I Remember You // George Weasley x Fem!Reader

One More Shot

Weeks passed, and you stopped using a silencing charm on your bedroom some night. Usually on weekends, when you figured George could use a bit of end of week entertainment.

Boy, did you lay on the theatrics for him. You put on an auditory show that had George in such hysterics that you could sometimes hear him from the otherside of the wall — yet you still never went outside when you knew him to be waiting for you.

You kept an eye out for the light at the tip of his wand igniting his cigarette, you even lingered at your job a bit longer so that you wouldn't run into him at the door on your way home. Something about George's voice pained you. It caused a deep, hungry sort of aching that one never recovers from. A heartbrokenness that would have you on your knees if you spent too much time with him.

But now it was a Friday evening, and George heard your door open and shut. He was always blissfully aware of where you were in your apartment. If not because of the acoustics, because he swore he could feel your footsteps at times. They reverberated in his chest and vibrated throughout his entire body like some second sight, each day stronger than the last. Like a veil was slowly lifting, that amnesia finally fading away to reveal something both terrible and beautiful.

George heard pans being brought out and water running. He heard your voice, and a lightheadedness fell over him.

But then a second voice followed, and the emotion that blanketed his entire existence with it... well, some could call it rage, but it might be better described as pure, green-eyed jealousy.

He listened to the banter. The shallow, cringey conversation being had. He even pressed his ear up against the wall in his little kitchenette to hear food sizzling on the stove and, oh , how his jaw hit the floor.

A date . You were on a date, and only a few weeks after turning him down. George washed a hand over his face and told himself not to do anything irrational, but with the ghost of his brother whispering in his ear, that would never happen.

Send a fanged frisbee over. Chase that wanker out with a pair of teeth!

No, he didn't want to hurt you in the process — he just wanted you alone .

And wasn't that somehow worse? He would rather listen to you get railed by a new stranger every night, knowing that you were left unsatisfied and that you would go to bed alone at the end of the evening, than to hear you give someone a chance. He would rather have you lonely than have you fall in love with someone that was disgustingly and utterly boring .

Okay, then go over there. Say you're the maintenance man. Fire alarm got tripped and you're there to check things out.

That, he could pull off.

George went to his wardrobe and pulled out a plain, short-sleeved blue button up. It was one from his younger years, back when Molly used to sew all of his clothes, before they were tailor made by some specialty shop in Diagon Alley, and it took him back. He looked lowly , not at all like someone that'd created a name for himself.

Without a second thought about it, George threw open his apartment door and banged his fist on yours before it even closed.

A moment later, some bland looking fellow opened the door with you standing behind him.

"Maintenance. Neeck to check your smoke alarm, got a trip down at central control."

Your date's eyes wandered down to yours, and you tried to pretend that they hadn't just been wide as saucers and as confused as Professor Tremblay — but then you looked at George instead, and you knew exactly why he was there.

George pointed a thumb at the stranger and jabbed, "Man must not be a chef, eh?"

You let him inside the apartment if only to keep the peace, and once he was there George made a great show of fussing with the smoke detector that sat on the ceiling above the island in the middle of your kitchenette.