightly from their sudden sprint.
Dream rolled his eyes, but all the same looked straight at George, and bowed slightly, bringing their joined hands upwards as he brushed his lips over the backs of pale knuckles. “Dream, you’re so dumb, I wasn’t being serious,” George muttered, a faint blush across the bridge of his nose accentuating his scattered freckles.
“Of course you weren’t,” Dream said fondly, rolling his eyes and turning to start climbing the stairs.
George followed him, hands still linked, complaining every once in a while that Dream was ‘going too fast’ and that he was being ‘inconsiderate towards the vertically challenged’. Dream only laughed at this ('Just admit that you’re short’) but whether he did slow down just to ensure George was comfortable was nobody’s business but his own.
The sun was setting as they finally emerged onto the top platform of the tower, and George finally broke their contact to walk towards the edge, placing his hands on the stone barrier and gazing out over the grounds.
Some of the last fleeting rays of golden sunlight danced across the surface of the lake, shimmering on the top of the smooth water. A few of the owls were already leaving the owlery, soaring gracefully over the barren treetops in search of that night’s prey. All whilst the sun set in the background, spilling a myriad of cherry and tangerine across the darkening indigo sky. The scenery was beautiful, it really was, but Dream couldn't help but let his eyes be drawn elsewhere. As cliché as it was, he couldn't help but feel that the sunlight looked infinitely better when it rested across ivory skin, shining against strawberry lips and gilding cocoa eyes. The very same eyes that had shifted to look right back at him, bathing him in all their shimmering glory.
It was impossible to resist reaching for the divine spectacle in front of him, not when they were so close already. Dream's palm came to cup George's jaw, unconsciously bringing their faces dangerously close together whilst he attempted to comprehend how utterly gorgeous George looked right now. It was reminiscent of the time, just weeks ago, when they had been in a similar position, although then one of them was still restricted to the confines of a hospital bed. Now, they were far away from the prying eyes of other injured students (not forgetting the overly nosy nurse) and the moment was all theirs, and theirs alone.
Even just a month ago, Dream would be confused beyond belief as to why he was having thoughts like this, to when George had started to have this effect on him. It took him a surprisingly short amount of time thinking about the situation for him to realise that it had always been the case. George had always been funny, had always been talented, had always been pretty. He had just been too caught up in finding ways to one-up the Ravenclaw that he'd failed to notice the feelings that had been fuelling his actions all along.
"Are you just going to keep staring into my eyes, or are you actually going to do something?" George murmured, in a tone that was probably supposed to be teasing. It came off as more of a challenge, though, mainly due to the fact that both boys couldn't look away from the others' suddenly very inviting lips.
"I dunno, what are you implying you want me to do?" Dream smirked back, voice equally as low.
"Maybe you're more stupid than I thought."
Dream didn't get a chance to formulate a witty response, before George had moved to close the gap between them, lips slotting together messily as hands clamped down on a narrow waist and fingers tugged on strands of messy blonde hair. It was perfectly imperfect, and somehow worth the seven years that they had waited for it. Dream never wanted it to end, completely content to spend eternity with the boy he loved safely in his arms.
He loved?
Oh.
He was in love with George.
He was in love with a boy that didn't even remember the whole truth about their history together, and he was powerless to do anything about it.
And it was at that exact moment of realisation that he felt George's mouth go slack against his own, and he couldn't help but frown slightly and pull away, even if it was only by a couple of inches. Their foreheads still rested against each other, but there was a panicked edge on George's face that hadn't been there before.
"I… You… Shit-" George cursed, not quite meeting Dream's gaze.
"You okay?" Dream asked, genuinely concerned for George, who looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack.
"No. I mean- Yes. Yes. Yeah, completely fine, I just-" George stuttered, pushing himself away from Dream and stepping back towards the staircase. "I'm sorry, really."
"Don't apologise, I-" Dream started, but George had already disappeared, and his words of 'I liked it, I promise' were heard by no one but the wind.
-
George had a problem. A really big, unavoidable problem at that.
He had kissed Dream.
Dream, who was the very person that he had labelled his enemy for the better part of seven years, and they had kissed. Voluntarily. Without any outside interference or prompting.
The worst part wasn’t even that. It was how familiar it felt. Surely, one drunken kiss at a party in fifth year shouldn’t have been that memorable, but seemingly it was, seeing as it was that recollection which had triggered the resurfacing of all his memories. He remembered everything, and he was still unsure whether or not that could be considered a good thing, seeing as he was currently stumbling along random corridors feeling sick and dizzy enough to pass out. He wasn’t entirely sure of his exact whereabouts, but frankly he didn’t really care, as long as it was far away from that tower.
Being overwhelmed, he decided, was an extremely undesirable feeling. As was the frantic beating of his heart, thumping erratically in a way that made it seem likely to burst right out of his chest. He also decided that it probably wasn’t best to run away from your problems instead of trying to solve them first, and he should have at least tried to talk things out with Dream instead of just leaving him to-
Hurriedly cutting off that train of thought before he could feel any worse than he already did, George hurriedly pushed open the door of the next (thankfully empty) bathroom he passed, quickly shutting the door of a stall behind him. Back against the door, he slid down to sit on the floor, with his head resting on his knees, arms covering his face, concealing the tears welling in his eyes despite there being no one there to see him cry.
The steady drip of a broken tap was the only other sound he could hear, water falling into the porcelain basin echoing far louder than the drops falling from his eyes onto the black fabric of his robes.
To be completely honest, he was unsure of the reason that he was crying in the first place. Supposedly, it was the influx of rediscovered memories flooding his brain, overloading his senses, yet George couldn’t help but entertain another possibility. One that was ever so slightly terrifying to think about.
Maybe he wasn’t upset at all. Maybe, when Dream was standing so close and looking at him like that, he enjoyed the proximity considerably more than he would like to let on. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t mind if it happened again.
Shit.
He liked Dream. A lot.
Obviously this wasn’t the first time he had realised this - he had been the one to initiate their kiss after all. But to have to accept it again, after he regained his memories and realised that he had, in fact, fallen for his arch nemesis? As well as how Dream seemed completely fine with everything, despite being fully aware of the situation? It was a lot to process, that’s for sure. Dream had months to come to terms with the situation, whereas it had been dropped on George all at once, like a bucket of ice-cold water. The shock was similar to that too, apparent and unavoidable, sending shivers from nerve to nerve until it had spread into every cell in his body.
Why were feelings so all-consuming? Why did he, of all people, have to catch them?
He puts his hands over his ears, trying to quiet the deafening rush of his thoughts, but the harsh questions keep presenting themselves in the forefront of his mind. Nonstop. Relentless. It doesn’t take him long to find out that screwing his eyes tight shut did nothing to stop them either.
Why did he feel the need to overcomplicate even the simplest of things? Why did he run away, and abandon Dream on that rooftop, when he knows for a fact that Dream likes him back?
George was an idiot. He knew that. He knew everything that he’d done wrong, everything that he could have done better, yet when he heard the door of the bathroom opening accompanied by soft footsteps and a quiet voice calling for him, he couldn’t bring himself to face Dream.
“George? Are you in here?”
George tried his best to stifle the sob that escaped his lips, but it was loud enough for Dream to hear anyway - the room was deserted, after all.
“Please, I know it’s you in there. Talk to me, I want to help you,” Dream pleaded, and George could make out Dream’s shoes beneath the gap of the stall door. He stayed silent though, save for his intermittent shaky breaths. “George, whatever it is, we can work it out, I promise. If you didn’t like what happened, we never have to do it again if that’s what you want.”
George stood up, slowly, his legs were still trembling slightly and he was sure that he looked an utter mess.
“I-” Dream tried to carry on speaking, hesitating at the continued silence he was receiving, and he couldn’t hide the crack in his voice as he uttered the next dew words, “I just want to know that you’re okay.”
Under normal circumstances, George would consider himself to be fairly strong-willed and stubborn, able to hold his ground and resist the vast majority of things the world threw at him. But hearing Dream sound so uncharacteristically broken shattered the last untouched piece of his heart.
With cautious fingers, George began to slide the lock of the door, mentally preparing himself for the conversation that awaited him. With a final click, the door was unlocked, and with tentative fingers, he began to push it open.
Neither of them were at all prepared for the sight of each other with red-tinted eyes, George’s cheeks blotchy and red from crying, Dream’s hair tousled from the continued anxious motion of running his hands through it.
They didn’t speak, only stare at each other, until Dream offered a tentative smile and opened his arms ever so slightly. Without waiting another moment, George fell into them, and Dream held him tight against his chest, resting his chin atop brunet curls. George sniffled weakly into the junction of Dream’s neck, refusing to make eye contact.
“Want to talk about it?” Dream asked gently, running his hand up and down along George’s back in soothing motions. It was so easy to fall into a state of calm obliviousness, even if there was still the looming prospect of having to explain why . Maybe he was being overdramatic, it was probably going to be fine, but forgive him for wanting to savour this moment just a little longer.
“I remember,” George said, voice muffled from where his face was still pressed against Dream’s shoulder.
“Remember what, Candy?” Dream asked, frowning slightly as he looked down at George.
“Everything.” George whispered, as though he didn’t want Dream to hear, as though he wasn’t ready to admit to it just yet. Although George couldn’t see his face, he could definitely feel the way Dream’s hands halted their movement, and hear how his breath hitched.
“Is- Is that why you ran away?” Dream spoke slowly, obviously still processing the information that George knew , and yet he was still choosing to stay here, with him.
“Would you be mad if I said yes?” George didn’t care that he sounded childish, the only thing that mattered as of that moment was the boy holding him, and how likely it was that he would stay with him.
“No.” Dream answered, resuming the motion of his hands, moving them upwards to trace swirling patterns with light fingertips across the back of George’s neck, “You’re here now, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” George murmured, closing his eyes and allowing himself to slip into the bliss that was the warmth surrounding him, and the pleasant ticklish sensation against the bare skin of his neck, “Yeah, I am.”
It was no secret that the captains of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw quidditch teams were utterly enamoured with each other. From the moment that they had confessed to one another in a random third floor bathroom, their love had been unmatched. They had tried to keep it a secret for a while, wishing to preserve the euphoric bubble that encapsulated their newfound relationship, but their sudden desire to have their lips locked for at least four hours a day meant that their friends had found out extremely fast. It had taken six whole years for them to realise, and George temporarily forgetting that he and Dream had ever met, but their connection was unmatched, and their story would only flourish further from here on out.