Red Delicious
When everyone had returned with shopping bags in hand, the Burrow wasn’t as bustling as it usually was. With the youngsters gone, it seemed that Molly and Arthur had decided to take a shopping trip of their own–they spent their day in Diagon Alley by way of floo. But as it usually goes, just as everyone settled into their spots, a hue of emerald green spilled out of the fireplace and a loud voice rang through the house. “Kids, come downstairs and help your mother!” From the kitchen where the groceries had been left, many pairs of feet could be heard shuffling from the floors above. Two sets on the third floor, three on the second. Ron, Harry, and Hermione popped out first, shortly followed by (Y/n) and Ginny. Everyone got to work, tucking ingredients and knick knacks the Potters had never heard of into nooks and crannies in the cupboards. Mrs. Weasley surveyed them, smiling warmly. It quickly faded, though, when she realized the absence of her two sons that gave her one too many gray hairs to overlook.
“Where are Fred and George?”
“We’re here, mother dearest,” said Fred, emerging through the entrance with George in tow.
“Well come on then, don’t just make everyone else do the work,” she scolded, although with a rather light tone. It turns out Molly Weasley was more forgiving than she let on. As she turned her back to tuck away her thick spools of wool–surely already planning for Christmas–the twins began to take items out of the bags and toss them back and forth to each other.
“Oh, wouldn’t dream of it,” Fred quipped, sending a wink to (Y/n). She rolled her eyes, but her grin betrayed her. While Fred smirked, all George could manage was a lopsided show of teeth in response. He hoped his face wouldn’t turn as red as his hair when her smile grew even more. The moment only lasted for a second, however, because Harry had called her name and she turned away from him. George sighed and got back to work.
Thankfully with everyone’s cooperation the piles of groceries quickly dwindled down to the last few. Ginny reached for the last bag and peeked inside, letting out a surprised hum of approval. “What is it?” (Y/n) asked, coming up behind her to peek into the bag. She followed with her own, slipping her hand in carefully as to not skim the sides of the brown paper as if it was precious china. “Think fast, George,” she said, eyes locking on him as she ceremoniously pulled her arm back out and tossed a bright red delicious apple towards him. It was as if you could hear the crispness of it as it catapulted from her hand–sunlight spilled from the window, perfectly illuminating the discolored streaks. Their mouths collectively watered at the mere sight of it.
For a perfect moment it sailed through the air before nestling nicely in George’s open palm. He parted his lips to thank her, but his father’s voice broke out first. “I hope you’re all leaving those apples alone–dinner will be done soon!” Their fatigued feet and hungry stomachs both groaned.
︵‿︵‿
The next day George had gotten out of bed bright and early, ate the last bowl of cereal, and made a breakthrough in his latest invention. After the inner turmoil from yesterday’s trip to the village, he thought it was well deserved. Although, he couldn’t say he was displeased with the results. All that thinking and reflecting had made him realize that he had a crush on someone. And not just any someone, but someone who he was close to and who also used to like him, too! The only problem was the past tense part of that. But he thought that if he really tried, maybe he could get her to place her eye back on him. In fact, he had spent the entirety of the last night first daydreaming about every interaction he had ever had with her, and then brainstorming ways he could impress her (and then back to daydreaming). It turned out this budding crush on (Y/n) was a bit more intense than his previous run-ins with pretty girls. He wasn’t complaining though–of course not. It was actually quite fun and added a bit of excitement to his day.
That morning, he paid extra attention to making sure his hair was styled and his clothes were neat. It wasn’t a huge change, but it was an extra bit of effort he put in just for her. Unlike (Y/n), George had decided to be proactive about his feelings. As he brushed his teeth, he wondered if it would be a good idea to confess right away. I mean, considering she used to like him too, how high would his success rate be? And what were his intentions, really? Was George wanting to start a relationship with her or did he simply enjoy her company? These questions were uncharted territory for him, so he would have to mull it over for a while. Perhaps he could ask Fred for advice. That would have to wait, though. If it were anything else, he would’ve already blurted out what he was feeling to his twin as they settled into bed for the night. But this was something different altogether, and he wanted to keep it to himself for a bit.
George never felt the need to separate himself from Fred or hide anything, but focusing on his individuality was refreshing from time to time. As someone who was used to sharing every little thing with another person, from achievements to friends to clothes–and once a toothbrush, but they would never admit that to anyone–there was something special about having your own thing that belonged solely to you. And his admiration for (Y/n) was certainly his alone. A little secret for him to hide a smile about or make a reference to that no one else understood. If Fred asked him about it, he would tell the truth. And if not, when the time came, he would confess his thoughts about all this. But for now his feelings were all his.
After checking the (slightly rusty) mirror for the billionth time that day, and with the knowledge that (Y/n) was sitting at the table by now tucked in his pocket, he cheerily bounded down the stairs and towards his destination. He wanted to run into her, of course, and maybe strike up a conversation. Crush or not, he came to learn that he found great pleasure in talking to her and believed she had many interesting things to say. Luckily for him, he found her right where he had thought she’d be. She usually sat at the table going through her mail or reading the Daily Prophet as it came in at ten in the morning. “Good morning, (Y/n)!” he said and smiled his most charming smile at her. “I see you’ve got yourself some mail this fine day.”
“Morning, George,” she replied, reflecting his cheery tone, which caused his heart to do a little flip. “Yes, just another letter from Katie.”
“Katie? Katie Bell? What is she up to these days?”
(Y/n)’s expression brightened at the opportunity to talk about her friend. “She’s traveling with her family as of right now. Want to see some pictures?” He nodded earnestly and she pulled out the moving polaroids that Katie had attached with her letter, and then she pulled out more from her stationary box. Together, they sifted through pictures of Katie posing in front of some castle, building sand structures on the beach, and her sitting in various restaurants. Every once in a while, (Y/n) would stop to explain where she was or add a little anecdote from one of the letters.
“Wow, so she’s staying near a bloody castle right now? Must be nice,” George said, bewildered and a little bit jealous.
“Yeah, it’s crazy! But nothing beats a summer at the Burrow, right?” she said, a toothy grin flashing on her face. The fact that she was being one hundred percent serious made him swoon.
“Of course! But I reckon a castle would make a great setting to try out one of our new products…” George’s product had nothing to do with a castle, really, but it was a great opportunity to brag about his idea. He was very happy to see her listening intently to his explanation. “I was actually about to write a letter to Charlie about it, is it okay if I join you?”
“Please do, I’ve got ink and lots of extra quills here if you need any,” she replied, scooching over to make room for him. They both began their tasks as the soothing sound of quills scratching parchment filled the room. George thought it was dangerous how content he was sitting there in near silence with her. They both even reached to dip their respective quills into the black ink at one moment and bumped hands, sending the same electric spark through his arm that he felt the day she had arrived. Consequently, a warm, giddy feeling settled into the pit of his stomach and he quite enjoyed it. All of this, of course, had to come to an end at some point as he heard familiar footsteps trudging down the stairs. It was none other than his twin brother, who he would usually perk up at, but this time was a bit peeved that his time with (Y/n) was over.
“I come looking for some excitement and yet I come downstairs to find you two doing work?” Fred said poshly.
This drew a small laugh from (Y/n). “Well hello to you, too, Fred. We’re not doing work, we’re writing letters. Have you ever tried it?”
“No, I think you two have written enough for the whole house, thank you very much!” It was not true of course–Fred’s letters helped keep her sane when she was at home–but they all knew he liked to play dramatic. “Who are you writing to anyways?”
“I’m writing to Charlie, and she’s writing to Katie,” George spoke up, feeling he was being a bit uncharacteristically quiet.
Fred hummed, pulling up a chair and peering at their parchment skeptically. “Just have a read, why don’t you?” (Y/n) said, sliding her letter over to him.
“Let’s have a look at yours too, George!” Fred said once he had finished prescreening Katie’s mail. George quickly swiped his parchment out of reach from Fred, realizing that at some point he had started writing a suspicious amount about (Y/n) instead of what he had intended.
“When did you get so nosy, Fred?” George said, trying to play his defensiveness off. “Has your life gotten so dull you are resorting to reading other people’s mail?”
Fred faked outrage at his insinuation, gasping and clutching his chest. “How dare you! My life is never dull. In fact, I came looking for you two with the intention of extending an invitation to a rather exhilarating excursion.”
“Excursion to where exactly?” (Y/n) questioned, mimicking his dramatic tone.
“Well…” he said, gaze darting around to find some sort of acceptable answer. Finally, his eyes stilled and he locked onto the big tree that was visible from the window. “The treehouse of course!”
︵‿︵‿
Before long, they gathered up their rucksack of supplies and headed out the door. Ginny had tagged along–if you knew the Weasleys, you were aware that this was not an uncommon theme–and it was shaping up to be quite the event. It always was a talent of theirs to make something as simple as sitting in a treehouse seem like a chapter out of a coming of age novel. As they climbed up the ladder, it became more and more evident that they weren’t the same size they were when the treehouse was first constructed. Gangly limbs stretched out to be comfortable took up more space than they remembered, but they made it work all the same. Nothing they weren’t used to, afterall.
(Y/n) supposed that their new habit of using the treehouse as a small getaway this summer had Fred feeling a bit nostalgic because after they had settled in he said, “Did I ever tell you the story of this treehouse?”
Now intrigued about the fact that apparently it had some sort of special Weasley origin, she lifted her head off of her folded hands and craned her neck to look at him. “No, I don’t think you have.”
Fred ran his fingers up and down the mismatched planks of wood appreciatively. It had matched the burrow itself, in that sense. The structure gave off a manifold of browns and tans that all came together to create a cozy look that charmingly whispered “home” to those who gave it the time of day. “Well,” he started, shifting so he could see her better. “Before Bill left, he wanted to leave something behind for us. We all spent days gathering materials up. A few trips to the village and a couple questionable dismemberments of unsuspecting dumps later, we threw this old thing together.” He finished his story with a solid pat to the wall. Throughout the whole thing, (Y/n) could not contain the smile that lit up her face.
“Bill even refused to use any sort of magic to make it. It took ages, but in the end it was well worth it. We did it all together, even though we were rather young at the time,” Ginny added, staring off into the ceiling like it had some sort of masterpiece painted on it.
“I’m surprised you did any work at all!” (Y/n) said, reaching over to flick Fred in the forehead.
He swatted her hand away and exclaimed, “Oi! Watch it woman!”
“That was really sweet of Bill,” she said, mellowing out and sinking back to her lying position. “He was thinking of you all even though it was him who was going out to brave the world on his own.” George hummed, pondering the idea. He imagined cramming all of his belongings into cases, hugging his mother, and walking away from the Burrow. The tall reeds would wave goodbye to him in the breeze and he’d visit the shops while he had the chance. He would return, of course, but it wouldn’t be the same. And worst of all, he thought about what it would be like to travel through life without his brother. They had always planned to do everything together, but in this twisted fantasy world in his mind he was walking away alone. He shuddered at the thought, making a mental note to write to his departed older brothers more often.
Eager to banish the thought out of his head, he changed the subject. “Who’s got the bag of goods? I’m starving!”
︵‿︵‿
Throughout their scattered conversations, Fred and George were eager to show off their fresh, shiny ability to perform magic outside of school. They put on plays with the dust bunnies, apparated from one corner to the next, and were currently peeling the shiny red delicious apples in midair. (Y/n) and Ginny gave raucous laughter at their shenanigans, particularly appreciative of the juicy snacks that they produced. As the excitement fizzled out and just the sound of crisp chewing could be heard, Ginny sighed dreamily, spinning the last apple in her hand. “What is it, Ginny?” (Y/n) asked, tucking her knees into her chin and turning to face her.
“I wish someone looked at me like Fred’s looking at that apple,” she replied, pointing an accusatory finger at the guilty party, who had his teeth sunk in what looked to be about a whole half of the fruit. (Y/n) rolled over laughing, now also pointing at him with her own hand. Fred, whose glare was previously focused on Ginny, tore his eyes away to instead glower at her. It dissipated quickly, though, as a mischievous glint overtook his gaze that (Y/n) was sure she was familiar with.
“Speaking of looks, I saw someone who had their eye on (Y/n) yesterday…” Fred said, a wicked grin on his face and one eyebrow raised suggestively. George did his best to contain his scowl, but he wasn’t sure it was so successful.
There was no attention on him, though, as Ginny gasped and snapped her head towards (Y/n). “When? Who?”
She rolled her eyes in response, leaning over to give Fred another flick. “He’s exaggerating. I just had a brief conversation with a boy from the village, that’s all.”
“A boy from the village?” Fred said, clutching his chest in mock scandal. “Oh poor Noah, I’m offended for him!” George shifted uncomfortably.
“Oh, so he’s got a name, huh?” Ginny said, putting on that teasing lilt to her voice that she learned from her brothers.
In an obvious attempt to deviate the conversation elsewhere, she said, “Well, everyone’s got a name haven’t they? Unless they were never given one, but in that case wouldn’t they have a word in their head that they refer to themselves as? It’s all quite philosophical, really.”
More than happy at the turn, George added his two cents. “Well objects have got names, too. So does that mean that your name is more what people refer to you as?” She flashed him a smile and he felt golden.
“Now we’re thinking! In my professional opinion–” she started, interrupted by Ginny nudging her leg with her shoe.
“(Y/n),” she said earnestly. “What actually happened?”
The girl just sighed in defeat, evidently unable to deny her close friend. “It was nothing, honest! His name is Noah, and he just came up and introduced himself to me while we were in line for drinks at the cafe.”
“And…?” Ginny encouraged, sensing there was more to it.
“...and he asked me out.” she said, pursing her lips. Anticipating her next question, she added, “And I said no.” George let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Not satisfied, Ginny gestured her hands out in confusion. “No?! Why?”
(Y/n) scooped up the last apple, running the pads of her fingers over the ridges and divots. She punctured an ‘x’ into one of the light colored dots at the swell, wiping the bit of juice that seeped out onto the apple’s deep red skin. “Well,” she said, letting the anticipation build for a moment as she took a bite out of it. “I didn’t really like him.”
Ginny’s huff turned into a fit of giggles. “I feel for the poor bloke! But I completely understand. I mean, you are the (Y/n) Potter! You’ve got to have some sort of standards.”
Grateful for her admittedly subtle distraction from the fact that Ginny didn’t quite buy her answer–(Y/n) knew she would be hearing about it again later–she guffawed in response, choking down more of her third snack. “You act like I’m some sort of celebrity! Don’t rope me in with Harry now…”
“You mean your brother?” Fred said. “The blows just don’t end with you! I think we have every right to rope you in with him.” He put his hands up in defense, ready to swat away the apple that was going to inevitably be chucked at him as (Y/n)’s arm reached into the bag. The projectile never came, though, as her hand enclosed around nothing. It appeared she had conveniently forgotten that she had just gnawed the tasty remnants of the last one off of her fingertips. She sneered at the empty spot as if it were at fault for the depletion of their apple supply and not the four hungry mouths that occupied the treehouse. Taking this as her being especially fond of the fruit they had brought along, George felt inclined to volunteer to fetch more from the kitchen. If Ron caught him he would bug him about taking so many, but did he really care at that moment?
“I’ll go get some more,” he said, springing up and heading towards the door.
“Can you bring me some cold water while you’re at it, dear brother?” Fred said with a hopeful tone.
He scowled when he heard, “Get it yourself, lazy,” from George. Nevertheless, they both descended down the ladder and at that the girls were alone. Once she was sure her brothers were out of earshot, Ginny spoke up.
“So…you just didn’t like him, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean he was alright. Very nice, don’t get me wrong. I could see myself getting charmed if I allowed it,” (Y/n) said, shrugging.
Ginny hummed and tilted her head. “If you allowed it…what does that mean exactly?”
“I suppose just what it sounds?” she replied, still trying to figure out her own words. She chewed on them for a while before elaborating. “There is the possibility that I could go out with him, get to know him, and then end up developing feelings from there…sort of like what happened with Kenneth.” Ah, there it was. Exactly what, or rather who, (Y/n) had avoided discussing pretty much the whole summer. The break up was truly a stab in the gut she was not prepared for. There are a lot of things that she is not able to control in her life. Her brother’s safety, the ministry, dark forces lurking about–the list went on and on. The one thing she could control, however, was herself. These past years she held onto that fact as much as she could to keep herself sane.
It started as a self preservation technique, and overtime became unconscious–do everything you can to stop bad things from happening. At first it was quite useful–she would make sure all of the chores were done so her and Harry wouldn’t get yelled at or help him study potions since Snape was so harsh on him. But as they got older and the outside dangers got very, very real, it had become a habit to always feel like she could’ve done more to prevent whatever misfortune had come to knock on their door. That, coupled with the extreme responsibility she felt that came with being the chosen one’s older sister was a recipe for disaster. As a way to cope with this crushing helplessness, she tried to grasp onto any sort of control she could find–related or not. And when she found it, she gripped hard.
At one of the most distressing times of her life–so far, at least–when Harry had been forced to enter the Triwizard Tournament, she had found something that gave her a huge sense of control (or so she thought). Kenneth had asked her to the Yule Ball, so it was the perfect opportunity to make the choice to let go of her feelings for George and get to know someone who was actually interested in her. At the time, it felt like the ultimate power move–the crush had dictated her behavior for far too long, and she finally felt free from that and could invest in someone who she knew would do the same for her. Only, this guarantee had been ripped from her hands just as so many others had. He broke up with her out of the blue–something she could not control and for a reason she alsocould not control. There were real feelings involved, of course, but the whole experience had sent her for a loop that she was not ready to face. Even what she thought was in her grasp, was, in fact, not.
So deciding to move on from George and be with Kenneth had left her with a rather bitter taste in her mouth. She figured that yes, it was better in the long run for her, because now she knew that there was no control when it came to involving yourself with other people in that way. So she avoided thinking about it. And now, for the first time since the split, she was being asked to explain herself when it came to romance.
Ginny frowned at her response. “And what’s wrong with getting involved with him?”
“I suppose I’m not quite ready to do that again. It hurt a lot when Kenneth broke up with me. I know we weren’t together for long, but it was the first time that I…” she trailed off, choosing her next words carefully. “I thought we would work out.” It wasn’t a lie, just not a truth that told the whole story.
(Y/n) was grateful that Ginny’s arms wrapped around her and pulled her into a hug so that she wouldn’t have to look at her face. It made her feel a lot better, too. “I get it. It’s not really about who that boy was, but rather what you want to do right now.”
“See, I always knew you were a smart cookie, Ginny.”
︵‿︵‿
Just as they had reached the door, George realized something. He had left the bag to hold all of the apples in the treehouse. Ushering Fred inside, he turned around to go back for it. He trapezed the protruding roots and holes hiding behind overgrown weeds with familiar ease until he was within reach of the tree that housed their current hangout spot. He sighed, eying the rickety ladder that he was going to have to climb again and then again. George sneered at his own eagerness to exit, conveniently forgetting that he hated braving the ascent into the treehouse after a rather nasty fall when he was young in an effort to make (Y/n) happy. He would always do it, of course, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Shaking his head, he clumsily gripped one of the rungs, not realizing the large splinter that jutted out of the exact spot he had laid his palm. He let out a sharp inhale as it pierced, ripping his arm away and stumbling back. His eyes widened in slight horror at the blood that trickled down his hand.
Just as he sat on a patch of grass to take care of the problem, the voices coming from above finally reached his ears. “What does that mean, exactly?” Ginny said, with an uncommon seriousness laced in her tone. This piqued his interest as he worked to remove the splinter as carefully as he could, happy for the distraction from the sharp pain.
“I suppose just what it sounds?” (Y/n) said, sounding a bit unsure of her own words. He frowned, growing concerned about what they were discussing. “There is the possibility that I could go out with him, get to know him, and then end up developing feelings from there…” George suddenly understood what they were talking about, and he couldn’t say he was pleased to be stuck digging a shard of wood out of his hand as he was forced to listen to his crush talk of another boy. “Sort of like what happened with Kenneth.”
Kenneth. Kenneth Towler. That was a name he hadn’t heard in awhile. Of course he knew who he was–(Y/n)’s ex-boyfriend and who he figured to be the reason that she no longer harbored feelings for him. Couldn’t hate the man, though. If it weren’t for that she wouldn’t be herself around him and that is definitely not something that he wanted. Not to mention the fact that he was now thousands of miles away.
“And what’s wrong with getting involved with him?”
“I suppose I’m not quite ready to do that again. It hurt a lot when Kenneth broke up with me. I know we weren’t together for long, but it was the first time that I…I thought we would work out.” Although he still had full use of his legs, George felt rooted to his spot. If he was being honest, he had never really considered Kenneth to be a factor in all this. He knew it had affected her–he saw her crying that day at the end of last term–but he didn’t quite understand the weight of the situation. He wished he had paid closer attention.
“I get it,” he heard Ginny say. “It’s not really about who that boy was, but rather what you want to do right now.” Hearing the words from someone else just made it all the more real. Having had enough of their private moment, he finally tore himself off of the ground and rushed inside as silently as he could, still clutching his arm close to his chest. A wave of something washed over George. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that gnawed at his insides, but it was overwhelming and didn’t feel like him. Barreling into the nearest table, he finally pulled out his wand to treat himself more harshly than he intended. If only he had walked away sooner to do just that, he wouldn’t have intruded on their conversation that now echoed in his brain.
Finally unsheathing the splinter from his hand and haphazardly patching up the wound, he took a deep breath. Shake it off, George, is what he always told himself when things got too hard to think about. There was always something else to focus on. It’s alright, so she doesn’t want a relationship right now. We can just be friends, then. Yeah, that was it. He was having lots of fun getting to know her, they could just keep doing that. He understood her reasoning, of course, with the whole Kenneth thing. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was make (Y/n) uncomfortable in any way, so he wouldn’t try to pursue her outside of being just friends. He could just forget about this whole thing.
As it would turn out, though, it wouldn’t be quite that easy.