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1.
You’ve been friends with the Weasley twins for quite a while, since first year when you were the only student sorted after them, thus making them not the last ones to go. With a last name like Zahn, you were used to always going last. When you took a seat next to them at the Gryffindor table, however, they didn’t see it that way. In fact, they thanked you in a joking yet someone also serious manner, a way that only the Weasley twins can manage. You thought they were quite strange, but they continued to stick to you from that day on, and so you were dragged into being friends with them.
Apart from the many detentions you receive when around them, you love being friends with the Weasleys. They were closer with Lee Jordan, of course, and you had your best friend Katie Bell along with Alicia and Angelina, but the three of you remained tightly knit throughout your years at Hogwarts. Not once did they give you the time or space for you to question if you were drifting apart, even over the summer. Their poor owl got plenty of exercise over breaks until you finally bought an owl of your own.
One thing you didn’t enjoy about being their friend was having to clean up after them. Whether it was their plates on Molly’s dinner table or some mysterious substance from a test potion that went wrong, they always called you to help them clean up their mess. Usually it didn’t bother you, but this was the fourth time this week and it’s only Thursday.
“Honestly,” you mutter as you stomp to the prefect's bathroom, the two of them lagging behind you. “Is it not possible for the two of you to stay out of trouble for a single day?” You don’t need to look back at them to know what grinning look they’re giving one another.
As expected, they give a simultaneous “nope,” leaving you to simply sigh and continue down the hall. None of you were prefects yourselves, but you and George had decided to sneak out with Harry’s invisibility cloak one night, waiting by the entrance for a prefect to come along and give the password. It took nearly an hour, but after looking at the giant bath and copious amounts of stalls and sinks, you decided it was well worth it.
You reach the portrait and give the password, stepping in without waiting to see if they follow. Standing in front of the counter, you lift your bag off your shoulder, digging through until you find the first aid kit you’ve taken to carrying around with you. You’ve needed it more times than you’d like to think about while hanging around the twins.
Finally looking over at them, you sigh again at the sight of the twins. They decided to light some firecrackers today, except they were old and volatile, and as soon as the thing was lit it blew up like a firework before even lifting into the air. Fred, who had been holding the damn thing, shot back, scraping his shoulder and burning his hands. George on the other hand wasn’t so lucky. He had been peering over the thing like a madman and got an explosion right to the face. Luckily he wasn’t hurt too badly, just a few burns and scrapes, but he was much worse off than Fred. You decide to get Fred over with so you can focus on George without Fred whining about any pain or possible death. He’s too dramatic for his own good.
“Fred, you first.” You point to the counter in front of you and he happily hops up, removing his shirt. You start pulling out your supplies. Being muggle born, you rarely use magic to heal any wounds other than a small cut or scrape. Fred and George and especially their father found your muggle medicine fascinating, and once you showed them your first aid kit they refused to be treated any other way, claiming the muggle way was “much cooler.”
You put an ointment on Fred’s hands for the burn before gesturing for him to turn around. He hops off the counter and does so, letting you look over the scrape.
“This is going to sting,” you warn, before wiping it over with a disinfectant. He hisses in pain, but lets you go on.
“This would be much less painful if you want to be healed with magic,” you say with little sympathy and you continue to clean his wound.
“Yeah,” he responds, “but this seems much more effective. The stinging lets me know that the wound is clean. How am I supposed to know that with magic?” You roll your eyes.
“I don’t know, maybe just by trusting the magic?” He gasps.
“Rule number one, Zahn, never trust anything!” You raise an eyebrow.
“Except the person treating your wounds, right? And perhaps your lesser evil twin who goes along with your stupid plans?” He chuckles at that and says nothing. Getting out your bandages, you wrap his shoulder and tie it off before turning him around again to wrap his hands as well once the cream has absorbed enough. You wash your hands as he admires his still shirtless self in the mirror.
“See, Zahn? This is much more badass than magic healing.” You laugh a bit.
“Yes, your uselessly injured hands are so badass, Fred. Now move over, it’s George’s turn. George!” You call out to the other twins who had been standing over near the stained glass picture of a mermaid, trying to convince her to move her hair out of the way. You give him a stern look and he raises his hands in surrender before walking over and hopping up onto the counter where Fred was, wincing. You frown. Was he injured somewhere other than his face?
Fred yawns, seemingly bored already. “Alright, well you two have fun,” he says, grabbing his shirt. “I’m gonna go show off my battle scars to Angelina. Who knows, maybe she’ll be so impressed she’ll swoon and I can catch her like a hero.” With a wink and a wave, he leaves the prefect bathroom. You sigh. Of course he can’t even be bothered to stay and be patient.
George laughs from the counter. “If anything, he’ll be the one swooning over her,” he jokes. You laugh and reach up to his shirt, starting to unbutton it. He jumps at your touch, grabbing your hands with his.
“What are you doing?” You narrow your eyes.
“If you can look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not injured anywhere below the neck then I’ll let go of your shirt, George.” He gives you a guilty look, averting his eyes.
“I’m not injured anywhere below my neck.” It comes out more like a question than a statement when he says it and you huff.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He drops his arms and sighs, leaning back on his hands placed on the counter behind him. As you finish unbuttoning his shirt, you move it out of the way, seeing a nasty looking gash on his stomach. It looks like it was partially healed enough to stop the bleeding, but it’s not nearly small enough to not be looked at. You look up at George with a glare. He winces back.
“I know, I know. I just didn’t think it was that bad!” You scoff in disbelief.
“Not that bad? George, it looks like the thing nearly cut you open. That’s pretty bad. If you need stitches then I’m forcing you to go to Madam Pomfrey.” His eyes widen.
“No, please no! She said if we end up in the hospital wing any more often than we already do then she’ll go to McGonagall, and we’ve already pissed her off this week.” You glance over at him as you pull out more bandages.
“Maybe she should go to McGonagall, you hoodlum. Now be quiet. This is gonna hurt.” Despite your unsympathetic words, you try to be gentle as you first wipe around the wound, and then lightly on it. His stomach sucks in and he hisses a breath, muscles tensing up.
“I know,” you say. “You’re going great. Just a little more.” You toss that wipe to the side, opening a new one. You’re not sure when you became so desensitized to wounds and blood. Probably somewhere between the quidditch accident in second year and Forbidden Forest exploration gone wrong in fifth year. Either way, you’re now more comfortable than you’d like around gross wounds.
You finish cleaning the wound and with the blood removed, you see that it’s not as bad as you first thought.
“You’re lucky,” you say and you start wrapping bandages around his torso, letting your fingers brush against the smooth skin of his back and sides. “No stitches for you today, Weasley.” He lets out a pained laugh, eyes still closed as he recovers from the stinging wound. You wrap the bandages firmly around him and tie it off, placing a reassuring hand on his thigh. He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You smile up.
“Hey, you’re almost done. The worst part is over.” His eyes flicker down to your hand on his thigh, and that’s where his gaze remains as he begins to burn red.
“Yeah,” he mumbles out, shifting a bit on the counter. Removing your hand, you throw away the bloody wipes from before and pull out a clean rag, wetting it in the sink.
“Look here,” you say, starting to wipe the soot and blood off his cheeks. His eyes close again as you continue cleaning his face and neck, flickering open when you wipe his ear, tickling him ever so slightly. You discovered his unusual ticklish spot in fourth year when the two of you were wrestling in the common room and you went to grab his hair. You grazed past his ear and he fell off of you in laughter. You smile at the memory.
Meeting his eyes, you widen your smile a bit, washing the cloth out in the sink and reaching for the smaller bandages. Unwrapping it, you reach up to place one on his left cheek and then another on his chin. As you lay down the bandage on his chin with your thumb, you slow your movements. You’re not sure when, but a certain tension rose between the two of you at some point and you only notice it now.
Your thumb reaches the end of the bandage and brushes lightly against his bottom lip. You stare at the spot where your unmoving thumb touches his lip, and then slowly begin to move it, covering the pink of his mouth. You notice a small freckle on his top lip, right by the center, and you feel the urge to touch it. Unknowingly leaning closer, you continue to stare at the freckle, missing the way George’s breath hitches and how he leans in closer as well.
When you feel his breath stuttering against your own mouth you snap out of it, quickly looking up at him. His eyes are slightly hooded and his cheeks pink in your hands and you give a nervous smile.
“You, um… you have a freckle on your lip.” You clear your throat and start picking up the rags and trash, anything to keep your hands busy. “It’s cute.” You freeze for a second before turning around, walking stiffly over to the trashcan as you scold yourself. What the hell, Zahn? Who says that?
Putting a smile on your face, you turn back towards him and pack up your first aid kit and shove it back in your bag. He’s hopped off the counter and is buttoning his shirt back up when you turn towards him, your bag slung over your shoulder.
“Ready?” You ask. He gives a nod and follows you out of the bathroom. The walk back to the common room is normal enough, with the two of you talking and joking, but your mind keeps drifting back to the moment in the bathroom. What the hell was that?
**********
2.
Sprinting down the hallway, out of breath and looking over your shoulder, you question why you always agree to go along with the twins’ plans. Sometimes it goes well and the three of you pull it off and get away with it, possibly getting scolded by a professor later on. Usually, though, it ends like this with the three of you running down the hallway away from a furious Filch and Mrs. Norris.
At this point it’s every man for themselves, which puts you at a severe disadvantage. Filch will be satisfied enough with the first person he catches, which is always the slowest. Unfortunately for you, the twins have legs that are much longer than your own.
You try your best to keep up with them, but as Fred hops over the stone wall through an opening into the courtyard, taking off to the other side, you begin to lose up. George is still with you, but so is Filch and so you keep running. Looks like Fred is in the clear.
You follow George down a staircase and take a right down the hallway after him. When you turn the next corner, however, he’s vanished and your stomach sinks. Once again, it’s you who pulls the short end of the stick.
You start to slow down, accepting your fate as the scapegoat, when you’re suddenly tugged to your right and through a banner hanging on the wall. A hand over your mouth blocks your yelp and an arm across your waist prevents you from moving away, but as soon as you feel the hand on your skin you know who it is. Too often has that hand been covering your mouth.
You rip it off of you and whisper a harsh, “George!” He puts a finger to his lips, though, nodding his head toward the entrance of this secret alcove covered by the banner. Listening, you hear the frantic breathing and footsteps of Mr. Filch and resist the urge to laugh. You lean back into George’s chest, his one arm still around your waist as you try to catch your breath, listening to the furious curses from the caretaker.
Lifting your hand, you cover George’s with your own and let out a light chuckle as you hear Filch turn the corner down the hall. Once he’s completely out of earshot, you let your laugh ring out fully, George’s matching yours. You feel the jostling of his chest as he laughs and you turn in his arm, looking up at him.
In an instant, the mood changes. You suddenly realize just how small this alcove is and exactly how close you are to George. His laugh dies down as he meets your eyes and notices the tension, clearing his throat a bit as he stares down at you. You can’t help but remember the time in the bathroom from a few weeks ago, when you were in a position eerily similar to this one. With that on your mind, you can’t help but look down at his upper lip, once again spotting that freckle. For some reason this one damned speck has haunted your mind ever since the incident in the bathroom. Too often have you found yourself drifting off in George’s presence, thinking of or even staring at that bloody freckle.
You let out a deep breath and let your body relax against his, coming even closer to his face. His breathing is shallow and your eyes flicker up to his when you hear him whisper your name. You open your mouth, about to say something, though you’re not sure what, when you hear Filch’s footsteps coming back down the hallway. You freeze and feel George tense up too, not daring to move. Filch is going at a much slower pace this time, and you feel that if your heart dares beat too loud, surely he’ll notice the two of you hiding behind the old banner.
You close your eyes as he passes by you and only allow yourself to relax again when you’ve waited a full minute after he turned the corner. Sighing, you push away from George and run a hand through your hair, smiling up at him. You ignore the tingles in your stomach.
“Well, that was close. Good thing you knew about this hiding spot, eh?” He gives you a laugh and a nod, though he still seems a bit tense. Your mind immediately goes back to the almost-moment the two of you shared, but you force it away. Now is not the time to unpack all of that.
“Well, come on,” you say, pushing aside the banner. “We should probably meet Fred back at the common rooms before he assumes we got caught.” You don’t look back as you step out of the alcove, and you barely look his way until you reach the common room. It’s not until when Fred comes over yelling his congratulations at escaping Filch’s clutches that things feel normal again. You make brief eye contact with George and feel satisfied when there seems to be no lingering tension.
Still, as you lie awake in bed that night, unable to sleep, you become impossibly frustrated when you can’t get the image of him and the damn freckle on his lip out of your mind.
**********
3.
It’s a Saturday night and everyone currently in the common room is absolutely sloshed. The Gryffindor quidditch team just earned a brilliant win in today’s match, absolutely pounding Slytherin. It was cause for intense celebration.
You had been in the stands the entire time with Hermione, Luna, and Neville, cheering on the team, particularly the twins. When Angeline, Alicia, and Katie threw the quaffle through the hoop for the tenth time, your voice was nearly gone with your screaming. It was definitely gone after Harry caught the snitch, leaving no time for Slytherin to even think of catching up. You had run onto the field with the others, tackling Fred and then George in a hug before turning to Angelina, screaming the entire time. When the crowd finally made it back to the common room, the congratulations banner was already up and the firewhiskey was set out. Heading immediately for the table with the alcohol, you down three shots before turning to the others, waiting for the celebrations to get into full swing.
Once the quidditch team finally arrives, made late by another speech from too-serious captain Oliver Wood, the real chaos begins. The younger years are allowed to stay for a bit, but once the crowd becomes increasingly drunk they’re eventually ushered upstairs. By then you don’t remember how much you’ve drank, but you feel warm and excited and find that you don’t really care. You’re dancing in the midst of a crowd with Angelina, Alicia, and Katie when cheers erupt from the other side of the common room. Someone yells “karaoke!” and your one-track mind latches onto the idea. When the girls refuse to join, you push through the crowd, finding two people you know will sing with you. Finally, you find Fred and George by the drink table with Lee Jordan, laughing and yelling.
Coming up to them, you cling first to Fred’s arm. “Freddiieeeee,” you whine. He looks down at you with a laugh.
“Yes, love?” You smile at the nickname and start shaking him a bit.
“There’s karaoke, Fred! We have to do it!” He laughs again and grabs you by the shoulders, turning you away from him and towards George. Already forgetting him, you jump at George, wrapping your arms around him.
“Georgie! I missed you!” He laughs and wraps an arm around you.
“I missed you too, Zahn.” You frown. He raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
“Fred called me love, you know. Must be because he cares more.” You huff and look away from him, but keep your arms wrapped around his waist. You feel more than hear his chuckle through his chest. He leans down, bringing his mouth close to your ear.
“Not possible, darling.” You shiver, letting a smile creep onto your face. You turn your head slightly towards his, letting your cheeks brush.
“Much better,” you said, pleased by the slight flush to his cheeks. Finally Fred nudges you, laughing.
“Come on, lovebirds. I thought you wanted to do some karaoke.” You jump up at the reminder and drag George over with you, gesturing for McLaggen, who was setting up the machine, to hand you the microphone. Laughing at your enthusiasm, he does as he’s told before asking what song you want to sing. You didn’t realize Fred had followed you over here, and he quickly whispers something in McLaggen’s ear while laughing. You ignore it, looking over at George. He seems suspicious of his brother’s whispering, but smiles back at you.
Soon enough, the two of you are pushed up on the makeshift stage of a table and the music is starting up. As soon as the music starts you burst out laughing, recognizing it immediately. It takes George a bit longer, but soon he’s laughing as well, recognizing it from the movie night you and the twins had at your house the summer after second year. The movie had just come out and you were too excited to wait to see it, instead forcing them to sit down and watch it with you. They’ve been singing the songs ever since.
When his part comes up, George starts singing. “I can show you the world… shining, shimmering, splendid…” His voice is off pitch, shaky, and just plain terrible from his drunken state, but you’ve never been more entertained. He pinches your side as you laugh at him and the rest of the common room cheers him on. Soon enough the chorus starts up and you join him.
“A whole new world! A new fantastic point of view!” You’re more yelling than singing at this point, but so are all of your friends in front of the table below you. For a moment you kneel down, reaching out to Angelina in front of you who pretends to swoon. Laughing, you stand back up in time for Jasmine’s part.
“Unbelievable sights, indescribable feeling…” You turn to George for this part, pretending to swoon towards him. Unfortunately, you’re too drunk to be coordinated, and so you end up falling for real anyway. Fortunately, though, George is prepared and catches you immediately as you continue to sing, completely unfazed by your almost tumble.
He holds you as you continue the duet, looking in your direction but not quite meeting your eyes until the end when the song begins to wind down. The last few lines grow soft, and as it does so you can’t help but be drawn into his eyes. Maybe it’s the lighting or maybe it’s the alcohol, but you think that you’ve never seen a sight more beautiful than this boy’s eyes.
You unconsciously lean closer, lowering the microphone to your side. The singing has stopped and the music is winding down, and so the crowd becomes distracted and removes their attention from the two of you. Neither of you notice, though. George is too busy staring back at you to pay attention to anyone else.
For a moment you simply stand there, not doing anything. Then, without your brain’s permission, your arm raises and you place your hand gently on his chest. He lets out a quick breath and you feel every movement of his muscle beneath his shirt. Your face heats up at the feeling.
“George,” you whisper just loud enough so he can hear you.
“Yeah?” He whispers back.
“Did you like that song?”
“Yeah.”
“Is your face getting closer?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you say anything other than ‘yeah’?”
“No.” You close your eyes as you laugh and miss the look of adoration on George’s face. By the time your eyes open, though, it’s hidden once more. You’re back to staring at his lip freckle. The bloody thing is just so distracting.
“What are you staring at?” He asks.
“You have a freckle on your lip.” You respond, still staring at it. He smiles, and you watch as the freckle stretches a bit on his lip. It’s a lovely sight, you think.
“Yeah, you mentioned that.”
“It’s… nice.”
“You mentioned that too.” You take a shuddering breath. He shuffles a bit closer to you.
“I wanna touch it.” You watch as his tongue comes out and licks his bottom lip. You can’t look away.
“You, uh… you can if you want.” You nod slowly, reaching a finger up to brush against his lips. You feel him suck in air as you touch him, your index finger rubbing over the little freckle. You smile a bit and finally, finally, look up at his eyes. What you see makes you freeze.
His eyes are hooded again and staring down at you with an intensity you’ve never seen in him before. You go to remove your hand, but before you can he catches it in his own, keeping it at his mouth. He moves it so your palm is pressed against his lips before pressing a lingering kiss to it. You forget how to breath.
The moment is interrupted when an equally drunk and loud Alicia bumps into the table, yelling for you to do an encore or get off the stage. You look down at her, trying to process the situation, when you feel George drop your hand. He hops off the table before reaching a hand up to you. You grab it, accepting his help as you hope off the table as well, stumbling a bit as he catches you.
He brings you over to where your friends are gathering, Fred once more trying to impress Angelina with his dance moves and failing. You laugh as you watch them from the side, highly aware of George’s presence at your side.
You don’t really notice until a bit later, but he didn’t let go of your hand once until you bid everyone goodnight around three in the morning when the party was finally winding down. You definitely didn’t refuse to wash your hand either, secretly trying to see if any of his scent rubbed off on your hand. By then you’re more sober than you were a couple hours ago and shove your hand under your pillow, feeling only slightly creepy about sniffing your own hand.
Oh well. You’ll deal with the embarrassment in the morning.
**********
4.
Fred and George have written a play. You know this because they announce it to the entire Gryffindor common room one Saturday afternoon when everyone is lazing about and trying to enjoy the peaceful day off. Unfortunately, according to the twins that won’t be happening on their watch. You grumble as they gather everyone around, wondering who decided that they were even on watch.
Despite your grumpling, you’re actually quite curious as to what their play is about. They start handing out scripts and you take one, reading the title and snorting. “Little Red Prude and the Big Ugly Beast the Incredibly Fit Lover.” You shoot a questioning look at Fred and he simply winks back at you. You shrug. At least this will be entertaining.
“Alright, everyone, gather round! We’re passing out roles now. Ronniekins, you go first.” George holds out a tophat (where he got it from, you have no idea) and Ron reaches in, pulling out a slip of paper. Harry reads it over his shoulder and immediately begins laughing and Ron frowns.
“Seriously? Do I have to play the ‘weak old grandma with short term memory loss’?” The twins nod seriously.
“It’s an important role, Ron,” Fred says.
“And only you can play it with the crotchety spunk we need,” finished George. You laugh and watch Harry try and reach into the hat next. George jerks it away from him, though.
“Nope!” He says. “It’s Zahn’s turn. Right?” He looks to Fred who thinks for a moment before nodding. Turning to you, George holds out the tophat in your direction. You narrow your eyes, but stick your hand in the hat anyway. Feeling around, there’s only one piece of parchment that you can find, and so you pick it up and read what it says.
“Absolutely not,” you say.
“Absolutely yes,” George says. “We need you to play that role.” You raise an eyebrow.
“And how do you know what role I picked, Weasley?” His eyes go wide for a moment before shaking it off.
“All I know is you chose the role you were meant to play, Zahn.”
“Oh really,” you drawl. “So I was meant to play the ‘prude who falls in love with the incredibly fit lover’?” He gives you an innocent smile as your friends around you laugh.
“Why yes, I suppose so.” You think for a moment before grinning, suddenly reaching your hand into the hat again. You ignore George’s protests that he was gonna go next and look around, seeing Oliver standing right beside you. Smiling at him, you hand him the piece of paper.
“Here, Oliver, this one can be yours.” He seems confused, but accepts the paper. His face goes a bit red as he reads what it says, but he chuckles.
“Looks like I’m your incredibly fit lover, lass.” Your eyebrows raise and you turn to George.
“You said you were supposed to go next, didn’t you?” He flushes a bit. “There isn’t any particular order we need to choose our roles in, is there George?” Glaring at you slightly, he mumbles a brief “no” before looking at his brother. Fred seems to be one small comment away from bursting out into laughter. Taking advantage of his distractedness, you reach into the hat again and hand George the piece of paper.
“Here, George, you can have this one!” He shakes his head.
“No, no, that’s ok. You can actually give that one to Fred-” You cut him off with a sweet smile, clearly fake.
“But I want you to have this one.” He grudgingly takes the paper, not even bothering to read it.
“Well?” Alicia calls out. “What role did you get, Weasley?” By now Fred is nearly in hysterics, but he manages to calm down long enough to get out a few words.
“Our dear Georgie here got the beloved role of the big ugly beast!” The entire group starts chuckling.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Just pick out your roles, everyone.” He throws his tophat onto the table and everyone goes up, reaching in one by one. You walk up to George on the outskirts of the crowd and smile up at him.
“That’s what you get for using magic to trick us,” you say. He gives you the side eye, still frowning.
“Yeah, well we weren’t expecting you to figure it out so quickly.” You shrug again.
“What can I say, I’m smarter than you take me for.” He finally cracks a smile at that. Before you can say anything more, Fred claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. He begins directing everyone to where they need to go, claiming that, “No, Hermione, a readthrough of the script is not necessary before we start.” This whole thing may be poorly organized, but it sure as hell is going to be fun.
The play starts off with you, the prude and main character, speaking with your grandmother about leaving town because, “I just can’t take this small town anymore, granny. I need to be somewhere I can learn how to be the woman I really am deep inside - seriously?” Ron quints at his script and reads his line.
“I totally understand, dearie. I remember when I was a young woman eons ago - ok that’s rude - and I ran away with a hunk of a man who taught me how to unleash my inner womanly beast - gross, guys. I can only hope that you have the same rocking time that I had.” Although he was looking down at his script with disgust the entire time, you thought Ron made a lovely grandmother.
You read your final line - “Wicked. See you later, then.” - before walking to the other side of the table you’re using as a makeshift stage, the same one used for karaoke the week before. Ron hops off the table, and Alicia hops up, cuing your next line.
“Here I am, a small prude finally making it to the big world. I sure hope nothing dangerous or - sweet Merlin, guys - erotic comes along!” With that, Alicia shakes the parchment she was given and makes a harsh ‘whoosh’ sound.
“Ooooh I’m a tree, wise and old. I feel in my bones something wicked this way comes - Do trees even have bones, Fred?” He just waves her off the table in response and she rolls her eyes but hops off anyway. You take a moment to look down at the people around you. Most of your friends were given minor filler roles, and the rest were sitting on the couches and armchairs, watching with blatant amusement. You flush a bit at gaining attention for something so embarrassing, but you do have to admit (albeit grudgingly) that you’re having fun. You continue with your next line.
“Oh, I know nothing of love or romance or… - I’m not saying that. - If only someone brave and handsome and experienced enough could teach me!”
You continue to walk back and forth along the table for a bit when all of a sudden George hops up right next to you, yelling, “Boo!” You think he meant to actually scare you a bit, as your script says the prudish damsel now screams in fear, but you just look at him with blank eyes and give a monotone, “aah.”
He frowns but continues with his lines. “Beware, prude, for I am a randy beast looking to taint the pure! But I’m sure if you get to know me then you’ll find I can be quite the gentleman, and once I shave I’m even more handsome than any hero you might happen to find in these woods.” You frown.
“George, those aren’t the lines.”
“I thought I’d do a little improv and improve the story, you know?” You roll your eyes at his cheeky grin but continue anyway.
“Oh no! What an ugly, foul, loathsome, smelly, overly-confident, ginger, naturally unfunny - yes, George, I’m pretty sure I’m reading the lines right - beast here to steal away my purity! If only some big strong hero could come and save me, I’d be forever grateful.” You raise an eyebrow.
“Are you two saying that every woman needs a man to come and save her? That’s awfully primitive of you. I could kick your scrawny ass in a heartbeat if I wanted to, George.” Now he rolls his eyes.
“Yes, I know, but the little red prude can’t kick the big, strong, handsome beasts ass, now can she.” You shrug.
“I’m not sure, why don’t we try it and see?” Before you can test your theory, Oliver climbs onto the table and stands between you.
“Halt, foul beast! It is I, the incredibly fit, wonderfully handsome, supermodel-esque - isn’t that a bit overboard, Fred? Oh, George wrote it? - lover, here to save this beautiful lady. And… kick!” Along with his exclamation, Oliver gives out a small kick in George’s direction, not even coming close to touching him. You snort in laughter.
The next part of the script says the beast falls and the incredibly fit lover and the prude embrace in a passionate kiss over its fallen corpse. You blush furiously at the passionate kiss part, but look up when the beast decidedly does not fall. Instead, George drops his script and kicks back at Oliver, who stumbles in surprise.
“Woah, George, watch it mate,” but George takes another step forward, and wraps his arm around Oliver’s neck, getting him in a headlock. He starts rubbing his knuckles on his hair as Oliver yells his protests. Eventually he manages to pull away from George and just hops off the table.
“Bloody hell, fine, you win!” He walks over and sits next to a laughing Katie Bell on the couch, deciding to sit out. George places his hands on his hips and puffs his chest out.
“Well, looks like another win for the underdog! And, plottwist, he’s even more handsome than the dumb loverboy could ever dream of being.” With all his suave confidence, he takes the final step towards you and grabs you around the waist, tugging you in close. Your plan was to sassily rebuke him until he gave up, but as soon as your chest presses against him your mind seems to go blank. George’s confidence is suddenly gone as well, and the two of you are left blushing and staring at one another.
His grip loosens around your waist as his face sets in determination. He says your name before taking a steady breath.
“I want to-” You never get to hear what he wants, as Fred jumps up on the table with your guys, splitting you apart as he wraps his arms around your shoulders.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for witnessing and enjoying, I’m sure, our brilliant play, written by George and myself. We do, of course, accept tips, though they are legally not required.” You give a distracted chuckle, eyes still locked on George who’s staring down at his shoes, looking as though he’s mentally scolding himself for something. Your smile drops a bit. You really want to know what he was going to say.
You don’t get the chance, however, when your friends pull you away to comment on your ‘rather lackluster yet somehow brilliant’ performance. As you’re dragged away, you glance back at George who’s standing with Fred and Lee, still looking gloomy. You frown, but don’t get the opportunity to think about it much as the girls drag you up to the dormitory, inspired all of a sudden to get their own creative juices flowing.
You forget about it after that, though for the rest of the week, every time you look at George you feel as though there’s been something left unsaid. You can’t for the life of you figure out what it might be.
**********
5. (And maybe 6.)
The Gryffindor stands are in an absolute mirthful riot as the quidditch team wins yet another victory on the pitch, this time against Ravenclaw. You’ve barely had time to see Fred and George outside of classes as Oliver decided double the amount of practice was needed in order to win this weekend. Despite the groaning and complaining, perhaps there was something to Oliver’s seemingly sadistic training regimens.
You’re amongst the crown, screaming your throat raw in celebration and the players do a victory lap around the pitch before landing on the field. Grabbing Hermione’s shoulders, the two of you jump up and down before rushing out of the stands, wanting to go see your friends.
You usually go straight to the twins for a quick congratulations before finding Angelina, Alicia, and Katie and spending more time with them. This time, however, you find Angelina first and squeeze her tight, yelling vague congratulations in her ear. She’s smiling back, but gets tugged away from you and so you pounce on Alicia and Katie, kissing them both on the cheek.
You jump and cheer with them for a minute or so before you feel a hand on your shoulder. Turning, you see George with an infectious grin. Yelling his name, you jump up, latching your arms around his neck as he catches you around the waist. He immediately begins spinning you in circles and you tilt your head back, laughing at the absolute glee you feel. There’s so much noise and chaos around you that you barely notice the roaring butterflies in your stomach or the too-fast beating of your heart.
Eventually he slows down, but still keeps you up in the air in his arms. Eyes still closed, you lean forward until your forehead touches his, letting out airy laughs and giggles. When you open your eyes, he’s staring right back at you, a dazed smile on his face. He shakes his head a bit.
“What?” You ask, still out of breath.
“Nothing,” he says. “You’re just beautiful, Zahn. Bloody gorgeous.” Your eyes widen at the compliment and you feel your face heat up despite the chill in the air. Your heart seems to skip a beat and your stomach feels like you’re dive bombing on your broom. You almost forget to breathe.
“George,” you breathe. “I think I…” You trail off as your eyes dart across his face, landing briefly on his lip, the spot with the freckle, before you glance back up at his eyes. His expression is much more intense now.
You decide not to finish your sentence. Instead you give an open mouthed smile, the widest you think you’ve ever smiled, and tuck your face into his neck, nuzzling your nose against him slightly. He smells like sweat and pine and boy and it’s incredible. You let your lips sit against his neck, not quite a kiss but enough that it might feel like one. You feel him give a shaky breath.
You wiggle a bit in your arms, finally ready to be set down. He does so, but keeps his arms around your waist. You don’t complain. For the rest of your time on the pitch, going around and congratulating all the other players and yelling with your friends, he keeps one arm around your waist or shoulders and you keep one arm around his. No one says anything, but you still notice the looks your friends are giving you, especially Fred.
Soon enough, Oliver calls the team over to their tent to shower and go over the post-match speech or whatever it is they do, and you finally let go of George, promising to see him at the after party. He gives you a long look before smiling and nodding, tagging along behind Fred and Angelina. You smile after them for a moment before turning to Hermione.
“Ready to go?” She nods, but gives you a sly smile.
“Sure. You ready to explain what that was?” You stare straight ahead and try to hide your smile with your loose hair.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you tease. She laughs and decides to leave it alone. You expect that won’t last much longer.
By the time you reach the common room and change into normal clothes, you’re absolutely starving and so you head down to the common room, ready to pre-emptively raid the snacks table. You’re still standing there, eating pretzels while talking to Neville about herbology that you (surprisingly) find fascinating, when the team walks through the portrait into the common room.
You immediately search through the crowd for George, and once you spot him, freshly showered with a thick jumper and corduroys on, you can’t help but smile as your stomach does a flip. For the first time with George, you suddenly feel nervous and so you don’t wait for him to meet your eyes. Instead you turn back to Neville, nodding along but reaming keenly aware of George’s presence.
The party starts to ramp up a bit, and your conversation with Neville dies off with him heading over to join Dean and Seamus in a game of theirs. You look around and spot your friends, the girls along with the twins, all lounging around a loveseat. Walking over, you notice that Alicia and Katie are taking up the two armchairs on either side of the couch, with Fred sitting on the floor, Angelina’s head on his shoulder. You smile at the two of them, glad they seem to finally be making progress.
George is the only one actually on the small couch with an empty spot beside him. You flush a bit and gather all the confidence you have, striding over and greeting everyone with a smile before taking your seat next to him. You take the time to look at everyone else and return their greeting before you finally turn to him, still slightly nervous. He’s giving you a soft smile, one with a meaning behind it that had your stomach in knots. You smile back.
Pretty soon you’re able to settle into your usual self, completely at ease amongst your friends. You tuck your feet underneath you on the couch, leaning slightly toward your right, bringing you closer to George. Your eyes are focused on Katie who’s telling the story of a particularly impressive play she made, but your attention is fully on George who you notice shifts on the couch, bringing him closer to you as well. You smile to yourself. It feels as though the two of you are playing some unspoken game that no one else knows about.
After another few stories are told, you stand to get yourself some water. You decide to stay sober tonight, not wanting an embarrassing repeat of last weekend. You return, water bottle in hand, and settle yourself back on the couch. Whether you’re sitting much closer to George than you were before is nobody’s business but your own.
Once more George shifts ever so slightly, moving the last few centimeters for your legs to be touching. You feel tingles where his leg meets yours, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed with affection for this sweet boy wearing corduroy pants to a party and attempting to subtly shift on the couch so he can be closer to you. Your face crinkles a bit the way it does when you see something adorable and you suddenly look up at George, searching his face.
Noticing your gaze, he turns to you with a questioning smile. You just shake your head a bit before readjusting so you’re leaning against his side, head resting on his shoulder. Forget the subtle games. You just want to be close to George right now.
He stiffens for a moment before pulling his arm out from under you, instead wrapping it around your shoulder. He leans into you a bit as well and you feel more comfortable than you’ve ever been. The two of you stay that way for the rest of the night, laughing and watching your drunken housemates stumble and dance around the common room. When it hits one a.m. the party starts to wind down and softer music is put on in turn of pop or rock. People start shuffling up to their dorms for sleep, but some of the older years are still lounging about, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere.
You’re getting tired yourself and you try to stifle a yawn, but it still comes out. George notices and glances down at you, his nose pressing into your cheek.
“Tired?” You give a short laugh and nod.
“Yeah, but I don’t wanna go to bed yet. This is nice.” You lean into him a bit more, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. His skin is so warm.
He squeezes you a bit tighter. “Yeah,” he says. “It is nice.” The conversation flowing between your friends starts to die down and Alicia begins to fall asleep in her chair. Soon enough Angelina is asleep with her head in Fred’s lap as well. Katie laughs a bit before standing and nudging them both awake.
“I should probably get these two up to bed. You coming, Zahn?” You smile up at her and nod.
“Yeah, I’ll meet you guys up there in a bit.” You yawn again before breaking into a quiet laugh, You lean away from George and shift your position so your chest is facing the back of the couch and you’re lying across his lap, head resting on his other shoulder. One of his arms wrasp under your back and the other around your waist, holding you steady almost like he’s cradling you. You close your eyes and smile against the fabric of his jumper.
“You’re really cozy,” you mumble. You feel his chest move up and down with his chuckle.
“Oh am I? I couldn’t tell from the way you’re cuddling into me like that.” Without opening your eyes, you lift one hand and lightly punch him in the chest, causing him to laugh even more.
“Shuddup,” you mumble. “You know, we should really sleep together in a bed sometime. I think that would be even cozier. We’d have no trouble sleeping like that.” He tenses underneath you and lets out a huff of air in amusement.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says in a low voice. “With you wording it like that and all, I might have some difficulty sleeping.” You can tell from his tone that there’s a joke somewhere in there, but you’re too tired to figure it out.
Blinking your eyes open, you tilt your head up to look at him. You don’t realize how close this brings your faces together, but once you do you find that you really don’t mind. In fact, you prefer it this way, you think. You give a light smile, bringing your gaze down to his lips, staring at the freckle once more.
“You know,” you whisper. “One day I’m going to touch that freckle. I’m going to know how it feels and tastes and everything.” You see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows, his breath coming out in shallow bursts as he responds.
“Merlin, Zahn. When you say things like that, I just want to… you have no idea the things I want to do to you.” You look back up into his eyes.
“Maybe I want you to do them to me.” His eyes darken and his grip around your tightens. He opens his mouth, but before anything comes out you hear a whistle behind you. Startled, you turn in George’s arms to see Fred still sitting on the ground.
“Wow, should I leave? I feel like I shouldn’t be here, you but you two seem to have forgotten about me completely so I wasn’t sure.” He has an evil grin on his face as if he knows exactly what he just interrupted and is pleased about it. Glaring at him, you sit up, pulling yourself out of George’s arms. You stand and brush imaginary dust off your pants before looking down at the twins, eyes remaining on George a few seconds longer than is usual. He looks equal parts desperate, disappointed, and furious.
Nodding to Fred, you say, “No, it’s fine. I should be heading to bed anyway. I’ll see you two tomorrow, yeah?” Without giving them the chance to respond, you walk away, trying to look completely casual as you walk up the steps to the girl’s dormitories. You stop, however, as soon as you’re out of sight, instead leaning against the stone wall and taking a deep, shuddering breath. You know exactly what almost happened between you and George, and if Fred hadn’t interrupted then it definitely would have happened. And you would have loved it.
As soon as the trance the two of you seemed to be in broke, though, your fears overwhelmed you and you did the least Gryffindor-like thing you could have done: you ran. You bang the back of your head against the wall once before sighing. What a great bloody Gryffindor I am. Can’t even snog the guy who clearly wanted you to snog him.
Amidst your self reprimandings, you hear the voices of the twins drift up the stairwell from the common room. After a moment of hesitation you decide to listen in.
“Bloody hell, Fred, what was that?” George, obviously. And he does sound quite furious with his brother.
“What? I was simply asking a question. It seemed like a private moment you were having, and I didn’t know if you wanted me there for it.” Fred sounds much more amused than he should be. Git.
“Bollocks! I was finally going to… you know I’ve waited years for this to happen, and when it’s finally about to you interrupt us? What the hell kind of rubbish brother are you?” Your mind catches at his words. He’s waited years for this? Is that how long he’s fancied you? Does he fancy you?
“One who loves to mess with those he loves, of course. And I know you love me too, Georgie.” You don’t need to see Fred to know what cheeky, idiotic look he’s got on his face. You huff a bit before deciding you’ve heard enough. Instead of staying, you head up the stairs, exhausted and still trying to process everything that’s happened today. By the time your pajamas are on and you’re ready for bed, you still haven’t fully worked it out, and so you decide to give up for now with a sigh as you tumble into bed.
Blowing out the candle on your nightstand, you let your head fall into your pillow and close your eyes, already drifting off to sleep. You can deal with it all in the morning.
**********
+1
You do something more along the lines of ignoring it in the morning. You wake up after breakfast has finished and can’t even bring yourself to be upset with your friends for not waking you. Half of them are still asleep anyway. Sitting up, you see Katie and Angelina still in bed and asleep. Alicia’s bed is empty so you figure she’s already gone downstairs.
You’re still tired, but feel in desperate need of a shower and so you drag yourself out of bed, heading to the bathroom. You take your time in the shower, washing off a day of sweat and dirt and exhaustion. You think about what you can do today, and hanging out with the twins immediately comes to mind. You flush at the thought of seeing Fred or George after last night and push the idea out of your head. You should talk to George at some point, and you will. Just… not right now.
When you finish your shower, you pull on sweatpants and a jumper, deciding it’s not a getting dressed kind of day. In fact, after digging through your drawers for any snacks (you find a bag of nuts, a chocolate frog, and some crackers), you crawl back into bed and wait for the others to wake up.
After half an hour and still nothing - these two sleep like the dead, you knew that, but isn’t this a bit much? - you decide to risk it and head down to the common room, bringing a book with you in case you need to look busy. Slipping some wool socks on, you head down the stairs and find the common room surprisingly empty for a weekend. There are some people scattered about, including Oliver and Angelina sitting in the corner going over what looks like quidditch plays, but not nearly as many as you were expecting.
Giving a quick wave to Angelina and Oliver, you head over to one of the plushier armchairs by the fireplace, smiling when you realize it isn’t taken. You curl your legs up underneath you as you settle in, opening your book. You haven’t read for leisure since the summer, and you think it’s about time you catch up on your unread books.
Unfortunately, you only get about ten minutes of reading done when the portrait door opens and the Weasleys walk inside. You don’t notice them right away, but when you hear Fred’s tell-tale laugh your eyes widen and your body tenses. You suppose you should have realized that they’d show up sooner or later, you had just tricked yourself into believing it would be later. Or, preferably, never.
You don’t glance up or call out to them, instead staring down at your book and hoping they don’t notice you. Of course, that doesn’t work out one bit. You hear one of their footsteps pause and some mumbling with your name and “over there” mixed in and you sigh, knowing you’ve been found. Still, you don’t look up in hopes that they won’t approach.
You seem to be making a habit of fooling yourself into believing impossibilities. To your surprise, though, you only hear one set of footprints heading your way. When they stand in front of you, you look up, seeing George without his usual smile. You try to supply one for him in greeting, but his expression doesn't change. Instead, he cups your cheeks with his hands and leans down until his forehead touches yours. Your eyes go wide and your breathing stutters at his sudden proximity.
He doesn’t give you a chance to ask any questions. Instead, he closes his eyes and asks one of his own.
“Did you mean it?” You take a deep breath.
“Mean what?”
“What you said last night. About me… about wanting me to do things to you.” You blush furiously at his wording and clear your throat.
“I mean… not in that context, but I suppose… I meant it, yeah.” You start off hesitantly, but by the end of your Frankensteined sentence your voice is firm with confidence. You tilt your head up a bit, pressing your forehead into his.
“Yes, I meant it George. Did… did you?” He doesn’t answer. Instead he opens his eyes to look at you before leaning in the last little bit, pressing his lips to yours. He’s kissing me. George Weasley is kissing me. You squeal a bit in your head, and for a moment you think you’re doing it out loud before realizing the sound is coming from Angelina in the corner. You smile a bit and George pulls away from you.
“I can’t kiss you if you’re smiling,” he says with a raised brow. You grin now.
“Well, I suppose it’s hard for me to not smile in this situation.” His face breaks out in a grin as well.
“Yeah… me too.” Despite his words, he leans back in to kiss you again, this time tilting his head to the side. You follow his lead and allow the kiss to deepend, this time with you moving as well. After a moment you realize how uncomfortable he must be, leaning down to reach you, and so you grab his waist with both hands and tug until he’s falling, landing roughly in your lap. He breaks apart at this as you grunt with his weight, but both of you end up laughing before impatiently meeting each other once more.
You hear some whistles as the two of you continue snogging in the armchair, him sitting on your lap, and you try not to let the kiss get too heated with the reminder that you have an audience. When he bites your lip and does this thing with his tongue, though, you think screw it and grab his face in your hands, pulling him even closer. You want to devour this boy, and from the sounds he’s making he seems completely ok with that.
The rest of the common room, however, is not completely ok with that. “Oi,” yells Fred. “Get a room!” George pulls away, out of breath and a bit red in the face, staring down at you with hooded eyes and well-kissed lips. You can’t help but stare at his lips, specifically his freckle, and you smile. You’ve finally gotten to touch and taste that freckle. It’s even better than you thought it would be.
“Well,” George says. “Shall we take this somewhere private, Zahn?” You meet his eyes and grin.
“Absolutely, Weasley.” With that he stands, grabbing your hand and tugging you up before dragging you over to the stairs leading to the boys dormitories. You give a dazed smile and wave to Angelina as you pass by and ignore her mouthing of “be safe up there” with a wink. You wink back before turning to George who’s smiling like he’s won the lotto. You suppose you are, too, though.
When George pushes you up against his wall before snogging you senseless, it certainly feels like it.