Shit, I'm Falling For A Weasley || George Weasley

Chapter Eight - In which the monster in me emerges with a vengence

"That's it, lift your wand a bit higher," Harry says as he raises my arm. Concentrating on the dark figure ahead of me, I point my wand at it. 

"Expelliarmus!"

The wand soars out of the statues' hand across to the other end of the room. It's the first time I've managed to successfully disarm him, usually, the wand jerks in the person's hand or my aim is completely wrong. 

"Great job," Harry smiles moving on to help Neville, the only person who can give me a run for my Galleons. Between us, we usually end up doing more harm than good. The sessions with Dumbledore's Army have been invaluable. Without them, I'd be certain I was getting a D in my O.W.L.s. 

Glancing around, I watch as George flicks his wrist with ease, successfully disarming Fred. These sessions have also been a perfect opportunity for George to show off. Between these meetings, Quidditch practice, my own workload, there has barely been enough time for George and I to really talk. As the holidays rapidly approach, the Professors seem to think that it's the perfect opportunity to double down on assignments and homework. 

Though we haven't had as much one-on-one time, George has found inventive ways to communicate with me, whether it's through leaving me a scribbled joke in my textbook or a pulled face in between beating a bludger. Watching Quidditch practice is not something I do regularly, but if there's a particular day where I feel stressed or overwhelmed either because of the O.W.L.s or the looming meeting with Dumbledore, I like to escape to watch their practice. 

The stolen moments have quickly become the highlight of my day. 

"Right guys that's going to be our last meeting until after the match, so I'll see you all then. Great work!" Harry says calling for everyone's attention. The room slowly empties out, each group waiting their turn for the coast to clear. Fred and George walk up to me, offering me a small smile. 

"Nice work with the disarming," Fred comments with a grin. I shrug downplaying the achievement, but we all remember the last time I tried to disarm an actual human, I ended up shooting their own wand up their nose. That individual of course had to be Fred Weasley. 

"Wanna be my partner next time?" I ask innocently as his grin vanishes. Rolling his eyes at me, we head towards the exit and leave the near-empty room. 

"You're coming to the match right?" George asks, glancing at me. I consider playing a prank on him by claiming I have other priorities, but I know better than to mess with pre-match nerves. Plus, ever since the first match of the season, Quidditch has a space in my heart. The sport represents a huge fear of mine, but also the moment when I realised that this friendship with George is a real thing. 

"Of course, I've watched you practice for the past week. I'll be there," I reply, grinning toothily. The relief is clear on his face. Fred responds by roaring as he charges down the corridor, thumping his chest. 

"GRYFFINDOR!" He yells, to receive some whoops from other students who were loitering in the corridor and I shake my head at his antics. Following his echoing trail back to the common room, I glance up at George. He too looks ahead at Fred, but his jaw is tight as if he's nervous. 

"Wait," I say, pulling him to the side at the Fat Lady's portrait. Giving her an apologetic look, I turn to him. "What's going on?" I ask and he shakes his head at me. To think this is what the receiving end of my evasive answers feels like. 

"You're gonna be fine; you're always fine. And weren't you claiming that you're the best beater this school has ever seen?" I ramble as a ghost of a smile plays on his lips. The idea that he was feeling nervous about a Quidditch match seems absurd but I have no other explanation for his actions.