Help from a Stranger
(Y/n) and Fred were bored. Very bored. So much so, in fact, that (Y/n) was going through her trunk. For fun. Fred was seated on the beanbag under the window, soaking in the sun rays as he watched her. How could they be so bored so early in the day? It was a waste to be idle when the light was still young, yet here they were. “You know…” (Y/n) started, reviewing what Fred thought to be a minor library of books she had just pulled out of the depths of her trunk. “I could use a new muggle novel to read. I’ve already read all these twice over,” she said, tossing them back a bit too carelessly.
“Twice?” Fred asked in disbelief. “Are they really that interesting?”
As the covers of her latest mystery novels stared up at her from their haphazard places, she mulled the question over. Why did she spend so much of her alone time reading books, muggle books at that? Nothing wrong with them, of course, but they’re a bit of a surprising choice when she could be reading about real life dragons or ghosts. “Well, I suppose they have always given me a bit of comfort,” she said, letting the words spill out as they came into her brain, not caring enough to think about if she really wanted to share them or not. “Growing up wasn’t always the most…pleasant experience, so secretly diving into different worlds was always nice.” She conveniently left out the bits about her having to nab the books from school and hide them in her jacket or bag, and waiting until she had a moment to escape without suspicion to read them chunk by chunk. It was like she was a thief in the night--stealing new stories a chapter, paragraph at a time and letting her mind run wild with them while she cooked dinner or scrubbed the floors. Laughing, she said “Now I actually am in a whole nother world, but I still enjoy them! Maybe I’ll ask Hermione or your dad if they’ve got any.”
Fred smiled warmly at her small confession, appreciating the vulnerability of it and sensing its significance. “Or…” he said, letting the anticipation grow for a second. “We could go get you some brand new ones from the shop in the village.”
(Y/n) stood up from her spot on the floor, a smile growing on her face and eyes alight with the prospect of something to do. “Fred, that’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said all day.”
︵‿︵‿
As things usually go in the Weasley household, the whole gang was roped into joining their spontaneous trip into town. Fred invited George so they could discuss the design of their candy wrappers and perhaps find some inspiration, too. Then, (Y/n) thought Hermione might want to visit the bookshop as well. Ginny overheard and was happy to accompany them. The five of them ran into Ron, who was holding a pair of gardening gloves that appeared to have three of the fingers blown off it. He had told them not to ask, and so they didn’t, instead inviting him to find a replacement at one of the local stores, albeit with a little laughter. And wherever Ron went, Harry was sure to follow.
By noon, everyone had been rounded up and began the trek to the small but charming muggle town that was home to many mom and pop places. There were a few magical stores around if you knew where to look, but since it was not the hub that Diagon Alley was, the Weasley kids didn’t often pay it much attention. (Y/n), on the other hand, occasionally found it enjoyable to be able to explore without being taken by surprise by another thing in the wizarding world everyone knew about but her. Luckily for her, that was exactly their plan and the idea of it had already cured her boredom; her laughter with Ginny and Harry rang like a bell in the nice summer breeze. Ron and Hermione led the group, the former still a bit embarrassed by his glove situation, and the latter excited at the opportunity to find new reading material. Fred and George took up the back, talking about who knows what.
Suddenly, (Y/n) stopped dead in her tracks, startling her companions. She pointed towards a tall tree nearby, where a cat was meowing from one of the highest branches. Just as quickly as she had directed their attention to it, she took off running towards it, loudly declaring her intention of helping it get down. Harry and Ginny recovered quickly and sped after her, shouting warnings and potential solutions besides scaling the huge tree. She was either too caught up in her mission to heed or simply ignored them, as the second she reached it her shoes met the trunk and her arms heaved her up. The other two looked like little puppies haggling for attention from their owner, not daring to follow her up there but yelling like they were.
Ron and Hermione hadn’t bothered stopping to look at them, and appeared to already be miles ahead as they disappeared behind a rolling hill. Fred chuckled lightly at their antics before moving to continue on as well. Only making it a couple feet, he turned to say something to George only to realize he wasn’t there. Taken aback, he looked behind him to the sight of his brother watching the scene intently. “Oi, mate, you alright there?” Fred asked, moving back to join him.
George didn’t tear his eyes away from the tree, appearing a bit too enthralled at a little bit of cat rescuing in Fred’s opinion. After a second of terse silence, he replied. “Does (Y/n) seem… different to you?”
“Different?” Fred said, a little puzzled and honestly a bit concerned for the mental state of his twin. “No.” George finally turned to look at him as (Y/n) trapezed down the branches with the cat safely tucked into her arm. He could see that Fred looked like he was contemplating saying something or not.
“What is it?” George asked, curiosity piqued at Fred seemingly withholding telling him something.
Fred glanced around, a maneuver George was rather familiar with. He had seen it countless times as they planned pranks or told their twin exclusive secrets--he was subtly checking if anyone else was in earshot. But what could be so hush-hush at this particular moment?
Lowering his voice, Fred leaned a little bit closer with an uncharacteristic seriousness and said “Alright, I’m only telling you this because it’s in the past now, and it tears me up inside to hide stuff from you. But you have to swear not to tell anyone!” George nodded with raised brows. Not satisfied, Fred reiterated his condition. “Swear it, George.”
Throwing up his hands in defeat, still thoroughly confused, he did just as he asked. “I swear,” he said earnestly, knowing that was all they needed as insurance with each other.
“Well…” George leaned in even closer. “You said (Y/n) is acting differently, right? It’s because she used to fancy you, so she didn’t feel comfortable enough to be herself around you. But now she’s over it, so I reckon she’s been showing you more of her usual personality.” He had said it so casually, but George was stunned into place. As a rather heavy silence fell over them, a bit of regret slowly seeped into Fred’s expression at his reaction. He shrugged, trying to get George to say something. All he could do in response was gape at Fred. Did she really have a crush on him? If he would’ve known…
If I would’ve known, what? George thought, shaking his head. I just think she’s pretty, that’s all. And she’s nice. And funny…
Suddenly remembering Fred was analyzing his reaction, he mustered up the most simple, nonchalant response he could. “(Y/n) Potter? Had a crush? On me?”
“No, I’m talking to the tree,” he said, rolling his eyes, surprised at George’s frozen expression. “Yes, you. Well, at least now that you’re able to get to know her for real, maybe you can be friends.” George could tell that this was Fred’s attempt to break up the tension that lingered in the air, so he tried to play it off.
“Yeah…friends.”
︵‿︵‿
The gentle scent of fresh paper and a relaxing tune created the perfect ambiance for a bookshop, and lucky for them, the local one they were in had this down to a tee. Ginny had followed Hermione to the romance shelves, and Ron poked his way through the knick knacks at the front of the store. That left Harry, Fred, and George to join (Y/n) in scouting out the horror section. This very normal outing was occurring all while George was still reeling from the secret that Fred had let him in on earlier that day. He was trying to act casual, he really was, but he felt hyper aware of everything she said or did. His poor heart felt like it was running a marathon whenever she so much as looked at him, and he wasn’t sure he could take much more of it.
At this particular moment, her deep, contemplative expression had him holding his breath, awaiting her next move. It was almost comical the way she stared at the cheesy display of novels and he, in turn, stared at her. His eyes widened slightly as her hand reached out and nicked one of the books from the shelf. “Look, Harry! This book is about me,” (Y/n) said, stifling the giggle in her voice. She shoved the glossy cover of The Babysitter in front of them.
“Wha…” Harry sputtered for a moment. “You know you’re only a year older than me, right?” (Y/n) broke into quiet laughter at Harry’s reaction, finding the circumstances funnier than the joke itself. Fred, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care about the fact that they were standing in the middle of a quiet bookstore and began to cackle loudly. Several heads turned their way, but George couldn’t find it in him to care when he got a glimpse of (Y/n)’s joyful expression.
“That was incredibly lame, (Y/n),” Fred said, finally coming down from his laughter.
She giggled and said, “Maybe, yes, but at least I’ll never be as lame as you.” For some unknown reason, George found this incredibly hilarious and he laughed even more. As they finally quieted down, the slightly wary customers returned to their own business. All of them except for one--a boy who could safely be assumed a muggle--and George wouldn’t have noticed his lingering stare if it hadn’t been trained specifically on (Y/n). At that, his boisterous grin faltered slightly. And the worst part? (Y/n) noticed he was looking at her. As if she could sense the boy sizing her up, her eyes flickered up to meet hers. The corner of her somewhat chapped lips turned up in a half smile at him, and, of course, the boy returned it with a whole one of his. Panicking, George picked up a random book from the shelf.
“(Y/n), look at this one,” he said, stepping in front of her, successfully blocking the muggle from her view. What are you doing?!, he thought, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed at his brash move. Her smile growing into a full one made his chest feel funny as she leaned over to read the cover of the book he was holding. George was holding the book upside down, sure, but it seemed to do the job as she took the book out of his hand with featherlight fingers.
He watched with great interest as she read the synopsis on the book and surveyed the author’s name. “How did you know this is one of my favorite authors? I have to take it,” she said, smiling more at the book than him. He took it as a win, though, when she added a sweet “Thanks, George!” to her statement. He was way too chuffed at her dropping it into the metal basket that pressed further indents into her skin. “C’mon, let’s go see if Hermione’s had her fill.” She passed in front of him and he inwardly cheered at his sheer dumb luck.
︵‿︵‿
(Y/n) was having what was shaping up to be a pretty great day. She was spending time with her friends, snacking on what she now considered to be her favorite pastry, and had three new books in her shopping bag. It was a stark contrast to the infinite boredom she had felt that morning. She took notice of the small things, wanting this day to be one to remember. The wildflowers that broke through the stone and stood proud, gentle bird songs that surrounded the fountains, and of course, the warming sun that she was soaking in. The bench she sat on with Ginny and Hermione was a bit rundown, but served its purpose nonetheless. It seemed they had snagged the best spot, overlooking the town square and the bustling shops that surrounded it.
The girls watched the passerbyers for a while, enjoying the silence and each other’s company. “You know, if that guy didn’t have a beard he would look just like Professor Snape,” (Y/n) said out of the blue, gesturing towards a man entering the local pub.
“Oh merlin, a glance at Snape before school starts? Pass,” Ginny said, guffawing. “Well, now that you mention it, look at that guy sitting by the fountain. Make him about mmm, let’s say 100 years older, and give him white hair down to his knees. He looks a bit like Dumbledore!”
“That’s a bit of a stretch, I’d say,” challenged (Y/n). “Dunno if he is quite handsome enough to be the headmaster…”
Hermione whipped her head towards them, curls appearing to bounce in disbelief. “Handsome! I wasn’t aware you had that sort of admiration for Professor Dumbledore, (Y/n).”
(Y/n) snorted. “Well I’ve got to, haven’t I? Greatest wizard of all time, some might say,” she said, earning a thoughtful hum from Hermione.
“That is true, but it depends what angle of wizardry you’re looking from, doesn’t it? Like, let’s say, if you ask Charlie who is the greatest wizard of all time, he’ll probably say that Newt Scamander guy because he’s into magizoology,” Ginny wondered aloud.
Hermione scrunched up her nose. “Well, by that standard, anyone could be argued to be the greatest. Maybe Fred and George are the greatest in mischievous magic, if that was a field of study. That could be any one of us, really.”
“Well not to brag, ladies, but I would be considered quite the skilled witch in the divination world, if that were the measurement,” (Y/n) said, partially kidding.
As expected, Hermione scoffed. “You can’t be serious, (Y/n). Divination?”
“All jokes aside, it’s really true, Hermione! I’ve seen it!” Ginny said, waving her hands in the air. “Haven’t you ever noticed that (Y/n) can sense certain things? Even Professor Trelawney was impressed.”
“It sounds a bit imprecise to me…what do you mean by sense? As in, you get visions of the future? And when and how do these visions happen? You know, Professor McGonagall said--”
(Y/n) didn’t have to look into the future to see an unsavory turn in the conversation, so she tried to lighten it up. “Oh, Hermione! I am nothing if not a powerful seer…in fact I can do it at will! Allow me to demonstrate,” she said scrunching up her eyes and rubbing her temples exaggeratedly. “You, dear Hermione Granger, will become the greatest witch of all time and marry Zacharias Smith, retiring in a lime green cottage with seven dogs.”
This caused both girls to break out in laughter; Hermione tried her best to come up with some sort of response. “That’s absolutely ridiculous! He would be so lucky--”
Before she could finish her sentence, a great roar of thunder shook the ground from above. Within seconds a downpour of rain began, and everyone in the square ran into the nearby stores. The three girls took cover in a nearby cafe, but not before (Y/n) and Ginny splashed in the forming puddles on the way there (Hermione was not impressed). Thankfully their companions had the same idea as them--they found the others crowding a booth in the corner. As Ginny and Hermione squeezed in, Ron and Harry began elbowing each other for more room. George opted to stand nearby instead, eying the summer shower through the window.
“I reckon I’ll get us some drinks, yeah?” (Y/n) said, surveying her friends' wet faces, mentally going through her checklist of drinks. She made her way to the counter and joined the now growing line of people in search of something to sip on to pass the time. She stood behind a large family of blonde hair and blue eyed children. They reminded her of the Weasleys, in a way, with their matching hair. Busy pondering what it would be like to look similar to every one of your relatives, she didn’t notice that someone had taken their place behind her in the queue. It seemed he had other motives besides ordering a beverage, though, because he tapped (Y/n)’s shoulder. She whipped around, startled, and came face to face with a boy who she oddly recognized, but couldn’t place her finger on.
“Hey there,” he said, giving her a charming smile. which complimented his curly hair nicely.
She returned it with a polite one of her own, albeit a bit bewildered. “Umm, hello!”
“You were in the bookshop earlier, weren’t you?” he asked. She nodded, recalling their brief exchange of smiles earlier that day. “Do you read horror often?”
“Oh yes, that’s right, I remember now that you say that,” she said, wiping what she was sure was a confused expression off of her face. “Yeah, I’d say I enjoy it from time to time.”
“You like horror novels and you’re in my favorite coffee shop? A girl after my own heart,” the boy said, earning a small laugh from (Y/n). “I didn’t catch your name, by the way.”
She tilted her head at his forwardness. “Usually I don’t tell strangers, but I’ll make an exception for you,” she said, trying to gain back ground in the conversation. “(Y/n) Potter.”
“Noah Phillips,” he replied, sticking out his hand. (Y/n) took it and gave it, in her opinion, a firm shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
︵‿︵‿
Before the rain had started, George was seeking refuge from the busy town with his brothers and Harry in an alleyway. It was like out of a film--mossy brick walls and a dimly lit nook between two buildings that was the perfect size to fit the four of them. He leaned against the wall, opting to ignore whatever purchase Fred was teasing Ron about in favor of his own train of thought. Normally he would’ve found it hilarious, even would’ve joined in, but there was something else that was taking center stage in his mind. It was like a looming cloud--everytime George stepped into the sunlight, it made its way back to invade the sky above him. He could tell that the conversation wouldn’t be ending anytime soon, so he allowed himself the opportunity to delve deeper into what was nagging him.
He thought about earlier in the day when Fred revealed (Y/n)’s well kept secret to him. How long had she fancied him for? When did she “get over,” as Fred had said, her crush on him? George wracked his brain for a while, trying to come up with a timeline for (Y/n)’s behavior to start changing. He only noticed it now because it was so abrupt and in his face--he’d be crazy not to, for merlin’s sake, she was staying in his house, afterall--but now that he was aware of it he could use that to dissect her previous behavior. The farthest back he could pin it was around the time of the Yule Ball. He remembered how she had bounded up to them in the corridor when Kenneth had asked her to be his date. So it was Towler, huh? Okay, maybe, if he had paid closer attention he would’ve noticed there was something behind the way she had looked at him before that. How could he have been so blind to her feelings? She spent almost every bloody summer with us, he thought glumly, feeling a bit stupid.
Fred, noticing George checking out, called his name and he was successfully brought back to reality. George tried to shake the thought out of his mind, convincing himself that there was no reason to dwell on it since it was in the past. He just felt guilty for not seeing her feelings, that was all. Nothing else to it.
As if by divine intervention, thunder rumbled in the air and droplets of water soaked their skin to put an end to his spiraling. They pulled out of the alleyway and into the nearest open door they could find, which happened to be a quaint cafe that smelled of fresh pastries and hot coffee. The girls shuffled in after and made themselves comfortable in the booth they occupied. George had no desire to join them, though. He had been feeling off all day, so he found a nice spot to look out the window. His eyes caught onto individual droplets, following them until they splattered on the pavement or soaked into the dirt. He had always liked the rain--it was loud and spontaneous, sometimes striking unpredictably. A recipe for disaster for some, but not for George; it was calming to him, and he had even thought he had developed a special ability to sense the rain coming. If one picked his brain enough, they would find out that these weather whirlwinds often reminded him of his twin--and that was one of the reasons he was so fond of them.
The sudden havoc outside diminished into a soft drizzle, and George finally tore his eyes away to join his friends. One of them was missing, though, and he found himself wishing he wasn’t paying attention outside and instead watched the happenings of the cafe. If he was, he would’ve noticed (Y/n) walking away to get them all drinks, and definitely would’ve noticed the unsavory scene that was playing out in front of him. She was standing in line, talking to a boy. And not just any boy, mind you, but the same boy that was trying to look at her in the bookshop. George felt his jaw clench and a scowl began to settle onto his face as he watched the two. There was just something about the way he was looking at her, or maybe it was the way that he had shook her hand. (Y/n) laughed at whatever the tosser had said and he forced himself to tear his gaze from them to his slightly muddy shoes. His arms crossed themselves in annoyance, not only at them but also at his sour reaction.
“Oi, what’s got your boxers in a bunch, George?” Fred’s voice called out, bringing him out of his fit. A lopsided grin accompanied it, but he could see there was a bit of concern weaved in, too.
George plastered a half smile onto his face and shrugged. “Nothing.” He got a questioning look in return, which he knew meant he would be asked about it later, but only a simple hum of acknowledgement followed it. Successfully taking the spotlight off of himself, he shook his hands back into their position at his sides as if to literally shake off the lingering, icky feeling. What was that feeling, anyways? He looked back outside, mulling it over, before the realization hit him. Oh no, was George jealous? No, there was no way. He couldn’t be…could he? It’s just that (Y/n)’s been around for so long, it’s natural he’d be protective of her. Unless…
He blinked, hard. No, no, no. It was out of the realm of possibilities, really. But if he was being honest with himself, it was undeniable. He had felt it before, and he was bound to feel it again. It wasn’t anger or despair. It was jealousy. But why? Why was he jealous of that boy who was so obviously taking an interest in her? There was only one possibility that came to mind. Do I…fancy (Y/n)?, he wondered, biting his lip. He denied it for a second, but then there was no explanation for the way he was acting. He could only lie to himself so much, after all. Bloody hell, I guess I do. It was a wild thought, really. This girl he had known since he was twelve but never taken special notice of had so abruptly captured his attention.
George took a second to bask in the feeling of his revelation, resulting in a giddy smile making its way to his face. It was freeing, almost, admitting to himself that he had a crush and having an explanation for the weird flips his heart had been doing around (Y/n). It all made sense now. Everything she did was like a great performance, and George was more than willing to be the only one to bear witness. Her affect on him was welcomed with open arms in his brain, happy to have something special going on in his life. And it was special, really. He had never really been one for these things--he left that up to Fred. But finally, it was his turn, and he was a bit too excited at the prospect.
Speaking of the devil, (Y/n) at long last made her way over to them, balancing two drink carriers in her arms. She set them down and began passing them out to everyone, choruses of thanks filling the air. Only one cup remained, so she plucked it out and walked over to George. As she handed it to him, he felt faint at the dazzling smile she had served up with it. Well, dazzling to George at least. If you asked her it was probably just her typical friendly expression.
“With cinnamon and whipped cream, just the way you like it,” she said, winking before pulling up a chair to the booth and plopping down as if she hadn’t so casually let George know she knew his drink preferences. A faint blush heated up his face as he gazed at her from his spot. She was so beautiful, even after a day of walking around in town and being rained on.
He knew he was in for something.