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[beloved-hogwarts-fiction-blog]

The Last Name (Harry Potter X Reader)

You smile at your boyfriend, Harry Potter, thinking how lucky you are to have such an amazing boyfriend like him. What did you do to deserve the Boy Who Lived as your boyfriend? You don't know but you sure as bloody hell do t regret what brought you this reward. "Is everything okay, (y/n)? You seem utterly distracted all of a sudden." Harry asks you concerned, giving your hand a little squeeze to make sure you're still with him in reality. Oh, but how could this be reality if you're actually dating Harry Potter of all people in the world?! "Oh. Yes, I'm fine. I was just thinking...." you say airily. Harry smirks and shakes his head. "I'm lucky to have such an amazing girlfriend." Harry says suddenly. You suddenly realize the two of you have come to a stop in the Owlery. The place you two shared your first kiss. "You're lucky?!" You laugh a little at his words. "I'm the lucky one I'm dating the Harry Potter!" You exclaim. You can't believe he thinks he's lucky to be dating you. He could get any girl he wanted just because of his last name. "Harry, you can get any girl you want, just because of your last name! Do you understand how many people would kill to have that?!" You ask. Harry looks at you uncertainly. "Just because of my name? (Y/n), are you honestly telling me girls like me because of my last name...?" Harry seems uncomfortable at the mention of this new development, but you don't notice and continue on. "Oh, yeah, you have girls wrapped around your little finger Harry! Nobody would give up a date with you!" You go on. You should really stop talking now, but you don't. "(Y/n), please don't tell me you're dating me because of my last name." Harry says seriously, staring into your eyes. He has never looked more upset and focused on something as long as you've known him. "Of course I'm not dating you because of your last name!" You say reassuringly. "Harry, I love you with all my heart!" You look into his eyes lovingly, then remember something. That's the first time you've ever said you love him.... "Y-you love me (y/n)?!" Harry stutters out almost choking on his words. You seem slightly scared by his odd reaction. Why did you do that?! What's wrong with you?! Before Harry can say another thing you begin to sprint away. But you don't get far in account of him grabbing your wrist and pulling you back. "Eep!" You stumble back into Harry. His arms slowly and tenderly wrap around you keeping you in place. He pecks you on the cheek affectionately. "Can you promise me you won't run away again?" Harry asks you. You nod slowly and Harry turns you around to face him. He has a tight grip on you to make sure you don't run off again. He's learned you have a slight tendency to run away when you're embarrassed rather than own up to your words or actions like a brave person. "(Y/n), did you just say that you love me...?" Harry asks you calmly, and quietly. "Y-yes..." you stammer. Is he as terrified as you are? You're not sure if this is just a school sweethearts relationship or if it's going to go somewhere. Maybe you just scared him off and he's going to talk to you. What if you're breaking up because of your big mouth?! But before you get farther than that, Harry gently presses his lips against yours. You're held in place by his arms around you, like a hug with kissing. His lips are slightly chapped but you don't care. "(Y/n), you don't know how happy those words make me. I love you too. You don't care about my last name, or who my parents were. You care about who I really am. And that makes you one in a million..." he tells you holding your chin so you're looking at him. You smile and kiss him again. You really don't care what his last name is. He's your Harry Potter, and that's all you need to know....

[beloved-hogwarts-fiction-blog]

I Should've Tried Harder (Harry Potter X First Person)

I've always loved you. From the moment I saw you get sorted into Gryffindor House, I've loved you. There's no doubt about it. I knew you'd be a Gryffindor. From the way you held your chin up, to the way you walked, to the people you made friends with, you were brave. You would always be a Gryffindor and I could change nothing about that. But then the worst thing happened. I didn't get into Gryffindor. I didn't get into Ravenclaw. I didn't even make it into Hufflepuff! No... I was a Slytherin. Nothing but a rotten Slytherin. Ever since the sorting hat put me into Slytherin House, I've been trying to figure out what happened that day. Why I was sorted into Slytherin. I never did anything wrong at home. I've always tried to be nice. What did I do wrong...? Now, I know, there's no chance you could ever love me. You don't have to. I just want you to understand I will never stop loving you. No matter what... ~present day time year five~ I have a Hufflepuff friend named Eric. He's nice, and personally thinks that I should have been a Hufflepuff. He's told me on multiple occasions I'm far too sweet and gentle to be a Slytherin. I like Eric. Not love, but as a friend. He's so brave. I don't think anything in the world could scare Eric. No way. Yes, I still love you. But you will never know how much I care about you. Because you simply don't care about me. And you have no reason to. After all, I'm just a Slytherin... I'm running. Running fast. I can't stop running. Or else I might die. Somebody let a beast into the castle. I don't know who it was, or why. But it's large. It's got a black slender figure. Wisps of smoke curl off it like steam. It's got no eyes. All it has are two vertical white slits that blink when concentrating. It's got long bony fingers each about ten inches in length. The beast is hunched over and running. It's appendages move in all directions, so it's constantly switching from going on all fours to walking to sort of hobbling. I can feel the hot tears streaming down my cheeks as I sprint through Hogwarts attempting to escape. But there is no escape. Soon enough, I feel one of its hands slash my back and I scream. Then I see you. You're standing at the end of the hall, your face pale with terror, but there's an angry expression on your face. You're staring at me and the beast, horrified at what it's done. I don't get to see what happens next. I fall to the floor, hitting it hard, the sound of my impact echoing around the corridor. All I can think is, "I should've told you..." and I really should've. I should've told you how I feel. But now I'm dying. I can feel the blood pouring out of my back. The faint echoes of spells and screams and some horrible ear splitting sound. My vision is foggy, and I can't see anything. I feel hands cradling me in their arms, gently lifting me from the ground. I hear a muffled voice. But what I do hear is "please hold on, Julie. Please hold on..." but I can't. I can do everything but hold on. Even for you, the great Harry Potter, that is something I am unable to do. So please stop asking me to do the impossible. Before you can make it to the infirmary, i close my eyes. No, I will not wake up again. And I'm sorry. I've disobeyed the only thing you've ever asked of me. I apologize. I will miss you... Good bye, Hogwarts. Good bye, to the mean Slytherin's who rejected me, I will see you in hell... Good bye, professors who always looked out for me... Good bye, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor... And good bye, my love, the light of my life, my sweet Prince Charming....... Good bye, Harry Potter......

[beloved-hogwarts-fiction-blog]

Drawing the Depression and Disappointment Away (George Weasley X Reader)

•warning: mood changing potions, mean Slytherin girl, and depression induced thoughts•

You’re up before anyone else as far as you know. The common room is almost silent except for he chatter of a couple students. There must only be around 15 students in here. You’re all alone at the middle of the Hufflepuff table, eating your toast with strawberry jam. You’re holding it with only your left hand, because you’re drawing with your right hand. You’re using the new colored pencils you record last week with the mail. You’re sketching in the leather bound notebook you got a couple months ago when you told your big brother Liam you’d run out of room in the old one. Like usual when he sends you sketchbooks, there are notes from family members and friends scattered on pages all around the book, one persons message per page. You love finding the notes and reading them over and over again. Suddenly a hand from behind plucks the blue pencil from your hand. “Hey!” You protest looking around to see Winnie Red and her friends. Winnie Red is a Slytherin girl in her 6th year. She’s a prefect. And you hate her with every inch of your heart and soul. “What’s this?” Winnie asks scrunching up her face as she turns the colored pencil over in fingers. “None of your business now give it back!” You shout at her. Luckily, none of the teachers are around this early in the morning. “Oh? Maybe you’re trying to distract yourself from the fact you can’t do magic.” Winnie states simply, looking at the colored pencil annoyed. “Maybe you’re finally replacing that junk you call a wand with this lame thing.” She continues holding your favorite blue pencil. You’re using that pencil to color in the hair of one of your friend’s back home. You’ve drawn your whole gang over the span of two pages facing each other, and its simply your best work yet. You’re using blue because of the Polaroid pictures spread out around you of your friends. One of your friends had recently dyed her hair a really medium shade of blue, light but sorta dark, and you have just the color for it. “That’s not at all what I’m doing, Winnie.” You say exasperated holding out your hand for the pencil back. Winnie refuses to give it back. Instead, she walks a bit to sit beside you and takes a picture. “Who’s this?” She asks rudely looking at it. “That’s Isabella one of my friends.” You say shrugging, like it’s not important. “Why’s her hair such an ugly shade of blue?” Winnie inquires squinting at it. That’s it. How dare she say that about Isabella. Winnie can insult you all she wants, but nobody, and you mean nobody, insults Isabella. Especially not on your watch. Right in front of you. “Hold it bitch.” You say snatching the photo back and scooping up the other Polaroid pictures. You put them into a little pocket in the back of your notebook and place your colored pencils in their case. Then, you place the case and the notebook into a little purse you’re wearing. You face Winnie once you’ve put away your supplies. “Wow you’re feisty today~” Winnie says teasing you by waving the blue pencil in front of your face. You’re turning pink with anger just thinking of Winnie’s hands all over your gift you got last week. “Gimme my pencil, Winnie.” You say through your teeth. “What is the little baby gonna cry~?” She teases using an over exaggerated baby voice. Her straight short red hair is shining in the sunlight. Maybe you can use that to your advantage… “Maybe, but only because the sun’s reflecting off the grease in your hair and burning my eyes.” You say in a snarky tone. “You’re just jealous your hair isn’t as wonderful as mine.” Winnie says brushing it off. How can she do that?! “Shut up and gimme my pencil!” You say angrily. And then, right in front of you, she places her other hand on the other end of the pencil, one hand on each side, holding it clasped between her thumb and pointer finger. “D-don’t…” you murmur defeated staring at the position of her hands. She’s going to break your pencil. But the reason these pencils are so special is because Isabella sent them… and that one blue pencil is the one Isabella signed. Each one of your friends has chipped in and carved their names lightly into a different pencil. And it is absolutely positively perfect…

~flashback~ You remember Isabella’s letter she sent you, which your big brother has graciously given to the owl as to not arouse suspicion. It asked a bunch of questions, one of them being “if you could relate each person you know and care about to one color out of these which would you:” and she listed about 120 different colors on so many separate sheets of paper. It took so many sheets for her to finish the list. You wrote down so many names, you forget how many, but about 52 pencils are signed and sent to you the following week by Isabella. These pencils mean the world to you. And with each pencil cams a Polaroid picture of the person who signed it, their name written out in their familiar handwriting underneath the image. This is the best gift you’ve ever received in all your time at Hogwarts. ~end of flashback~

You watch as Winnie bends the pencil and the snap of wood is heard. The sound echoes in your ears as you stare heartbroken at the two pieces of the pencil in Winnie’s hand. “Oops~.” Winnie says grinning her eyes narrowed at you. You stand up, wiping away your tears. “No problem, it can be-” you’re about to say fixed when Winnie takes out her wand and says an incantation, your pencil burning up and it’s ashes landing in a neat pile on the bench. You’re horrified by this. You run from the common room crying, until you break outside into the cold morning. You race to a weeping willow tree by the lake that you’ve been going to ever since your first year at Hogwarts. You pull your cloak tightly around you as you shiver, and walk over to the vine things you love to feel. They’re cold to the touch on your involved hand. You pull back and quickly push them aside as you dive into the canopy for cover. You go over to the trunk of the tree and sit down, leaning your back against it, wrapping yourself up in your cloak and pulling your hood down. You cry for hours. Eventually, around what seems like lunch time, you hear somebody calling your name. It’s George, your boyfriend. You sigh wishing there was an invisibility spell or potion or herb you could take instead of an invisibility cloak for the one millionth time since you arrived at Hogwarts. You get up quickly and run around to the back of the trees thick trunk. The tree is about 3 meters wide from the center point of the tree, which makes it diameter about 6 meters, which then gives you more than enough room to hide behind it. You hear the soft brush as the leaves are pushed aside and they fall back into place after being released, brushing against each other as they sway until they still. “(Y/n?)…?” You hear George’s voice. It sounds a little impatient and at the end of his line like he’s been looking for a long time. You try to remain silent and clamp your hands over your mouth. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend isn’t the type to give up easily. “(Y/n) come out lets go to lunch.” He calls out again. No. Just go away George! Then, the sound stops. Maybe he left and you were too busy thinking to hear it? Perhaps. You peer around the edge of the trunk and see nothing. You sigh relieved and turn around to see him glaring down at you, his arms crossed, tapping his foot. You scream startled and fall backwards onto your butt. “Oh my god, (y/n)! Are you okay?!” He asks his face losing any sign of anger and now filled with concern. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine…” you murmur. George holds out his hand to you and you graciously accept it. He pulls you to your feet and holds your hand as you use the other to wipe the dirt off your rear. “I don’t think you are…” he says worried. “Well, I am, so you can stop bothering me with pointless questions and accept my answer now.” You tell him with a rude attitude. George looks a little hurt by your manner towards him. “I’m sorry, sweetie, it’s just that now isn’t a good time for me. Okay?” You ask standing on your tip toes and cupping his cheek in your hand. He smile and places his hand on your cheek keeping it there. “Okay. Now let’s go get food.” He says lowering your hands and walking back to the Great Hall with you. But today’s not your lucky day, as that is the last place in Hogwarts you’d want to be…

Over the next couple weeks, slowly, Winnie destroys your colored pencils, sometimes one at a time, sometimes more like five or seven. All you can think about is the fact you’re running out. Even the ones you got your Hogwarts friends to sign are slowly becoming extinct. Your purse of art supplies is nearly barren.

~in your mind~ Inside your mind, in the imagination box where all your gears turn, you can just see cobwebs and dust in there, a teeny tiny tumbleweed floating across it randomly like a barren wasteland. In the mental movie in your mind, broken pencils lay in a pile in the corner of a dark abandoned room, and broken, ripped and faded pictures lay with them. Attached to each pencil by a piece of string put through the end of the pencil is a Polaroid picture of the friend it represented. The single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling of the room is shattered, glass littering the floor below it, and the chain used to turn it on lays snipped around the glass like a forgotten piece of rope. ~outside your mind~

You’re sitting in the library drawing as happily as you can. Your depression has worsened with Winnie on you all the time, 24/7. She doesn’t leave you alone, it seems. Her evil, grinning face burns in your mind every time you close your eyes. The image of all your pencils burning in her hands like bonfires scar you deeply. You hate feeling like this. You know how hard George tries to keep you happy and push away the depressing horrible thoughts. But you just can’t. You understand they’re just pencils and that you’re overreacting, but you can’t. Honestly, you don’t have the will power to put up with this much bullying. 47 days and counting. That’s how long this has been going on. Forty. Seven. Days. You’ve considered cutting again, but you remember how furious George got the last time you did. And he’ll be boiling with anger if he finds out it’s over something as worthless as a couple pencils. But to you, these are more than just colored pencils, they’re the spirit of your friends and they embody how deep your relationship goes with one another. It’s why you’ve hidden your favorite pencil as best you can. The one that means the most. The one that George signed. You look up hearing Winnie’s voice and sees her returning a few books on potion brewing to Madam Pince. She probably needs those considering how she’s failing potions class. Winnie’s red eyes catch yours and she smirks at you smugly and begins to walk over. Nah ah. Not today. You push your supplies into your bag hastily and lath the buckle as fast as your fingers can. Then, you shoot up out of your seat and take off sprinting. You can hear Winnie Red’s flat shoes coming up and down on the floor of the corridor behind you. You don’t dare to look behind you and see if she’s getting closer. You whimper and a soft pathetic sound escapes your mouth as you run into something hard. Two hands grip your arms preventing you from running anymore. The hands, connected to strong muscled arms, have you locked in place. The sleeves of your captor’s robes are rolled up to their elbows, and you can feel the calloused palms against your soft delicate s/c skin… It’s George… Winnie murmurs a small spell, “accio pencil.” Just like that, your beloved pencil sneakily slips out of your purse and into her waiting hand. “Why’re you running?” George asks his voice low. He’s hunched over, murmuring in your ear. Damn… he knows you can’t resist telling him when he does that. “I was running because I was being chased.” You reply honestly. George rolls his eyes at your cheeky little answer. “Nice try, my lovely little lady, now tell me why you’re running.” His voice has gotten lower, and more harsh. Something in it tells you he’s not in a good mood. The way he’s holding you makes him seem like a stranger. The grip is cold, and unforgiving. It’s scary. This isn’t your George. You don’t like this side of him. You attempt to pull away but the grip gets tighter. You’re confused by this. What’s going on with George? Usually he’s so sweet and caring to you. What happened? “I- I was running because I didn’t want Winnie to have my pencil.” You say at last quietly. George turns you around keeping you in place. “You mean the pencil she’s holding right now?” He asks coldly. You yell out in protest as for the last time, Winnie’s hands grip the pencil, and it snaps. Everything happens in slow motion for you. Seeing the wood break, and the jagged edges come apart like two puzzle pieces being separated. The bits of colored material dropping to the floor. George’s name in all capitals being broken in half… You break away from George as it goes up in flames and the pile of ash is there on the floor. George shakes his head surprised like he’s woken up from a dream. Then he sees you sink to your knees on the ground, scooping up the ashes in your hands. George walks towards you and reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder. “No!” You yell at him standing up and backing away, dropping the ashes of your precious pencil. “But (y/n) i can explain if you’ll just-” “Shut up and stay away from me! I don’t want you anywhere near me you cruel bastard!” You scream at him before running off sobbing. Winnie is standing there behind you laughing… A week has gone by and you still refuse to leave your dorm. You’ve had Luna bring you your meals because you’re afraid of seeing George and have to head him. So no. You’ll just stay up here in your room, under the cozy blankets, in your pajamas, and mourn the loss of your soul…

There's a soft knock on the door. "Who is iiiiiiiiit...?" You groan from under your pillows and blankets piled high on your bed. "It's me..." George admits sheepishly. Suddenly, your super bitch mode kicks on. "Uhm, sorry, but I don't know any person named 'me' at this school!" You tunnel deeper under all your covers and blankets. They are piled a meter high so you're hoping with you curled up in a ball like you are he won't happen to notice you in there. "(Y/n) I've apologized a thousand times!" George yells. "Please just forgive me so I can forgive myself!" "So I'm only here so you can forgive yourself now? Is that it?" "You know what's not true-" "But that is what you said." "Could you please stop finding loopholes already?!" "I dunno can you stop being such a jerk, son of a bitch, bastard who doesn't depend so much on me?!" "Stop being stupid!" And there's a large audible crash... that sounded all too much like the door... Suddenly somebody crawls under all the blankets and pillows and appears hovering over you. George is looking down at you, you're trapped underneath his limbs. "George just leave..." you murmur. "Don't make me force you to forgive me." He says teasingly. "Maybe you should try using your words and not your body you big oaf." You spit at him. These hurtful words are unfamiliar to you and taste like sour grapes on your tongue. "Look. I'm sorry. I drank some pumpkin juice Winnie put a weird potion in, and I should've recognized that it wasn't pumpkin juice that was just the color of green beans. I'm just a stupid, moronic, jock who isn't good with girls and really likes you a lot. I'm such an idiot please please please forgive me... and if you don't, if you move on and love another man, I will not stop loving you... and i won't end bugging you until you accept my apology... and nothing you can do can ever make me stop-" You silence his meaningful rant with a slow, tender, passionate kiss. You've been aching to feel his lips for a week. How could you deprive yourself of this lovely need...? His hands fly to your head and he buries his hands in your (h/l) hair. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck and you pull him down smashing your lips closer together. When the two of you pull apart, you're gasping for air. "Woah..." you breathe. "Good woah or bad woah?" George asks concerned. "Good woah like do that again!" You say rolling on top of him and kissing him passionately, your hands on his cheeks so he can't look anywhere but at you. A few weeks later when the mail comes, your lovely owl Ophelia drops a package in front of you. You have a wild grin on your face thinking about what it could be. Suddenly, you feel arms wrapped around your waist. "Hey babe. Wanna take this to your dorm and see what's inside it?" George asks happily. "Yes of course I do!" You reply excitedly wondering what it is. George picks up the huge box and carries it to your room for you. It's obviously heavy, you can see the struggle on his face when he sets it down on your neatly made bed. You take your pocket knife and cut open the top happily taking out a huge box of newly signed colored pencils! "Oh- w-what?!- how- when- how did she- but I didn't- COLORED PENCILS!" You say flustered and happily brunch up and down. George grins seeing your smile. "George did you do this..?" You ask incredulously. "Well, I stole your little contacts book and wrote a letter to Isabella explaining how there was a tiny Fire and how they accidentally got caught in it, how nobody was harmed but how you were so horribly devastated that your beloved pencils were broken.." George admits blushing and scratching the back of his neck. "Oh you're the best boyfriend a girl could ask for!" You say happily jumping up hugging him. "Wait... oh... but what if Winnie tries to burn them again...?" You ask nervously looking up at him. "If that bitch comes anywhere near you or those beloved pencils she'll be dealing with me and the rest of the Weasleys, Potters, Grangers, Lovegoods, and Longbottoms." George tells you smirking and wrapping his arms around your waist. "Wow... I've never felt so at home..." you mutter leaning your head on his chest. "You've got a home in my heart, (y/n), hats where you'll always belong..." "Can I still doodle away my problems instead of using brute force?" You ask innocently. "If they're small yes. You can't always draw away the depression and disappointment, you know. Avoiding them makes it worse. You shouldn't feel embarrassed by them, you should be okay with owning up to your problems and letting others help you..." George explains patting down your bed head that still hasn't gone down. "Okay, dear..." you say before sitting down on your bed and finish coloring in another picture. "What is that of?" George asks pointing at the two pages facing in at each other. On one page, are all your friends from the muggle world. And on the other, is everyone you know and love from Hogwarts. In big, amazingly neat and ridiculous letters you wrote the names of the schools over each group of friends. "This is all my friends from my old school and Hogwarts." You say smiling. "That's my girl..." George says and kisses your forehead.

[beloved-hogwarts-fiction-blog]

The Perfect Reading Spot (George X Reader)

You’re sitting down on the couch in the commons reading a copy of an old fairytale your grandmother sent to you earlier this week in the mail. You’ve been so weighed down with homework, you haven’t gotten a proper chance to start the book. This has upset you a little since it’s your absolute all time favorite book. But now, at last, you can finally read this treasure. You’re comforted by the soft upholstering of the couch, you practically melt into the cushions. Your head is propped up by a thick pillow you’d brought down from your dorm. Ordinarily, you would love to read up there, but one of your best mates Ophelia has a nasty cold and when she breathes in and out she makes a loud sound that makes it impossible to concentrate. So you’re reading here on the couch of the Gryffindor Common Room. It’s not too bad you suppose. The crackling fire gives off more heat than you can muster curled up under your blankets in your bed. And there’s a window where you have a perfect view of the Stars. Yeah… you like it out here… it’s not bad… You’re deeply obsessed in the book when you hear a noise. You look up over the top of your book to see George looking you in the eyes. You can always tell which one of them it is. To be honest, it’s quite easy. George is more of a prankster and can be less considerate, and Fred is a tad more kind and he is much more concerned with people’s well being. “Uh… h-hello George…” you mumble nervously. Your knees are pulled in and from your waist down you’re covered by a fuzzy red blanket. You blush a little at being caught reading at this hour of the morning. No doubt he’s going to tease you about it. That’s not the only reason you’re blushing. Ever since you’d met the charming red headed boy in your first year, you’d had a small crush on him. And as the years dragged on, your crush had grown and grown until you couldn’t even think of moving on. You’re staring into his gorgeous eyes, entranced by how the firelight makes them shine. “Y/N. What’re you reading?” George asks running two fingers over the top of the book. He’s smirking at you. You snap out of your trance and look at how close his hands are to yours. Oh no. You start to stammer out answer, not getting past two words without having to try to start again. “So are you going to tell me or…?” George pressed on drawing his face closer to yours. He’s hovering over you now, his legs on either side of your legs, one hand by your side, and keeping one hand on the book. You blush harder. You’re trapped. “Uh-uh-uhm…” you start but you just angle the book so he can read the cover. George’s eyes move slowly reading the cover. “A collection of fairytales? I never thought you’d be the kind to read that crap.” He states, sitting back down on the other side of the couch. You’re hurt. Your fairytales aren’t crap! They’re beautiful adventures in worlds you wished you belonged in! How could he… George looks at you with his bored, annoyed expression. Then something changes. It’s a look of fear, worry… and it’s directed at you. You realize you’re tearing up again. Damn your oversensitive personality! You stand up off the couch in a hurry to escape George’s look. He jumps off the couch. “Y/N, I’m so sorry! I didn’t-” but he’s much too late. You sprint out of the room crying, clutching your beloved book to your chest. You don’t look behind you, and you don’t pay much attention as to where you’re going. You race through the halls silently crying, until you find an empty broom closet. You step inside and sink to the ground, where you pull your knees in and place your head on it. You have no sense of time in the closet. It’s dark. Black inky color engulfs you. You don’t know where you are in the school, but you don’t care. Just as long as you escape that jerk George! How dare he insult the book your grandmother gave to you! That’s when you realize something… you don’t have the book. You must’ve dropped it somewhere while you were running! Oh no. A shame. You hope that bloody bastard Malfoy doesn’t find it. If he lays a finger on that book you’ll crush him! You continue to cry throughout the day, aware of the headache it’s caused you. Colored spots dance before your eyes from being in the dark so long. You can vaguely sense your stomach rumbling, but you don’t care to step out of this closet. You’re a mess! You can’t let the world see you like this! Besides, you’re too far away from the Gryffindor Common Room to get there without being noticed. And if you did, all your mates would question as to why you’re crying. You’re just not ready to deal with that pressure quite yet…

~meanwhile with George and the others~ “You what?!” Hermione screeched hearing George retell the whole story for the third time that hour. She throws a death glare at him. “I don’t know what I did! I just said it was crap and she took off crying! I don’t see what he big deal is it’s just a stupid book of fairytale shit!” He protested waving his arms around. Ron and Harry exchanged worried glances. “That wasn’t just some old storybook, George.” Harry starts. “Y/N’s grandmother sent it to her.” His voice is grave and low. “So what?” George asks. “It’s a book from her grandmother that’s all.” He can be so careless and rude sometimes. “You don’t understand…” Ron adds onto what Harry said previously. “Her grandmother died recently, and she left that for Y/N in her will. That’s all Y/N has left of her grandmother.” Ron informs George. “Oh bloody hell im an idiot!” George exclaims facepalming. His face is twisted in regret and disappointment. “And I acted like such an ass… why am I so stupid…” he murmurs to himself. George looks up at his friends. “I have to find her.” “We’ll help you out bro!” Fred offers encouragingly. “No.” George replies harshly. “This is all my fault. I should be the one to find her. If I don’t find her writhing five hours, then you can come looking for me. Understand?” He watches as his friends and peers nod agreeing to his terms. George spins on his heel and darts out of the common room in search of you… George runs for what seems like forever when he slips on something on the ground. George looks behind him to see your book of fairytales laying on the ground. He gasps and picks it up. George looks around. “She has to be close..” he murmurs to himself. George suddenly hears something. Small, quiet sobs, and recognizes as yours. He sprints off in your direction. ~in the broom closet~ You’re still on the ground crying. You have yet to pull yourself together. Suddenly, you hear the closet door being opened and look up to see George’s worried, sweaty, distraught face. It’s etched with relief and sorrow. “I’m so sorry Y/N! I didn’t realize how important the book was to you! It was wrong of me to say those things I did!” George steps into the closet and kneels down beside you. He takes your hands in his, setting down your book beside you. “I’m stupid, and inconsiderate, and a total ass! I don’t know if you can ever forgive me for what I’ve done to you because I know I wont, but I want you to know I apologize from the bottom of my heart!” His voice is cracking slightly. You can tell he’s sad and horrified by his actions. You take a deep, shaky breath, and look him in his enchanting eyes. “I will always forgive you George Weasley. No matter what mistake you may make, I will constantly, forgive you.” You tell him quietly. George let’s a small smile break across his face. He pulls you up to your feet and looks down at you. Your eyes are locked and nobody is moving. “Then forgive me for this next mistake.” George whispers.

He leans in and gently connects your lips. You smile and mold your lips to kiss him back. Finally… he’s yours… “I don’t forgive you for that.” You say quietly. “I didn’t expect you to.” George whispers back in a mischievous teasing voice. The next morning you sneak down to the couch again to read. This time George is already waiting. “Hey Y/N!” He says excitedly. You smile and sit down in your reading spot. George crawls over and curls up to you. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into him so your two frames are molded together in one comfortable mass. “Hello to you to. What are you doing awake at this hour?” You ask him puzzled. He looks embarrassed and shy. He’s blushing. This sparks your curiosity and holds your interest on the subject even more. “I was… I was wondering if… perhaps… you would read me a story? From your book? Please, Y/N?!” George pleads giving you puppy eyes. You smile and roll your e/c eyes. “Sure George.” You open your book and read to him. After about four stories you hear a quiet little sound. You look at George. He’s snoring. Poor thing has fallen asleep. You smile and close your book, placing it on the armrest of the couch. “This is the perfect reading spot…” you tell yourself happily. And you fall asleep snuggled up to George. The perfect ending.