George Weasley One-Shots

George Weasley - Strings

It was late at night in the Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry.

The fire crackled, bathing the room in a warm orange glow that contrasted the cool blue-grey of the moonlight coming through the open windows. A chilled breeze that smelled of pollen and evergreen trees floated down to the red couch in the middle of the room where you sat playing your acoustic guitar, singing along with the slow tune. The common room was practically empty; everyone had already gone to bed, so you felt no need to be anything but careless as you softly sang along to your own rendition of Hey Lover by Daughters of Eve.

Three days ago you had arrived to Hogwarts, and those three days had been stressful enough as they were without feeling as though you had to hide yourself from everybody. Drawing too much attention to yourself felt like a bad idea, at least for the first little while of your stay, so you had decided to lay low. And yes, though during the day you were all but smothered by work and expectations and keeping up with everybody else, the nighttime was for you, and for you only.

That is, you thought it was, until you glimpsed a tall figure topped with red attempting to quietly sneak up the stairs into the dormitory. You jumped, gasping louder than you'd have liked to, and the figure turned around slowly, knowing that they had been caught.

Though it was dark, you knew that it was one of the infamous Weasley twins, and from the way that his hair fell flat on his neck, you guessed George.

"Spying on me?" You asked, your voice flat, though your mind was racing a mile a minute. Had he heard you? God, this was so embarrassing. Would he tell others? Would everyone suddenly start barging in after hours to disturb the one time of day that you had peace just to poke fun at you? That feeling of dread consumed you.

He took a step closer to the light of the fireplace, watching the floor, and teetered on his heels thoughtfully for a moment before lifting his head up, not quite looking you in the eyes. His mouth moved as though he was about to say something, but then thought better of it.

"Would you be upset if I were?" He asked, meeting your gaze. You couldn't help but notice the almost obnoxious twinkle of mischief in his eyes that never seemed to leave them. You wondered if he could help it or not.

"....No," you said, "not inherently. It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Depends on why you were spying on me."

He paused for a moment, pursing his lips with his hands in his pockets. His gaze darted to beside where you were sitting. You gestured towards the couch, and he sat down, leaning forward and not breaking eye contact.

"I like your voice. And the guitar," he waved a hand at the guitar, ignoring your red cheeks, "it's quite interesting to look at."

You eyed him with a skeptical look, then responded, "Yeah. It was my dad's." He nodded slowly, but you had more questions.

"Why're you up so late? Everyone else is asleep. Won't Fred be wondering where you are when he wakes up from one of his night terrors?"

His eyes widened. "How did you....?"

You turned to face the fire with a smirk. "Wild guess."

"....and you can tell that I'm George?"

You looked at him as though it was obvious, and he chuckled a little, shaking his head, "Merlin, three days you've been here, and you're doing better than people I've known for years. Hell, we've never even had a conversation."

You shrugged, still avoiding his gaze. It felt like his eyes were poring into you, looking past every layer in search of the core. You didn't like that feeling at all.

"You still haven't answered my question." You said.

Now he joined you in staring at the fire.

"Haven't been able to sleep for a little while, and normally I just go down to the quidditch pitch for a walk or something."

"For how long?" You asked him.

"'Bout a month or so." He responded. Now that you were really looking at him, you could tell that it wasn't just the shadows from the low light of the flames that made him look tired. He was worn out, but you didn't want to pry and ask why.

Suddenly, the realization dawned on you that you hadn't yet introduced yourself. You held out your hand, and he looked at you, confused.

"Sorry, forgot to mention I'm-"

He waved your hand away. "I already know who you are, just like you know who I am. Don't you think I would've asked by now?"

"I suppose so. Have you been watching me every night I've been here, then?"

"Yeah. Surprised you noticed tonight, even if it is the third time. Normally you seem super into it, and it's nice, so I stay for a while. You're a little out of it though, I can tell."

You blushed furiously and nodded your head.

He shifted his body to face you, cross-legged.

"So. Now that the jig is up, did you want to go to the quidditch pitch with me for a while? I doubt you've been down there yet, and I know that you're not going to enjoy it if you stay up here and try to continue on where you left off."

You hesitated, nervous at the prospect of being taken away from your precious alone time.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, "Don't worry, you'll get your precious alone time another night. I won't be bothersome if you don't want me to be."

This time, your eyes went wide.

"How did you-"

"Wild guess." He said with a wink, and something about that twinkle that never seemed to go away pulled you in.

He grabbed your forearm and brought you up from the couch.

"Excellent!" He beamed, and and pulled you out of the common room to enjoy the rest of the night as your new, but strange-mannered acquaintance.