Archive of Our Own

Your friends would describe you as stubborn - almost as stubborn as the Excalibur. You, in your sacred truth, would argue that you are anything but. In your eyes, you are cautious and precise. You choose your friends, not for benefit - Merlin, no, but because you trust them. It’s true, is it not? To be wary? That saying is a wise one, “keep your friends close and enemies closer.” It isn’t that you have enemies, but you have your suspicions of who can do you wrong.

So, when it comes to…dating, it isn’t easy. Naturally, you’d say you’re not interested in anyone. While it isn’t entirely wrong, it isn’t entirely truthful. Practicality is something you value, or so you tell yourself. If they can’t catch up with you, they simply can’t be with you. You haven’t met someone yet who is as intriguing and exciting as you want. Excitement is practical, yes, but also if they fit you. Merlin forbid you want a financially stable lover who has trust in you.

“Seriously, not even him?” Susan complained after she had pointed at Cedric Diggory, an exasperated sigh left her once you shook your head. 

You simply shrug, “He’s popular, Bones, I’m not. It won’t work out.” Your voice is calmer than Susan would appreciate. 

“For a Hufflepuff, you sure are strict with your preferences.” Finch-Fletchley, the clueless man, said. “I mean, aren’t we Hufflepuffs more naturally open?”

“Perhaps you are, not me.” You stated, earning an eye-roll you could practically hear from Susan. 

Susan shook her head, “Whatever, I know you can’t lie to us forever. Someone will sweep you under your feet and you’ll fall for them. I’m sure of it.” She promised you.

You only shrugged, secretly giggling inside your mind of how wrong she was. There was no one you could possibly think of that would sweep underneath your feet. “It’s realism, Bones. How could I possibly fall in love with someone I hardly know? They could be everything I don’t want. Love at first sight is a mere fantasy.” You declare to her, praying to Merlin that she’d leave you alone.

“Fine,” she said, “I get that, but I still think love will be thrown at you like a gobstone gone wrong.” She huffed, getting up from the dining table as our feasting had ended. You followed in her footsteps

~

As your feet trudged to the awful prison resembling Azkaban that was known as Potions class, you felt the goosebumps of the biting chills. Thank Helga you were no Slytherin, you wouldn’t be able to stand the cold of the dungeons. Just thinking about the freezing walls in there made you shudder. 

A voice you vaguely recognize called out your surname, “All right there, mate?” As you look up, you see soft ginger hair that framed a pleasant pale face. Eyes wide yet not too wide, almost the perfect shape if it wasn’t for one lid being slightly lower than the other. In some way, you imagine, it didn’t matter.

You nearly forgot to respond, “Yes, I’m all right, Weasley.” You say, finally tearing your gaze from his face to his cauldron. Your eyes glance back at the paper you were given. He certainly wasn’t preparing the Draught of Living Death. If he was, it was going in a much more different direction. “What are you creating?” You ask, cursing yourself for your curiosity.

“Interested, are we?” He chuckles as he stirs it clockwise each time after dropping a Jobberknoll feather into the cauldron. “This, dear Hufflepuff, is Veritaserum. Impressed?” He drawls out the last word, almost entrancing you to be just as impressed as he imagined.

“Perhaps, if you don’t suffer the consequences.” You were unsure where this confidence came from. Merlin forbid you remember this was one of the Weasley twins you were speaking to.

He didn’t protest though, only laughing again. “Caught? Trust me, I’m sly.” He shrugs coolly, “Me and Freddie are preparing another prank. Veritaserum, if done right, is perfect for our concoction of an idea.” He admits, winking at you, almost as if he’s silencing you of telling anyone this. Though, for an odd reason, you seem to not even think about it - no matter how much of a rule-follower you are.

Then you take it in. It almost makes sense that this one is George. You’re unsure why. Perhaps it’s the way he talks - how it’s a tad lighter when he speaks, or maybe it’s his slightly (so slightly that you would be called a hawk if you told anyone) hunched posture, or it could be his eyelids like you once pointed out to yourself before. 

“I suppose I wish you well on your journey.” You scoff faintly, but he caught it.

~

Walking to the Quidditch pitch was already a challenge, but having to sit and watch your friends practice ? It was pure insanity. Helga, you didn’t appreciate their begging. You had to, though, because being stuck in your dorm all day on a weekend was almost as boring and soul-sucking as Professor Binns’ lectures. 

As you made your way, the Gryffindor team left the pitch. Your eyes flew almost like an instinct to stare at George Weasley. While he was a practical carbon copy of his brother, you could draw out different features. Both of the twins had a prominent jawline along with an angular structure of face, but George seemed to have (barely) softer lines. His hair seems to bother him a bit too, brushing it every once in a while to keep it out of his eyes. The slope of his nose has a vague bump. Even - 

“Ahem.” Susan slapped the back of your head, making all the thoughts of the man spill out, almost staining your face with embarrassment. “I didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic.” She whispered almost aggressively into your ear.

“I am not!” You retorted, huffing through your nose. “What in Merlin’s name could possibly make you think that?” You ask her as if you weren’t silently admiring someone. But that didn’t mean you were hopelessly in love! You were simply making mental notes of how to draw out the difference between the two twins no one could tell apart.

“You so are, you bloody liar! You were ogling the bloke!”

“I was trying to figure out who was who.” You correct her.

“Were you at least successful?” You nod and she sighs in disbelief.

Susan steps away from you. Turning your eyes away from her, you cast a last glance at George Weasley. This time, though, he looks back. You could feel your face heat up like the warmth of a fireplace. Honestly, perhaps you were near one. George Weasley seemed to emanate a comforting heat, especially with the hue of his hair that could match flames.

Before you notice it, he’s walking up to you. You try to turn away and walk off quickly, but he places a hand on your shoulder and you melt. Which is odd. Why would you? It’s embarrassment, most definitely, that has you melting. 

He calls out your surname, “Staring? I am quite fascinating, I know. Don’t feed my ego, love.”

Love. You nearly forget that name is the most common of nicknames to use. You finally turn around with a smirk that’s built with a facade as breakable as tissues, “I don’t plan on pumping air into that balloon of yours you call a head.” You tease him, silently berating yourself.

“Ah, smooth one, Hufflepuff. See you around, aye?” He says, almost like a promise, and leaves to join the others in the changing rooms. Your chest feels fuzzy from the inside, almost as if wrackspurts invaded your heart instead of your mind. Everything feels warm and ticklish, you don’t understand why. Warm. Fuzzy. Oh, Merlin, how you loathe this feeling.

~

“Why won’t you admit it?” Susan pestered you.

“Because I do not fancy him. It’s ludicrous, Susan. He doesn’t fit me at all. He’s got a large personality and constantly breaks the rules! He’s erratic, hyper, and loud. I’m more quiet, yeah?” You explain to Susan as if she were a puffskein that didn’t understand the command to stay still. 

She rolled her eyes, “Ludicrous?! What’s ludicrous is you staring at him as if he were the most valuable galleon in the world!” She exclaimed.

“Observant, Susan, I’m observant.” You reminded her, but you wonder if it was more of a reminder to yourself, “Don’t be daft now, seriously. Me? Him? It’s foolish. I need someone quiet. Someone who matches me! Someone who matches my humor, thinking, and morals.” You counted each need with your fingers, anticipating more.

“You act like you haven’t found him funny.” She makes a ‘hmph’ and crosses her arms.

A shrug from you and she groans in an irritated way you haven’t seen her express before. You truly didn’t understand why defending your honor was so exhausting to her. You thrive on practicality. Excitement, thought-process, humor, and morals. You were a Hufflepuff for Helga’s sake! You’re loyal to your words and standards. 

“Okay, how about this, hm? Have you ever thought of… leaving your comfort zone?”

“Loyalty.” You point to your tie that had a spiral of your house colors.

She cleared her throat, “But have you ever thought about it? About holding his hand? Laughing at his stupid pranks you told him not to set off?” And for a second, you’re there. Your hand in his as you walk through the snowed floors of Hogsmeade. Your bubbling laughter betraying your fondness you tried to mask with irritation as his prank went wrong. But it doesn’t work like that, does it? He’s a boy in Gryffindor. Aren’t they all loud and brash? Gryffindor boys had a one-track mind and a reputation of breaking the hearts of girls. You’ve seen the way they seem to brush off their girlfriends. 

But was he different? He could be. There’s a certain gentleness in his eyes you always noticed. A certain softness that betrayed the usually shaper and prominent lines of his body. It made him appear different. Truthfully, if you could, you’d trace the lines of his face and feel the gentlest skin in the world.

“You were thinking about it just now.”

“I was not,” you deny, “I was thinking of how it would actually turn out and…it was far from what you had envisioned.” Loyal, but not towards telling the truth it seems. Because you were thinking about it. You were imagining every single thing and it wasn’t far from what she envisioned. Perhaps it was more.

She throws her head back with her hands covering her face, “You are insufferably stubborn, have I ever told you?”

“Stubborn isn’t the right word.”

“Denial might be.” Susan Bones has almost had enough of you. “Go, I know you said you wanted to study or walk or whatever. For Merlin’s sake, you truly are a stubborn, stubborn girl.”

You let out a quiet snort and rise from the common room couch and leave. Feet in sync as you made your way to the library. The hallways were practically empty, most have probably bundled themselves in a blanket or already in the library. Yet your mind travels back to before. You do wonder about that Weasley. His smile and laughter, that ego of his that could inflate so easily but he was calmer than his twin in some way. The ladybug to the asian beetle, perhaps.

“Hey, funny seeing you here.” An arm slung across your shoulders. This time, instead of your surname, he said your forename. You almost question and deny the fact he had the audacity to push such familiarity, but you fail to do so. Those eyes and that lopsided grin have you redirecting yourself. 

“I believe it’s funnier to see you, George.”

“Ah, know me, do we?” Behind his grin, you see a genuine flicker of confusion and curiosity. His eyes wanted to ask you all the questions he could. You silently prayed to Merlin that he wouldn’t ask how you knew. Helga knows how embarrassing it would be to describe him so fluently as if you were him when, really, you only knew him for a little over a week.

You nodded, “Sadly,” you joked. He puts a hand over his heart and lets out an “ouch” as he does so. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of having the most known troublemaker hung around me? And without his partner in crime?”

He snorts at your ‘formal’ questions. He shrugs though, “Perhaps, love, I just wanted to seek you out…” He raises his brows, but you don’t buy it. He sighs and takes his arm off you and fetches the Veritaserum out of his pocket. “Haven’t gotten caught yet. Snape has no idea, hah.” George admits as he rolls the vial between his long fingers.

“Perhaps, love ,” you mimicked his words, “he’s much too old to bother with your silly antics.” You nudge him with your elbow. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder when you became so close to him. It happened overnight, somehow. “You’ve made multiple Veritaserum potions I see.”

“Oh, but of course! Well, may I indulge in your oh so precious study time? You can’t be alone forever, Hufflepuff.” And for a second, you could’ve sworn his words meant something else. You can’t be alone forever, Hufflepuff. Intriguing, really. Does one ever just slip those words out?

You repel your need and yearning to be in comfortable solitude. Susan did say to leave your comfort zone. How would you be able to live with complete comfortability? Fear holds you back. Gryffindors, unfortunately - you aren’t one, are all about seizing the day and taking what is theirs. You aren’t. You would rather cozy up next to a fireplace than be risky. “You may,” the words leave your mouth before you could even begin to take back the words.

He smiled though. He has been for a while, but the smile grows. The wrinkles of his eyes squeeze together just a fraction more. His nose scrunches up about a molecular amount. His grin, his eyes, his nose. It’s everything. And you don’t understand why.

The two of you walk into the library. His voice is much louder than you realize, so you’re quick to quiet him. He apologizes with the duck of his head. Honestly, with the expression of curiosity laid bare on his face, you’re sure he’s never taken in the library besides forced studying and pranks. It’s almost as if he’s seeing through your eyes. Because he wants to understand. But that’s wrong. Why in Helga’s name would you and him ever have interest in one another? You two simply don’t fit. It’s not what you’re convincing yourself to think, it’s what you know!

Once you find a table, he sits across from you. He grabs some random story book to distract himself while you study. It’s odd, why wouldn’t it be? He’s just there . If you were under a Confundus Charm, you would almost say he’s there to honestly indulge in your presence - to bask in it as if it were the mellow sun.

After half an hour of studying, you finally stopped glancing. You, instead, stared. By now, he was writing down intricate details of pranks he wanted to make and orchestrate. It was good to have your mind and eyes, you believe, because you can see him. You could see his soul through his eyes. Inside, there is a soul so warm to the touch. It's full of passion that bubbles, but there’s a few shadows towering over it opaquely. A kindness is there that mixes with mischief. You can even see the faint yearning he’d been hiding for what seemed like ages.

And he’s quiet. He’s minding his business. It’s perfect. He made you laugh earlier, he made you comfortable, and now he’s quiet. He was like a missing puzzle piece, truly. He can be exciting and then he could be calm. Either way, it was comfortable. Calming. Perfect. Practical.

Practical?

You let out a quiet laugh of disbelief that was short-lived. He looked up and already had a smirk on his face. You clear your throat and look away. You couldn’t escape though, not with him. He called out your name and you finally faced him.

“Yes?” You responded.

“What’s so funny? Got something on my face, mate?” He asks you and you shake your head. He narrows his eyes at you, you don’t feel small and scared - rather, small and cared for, like a mouse that’s been freed rather than in a trap. “Ah, I’ll let you off for now. Don’t be surprised when I give you Veritaserum!” He chuckles and you roll your eyes. As if . You both knew he’d never.

~

It’s been weeks. You’ve been contemplating your entire life. Somehow, George is always there. With or without Fred. You’re genuinely surprised that you've been talking to him for so long. Susan has given up on convincing you that he’s what you have needed since then.

Now, as he rambles about Quidditch and Oliver’s painfully excruciating training, you laugh and stare at his eyes. Never have you been so enthralled in one’s eyes before. It’s like a magnet, honestly. The way he’s so passionate in any topic he talks about. He even re-enacts it for you sometimes. His hands throw up in the air then onto his face. He only gets more dramatic when he pulls in his hair and throws out faux sobs. And yet, as much as you never do this with any other male you’ve interacted with, you laugh each time. Snorting at his jokes, and he seems to take it in. He seems to just grin and look deeply at you as you squeeze your eyes shut as if lemons were squirted into them.

“You’re insane, he did not do that! You’re an exaggerator, George!” You’ve called him silly too many times in one sitting but you hardly notice.

He gives out a pained expression that’s obviously acted out, “Exaggerator? How could you, mate? We’re a team!” He lets out an “ow” and clenches his shirt where his heart would be.

“Oh, please, we are not. You break the rules, I follow them.” You tease as you get up and off the wall you leaned on. He does the same, falling into step with you as the two of you walk. He had been doing this for a long time, taking you to the barrel so you could go to your dorm.

As he plugs his ears and sings a horrible melody, you knock on the door in the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff’. Once it’s over, he stops and bows down. He makes some joke about you being a noble woman and how he’s had the pleasure of taking you to your safety. You roll your eyes and sigh.

“Goodnight, George.” You say.

“Goodnight, love, see you tomorrow and every day after.” It was a promise, was it not? Every day after. Perhaps you would look forward to that.

You shuffled quietly into the common room and looked around. It was the edge of curfew so you hoped no one was awake and that you’d not awaken anyone. You quietly went to your dorm, opening the door and closing it without a sound.

“And you were where?” Susan suddenly asked, making your bones nearly jump out your skin. “You thrive on practicality. I think it’s practical to enjoy spending every second with them. I hardly see you!” She declares to you and your ‘practicality’ preaches.

“I don’t like him!” You quietly hiss. You didn’t like him. No way. No way . He wasn’t practical for your life. You need someone as passionate as you, someone who makes you laugh, someone who knows when to just be instead of impressing you…

Sure, George was just as passionate as you were but in pranks. His eyes lit up and he got stuck in this world of his own just like you did when you got to your topic of interest. And he’s funny. Merlin, he’s hilarious. Your stomach makes you nearly throw up slugs with how much laughter bursts out from you. You even feel tears at multiple points. And, yes, he’s had those lovely moments where he’s just himself and quiet instead of talking to you. Even then, he’s practically perfect. But - 

“You’re doing it, you always do. You dream about him just after you say he’s nothing.” Susan calls you out with irritated, furrowed brows. 

“I’m not saying he is nothing. I’m saying that he’s a risk I’m not willing to take.” A risk you aren’t willing to take. A risk. He is a risk to the loyalty you hold dear to your heart. You can’t tell if he is a risk to your heart or mind or…perhaps nothing. Is he good for your heart? Will he break you? He isn’t the exact standard you have set in mind. He’s not the person you’ve set yourself to be ready for. 

Susan cleared her throat, “It’s late. What are you thinking about before you go into an existential crisis that makes you look as old as Dumbledore?” She asks you. You think you’re lucky to have a friend like her, lucky to have someone that can read you so well and give you a helping hand before you run over to St. Mungo’s with a sob story and broken bones. 

“He isn’t good for me. He’s not the one for me. I don’t even fancy him!” You try to convince her, but it ends up sounding like you’re only trying to convince your mind.

“That’s what love is. It’s taking a risk you usually don’t. You do it for love, that’s what it’s all about. Merlin, you’re so pigheaded!” She grasped your hands and shook them, signifying the fact she couldn’t take your obstinacy any longer. 

“A risk I don’t usually take? He’s a Weasley twin! Everything about him is a risk!” You complain, but not really. He isn’t something you’d ever complain about. You appreciate him more than you complain. The way he talks and speaks and moves. Everything. How could you complain about that man when you’ve been appreciating him even when he was gone? It’s not like you forgot about every time in Herbology class where you would go over every moment in your head until Professor Sprout gently patted your back to bring you out of it. 

“Sure, go to sleep.” Susan rolled her eyes and shuffled back to her bed. You did the same, except you didn’t fall asleep until twenty minutes after she did. Those twenty minutes were full of contemplating what this could mean for the sweet minutes you could have spent living in ignorant bliss.

~

“Hello there, love,” George appeared behind you, interrupting your quiet break at the Black Lake, “what’s got you looking like some sad painting from the renaissance?”

A painting from the renaissance, you thought, isn’t a usual observation for someone who’s a mere friend to someone. Or is it? You couldn’t tell. “How would you know if you like someone?”

And he paused. The usually-so-quick George Weasley paused. It didn’t look like he had to think about it, but he only paused. His eyes gazed into yours in a way that made you want to break his intense eye contact. He was standing above you as you sat until he slowly crouched down. He tilted his head to the right so terribly slightly that you weren’t even sure if it happened. 

“Well?” You prodded.

“You just feel it. It aches in your soul, makes your stomach flutter with butterflies that you weren’t even aware were there. Not much of a deep thinker, I am, mate.” He says, but he’s wrong. He quietly thinks, quietly dreams. You can tell. All those countless hours with him, you knew he thinks deeper than he portrays. 

Despite his answer, it wasn’t what you were searching for. You didn’t ask the right question. “But what if they aren’t what you want? What if they’re not the exact person you have been dreaming of?”

“Well…what’s the exact person you’re dreaming of?” He asks you, and you think. You ponder on it.

Your mouth opens and closes a few times. “Well, they need a lot of things. They have to keep up with me, no doubt about that. They have to keep my life exciting but not in the way that hurts me. Humor is a big one, Merlin forbid I even imagine dating an unfunny person. They must have the same morality, can’t be a rule-breaker.” He chuckles at the last part, and you smile. You’re always unsure as to why he brings a smile to your face, but you never cared.

“And does this person fit?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You’re smart, just think about it.” You’re beyond aware you’re smart, but it’s sweet to hear it from him.

“He’s funny. Beyond, honestly. Bloody hell, he makes me laugh even when I want to hold it in.” You laugh at just the thought of it and he does the same. “He always keeps up with me. Blimey, he keeps life exciting and not in the way that makes me go completely bonkers. He has the same morals, but he always breaks the rules. For some reason, I don’t mind.”

“But do you love him?”

You paused. “What?”

“That’s all that matters. You throw out all rationality when you’re in love. So, do you love him?” He asks, it’s your turn to stare.

So you do. You have an answer, you just can’t bring yourself to say it. You want to savor this moment before revealing something that would break you into fragments like precious glass. You want to savor the beauty of him. The way he’s staring back at you with those lovely eyes you’ve grown accustomed to looking into. How he’s crouched just to talk to you, because he could have talked while standing and yet he chose to be closer. You savor the lines of his face and every particle of skin. His lips, nose, and eyebrows are savored as well.

“I do.” It’s declared now.

“Then be with him.” He smiles, a slight flicker of pain stuck in his eyes that clouds the window to his soul.

You hesitate, making a sound. You’ve done it now, you believe. It’s out, might as well say so. “I already am.”

“You’re dating him already?” He asks in disbelief and you shake your head. It takes him a moment for the cogs in his handsome mind to work. “You mean physically?” A nod.

“I love you, George. Helga, everyone knows it but you. It took me a while. I’m not used to being in love, especially with someone I’d never expect. If you had told me in first year that I’d be in love with you, she’d laugh in your face.” You’ve cracked a joke that earns you no laughter. This time, when you look back up at him, you can’t read his facial expression. It seems like he’s either going to reject you or laugh. “I know, I’m not for you. I understand that.”

“I’ve spent every waking moment thinking of you, now you’re saying you’re not for me? Merlin, Fred started to scold me because I’d leave him to find you! Of course, I’m in love with you, you daft lady!” He snorts, almost in disbelief that you even considered that option.

“Oh, thank Helga.” You whisper, a smile so soft on your face that you hardly processed that you were smiling. “Can…I kiss you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to ask me twice. Or never, quite frankly!” He slips his hand onto the line of your jaw and pulls you in, closing his eyes as the two of you lean in. They say when you can’t see, all your senses heighten. They were right, you understand. All you can think of and feel is his smooth, slightly chapped lips moving against yours in a polite yet passionate way. It felt as if the flowers themselves came to hug you as angels blessed you from above. The flutters in your stomach traveled to your chest, making you shake ever so slightly.

A risk, you think back to Susan’s lecturing, is something you take because you love them. That’s what love is. She’s right. Perhaps you were too stubborn to realize that.