To say George Weasley was shocked would be understatement of the year.
He didn't understand what attracted him to the first year.
It was absolutely not his adorable mousy brown hair. [Which tended to sweep in his eyes; always begging to be brushed away.] And certainly not his shining brown eyes; always full of curiosity and amazement. Or when the pesky first year would talk to him, his eyes would always be focused on George, giving him undivided attention. Making him shyly embarrassed. [Of course, being manly about it.]
It was rubbish. He was a third year. A mischievous third year at that. Love was the last thing he needed. Although, it wasn't love. At the time, mind you. It was a school boy crush. Maybe he was jinxed. Perhaps the prankster was poisoned with a dreadful love potion. It wouldn't surprise him if the first year slipped it into his pumpkin juice. [In actuality it would surprise the ginger. That bloody first year was too innocent to do that.]
The number one thing about the awful, [wonderful], first year was his disgusting, [brilliant], smile. It was so bloody contagious. The way it would start off slow, the corners of his mouth twitching. Then, it spread across his face, showing his kissable dimples, and sparkling teeth. Worst of all, George couldn't stop thinking about that damn smile. It was barmy. It made him narked. [And sick of using British terms.]
Only Fred knew of his 'sickness.' Or so he called it. Fred certainly wasn't any help. Fred would constantly try to find his 'cure.' Finding random girls, which, from a certain angle, or in the sunlight, looked somewhat like the first year. But it was never good enough. Once, a fellow third year looked like the first year's twin, or long lost cousin. But George wasn't satisfied.
Why? Because the third year didn't have a camera.
Yes, George Weasley was utterly, obsessively, painfully, and obviously in love with Colin Creevey.