“Eh hem, Mr. Weasley,” hummed a trilling voice from behind the tall red head next to you.
“Professor?” George raised an eyebrow to the pink clad woman behind him, wondering what in the world the small, angry lady could possibly want. Afterall, he hadn’t done anything wrong. And he knew better than to test her at this point. Or at least he knew his limits. Ron had told him of the tragic events that took place in Harry’s detention. Ever since then, he and his twin brother had gotten quieter and cleverer about pulling their tricks around school. Of course, they hadn’t stopped altogether. George wouldn’t be George without his pranks. But George knew he couldn’t get detention. Not out of a kindness for himself, but rather for your sake. He knew you’d worry too much.
But this time, he hadn’t done anything to provoke Professor Umbridge. He racked his brain for a moment, but he couldn’t think of one thing that would call her attention to him.
“You have received a generous amount of our class time today to complete your writing assignment, and while even Ms. Potter next to you has come up with a few paragraphs, you seem to have nearly nothing on your page. Care to explain what you’ve been up to all of this time?” The woman teetered to the front of your table, peering down at George.
He gave her a look of disbelief. “Well, it is not for lack of trying. I just have a hard time learning on paper. And you don’t let us use our wands,” he pointed out.
She giggled a single, ugly giggle. “Mr. Weasley… I can’t say I’m surprised. Afterall, I have come to expect less than from you. You shouldn’t need your wand to learn. Perhaps it is time for you to accept the fact that your own stupidity is to blame for your shortcomings. I really do my very best, but some students are just purely unteachable.” She hummed the last part to herself, shaking her head.
Your eyes shot up to her instantly. You had been watching her for some time, but in this instance, your eyes had been on the boy next to you, offering looks of kindness and sympathy without words. But now you were angry. Practically fuming. “Excuse me,” you muttered sharply, grabbing her attention with a whip of her head. “That is not, in any way, fair or warranted. George is one of the smartest people I know.” Your eyes were shooting darts at her as a piercing, condescending smile crept up to her ears.
“Ms. L/N. Talking out of turn will not be tolerated in my classroom. Especially not when it is used to talk back to your superiors,” she huffed.
You felt the smallest sensation of George’s pinky finger entwining with yours, as he tried to simmer down some of the anger, he knew was bubbling within you. You sighed and decided to leave the subject, having said your piece.
“You shall not question my knowledge and wisdom in any sense. If I say he is stupid, he is stupid, and if I say you are a flying Niffler, well then, you must be a flying Niffler. Do you understand, young lady?” she grinned, clearly having been satisfied with what she thought was winning the argument. You feel the heat and anger rising even higher than before at the mention of the sweet boy next to you. And then you finally realized what she is asked you. She asked you to agree with her cruel assumption about your George in front of the whole class. She cocks an eyebrow in the air with a wild smirk on her face. The rage pools over as you finally let it escape your mouth.
“No. I do not. I do not understand how you can call someone so bright and creative stupid, simply because you lack the skills and empathy to teach them what you would like them to know. Or because their knowledge simply extends beyond concepts that you can understand. You might not agree with me, Professor, but not everyone is like you. Not everyone wants to sit in a dark room and just pretend to learn for the rest of their lives. You want to give me detention, Professor? Fine. But I will not stand by while you abuse really great wizards, let alone, the ones that I love.” You cock your eyebrows back at her, knowing she has you right where she wants you. You don’t have a care in the world as the steam almost rises from your ears. It is now you notice that George’s hand had moved from your pinky to your wrist, gently trying to stop you from making the decision you had just made, his eyes pleading with yours with a gentle sadness and slight shock. However, for the briefest moment, you thought you could make out the tiniest glimpse of pride pass his eyes at the same time.
“Detention, Ms. L/N. I will not have anyone tell me how to teach in my classroom or question my abilities and judgement as a witch. Let alone someone so new to magic, as yourself.” She smiled smugly as she returned to the front of the classroom continuing her lesson immediately, not giving George or you a chance to respond to her. It was this act that left George hunting her down with a glare that could kill for the rest of the class, hand still in yours.
****
George spent every moment away from you that day, skipping his classes, trying in every way to get himself detention with Umbridge as well. However, every attempt ended with a quiet humph and scolding from her filled with cruel and nasty words. It was clear that even though she dreadfully wanted to, she was not going to give in and give George the detention he so desperately desired. She knew his punishment would be far more effective if she let you suffer and put him in a position where he would not be able to do anything about it whatsoever. It was the only time that he had the freedom to do nearly anything he wanted at Hogwarts, to break almost any rule he wanted to break, and get away with it. The painful irony is, he hated every second of it.
*****
Your detention arrived quickly that night when the corridors of the castles quieted. You had spent all day since your class with Umbridge quiet by George’s side. On the moments that you would be separated, you would go find a place in the Gryffindor Common Room to sit and wait for him to return from his classes or what you thought must be prank trials with Fred. But you weren’t worried about your detention like most people probably assumed you had been. Hell, you probably should’ve been. No. You were furious. Furious at Umbridge for targeting George, furious at her for backing you into a corner until you couldn’t take it anymore, furious at her for hurting Harry, furious her for getting away with all of the terrible things she has done… furious.
When darkness befell the Common Room, only George, Fred, Lee, and you remained. You hadn’t told Harry or anyone else about your detention. You didn’t want him to worry. However, Fred and Lee, of course, had known of your soon-to-be punishment, considering they had been in the class when you received it. When you left the classroom, George pulled you into his side protectively and Lee had given you proud pat on the shoulder. With an exaggerated wink, Fred had run up and exclaimed, “Blimey, that was amazing, L/N! Nice craftsmanship, excellent execution.” Fred had tried to wipe some of the anger from your face throughout the day with a few, “don’t mess with that one, she’s fiery” and “Oi, Lee, careful. Catch yourself even looking at ol’ Georgie too long and you might have to answer to that one,” with a point in your direction. These usually earned a genuine, soft smile from you as you chuckled to yourself. Freddie was the one person in the world who could make any person laugh no matter the circumstances. George would blush and if he saw you laughing, he would also laugh to himself at the mention of the last joke from Fred. Part of you wondered if he may have enjoyed feeling your protectiveness over him. And you didn’t mind. You liked that he liked it. Even now.
But as the four of you sat late in the quiet Common Room, you felt the jokes wash away as George twiddled with his fingers, your head on his chest. You could tell he was feeling worried and helpless as you waited for your time to leave for detention. When that time came, you gave them a gentle smile and said, “Alright, I’m off. I’ll see you guys in the morning. Don’t go worrying about me too much.” You gave Fred and Lee a wink and kissed the top of George’s head. As if on instinct, George grabbed your hand, pleading with his face, as if he were trying to keep you from going. But he knew that if you did not show up tonight, it would only earn you an even bigger punishment with the nasty, pink-shoed woman later. You took his hand and held it to your cheek as you gave him a little smile and whispered, “I love you. Goodnight.” And off you went, George watching your back as you left.
*****
As you creaked through the half open door of Umbridge’s office, you heard her squeal in delight. She toned out, “Do come in, Ms. L/N.” You walked in without a word, eyes piercing through the small woman as she continued. “I do hope tonight will serve you nicely. You will be writing lines for me, dear.” You nodded your head, eyes still shooting at the Professor. This is what you had expected to hear from her. “Take a seat. There is a quill and parchment already for you at the desk there.” You took a seat at the desk she pointed to as she tutted. “Hmm… What lesson is to be learned tonight, do you think?” You, of course, didn’t answer. “There are many lessons I believe you could benefit from learning, Ms. Potter, but I have chosen to be generous to you, for reasons unbeknownst to me. I believe the lines, ‘I will learn my place and be respectful to my superiors’, will do just fine.” Your mouth dropped. You were expecting to write lines, and you knew the pain that would come with that, but you had not expected the number of words she would give you to write to be so extensive. You only prayed that the number of lines she would have you complete would be less, to even out your sentence to compare to the stories you had heard from others, including Harry. You dared to ask. “How many- “
“One hundred,” she interrupted without hesitation.
You nodded, eyes still a bit wide from shock. You assumed that you had really struck a nerve with your defiance towards Umbridge. Afterall, why else would your sentence be nearly double that of any other student you have heard from so far? You figured that you also were being used as punishment towards those you loved as well. Those who have also unmeaningly struck a nerve of Umbridge’s too: Harry and George. But you wouldn’t be used as bait. No, you quite refused to be used as such.
As you dared to hover the dry quill over the paper, you prepared yourself for the pain that would inevitably begin once you touched them down to meet. And when it did, the pain was one hundred times more unbearable than you had even begun to imagine, just like the number of lines you were to complete.
By the time you had arrived halfway through your assignment, blood was dripping down your fingertips, drenching your parchment along with the tears crawling down your face. Finally, soft whimpers that you had tried to hold back for so long, began to escape.
The clock ticking echoed in your ears, taunting your brain with the idea of freedom. After what felt like an eternity, you had finished the lines, and you were a both dry and wet bloodied mess. You sat up from your seat and handed the now quiet professor your scarlet stained parchment full of scratches reading, “I will learn my place and be respectful to my superiors”, front and back.
“May I leave now?” you uttered.
She simply nodded with a conniving grin plastered on her face as she watched you walk out the door.
*****
You held your breath until you arrived back past the portrait into the Gryffindor Common Room, not wanting that evil woman to hear you cry. When you stepped into the room, you pressed your back to the cold wall next to you and grabbed your wrist, blood flow never-ending, and finally let the tears and sobs escape you, as your back fell down the wall. You were so blinded by the pain that you didn’t even notice there was someone in the room with you. They ran up from the couch, over to your place by the wall, and sat right next to you, pulling you into their lap. From the moment you discovered the figure, your brain and your heart knew it would be your George. Part of you had a feeling he wouldn’t sleep until you were back, and you didn’t want him to see you like this. You fought your brain which told you that you were allowing yourself to be the live weapon that Umbridge wanted you to be. You just hadn’t expected the pain to be so much. You hadn’t expected that you would collapse right in front of George. You so desperately wanted to be strong. To stay strong for him. For yourself. But, oh merlin, did it hurt.
His big arms wrapped around your shoulders and brought his hand to pull your bloodied one into his line of sight. His breathing hitched and he felt his blood run to his cheeks and his ears as his other hand clenched into a fist. He was seeing red at the extra bloodied hand you fostered, much worse than he had ever seen, even on Harry. But the rage he felt was nothing compared to the crunch of his heart splitting in two as your cries of pain reached his ears. He didn’t know what to do, he felt so helpless, just as he had all day, but a million times worse.
“Darling, I know. I’m so sorry. I’m- I’m so sorry. Please. Please, I have to wrap this. You have to let me wrap this,” he struggled, pleading with you.
Your head heard his words, and it told you to move, to stop crying, to say something. But your skin was on fire, and the roar of the flames outspoke the language of your brain trying to reason with your body. You were able to lean your head into his shoulder, as you tried to compose yourself as best as you could, but the best you could do was quiet your sobs ever so slightly, as any and all words fell silent in the back of your throat. Your tears soaked through his shirt and coated his upper arm that still held you. He began to take his arms and pull himself up, untangling himself from you. He moved to sit on his knees in front of you, eyes searching for yours as he tilted your chin up to look at him.
“My love. Please. I need to wrap your hand. Can I bring you to the couch?” he asked, peering through your eyes for an answer.
You slightly nodded your head, barely noticeable. But George, he saw it. He always saw it. He could read you better than anyone in the world. The moment he saw your head move, he scooped his arm under your bent legs and placed his other one across your back and under your arms. You turned your head into his shoulder as he gently move to place you on the couch, your back pressed to the arm of the chair. You pulled your knees up on the couch, moving you heels to touch your bottom. Splayed out across the table in front of you were bandages and a wrap for your hand. As the tears began finding themselves more and more scarce at the hope of relief, the smaller of the words at the back of your throat began to find their way out.
“Georgie?” you asked, coming out in a high-pitched whimper.
His deep, worrying eyes looked to you, hands finding your cheeks. He followed your eyes to the table and the equipment laying on it. An embarrassed blush came to his cheeks as his brows furrowed. Supplies. It was pathetic, he thought. He should’ve been the one being punished. But instead, it was you and there was absolutely nothing he could do except for find some simple supplies. Unable to even think about sleeping, he had snuck his way over to Madame Pomfrey in the medical wing as soon as you had exited the Common Room. He asked her for some supplies and after more than a lot of convincing that everything was okay and that he wasn’t up to anything that would get her in trouble, she suspiciously obliged. He knew you would refuse to see her anyways, not wanting to take up her time. And deep down, he too knew that there was not much she would be able to do for you, no matter how much he begged. Afterall, this was a punishment enacted by Umbridge herself, and no matter how much she wanted to, Pomfrey could not disregard the rules set in place by the self-proclaimed headmaster and inquisitor.
He turns back to you quickly trying to cover the look of shame and guilt on his face.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” his voice breaks, tears of his own forming.
You could see him fighting with his own mind over something that you were sure would split your heart right down the middle.
“George?” you squeaked out once more.
“I’m so sorry…It’s my fault. I was behind in class. It should’ve been me. Not you. I should’ve protected you, I-,” he finally lets it all come rushing out.
You cut him off by placing your good hand on his cheek, giving him a difficult and very broken smile. Your voice comes out raspy from the sobs you had forced down. “No. This decision was mine, George. All mine…” you give the faintest of laughs, almost in disbelief. “And yet, I can’t find the mind to regret it… I would do it again… and again.”
He leaned into your touch, eyes wincing as you revealed to him that you would take this punishment and this pain for him once again.
“Look at me?” you whispered.
He brought his eyes up to meet yours. Your voice was a little bit clearer now, although wavering ever so slightly.
“My decision. Please do not take that away from me, Georgie. It was my decision to make, and I am so glad that I did. You are so smart. You know that, right?” You looked up at him from under your eyelashes through the now silent and mild tears that streamed down your face.
He shook his head. He couldn’t bring himself to even begin to describe himself as smart. If that were true, he thought, he would’ve found a way to be there with you. If that were true, you wouldn’t have been there at all. He couldn’t understand, how through all of the terror and pain, you were the one to comfort him. He simply began to unwrap the bandages from their place on the table and started to wrap them tightly around your hand to stop the blood from dripping any longer, a lot of it starting to dry already. When he was finished, you took your good hand and placed it on his cheek once again. You pulled him into a sweet, soft, salty kiss.
“Smart. Clever. Kind. Brave. Gentle,” you muttered these words in his ear as you rested your head on his shoulder, and he once again pulled you into his lap, this time, towards him.
“The strongest girl I know, so beautiful, so loving…,” he muttered back, caressing your hair, trailing off into magical, sweet nothings that mean quite everything to both of you.
“I love you, Georgie,” you whisper.
“I love you, darling,” he says.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” you ask the beautiful, ginger boy that you love so dearly.
“I will always stay with you, my love,” he says as he begins to lift your body from the couch to carry to your dorm. There the two of you find comfort in each other’s embrace, finally drifting off into a deep sleep.