harry potter imagines

george weasley x reader: read it and weep

george weasley x reader

summary: flowers are the language of love, grief, and words that can't be expressed

words: 1541

warnings: language, unedited

author's note: a little Valentine's treat that is not edited, but written with an extreme case of procrastination - gracie ♡♡

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Hogwarts viewed the Weasley twins similarly, but also so drastically different. They were identical to the grouping of freckles on their bums-something everyone had seen after they mooned Snape- and yet, George wasn't the showstopper twin. Sure everyone loved him as much as Fred, but everyone knew that Fred had some undeniable charm that made him stand out just a millimeter more. George drew the crowds in, but Fred was the one who blew them away. George was the one to spike butterbeer with firewhiskey, but Fred was the person who would convince the most sensible Ravenclaws and meek Hufflepuffs to chug it.

It was a small difference, but for twins who had been viewed the same for so long, it seemed to be enough of a difference. It didn't change whose business it was because it was both equally theirs, but it changed who said the most catching phrases and who drew up the marketing strategies. It was a well-oiled machine of laughter and fun-filled jokes until it wasn't. Until George was thrown into fame for being a Weasley and the only remaining founder of a joke shop that reminded him of everything that fame cost.

Now, the world viewed the Weasley twins in very drastic ways. They viewed one alive and the other lost honorably to the war.

George hated it all- the pity, the title of being the alive twin, feeling like he was letting down Fred by keeping the shop boarded up, and even worse, all of the flowers. He was knee-deep in roses, pansies, peonies, and ever so dreaded, calla lilies. He frankly wanted to burn them all.

"Aren't these, lovely, George," Angelina hummed, trying to lift the spirits of the apartment above the shop. Angelina started to make her visits a daily thing, and she hated that she agreed that George seemed to haunt the apartment more than Fred.

"Not really," George sighed, tossing the pastel peonies into the trash. "If I get another floral arrangement, I'm going to burn the entire flat down."

"Okay then," Angelina replied, taking a deep breath in an attempt to gain more patience with the redhead. She loved George, but he had been in this state of pessimism for months now, and all she wanted was to yell at him. "Well, if you hate them so much, why don't you visit the flower shop across the street and ask them to stop sending them."

_______

You were up to your ears in orders for tombstones, for surviving family members, for family members that are reconciling after realizing how short life is, but mostly, for George Weasley. It was good for business you guessed, but you missed orders for wives that didn't know about their husbands' romantic surprise, for children that got brilliant marks, for birthdays, really, for anything but George Weasley.

The words of condolences weighed you down, the tear-stained paper messages tore at your heart, and the thought of all the people who were lost to the war killed you with each positioned flower. Flowers were always something you loved, but now they were tainted with tears and memories of children's screams.

"Hello?" The echos from the front room were enough to nudge you out of your dreary thoughts.

"We're- we're closed," you called back, touching your hand to your wet cheek.

"Well, I need to talk to the owner," the voice bit back with less hesitance and more bitterness. You wanted to scream that closed meant you didn't have any obligation to help him, but you didn't. You closed your eyes and pushed yourself away from the flower arrangement table and towards the front room.