The Various (Mis)Adventures in the Life of Tempestas Potter.

1. George Fabian Weasley.

In another life, George's declaration of love to one Tempest Potter was a rambling and heated thing, spat out more of desperation to finally say the words rather than a crafted and planned thing.

In this life, it was very much close to the same thing.

With one difference.

"You're an idiot," called Tempest over her shoulder as she sprinted off down the road.

"You say that a lot," sighed George, dropping the remains of the now irreparably damaged bike. "It's starting to sound a lot like an endearment." He set off in chase, longer legs quickly closing the distance between them, yet somehow never quite reaching her.

It was summer in Scotland although it seemed no one had thought to tell the sky, which remained a dull grey and the temperature barely above the single digits. George, always first on Tempest's list of when she wanted to have fun had been summoned from England at her whim. Fred liked to joke that George was little better than a dog running after her, never able to escape the 'animal zone.' Worse than the friend zone, because at least as a friend gender was realised, but no. Tempest had seemed to forget he was even a male often times, or realise they were even of the same species.

Sometimes George wondered why he liked her. Because oh yes he loved her, he'd known that for years now, but while she was easy to love, so painfully heartbreakingly easy; she was not easy to like. She could grate nerves and be as infuriating as a leaky tap and sometimes if George had managed to forget in her own fashion that she was a female, he'd want to punch her so badly his knuckles turned white from strain. He did know though, that if he did hit her, she could take it; they'd been enough scraps together for him to know that. He knew she'd give as good as she got if not multiplied by a dozen.

But perhaps it was behind and beyond all of that roughness that George found himself longing to be the one person with whom all of that faded and mellowed and became softer. He could take the rough, yet at heart he knew he was a romantic. Perhaps it was years of seeing his parents interact and the sheer overwhelming presence of their love if one looked for it. The quiet words, the looks directed at each other when they thought no one else was looking. The flowers he bought her, the treasured moments together when their seven children weren't clamouring for attention that day.

George had wondered fancifully (and to himself; he wasn't a complete idiot as Tempest stated all those times, he knew if Fred ever found out he'd be teased till kingdom come) sometimes about finding that one. The one who he'd love enough for what others might call obsession to transform into something undeniable. And somehow his poor poor brain had chosen Tempest Potter.

It really hadn't been convenient, he knew that. It was Tempest after all- mad impossible Tempest, and for those who had perhaps guessed his feelings looked at him with pity when they thought he couldn't see. Ron and Hermione in particular. Looks of 'oh that poor fucker,' to fall in love with someone who couldn't see him as anything other than an easy companion, someone to share a laugh with at his convenience. Never one to trust with her problems or deeper thoughts.

He didn't need their pity, or their unsubtle hints that perhaps he should move on, find someone- anyone- else. A person who was at the very least reachable. He was still at Hogwarts: wizards lived well into their hundreds, he had so much more of his life to live, why would he insist standing before a blank wall when it was clear the wall was never going to move, acknowledge there was someone before it?

George has tried, honestly and truly. He's not as much of a sucker for punishment as the others seem to think, but just when he thinks he might be making progress, she'll call him an idiot and grin at him and it'll be just like all those years ago when she had first called him a spineless bastard and he'll be falling in love all over again.

Like now.

She's running down the street, the quaint street in the middle of the tiny Scottish town, and somehow although he's taller he can't seem to catch up as much as he should be able to, and for some reason, today of all days, George becomes frustrated, more so than usual and uncommonly so. It might be because Tempest's mocking laughter might just have been the last straw, or perhaps the chasing her was a dangerously accurate analogy for his feelings, but he slows at the end of the street and stops altogether, standing and panting, refusing to run any further.

Then Tempest is slowing too, noticing he isn't chasing anymore, turning and jogging back to him, raising an eyebrow mischievously. "Too much for you Weasley? Dear me, can't handle a bike, or run that far... What are we going to do with you?"

And George snapped, not sure why or now of all days. It could've been because it was Tempest's birthday and she had elected him of all people to spend the day with (and only him) and he wanted that to mean so much more than it really did. It could've been anything at all, but the point was ultimately that George gave up on self-preservation and blurted out the thing that had been on his mind for so long he thought it was beginning to define him.

"Hedgy, for once in your life, could you please shut the fuck up?"

Of course, Tempest didn't.

"Well fuck you too, with a steak knife up the arse," she frowned over at him. "You alright?"

George faltered. But then again he already had his foot in the rabbit stump so to speak, so he spoke again, words blending together with haste and urgency and years of repression, into a single incomprehensible sentence. "HedgIow'tsnotexactlyonurmindutaseyoun'towInoveithyou."

Tempest's forehead creased in confusion and she looked at George with the sort of look one might give a dog about to be put down. (George refused to see the analogy.) "I know we share a bond George," drawled Tempest, "but that doesn't mean I understand when you speak Gobblegook. It'd be helpful if you said that again and a tad slower."

George cleared his throat very hard, then again, and had suffered a moment of temporary insanity, (actually every moment of his life knowing Tempest was insanity) failing to take the escape route. "You know it's not a requirement to casually insult me every time you open your mouth… I was saying, basically, that I am, in fact. In love with you."

Tempest's reaction was unexpected. Well, she was always unexpected.

She laughed, reaching up to clap George on the shoulder and grinning. "Well that's hardly something that merits your inability to speak, love you too idiot."

She began to walk off, and George stared after her half in shock. Only she… only her… How could… shit, how could she have misunderstood? There was a definite difference between love and in love… wasn't there? But here it was. A second chance, an out, presented to him on a silver plater. Tempest never had to know. After all, what were the chances of her taking it well?

"Not like that," blurted George, and Tempest turned back. His mouth seemed to be functioning separately from the rest of his body. "I mean I love you holding hands and walking into the sunset. Like dates in tea shops and snogging in the snow. Like orchids on Valentines even though I know you hate flowers because you're allergic, but won't ever admit it."

Tempest blinked at him, apparently surprised by his outburst. "Oh, yeah, no, I know that. Hell, I'm not that oblivious, Merlin, George, it's hardly earthshattering news, I don't see what the problem is. C'mon, if we get back to the house, Minnie might actually let us play Quidditch in the garden. I promised her this time I wouldn't go smashing through any of her windows."

"But…" now George felt incredibly wrong-footed. "I… shouldn't we talk about this?"

Tempest sighed impatiently. "George. Mate. You are aware that there is a fucking mass murderer out there called Sirius Black who sold out my parents, works for Voldemort and wants me dead too? Now in comparison, you in love with me and me loving you is really just a footnote. George, I am actually sorry, but this is really not as big of a deal as you are making it out to be. We'd never work. I'm not attracted to you. At all. In any capacity. We'd never shag and I'd never want to snog you because you're like my brother and incest isn't exactly something I ever want to get involved in. And hypothetically even if I was attracted to you, it's school. We'd be broken up and unable to speak to each other by the time you're at NEWT level and I starting my OWLs." She glanced over her shoulder and down the road. "Or, we could skip all of that and go play Quidditch, because that's a place where things actually work between us."

She turned once again to go, leaving George stunned, heartbroken, and actually, surprisingly, relieved.

Some things just weren't meant to be. Perhaps it was time he accepted that.


Sometimes I feel bad for tormenting poor George so. Then I remember I'm a heartless bastard and the feeling goes away.

Reviews are much appreciated and also, if you write what you'd like to have Tempest go through next, I'll write it up :) I love a challenge.