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"YOU SEEM TIRED."
Albany nearly chuckled at the concerned remark from Carly as the French girl walked her to Potions class that morning. They had just come from breakfast, which for Albany had been a single black coffee that was still unsuccessful in fully waking herself up. As the twins were attempting to squeeze in a few pranks before class, the girls had decided to take a leisurely stroll through the more picturesque halls of the castle.
"I am tired," she agreed after a moment, and then yawned at the thought. "Maybe I should've had a second coffee."
"I could never drink that much caffeine," Carly laughed, tinkering with her Gameboy as they walked. "I would have so much energy I'd go crazy!"
Albany smiled. "Yeah, usually it would wake me up a bit. I guess this whole tournament thing is more exhausting than I thought," she said. Carly's eyebrows furrowed in concern, and she promptly changed the subject before any further worries could be voiced. "I haven't seen you work on that thing in a while."
The remark was successful in its goal, and Carly's expression lightened as she returned her focus to the device in her hands.
"I got distracted by other things, I guess," she admitted with a sheepish smile. "Happens pretty often. But I'm determined to finish it eventually!"
"What are you planning on doing with it when it's done?"
Carly shrugged nonchalantly. "You'll have to see."
"Very vague answer," Albany teased.
Carly flushed. "It's a surprise," she said, eyes glued to the gadget.
"Oh?"
"Yes," the curly-haired girl said firmly. "C'est tout."
"That's all?" Albany echoed, and Carly glanced up in surprise.
"You understood?"
Albany grinned. "I do remember a little bit from those lessons you gave me."
Carly positively beamed at her. "I didn't realise you were paying attention," she admitted with a pleased smile. "Since that was when George...."
"Was under a spell," Albany finished, smile fading at the memory. Thank Merlin we got him back.
"I could give you more lessons, if you wanted," Carly enthused. "Since there's a while until the next task. Though, if you're too tired...."
"No, no, I'm fine," Albany insisted, waving off the girl's worries. She grinned down at her. "I'd love to."
"Great!" Carly gave a little jump of excitement, and continued onwards with a skip in her step. "Maybe this weekend we could start?"
Albany smiled fondly. "Sure," she agreed, and then glanced up to find they had arrived at the Potions classroom. "See you later?"
"Of course!" Carly cheered, and gave her a little wave before heading off again.
Potions was nowhere near Albany's favourite class for a multitude of reasons; the biggest of which being the professor, though that went without saying. The amount of work they were consistently assigned was another con. The pros? George had become her brewing partner since the time he and Fred had turned Roger Davies into a canary — though even that fun was ruined by the enforced silence in the room and the amount of points the twins lost every class.
And this particular day, the uncomfortable stuffy and humid air of the classroom was combining with her exhaustion to form a wicked migraine.
All in all, Potions sucked ass.
"Today's class," Snape drawled from the top of the room as he scribbled notes on the chalkboard, "we will be brewing Amortentia. Though one of the less respectable potions out there, it is, regrettably, on your course. Would anyone like to explain what Amortentia is?"
Albany exchanged an unbothered glance with George, leaning her chin in her hand as she prepared to endure the hour. Her head was already beginning to pound, and she wished she'd brought water with her to drink in attempt to ease the pain.
"It's a love potion, innit?" someone from the back of the room piped up, which suddenly piqued Albany's interest. George waggled his eyebrows playfully at her, and she stifled a laugh, elbowing him in the side.
"Correct," Snape drawled, returning to the chalkboard. "Amortentia is regarded as the most powerful love potion in the world, though do not be fooled — it creates mere infatuation, and is notoriously difficult to brew successfully. Open your books to page two hundred and seven and begin brewing immediately; once it is left to simmer, you may take down these notes. If I catch anyone attempting to drink the potion, or administer it to another student, I will not hesitate to take you to the Headmaster's office immediately."
"Must be heavy stuff," Albany mumbled under her breath, flipping through the musty pages of her Potions textbook while George prepared their equipment.
"Must be," he agreed. "I've heard of it before, but I dunno much about it."
Albany raised an eyebrow at the boy. "I thought you would've studied its ingredients or whatever to apply it in your own products."
George shrugged. "Figured a love potion wasn't worth looking into," he reasoned, and then grinned. "Not really our area of expertise."
"I reckon you'd make some wicked pranks with a bit of love potion," Albany said jokingly.
George made a face at her. "Playing with people's feelings?"
"Oh, that's off the table but nonstop projectile vomiting isn't?"
"....Yeah?"
Albany rolled her eyes in amusement. "Whatever you say, Weasley."
Amortentia was certainly no easy potion to brew, as Snape had assured them. The instructions were horribly vague — where did you draw the line between a sprinkle and a pinch of powdered gnashroot? All the while, the room grew warmer and more humid as the cauldron fires were lit. Albany rubbed at her temples periodically, trying in vain to soothe the building ache behind her skull. George spared her a concerned glance every now and again, but she waved away his concerns before he could voice them, insistent that she was alright.
"It sure smells weird, doesn't it?" George piped up after a while of stirring. He was stood up off of his chair, leaning carefully over the cauldron to inhale the silvery fumes.
Albany shuffled closer out of curiosity, momentarily abandoning the pixie wings she was crushing. Her head gave a painful pound as she moved, but she ignored it, drawn in by the enticing aroma.
"It's like... mint chocolate," George said decisively, but then scrunched up his nose and took another sniff. "No — more like a forest, actually. A pine forest. Or... coffee?"
"How the fuck does a forest smell like chocolate? Or coffee?" Albany laughed, scooting closer to the boy's side.
George took another sniff, and then glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Well, maybe I could tell you if you hadn't worn so much perfume this morning."
Albany elbowed him between the ribs in response to the cheek, rolling her eyes playfully. She leaned in to smell the steam herself, and thought she caught the salty scent of sea spray — and underneath, more vague, the stuffy, bittersweet fragrance of a flower she couldn't name. She was wondering how on earth she and George were smelling such different things when suddenly her nose was filled with a very familiar and warm scent.
She blinked, surprised as she recognised the faint taste of sour candy and the smoky scent of gunpowder; nothing else could smell so distinctly like... George. The scent fogged her mind, and for a moment, she forgot about her headache completely, thoughts lost to the fumes. She felt as though she was in a trance when she finally brought herself to lean back, all too tempted to contentedly sniff at the potion for the rest of the class.
Fuck, maybe this thing is kind of dangerous.
"You tell me, then," George said, waiting expectantly for her verdict.
Albany turned on the redhead with an eyebrow quirked; she might have reached a better conclusion if she hadn't smelled him so strongly. "Very ironic that you gave out about my perfume when your shampoo or whatever smells that fucking strong," she remarked, unable to hide her smug grin.
George raised an eyebrow at her, folding his arms; her stomach did a loop as she met his gaze.
"I'll have you know," he said lowly, as Snape passed nearby, "I didn't even shower this morning."
Albany made a face of disgust. "Ew, are you proud?"
George narrowed his eyes at her, barely managing to hide his grin. "It's perfectly hygienic to skip a day every now and again!"
Albany flushed, and made herself busy returning to the ingredients she had been working with. "I do not need to know the details of your showering routine."
"Don't you?" George's smile was sickeningly smug, and all too successful in leaving her flustered.
"Well, for your information," Albany shot back, unable to look him in the eyes, "I don't even wear perfume."
George looked more confused than anything, and leaned in to the potion again. Albany nearly laughed aloud at his bewildered expression, and had to remind herself to keep quiet.
"You're messing with me," George said, straightening again. Then he leaned in to Albany, and she froze as he smelled her hair before moving back to the cauldron. "You are so wearing perfume."
Albany, who had turned a brilliant shade of beetroot red, and lost the ability to move her limbs, barely formed the words to shoot back at him. "I — am not—"
"I don't believe you," George announced stubbornly.
"I assume neither of you have taken down the notes on the board," another voice hissed from behind the pair, and they turned around to see Fred leaning over his desk with a bizarrely smug grin on his face.
"What?" Albany asked, bemused, though as she turned around to read the chalkboard, it didn't take long for the realisation to set in.
Amortentia has a different aroma for everyone who smells it, reminding each person of the things that they find most attractive, even if the person doesn't acknowledge or is unaware of their fondness for the object of their affection themselves.
George had paled considerably beside her as he too read over the words; his eyes danced over the lines several times in attempt to confirm their meaning. He had turned to Albany with wide eyes before she had even fully grasped the implications, face falling rapidly.
"I'm sorry," he said, nearly stumbling over the words in his hurry to get them out, "if I embarrassed you. We can just forget about it—"
And then it all clicked.
"Oh," Albany breathed. "Oh."
She met George's gaze for just a moment before she had to glance away, unnerved by the apologetic insecurities in his hazel irises. Her heart and head were pounding a little harder as her mind caught up with what was going on; George hadn't smelled her perfume, he'd smelled her, in the potion. And she—
Oh, fuck—
She'd smelled him.
The object of her affections, the thing she found most attractive, the person she'd smelled so distinctly in the steam — was George.
George, who liked her like that, and George, who had a laugh that made the sun come out and flowers bloom; George, whose smile was all that was good in the world and whose kind eyes always betrayed his true emotions; George Weasley, whose soul was sensitive yet fiercely passionate, who was smarter than he gave himself credit for, who cared so strongly for his friends and who inspired her to constantly be better. George, who had shaped her into the very person she was today, who had held out his hand whenever she thought she was falling out of reach.
George, who she had fallen for desperately, helplessly and undeniably, with no hope of ever turning back.
It had always been George, hadn't it? How could it have been anyone else, after all this time?
Merlin's pants, she'd been so very stupid.
Her head was going to explode; she had to leave.
"Bronwen," Snape snapped when he inevitably noticed her hurrying towards the classroom door. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Madam Pomfrey," Albany croaked.
Her skull was splitting open and her cheeks were violently hot; her stomach was stirring yet her heart was bursting with a terrified glee. The cool air of the corridor outside filled her lungs like a long-awaited relief as she escaped the Potions classroom at last, and she stood a moment to just breathe, mind reeling.
"Albany?"
She didn't have to look up to recognise Merlin's concerned tone of voice.
"Are you alright, kid?"
"Merlin," she breathed out, unsure whether she was on the verge of laughter or tears. "I think I'm going insane, holy shit."
"Albany?" Arthur had arrived on the scene.
"I'm — happy? But scared, and—" she broke off to grasp her head as it gave a sudden pound so painful she felt dizzy. "And I think I'm gonna be sick—"
"What's wrong?" Merlin asked, the urgence in his voice carefully concealed by calm as he stepped closer.
"It doesn't matter, even if he's not my soulmate, right?" Albany shot back, giddy with excitement. "No, it doesn't matter — I'm gonna tell him — fuck, I'm gonna tell him—"
"Woah, slow down," Arthur interrupted, eyes widening a fraction as he glanced to his companion. "What are you on about?"
Albany shot the ghost a cheesy grin despite the ache in her head and stomach. "George," she clarified, and her heart sped up just at the mention of his name, at the thought of confessing — fuck, she wasn't ready, but if she didn't do it now, would she ever? Would she fall back into her own denial and fear? Her thoughts were racing by so fast they barely registered, her mind a pained, dizzying blur of joy and panic. She barely noticed the black dots swimming in her vision until—
"Al? You good?"
Scratch all that, she was not ready to face him yet.
Nevertheless, she whirled around to meet the concerned, apologetic gaze of none other than George Weasley himself. The movement threw her off balance and she stumbled forward, nearly crashing into the boy as her heart skipped several beats.
"Sorry," she mumbled, but to her surprise, she couldn't hear the words she spoke — she repeated them, confused, sure she could feel her vocals working, and then glanced up to realise George's face was blurred and distant, as if he were standing miles away rather than inches — and then everything went black.
When she opened her eyes again, she was lying down, her back to the cold stone floor of the corridor. George was leaning over her, the panic in his expression visibly relaxing as she blinked up at him. He was rather handsome, this close up, she thought.
"I really like you," she whispered, smiling.
George let out a shaky breath, lips curving into a broad grin. "Of all the times you could have told me that, this was definitely the worst," he murmured, a shaky laugh accompanying the remark.
"I really do," Albany insisted, not sure he'd gotten the memo.
George's cheeks had flushed a brilliant pink, and the sight made her blush in turn.
"That's great," he whispered back, grinning from ear to ear, "but you just passed out in the dungeons, and surprisingly, I have other priorities."
Albany's heart fluttered, and she stuck her tongue out at him. "Rude."
Her head was still pounding, though the ache had dulled, replaced with a heavy weight on her eyelids and an exhaustion that stretched the whole length of her body. She struggled to push herself into a sitting position, though George kindly aided her, and then she noticed the two ghosts that were still staring at her in horror. Embarrassment flooded her body and she waved them away with haste, hoping they understood. Merlin shook his head in fond disbelief, though vanished afterward, Arthur right after him.
"Can you stand?" George asked her softly, grabbing her attention once again. "I'm taking you to Madam Pomfrey."
Albany made a face at him. "I'm not actually going to the Hospital Wing," she said.
George raised an eyebrow. "Yes you are, Albany, you literally just blacked out."
"I was just overwhelmed, I'm not sick," Albany argued, though made no attempt to stand as her arms trembled under the weight of her upper body.
"I don't think I believe you," George teased, though his smile was caring. "C'mon, we're going."
Albany pouted at him. "No, I don't wanna," she whined, folding her arms. "I don't like the Hospital Wing."
"And I don't like seeing you unwell."
"I'm not unwell!" Albany retorted. "Hey, what about that confession just there? I was expecting a more dramatic reaction, not gonna lie."
"I dunno what I was expecting, but it wasn't this," George said, a breathy laugh escaping his lips as he met her gaze. The eye contact felt suddenly personal, and Albany glanced away as her cheeks warmed. "...I didn't think you liked me back at all."
Albany bit her cheek, heart fluttering in her chest. "I'm sorry."
George shot her a bewildered stare. "Merlin's beard, don't apologise, Al, this is — would have been — the best moment of my life, if you hadn't hit the floor."
Albany couldn't help the broad smile that lifted her lips, a bubbly happiness growing in her chest. "I promise I'm okay," she murmured gently, and then flushed even darker. "And... I am sorry, because I know I'm terrible with feelings, and especially talking about them — and I've never, uh, done this before, so I'm kinda shitting it right now—"
"You really don't need to see Madam Pomfrey?"
Albany gave him a weak slap. "I'm trying to open up here, you git," she laughed.
"My bad," George said, grinning at her. "Don't mind me at all. Please continue."
And she couldn't help the laughter that bubbled right out of her chest, a giddy, carefree joy that warmed every inch of her body — she really liked George Weasley, and she'd told him — and the boy who had danced with her under Christmas lights, and taught her to swim in the lake, and held her hand when she was overwhelmed, and caught her every time she fell over her own feet; the boy who she had sent a dungbomb in the post all those months ago, and the boy who had fallen asleep at her side in the detention that followed, the boy who liked her a way nobody else ever had was smiling at her with pure happiness in his heart, and somehow everything felt right in the world.
"Holy shit, George," she breathed. "I really like you."
George beamed at her. "I really like you too, Lionheart."
"I'm still on the floor."
"Oh right," George laughed. "Should probably fix that."
He pulled her to her feet in one steady motion, and she took a few breaths to catch her balance, ignoring the dull headache that remained. Instead, she glanced up at George again, met his gaze; it was so honest, and kind, and so full of the most genuine care and happiness she'd ever seen. She really liked his eyes. She really liked all of him.
"So, um," she spoke up after a moment, blushing furiously, "what now...?"
George gave a small laugh, grinning at her. "You're really new to this, huh?"
She elbowed him between the ribs. "Shut it, Weasley."
"Sorry," he laughed, raising his hands in defence. "Well, usually this is the part where I ask you out."
Albany hadn't thought her face could get any warmer. She was incorrect.
"So... do you have a name or can I call you mine?"
Oh, she was going to melt into the floor.
"That was so cheesy you just gave me lactose intolerance," she deadpanned.
"Oi!" George retorted, unable to hide his smile. "I'm doing my best here!"
Albany grinned. The idea of dating someone — officially — was beyond intimidating, and not something she'd ever thought she would be considering so soon. It was, frankly, terrifying.
But what was life without a little risk, anyway?
She wasn't Lionheart for nothing.
"Whatever, dumbass... yes."