𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘 || 𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

↠𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈↞

-°･:*✧*:･°-
𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐍
-°･:*✧*:･°-

    𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 had gone by, but the aftermath of the rumour seemed to follow George everywhere he went. In the Great Hall girls whispered and giggled, and in the corridors the boys shot him curious glares. Some days, he was sure it would follow him to his grave.

    George had bent over backwards explaining to people that it was all a sham, concocted by that vicious snake for reasons unknown, which honestly didn't give his explanations much plausibility. Most of his friends were quick to believe him, thankfully, but Fred had been awkwardly distant with him for the past few days, even though George fully well knew that he was trying his bloody best to act ordinary.

    He was pretty sure that Fred realised how futile it was to try to conceal his own apprehensive behaviour from even his own brother.

    He was also certain that Fred understood that George knew this himself.

    So they had both been floating in this strange cloud of awkward constraint for days, where neither spoke a word about the incident to the other, glad to pretend that nothing had ever even happened. Up until that afternoon, that is.

    The day was frosty but not yet cold enough to forbid them from having practice, and with the frustration of the game having been cancelled, George ached more than ever to just get on the field and let off some steam. They had painted the touch lines on the grass and successfully set up the new hoops along the highest branches of a withered old tree by the edge of the field. Already a dozen Hufflepuffs were huddled around the makeshift target, discussing their game plan with their captain.

    With the wind whipping at their clothes and rustling through their hair, Fred and George passed a Quaffle between each other as Angelina droned on about tactics to a slightly dispirited looking Katie and Alicia.

    "But what's the point?" asked Katie, her arms on her hips. "They'll have a different strategy by next year."

    "Doesn't mean we shouldn't stay on top of our game," said Angelina with an ambitious grin. "The others will all get stale by next year, and we'll be fresh and ready for them. You'll see."

    "Harry's not even here," Alicia pointed out, sighing deeply. "He's sort of our win condition, Angelina."

    The choice not to let Harry in on their spectacular plan was a point of great contention among the team members. On one side, there was George, who believed that their Seeker already had enough on his plate as it is, and on the other, there was Fred, who not only agreed with Alicia in that Harry was their strongest player, but who was also of the firm belief that Quidditch itself was a form of utmost rehabilitation for one's soul, and exactly what Harry would need in this time of distress. Fred was not about to let off anytime soon, and George was still unwilling to compromise his morals, so without an unanimous decision, the rule of the land was that they simply could not tell him.

    "Come on, don't be so sour. Remember what Oliver used to say?" answered Angelina. "Pessimism loses more games than players do."

    "Too bad Oliver's not here anymore," said Alicia, rather pessimistically. She folded her arms across her chest and diverted her attention at the pair of brothers who had not yet joined in.