#when the Christmas songs are ones we hear constantly and the Hanukah ones are ones nobody's ever heard before

[atwitchyship]

working with kids before xmas break

Cannot wait until this week is over and the kids go on break. They're all going bananas this week, nothing's really getting learned, but also they're not following basic instructions, like getting dressed to go outside- and there's limited time to go outside!

Like, if I could? They'd have two recesses a day. But there's only a certain amount of playground, and a lot of kids who want to use it. And we can combine classes to a certain extent, but toddlers really can't play while there are Elementary kids out there.

So my crazy kiddos aren't getting enough run-around time, and instead they're going nuts cooped up inside. Two more days until vacation.

[geordiewrites]

Exile | George Weasley

Summary: Y/N catches sight of her ex-boyfriend, George Weasley, at his older brother’s wedding after exactly one year apart. Based on Exile by Taylor Swift and Bon Iver :).

A/N: This isn’t directly linked to the song, but its certainly inspired by it as it’s about two ex-lovers seeing each other again at Bill and Fleur’s wedding and how they feel when they see each other again and shit like that. It’s very angsty, since I’m unable to write anything else hehe, and I do enjoy a good angsty story! Hope you all had a great Hanukah and Christmas, or any other events you celebrate too in December and fading into the new year. Also my requests are now open, go wild xox.

Warnings: angst and a hell of a lot of it, swearing, drinking. Let me know if I’ve missed any!

-

Y/N’s hands gripped a pristine glass of mulberry red wine so hard it seemed as though it would smash. Her Y/H/C shone in the dim candlelight of the marquee she was awkwardly standing in the corner of, fervently wishing she had politely declined the invitation to Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour’s wedding that she had received a few months prior. It seemed like a good idea at the time, just to be in the same room as all the people she had let down twelve months before and simply survive the palpable tension. But now she was there, Y/N couldn’t think of anything worse.

She could see where George was, dancing with some blonde girl from Hogwarts that Y/N didn’t care enough to remember the name of. Just seeing his arm slung lazily around the girl’s waist was enough to make sticky bile rise up in her throat.

Exactly one year had passed since Y/N had abruptly ended her whirlwind engagement with George Weasley, the younger brother of Bill, who’s wedding it was. Granted the ceremony was beautiful, with a huge marquee tent in a meadow of autumn flowers on a poignant, warm afternoon, but Y/N couldn’t feel anything but uncomfortable and out of place around her ex-boyfriend’s dotting family. It had been a messy breakup, with Y/N running away to France in fear of the brewing war and leaving George behind with it.

She had lived in Paris for eleven months, stewing over the pain of losing George by her own sword. But she couldn’t go back. Being both muggleborn and associated with a pureblood, even if he was a Weasley, was dangerous to say the least. So many years were spent with Y/N constantly getting put down for her purity, even in the supposed sanctuary of Hogwarts. She had never said anything to George. He wouldn’t have understood anyway. And so, she agreed to marry him. Agreed to wear the diamond ring he could barely afford, and agreed to a life she didn’t want. One she had never wanted.

It didn’t occur to her that she was too scared to go through with it until her clandestine bag was packed for France, and the words ‘I can’t marry you’ tumbled from her lips.

Draining the rest of the dark wine until her glass was completely empty as a distraction, Y/N barely noticed a tall, redheaded man move to stand next to her with a crooked smile close to George’s own.

“So, how have you been?” The man said, making Y/N snap to attention in surprise before having to force herself not to smile. She wanted to, but Fred Weasley wasn’t somebody she entirely expected to try and talk to her after what went down between herself and his twin brother.

“Fine, you?” Y/N replied hotly after a moment of hesitation, pouring another large glass of wine. Her voice was clipped as if she didn’t want to be talking to him, and her eyes were careful not to meet his.

“Better than ever. It’s nice to see you, Y/N.” Fred mused with a brutal honesty that made her want to spit out her drink. “Truly, I’ve missed you.”

“Not usually something a guy says to his twin brother’s ex.” Y/N chuckled in return. “Especially me, for that matter. Out of curiosity, did he ever tell you what actually happened?” She continued worriedly. Breaking up with George was the hardest thing she had ever done, the hardest thing she would ever have to do, and it was the messiest, most gut-wrenching breakup either of them would face. The details of it... she just dually hoped Fred didn’t know them. Really she hoped nobody but herself and George did.

“Of course he did.” Fred said, but he’s lying. Y/N knows he’s lying from the way he scratched his nose: it’s his tell, but she goes along with it anyway.

“Oh really?”

“Obviously, why wouldn’t he?”

“Well...” Y/N trailed off, making Fred both curious and suspicious.

“Alright I lied. He hasn’t said a word, just told us you two split up and the engagement was off. What didn’t he tell me about, Y/N?”

-

“Why are you doing this? We’ve set a date, Y/N, October fifteenth next year. Please, just don’t leave me.” George begged, years streaming down his face as his hands clutched Y/N’s shoulders, as if he was desperately clinging to something that was already gone. “We can work through this, we can.”

Shaking off his hands, Y/N moved away from him with a deep cold spreading through her icy veins. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to marry you, I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“What are you saying?” George asked simply. It was almost rhetorical in the complicated tangle of feelings that Y/N couldn’t decipher herself could never be expressed in speech.

“I’m saying I’m leaving. Leaving you, leaving this goddamn country where people want to fucking kill me for something I can’t control.” Y/N cried, but there are no tears from her. Her eyes are dry, as is her throat and her skin feels parched, drained of all moisture and blood and richness. “I’m going to France.”

“France? Y/N, just calm down. You can’t go to France.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I love you. And you can’t leave me, Y/N, please.” George continued, not meaning to be possessive but it just came out that way. Y/N used to like it, but now it just feels like a gilded cage. Have the marriage but don’t be free. Have the husband but don’t be safe. Have the life while others are slaughtered, and you might be next. She was done with it all.

“Funnily enough that isn’t your decision. I’m going to France, I’m going away from this war, from Dumbledore and the Order constantly expecting me to just be okay with everything, when I’m not.” Y/N ranted, waiting a few seconds to see if he would continue. When he didn’t, she carried on yelling, wanting him to know why she was leaving for good. “I’m not okay that they want me to just fight aimlessly all the goddamn time. I’m not okay that you think I’m some goddess when I’m so fucking terrified. I’m not okay that nobody sees that people are about to die, and I’m the most likely out of all of us to do exactly that-“

“Don’t say that. We will get through this war.” George replied, but Y/N was already at the door with her suitcase handle clutched in her colourless hand.

“No, we won’t. I’m sorry, but I’m so done. I can’t take it and I’m leaving-“

“You’re running away.” George said in a tone that made Y/N clutch at the roots of her hair.

“Of course I am. Don’t be pathetic, George, of course I’m running away from my inevitable death.”

“You won’t-“

“No, I won’t. I’m not going to die aged 20 because I’m not going to let them have the opportunity.” There was a beat before Y/N finally spoke the last words George would hear from her for the next year. “Goodbye George, all the best.”

All the best, George thought bitterly as she slammed the door, ready to rush to the airport. All the fucking best.

-

Fred watched as Y/N flinched, her shoulders tensing for a brief second before she airily smiled, an action even he could see was very clearly forced. Noticing she wasn’t going to answer his question, Fred asked yet another. “Where have you been for the last twelve months?”

“Paris.” Y/N chuckled darkly, feeling her heart clench as George kissed the blonde woman on the forehead. Her soft smile faded and an involuntarily frown settled on her delicate features. “In France.”

“I know where bloody Paris is, just wasn’t expecting that. Why Paris exactly?” Fred pressed, and Y/N had consumed just the perfect amount of mulled wine to be in the talkative, tipsy stage of inebriated. Perhaps getting piss drunk hadn’t been the best plan.

“There’s not a war in Paris.” She answered honestly, feeling the urge to laugh as Fred’s face flickered between shock and disappointment, almost identically to how George’s had one year previous.

“You ran away.”

“Yep.” She said, idly popping the ‘p’ and smudging her crimson lipstick slightly.

“But you’re back.”

“Also yes. I decided not to be a coward for any longer.” Y/N giggled tipsily, placing a chaste hand on his arm to steady herself, but to the untrained eye it appeared she was flirting with him. While Fred knew this wasn’t the case, another ginger across the room didn’t know as such, and felt a pang of all too familiar pain as his eyes landed on his ex-fiancé. “Alright Freddie, I feel a bit hot. I’m just gonna head outside for a minute or two.”

Fred barely had time to nod before Y/N swanned out of the room, her deep red dress clinging to her sensuous curves as she walked. She certainly stood out against a crowd of bland, Weasley-like fabrics from their family, and combined with her Y/H/C, Y/N was very easy to spot in the wedding. George watched as she left the tent to go stand just outside the entrance, strands of her hair fluttering around sharp cheekbones just visible past the marquee. With a quick apology to his blonde girlfriend, George rushed out after her.

Seeing Y/N again after exactly one year was similar to getting hit by a bus. It was exhilarating and melancholy and a whole other myriad of emotions that George was too mentally immature to comprehend. He didn’t even realise he was standing outside, just beside her before he was there. She looked almost exactly the same, except for the smudged red berry lipstick across her cheek. Y/N noticed he was there and stared adamantly at the ground, not knowing exactly why he was there or what he wanted.

“You’re here.” George said, his tone making it a statement far more than a question. Y/N nodded silently, not finding the courage to look at him for fear she would just spontaneously start sobbing. She hadn’t during their breakup, or even after during the mourning period, but right now she felt tears threatening to spill. “Why are you here exactly?”

“It’s a wedding.” She said, again more of a menial, random statement than an answer to his question.

“Yes, I realised that.” George snapped irritably. “The shop is doing brilliantly considering everything going on. And I have a girlfriend. She’s called Angelina, a Quidditch player-“

Unable to take it anymore, an elastic string pulled taunt in Y/N’s heart tore clean in two. “Why the fuck are you telling me this?”

“Wanted you to know.” George said after a significant beat.

“To hurt me.” Y/N muttered venomously, her eyes squeezing shut for a brief second. “Well congrats.”

“Didn’t know you had enough feelings to be hurt.” George cruelly replied. He knew it was beyond harsh, that it was pathetic considering how long it had been, but seeing Y/N looking quite to radiant had brought up a number of old feelings from their breakup right back.

“You know I came here to try and be in the room with these people again. You, your family. Turns out, I can’t.” Y/N said, tears beginning to fall from her eyes, lips tightened into a thin line. “It’s impossible to be near you.”

“It’s good to see you.” George mumbled, so quietly she wasn’t even sure that he had said it out loud. “I mean it.”

“That’s a change of tone.” She laughed, and even that simple sound was enough to make George smile, however much he wanted to be mad at her. “I thought you would hate me.”

“I do.” He smirked, making her laugh again in a way only he could. In a way both of them had dearly missed. “I really do, but I also missed you. Missed your laugh, your smile, your stupid shoes. I never understood why you needed more than one pair of shoes.”

“For the sake of fashion.” She said.

“You haven’t changed a bit.” He whispered, a saccharine mist clouding his hazel eyes as she brought herself to look at him for the first time, and not at the floor. He was older, not in looks but there was a tinge more wisdom held in solemn eyes. Even though he was smiling, he just looked sad. “You’re still beautiful to me. Even though I hate you.”

“I hate you too.” Y/N said, but her tone is soft and almost loving in it’s insinuation. Her heart swelled as she realised he had called her beautiful. “But you can’t call me beautiful when you have a gorgeous girlfriend waiting for you inside.”

“I do, and she’s wonderful.” George said. But there it was again, that sadness that only Y/N could possibly ever notice. Even then, nobody knew him as well as she did. Not even his new girlfriend. “But she’s not you.”

“Nobody ever will be.” Y/N laughed arrogantly, but it was utterly truthful at the same time. Nobody would ever be who Y/N was to George during their relationship, but even she wasn’t that person anymore. She was still Y/N, but a different version. The one he had fallen in love with was gone, and in her place was Angelina.

“Why’d you leave Paris?” George asked.

“I didn’t want to be scared anymore.”

“You were always braver than you gave yourself credit for, Y/N.” George complimented, making her face flush with a rosy glow. Her eyes were hazy with alcohol and a want for something she had forfeited so stupidly. Her lips were in a slight pout, and she gave him a look he had only seen a few rare times before. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I want you to kiss me. Will you? For old times sake?” Y/N asked, her face just a few brave centimetres from his. George wouldn’t have to do much to close the gap between them, and the urge to feel her lips against his for a final time was too overwhelming, like chugging red wine. Forbidden, something he wasn’t supposed to ever do but it was so duplicitously tempting and devilishly irresistible.

George was kissing her before he knew what was happening, adrenaline coursing through his veins. A warmth spread throughout Y/N’s entire body, fuelled by passion and sadness. His hands found her waist, sending involuntary tingles up her spine and back down again to her coccyx, the fabric of her dress riding up slightly so when he moved her hand lower, it just grazed her thigh. The kiss was treacherous, but as addictive as any drug that George had ever heard of. He couldn’t imagine anything both worse and better.

But it wasn’t a kiss of cheating in intention or action really, it was a kiss of goodbye. A kiss of hello to an old soulmate as he departed their chapter in his life, and finally let go of Y/N. A kiss of want and of love eventually disappearing forever. A kiss of teenage infatuation, of snogging in abandoned classrooms and first times in the Room Of Requirement, young and in love. A kiss of unspoken words and emotions, of ‘I want you but I hate you’ and ‘I love you but I left you’. A kiss of finally portraying unspeakable emotions that neither could understand. Perhaps they never would.

When their lips parted, George walked off without speaking. He just quickly made sure her lipstick wasn’t anywhere on his skin and walked seamlessly back into the party, sweeping Angelina off her feet as he once did with Y/N. As he now finally didn’t wish he was doing with Y/N. That chapter was closed, that storybook finally completely written and the ink had run dry. Angelina was who he wanted now, who he had now and who he loved now.

Y/N was a memory of George’s first love, while George was the memory of the biggest mistake Y/N would ever make. He was a reminder of who she lost, but also of who she could find again with someone else. Someone she was ready to marry, and ready to get through the war with. She hadn’t found them yet, but someday she would. She was sure of it.

At least for now, George wasn’t a part of her thoughts. He wasn’t a part of her dreamless sleeps or of her worst nightmares. He simply existed, and that was the best she could’ve asked for by even attending the wedding in the first place. George was a part of her life that was over now.

And Y/N was so ready for the next chapter, however messy and painful it could be. She was finally ready.