This is written in Harry Potter's fourth year at Hogwarts. Alicia and George are sixth-years, and everything else canonical is proceeding canonically. I'm going to try my best not to rush the romance.

DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter universe does not belong to me. Alicia and George do not belong to me. In other words, a lot of things in this fan-fiction do not belong to me. However, all the chocolate in my house belongs to me. And for now, I can live with just that.

1995.

Name: Alicia Spinnet

Year: 6

Blood status: half-blood

Alicia's been blessed with a pretty stress-free life for the past sixteen years. She spent most of her childhood acquainting herself with her father's Muggle toys and wasn't introduced to magic until she was six, when she started making the swingset push herself at the playground without even trying.

Her parents have been bearable and that's enough for her. Sometimes her mother goes overboard with her ideals on how young ladies should appear and behave. Sometimes her father gets irrationally exasperated with mentions of magic school and needs some time away from home. But they hold together, and she tells herself that's enough.

The years have been kind to her. Alicia is pretty and clever. She follows the rules and removes herself from dangerous situations. She avoids people that spell trouble and plays well with other girls.

She never imagines that one semester – scratch that, one person – can change that so drastically.

JANUARY. It's the best room in the castle. It really is.

Alicia smiles in response to the sound of silence greeting her when she steps into the Charms classroom and closes the door. It's empty, and the sun has just barely set, so the room is cool and still and just the right amount of dark.

She makes her way over to her usual spot, the enormous upholstered armchair behind the teacher's table, and sinks into the silky-smooth leather. Because she's alone, she grins to herself in content and breathes in the perfection that is classroom 2E.

Charms is her best and favorite subject. Professor Flitwick dotes on her and lets her use his classroom whenever she likes. Alicia comes in from time to time, in the evenings when she knows it won't be used, and relaxes in solitude or finishes her assignments. It's the best room in the castle. The perfect spot, undisturbed.

Completely hers.

Before Alicia can knock on wood and protect her dreamy haven, someone else knocks on the classroom door.

"Anyone in here?"

Alicia panics.

For a fraction of a second, she seriously deliberates impersonating Professor Flitwick.

Over the next few heartbeats, she juggles the thought of hiding under the table or scurrying into one of the students' desks and pretend she's serving detention.

Too late.

"Hey—"

He sees her.

"No way. Spinnet?"

She blinks into the semi-darkness at the mysterious figure that is staring in her direction. "Who are you?" she says suspiciously.

The intruder comes up the rows of desks, approaching her. "Whoa, it's just me, George."

Alicia doesn't know how to look – surprised, confused, or apprehensive.

It's George Weasley. Resident bad boy. Twin of Fred Weasley, other resident bad boy. They break rules and hearts and bones and basically everything they come into contact with. They're trouble, they're danger, and Alicia does not feel remotely comfortable in their company unless someone like Angelina or Oliver or even little Harry is there with them.

"What are you doing here?" he asks her, sounding wary.

"What are you doing here?" she fires back, not looking at him.

"I asked you first."

"I was here first."

"What?" he smirks, looking faintly confused. "That shouldn't even matter."

Alicia ignores him. "Oh, I want to guess," she muses, not unkindly. "You're … hiding from a teacher."

George shakes his head. "I'd hide from a teacher in a classroom?"

She shrugs. "Reverse psychology," she suggests, then, in a burst of inspiration, declares, "Oh, I know, you're hiding from girls?"

"Why would I hide from a girl?" George scoffs, as though questioning her intelligence. "Alright, for one thing, I am of the gender that is superior in strength and skill, so I wouldn't need to ever hide from a girl. Secondly … girls are hot. Why would I want to be away from them?"

"Sexism!" Alicia exclaims, pretending to smack Flitwick's desk in mock fury. "There are so many things wrong with that statement," she tells him, unimpressed. "It receives a negative grade. You fail. Sorry. Goodbye." She tacks on a humorless smile and dainty little wave to emphasize her point.

George Weasley, being George Weasley, is not even fazed. He swoops into one of the open students' seats, dropping his books on the desk and leaning forward in mock enthusiasm. "No, no, I want to hear this," he says, looking curious and dangerous all at once. "Tell me more of your theories."

Alicia, being her lovely, patient, and tolerating self, decides to forego the lecture on chauvinism and acting like a pig (a decision that may or may not have been influenced by the fact that George Weasley was a Grade-A troublemaker with the means to ruin every aspect of her life if she went there). So she decides to humor him, instead, and gives him what he wants.

"Right, well, maybe you're running from a girl because you've just cruelly ditched her best friend in some gross little corner of the castle where she's currently crying her eyes out and making dying animal noises—"

"I can inspire dying animal noises?" George cuts in, looking pleased.

"Or maybe you turned her hair green—"

"Please," George scoffs, "that stunt barely scrapes the bottom of the amateur barrel."

"Or maybe you're running from Madam Pomfrey because you just stole chocolate from the Hospital Wing!" she exclaims, in the slow-to-fast progression characteristic of dawning realizations. "Oh my gosh, please share—"

"Whoa, that is way off base," George says quickly, drawing back a bit at the pleading look in her eyes. "How many more weird ideas do you have?"

Alicia frowns at him. "Don't insult my ideas. If you're going to shoot down all my theories like a smart-ass you might as well just tell me the real reason you've come here, and save me a lot of hurt."

He smirks a little at that, but ducks his head to hide it. (Too bad; she catches it.) "Well, little miss, when you put it that way …" Suddenly he glances up, and the locking of their eyes is almost audible, "Anything to keep you from hurting, I suppose."

Alicia holds his stare and seethes on the inside. Seven minutes in his presence and he's already started playing. Typical.

"Go on," she urges him, all business, "I haven't got all night."

His eyes dart to all the places around her, taking in the fact that she's not exactly working on anything, noting her relaxed posture, and the skeptical lift of his eyebrow confirms that he's aware she hasn't exactly been up to anything tonight.

"I was looking for Flitwick," George admits with a shrug. "Know where he is?"

"Why are you looking for Flitwick?" Alicia wonders, ignoring his inquiry.

George narrows his eyes. "That's my business," he says, smiles tightly. "Where is he, Spinnet?"

Alicia takes the hint and drops the subject faster than a hot Bezoar. She will not deny being just a teensy-tiny bit intimidated by George Weasley.

"I don't know," she tells him honestly. "He's never usually in here in the evenings unless there's a Charms Club meeting."

"Charms Club?" George repeats dumbly. "We have a Charms Club here?"

Alicia looks affronted. "Of course we do! And it is, like, the coolest thing ever. Honestly, I think you're out of the loop on this one because you don't meet our cool standards."

George blinks at her, processing what she's said, then a slow, Cheshire-style smile devours his blank expression. He leans forward, snickering, "No way. You're in the Charms Club?"

Alicia takes a moment to ponder his delight before nodding cautiously.

"No way!" he repeats laughingly, falling back in his chair and giving her a round of understated, slow, and sarcastic applause. "That is extremely dorky."

Alicia's mouth drops open slightly with indignation. "Hey! Stop judging me," she says weakly.

This only causes him to laugh harder. "I can't believe I'm actually talking to someone in the Charms Club!"

Okay, now he's just being a prat.

"Okay, now you're just being a prat," Alicia tells him, glaring.

George's mirth subsides eventually but once he's calm enough to speak, he doesn't. He just sits there, looking at Alicia in a new light, his eyes teasing.

After regarding her silently for a few moments, he finally says, in a very offhand way, "Fine, you play Quidditch. Which actually is the coolest thing ever. So you balance out."

Alicia leans her elbow on the teacher's table and rests her cheek in the palm of her hand, rolling her eyes at him. "So I'm a zero?"

The tug at his mouth is instantaneous, but the smirk is somehow no longer as annoying as it previously had been. She can't quite explain why.

George raises his eyebrows and shrugs. "Well, I'd say Quidditch is way cooler than Charms Club, so it's not perfect balance; you're probably somewhere in the low positives." He smiles innocently at her as if he's doing her a favor.

Alicia blinks at him, not amused. "Gee, thanks. How gracious of you."

The smile goes back to being a smirk.

"Huh, I can't believe I never put this together," he muses, inspecting the skin on his palms. "Flitwick's pet. Best in the class … and Charms Club."

Alicia resents being called a teacher's pet (like, come on, she's not even that bad … have you met Hermione Granger?) but she maintains an indifferent air.

"There's nothing wrong with being smart," she retorts.

He appraises her with thoughtful eyes. "Didn't say there was," he says carefully. "Heck, wish my grades were half as high as yours."

Alicia purses her lips, hesitating with her thanks, then for some inexplicable reason she decides to ask, "Is that why you were looking for Professor Flitwick?"

(She must have grown a death wish sometime in the last half-hour.)

Surprisingly, he doesn't seem at all upset with the question. He grimaces and shrugs his shoulders, staring at the books in front of him with boredom. "Yeah, it was."

"But," she thinks aloud, "you've always been so good with spells. I mean, you've made so many things with—"

"It's not the same," George sighs, irritated. "I can do all of it, I just don't test well." After a beat, he adds, "I might suck with the theory, too."

Alicia says quietly, "I might believe that."

An amused, but wry chuckle escapes him.

"You could always come by our Charms Club meetings for extra help," Alicia offers brightly, giving him two thumbs-ups.

George just stares at her, looking half-pained.

"God," he mutters, "don't ever do that again. That's like, dorky overkill."

Alicia draws back, momentarily offended, but then brushes it off and adopts an uncaring expression.

"Or you could just, like, you know, ask the Professor for help," she scoffs. "Whatever. That too, I guess."

He smirks (he does that way too much, Alicia grumbles inwardly) and stands up, grabbing his books. "Guess so. If Flitwick comes back before you're out of here, let him know what I wanted, would you?"

Alicia nods, and lifts her hand in farewell as he walks away.

"Wait, George –" she calls out, when he's just made it to the door. When he turns around, she continues, "Um, you could also … come and find me when you're having a hard time studying."

She watches the slight movement of his head, the flash of confusion in his eyes, then the settling of his expression into an interested look. He gives her one last glance (eyebrow raised, faint smirk) before he leaves the room.

It surprises her a bit. It unnerves her a lot.

TBC

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