George Weasley x Reader ~ Jaffa Cake

13 - Spare Chocolate

'Hey muffin, you alright?' George asked you and you felt a cold hand on your shoulder, bringing you back from your detailed flashback. You and him had finally managed to go on your little date, so there you sat on the soft grass just a couple metres from the lake. The sun was slowly setting. It felt like George had scrawled on and given you that piece of paper so long ago. It still sat in your robe pocket - you didn't think you'd ever throw it out. On that note you reached into your pocket and retrieved it, George watching you contentedly with a look of bliss on his face, and carefully unfolded it, reading over it again. It had been in your pocket for a couple days now, so the already yellowing paper had not short of a million teeny creases in it, each zig-zagging sharply across the face and the back. It felt softer, and as you flattened it out it made a soft crinkling noise against your touch. You felt almost as if you were in a trance as you traced your finger along the crease lines that peaked like little mountains before falling back down again, and after a short while of doing this you folded it again and placed it back in your robe pocket.

'I'm okay, yeah', you finally replied as you realised you hadn't answered George for a solid minute. 'Just... thinking', you quickly added on the end and he smiled at you before putting his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You let him keep hold of you and, feeling comforted and secure, you lowered your head and rested it gently on his shoulder. He began talking steadily to you about Quidditch, and you listened serenely as the sun in front of you gradually set. It was brilliantly orange and coppery, much like the colour of George's hair, and a lavish trail of dense, slightly blood-flecked clouds surrounded the safely visible glowing sun. Upon looking closer at the darkly voluminous clouds, you noticed one had a weirdly shaped trail that looked like a cloak and appeared to be gliding. Surely that wasn't a cloud?

You lifted your head abruptly off George's broad shoulder, bonking him on the nose by accident before giggling and apologising profusely. Remembering why you'd lifted your head, you let your face become serious. 'George, do you see that cloud?' you asked him and he turned back to looking at the sunset, a faint frown etched upon his face. 'It doesn't look much like a cloud, does it?'

George looked a little shocked, and he quickly whipped back round to look at you. 'Yeah y/n I don't think that's a cloud.. but surely it isn't a-' he cut off mid sentence and his eyes widened as he looked back around at the mysterious figure. It seemed to be getting closer to you and George, which worried you a bit. 'Maybe we should leave', he suggested and you looked at him closely, opening your mouth to respond, however as you did you experienced a ferocious strike of drowsiness that hit you like a freezing pitcher of ice. It felt like you hadn't slept for over a week, you felt exhausted and malnourished as your eyes drooped almost lazily. When you looked at George, he appeared to be feeling the same. His usual lopsided smirk left no trace whatsoever, his features looked gaunt and feverish as he struggled to stand up. 'Seriously y/n we-' was all George managed to say before a huge, terrifyingly dark cloaked figure swooped down at him, knocking him back over. A spirit like trail drifted from his face as it nosedived on him, lifting his body slightly before flying back up again.

'GEORGE', you screamed in terror as a disturbing rattling noise emitted from under the cloak. You had a suspicion the creature was a Dementor, and turns out you were right. Out of nowhere another one descended from the sky and got close to your face, you could just see under the cloak a deep, gaping hole that acted as if it were an extremely strong vacuum sucking the life out of you as you groped around for your wand. Your Dementor's bony, scabbed hands just scraped the surface of your cheek and you yelped in pain mixed with disgust. George was laying on the floor a couple feet from you, the ghostly trail still drifting upwards from his face towards the cavernous hole in his Dementor's 'face'. He looked half dead, which made you feel shattered and lifeless beyond comprehension, and you felt the same revoltingly draining feeling take over your body as your Dementor dived down at you once more.