I'm exhausted everyone, but here's the last of the Yule Ball. I have two (maybe?) more chapters for this sitting and another chapter for CR that I'm sitting on because I've been writing nonstop. I've finally slowed, I think.

Again, as a reminder, there will be no smut in this particular story, but sex is a part of a relationship and they're teenagers. There's got to be a point where they discuss it. Discussion is as far as this will go, but for any of my peeps who enjoy that sort of thing, I'll post a separate series of oneshots when we get to that point.

At the moment, we aren't there yet.

Gi-L-Ha: Thank you for reviewing! This is the last of the Yule Ball, but George is always here to save the day!


Chapter Thirty

It was horribly cliche, to cry in the loo at a school dance, but she was out of options at the moment.

And there were stalls in there so at least no one would see her. And she could fix her hair and makeup if she ruined it, and then she wouldn't have to tell George a thing about the entire ordeal.

The bathroom was, thankfully, empty when she entered, but she didn't take the chance of being caught still, closing herself in the stall furthest from the door and sitting down on the lid of the toilet to pull herself together.

It was easier than she'd have expected. She certainly wished she hadn't had to have the conversation with him. She certainly wished that she hadn't had to watch that look of pain flicker across his face as he'd turned away. She might even have wished she could return his feelings — however briefly — to have spared him the pain altogether.

She hated disappointing people. And she'd never lost a friend before, and though they hadn't exactly said they were no longer friends, that's what it felt like had happened. It felt sort of final, the way they'd ended things. She didn't like that at all — she wanted to fix everything and make it work despite the awkwardness and pain of the entire thing, but it simply felt like too much.

And maybe distance was for the best. He could move on with Cho and realize that he deserved better than her and their friendship could repair beyond that.

And at least, for the time being, she had one less thing to worry about. George would probably be pleased, so that was something to look forward to.

The tears stopped quite quickly though there was still a heaviness to her heart. It didn't feel as all-consuming as it had when she'd been talking to Cedric, though, and she was sure that her evening hadn't been entirely ruined by the sad turn of events. So long as she could fix her hair and makeup, convince George not to hound her for information (because she was sure he'd be able to tell she'd been crying, the observant prat) and let her enjoy the rest of the evening with him, she was fairly certain that she could forget about the entire thing.

But, of course, fate was not on her side.

The moment she'd managed to wipe all of her tears and had gone to unlock the stall, she could hear a group of giggling girls entering the loo. She rolled her eyes and sat back down, not too excited to exit and have them know she'd been crying in there by herself. It'd be all over the party within ten minutes and then she'd never convince George she was fine. And Tori would probably throw a fit. Which, of course, would make Fred throw a fit.

No, it would be easier to just wait them out. Even if she had to listen to ridiculous gossip about their dates.

"Miller is definitely trying to spend the night tonight," one of them said with a giggle. It, of course, sent the others into giggles of their own. "He looks quite dashing, doesn't he?"

"You're very lucky," one of the girls said, sounding morose. "I knew I should have gone with Neil instead. Nathan is horribly dull."

There was a snort.

"I don't know what you were thinking anyway," a third voice said. "Neil was going to ask you, I already told you that. You were just too impatient to wait."

"Oh, don't judge me," the other girl said, sounding annoyed. "At least I'm not flirting with a man who has a girlfriend."

Christ, she was going to be here forever. It sounded like they were getting out their makeup and she had no idea how long that would take. Especially if they were going to be gossiping the whole time.

"He won't have one for long, we all know it —"

"He seems quite smitten if you ask me," the first girl said warningly. "And I've heard she's got a temper, you know. I don't think she'd be all too happy to know that you're after him."

"Well, of course she wouldn't," the second one snorted. "Who would be? She's got to expect it though, doesn't she? I mean, it's George Weasley, for Merlin's sake. He's always been popular."

Nessa's irritated leg bouncing stopped immediately.

"He gets around, you mean," the third girl said with a snort. "And she's really not his type, is she? I mean, she looks pretty tonight, but most of the time —"

"I think she's very pretty!" the first girl said sharply. Nessa decided she might like her the best. "And at least she has enough decency not to go after someone else's boyfriend. She's very nice too."

Yes, she definitely liked her.

But she didn't have time to wonder about that because she needed to get the hell out of here before this devolved into something that could ruin the mood she'd just picked back up.

"I'm not saying she's not nice. I'm just saying that he'll get bored of her eventually, and when he does, I want my hat in the ring, that's all."

"Why do you think he'll get bored of her? They seem to be doing just fine."

"Please," the girl scoffed. "They're very different. She's a prefect, and he's a rule breaker. I've heard she doesn't really like people much, and he's clearly a people person."

"Those are all very shallow reasons, you know," the first girl said in irritation. "He hasn't even looked twice at you this entire evening."

There was a slam of some sort of product on the sink.

"You're very judgmental this evening," the third girl snapped as if she didn't understand why. "She's just different from what he normally likes. Short, awkward, redhead who's never dated anyone before. I'm sure she's a virgin, no matter what that article by Rita Skeeter said. He's definitely not. You think he's just going to wait around forever?"

"You're really making him sound like a prat, you know," the second girl said with a laugh. "What's the point of being with someone like that?"

"He's popular, I'm popular, he's attractive, I'm attractive," the third girl said dismissively. "It's the formula. Besides, I graduate this year, and I could use a bit of fun. And he's quite good in bed. That's a perk at minimum."

She definitely should have left before. She didn't want to hear a single thing about George sleeping with anyone else, particularly because she still hadn't said anything to him about Sinclair.

This didn't sound like Sinclair though, and that was somehow worse.

Not to mention that they were naming off every one of her insecurities as if they were nothing but flies they needed to swat. Each one of them felt like a punch to the gut.

"I mean, the first time he was a mess, but he learns quick," she said to a round of giggling.

"Why didn't you date him then?"

"Stupidity, I suppose," she said with a sigh. "Then he went off and slept with Sinclair — who has only nice things to say about him too, you know — and then he dated Spinnet for awhile —"

"She's righteous pissed at him still, but she definitely only had good things to say about him in that regard," the second girl said. "That's always a good sign."

"Well, anyway, after he broke up with Spinnet, we had a fling again, but he ended up with Potter and —"

Nope, she definitely was done with this. She was learning far too many things about the man she spent her time with, and coming from another woman's mouth was much worse.

The three of them immediately stopped talking the moment the stall door opened and she came into view. One of them — she assumed the one she had liked for a brief moment in time — looked shocked and guilty. The other two simply froze and smiled at her awkwardly, as if trying to pretend like they hadn't been speaking about her at all.

She was sure they could tell she'd been crying because she still hadn't fixed her makeup and the fact that they probably thought that it was because of what they had been saying grated on her nerves a bit, but she wasn't about to make a point of saying so.

"Don't stop on my account," she spat viciously, wondering which of them had been the worst of them, but too depressed to care. "I was just leaving anyway."

She could hear the awkward giggling behind her as she left the bathroom and she tried her best to ignore the residual humiliation that came with the sound. In an attempt to get as far away from it as possible, and expecting that the girls would eventually tell others about the awkward encounter, she raced past the Great Hall, and instead chose to go outside.

She regretted it immediately — it was bitterly cold outside — but the stars were relaxing, and she settled for a Warming Charm in an attempt to bat back some of the chill.

There was a momentary surprise at the sight of the front lawn. It had been transformed into some sort of labyrinthine garden that was full of fairy lights. She wound her way through the path that had been created between rose bushes and hedges and towering evergreens, attempting to find a place where she could be alone with her thoughts. There were live fairies everywhere, floating in the rose bushes, weaving in and out of the path before her, fluttering around the statues of Father Christmas and his reindeer. Here and there, people were sitting on carved benches (she ignored them) or worse hidden between larger hedges and bushes and clearly in the thralls of heated snogging sessions.

Somewhere deep within the garden she heard the sounds of trickling water that sounded like a fountain. There were voices coming from the direction, however, so she veered left instead, following the path back to a dead end. There was a stone bench, carved with beautiful reindeer on one end and a raised pool of water surrounded by stone and filled with conjured lily pads. There were lilies everywhere in this area and some of her anxiety melted at the sight of them. She curled her finger around a red one, petting the underside of the petals reverently.

She did so love them.

She ignored the bench across from her and instead sat along the stone edges of the small, rectangular pool, skimming her fingers through the water idly. It was freezing, and the Warming Charm she'd used was wearing off, but she couldn't really feel anything through the numbness setting in.

She didn't know why she'd expected everything to stay so sunny and perfect — when had anything in her life been so sunny and perfect?

Things with George lately had been as close to perfect as she could have imagined; it was ridiculous of her to have thought it would have stayed that way. A bit nearsighted.

Worse because she shouldn't be upset. She'd known he'd been at least snogging quite a few girls in broom cupboards. She'd made fun of him for it once upon a time. It shouldn't bother her — it didn't bother her. Not the snogging bit anyway, but the rest of it was…uncharted territory for her.

Everything she knew about relationships was solely based on her relationship with him. Having to figure out how to communicate with another person, how to kiss, how to show affection…all of it was a tad overwhelming on its own, though he'd always made the entire process much easier.

But it was different — worse — to know that he had the experience because he'd done all of this before. It was doubly worse to hear people talking about him as if he were a prize and she were merely the obstacle in their way to a good shag.

And she was being stupid. Really, she was, because none of the words had come from George, and he'd at no point made her feel inadequate, but they'd said everything she doubted herself and tried not to mention.

She was awkward — she thought too much, she was uncomfortable in social situations, she couldn't stand up for herself even though she could for other people, she laughed when she was uncomfortable no matter how inappropriate the situation. She didn't know how to handle normal social situations without guidance and she relied very heavily on Tori and the twins to serve as a buffer for her awkwardness.

Fred had told her once that she wasn't awkward at all, but she made things awkward by convincing herself that she was awkward.

Whatever the hell that meant because those girls had clearly found her awkward.

She was also much different than George himself, but also in the women he'd spent time with before. Maybe she could swing the fact that they'd been close friends and that had swayed things in her favor, but it didn't make her feel better.

He'd dated tall girls who were popular, outspoken, and far prettier than she'd ever be. At best, she was a plain Jane in comparison. At worst, she was an ogre.

That was dramatic. She was being dramatic. Of that she knew for certain.

It probably didn't matter. She was emotional already from being upset with Cedric and she was making a bigger deal out of something that really wasn't important. She was probably just convincing herself that it mattered because she had nothing better to be doing and —

"I almost thought Tori had stolen you away. I've been looking for you everywhere."

She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, her head wanting to scream at the fact that he'd found her, but her heart stuttering in her chest. Her back was to him because she was still looking down at the pool of water, but he wasn't the type to be ignored for long. He came and settled next to her.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?"

She needed to say something. A normal person would say something, but her mind was racing with all sorts of thoughts. Some of them stupid and insecure, some of them terribly anxious, but most of them were trying to figure out an excuse she could make that would explain her behavior without having to have an emotionally painful conversation with him.

He either sensed her upset or he'd gotten impatient waiting for an answer because he tilted her face up with his finger and she had no excuse not to look at him then.

God, he was wildly out of her league, wasn't he?

There was a flicker of surprise across his face at the sight of her and it took her a moment to realize that she'd started crying again. She jerked away from him in surprise, wiping under her eyes and then waving her wand so that the smear of makeup on her face disappeared.

She could see her reflection in the still water next to her, and exhaled in relief — she looked the same as she had earlier in the evening and less like the bride of Frankenstein.

"What happened?" he said immediately, clearly trying to decide if he should be concerned or pissed on her behalf. She might have laughed if she wasn't working so hard to maintain her composure.

"Nothing, I'm fine," she said, attempting to be as chipper as she'd been earlier. It was a horrible attempt and he gave her a nervous look. "I'm just over reacting and —"

"Vanessa," he said, his tone making it clear that he didn't believe her and he would not drop his line of questioning. "Don't do that. What's wrong?"

She looked away from him again, her lip quivering in an attempt to hold her tears at bay again.

"Can we talk about this tomorrow?"

Perhaps when she'd managed to convince herself that she was being ridiculous and could think of something else to tell him that didn't make her look like a crybaby.

"No."

" George," she huffed in annoyance, narrowing her eyes at him. "I don't want to talk about this with you, alright?"

He reared back as if she'd slapped him, and there was a momentary hurt that flickered across his face before it was covered with anger.

"Talk about what with me?" he demanded. "Is this about what you were and Diggory were fighting about?"

"I —what?" she said, bewildered. "How do you know about that?"

George rolled his eyes.

"I was going to come back to get you, but I saw the two of you arguing. Tori told me to leave it be, so I did," he said, sounding irritated and running a hand through his hair. "By the time I turned around again, you were gone, and he wouldn't tell me a damned thing. Made some snarky comment about asking Tori because she ' apparently' knows everything."

She ignored the flicker of irritation at Cedric's word choice because she had enough to deal with without his misplaced betrayal in her confiding with her best friend.

"It has nothing to do with Cedric —"

"Then what's the problem?" he said in frustration. "Because I'm confused how you can be perfectly happy one moment and crying the next. I couldn't have been gone more than twenty minutes."

It really all had gone to shit quite quickly, hadn't it? All because she'd gone to the loo. So stupid.

"George, can you just drop it?" she said in exasperation.

"I already said I wouldn't," he said, raising an eyebrow. "And seeing as you —"

"How many girls have you slept with?"

The words came out before she could stop them, but she was sure that even she couldn't look as shocked as George did. Nor nearly as awkward. He tensed immediately, clearing his throat and looking away from her to the other side of the grotto they were sitting in.

"Okaaay," he said slowly, shifting uncomfortably. "That's not quite what I was expecting you to say."

The response didn't make her feel better. It actually made some of her anxiety rest its ugly head, that stupid green-eyed monster flaring back to life in her chest. A stupid jealousy to have. Everything about this was stupid.

"That's not an answer."

He sighed in irritation, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm aware, love, but you've flung the question on me out of the blue," he said, clearly trying to remain calm for her sake. "I'm trying to wrap my head around how we got here."

It annoyed her that he wouldn't just answer even if she did understand how he could be overwhelmed by the sudden phrasing of the question. Her anxiety was simply turning to anger now and it was making her more rash than she might normally have been, any tiptoeing that she might have used before totally overshadowed by her immediate need to know everything now in that very moment.

"I heard people talking about you in the loo," she said flatly. He snapped his head around to look at her. "It was quite complimentary."

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck, and looking like he wanted to be having any other conversation.

He'd never been so reluctant to give her an answer before and it rubbed her the wrong way now. She huffed, rising to her feet and brushing her dress off. He rose with her, looking horribly awkward still.

"Just forget it, George," she snapped. "I really shouldn't have asked and you clearly don't want to tell me —"

"Love, that's not what —"

" — and I've had a far worse time listening to them talk about how they're just waiting for you to get bored of me because I'm too different from your other girlfriends or — or flings — or whatever they were —"

There was a flicker of anger across his face at this.

"Who in the hell was in that bathroom?" he snarled, looking for all the world like he intended to march back in there and shove Ton-Tongue Toffees down their throats.

"It doesn't matter," she said.

"Like hell it doesn't!" he said angrily. "Tell me you hexed them at least!"

She snorted, shaking her head.

"For what? They're right, aren't they?"

He took a step away from her as if she'd shoved him. There was a long moment where he was staring at her in shock, but his voice shook with anger when he spoke next.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he said, his eyes sparking dangerously. She'd seen him angry before, but she'd never seen him angry with her. Most of the times they'd fought before had been her yelling at him or him losing patience with her but not quite devolving into anger. There'd been one time when she'd gotten stuck in the middle of his argument with Fred and that had been the closest to angry with her that she'd ever seen him. She wasn't sure how to handle him looking at her with anger now. It gave her a great deal of anxiety, and also made her want to cry, but she was already in a black hole of despair and she was in far too deep to pull back now. "That you're just waiting for me to get bored of you like you're just some toy I've decided to play with and toss aside?"

"I didn't say that!" she said angrily, wishing Ginny hadn't tied back the front part of her hair so that she had something to tug on in frustration. "I'm just saying that — well, I am different, aren't I?"

George appeared as though he were getting whiplash and was sincerely trying to figure out what part of the conversation he was supposed to be focusing on when he didn't quite understand what she was upset about. There was a residual anger still at the fact that they were implying that he didn't care about her for anything other than a good time, but he felt like he was missing large parts of whatever anxious hole she'd spiraled into.

"Can you explain to me what exactly is happening right now?" he snapped, feeling his head starting to ache at the leaps he was making in an attempt to close the gaps he was missing. "Because it's starting to feel like you're just picking a fight —"

She stomped her foot in irritation and pointed at him angrily.

"I am not picking a fight!" she yelled angrily. He could see a few people behind her stopping at the sight of their argument and turning around to go back where they'd come from. If he wasn't so pissed off, he might have found that funny. "Just because you don't understand doesn't mean —"

"So explain it to me, Vanessa!" he yelled in frustration. She flinched back from him and he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking in a long, slow breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't yell, I —" He took another deep breath and opened his eyes again, trying not to flinch himself at the overwhelming sadness in her eyes. Every time she cried it made him feel like she'd punched him in the heart, and he raised a hand to rub at his chest as it started to ache so much that it felt like he might be bleeding out. "Love, can we please just — just tell me what's happening here. I don't know how to fix something I don't understand."

The fight appeared to have bled out of her, though he wasn't sure she'd been trying to fight to begin with. She'd merely been using anger as a mask for whatever else was eating at her, and he'd only happened to come in the crossfire. Whether that was a good thing or not, he still didn't know.

He watched her carefully as she moved to sink on the bench across from him, and he hesitated in moving toward her. He felt like he needed to be touching her somehow, for his own sake, but she didn't like being touched when she was this upset, and he didn't want to lose his hand either. She put her head in her hands, the red curls that were so different from her usual straight locks throwing him off a little as they fanned out to cover her face from his view. His fingers twitched when she took in a shuddering breath, but he forced himself to stay put.

"I'm different," she said again, sounding heartbroken by the thought.

When she didn't say anything else, he took in a heavy breath, trying to remain patient despite the fact that getting her to explain what was happening was starting to feel harder than that one time he and Tori had had to hold Fred down to get him to take his eye potion when he'd gotten pink eye when they were kids.

"Yes, I know, love," he said as patiently as he could manage. "You said that, but I don't understand what it means."

She laughed darkly to herself, clearly becoming frustrated again.

"It means that no one understands what you're doing with me, George! It means that I'm nothing like anyone you used to date, and I don't understand what you're doing with me either!" she said, her voice starting to sound hysterical again. "You're entirely out of my league, and everyone knows it except us apparently, and now all I can think about is it doesn't make sense for us to be together when you're — you're everything I'm not! I have panic attacks about O.W.L.s for God's sake and I've never seen you have a panic attack one time! You love being around people, and I can think of nothing worse to be doing! I'd sooner dive off the Astronomy Tower than fly a broom and I'm clearly a mess of a person. I'm awkward and shy and neurotic —"

Everything about this conversation was backwards and convoluted and annoying, and he interrupted her before she had the time to work him up more than she already had. Because at the moment, he was very pissed off. He was, quite possibly, angrier with her than he'd ever been, and letting her talk was just making it worse.

"You're right," he snapped honestly. She stopped talking to gape at him before she opened her mouth angrily, as if the words had settled and she had wrapped her head around the fact that he'd agreed with the insults she'd hurled at herself. He stopped her before she could start. "It drives me absolutely fucking mad sometimes. Is that what you want to hear, Vanessa? You are neurotic. You're wildly, unbelievably, quite astoundingly neurotic. You always have to be in control of every situation even if it has nothing at all to do with you. You panic about situations that are not life-threatening — like that time that we had to search the castle up and down because you couldn't find your Transfiguration essay that happened to be in your bag the whole time but you couldn't sleep until we found it right that moment even though it wasn't due for another week —"

"George," she huffed in irritation.

"And don't even get me started on your sense of adventure. Drives me mad to spend ten minutes trying to talk you into sneaking down to the kitchens or letting Harry go to Hogsmeade as if somebody is going to pop out to kill either one of you in the bloody corridors. You're wildly dramatic and emotional and it's very annoying — and maybe a little amusing — to watch you cry because you dropped your quill on the same day that Harry was mean to you about your tie —"

" George," she said louder this time, clearly irritated by his list of her flaws.

"And you are definitely awkward. You laugh when you're uncomfortable even if you're sitting in the middle of a funeral —"

"Tori told you about that?" she said indignantly. He ignored her again.

" — and you hide in the library every time you get upset with people until I have to talk you out of there. You can't make eye contact with people when you talk to them because you can never tell if you're staring too hard or not — which is a ridiculous worry, by the way — and you ramble incessantly when you're nervous or when the conversation drops off for even half of a second because you don't know how to tell if it's become awkward or not, which, of course, makes it awkward. You drive me mad with the incessant worrying about Harry, and the fact that you can never do a single thing without thinking about it for twenty minutes straight and the fact that you apologize for everything even if it's not your fault and hide behind that snarky attitude so you can avoid being vulnerable. It's all very maddening and annoying and infuriating and inconvenient and —"

"Okay, thank you, George, I get it," she snapped. "You can be done now —"

He made a frustrated sound, tugging at his hair because he was sure she still didn't get it, but he did damn her, and this was all very ridiculous.

"Do you want to know what else you are, Vanessa?" he said before she could start panicking again or working herself into upset because he'd laid out every single thing that she was insecure about — and that did drive him mad most days though he did a fairly good job of pretending it didn't. "You're the only person other than Tori who can tell the difference between me and Fred without even having to look at us. Our own mother can't even do that. You're selfless to a fault — always thinking about Harry and Ginny and Tori without ever thinking about yourself. You're understanding and forgiving and you see the best in people like Snape despite the fact that he's just a smarmy git who needs to spend at least a week straight in the shower. You're the only person I've ever met who's looked at me and saw something other than a man who just doesn't know how to grow up. You ask about the shop and our products as if you actually give a shite, and you've never once told me that I'm wasting my potential or that I'd be so much smarter if I just applied myself. You've forgiven me for letting Harry risk his life in Quidditch and cutting you out because I was too stupid to know that I fancied you, which is something I assure you that I didn't deserve, but I'm not going to complain about something that worked out so well for me in the end. You can't sleep at night thinking that you've upset someone or that someone you love is upset and I've watched you sing my sister to sleep, and mend Fred's hand after he punched a wall, and let my dad play with matches just because he's a crazy person who can't help himself. I've seen you hex people for bullying first years just because you know what it's like to be bullied and you can't stand the thought of someone else knowing what that feels like too. You hate breaking the rules but you've no problem shoving a snowball in my face or slipping me a Flirting Fancy or drinking alcohol out of a flask I'm not supposed to have just to prove a point, and you have far more patience with my inability to take anything seriously than anyone else I've ever met."

She was staring at him now as if she'd never seen him before and he wasn't even entirely sure that she was breathing still, but he didn't care because he was pissed off and offended and just overall upset for having to listen to her insult herself for the last five minutes over some ridiculous gossip she'd heard in the loo.

"So, yes, Vanessa, you are neurotic and awkward and shy. Your sense of adventure could really use some work and you're an overthinking control freak, and you do drive me mad and irritate the piss out of me some days, but you're a hundred other things that are far more appealing and noteworthy than anything you just said."

He'd never talked so much in all his life. And he wasn't even sure if she'd heard half of it because he hadn't been paying attention too well when he was trying to articulate how stupid he found this entire conversation to be without invalidating whatever feelings she'd worked herself into feeling.

"They said I wasn't pretty enough for you."

It was a ridiculous thing to say. He'd given her a thesis of reasons why she was being ridiculous, but all she could hear was the chattering in her head still and even if she could explain away their personality differences, the rest of those anxieties were still clinging to her brain like storm clouds.

Some of the irritation on his face faded a little and he looked at her in a way that made her hands shake and butterflies erupt in her stomach again.

"There's no one in the world more beautiful than you, sweetheart."

She bit her lip and shook her head.

" Tonight, but —"

He was next to her in a matter of three strides, giving her a disapproving look, but his hands were gentle as he pulled the flower pin from behind her hair and let the curls fall naturally around her face.

" George!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Do you have any idea how long that took —"

But he wasn't listening again, she could tell. He was combing his fingers through her hair, working on straightening them out and eyeing her seriously.

"It has nothing to do with the way you look tonight," he said. "You look phenomenal, I'll give you that. But you don't need the hair or the makeup or the dress for me to think you're beautiful, Vanessa. You are right now, and you were ten hours ago when you were wearing my sweater and not a stitch of makeup. You are beautiful."

"But—"

"But nothing," he said firmly. "You are beautiful. Breathtaking. Gorgeous. Ravishing —" There was an overwhelming relief when she rolled her eyes the more words he used. A piece of normality in the middle of whatever storm she'd created in her head. "I don't care what they think about this. If they think we don't make sense or that it won't work or that you're different. As far as I'm concerned, you are different, Nessa. Everything about this is different. Everything about us is different, and I don't see why that's such a bad thing. So let them talk. They don't have to see what I see and I don't need them to understand why I'm with you because their opinion doesn't matter to me. The only opinion that matters to me is yours."

It felt like her entire world had caved in and then been pieced back together in the span of several minutes. It felt like she was staring at an entirely different person than she had been six seconds ago, and there was something so overwhelming sitting on her chest, a feeling that she didn't quite know how to explain.

The anxiety slowed a little as he watched her, always with that level of patience she could never quite master herself. The insecurities faded to the back of her mind a little the more his finger smoothed its way across the back of her hand. She was a little light-headed now, the heavy emotions from earlier lifting so rapidly that she swayed under the relief.

Or maybe it was the words themselves, so simple and beautiful and swoon-worthy on their own. Maybe it was embarrassment that she'd gotten so upset about these people she barely knew and had never talked to, but had been cruel enough to talk about her as if they knew her at all.

"I'm sorry," she whispered roughly, her eyes watering. He frowned, reaching forward to brush a tear that escaped despite her attempts to hold it back. "I didn't mean to get so upset. They just — they were talking about you and your — er — well I just got in my head about it, and it sort of festered."

George sighed heavily, smiling at her awkwardly and kissing her on the forehead.

"Come sit with me?" he said.

She nodded, clearing her throat awkwardly, and letting him sit her on the bench she'd been on earlier. Instead of sitting beside her like she'd expected, he dropped to his knees in front of her, pulling her shoes off one by one.

The immediate release of the pressure on her feet made her sag a little in relief, but she frowned at him anyway.

"George, you're going to get your suit all dirty —"

He hummed dismissively, taking one of her feet in his hands and rubbing his thumb up the arch lightly. She gasped in surprise and he grinned at her, working his fingers slowly across them with an increasing amount of pressure.

"You don't have to do that," she said, sighing happily at the relief that he was providing anyway. She hadn't realized how badly her feet hurt until he'd taken her heels off, and she sincerely hoped he didn't stop rubbing her feet no matter what she said in an attempt to be polite.

He chuckled as if he could hear the thought, and didn't pull away from her, continuing the slow, deliberate work of getting her to relax.

"They look uncomfortable," he said, casually. She hummed in agreement, but didn't say anything. She could tell he was working himself up to something, and she didn't want to push. It was already a little awkward still because she'd had a meltdown earlier, and whatever he was about to say was making him feel incredibly uncomfortable. He was silent for a long while, releasing her right foot and grabbing the left. The noise she made when he applied pressure to the foot seemed to startle him out of whatever thoughts he was having. He cleared his throat and looked up at her to meet her eyes. "Three."

"What?" she said, confused.

"You asked how many people I'd slept with," he explained. "The answer's three."

"Oh," she said awkwardly, some of her earlier anxiety coming back in a rush. "It — I mean, that's not — they made it sound like it was a lot more than that."

He snorted, raising an eyebrow at her pointedly.

"You of all people should be very familiar with the rumor mill in this school," he said.

She blushed, feeling a bit more ridiculous than she had before because that was also true. She'd been so wrapped up in her own insecurities that she hadn't at all considered that they could have been exaggerating.

She grimaced at him.

"Sorry," she said again.

"Stop apologizing," he said with a laugh and a very pointed look. She grumbled under her breath because one of the things he'd said about her had been her incessant need to apologize and she didn't need the look to point this out to her again.

"Don't look at me like that," she said with an eye roll that resulted in another laugh. "I just feel badly for — for being upset about something so stupid. It's not like I didn't know that you —" he smirked at her when she cleared her throat awkwardly instead of finishing the thought. "It wasn't a secret with Alicia. And Tori told me about Sinclair —"

"Fucking Victoria," he muttered darkly. "She talks too much."

Nessa snorted.

At least it wasn't just with her anymore.

"I already told her that," she said, hesitating on the next question. "Who was the third one?"

George sighed heavily but answered her anyway.

"Angela Martin."

The brunette girl in the loo. She'd known she'd recognized her from somewhere.

She frowned at him.

"You have horrible taste in women, did you know?" she said before crossing her arms across her chest. Though at least she wasn't blonde.

George chuckled, releasing her foot, and kneeling in front of her. She was pouting again, and though the conversation was serious, there was something very sweet about that. So long as she wasn't yelling at him, he felt relatively safe in finding amusement in that fact.

He tilted her face back to look at him.

"It was a long time ago —"

"The first time," she snorted, raising an eyebrow at him. "But you were with her after Alicia too, she said." He was going to put far worse than a Canary Cream in that woman's breakfast, he knew that much. Nessa spoke before he could. "I'm sorry, it doesn't matter. We weren't dating then and it —"

He was going to drown himself in that pool of water if she apologized again. She glared at him when he said so, and he gave her a serious look.

"You can be upset about whatever you want to be upset about, Vanessa," he said. "You think I liked hearing about you snogging Diggory? I'd have sooner shoved my foot up his —"

" George!" She said, laughing in surprise at his vehemence.

"All I'm saying," he said. "Is that I understand. I'm sorry that you heard any of it, and I'd have preferred if you'd have just heard it from me, but it — there's nothing going on with Martin, okay? She was my first and then we had a thing after I broke things off with Alicia, but before I had any idea how I felt about you. That's it."

She sighed heavily, but nodded at him once, appearing at least somewhat more relaxed. He relaxed a little — a very awkward conversation to be having at their current juncture, but as long as she didn't look near tears, he felt much better about the entire thing.

She sighed heavily, not sure where they were supposed to go from here. How did you come back from such a serious conversation?

"I can't believe I'm the kind of girl who cries in the loo at a dance," she said without thinking.

He didn't know what he'd expected her to say, but it certainly hadn't been that. It was his surprise at the statement itself and the fact that she sounded so disgusted with herself that sent him roaring with laughter. She pushed his shoulder lightly, sending him falling back to sit on the stone behind him, but she was laughing lightly too, rolling her eyes at him.

"Don't laugh at me, you great prat!" she said with a grin, huffing at herself and wiping her eyes again. "I must look ridiculous —"

"You look beautiful, we already talked about this," he said, grinning at her look of disbelief. "Besides, I've seen at least three birds come out of the loo looking like they were crying tonight. You fit right in."

She scoffed.

"Thank you, that's very helpful," she said sarcastically.

He smirked at her.

"Well, you're so worried about being awkward," he said, laughing and ducking the swipe she made at him with her bare foot. "I'd think that would be quite relieving."

"You're behaving like a child," she said, snorting indelicately at him and crossing her arms petulantly.

"Oh, I am, am I?" he said, grinning and coming to sit next to her. He stretched languidly, crossing his feet at the ankles and his hands behind his head. She could tell that he was working himself up to telling her something, but she refused to humor him. "So I suppose — since I'm such a child, you know —" she rolled her eyes at the grin he sent her way. "That you wouldn't want me to tell you all about how Ron and Hermione were screaming at each other in there before I came out here. You know, seeing as you're too mature to care about such childish frivolity —"

She smacked him on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry that I called you a child, alright?" she said impatiently. "You are, in fact, the picture of maturity. I've never met someone so attractively put together. Now tell me what happened."

She was as bad as the girls she'd been judging earlier, gossiping about Hermione and Ron as if it were any of her business.

George grinned at her.

"Oh, let's see, what was it he said again?" He grinned when she huffed at him, her foot tapping impatiently. "Oh, yes, that's right! He said that she was fraternizing with the enemy, that Krum only asked her to the ball to get inside information on Harry, and that he just wants her help on solving his egg."

He ticked them each off on his fingers, smirking at the look of stunned disbelief on her face. He reached over and closed her mouth with his hand, but this just led to her spluttering.

"What a — what a stupid thing to — why would he — he's a prat!" She said viciously, ignoring his laughter. "Is Hermione okay?"

"Seems to be," he said with a shrug. "She was in there dancing with Krum again when I left. Ron and Harry were sulking in a corner for a while but I think they must have gone up to bed. Unless they're off somewhere in here snogging."

"Ridiculous, the both of them," she muttered. "But at least I'm not the only person who's ruined their night with ridiculous drama —"

The words made George sit up indignantly, and he gave her an affronted look.

" Ruined?" he said, clearly offended. She stared at him in surprised confusion. "Who said anything about our night being ruined?"

She blinked at him.

"Er — well, it — I mean, it isn't?" she said awkwardly, the words coming out sounding more like a question than a confirmation.

George rolled his eyes to the sky.

" No, it isn't," he said. "It's only ten thirty and I've got until midnight to end on a high note, don't I?"

"I, well, yes, I suppose so —"

"Right then, so, we've gotten that out of the way," he said, nodding resolutely and looking deadly serious. "Now I've a whole plan of things —"

"You do?" She said feeling like she was massively out of the loop with whatever was happening at the moment.

"I do," he said, ticking them each off his fingers. "Let's see — we're going to dance some more probably even though you'll whine about your feet the whole time. We're certainly going to find a place in here to snog —" she snorted and smacked him on the arm in exasperation. " — and I've still got to spike the punch —"

"Don't start," she huffed.

"Oh, and I was supposed to give you your Christmas present before you went off and —"

"My Christmas present?" She said, bewildered. "You already gave me my Christmas present."

He gave her a look full of disbelief.

"What, that sweater?" He snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, that was a placeholder." He reached into his jacket again to retrieve the velvet box he'd kept there. She stared at it with wide eyes when he held it out to her. " This is your real present."

She gaped at it.

"I — well, what is it?" she said, trying to keep her voice even.

It looked like a jewelry box, black and perfectly square. She was afraid to touch it for some reason. He snorted and gestured for her to take it.

"Gift giving usually means you've got to open it to find out, believe it or not," he said dryly.

She ignored him mostly, taking the box from his hand and giving him a nervous look before she opened it slowly.

It was a bracelet, but it was not like anything she'd ever seen before. It was beaded with some sort of rose quartz, the beads a soft pale pink, each of them at least eight millimeters thick, but there was something…odd about one of them. She couldn't quite tell what it was, considering the crystal itself was thick, but there was something silvery blue in the center of one of the beads, something wispy and weaving its way around the inside.

George reached over and took the bracelet from inside the box, sliding it onto her wrist gently. He frowned because it wasn't tight enough, but tapped his wand against it until it shrunk to fit her arm.

"Twist that bead there," he said, pointing to the one that had the weird silver blue wisp in the middle.

She had no idea what to expect, but she gasped loudly when her mind filled with a succession of images from earlier in the day. She watched in disbelief as the snowball fight from earlier played out in her mind's eye as if she were watching it from the sidelines: George stumbling sideways when she took him by surprise by smashing the snowball into his face, trying to hide behind the willow tree, that kiss.

It was different watching from the sidelines, like she was watching a movie play out in front of her, except this was her real life. It was almost emotional to watch the way he looked at her, to replay the way he'd talked to her, on the outside looking in, putting an entirely different meaning to the event altogether.

The memory faded from her mind gently and she turned to gape at him.

"What was that?" she gasped.

He was grinning widely at her, clearly pleased with her surprise.

"A memory," he said, clearly proud of himself for whatever bit of magic he'd used to make it happen. "Normally, you watch them in pensieves, but those aren't exactly within my price range at the moment with the shop and product development. And I was sort of hoping to give you something that would help you when you were feeling anxious, and it's not as if you can just carry one of those bloody things around, is it?"

She blinked at him, a sort of numb surprise falling over her. Was this her real life? Was this man actually talking to her about a bracelet he'd made to help with her anxiety?

She'd given him some trunk that she'd charmed to appear empty to anyone who wasn't him or Fred, for Christ's sake. It had taken her ages to do, and the intent behind it had been to keep their mother from throwing out their order forms or finished products or whatever ingredients they were using to experiment with. He'd talked to her about the thing for an hour at breakfast, as if it was the greatest thing anyone had ever given him.

And this is what he'd been planning to give to her?

"It took me a bit of time to figure out how to get them into the bracelet, but I read somewhere that reliving happy memories can reduce anxiety and you've been driving yourself mad, what with the tournament and O.W.L.s and whatever else goes on in that pretty head of yours and —"

She didn't care at all what he was about to say next. Her heart felt like it was swelling to burst and she wasn't breathing, or at least it didn't feel like she was.

She was just sitting there, staring at him as he went off into some side tangent about how he'd invented the entire thing as if he had no idea at all what she was thinking or that her entire world as she knew it was suddenly tilting on its axis. Like he didn't at all understand how overwhelmingly sweet and perfect the gesture was — not just because he'd put the time and effort into it, but because he'd deliberately considered her when he'd done so. He'd deliberately considered what would help her feel less anxious and on edge and messy.

This man, who she'd just had a meltdown in front of over some stupid gossip she'd heard in the loo. This man, who was relentlessly patient with her and every one of her anxious thoughts. This man, who might be the most annoying and infuriating person she'd ever met but threw his entire being into the things he loved.

How had she, even for one moment, doubted that he was so unequivocally hers?

It didn't make sense to her that she could have been so stupid. That she could have doubted this for even half of a second when every moment with him was like being on cloud nine. When there was something so overwhelmingly exciting about seeing him every day, and so horribly depressing when she missed him at breakfast because she'd overslept. When it felt like he could make her want to rip her hair out one moment and then laugh the next. When he made her heart race and her stomach flutter at the same time that he relaxed the tension in her shoulders. When it felt like she had him all figured out, like she knew him down to the core of her, down to her entire soul, and then he did something that surprised her anyway.

Surprised her in a way that sent her into an orbit of her own, and entirely erased every thought she'd ever had.

No, she simply didn't care what he had to say about how she could add whatever memory she wanted to each of the beads or the spell she'd have to use to do it. Or how he'd used one of his own as a placeholder, but if she wanted to use something different than they could swap it out for something else.

She didn't care at all because she knew that feeling now. And it was overwhelming and terrifying and brilliant and glowing all at once, and she wanted him to stop talking and kiss her because he was perfect and thoughtful and charming and hers.

But he talked too much. He'd always talked too much, and he clearly wasn't reading her silence as well as he normally might have because he was so excited by her response to this gift he'd spent a month making for her.

So she did it herself. Threw caution completely to the wind, grabbed him by his tie, and pulled him to her without even a word of warning before she kissed him. Hard.

She didn't worry at all about if she was being too forward or if he minded that at all. She didn't think at all about how awkward she normally felt to initiate physical contact between them. She didn't at all care because she was going to kiss the breath right out of his lungs, in the way he normally did to her. She was going to put every ounce of feeling she could, every ounce of love and respect and undeniable chemistry behind the kiss as if this were her last opportunity to convey it to him and she might not see him again.

And damn her if his groan of acquiescence didn't make her pull him closer until he was practically in her lap.

"Merlin's beard, love," he said, pulling away from her and gasping air into his lungs. His cheeks were flushed — whether from exertion, delight, or both, she couldn't tell — and his eyes were sparkling with a mixture of surprise and pleasure. "If I'd known you'd like it that much, I would have —"

"I love you," she breathed, cutting him off entirely.

The words she'd been sitting on for weeks, thinking incessantly about whether that's what she was feeling or if she was just happy for the first time in her life. And she'd thought about it obsessively, telling herself that she couldn't say them unless she was absolutely sure that that's what it was, driving herself mad wondering when she would know for sure or how she could know for sure or if she should say something when she figured it out or if she should let George say it first. Worrying herself silly about whether or not it was too soon to say them or when the right time would be to bring it up.

But it felt natural to say the words now. It felt like if she didn't say them, her heart would break in half or they might just rip themselves out of her throat against her will. It hurt not to say them, and she didn't care about the stupid anxieties that came with them.

Because she loved George Weasley. It was as simple as that.

She watched him stop talking completely, whatever ridiculous joke he'd been about to make getting caught in his throat. She watched his eyes rake over her face as if he were cataloging her expression in his mind so that he could remember it later. She watched the way his hands shook when he reached for her again, settling both of his hands on either side of her waist and pulling her into his lap.

She was mesmerized by his silence as he looked at her like he couldn't quite believe she was real. Like he wasn't sure if he was hearing things properly or just dreaming.

"I love you," she said again, watching him carefully for a response, but whatever control he'd possessed broke at the words being repeated a second time.

She gasped when he kissed her again, pulling her into him and bending her backward with the force of it. She laughed against him, something like elation coursing through her veins as he slanted his lips over hers desperately, as if he were a man who had been starving and he couldn't quite get enough of her. She slid her hands in his hair and kissed him back, melting into him with a pleased hum.

He slid his hand up to her cheek, tilting her head back for him to deepen the kiss, but he pulled back before he could get too distracted by her.

She was so very distracting, and intoxicating, and he wanted to smother her with kisses when she looked at him like that, her hands curling into the lapels of his suit and her eyes soft with affection. He was panting when he rested his forehead against hers, overcome by emotion and wishing he could bask in this with her for the rest of his too short life.

"I was supposed to say that first," he said breathlessly, grinning at her like a sap.

She laughed at him, her hands brushing through his too long hair idly as she watched him.

"Why didn't you then?" she said coyly.

He snorted, pulling away from her to give her a look of disbelief.

"I wasn't going to say it at a school dance," he said, affronted. "That's horribly cliche. I'm much more original than that."

She rolled her eyes to the sky.

"That's the most ridiculous thing you've ever said to me," she deadpanned. He snorted because he sincerely doubted that, but she gave him a pointed look and crossed her arms, forcing him to keep her balance on his lap. "And I don't know what exactly you think you're doing right now, George, but if you think that I'm going to accept that response as an answer then —"

He kissed her again, this time slow and sweet, letting her melt into his chest with a soft sound, and letting himself get lost in the feel of her. She was soft against him, her lips giving in under the pressure of his own, and she made the sweetest noise he'd ever heard when he traced a finger up her jaw and tilted her head back so that he could deepen the kiss.

Her lips were soft against his, her nose brushing against his with every slant of their mouths, and her hands slid in between his jacket to grip at his sides, her fingers bunching in the waistcoat of his suit. She smelled like mangoes — from her lotion or her shampoo or whatever perfume she wore, he didn't know, but it was familiar and comforting, and it made him feel warm despite the December cold pressing in on him.

He kept his movements gentle and soft, letting the depth of his feelings for her control the pace of the kiss and he didn't pull away until he was positive she wouldn't be able to breathe through the intensity. Resting his forehead back against hers when he pulled away, he smiled at her gently, watching her eyelids flutter open slowly to look at him.

"I love you," he said softly, brushing back a curl from where it had fallen forward. She'd always been beautiful — the sort of beautiful that took his breath if he watched her too long and made it difficult for him not to look at her when she smiled or laughed or entered a room. But it was worse when she smiled at him like he hung the moon. Like he alone had the ability to turn her entire day around. That's the way she smiled at him then and it took his entire breath away to look at her. "You've gone and ruined me, Vanessa."

"Good," she said, still smiling at him in that way of hers that made his insides flip. "Because you've ruined me too, George Weasley."


It's difficult to be in love with a man that doesn't exist. But here we are.

Also, the bracelet…I specifically remember that from a fanfic I read ages and ages ago. I'm not taking credit for that portion. I don't remember anything except the bracelet, and I can't remember the name or author of the fic but if you know it, let me know so I can give credit where it is due. It's a brilliant idea and one I modified for the purposes of this story because I liked it so much.

Anyway, see you soon! It's nap time.