the burrow
You arrive to the burrow in a whirlwind of smoke and Floo powder. Harry falls onto his hands and knees to brace himself, as Fred steps in to give him a hand.
"Did he eat it?" Fred asks eagerly, eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Yeah. What was it?"
While the twins explain the effects of Ton-Tongue toffee, you let your eyes wander around the kitchen. Both Bill and Charlie are also present, sitting at the table adjacent to Ron and George, who are laughing amongst themselves. You make eye contact with the latter, and George immediately smiles at you in return.
The rest of the day goes by fairly quickly, with Mrs. Weasley shaming the two twins about their antics, while Ron explains how they had been expanding on their so called "products" they had been working on all summer. You remember George sending you letters over the summer, explaining the batches they had been developing together.
"Only, most of the stuff was a bitdangerous," Ron told you.
"And, you know, they were planningto sell it at Hogwarts to make some money, and Mum wentmad at them. Told them they weren't allowed to make anymore of it, and burned all the order forms. She's furiousat them anyway. They didn't get as many O.W.L.s as sheexpected."
Today supper consisted of potatoes and chicken ham pie, with a side of salad. You opt to go to the bathroom quickly, while Ron helps his mother in the kitchen. You look at yourself in the mirror and immediately, your eyes are drawn to your soot covered clothes and face. You sigh, turning the sink on and letting the warm water slip through your fingers like silken cloth.
"Oi, you alright?" A familiar voice asks, George's voice carrying over the noise as he leans casually against the doorframe. His freckled face softens with amusement as he takes in the state of your hair, the mess of soot that had accumulated around your shoulders.
"Just fine, just... probably need a shower," you answer, laughing, brushing your hands through your tangled hair. He chuckles at that and pushes off the doorframe, his shoes tapping lightly on the floor as he approaches.
"Come on, then," he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Let's get you cleaned up before Mum starts trying to brew up a potion for it."
"Wouldn't put it past her," you joke, rolling your eyes. You had known the Weasley family long enough to know that Molly was always full of remedies for just about everything you could get yourself into.
"Upstairs, then," he says with a mock salute, gesturing towards the stairs. Without hesitation, you follow him. His stride is easy, confident, but there's a kind of playfulness in the way he moves, like he's always on the verge of a prank, even when he isn't. You walk behind him, your footsteps light as you navigate the cluttered house, the air filled with the smell of potatoes wafting from the kitchen.
At the top of the stairs, George pauses and turns to you with his hands raised. "Alright, I'm not gonna lie, it's a bit of a mess in there, but you'll survive."
You raise an eyebrow, but say nothing, already prepared for the chaos of his room. As you step into the room, it's exactly as you remembered: cluttered with half-finished joke products, rolling papers, and countless trinkets. You softly smile as you recognize the magical portrait of you and the two twins in third year sitting on his nightside table.
But there, on the small wooden table by the window, is something out of place. It's a small, neatly wrapped box. Simple, but tied with a neat piece of orange twine, a far cry from the usual mess that fills the room at the moment.
You blink, momentarily distracted. George clears his throat behind you, and you turn back to him, the curious expression on your face not escaping him.
"Got you something," he says, scratching the back of his neck. His usual grin is quite softened, a small blush creeping up his neck. It's so unlike him, this almost shy side of George. You feel your heart give a little skip, but you push it aside. You and George had been friends since second year, always joking, always teasing, and always sharing little moments, but it was never anything serious, never anything more than that.
"Really?" you ask, a little unsure, but mostly curious.
"Yeah, really." He motions to the box as if to unwrap it, his smile returning to its usual playful self. "Go on, open it."
You hesitate, feeling a slight flutter in your chest as you unwrap the small box. Inside, nestled on a bed of soft, yet quite frayed, fabric, is a worn, leather-bound notebook. The cover is scratched in places, its edges frayed from years of use, and you immediately recognize the familiar set of three letters etched in the corner of the cover.
W W W
It's the notebook you and the twins used to share.
You stare at it for a moment, the memories flooding back—late nights spent scribbling down notes, ideas for pranks, and sketches of jokes that only the two of you could understand. It was from a time when you and the twins had been inseparable, the three of you constantly in cahoots, plotting mischief with every free moment.
"This is..." you begin, your voice soft.
"Where did you find this?"
George gives you a small shrug, avoiding your eyes for a moment, but the warmth in his gaze says more than words could. "Fred found it while cleaning out some old stuff. I thought you might want it back. Thought you might've missed it."
You feel a lump form in your throat. It had been years since you'd even looked at that notebook, but seeing it now, the nostalgia hit you harder than you'd expected. George had always been the one to come up with most of the ideas, and you'd been the one to jot them down, organizing and refining them. The notebook had been a shared project, a representation of all those late night brainstorms and laughter-filled moments. The three of you had been so in sync together back then.
"Thank you," you whisper, your fingers gently running over the worn cover. You glance up at George, who is watching you with a quiet expression. There's something deeper in his brown eyes now, something thoughtful and almost protective.
George givess you a small smile. "You're welcome," he says, his voice a little softer than usual. "I thought you'd like it. It's not just mine to give to you, anyways."
You nod, feeling the weight of the memories pressing gently against your chest.
"You didn't have to," you say softly, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "But I'm really glad you did."
George shrugs again, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "You've always been good with those ideas. I figured you could use it again." His tone lightens, a bit of the usual mischief creeping back in. "Besides, Fred wanted you to have it as well."
You smile at that, the bittersweet feeling of growing up lingering in your chest, but also the quiet gratitude. For a moment, you don't say anything, just sitting there holding the notebook, feeling the familiar weight of it in your hands.
"Ready for the Quidditch Cup tomorrow?" George asks, breaking the silence as he leans against the doorframe once more. The question is casual, but you can hear the excitement in his voice.
"Definitely," you reply, feeling your heart flutter again as the thought of the tournament fills your mind.
"It'll be a good distraction."
"Good distraction or not, keep an eye on Fred and me, yeah?" George adds, his grin returning.
"We're bound to get into something. You'll probably have to save us again."
You laugh, shaking your head. "I'll try not to, but I make no promises."
"You're a good friend," George says, though his voice softens again.
Without thinking, you take a step toward him, your arms reaching out before your mind can catch up. George blinks in surprise, but you don't hesitate. You pull him into a tight hug, feeling the warmth of him seep through the layers of clothing between you.
He tenses for a brief second, then his arms slowly wrap around you, a comfortable weight settling around you both. His chin rests lightly on your shoulder, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of cinnamon and floo powder, something so distinctly George. The world outside the Burrow fades away as you let yourself hold him, relishing in the moment of just being close.
For a brief second, it's like the noise of the house, the hustle of the Quidditch Cup preparations, the whole world, just falls away. There's only the two of you, and for a split second, you think about how much this small gesture means.
The hug, the notebook, the quiet care that George never says aloud but always shows in the smallest ways.
You close your eyes for a moment, savoring the comfort, the steady rise and fall of his chest as you hold onto him. It's not romantic—not yet, not really—but it's something deeper, something that feels just as important. You never realized how much you needed this simple connection until now, until you let yourself stay in the warmth of it.
"Thanks, George," you say softly, not letting go just yet.
He gives a quiet hum of acknowledgment, his arms tightening around you for a second before he pulls away slightly, enough to meet your eyes. He grins, the playful glint back in his eyes, though there's something a little softer in the way he looks at you now.
"You better not make me all sentimental, or I'll start getting all sappy," he teases, his voice light, but you can hear the genuine affection behind it.
You chuckle, finally pulling back fully, but not before giving him one last smile. "Don't worry, I won't. Let's go before your mum starts hunting us down for dinner."
George raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Right, wouldn't want that. After all, we wouldn't want to miss out on Mum's cooking."
The two of you make your way downstairs and outside, where Bill and Charlie seemed to be dueling with tables. You and the twins cheer them on as they smash them together. At one point Percy sticks his head outside his window to cuss them out, and that marks the end of the table duels.
At seven o'clock, the table is finally set and loaded with heaps of food, and you all sit down to eat, Mrs. Weasley yelling something about Bill's so called "hideous" earring.
The air is filled with the sounds of laughter and clinking silverware, the soft hum of conversation flowing between mouthfuls. You're nestled comfortably between Fred and George, their usual banter providing a familiar background noise to the busy atmosphere. Molly hovers nearby, making sure everyone has enough to eat, her warm smile always present.
After a few minutes of quiet eating, Molly suddenly clears her throat, drawing everyone's attention.
"I just want to say," she begins, her voice carrying softly across the table, "how happy I am to have guests with us this summer. You know, when you spend enough time with someone, they become like family." Her eyes flicker briefly to you, and she smiles warmly. "And I'm so glad the both of you decided to stay with us this year. It's like having two more of my own around the table."
You feel a rush of warmth, the words a little unexpected but deeply appreciated. You look up at her, giving a small smile, unsure of how to respond, but her gaze is soft and genuine.
"It's really good to be here," you manage, your voice quiet but sincere. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."
Molly's smile widens, her eyes twinkling as she pats your hand affectionately. "Of course, dear. We love having you. And with the Quidditch World Cup right around the corner, I'm thrilled you both get to be here with us. It's such a treat."
You glance at Harry, sitting across from you, and catch his eye. He looks a bit awkward under the attention but offers you a small grin. "Yeah," he says, sounding a little more relaxed, "I still can't believe I'm going, to be honest."
The Weasleys begin to talk about Viktor Krum, who happened to be playing this year at the cup. You overhear Charlie talking to Harry about who he thinks is going to win.
"It's got to be Ireland," says Charlie thickly, through his potato. "They flattened Peru in the semifinals."
"Bulgaria has got Viktor Krum, though," Fred retorts.
"Krum's one decent player, Ireland has got seven," says Charlie shortly. "I wish England had got through. That wasembarrassing, that was."
"What happened?" says Harry eagerly.
Both the twins and Charlie explain the events that happened during the infamous Transylvania match.
Ron, who's been quietly picking at his plate, suddenly glances up and says, almost offhandedly, "I heard Krum's been training like mad for the World Cup. He's probably going to be even better than last time. They say he's unbeatable."
Fred raises an eyebrow at this, clearly amused by the tone of Ron's voice, which is trying, unsuccessfully, to sound casual. George immediately catches on, exchanging a knowing look with Fred. They don't even need to say anything aloud before the teasing begins.
"Oh?" Fred says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So you've been keeping up with Krum's training regimen, have you, Ron?"
George leans in, smirking. "Yeah, seems like you've been tracking his every move. Got a poster of him up on your wall too, mate?"
Ron immediately reddens but tries to play it off, shrugging nonchalantly. "I'm just saying, he's a good player. Everyone knows that."
Fred snickers. "Right, right. Just a good player. That's why you've got his stats memorized and you've been quoting him like he's the second coming of Merlin."
Ron shifts uncomfortably in his seat but can't seem to stop himself from adding, "Well, he is the best Seeker there is. You can't deny that."
George raises his glass with an exaggerated, mock-serious look. "And I'm sure you're just admiring his skills, right?"
"Absolutely," Fred adds, grinning. "It's definitely not because you've got a little crush on him, is it?"
Ron groans and throws his napkin at them. "Oh, shut up. I don't have a crush on Krum! I'm just... I'm just saying, the guy's talented. That's all."
You can't help but laugh as George leans toward you, his voice low but full of mischief. "So, does he also practice his Krum impression in front of the mirror? Should we start calling him 'Ron Krum' now?"
Fred bursts out laughing, nudging Ron's shoulder. "I think we've got a new fan club president right here. Too bad he's too shy to admit it."
Ron glares at them but can't hide the grin that sneaks onto his face despite his best efforts. "You're both insufferable."
At this, Fred and George immediately exchange a knowing look, grins spreading across their faces. You can almost hear their thoughts working in sync.
Fred, ever the instigator, raises his glass and grins. "To Ron Weasley," he says loudly, "for being the biggest Viktor Krum fan in the world!"
George, with his usual mischievous grin, leans toward you and whispers, "I'm surprised he hasn't hung up a poster of Krum in his room already."
You try to hide your laughter behind your hand, but you can't help it. Fred and George are relentless when it comes to teasing Ron, and now that Viktor Krum is involved, there's no mercy.
Ron groans, his face reddening. "I don't love him, alright?" he mutters, trying to defend himself. "I just... he's a good player, that's all."
You glance at Harry, who's chuckling, clearly enjoying the show.
"Oh, sure," George teases, "just a 'good player.' That's why you've been staring at the Daily Prophet articles about him for hours, yeah?"
Ron glares at his brothers but doesn't retort. Instead, he crosses his arms and mutters under his breath. "You're unbelievable."
Fred raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the discomfort he's causing. "Tell us, Ron, how many times have you practiced your 'Viktor Krum impression' in front of the mirror?"
Ron's face turns a deeper shade of red, and he shoots his brothers a glare, though he can't hide the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don't do a Krum impression."
"I'm sure you don't," George says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But if you do, we'll need to get a camera to capture it."
You try to stifle your giggles, but it's impossible. The twins never let up when they get a target in sight, and Ron's absolute exasperation just makes it funnier. He's clearly flustered, but it's hard to stay mad when Fred and George are this relentless.
"Alright, alright," Ron says, holding up his hands in surrender. "I get it. You're both ridiculous. But don't expect me to scream like a fan girl when Krum takes the field."
"Oh, don't worry, mate," Fred replies with a smirk, "we'll be sure to take lots of pictures of you doing just that."
"Maybe even get one of you holding up a 'Viktor, marry me!' sign," George adds, laughing as Ron slouches lower in his chair, trying to avoid further teasing.
Molly, who had been watching the exchange with a warm, amused smile, finally speaks up, her voice full of affection. "Alright, you lot. Let's not make poor Ron too embarrassed," she says, though the smile on her face shows no sign of stopping the teasing. "Let's raise a glass to all of you, Harry and our guest included, for being here with us and for the exciting days ahead."
Everyone raises their glasses, and Fred, not one to miss an opportunity, looks over at Ron and lifts his with a dramatic flourish. "To Ron, who's about to have his world rocked by Viktor Krum's flying skills."
George joins in with a wink. "And to the rest of us, who'll be forced to listen to Ron gush about it for the rest of the summer."
You chuckle, raising your glass toward Harry. "To the World Cup, and to all the trouble we're about to get into."
Fred and George both clink their glasses with yours, smirking. "To trouble, and to Krum," they add in unison, laughing as the rest of the table joins in.
As the laughter settles and the conversation turns back to lighter topics; Quidditch predictions, which team will take the Cup, and what to expect from the magical spectators. You feel a wave of contentment wash over you. There's something so effortlessly fun about being with the Weasleys.
George leans toward you again, his voice dropping low as he whispers, "Don't tell Ron, but I think he might actually cry when Krum makes that first catch."
You chuckle, shaking your head. "You're both awful."
"Just wait," he says, his eyes dancing with mischief. "It's going to be priceless."
Molly looks around, satisfied with the evening's festivities, and glances at a clock she's summoned with her wand. "Alright, everyone, I think it's time we start heading off to bed," she announces, her voice firm but affectionate. "You lot have got a big day ahead of yourselves tomorrow, and you and Harry will need your rest for the trip to the World Cup." She makes eye contact with you and smiles warmly. "We'll be teaching you both how to use a portkey first thing in the morning."
You nod, feeling the excitement in your stomach flutter at the mention of the Cup. It's still surreal that you're going to be there, and the thought of tomorrow's adventure makes it hard to stop grinning. But the exhaustion of the day starts to creep up on you, and the idea of a good night's sleep suddenly feels very appealing.
Harry, sitting across from you, gives a tired but happy smile. "Yeah, I've heard about portkeys, but I've never actually used one. Should be interesting."
Fred, who's leaning back in his chair, gives Harry a cheeky grin. "It'll be an experience, mate. Just make sure you don't end up landing in the middle of a paddock somewhere."
George chuckles beside you. "Oh, it's always an adventure with the portkeys. Don't worry, Harry, we'll make sure it's an exciting journey."
Fred gives you a quick wink, clearly enjoying the idea of the chaos that might ensue. "Get a good night's sleep, you two. You'll need it after we show you the ropes tomorrow."
Molly stands, hands on her hips as she surveys the table. "Alright, off you go, dears. No excuses. We'll be up early, and we need to be prepared. Get to bed and get some rest—especially you, Ron. You've got that early start tomorrow, too."
Ron groans but stands, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape. "Alright, alright, I'm going. Don't need to tell me twice."
You and Harry share a look, both of you still buzzing with the anticipation of what's to come, but it's clear the day is catching up with you both.
"Let's go, Harry," you say softly, standing up from the table and giving a slight stretch. The familiar hum of magic and excitement seems to hang in the air, but you feel the pull of your bed just as much as the excitement for the morning.
"Right behind you," Harry replies with a quiet laugh, rubbing his eyes as he stands. The two of you head toward the stairs, the sound of the Weasley family's chatter fading behind you as you climb the stairs.
As you reach the top, you glance over at George, who's watching you from the bottom of the stairs, a half-smirk on his face.
"Sleep well," he says with a teasing tone, "Tomorrow's going to be a bit of a wild ride, especially with the portkey business."
You grin back at him, feeling a strange mix of excitement and comfort. "I'll hold you to that. I'm looking forward to it."
"Don't worry, we'll make sure you don't land in the wrong place." His wink makes you laugh quietly as you head into your room.
You close the door behind you, the faint sound of Fred and George's laughter drifting up from downstairs. It's been a long day, but tomorrow's going to be even bigger. The thought of the Quidditch World Cup, the portkeys, and the adventure that awaits has you already dreaming about what's to come.
You pull the covers over you, already feeling the exhaustion from the day's excitement pulling you into a deep sleep.