Hi everyone! Thanks so much for reading. I just wanted to pop in and say that this is my absolute favorite chapter so far, hence the length. I hope you love it as much as I do and are enjoying the story so far. Please let me know what you think!
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George kept his eyes on his feet as he flitted down the stairs, remaining unaware of her presence behind the pillar. She stared at him for a moment, relishing in the opportunity to observe his relaxed demeanor and floppy hair. Butterflies exploded in her chest as he pushed back the loose strands in front of his face and nibbled on his bottom lip, looking utterly unconcerned with the treacherous moving marble staircases around him.
Despite seeing him nearly every day, she suddenly felt overwhelmed. Her nerves fluttered violently in her chest, catching in her throat and making it difficult to breathe. It wasn't too late to leave, she thought, in a last moment of panic. She could escape quietly and George would turn the corner and wait for her in the empty stairwell until finally being forced to think that she didn't want to be a part of the business anymore, and thusly, his life. They could sit silently next to one another in potions and ignore each other any other time. It would be a relatively clean and uncomplicated break but she doubted that George would let her escape that easily. The unpleasant, illogical thoughts in her head vanished as she conjured the dramatic scene of George breaking into the Slytherin common room to see why she was avoiding him. No matter how many times she went over the common sense options, it seemed that whether she liked it or not, she was doomed to be entirely intertwined with him for the foreseeable future.
She waited a few more seconds until he was just about 6 feet away before her anxiety-riddled subconscious couldn't take it anymore.
"Hey," she squeaked out, scaring him for once.
"Bloody hell, Violet," he said, clutching his chest after nearly skipping a step and tripping down the stairs. "I could've fallen to my death."
"Nonsense, I would've caught you," she assured him, taking the last few steps up to the stair where he stood.
"Great bloody good that would've done," he teased, shaking his head. "Then we'd both be dead."
He loomed over her while he spoke, with his eyes slowly moving up and down her body. She watched him linger on the portions of bare skin that she'd never shown before and grew warm all over when he seemingly did a double-take at her exposed collarbones and upper chest.
"Will you carry this for me?" she blurted, breaking away from his gaze and stuffing the heavy backpack into George's arms.
"Merlin," he mumbled, bending slightly as he adjusted to the weight of the bag. "You really are trying to kill me."
She traded him for the invisibility cloak and tossed it over her head, shuffling close behind him as they walked up the last stairway to the tower's entrance.
"If I was trying to kill you," she whispered. "You would've been dead ages ago."
He chuckled and paused before they made it to the Fat Lady to grab her hand over the cloak, pulling her close beside him.
She tried her best to stifle her giggle when he muttered, "Balderdash," towards the portrait before the door swung open, and he pulled her inside of the Gryffindor common room.
It was the complete opposite of the dark, precise common room she was used to, so much so, that she half forgot that she needed to continue moving her feet to keep up with George.
The walls were covered in lively red and gold wallpaper that tapered off into high stone ceilings accented by tall windows and a gold ornate chandelier. The furniture was all variations of the same burnt red house color but it seemed rather mismatched and tattered, definitely more worn in than the posh leather seats in Slytherin.
George quickly pulled her through the almost empty room, up a flight of stone stairs, and through a large wooden door. They walked up a rickety spiral staircase lined with doors until he stopped at the door marked, 'Weasley & Weasley,' and lead her inside.
It was significantly smaller than hers but the windows lining the curved back wall made it look a little bit more spacious than it really was. Dark wooden beds stood on opposite sides of the room, next to two large dressers, with desks and a pair of drawers between them. Quidditch posters, Gryffindor memorabilia, and family photos lined the walls. Her eyes swept over the room a final time before the knot in her stomach tightened as she confirmed its unoccupied state.
"Where did you go," George asked, setting her bag down and taking a seat at the edge of his bed.
"Oh, sorry," she responded, pulling off the cloak to drop on the floor and smiling sheepishly. "I forgot I had it on."
He stared at her from across the room and the tension from them being alone, so close to his bed, was almost too much to bear. Her eyes wandered the room again, taking in a few of the family pictures, as she steadied her breathing and tried to look as casual as possible.
"Where's Fred?" She asked, nonchalantly.
"Off with Lee, wreaking havoc, I'm sure," he responded, leaning down onto his bed and propping his head on his hand. "Not sure when they'll be back but it's usually not until past midnight."
"Oh," she said, trying to stay calm at the thought of them alone in the room for who knows how long.
Unsure of what to do next, she quickly broke free from his gaze and walked over to the small crevice between his desk, and the window where he'd set her bag, to get the polyjuice potion started. She knelt to unpack, keenly aware of his eyes following her every move, and set the cauldron and burner down onto the window sill. She lit a low flame, measured out the standard potion water, and waited to see small white bubbles at the bottom.
"Oh right, you'll need these," George said suddenly, not protesting her sudden shift to being all about business. She watched him open his desk drawer and reach over to hand her two small containers before returning to his spot on the bed.
"Huh," she mused, looking at the jars of lacewing flies and boomslang skin. "I can't believe you did it."
"If you tattle to Snape, I'm dragging you down with us."
She squinted at him before adding the lacewing flies to the pot, flicking her wand, and then covering it to stew.
"Do you really think so little of me?"
George let out a hearty laugh and shook his head.
"Quite the contrary, darling."
She rolled her eyes and watched out of the corner of her eye to see George return to his resting position on the bed. She pushed the burner and cauldron further into the corner, being sure to organize the rest of the ingredients on the window sill before standing back up and brushing her hands off onto her skirt.
"Is that it?" George asked.
"For now," she answered, moving to sit on the desk chair. "The lacewing flies have to stew for 21 days before I can add the rest of the ingredients. I'll have to check on it now and then but I trust you to stir it every day."
"Alright," he replied, clearing his throat and sitting up to face her.
She stared at him across the small space that separated them and tried not to think about how comfortable and warm his bed looked.
"Can I snoop?" she blurted.
He let out a throaty laugh and stared at her with a huge grin. "Only because you asked so nicely."
She returned his smile and stood up from the chair, turning in a full 360, trying to decide which part of the room to start with.
"Point me in the direction of the most embarrassing stuff please," she cooed.
"Hmm well, other than the entirety of Fred's side, I'd have to recommend the family photos near the door."
She meandered over towards the large stone wall adorned with wooden framed pictures of countless moving redheads. Nine nearly identical faces smiled out at her from Egypt, and Romania, in holiday sweaters, Hogwarts robes, and in front of an incredibly tall home that looked as if it was quite the architectural feat.
"Is that your house?" She asked, pointing to the odd wooden structure in the background of a photo. She heard George get up from the bed and take a few steps to stand behind her. He lightly pressed his chest against her shoulder, and she absentmindedly leaned into the warmth.
"Yeah," he said almost sheepishly. "Not much, but it's home."
"It's incredible," she mused, wondering which window was his room.
He grumbled something inaudible about it being structurally sound but she was too focused on deciphering the redheads she didn't recognize.
"Is that your mum?" she said, pointing to the woman at the forefront of the same photo.
"The one and only."
She studied the stocky redhead woman smiling next to her identical offspring. She looked sweet but the look in her eye told Violet that she was not a woman to be trifled with. It was to be expected of course because she doubted that just a normal woman could've created such a powerhouse as Ginny or two versions of chaos in human form.
"Ginny told me that she threatened to tattle on you and Fred to her about holding me hostage or something, I wonder if she ever did it," she mused, shifting her eyes to stare at the younger more mischievous looking version of George in the photo. She remembered the short hair cut from his third year and smiled to herself. He looked a lot better now with his shoulder-length mop.
"Oh, you bet she did."
It took her a moment to register his words but as soon as she did, she nearly took off her own head by whipping around to face him.
"You're joking!"
"Wish I were," he confessed nervously.
Her eyes widened. "What did your mum say?"
"Well, obviously she was angry. I got a howler about it and everything."
"Oh no."
"Don't worry, I sent her a letter explaining the whole situation."
"What did you say?" She asked breathlessly, bringing her hands to cover her face in mortification.
He shrugged. "The truth a'course."
"That's just great George, now your mother thinks that I'm some misfit, who enables you to steal from the school," she accused in a panic, staring up at his suddenly red face.
"Oh well no…I didn't get to that part," he admitted sheepishly, clearing his throat before continuing. "She was worried that I actually had you locked up so I uh…just told her that it wasn't like that and that um… you're just a girl…who is willingly spending time with me, and um I am just a boy, who is willingly spending time with you."
Her heart fluttered for a moment until guilt trickled in. He'd told his mother about her and she was terrified for her best friend to know that they even spoke.
"Oh."
She wanted to press further and ask what his mother said and if he thought she'd like her but, it was a road to nowhere. Despite the pit in her stomach, she let a giggle escape her lips at his explanation and leaned forward to shove his shoulder in jest.
"Well it's the truth," George mumbled, reaching a hand up to move a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"You're quite liberal with the word willingly," she whispered, smiling up at him before turning back to inspect more embarrassing photos.
He chuckled and she felt his finger hesitate on her neck before he dropped his arm to rest on her upper back, rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades. The warmth sent tingles down her spine and she bit back an embarrassingly pleased smile.
"Which one is Charlie?"
"That one," he said, pointing to a taller, older, and stockier version of himself and Fred. "With the great big burn on his arm. He'll be here tomorrow, did I tell you that?"
"Really?" She asked excitedly, craning her neck backward to meet his toffee eyes.
"Yeah, we'll go and see him after breakfast so you can meet us there if you still want to."
"Can I join you," she inquired nervously. "For breakfast before, I mean."
"Sure but can you afford being seen surrounded by that many Weasley's first thing in the morning?"
She glanced down from his smug smile, biting her lip nervously and trying to take it as a joke. He was probably kidding, but he did have a point. In all her excitement she'd completely forgotten that she had to tread lightly with George around his family, as to not raise any suspicions about their romantic feelings for one another, and had tread lightly with all of the Weasley's, around everyone else for her own self-preservation. This tightrope walk was going on longer than she had previously expected, and the wire was shrinking.
She could hear George still snickering at his stupid joke so she jammed an elbow into his side to shut him up.
"Oi watch it, or you won't get your surprise," he huffed, bracing his hand against her back a little harder to hold her at arm's length.
She laughed at his pained expression and turned to look directly up at him with a huge grin.
"You've got a surprise for me?"
He smiled smugly at her interest. "Yes."
"Can I have it now?"
"So impatient, you are."
She cocked an eyebrow. "Just add it to my list of flaws, right next to angry and uptight."
"Well then you can add withholding onto mine, next to annoying and smug," he said amusingly.
She turned back to the wall and searched for an embarrassing photo to point out. She found it in the form of him and Fred standing in Diagon Alley before their first year at Hogwarts.
"That's fine," she cooed. "Tell me more about this haircut instead."
He wrapped both hands around her waist and pulled her from the wall. "Alright, alright you can have it now."
His tight grip against her was jarring but not unwelcome as he moved them over to the bed and sat down, keeping his hands on either side of her, before clearing his throat awkwardly.
"Um, it'll be easiest to see if you lay down," he said, biting his lip, gesturing towards the bed.
Her stomach flip-flopped. It was enticing but she in the belly of the beast tonight, and thusly, on high alert, just in case any nosy Gryffindors came busting in.
"The floor then," she said cautiously.
"Oh…yes right, that'll work," he mumbled before releasing her, kicking a few pieces of clothes under his bed and laying two pillows down on the floor.
She laid down and watched George walk over to fiddle with something on Fred's desk, which, judging by the number of products, and clutter, seemed to hold their business supplies. He scooped something in his hands and flicked his wand to extinguish the lights before laying down next to her so that their arms just barely touched.
"George, what are you doing?" She hissed in the dark, praying that Fred would not choose this moment to come back.
"Just trust me," he whispered back.
The windows let in just enough light so that she could see him raise an arm and light a small cylinder between his fingers with a non-verbal fire spell.
It suddenly flew out of his hand and made a soft whizzing noise before bursting into colors as it exploded close to the ceiling. She held her breath and watched the wooden ceiling become illuminated with small white, green, and purple sparks.
She gasped softly and looked over to George who was completely ignoring the show to watch her reaction. She shot him a smile before turning back to enjoy the view.
The sparks swirled around the room before congregating just a few feet above them. They faded to a bright purple and then melted into one another, to take the shape of a flower.
"It's a violet," she whispered, awe-struck by the image above them.
The flower bloomed and produced several smaller versions of itself to rain down around her. She sat up a little and reached out to touch one, giggling as it disappeared around her finger. The petals fell in a waterfall of purple, making the room sparkle and dance in the shifting incandesce before disappearing just before hitting the floor. She turned to look for George but he'd almost completely disappeared behind a curtain of violet light.
She sat up on her elbows, as the last firework fizzled out around them, staring at the ceiling for a moment before emotion overwhelmed her. No one, not even her parents, had done something like this for her before. She'd received gifts on birthdays and other holidays corresponding with her interests, of course, but this was different and completely dumbfounding. Of all the thoughtful gestures she'd read about in her books of fictional romance, she couldn't think of a one that held a candle to this.
In the dark, she fumbled slightly across the floorboards and grabbed George's hand. He laced his fingers with hers and pulled her closer.
"That was beautiful," she stammered, letting her cheek hit his shoulder. "I…I don't know what to say. I loved it."
"Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs," he whispered, his breath tickling her forehead.
"What?"
"It's a new product… but um… I wanted to make the first one for you."
She smiled to herself and nuzzled closer to George. Of course, it was for the business, she thought, not that it mattered because she loved it, regardless.
The floor was uncomfortable but she hardly even noticed.
Heavenly.
That was the only word to describe laying in George's bedroom with him stroking her hand and breathing into her hair.
They laid like that for what seemed like forever, but surely it was only minutes before she couldn't contain the longing anymore.
She let go of his hand and propped herself up on an elbow to search for his face in the dark. The moonlight illuminated him just enough so she could just make out a slight smile; pale, honest, and beautiful in the weak light.
It wasn't right…she tried not to think it but it was true.
He deserved someone who could lay with him without fear or regret. Someone who could be with him wholly. It had taken her 17 years to realize that she was selfish, and a few months to realize that she didn't want to be. And yet, here she was, with him, unknowing that she was going to break his heart. He looked at her like she was the only person in the world, the only star in the galaxy, the only thing that mattered, and despite everything, she knew he saw the same in her gaze.
He responded to her movement instantly and slung his hand around the back of her neck, massaging the skin with his thumb. It wasn't hungry or desperate and when her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, he was regarding her with an unfamiliar delicateness. Before she could lean down and cover his lips with hers in adoration, he craned his neck up towards her, to press his lips just below her eye, where her bruise once was. She closed her eyes and let him do as he liked, utterly content to be in his complete control. It was a strange feeling, wanting to give someone everything, despite knowing that it would never be enough to accurately display whatever warmth she felt in her chest towards him every second they were together, or apart.
He pressed light kisses on her eyelids, forehead, cheeks, nose, and jaw, occasionally letting his tongue taste more sensitive spots. Between kisses, his teeth suddenly made contact with the skin just below her ear and under normal circumstances, she would've been horrified with the embarrassingly feminine purr that escaped her throat. Thankfully, he seemed to be satisfied with the whine and brought them both back down to the pillows where he kissed her property, on the lips, in passionate tandem.
She responded to the contact eagerly, parting her lips for his tongue, and gripping the front of his shirt to bring him down on top of her. He groaned as their chests made contact and pressed his body weight onto her. They crashed together over, and over again, clashing tongues, bruising lips, wandering hands; it was euphoria.
He suddenly peeled himself off of her in a swift movement, and before she could protest, he reached down to sweep her into his arms. She gasped at the change in position as his taught arms effortlessly lifted her by her knees and waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her over to the bed where he hesitated slightly before sitting on its edge with her perched across his thighs.
He stared at her nervously, loosening his grip on her full waist while keeping a steady hold so she didn't fall.
"Erm…the bed is probably more comfortable but we don't um have to — "
She cut him off by turning into his chest, bringing a hand to his cheek, and letting her thumb caress his swollen lips. His eyes didn't leave her as she swallowed her nerves and followed the only instinct that she could decipher in this completely new realm of activity.
She kept her hand on his face for reassurance, sliding her legs off his lap and onto the floor to face him, even sitting on the bed, he was still slightly taller than her. His chest was heaving, and the hunger in his eyes vibrated her entire body. Despite the physical obviousness of his passion, he was gentle and patient, never moving without her or wandering where she could not follow.
She pushed him back slightly so that he leaned fully against the headrest and propped both legs up on the bed before she climbed on top of him, resuming the straddling position they'd grown fond of in the library. His throat bobbed as she rested her full weight onto his hips, and leaned her chest into his. She smiled slightly and couldn't resist placing a delicate kiss against the two freckles she'd practically memorized on his neck. Her lips made contact with his skin and she heard him suck in a sharp breath.
As content, as she was letting him have all the control, feeling him squirm, and breathe heavily beneath her, waiting for her touch to satisfy him, was even more intoxicating. She continued her trail of kisses up the side of his neck, ending at his ear where she stopped to toy with the lobe between her teeth, remembering the delicious noises he'd made the first time she'd done it in the library. He did not disappoint the second time and moaned deeply, before dragging a hand away from her waist to trail up the slit in her skirt, finally making contact with her skin. It only lasted a moment though before he flinched away from her bare thigh and dawned a more gentlemanly mask by dropping his hand to the bed.
He cleared his throat nervously as she continued her delicate assault on his jaw.
"Can I touch you," he whispered, gripping her waist tighter.
His hesitation was sweet but not what she wanted. "Yes," she hissed into his ear, overcome by lust. "Please, I need you."
It was difficult to decipher if it was a command or beg but it was all the permission he needed.
His hand reclaimed her thigh instantly, holding it in a punishing grip and moving swiftly up towards her backside. His other hand wove itself into her hair, pulling her head back so that he could place sloppy kisses against her neck, and chest. The flimsy open collar of her sweater did not put up a fight as he pushed it further and further down to run his tongue against the tops of her breasts.
"Fuck," he hissed against her skin. "Say it again."
"I need you," she moaned breathlessly. She hadn't realized how much she had meant it until this very moment as the skin he kissed burned under his tongue before freezing again as he moved to the next sensitive spot, leaving a trail of wet bruises.
He tilted his head back up to recapture her lips, and his hand dropped to join the exploration of the others, up her skirt. She was, by no means, small and delicate, especially in the thigh region, and yet, his hands were able to almost entirely wrap around each one and the thought that she'd gone years without the feeling was torture. He squeezed her tighter, interrupting the stream of consciousness that was distracting her from pleasure, and pulled her down hard.
He moaned against her lips and she suddenly realized that she'd been rocking her hips against him with embarrassing desperation, feeding the flames between her legs. It was invigorating to feel how hard he was against her; for her. He broke their kiss and locked his eyes onto hers, causing a shudder to run down her spine. He looked starved, of what she didn't know, but there was something insatiable staring back at her that she hardly recognized as George.
"Is this ok?" He whispered. She stared for a moment in confusion before realizing that his thumb was rubbing circles into her pelvis, just below the lining of her underwear. Her eyes widened in surprise.
He wanted to touch her; really touch her. She nearly fainted.
If he wanted to release the pressure that had been building ever since he accidentally grabbed her thigh a month ago, who was she to decline?
"Yes," she sighed, without breaking eye contact. "Please."
He groaned at her breathless mewing and broke the fabric barrier separating her from his searching fingers. She let in a shaky breath as his thumb caressed her plump slit. Heat pooled below her navel at his light touch and she bucked her hips forward, desperate for more friction.
"Violet," he moaned. "You don't know what you do to me."
He released his other hand from her thigh and lightly held the side of her neck, pressing their foreheads together.
"George," she sighed, overcome by the thirst for movement, release, fiction; anything to un-cloud her mind from the need for him to touch her.
He regarded her with curious, hungry eyes for a moment, teasing her slit with light, long caresses. The painfully slow touches made her see stars and she was unable to contain the breathy moans escaping her lips, uncaring that he knew how desperate she was. Finally, he broke out in a satisfied smile and pressed his thumb into her folds, and onto the pulsating core that ached for him.
"Like this?"
"Yes," she moaned, unable to contain the throatiness of her pleas. "Fuck."
He breathed heavily and rubbed small circles onto her clit. The vibration made her moan haphazardly and throw her head back in ecstasy. Suddenly, her body was not her own. She was happily powerless; freed from constant worry, control, and awareness. Being completely at his mercy as he pulled her strings so perfectly, was intoxicating. Despite never experiencing this before she knew that he was ruining her for anyone else's touch, ever again, herself included.
He took her dazed look as a cue and amplified his efforts by dragging his hand down to the front of her sweater, moving the neckline off of her shoulder, to expose lacy black fabric underneath.
She heard him let out a strained huff as his mouth attached itself to the top of her breast.
"You're fucking perfect," he growled.
His lips found her nipple and again, she felt him hesitate.
"George," she whined, begging him to continue.
In an instant, his hand joined his mouth around her breast, pushing the lace of her bra completely out of the way. She closed her eyes and whimpered as he toyed with her hard nipple between his teeth.
"Does it feel good," he asked in a gravelly voice.
"Yes."
"Louder," he demanded in a strained groan, synchronizing his thumbs efforts below with his tongue on her nipple. "Fuck, please. I want to hear you."
"Fuck," she moaned, uncaring if anyone walking past his door could hear. "Yes, George, yes."
She was utterly unprepared for George's ability to unwind her completely. Sex wasn't something she'd thought about much, at least not in the real world. She'd internally accepted that it would simply happen when it did, and it was to be dealt with then. This, however, was not a part of her plans. Even the George that did similar intimate things in her dreams and fantasies, was no match for this. Intrusive thoughts of past conquests flooded her mind as he expertly stroked her where no one ever had before. Hopefully, Fred had just given him some pointers, or perhaps he was just naturally gifted. Regardless of where he'd learned it, she was content to let him expertly caress her for as long as he liked.
He must have known it too because he slowed and sped his finger up, teasing her clit, until she was grinding her hips against him eagerly, so close to the edge that her mind was getting cloudy.
He lifted his mouth from her chest and found her lips again, swallowing her haphazard moans like they were the last things on earth and sucking on her bottom lip.
"Fuck….George," she gasped. "I'm so close."
He moaned at the admission and kept a steady speed against her with his thumb, using his other hand to wrap gently around the base of her neck to watch her come undone.
Through the approaching waves of pleasure, she held his gaze, watching him memorize the way her brow furrowed and lips parted.
"George…George," she moaned, closing her eyes and throwing her head back.
In a final vibration, she seized as her mind blanked and body ascended into euphoria, making her back arch in a way that would surely make her sore tomorrow. She opened her mouth and let sighs and moans escape her throat. George groaned and moved down to recapture her neck with his mouth, gently sucking as she moved her hips in tandem with his hand to chase the high, loudly moaning his name.
He stroked her pulse point with the fingers still wrapped gingerly around her neck and whispered, "Good girl, Violet."
She rode him unabashedly to her utmost content until the friction became too much and she collapsed against him. Her cheek hit his chest again and when she opened her eye the dark around them was swirling as she tried to catch her breath.
"Fuck," George sighed, stroking her hair and peppering the top of her head with light kisses.
The sounds of their rapid breathing were the only thing that broke the silence between them. She let her eyes close as the rise and fall of Georges's chest lulled her into a state of complete content.
She came out of her orgasm clouded trance and panicked for a moment, trying to remember all of the tips and tricks that Sadie had talked to her about, so that she could return the favor but George wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight, trapping her against his chest.
Her body was spent but her mind was positively abuzz with hundreds of feelings, thoughts, and questions. The most prominent being, where on earth he'd learned to do that. She opened her mouth a few times, debating on how to approach the question, or if she even needed to at all. She was desperate to gauge his experience level but couldn't decide if it mattered to her at all.
"That was amazing," she mumbled after a few minutes of deliberation.
He jostled both their bodies with a hearty laugh. "I think that's the first compliment you've ever given me."
She rolled her eyes even though he couldn't see and nuzzled further into his chest to hide the rosy tint creeping up her cheeks.
"Was it really?" He asked in a hushed tone.
It was almost shy but she didn't know what to make of it. He'd seemed to know exactly what he was doing and there was no doubt that he'd seen her face and heard the humiliating noises coming out of her mouth.
"Yes," she answered hesitantly. "Lots of practice?"
"No," he cleared his throat. "Erm, beginners luck."
"Oh," she whispered. "Um, for me too."
He let out a sigh, possibly in relief, and squeezed her hand tighter.
She moved to sit up to slide off of his lap to look at him but the hand around her waist stopped her.
"Stay for just a little longer," he whispered, pulling her further into his chest. She nodded and nestled back into his warmth.
The sentiment washed over her and dug up the guilt from earlier. He knew, just as well as she did, that a quick escape was her specialty and even now after he'd touched her intimately and made a staggering romantic gesture, he was waiting for her to run. She watched his hand caress hers lightly and pressed her ear into the loose fabric covering his chest. It felt nice, to count someone else's heartbeat for a change and because it couldn't be permanent, she memorized the rhythm and cadence to play in her head when she was alone. She counted his breathing too, for a while, furrowing her brow in curiosity as it hitched a few times in his chest like he was mulling something over.
"Violet," he said cautiously, toying with her fingers.
"Hm?" She exhaled, satisfied that he'd finally decided to vocalize whatever he'd been thinking about for the past fifteen minutes.
"Can I ask you something?"
She nodded lazily.
"Um….it's about that day in the library but I…I don't want to uh ruin anything."
She furrowed her brow and racked her brain for what he could be on about.
"I very much doubt that anything you say could dampen my mood, George," she whispered, pressing a kiss onto his shirt.
"I don't know," he chuckled softly. "I have quite a talent for pissing you off."
She peppered a few more kisses up his sternum and waited for him to speak.
"Well, go on," she said, brushing her lips across the collar of his shirt.
He let out another shaky laugh and dropped his forehead down to meet hers.
"You're distracting me."
"Ok, ok, sorry," she said, dropping her head to rest on his chest again. "Ask away."
Her smile faded as silence reclaimed the room and just before she could begin to panic, he spoke.
"What did you mean when you said that your house already talks about you?"
She felt her stomach sink and the darkness around them suddenly lost all of its peace. She tried not to give herself away but her heartbeat fluttered to an alarming pace. Any other question would have been preferable because any other question she might have been able to answer truthfully.
"Oh…" she hesitated, squeezing her eyes tight and pressing her face into his chest. "That was um…nothing. I was just angry with you."
It was doubtful that he would believe it, but it was worth a shot. She felt the urge to break free from his grasp and make a break for the door but knew that it would only intensify the mystery, and thusly, his curiosity, and so, she was stuck.
He was quiet for a moment and then moved his hand to her chin, tipping her head upwards to meet his gaze. "Violet," he whispered, searching her face with concern. "I don't believe you."
She bit her lip and studied his eyes. He meant well, as he always did but he was completely unaware and unburdened by how stressful this line of questioning was for her. She could feel them careening towards a comfortable place in their relationship for once, and didn't want to ruin it with a confession of her darkest family secret. He wasn't going to let her off the hook without revealing something, so she decided to settle for a half-truth.
"It's just Malfoy," she said quietly, avoiding his eyes. "But you already know what he's like."
"Violet…"
"Really, George…it's nothing."
He furrowed his brown and squinted at her. "I know that's not true. Please, Vi, you can tell me."
His tone could've broken her heart. Half-way between a plea and a question. His eyes were toffee, timid, and concerned. She thought that her outburst in the library would've been forgotten after their kiss but clearly, he'd been paying attention. Maybe it was because of the fireworks or maybe because of the heat she could feel rising off of his body but she did kind of want to tell him. There were things she'd have to omit but maybe she could get close enough to the truth for him to believe her, but stray far enough away as to not raise any alarm bells.
She suddenly felt odd having the conversation while straddling him so she climbed off, to perch on the edge of the bed. He let her move before leaning forward to swing his legs off the bed to mimic hers. When they were sitting side, by side, he took ahold of her hand again.
"It's because of my father," she admitted, looking down at the floor. "He's from a pure-blood family but um…. he married a muggle, my mom."
He stroked her hand with his thumb, wordlessly urging her to continue.
"Well and…um…. I'm the oldest, so technically the pure-blood legacy ended with me. And to Malfoy and the other pure-blood supremest's, that's even worse than being muggle-born. To them, I destroyed my family name," she finished quietly. "It's really nothing more than Malfoy calling me a half-blood though, except sometimes he'll call my father a traitor, which stings but it's not nearly as bad now as it a few years ago."
She quit rambling and stared up at him.
"You don't need to say anything," she stated firmly. "And I don't need your pity or whatever.…it is what it is and I can deal with it on my own."
"How does he know that, about your family?" He asked, ignoring her previous statement.
Clever. She could hear the cogs in his mind whirring and hoped he wouldn't think too long on it.
"Lucious Malfoy went to school at the same time as my father so… yeah."
Technically not a lie, even though her father hadn't started school until Lucious's final year at Hogwarts.
He pulled her hand up to his chest. "That's awful," he mused.
She stayed quiet, hoping that he would drop it, even though she knew it was too late.
After a minute of silence, he spoke again. "How can you stand it?"
She frowned. "Stand what?"
He cleared his throat. "Living with them…being a part of a house that treats you like that."
"I hardly have a choice George," she said, trying not to be annoyed. Why did he have to bring this up now? She doubted that he'd let her shut him up with a kiss this time, but if he kept pushing, then it'd be worth a try. Anything would be worth a try to get out of this particular conversation.
"Still…" he mused. "Don't you get tired of it?"
"Of course I do but it is what it is," she said harshly. "Their feelings on that stuff are thousands of years old. There's no changing it."
She tried to steady her breathing in order to calm down but was failing miserably. He was acting as if it was her fault that she was taunted and it was starting to piss her off.
"That doesn't make it any better."
"Well spotted," she snapped, suddenly feeling her blood boiling. He had no right to lecture her about rights and wrongs.
"Don't you want to stand up for yourself?"
"Stand up for myself?" She spat, yanking her hand out of his.
"Yes. You deserve better."
"Being ignored and occasionally ridiculed is as good as I'm going to get from them, George."
He shook his head. "How can you say that, Vi? How can you just sit there and take it?"
She recoiled and it took nearly every ounce of self-control she had to not hit him in the face. He thought she was doing this because she was weak. His pity was worse than his anger, or hatred could ever be.
"You think I'm a coward, don't you?"
He swallowed hard and looked taken aback. "I didn't say that."
"That doesn't mean you don't think it," she spat. Even him, in all his ethereal glory, couldn't fight off the hatred of Gryffindor's pride and bravery that had been festering in her for years.
"They shouldn't be able to walk all over you is all that I'm trying to say."
"Just drop it, George!"
"No!"
She shook her head and shot him a death glare. "You don't know what it's like."
"Don't know what it's like? Are you joking? Every single person in my family gets sneers from Slytherins, especially Malfoy."
She bit her tongue. He had a point, to some degree, but still, at least he wasn't alone in the ridicule. She, on the other hand, faced it all alone, without an army of siblings or house loyalty behind her and that was something he couldn't understand.
"It's different for you, and you know it," she hissed.
He squinted at her statement and scoffed.
"At least when my name comes out of his mouth," he sneered, getting close to her face. "He knows it'll cost him."
She rolled her eyes and stood up. He followed suit and cast a spell to relight the room. So much for romance, she thought.
"What would you have me do? Prank him into stopping? Is that your brilliant solution?"
"It's better than nothing," he bellowed.
"No. It's adding fuel to the flame! He is a hateful boy, with hateful friends, all from hateful families, and I couldn't care less about the things that they say," she snapped as he loomed over her with a twisted enraged expression. "Besides, you don't know what it's like because you are a pure-blood. Whatever he makes fun of you for— your family, or your hair or whatever, it's never going to be about that."
"So I should count myself lucky then?" He yelled back at her.
"Do whatever you want! I don't care!"
"Obviously you do care Violet or you wouldn't be so worked up about it!"
She stared at him in disbelief. Malfoy and the other blood purists were the bad guys, not her, so why was he so angry?
"Do not speak to me about things that you do not understand," she hissed, lunging for the invisibility cloak by the door.
He grabbed her arm and tried to yank her back but she disappeared before he could get a good grip and suddenly he was fumbling with empty air. His footsteps followed close behind her out the door, down the stairs, and through the common room, which was busier now that everyone was settled in for the night. She ignored the chorus of hello's to George as he ran through and used the distraction to get to the door before him.
"So you're back to running away," he whispered harshly as she pushed open the portrait.
"Only when you're being a fucking prick," she spat back, shedding the cloak as soon as she stepped onto the stairs, not bothering to look back at him.
The footsteps behind her suddenly stopped and she whipped around to see George staring down at her from the landing a few steps above with a pained expression on his face.
"Violet, please," he stated firmly.
She froze and dropped her shoulders in defeat. How could she be angry with him for caring? He didn't want Malfoy to say nasty things to her, and neither did she. They were on the same team but she knew he'd never understand her line of thinking when it came to fighting off her housemates. He was smart and empathetic but his Gryffindor attributes clouded his better judgment and even without the rift that would be caused by her Death Eater bloodline, she didn't know if it was something they could reconcile.
He walked down two more stairs so that they stood on the same one and reached for her hand before snapping it away as a familiar voice floated up the stairwell.
"Hey, Violet!"
Ginny appeared just below them and she tried to warp her face into a more pleasant expression. George mumbled hello to his sister and moved to create a space between them for the shorter redhead.
"Oh hi um, sorry I was just leaving," she said a little more forcefully than she had meant to.
She glanced up at George, who was doing a terrible job at not looking upset. He glared down at her with his brow furrowed and fists clenched, not acknowledging his sister.
"That's alright, I'll see you tomorrow anyway," Ginny said excitedly.
"Sorry what?"
"Aren't you coming with us to see Charlie?" She said, glancing up at her brother. "George said you wanted to see the dragons."
Fuck. She'd forgotten about that. She wracked her brain for some sort of excuse, as surely now George did not want her coming to a family reunion.
"Oh um—"
He cut her off and grabbed his sister's arm, leading her back up towards the portrait. "Be in the courtyard at 9."
She shot the young witch a weak smile and dashed down the stairs, trying to ignore Ginny's accusations towards her brother about why they both looked so angry.
She was still invited to see the dragons so he couldn't be too angry, but she'd been uninvited from family breakfast with the Weasleys. It stung but she couldn't blame him, after all, she had just accused him of being a fucking prick.
That insult was nothing though. Especially not compared to George inadvertently calling her weak. It stung that he'd been so harsh and judgmental about something that wasn't even her fault; about something she couldn't control. His words washed over her again and again and she fought sorrowful, embarrassed tears the entire walk back to her common room, intent on not shedding a tear due to some Gryffindor calling her a coward.
She'd rather be a coward than an idiot.
Bravery wasn't the Gryffindor way, she thought, it was their curse. Standing up to Malfoy would be pointless and bravery for bravery's sake was pointless too. There was no endgame there, no peace, no winning. Sacrificing oneself for a just cause, with no hope of achieving the desired end was the definition of idiotic. George and the rest of them rather hold their heads high in heaven than do what they must to survive in reality. Self-preservation might be her curse but at least she'd stick around long enough to fix it someday instead of flying off the handle and getting herself killed. He saw her patience for weakness but she viewed it as a different kind of bravery.
She was brave to get up every day, knowing what she knew about her family and choosing not to go down that path. She was brave to stay vigilant and try to collect as much information as she could about the real battle that they all faced. She waited patiently in the shadows of Slytherin, plotting from the inside. The young Malfoy was nothing compared to that, and she would be an idiot to inconsequentially pick a fight with him now, especially about her stupid bloodline.
That kind of bravery, George couldn't understand. It was her noble burden and she couldn't explain it to him unless he knew what she really was. He talked a big game now, but if he knew the truth, his bravery and courage would wither and die on his tongue. Where would the Gryffindor loyalty be when he found out?
If tonight was any indicator of his feelings on the matter then she knew he could never find out, and thusly, Malfoy or anyone else could never find out about them. That was if there still was a "them" after tonight.
The confirmation of her worst suspicion caused frustrated tears to fall as soon as she stepped into her bedroom and they didn't stop until she drifted off to sleep.