#i had a bloody fever dream about these dorks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keijislove · 3 years

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Surprise: Harry Potter x Wife!Reader

A/N: warning, i guess there is a slight mention of NSFW (i do not write smut btw) and vomiting, sickness, etc.

Your eyes fluttered open as you were snatched out of your sweet dreams.

You looked to your left, where your husband was still sleeping.

Giggling, you got up and dressed for work.

‘Wake up, sleepyhead.’ You spoke. ‘You’re going to be late for work.’

Harry let out a small groan, sitting up in bed.

‘Morning love.’ He said through a yawn.

‘Morning, dork.’

---------

‘Mrs Potter, good morning!’

‘Hello Mrs Potter!’

‘Hi Y/N, alright?’

‘Good day Mrs Potter!’

‘Hello, hello.’ You briskly said, rushing through the stampede of Ministry wizards, making your way to your office.

‘Y/N, thank goodness you’re here!’ Hermione spoke. ‘Samuel Goodman’s having trouble with that spitting guitar again.’

‘Really? Again?’ you whined. ‘I didn’t think to bring lunch! That man’s job is going to take hours.’

‘I’ll tell Ron to get you something.’ Hermione giggled.

You fake gasped. ‘Minister, are you helping an employee?’

Hermione snorted. ‘Very funny, get going, he’s already knee-deep.’

You raised your hands in surrender, running off.

---------

‘Now, Mr Goodman.’ You seriously stated. ‘I do believe I told you to leave this instrument alone?’

The man blushed scarlet, muttering something that sounded like an apology.

You sighed. ‘Well, it’s done. It won’t spit at you anymore. Good day.’

You lead him out of your office.

Minutes later, there was a knock on your door.

‘Come in.’

‘Hey, Y/N.’ Ronald Weasley popped his head in. ‘Mione told me to bring you lunch, here you go. George has fixed this up for you.’

‘Ah, thanks Ron.’ You yawned. ‘Tell him thanks, that looks great.’

After eating your delicious egg-sandwich, you headed to your husband’s office.

‘Hi Y/N.’ Harry smiled as you entered. ‘Long day?’

‘The spitting guitar again.’ You answered.

‘Again? I feel sorry for you now.’

‘Oh, shut up.’ You laughed. ‘I expect-’

But at that moment, a wave of nausea overcame you, so powerful that you doubled over.

‘Love?’ Harry worriedly asked. ‘Y/N?’

Not speaking, afraid you would throw up, you ran into his bathroom and retched into the toilet.

After panting and cleaning yourself up, you went back out.

‘Love, a-are you alright?’ Harry asked.

‘I’m fine...’ you answered. ‘Maybe George cooked a bad egg or something in his sandwich...’

Harry nodded, unconvinced.

--------

The bell on the door of the shop rang as you entered.

The red-haired man at the counter didn’t look up. ‘Hello, welcome to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, best joke shop in Diagon Alley, I’m George Weasley and you may look around and ask me if you need anything.’

You politely waited for him to finish his monologue before you spoke.

‘Hem hem.’ You said, fighting your giggles as George’s head snapped up in horror.

‘Oh, it’s just you.’ He spoke. ‘I thought it was old toad-face who came to shut down my shop.’

‘Just me?’ you asked. ‘I’m offended.’

‘Yeah, yeah, hello Y/N.’ George snickered. ‘May I help you?’

‘Well, thanks for the sandwich.’ You began. ‘But did you-’

Before you could say put a bad egg in it, another wave of nausea washed over you.

‘Bathroom?!’ you choked out.

‘Y/N, what-’ George began. ‘Uh, yeah, just there.’

He pointed to the door.

You ran in and retched again.

‘Are you alright?’ George asked.

‘Well, I was going to ask you if you put a rotten egg in the sandwich, but now I’m wondering if you put a Puking Pastille in it...��

‘Puking Pastille?’ George repeated. ‘Why would I put that in your food? And we aren’t even making those anymore, it’s limited to Fever Fudge and Fainting Fancies.’

‘Am I sick?’ you wondered aloud.

‘By the looks of it, yeah.’ George spoke. ‘Maybe go home and rest?’

‘Yeah, maybe drop by at St. Mungo’s....’ you muttered, leaving.

----------

‘Hello, you’re at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, if you want to get treated, use that elevator, if you’re meeting someone, you have to wait, if you’re wasting my time, then please leave and- OH MERLIN!’ the woman gasped. ‘Y-you’re Y/N Potter...’

‘Uhm, I do believe I am.’ You said uncertainly.

‘Oh, well, oh, Mrs Potter, uh, big fan.’ She stuttered. ‘How may I assist you?’

‘Well, you see, I’ve been vomiting since this afternoon, it’s happened thrice already and I don’t recall eating anything off or drinking something old... overall, I need help.’

‘Well, of course you do!’ she breathed. ‘We will call our best healer for you, Mrs Potter, given how much you do for this nation!’

You fought the urge to giggle. ‘Er, thanks. I hope this best healer of yours can cure me.’

‘Certainly dear! He is one of the most skilled.’

The woman grabbed a microphone of sorts and bellowed. ‘HEALER MALFOY, I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE ASSISTING A DYING PATIENT OR WHATEVER IT IS THAT YOU’RE DOING, GET. HERE. NOW!’

You gasped. ‘Did you say... Healer Malfoy? As in Draco Malfoy?’

‘Yes, dear, quite right.’ She distractedly said.

‘What do you want, you horrible old woman?’ a voice asked behind you.

You didn’t dare turn.

‘Malfoy, kindly assist this lovely lady here.’

‘Alright, hello, how may I help?’ asked Draco.

Cursing internally, you turned around. ‘Hi...’

‘Y/N?’ he asked.

‘Draco.’ You spoke.

‘Ah... um come on, then.’ He awkwardly led you to his office.

‘We haven’t seen each other in quite some time, have we?’ he asked once you entered.

‘Yeah, the last time we met was when we both thought Harry was dead.’ You spoke sarcastically.

Draco smirked. ‘So, what’s with you and Potter, L/N?’

‘That’s Y/N Potter to you.’ You corrected.

Draco’s eyes grew wide. ‘Y/N Potter? You’re serious? That’s you? I thought it was some other Y/N or something...’

‘Honestly Malfoy, how many Y/N’s would marry Harry Potter?’ you asked.

‘I expect you have a point. Alright, Mrs Potter, what ails you?’ he asked.

‘Dunno.’ You simply answered. ‘Been retching all afternoon.’

‘What?’

‘Wait...’ something wasn’t right.

Oh no.

You ran into his bathroom and doubled over inside the toilet and let out your stomach’s contents yet again.

‘Blimey, you alright?’ asked Draco. ‘When did this start?’

‘This afternoon!’ you panted. ‘I thought George put a Puking Pastille in my sandwich, but then it didn’t stop. What’s wrong with me?’

‘I have a very good idea of what might be wrong with you.’ He began, making a disgusted face but you couldn’t place why. ‘But if it’s not true, I don’t want to worry you uselessly. Here, take these pills and if they don’t work, come to me right away. It will take two or three hours to have an effect, so tomorrow should be fine if you’re still... a human hosepipe.’

You snorted. ‘Yeah, alright. Thanks Healer Malfoy.’

‘My pleasure, Y/N Potter.’

---------

‘Hey love, how are you feeling?’ Harry asked as you entered your house.

‘Bit better, I went to St Mungo’s and apparently the best healer they have is Healer Malfoy.’ You spoke.

Harry laughed. ‘And what did Healer Malfoy tell you?’

‘He didn’t. He said he knew what might be wrong with me, but he didn’t want to uselessly worry me in case this is just a nasty stomach bug. So, I’ve got these pills for now.’ You explained.

‘Well, that’s nice.’ You husband said in amusement. ‘For once, you and Malfoy had a conversation where the both of you weren’t constantly threatening to break each other’s face.’

‘I was in for a surprise myself.’ You sarcastically said. ‘I’m going to bed... it’s been a long day, y’know?’

‘Yeah, I understand.’ Harry soothed. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

And yet after eating the pills, you puked almost four times that night.

-----------

‘MALFOY!’ you bellowed. ‘OPEN THE DOOR!’

The door swung open.

‘Pills not working?’ Draco asked before you could open your mouth.

You aggressively nodded.

‘Ugh.’ He spoke. ‘We’re going there, aren’t we? Oh well. Come in.’

He shut the door and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Er, Y/N, I have a question that is necessary for finding out what’s wrong with you... uhm, you’re married and all right? So, um... did you and Potter have your... em, fun night yet?’

Your cheeks blushed a heavy scarlet as you choked on your own spit. ‘Fun *cough* night?’

Draco looked fairly embarrassed as well. ‘Sorry, er, let me rephrase, when did you have your last menstrual cycle?’

‘About...’ you suddenly gasped. ‘It’s ten days late!’

‘Mhmm.’ Draco wore the same disgusted expression as before.

‘What?’

‘Sorry, it’s just really hard to imagine Potter wanking himself in your presence...’

You slapped the back of his head.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ He said again. ‘Alright, um, take this.’

He handed you a small tube of sorts.

You raised a brow. ‘The Draco Malfoy, offering me a muggle instrument? What day is it today?’

‘They’re surprisingly reliable.’ He said delicately. ‘And it’s Wednesday, by the way.’

You giggled.

Minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom.

‘So what does two lines mean?’

‘That there’s one baby Potter in there.’

----------

The next morning, you set out for your friends’ house.

You knocked on the door.

Several minutes later, a shabby-ooking Ron came out. ‘Whozzerre?’

‘Y/N.’ you answered.

‘The bloody hell are you doing here seven in the morning?’ he asked, nettled.

‘I need to see your wife, Ronald.’ You responded with equal mock-anger.

‘Oh, for Merlin’s sake Ron!’ said a voice as a fully dressed Hermione appeared at the door. ‘Y/N! Hi!’

‘Hey Mione, can I speak to you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Er, privately?’

‘Oh don’t mind me. I’m going to bed.’ Ron yawned.

‘Charming, Ronald.’ Hermione snapped as Ron trudged back. ‘Yes?’

‘Mione... I’m pregnant.’

‘What? I’m sorry, I must’ve misheard you, could you say that again?’

‘I’m serious Mione. I’m pregnant.’

‘WHAT?’ Hermione squealed. ‘Y/N, but that’s... amazing!’

‘I know!’ you squealed.

‘Does Harry know?’

You looked away.

‘You didn’t tell him, did you?’ Hermione accusingly said.

‘I’m not sure how he’s going to react.’ You muttered.

‘Well... maybe tell him by the end of this week... the Auror requirements are crazy at the moment. Maybe you ought to wait till he’s relaxed?’ she suggested.

‘Yeah, I’ll do that. And Mione, could you please cover for me just this once? I’ll work overtime maybe when you know, the baby’s born? It’s just... I’m quite tired at the moment.’ You pleaded.

‘You will not work overtime after your baby is born.’ Hermione sternly instructed. ‘I will cover for you all the same. Take care, Y/N.’

-----------

‘Love, is something the matter?’ Harry concernedly asked. ‘You’re... distant.’

‘I’m working long hours, Harry.’ You responded.

Harry arched a brow. ‘I don’t recall ever seeing you at the office in the last two days. Where do you disappear to in the day time?’

‘I have other work to do besides stay at the Ministry, Harry.’ You snapped in irritation.

Pregnancy was giving you mood swings.

‘See, this is the problem.’ Harry said. ‘You’re not telling me something. When was the last time you called me Harry in that tone?’

‘I dunno, but I’ll use it more often if you act like this.’

‘You know what, that’s it.’ He slammed his fork on the table. ‘I can’t take this anymore. Do what you like.’

He stomped up.

Yup, you blew it.

Sighing and rubbing your temples, you followed.

‘I’m not sure you’d be happy if I told you why.’ You muttered when you got there.

‘Happy?’ asked Harry. ‘Why would I be happy with something that is the cause of my wife ignoring me? I’d personally hate it.’

Tears brimmed in your eyes.

‘Oh yeah?’ you asked in a shaky voice. ‘Well good job, because I’m bloody pregnant with your bloody baby. And you hate it, don’t you?’

Harry was dumbstruck.

He opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish.

‘Y/N...’ he choked out. ‘I didn’t mean...’

‘Save it.’ You said, running downstairs.

Harry messed up his hair.

‘I’m gonna be a dad?’ he whispered to no one.

A crash from the dining room followed by a whimper of pain snapped him out of his thoughts.

‘Love?’ he called.

No answer.

‘Y/N!’ he ran down.

‘I’m... nothing, I thought it was going to... come.’ You panted. ‘Babies don’t come that fast, do they?’

‘I... don’t know. Love, I’m so sorry.’

Harry gently picked you up and carried you to your bedroom.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek. ‘Rest, darling. Don’t exhaust our little child here.’

------------

‘It’s a boy!’

You let out a choked sob, reaching out as the doctor placed your creation in your hands.

Everybody, Harry, Ron, Hermione, George, Ginny, Bill, Fleur, Percy, Mr and Mrs Weasley had come to see you.

‘It’s so cute!’ Ginny whispered.

‘He’s beautiful.’ You spoke.

Your husband approached you.

‘C-can I?’ he asked.

You smiled and shifted over as Harry sat down, cradling the baby boy in his arms.

A tear escaped his eye.

‘James.’ You cooed.

‘James Sirius Potter.’ Harry declared, pressing a kiss to your temple.

After you had gone home, Harry had taken you to the nursery he designed for the baby weeks ago.

‘I love you so much.’ He muttered.

‘I love you too, idiot.’ You laughed. ‘And I love this baby.’

‘Hmm. Let’s make another one.’

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x yn #harry potter angst #harry potter x wife!reader #dad!harry #to be dad! harry #baby #pregnant

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

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to have and to hold

request from nonnie: Hey I'm 17 and still sleep with stuffed animals.... can you write something where George finds out and teases you about it? I know I'm a bit weird but I cuddle in my sleep so it's hoard stuffed animals or kidnap my cat (dangerous).

word count: 3.3k

pairing: george x reader

A/N: y’all i love this—totally nothing wrong with sleeping with stuffed animals, THEY’RE SO CUDDLY! and that’s what they’re for! thank you for reading and requesting, i’m so grateful for you all, and in case anyone’s wondering, i’m still irrevocably head over heels for these silly boys. also the title’s a tad misleading but there’s no marriage in this but it’s definitely all FLUFF because i’m a dork

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 | message me if you’d like to be added darlings!

The Sorting Hat cries Ravenclaw! as a young, brown haired girl jumps from the stool and gleefully makes her way over to her respective House table.

Everyone begins to clap, and although he doesn’t feel much like it, George does too.

He’s a bit taken aback when you say to him suddenly, “I can’t believe that was us only a few short years ago.”

Just a few months ago, it seemed as though your seventh and final year at Hogwarts was still a long while away. It couldn’t be creeping up that quickly, could it? You both met only six years ago in Transfiguration, but it feels like a lifetime. George grins at the memory. But now, sitting and watching the newest first years get placed into their Houses, he’s feeling the nerves of the finality of it all—even though you’re not there yet. Not exactly.

“Strange, isn’t it?” he asks you, watching another student jump up excitedly and run to the Hufflepuff table. More claps ensue. “There’s no way this is our last year here, right? We must be dreaming, or something.”

A small smile tugs at the edges of your lips, and George feels his insides go warm. “Of course,” you reply, “we’re dreaming.”

“Would you two quit being so melancholy?” Fred takes you by surprise when he kicks both of you underneath the table. “It’s our final year! It’s exciting! We’ve got loads of mischief planned, Y/N, and we expect your help.”

You roll your eyes. “There’s absolutely no way I’m going to be able to get out of this, is there?”

The twins smile and chorus together, “Nope.” before diving head first into the feast that’s just appeared in front of you all.

“Ah well—it is exciting, isn’t it? We’ve got a lot to look forward to!” you tell them, cutting into the piece of chicken on your plate, “and besides.. with whatever you two have planned? I reckon I’m bound for some type of adventure. Things could be worse, right?”

Just then, a sickeningly sinister giggle emits from the front of the Great Hall; the three of you look at a woman dressed in all pink, whose face resembles that of an old toad, chatting animatedly with Dumbledore who’s looking positively woebegone.

“Ugh,” you say, looking back and forth between the twins, “maybe I’ve spoken too soon.”

— -

You’re tiptoeing next to George in the middle of the corridor; you keep whirling around to check if anyone’s behind you. Months, you’ve been doing this. He can’t help but grin at your flustered state. “D’you really think this is a good idea?” you ask him stealthily as the two of you meander throughout the castle halls.

“Of course,” he replies, squeezing your hand. But inside, he’s just not entirely sure. By the sounds of what Harry’s said, getting detention with Umbridge is no walk in the park. He turns back to you and continues, “Don’t worry—Harry knows what he’s doing. Plus, we haven’t been caught yet, have we?” He jabs you in the ribs and teases you, “Where’s that sense of adventure we so admire? Oi, here’s Fred and Ginny.”

Just then, the two Weasley siblings round the bend and quite literally bump into you both. Fred says quietly, “Merlin help me—I can’t ever remember where this bloody room is,”

“Seventh floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy,” you reply in a lowered voice, your eyes shifting across the corridors, “so you’ve got a flew floors to go, Freddie.”

Both he and George laugh; Fred continues, “You’d think after months of going to these meetings, I’d remember where it is?”

“Why am I not surprised?” Ginny elbows Fred, teasing him slightly. “C’mon then, let’s go—looks like the coast is clear,”

The four of you make your way up two more flights of steps, sneak past the tapestry, and finally find yourselves inside the Room of Requirement.

It’s an easy lesson today; with the impending Christmas holidays, everyone is in quite a chipper mood—the Room of Requirement has a light, airy feel to it, and everyone seems to be doing their best at all of the defensive magic Harry’s taught so far—even Neville! When he dismisses you for the day, noting that you probably won’t meet again until the New Year, a dramatic groan nearly shakes the room—it seems as though everyone wants to stay.

When you all land back in the common room and take a seat next to the fire, Fred immediately begins to market his and George’s products to a bunch of excited looking Gryffindors; to you, George just shrugs.

“Oh, that reminds me,” you begin, standing up from the couch and gesturing George toward the dormitory, “I think I’ve fixed that little issue with the Fever Fudge.”

George grins broadly; there’s not many people he and Fred trust with their products, but you? You’re basically a third owner. He stops short, though, at the stairs leading up to the girls dormitories. You shake your head and say, “No worry, most everyone’s gone home for the holidays already. Plus—I’ve already hoodwinked whatever spell the professors have cast.”

“So I won’t get caught, then?”

“Nah,” you reply, urging him forward, “I’m strangely brilliant at derailing bits of professional magic,”

He beams at you at this and follows up to the girls dormitory, leaving Fred with a room full of students eager to get their hands on all Weasley products.

It doesn’t look as different from the boys' dorms as he thinks; it’s pretty much the same setup, same four posters, similar looking curtains. He shrugs, thinking, Nothing to worry about, but when he notices you plop down on your bed, he suddenly feels his insides constrict. You pat the spot next to you and say, “Well c’mere, won’t you?”

He places himself down next to you, careful not to mess your very neat bedspread, while he watches you rummage through a bit of your trunk. “Ah—here we are,” you say brightly, pulling out the box of Fever Fudge you’d hidden so as not to be stolen, “good as new, Georgie. The fevers, now, should stop at the appropriate number we’ve discussed—they shouldn’t continue to spike as the evenings go on. Any problems, let me know!”

“You’re brilliant, truly,” he says, peering down at the box of his own inventions. “How did you get so bloody good at this?”

You smile sweetly at him and flip your hair, “Just got lucky, I suppose.”

He laughs and is about to head back downstairs, careful not to mess up anyone’s things, when he spots a little brown bear on your bed near your pillows. His lips curl into a grin, “Erm.. Y/N,” he begins, pointing to the stuffed bear, “what is that?”

Suddenly you jump onto your bed and try to secretly slip this tiny little animal behind all of your pillows. The rosy pink color of your cheeks is evident in the sunlight flooding the windows, “Erm—what’s what, George?”

He places the box of fever fudge down on the table next to your bed, and walks slowly over to you. With a mischievous grin on his face, he continues, “Don’t make me jump on you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“But I would.”

And as soon as he says it, he does it; he flops down dramatically, ruining your very tidy sheets. He begins to poke you in the ribs, a tickling of some sort, to try and get you to move. It seems to work, because he grabs the bear from behind your back and you both fall backwards, next to one another, laughing quite animatedly.

He waits with bated breath for you to explain yourself. “Shove off, Georgie,” you say, stealing the bear back from him, twirling it in your fingers and peering at it. You offer to continue, “My mum gave him to me when I was a baby. When I was born. A little ‘coming home’ gift, if you will.”

“You mean to tell me,” George begins, “that you’ve had this for seventeen years?”

You roll your eyes and stifle a bit of laughter. You roll off of the bed, stand up, and place the bear delicately into your trunk. You pull George into an upright position and say, “This conversation’s over. C’mon—let’s bring Fred the fixed Fever Fudge,”

“This conversation is certainly not over,” he teases.

“It’s a source of comfort, you git!” you reply, slapping him playfully across his chest.

“Comfort,” he echoes through a chuckle, “right. And he’s here now because.. you need comforting after a long Potions lesson with Snape?”

You slap him again as you both begin to laugh. “Yes,” you tell him straightforwardly, “and there’s nothing wrong with that. Sometimes, after a long day, I just need something to hug, to hold whilst I sleep, alright? Quit the teasing,”

Suddenly, the overwhelming urge to pull you into an embrace washes over George; he wants, more than anything, to just curl up with you on your bed right now, and to hug you for as long as you need. He’s about to do so, when you pull him by his hand and say, “Oh come on—can’t leave your brother waiting, can we?”

George can’t help himself; he just needs to tease you. Just a little bit more. He begins to tickle your waist when he calls in a sing-song voice down the stairs, “Oh, Freddie!”

You turn and grab his arms; even though he’s feeling rather mischievous, the butterflies are swirling around his stomach, as well. A sinister smirk tugs at the edges of your lips and he feels as though his entire body goes rigid when you wink at him, “Don’t you dare.”

— -

When Ginny enters the portrait hole, she’s surprised to see George slumped in an armchair and not with Fred, off creating some sort of chaotic mischief right underneath Umbridge’s nose.

“No pranks today?” she asks, sinking beside him on the couch.

“Reckon you didn’t see Angelina hanging all over Fred in the Great Hall, then?”

“Guess I must’ve missed it,” she rolls her eyes, and they both smile. “Speaking of—how are things going with Y/N?”

George is slightly taken back; he peers at Ginny with a confused expression and she just shakes her head at him. He knows that everyone else sees right through him, but he never expected his younger sister to bring it up. Guess he’s the type of bloke who wears his heart on his sleeve. “Erm, I mean—things are fine.”

“Things are most certainly not fine. Why haven’t you told her?”

George has been preparing for this—whether it was to come from a sibling or a friend—he knew, down the line, someone would question him as to why you two aren’t together. He slumps back into the couch and twirls his wand in both his hands. “Well—‘cause, we’re leaving soon, aren’t we? Fred and me. Just doesn’t make sense at this point.” He sinks a little lower, and his face turns sullen. “I’ve missed my chance. It’s too late, Gin.”

Just then, you pop inside with Dean and Seamus, giggling animatedly about some silly joke one of them made, and you raise your hand to George and Ginny before quickly heading upstairs to the girls dormitory to change out of your uniforms. There’s a tug at George’s heart—if only he could sneak up there without anyone seeing.

“Hey,” Ginny snaps her fingers at him, interrupting his thoughts and bringing him out of his daydream-like state, “It’s never too late.”

“You think?”

Ginny raises her eyebrows when she notices you coming back down the stairs and making a b-line right toward them. Quietly, she tells him, “I reckon she’ll think the same.”

When you seat yourself down next to them and Ginny quickly changes the conversation, George can’t help but grin goofily at the bunny slippers you have on. You sit yourself comfortably on the couch next to him, cross your legs, and blow lightly on your steaming cup of tea while Ginny relays the story of her brilliant Bat Bogey hex in the last DA meeting to you. Each and every time you smile broadly, George can feel himself shifting closer and closer to you.

— -

“The devil incarnate, she is,” Ron tells his siblings darkly. He peers down at the top of his hand, running his fingers over his silky smooth skin, knowing exactly what is about to happen as the DA prepares for a detention with Umbridge.

Harry shakes his head and replies, “Just try not to think on it all too much. It’ll be over before we know it.” He’s still looking on edge, sleep deprived. The whispers of other members can be heard slightly as Umbridge makes her way down the corridors.

“How is this even legal?”

“Where’s Professor Dumbledore? She can’t possibly get away with this.”

The Great Hall is darker than normal; the hour and a half spent there is some of the most draining George has felt in his entire life. It’s as if the writing alone is setting his soul on fire. Or, perhaps, is it the weak smile and look of pure anguish you give him from a few rows over? He can’t help but feel extremely protective, and he’s shooting daggers at Umbridge each and every chance he gets.

When you’re all finally released, Umbridge giggles in a mocking, satisfied tone. She makes her way back to her office as all of the members of the DA walk begrudgingly back to their common rooms, completely ignoring the apologies of Marietta Edgecombe, who, by the looks of it, is now regretting her decision of giving up the DA to Umbridge.

The Gryffindor common is filled with students looking positively sullen, almost each and every one of them running their fingers over their red, raw, and bloodied hands. George hops through the portrait hole and notices you in the corner, talking animatedly with Ginny and Fred.

“I swear,” Fred’s saying as George sits himself down next to you, “she’s barking mad.”

“You’d think she’d end up in Azkaban after pulling a stunt like this,” you agree, tracing the outline of the cuts on your hand with your finger, “but I reckon she can get away with anything.”

“I reckon you’re right,” George says, leaning his arms on his knees. He takes a deep breath and opts to continue, “how could she possibly get away with something like this?”

Ginny offers, “It’s the bloody Ministry.”

There’s a collective groan from all of you. Ginny shakes her head and continues, “Mum and Dad are going to go wild, you know; this isn’t over. By the way, speaking of Mum and Dad—you two planning on telling them that you’re leaving in a few weeks time?”

George suddenly feels his heart stop. Next to him, you look frantically back and forth between him and Fred, a confused expression plastered across your face. Fred is shaking his head, Ginny’s cheeks are flooding with color, and George is dreading the next conversation.

“You’re—you’re leaving?” you ask, stunned. “When?”

“Gin, we only told you because you overheard us the other night,” Fred says through gritted teeth. Then, he softens and says to George, “but.. I reckon it’s maybe time we tell a few people, eh Georgie?”

“Oh no,” Ginny says sheepishly, looking down at the floor. But you just grin weakly at her as she pulls Fred to his feet and they make their way over to the other end of the common room, most likely to tell Ron of their plans. You hope Ginny isn’t feeling too guilty.

George swallows thickly and then begins, “I should’ve told you sooner. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head at his apology, “You don’t need to apologize to me.” You place your hand over his and wait with bated breath for him to tell you what’s going on. You smile broadly at him when he begins to explain.

“We’re, erm, heading out a bit early, you see,” George begins, his eyes shifting from yours to the floor, “we’ve got these grand plans for a business to open up—in Diagon Alley, actually.. sell our inventions. Reckon it could become quite successful if we market correctly—”

His heart is thundering against his rib cage, surely trying its best to escape his chest, and he’s nervous that you’re not going to approve, you’re going to be angry, you won’t ever talk to him again. But to his surprise, you throw your arms around him excitedly and pull him into a bone crushing hug. He’s relaxing in your arms as he listens to your squeals of delight, breathing in the scent of your hair, focusing on the way your body feels beneath his fingertips. And when you pull away from him and shake his shoulders slightly, with both a bright smile on your face and tears in your eyes, you tell him, “I’m so proud of you!”

You’re talking quickly, shaking your head admiringly, throwing your hands into the air and running them through your hair, chuckling lightly, blinking quickly to push back any tears rising to the surface, but he can’t even hear what you’re saying. All George can hear is the pounding in his ears from the steady beat of his own heart, and not before long, he’s laughing at your exasperated state and is leaning in to kiss you, pressing his lips gently to yours and melting into something that’s been building up for years and years. The tension and surprise is subsiding, and you’re playing absentmindedly with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck and you’re both ignoring the annoying whistles from his siblings near the fireplace, and you’re quite certain that George is making a rather inappropriate hand gesture at them across the room for interrupting your moment.

When you two finally part, George grins broadly at you, his hands still shaking slightly due to the adrenaline rush and he asks you, not bothering to answer Fred’s whistles at all, “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?!” you cry out, still obviously rather electrified from both the news and the kiss, “No! I’m not mad.. how could I be? I’m so excited for you both. I hope you’ll know I’ll be coming round to visit all the time.”

“Well, you better,” he replies cheekily, pulling at the collar of your shirt. Then, “I’m really going to miss you these last few weeks.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” you reply breathlessly, and he now feels a tug at his heartstrings. He’s feeling nervous. Off balance. Do you still want to be with him after he leaves? Can you two survive on letters alone until after you graduate? “Do you, erm—I mean, I know I’m leaving, but—”

You cup his face in your hands, running your thumbs over the light stubble on his cheeks. A feeling of warmth overtakes him when you grin, peering into his yearning eyes, “We’ll make it work.”

He pulls you into his arms, and the calls from Fred and the others don’t seem to subside in the slightest. “We’re being summoned,” you tell George, leaning back against his chest. You pull out some of their inventions from your own pocket, things they’d given you early on; a pygmy puff, a screaming yo-yo, extendable ears, and more. You begin fiddling with them in your fingers and George grins against your shoulder.

“D’you want to go?”

You intertwine one of your hands in his. “Just hold me for a while first, would you?”

He giggles softly and wraps his arms tighter around you. Teasing begins to bubble up inside him and he can’t help it, he just has to say it. “Don’t you want to go and get your bear first?”

He expects the playful slap across his chest, he grins goofily when you begin to laugh, but what he doesn’t expect is what you say next. He’s practically putty in your hands when he pulls you closer and breaths in your scent when you reply,

“Reckon I don’t need it—I’ve got something else to hold, now.”

reblogs + feedback are always appreciated! thanks for reading darlings, ily so <3

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