George Weasley X Reader (Harry Potter) Fred Weasley X Reader

Sick Day pt.2

Y/n P.O.V.

I opened my eyes drowsily, wiping away the crustiness at the edges of my eyes. I paused in my blanket cocoon, looking around. I was in the common room. How'd I get here?

On the floor were Fred and George, snoring loudly. George snored loudly and rolled over, his hand ungracefully hitting his brother in the face. Giggling slightly, I burrowed deeper into my cocoon. My head still throbbed, and my throat was sore. 

The common room door swung open suddenly, voices filling the silent room. Students filed into the room, their faces tinted pink from the cold. The glanced at Fred and George, stepping over the sleeping boys. One student, a 7th year, was kind enough to levitate them out of the way. They levitated through the air, looking like half-zombie, half-ghosts from a muggle movie. Fred's mouth opened slightly, and a string of drool threatening to drop to the floor. 

I refused to leave my cocoon of warmth, avoiding curious gazes. 

"Y/n! Are you sick! You look sick!" Two girls raced to me, smiling brightly at me. I nodded slowly. 

"Yeah, but I'm feeling better now, thanks!" I exclaimed, my voice still hoarse and my throat still sore. 

They two girls immediately dashed out the room, saying that they were going to get me a cure for my sore throat. I looked curiously after them. My gaze slowly drifted down to the boys. George had landed on top of Fred, Fred's arms around George's waist. 

My face began the heat up as I remembered Fred's arms around my waist. He was so warm and caring. He was so close, in my bed with me. I buried my face furiously in my hands, feeling flustered. 

"First George! Now Fred! GAHHHHHHHHHHH!" I muttered to myself, hugging the blankets tighter around myself. 

The portrait swung open again, the two girls smiling. They had a mug of something steaming and a few different sized bottles. They laughed as they handed them to me, instructing me on what would help with that. They smiled brightly before walking away. 

"I love my house. All of us girls have such a strong connection," I muttered to myself, sipping the hot drink slowly. I took quick swigs of the medicinal bottles, cringing at the bitter tastes. 

I looked at the book on the floor, smiling as I saw the title. 

The Witch and the Clock

I bent down and picked up the book gingerly. My hands were delicate on the front cover, as I remembered this children's story. 

There once was a girl. As a small child, she would watch the clock tick as the time went by. It always fascinated her; time was such a mystery. She began to give small offerings to Time, placed beneath the big clock.  

They were never much, a small eraser, a picture she drew that day, kind words when there was nothing else to give. 

As time passed, the girl began to grow. He fascination for Time did not falter, as her life only seemed to go by faster the longer she lived. The suns and moons passed in a blur, each day coming and going. 

She never once forgot to leave a small offering for Time. As she grew older, others began to become repulsed by her obsession over time. Her fascination scared them. It wasn't normal. 

She grew lonely, ostracized by the people that were also connected by time. 

The clock recognized her loneliness. It was the same loneliness that it felt over all these years. Everyone knew of time, but not many people knew Time. 

Before long, the moments had passed too quickly. She was old and frail. She apologized to the clock each day she couldn't get out of bed and give it a small tribute. 

Time understood. Time continued moving, not even realizing it. Knowing the woman would no longer be under its care, Time gathered each of the tributes from the woman. He had collected every word, every picture, every bead, and smile. He brought them together, letting his time, and the love from the woman bind together. 

Her smile was the very last gift to him as she closed her eyes for the last time. Time continued to spin forward, saddened by her death, but unable to stop. The items began to change under Time's immense grief. They turned to magic, a power in which good could befall others. 

Time began to give magic to others, to anyone who'd notice him. He gave magic to everyone who knew and loved the old woman, his gift of kindness to those who made her happy.

I closed the book with an audible smack. Smiling to myself, I looked down at the boys. They were waking up, grumbling in their sleep. 

Fred and George rubbed their eyes, their arms tangling on each other. 

"Dude! Did you drool on me?" Fred exclaimed suddenly, his fingers touching his neck. His fingers came away shiny, evidence of George's drool. 

"Sorry, dude, I was dreaming about food." George apologized, getting up off the floor. He looked at me, his face breaking into a broad smile as he looked at the book in my hand. 

"Guys, I don't feel so well. My stomach hurts." Fred grumbled, bent over on the floor. 

I looked at him with concern. 

"That's what you get for winning the soup eating contest!" George stuck out his tongue, reaching out an arm to help his brother up. Fred shakily stood up, his hand still clenched firmly over his stomach. A piece of paper fell out of his pocket, a brown envelope falling out of his pocket. 

He suddenly lurched forward, running full speed at the common room door. I watched I amusement as he disappeared out the door, George in hot pursuit. Violent wretching sounds came through the door, and several people looked up in alarm. 

"You OK out there?" I yelled from my position next to the fire. George's head popped into the room for a moment, and he gave a thumbs up. 

"Fred, when you stop wretching, let's go throw snowballs at the back of Quirrell's head. There's nothing wrong with his head wrap, but it gives off eerie vibes!" George exclaimed. I chuckled to myself, content with my adventurous life. 

"Throwing snowballs at Quirrell," I chuckled to myself, "well, it could be worse. Those two would probably throw snowballs at he who shall not be named and not even realize it." 

I slowly stood up, walking toward the brown envelope. Picking it up, I scanned it. This was the envelope that was placed on my bedside table. I glanced at the letter. It was blank. Fred or George had read it. 

Now I knew what my Guardian ANgel looked like. He wasn't a dream. He had golden eyes and a red scarf. His owl was brown and spotted. Now I just needed to find him. 

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Uh-oh! Making progress on the identity of your Guardian Angel!