Work Text:
As it turns out, ‘meet me in the entrance hall at 10’ was far easier said than done. George just wasn’t — and had never been — a punctual person, but he had at least tried to make an effort to not be late this time, for Dream. Yet, despite his best efforts, here he was, already five minutes late, scrambling to make himself look somewhat presentable.
Since it was a weekend, students were allowed to wear casual clothing, but now he had realised that he had absolutely nothing that he deemed ‘date-worthy’, he was beginning to wish that they were forced to wear their uniform. That way, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about his outfit or how he looked.
He took a deep breath, before resuming his mildly frantic search through his suitcase for an appropriate jumper. Everything was either too bland, too bright or too basic, and he groaned quietly in frustration as he tossed them aside one by one.
His hands found a black sweater, holding it up in front of him to examine the delicate white embroidery that decorated the ends of both sleeves. It was pretty, he thought, but would Dream think the same? Was it too childish? He shook his head, about to discard it onto the growing pile beside him, when there was a loud knock at the door of his dorm, followed by the prompt entrance of his best friend — Sapnap.
Shit. Sapnap. The two of them had gone on every Hogsmeade trip together since third year, but mentioning to Sapnap that he now had a date had somehow slipped his mind.
"Um, hi," George said with as much nonchalance as he could muster whilst being sat on the floor in the middle of his dorm room, surrounded by small mountains of assorted clothes.
"I feel like I've missed something." Sapnap waded cautiously through the sea of hoodies, shirts and jeans before sitting down cautiously on a spot of floor opposite George, that was miraculously still empty, "Tell me what's happening."
"Promise not to get mad or anything."
"George, we've been friends since first year, I'm sure whatever it is isn't going to—"
"I have a date," George interrupted him, and Sapnap's eyes widened almost comically fast; George would have taken the time to laugh at him if he wasn't so stressed.
"And you didn't fucking tell me?" Sapnap screeched, sounding more like a pterodactyl than an intelligible human being.
"No?" George was unsure whether he should make an attempt to sound apologetic or not.
“Just give me a minute to process,” Sapnap said, holding up a single finger when George tried to speak. After a moment of silence, he finally continued, “Just tell me… who with? How? Spill. Now.”
George avoided Sapnap’s expectant gaze, fidgeting with the hem of the jumper that was still across his lap.
“Dream. I have a date with Dream,” George finally admitted, silently wishing for the ground to swallow him up whole.
“Dream?” Sapnap marvelled, “You managed to get a date with the Dream? As in Hogwarts-famous, incredibly handsome star quidditch player Dream?”
“Isn’t that literally what I just said? You’re supposed to be helping me here, not fangirling over how attractive he-”
"Okay, okay," Sapnap interrupted, taking a deep breath, "When are you meeting him?"
"Ten minutes ago."
"You're actually hopeless. Let me guess, you haven't even picked an outfit yet."
George laughed, somehow considerably less stressed than he had been five minutes earlier, "You know me so well."
Sapnap sighed, his hands twitching by his sides as though he had to restrain himself from burying his face in them, "Just show me what you got."
Surprisingly, Sapnap was far more helpful than he had anticipated. He helped George calm down, and reassured him that no, the sweater doesn't look stupid and yes, those jeans look good, you look great.
By 10:15, George was hurrying down the stairs, running a hand through his hair and making it messier than it already was, before opening the door with such nervous force that it hit the wall with a loud bang, making the other occupants of the common room turn to stare. However he paid them no mind, hurtling through the doorway in the direction of the entrance hall, when he ran directly into someone.
George made to step backwards immediately, disentangling himself with a string of unintelligible muttered apologies, but was stopped by a pair of arms circling around his torso, just above his waist. He yelped, struggling to escape for a moment before looking upwards at the face of his captor.
“Hi there,” Dream exclaimed jovially, beaming down at him with a smile that George did not think he — being 15 minutes late and probably looking mildly dishevelled — deserved to receive, “Fancy seeing you here.”
“You look nice,” George replied, foregoing a formal greeting.
“I was anticipating a ‘hello Dream it’s nice to see you’ but that works too,” Dream smiled, and George couldn’t help but smile back.
“You do realise that line is going to get old pretty soon,” George said, finally managing to separate himself — somewhat — from Dream, distance enough so that they were no longer pressed chest to chest, but still within arms reach.
"You say that whilst still smiling like an idiot,” Dream grinned, sliding his hands off George’s back and letting one fall to his side, using the other to take George’s hand in his own.
“An idiot you agreed to go on a date with,” George mumbled, his heart still not used to this whole hand-holding thing and beating at about three times its normal rate.
“Now who’s using old lines?”
When Dream turned his head to smile at him, George was sure that he would melt into a lovesick puddle in the middle of the hallway. He was beginning to understand why this boy had so many fangirls.
George was anticipating at least slight awkwardness as they made the journey out of school and into Hogsmeade, but he was mistaken, and gladly so. He was also mistaken in his assumption that Dream would drop his hand the moment they entered the village, or even encountered another group of students, but George was wrong yet again. They walked side by side, conversation flowing easily between them, joined hands swinging between them slightly with each step they took.
Neither of them had possessed the foresight to bring anything that offered much protection from the gently falling snow, so the flakes landed in their hair, on their lips, against their cheeks. They made their way to honeydukes to shelter from what seemed like an oncoming blizzard, quickly shutting the door behind them to keep out the cold that was making desperate attempts to follow them inside.
Dream was heavily flushed from the cold — George supposed that he must be in a similar state — and yet he grew redder still when George reached up a hand to cup his blushed cheek in his palm.
“Shut your eyes,” George murmured, and Dream instantly obeyed, before George softly, carefully brushed away the snowflakes that had clung to Dream’s eyelashes.
Dream's lips moved in what looked like an attempted 'thank you', but no sound escaped him. It was a strange feeling, George thought, to be able to wield enough power to reduce such a boy to silence, to make such an outgoing boy's breath catch in his throat, to be the reason behind such a pretty boy's blush.
"Come on," George took Dream's hand once more and dragged him towards the middle of the shop, "I haven't eaten yet, and I'm craving a chocolate frog."
At this, Dream seemed to snap out of whatever trance George had accidentally induced, to ask concernedly, "You haven't eaten yet?"
"By the time I woke up I was already late to meet you, I didn't want to keep you waiting."
Dream stopped in his tracks in front of a display of jelly beans, “You prioritised this over fulfilling your basic human needs?"
"I eat breakfast every day, I've only ever been asked on a date by you once."
"It doesn't have to be just once," Dream replied, without missing a beat.
"We'll see about that," George challenged, with a slight raise of a brow, taking a handful of chocolate frogs from the shelf in front of them, “You’ve got the rest of the day left to impress me though, maybe you’ll have convinced me by then.”
“Something tells me I won’t need to do all that much,” Dream teased back, and George shoved his shoulder in playful retaliation. Dream caught his wrist, holding it there before sliding their palms together once more, “But I’m still going to pay for your food.”
“I mean, I’m not going to stop you.”
Dream’s hand didn’t leave his when they finally made their way to the counter — Dream insisted on paying, despite not buying a single thing for himself.
At some point, Dream had begun caressing gentle arcs with his thumb over the side of George’s hand. He found himself quickly getting used to this — the handholding — far quicker than he ever thought he would. Hogsmeade was a cold, cold place, but he was content to unwrap his chocolate frogs one-handed. He was more than happy to endure the relentless chill against half his fingers, so long as the rest of them were still enclosed in the comforting warmth that was Dream’s hand.
“Any particular reason for this kindness?” George asked when they finally made their way out of the shop, clutching nearly a galleon’s worth of sweets between them, “Or are you going to admit to being a complete and utter simp?”
“Look,” Dream started, and George laughed at the defensiveness that was audible from the very first word he spoke, “I just- it was my fault you didn’t end up having breakfast earlier, so I wanted to make up for it. Plus, I just kind of like buying you things. I want to spoil you George, you deserve to be spoiled.”
“Wow.” George fell into a thoughtful silence, and Dream began to tense, worrying he’d unknowingly overstepped a boundary, before, “Now I know how it feels to have a sugar daddy.”
“George, what-”
“You know,” He continued, fighting back laughter, “Now that you mention it, I did see these rather excellent socks in Gladrags-”
“I’m never buying you anything ever again,” Dream muttered, his blush so dark that his prominent freckles were beginning to disappear.
“I thought you said you liked buying me things.”
“Shut up.”
They walked for another few minutes, a comfortable silence hanging between them. Dream had resumed the slow motion of his thumb, tracing a gentle line back and forth over George’s skin. The back and forth motion was relaxing, and very distracting, so much so that it took until they had walked as far as the Hog’s Head for George to realise that they had been wandering aimlessly, neither of them having a particular destination in mind.
“Where are we going?” George asked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing."
"What do people actually do on Hogsmeade dates, anyway?"
"Well, there's this place called Madame Pu-" Dream started, a grin growing on his face at the look of annoyance on George's.
"We are not stooping that low,” George grumbled, and Dream had to bite back a laugh.
“You said we could go there on our third date, you know I’m holding you to that."
“I don’t know if I said third.”
“You did, you definitely did. I’m taking you there at some point even if I have to pick you up and carry you all the way from your dorm.”
“That sounds better than the first option, if I’m being completely honest."
“What, just want a reason to get my hands on you or something?” Dream asked, casting a sideways glance towards George just in time to see his eyes widen.
“Don’t be stupid, we wouldn’t need a reason for that,” George replied casually. Beside him, Dream choked on his spit. “I was just thinking how that’d save me having to walk all the way there.”
“Yeah, I mean it makes sense that you’d want me to do all the work.”
“You’re so dumb,” George spluttered, shoving him hard on the shoulder, before taking Dream’s hand again and meeting his eyes with a bashful smile before instantly looking away again, “So, so dumb.”
“I mean, I could pick you up and carry you right now if that's what you really wanted,” Dream grinned, moving his hand to rest around George’s waist.
“I don’t-”
“You don't think that’d be a problem? Well then, why didn’t you just say?”
Dream quickly readjusted his hold on George, before stooping for a scant second to scoop George up and toss him over his shoulder.
“DREAM!” George shrieked, drawing the attention of just about every person walking by them, “That’s not what I fucking said! Put me down right this instant or I swear I’ll transfigure you into a fucking snail and step on y-”
Dream chose this moment to spin in a circle, causing George to scream, and forcing a small huddle of third years to jump out of the way to avoid being hit by George’s flailing arms.
“I am literally going to knee you in the face if you don’t put me down right this second,” George threatened, still making futile attempts to squirm his way to freedom. It was an extremely humiliating position to be trapped in — slung over Dream’s shoulder like some strange kind of trophy — but he couldn’t deny the fact that it was warm, being close to each other like this, and it was far easier and more comfortable than walking. Well, aside from the fact that all his blood was now rushing to his head.
“Where are you taking me?” George grumbled into Dream’s robes, where his face was pressed against his back.
“We could go to the Three Broomsticks?”
“I don’t really like butterbeer.”
“Me neither,” Dream laughed, “We could just head back to the castle, find somewhere to sit and talk, get to know each other better."
“I’d like that,” George admitted, in this moment glad for the fact that Dream couldn’t see the slightly embarrassing lovesick smile that he was sporting.
“Oh, would you know?” Dream teased.
“May I remind you that your face is still very much within reach of my kneecaps, don’t test me," George threatened, but he was sure Dream could hear the smile in his voice.
“Everything you do is so adorable.”
“I just threatened to break your nose.”
“And you looked cute doing it,” Dream said, adoration flooding from each syllable he spoke. It was hard to tell whether or not he was being sarcastic — secretly, George hoped he wasn’t.
“You can’t even see my face,” George scoffed.
“I know you looked cute doing it.”
“When you finally put me down, I’ll-”
“Kiss me?” Dream asked, hopeful.
“Was that a question or a request?”
“Neither. Both. Whatever you want."
“You confuse me, Dream."
“How so?”
George opened his mouth to reply, but before he could do so, he was unceremoniously tossed from his place on Dream's shoulder — his fall cushioned by the thick layer of snow on the ground. They had apparently reached wherever Dream had been taking them.
George would’ve shouted in indignation, yelled in annoyance for being dropped in such a way, but he could never truly be angry at Dream, not really. Especially not when he flopped down next to George, lying on his side facing George with a hand resting underneath his head to act as a makeshift pillow. Dream was gazing at him with what could only be described as unfiltered adoration, and George thought that the intensity might be enough to make him melt into a puddle along with the snow.
He wanted to tell Dream how pretty he looked. He wanted to say how ethereal he looked with snowflakes in his hair and the muted winter sunlight on his face. He wanted to let him know that he looked good enough to kiss.
"You look dumb," George eventually said, unable to prevent fondness from invading his tone.
"So do you," Dream replied, just as softly, and reached across the minimal space between them to brush hair out of George's eyes. His hand lingered there, cupping George's cheek and jaw, and George brought up his own hand to press against it, holding it in place.
Everything is quiet, gentle, and ever so breakable. But they can be careful, learn to handle moments like these with the tenderness that they deserve.
“Can I-”
“Yes,” Dream breathed, before George had the chance to finish his question. But it didn’t matter, because they were kissing. They had both leaned in, and met in the middle with the sloppiness you’d expect from a pair of teenage boys lying together in the snow. At some point, Dream had gotten a hold on George’s hip, and pulled them even closer together, so that they were pressed together in their entirety. Dream’s heartbeat was rapid in his chest; George could feel it against his own, and he thought that if it got any faster it might burst right out of his ribcage and into the palm of Dream’s hands.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, as they rolled over in the snow and broke apart for the first time in what could’ve been several minutes. They both gasped for air, before making eye contact and bursting into uncontrollable laughter.
“That was-” George said, breathless.
“Yeah.”
Dream was more red than George had ever seen him, a stark contrast to the snow surrounding his face, and George knew that he must be in a similar state, just without the snow, because he was on top of Dream. His brain hadn’t quite caught up with that yet. That he was actually here, by the lake in plain sight, on top of Dream.
“Wanna do it again?”
“Just come here, idiot.”
Their robes were soaked through, an indicator of just how much time they had spent there, but George couldn't bring himself to care that much. He'd just had a great day with his new favourite person, and he was sure that this was only the first of many more to come.
—
Later, they were sitting together in a secluded corner of the Ravenclaw common room. It was a Saturday evening, so the space was packed and there was a severe shortage of chairs, which meant that the two of them had squeezed into one armchair together. George was half-sitting in Dream’s lap, but the contact wasn’t at all awkward, despite the limited time that they'd known each other.
George didn’t usually warm up to people this fast at all, but it felt as though his whole being had been waiting for Dream’s inevitable arrival. It wasn’t like he was missing a piece of himself before they met, he wasn’t filling in all of George’s gaps because he didn’t really have any to begin with. He was just more, an extension of what he already knew and loved, and it meant that Dream fit into his life almost too easily.
George wasn’t scared or nervous at this change, even though logically he knew that he should be. He was simply content to enjoy this new presence in his routine: a hand to hold walking between classes; someone to laugh with in divination, that made the lessons more than just bearable; a boyfriend to curl up with amidst the noise and business of the common room, offering constant comfort and warmth.
"You know, maybe we aren’t as terrible at divination as we thought,” Dream murmured, his breath ghosting the shell of George’s ear accompanied by a soft kiss placed against the back of his neck.
"What gave you that impression?” George questioned, continuing to speak just loud enough for them to hear, quiet enough so no one else could listen in.
"The parasol, the flower, the heart, they were all right. All symbols of new love. And I have you now.” His words were accompanied by another gentle kiss.
“You have got to stop saying things like that,” George complained, turning his head to bury it in the fabric of Dream’s robes.
“It’s okay George, I already know how easily you blush.”
There was a pause, in which the chatter of the common room continued, and the pair in the armchair breathed, close enough to feel the rise and fall of each other’s chests.
“Do you really believe we’re meant to be together? Written in the stars and all that?” George asked, resting his head on Dream’s shoulder to make eye contact with the one he had fallen for over the past few months.
“I think we are, George. I really do.”