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gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley · 1 year

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Owl Love you Forever [G.W. x Reader]

Summary: Your injured owl brought upon you a romance written in the stars you never thought was possible.

Word count: 4.6k (i got... too carried away)

Warnings: FRED SLANDER LOOOOL

a/n: im so sorry this took way too long to write love:(( . every paragraph i wrote, i just kept going back and re-reading and re-writing parts sadjfhdsfjdhsfkjdshfjdsfhkj but this was the longest one i’ve written yet and i just never thought the story would flow this way anwyay ENJOY...<333333333

a/n2: oh god i really should have proof-read this

Masterlist

* * *

The Weasley twins.

Where do you even begin? You'd rather eat a jar of pickled slugs, or wrestle a Hungarian Horntail before ever taking on the opportunity to encounter them one fine day. Being a Gryffindor prefect, you heard loads of stories about them from their brother, Percy. He was rather passionate about besmirching the names of his younger brothers, not that they cared, though. They were brash and loud, and always seemed to be in the midst of planning another prank that sends all the prefects on duty to the crime scene, adding to their already packed schedules. They just marked off all the points in your "Do Not Interact With" checklist.

However, despite all of this, how in Merlin's beard did you find yourself involved with the younger and quieter twin?

* * *

"Students in the Owlery! Students in the Owlery!" Filch, the school's caretaker, cried out in a shrill voice as he ran into the Transfiguration classroom with Mrs Norris cradled in his arms. Behind him sauntered the Weasley twins.

"Mr Filch? Was it these two?" Professor McGonagall asked, staring the two boys down through her oval spectacles. Her lips were pursed, almost as if her question was rhetorical and she knew it was them.

The Weasley twins were notorious for their misbehaviour, setting off Dung Bombs in the middle of lessons, and jinxing Slytherin students so that their hair was now bright pink. Recently, they were caught carrying out unsupervised experiments dead in the middle of the night by a prefect. Now, they were banned from ever experimenting on school grounds.

"Yes, Ma'am. It was these two," said Filch, rather proud of himself for catching them as he stroked Mrs Norris.

You watched from the corner of the room as the two boys hung their heads low. You couldn't help but notice that smug look on Fred's face that was threatening to show, or the giggle that George tried to stifle. They were caught in the Owlery experimenting, brewing concoctions and never-before-seen hazardous joke products.

"Were there any casualties?" asked Professor McGonagall in an undertone as she started towards the two boys, clearly peeved at the disruption of her lesson.

"An injured student's owl, ma'am" said Filch, lips smacking with each syllable as he sneered at the red-heads who stared back at him with glints of mischief in their eyes.

"'S just an owl --!" Fred tried to reason but was silenced by McGonagall's cold glare that seemed to freeze him and George in place.

Professor McGonagall, now unpleasantly surprised, raised her voice at the two, "Skipping lessons to carry out unruly experiments resulting in the injury of a student's owl?! 50 points from Gryffindor each, and a week's worth of detention, Mr and Mr Weasley!"

The classroom full of Gryffindor burst out in roars of dismay at the news of the 100 points they had worked so hard for being taken off their house, while the Slytherin rejoiced, high-fiving each other now that their win over the House Cup was guaranteed. You, on the other hand, were much more worried about other things; your owl.

* * *

As soon as Transfiguration ended, you strode for the Owlery, urgency in each step. You muttered under your breath as you thought about the endless possibilities that could have happened to your owl. Did the Twins accidentally transfigure it into a cup? Did they hex its wings off? You fought back the tears as you climbed your way up the long winding cobbled staircase that led up to the owlery.

Hoots and coos of owls could be heard from the top of the tower. The place was rather dull and only served to house the feathered beings. Sometimes you wished the school allowed students to let their owls out for a while to stretch their wings.

You were instantly greeted by the pungent, nauseating smell of dead mice corpses and owl droppings, but it didn't bother you. The only thing that mattered most right now was your owl. It was a gift to you from your grandmother before she departed into the afterlife. Every now and then, you swear you could see your grandmother's eyes instead of the owl's.

You stepped inside. Sharp pairs of eyes darted towards you. A wide array of owls ranging from tawny to snowy examined you. None of the feathery creatures seemed scathed-- but one. It was your owl, Apollo. The poor baby's feathers were slightly scorched off, and its wing seemed dislocated.

"Oh, my sweet baby!" You cried out, picking up the owl and cradling it in your arms. It cooed weakly in your embrace and dug its curved beak into your chest as if it were nuzzling you affectionately.

"They'll pay for this."

* * *

And so you set out on your mission, begrudgingly. It was no easy feat; getting a hold of the twins was like handling highly dangerous and magical ingredients- you wouldn't know what was in store for you. You trudged to the Great Hall, where students sat enjoying a nice plate of lunch. Some had their noses dug into a copy of one of Gilderoy Lockhart’s many novels, earnestly taking in each and every word, whilst other more diligent students practised their incantations and wand-waving with a couple minor explosions from Seamus every now and then.

Your eyes were drawn to two heads of red hair sitting rather jauntily at the Gryffindor table. Fred had his charms textbook open and chin propped on his hand, while George was fiddling with a joke toy. The Weasley twins were caught up in their own conversations, likely talking about their next prank as they swung their arms around while they talked. You wouldn't stand for this.

Furious, you called out rather unpleasantly, "Hey! Weasleys!"

Fred turned away from his plate of what seemed to be baked beans and shut his charms book. He had a knowing smug look, and you wanted to slap it off his freckled face. George, on the other hand, only looked at you once Fred got up from his seat, ready to listen to whatever prefectorial scolding you had in store for him as you stood akimbo.

"You gits injured my owl!" You seethed, staring into Fred's eyes. George inched closer to the two of you and stood beside his twin with his lanky arms crossed.

"Oh, did we now?" said Fred through a smirk, "Well, 's your owl's fault for getting in the way! Lil’ bugger couldn't stop pecking away at our heads!"

“Why do you guys only break, and never bother to fix?! At least take responsibility for my owl’s injury!”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you? Just wave your wand and it’ll be fine! Why’re you making such a big fuss over it?! If anything, you should thank Merlin we didn't chuck it into our cauldron and make a fine owl stew.” drawled Fred as he glowered at you.

You were rudely shocked by what the ginger boy had just said, and your hand was trembling, fighting back the urge to smack him right across the face then and there, but there were many pairs of eyes watching from every which way. Even if Apollo meant a great deal to you, you’d be doing your grandmother a great injustice by losing your role as prefect, something you had fought so hard for, over something so trivial as a dispute.

The younger, quieter twin, who hadn’t said anything for a few minutes, nodded in agreement, though a bit hesitant. He eyed you, watching your facial expressions that showed great displeasure, and he could see where you were coming from. After all, he’s been living with Fred his whole life, he could share your woes and frustrations. Fred was the mastermind behind all of their pranks, and George was just there to make sure it all went seamlessly. Oftentimes, the boy, too, would get frustrated at his own brother for acting so rambunctiously.

You were so furious, so indignant at Fred’s audacity, you started to tear up and your face went purple with rage as your lips quivered. Your ears were practically steaming at this point. Have they no sympathy? The entirety of the Great Hall turned to watch the spectacle. A Gryffindor prefect confronting the notorious Weasley twins, what could possibly go wrong?

Everything went wrong.

Within just a short moment, many unpleasant and snide remarks were shared between the two of you. George would chime in every now and then with a quip or two but never got fully involved. Fred, on the other hand, was quite enjoying himself. He watched as your purple-red face wrenched into nasty expressions that enunciated each curse word that came out of your mouth, making you look awfully a lot like Percy.

At one point, the squabble had gotten so bad you were ready to unsheathe your wand. Fortunately, a teacher made it in time, and with a little help from George, the two of you were separated before any nasty hexes could be cast that could have landed the two of you in the hospital wing for a week.

"She's mad, honestly!" cried Fred as he pointed an accusing, crooked finger at you while you were making you way out of the Great Hall, breathing raggedly as sweat trickled down the temples of his red face, "Getting all riled up over an owl!"

"Honestly, Fred," George tutted as he straightened up his twin with a pat on the back, "couldn't you see she was genuinely upset?" The younger boy ushered him back to their seats.

"Yeah, upset over a bloody owl!" The older boy was waving his arms around hysterically as if he were trying to make a point.

“You can be such a git, honestly. How would you feel if Errol almost got blown up to smithereens? You’d feel terrible, won’t you?” said George as he shook his head.

“What? Gone soft for Percy the second? You were there when her owl was trying to pluck our eyes out and you side with her?!” cried Fred, befuddled at his other half siding with you of all people.

For a moment, George went a pale shade of pink. Why was he siding with you?

Gone was the afternoon now that night had taken over, dotting the sky with blooming stars that tinkled alongside the pale moonlight. While most students were snoring, deep in slumber, you were scurrying off to the owlery with a pouch of owl treats tucked inside your robe. Wand in hand, you recited ‘Lumos’ with the flick of a wrist as you ascended the flight of stairs that led you up the tower.

Just then, you heard a gentle voice coming from inside the tower, but how could that be? Students were supposed to be asleep, and prefects were only allowed to patrol around the halls. You dared not peek inside, but instead, you listened to the voice. It couldn’t be Hagrid-- the voice was soothing and sweet in comparison to the half-giant’s grumbly and deeper voice. You strained your ears trying to make out the words the stranger was saying.

“Oh, sweet little baby... You must’ve been in so much pain when my brother and I accidentally hurt you. There, there, ’s all right now. You’re safe with me.” You could hear the rustling of fabric, then saw a spark of light illuminate for a split second from within the owlery, “Episkey!” You were pleasantly surprised. The boy used a healing spell on the owl.

You peeked through the entrance, and saw a boy squatting down. His arms cradled an owl, but it was so dimly lit, the only source of light being the pale moonlight, that you couldn’t see who was cradling what. Nevertheless, you observed how the boy treated it-- with much love and care. You couldn’t help but smile at the spectacle, now knowing that someone cares about owls just as much as you do.

Just as you were about to step back, something crunched under you feet and echoed throughout the the tiny area. It was the skeleton of a mouse. Oh, rats.

Many owl heads and the head of the boy turned to your direction. You got a clear view of the boy’s face, for it was illuminated by the moonlight that spilled through the windows.

It was George Weasley, your sworn enemy, except, he was cradling your owl in his arms. Did he kidnap it as a prisoner of war?! His face brightened at the sight of you, while yours scrunched up into one of terror.

“Ah, Y/N! Perfect timing -!”

“Apollo!” you cried out, “What are you doing with my owl, Weasley?!”

George sat there for a moment. He looked down at Apollo who was nipping the tip of his finger affectionately, then back at you.

“Well, I,” he licked his lips, unsure of what to say now, “I wanted to make it up to you-- and the owl-- and apologise for what Fred and I did. So, I did a bit of tinkering here and there. Your owl’s as good as new!”

The owls cooed, seemingly interested in the exchange between the two of you. You couldn’t help but lower your guard around him in the moment. George’s voice seemed to tell the truth, and the truth only. You couldn’t believe that the boy in front of you was the same one that ran around the halls with his twin, causing havoc every chance they got. He had a sweeter, and more gentle aura that seemed to pull you in, in comparison to his brute of a brother. Was he always like this?

You also couldn’t help but feel your cheeks heat up. Was this boy always this charming? He stood in the moonlight, smiling brightly as whites of his eyes glimmered. His eyes were bright, and full of hope; the very hope that you would forgive him and make amends. Your eyes scanned over his face, eyeing each and every freckle that speckled his cheeks. If it weren’t for his interruption, you would’ve been gawking for a while longer.

“Well, Y/N? Whaddya say?” asked George, fighting back the urge to smirk. He knew very well that you were staring at him. Nevertheless, he extended his free hand, “Friends?”

You eyed George’s extended hand, unsure of the outcome of coming to terms with the twins. After all, you’d been avoiding them, not wanting to ever get tangled up in any of their shenanigans. How did it come down to this very moment?

George took your silence as a no, and retracted his hand with an understanding nod. He dejectedly turned his heel and walked back to Apollo’s nest. Just as he was about to set the owl down, you called out with your hand outstretched for him to shake.

“Don’t make me regret this, Weasley.”

* * *

The following weeks were anything but boring. Now that the Weasley twins were in your tiny circle of friends, everything seemed to go south for you. Fred and George would constantly tease you about your undying love for Apollo and the fact that you were practically a carbon-copy of Percy.

It was due to that stupid, stupid handshake. Stupid Y/N, you scolded yourself. Every now and then, you found yourself regretting ever giving George a chance. You and the boy seemed to be connected at the hip now, more so than it being Fred and George being inseparable, but it was more of George attaching himself to you, while you so desperately tried to escape from him. He’d walk you to your classes, despite your rather vocal protests, causing rumours of the possibility of you and George dating to spread throughout the Gryffindor house like a wildfire.

Now that your O.W.L.S were fast-approaching, you found yourself cornered in the library by him, unable to escape.

“Y/N!,” whispered George in a sing-song voice, so as to not irk Madam Pince, the Hogwarts Librarian, “I need your help with charms.” His arms caged you in the corner of the library, stripping you of your sliver of freedom. His face had a small pout planted on it, and he flashed you his puppy-eyes.

“What?!” you whisper-shouted, perplexed at the idea of George ever needing help with his best subject, “But you practically ace all of your charms assignments. Of what assistance could I possibly be?” Your breathing seemed to pick up as found yourself to be more flustered than usual. Had it not been for the awkward position you found yourself in, you would’ve immediately shut the boy down.

George bent down, locking your eyes together with a dung-eating smirk now on his face. He was so close to you, you could feel his warm breath tickle your nose. The smell of sweet Honeydukes treats and charred parchment now greeted your senses.

“Can’t the great Y/N L/N ever repay the good deed I’ve done for her?”

“Why, you little -!”

“SILENCE IN THE LIBRARY!” roared Madam Pince, who was rearranging the books on the shelf right next to them.

If there was anything else other than the Weasley twins bothering you for the past few weeks, it would be this impalpable feeling that made your stomach flutter. Now-a-days, being around him made you flustered, so much so that you’d try and run from him before he gets his hands on you. You’ve never felt anything like it-- it just seemed foreign. You had no one to confide in. Your friends were all too busy with their studies to even care about your trivial woes, and the twins would likely just tease you about it.

Right now, while you were caged in between George, whose face was inches away from yours, and the tall bookshelf behind you, you felt flutters in your stomach once again. You took mental notes of when you started to feel such way, and found that George was the only person who spurred on such feelings.

You could barely form a comprehensible sentence, and only managed to mutter out a small, “Fine”, before pushing George of with all your might, earning a delighted chuckle for him. You’d kill to get out of that moment. And so, you rushed off with your books, cursing yourself under your breath for reacting like that. You made sure your hair covered the evident pale shade of pink that dusted your cheeks.

Boy, were you in for a ride.

* * *

Just like you promised, you were holed up in the library with George guiding him through the charms in the syllabus. As your finger glided along the page of the textbook, you couldn’t help but notice how your bodies were nestled closely to each other. George’s hand seemed to hover above yours, the warmth of it ghosting the top of your hand.

“Ahem!” you cleared your throat, “So what’s the spell to used to create large violent explosions that are capable of demolishing entire walls?” You tried so desperately hard to ignore the fluttering feeling that’s been plaguing you for weeks.

“That’s easy,” George smirked and flicked his wrist as if he were to actually cast the spell, “Bombarda Maxima!”

Upon reciting the incantation, a small spark shot out of his breast pocket, scaring you senseless. It was merely a pack of Dr Filibuster’s Wetstart No-Heat fireworks that George kept on him at all times in case of situations like these.

“George!” you shouted, eyebrows furrowed as you hit him repeatedly on the shoulder, “I could’ve died!”

“From what? A firework?” said George through snickers.

At that moment, you felt your heart skip.

The moment you laid your eyes on him, you no longer saw red. Instead, your world seemed to turn a shade of pink. There, George sat next to you, snickering to himself. His little giggles were music to your ears. His eyes formed half-crescents, and his face crinkled up with smile lines as he grinned. You admired his freckles once again and the way his cheeks dusted with a taffy shade of pink when he laughed. The angels seemed to sing every time he laughed.

Then, it dawned on you.

You’d fallen for him. The very boy you’d sworn to be your enemy.

You’d fallen.

Hard.

“Y/N?” George’s voice snapped you back to reality, “Everything alright, Love?”

You shook your head, ridding your mind of such thoughts. He’s just a friend, that’s all he ever will be.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you breathed out and picked your quill back up to dip it into your bottle of ink, “I’m alright.”

You weren’t, though.

How could you be alright after that rude awakening?

* * *

And so, you were struck in the heart by Cupid’s arrow. Every chance you got, you’d avoid George like the plague, frightened by the very aspect that he was the boy you foolishly fell for. The walks to class? You ensured you left the common room before anyone else arose from their slumber. Lunch in the Great Hall? You’d sneak in your meals at the library while digging your nose into your spellbooks. Everything you used to do together? You did them all alone.

Everything was going well. There was no more George Weasley and his dimwit of a brother in your life. Everything was back to normal.

Until,

“There you are!”

You froze. Just as you were about to leave the common room before the crack of dawn, a hauntingly familiar voice called out to you. With your books in hand, you couldn’t help but slouch knowing that you’d finally been caught by the one and only boy you’d been avoiding for weeks on end.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” said George as he started towards you, still in his pajamas.

“Listen, I have to go -” you tried to turn on your heel, but a pair of hands grasped your shoulders firmly, rooting you in place.

“No, Y/N,” said George with a tint of desperation in his voice, “stay.”

And so you did. How could you possibly resist him?

He led the two of you over to the couch. The fire that once danced proudly the night before was now reduced to mere cinders, leaving the common room to be dimly lit. The candelabrums that hung on each wall provided the only source of light. You could barely make out the expression on George’s face, but the tinge of sadness and fresh morning tiredness in his voice told you everything you needed to know.

“Why’ve you been avoiding me, Love?” he asked as he pushed the loose strands of hair out of your face.

Because I like you, and the way you call me ‘Love’ is driving me mad, is what you’d like to say, but you couldn’t. You just stayed quiet. You couldn’t look him in the eye either, knowing that if you did, all your pent up feelings would spill out.

“I understand.” said George with a defeated huff. He stood up from the couch and just as he was about to make his way up back to boy’s dormitory, you just barely managed to string together a coherent, “I like you.”

Then, he stopped dead in his tracks, foot in the air. He heard it. He heard those three words he longed to hear from you. The three very words that could make him the happiest man in the world. You shared his feelings, but why was he suddenly tongue-tied? Why was he unable to say something, anything?

He stood there in silence, poker-faced.

Was this his rejection? Was he going to reject you at four a.m. in the morning? You felt tears sting your eyes, and before you knew it, you were shoving past the portrait of the Fat Lady, awakening her rudely from her slumber. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that the Fat Lady was now nagging at you, the ruckus causing the other neighbouring portraits to wake up. It didn’t matter that Mrs Norris was hot on your trail, or that Peeves had barely grazed you with a water balloon.

What mattered was the bitter pain in your heart-- the very pain caused by George.

* * *

Six-thirty a.m.

You were holed up in the owlery for Merlin-knows how long, Apollo cradled in your arms and drenched in your tears. You didn’t care about the myriad of rat carcasses your stern sat on rather uncomfortably. You’d just faced the rejection of a lifetime, after all.

“I’m so sorry you have to see me like this, Lolo,” you said with hitched breaths, “I’m just so...”

“Stupid?” a voice loomed from the entrance. A red-headed figure emerged from the darkness, holding a candle and fleece sweater. He had a weak, tired, smile planted on his face, clearly not used to rising so early in the morning.

“Honestly, Love, you can ace all your subjects but common sense. Venturing into the cold without a sweater?” said George, now starting towards you.

He set the candle down between the two of you, and handed you the article of clothing. You eyed it, then him, but your vision was blurred by the tears you had spilt not too long ago. You took it rather hesitantly and slipped it on. The sweater had the initial ‘G’ embroidered in the center, and it smelled faintly of vanilla and burnt paper. Just as you were about to say something, George had beaten you to it.

“You didn’t even let me say what I wanted to say, Love.” said George. There was a tinge of warmth in his voice as he ended off his sentence with a light chuckle.

He sat in front of you, cross-legged as he stared into your eyes. His hazel pair looked longingly into yours. He saw the sadness in them, and he wished only to wash them over with joy. Then, he took your hands in his.

“George?” you croaked, alarmed.

“Relax,” he whispered as he brought yours up to his chest, right above his heart.

“Do you feel that?” asked George, “Do you feel my heartbeat? It beats only for you.”

Just months ago, you’d been loathing this boy and his brother with a deep, burning passion. But now, that loathing had slowly turned into loving. Loving him, with every fibre of your being. Loving him, because Apollo did, too. Loving him, for being him. Now, his heart beats for you, and so does yours for him. In that moment, all the worries in the world seemed to melt away. There were no owls in that room, neither was the stench of owl-droppings and rotting rat carcasses.

It was just the two of you, sharing a moment that would turn the course of your lives forever.

Then, he took your hands up to his lips, the warmth of his breath ghosting your knuckles. Just as he was about to press his lips over the top of your hand, sunlight spilled into the room, lighting up his features you adored oh-so dearly. His hazel eyes twinkled, and the crinkles in his face from his handsome smile pulled you in closer to him.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on you in the Great Hall getting sorted into Gryffindor, and the very moment you were appointed prefect, he was there, cheering you on from afar, admiring you with his loving eyes. The day you confronted him and his brother was the very day he realised he needed to make you his. If he could, he’d be thanking Apollo for presenting him with the very opportunity to do so.

He then grazed your knuckles with his soft, but cracked lips. Yet, his eyes never broke the connection with yours.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, George?” you said, hopeful.

“Owl love you forever.”

* * *

[GIF not by me]

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