❝ STEPPING, I'M STOMPING, I'M ALL GONE. ❞ ☓ 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭
this book has been fully re-edited and its original name being "his destructive little wildfire" but as it was created in 2021 and was hor...
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xxiii. small moment of time 4449words.
FOCUS, FOCUS, FOCUS. Deleine kept chanting in her mind as she pulled out her parchment and quill, determined to get some work done. "What d'you think you're doin'?" George asked, lounging on the bed with a playful grin.
"We're studying today, remember?" Deleine shot back, not lifting her eyes from the parchment.
George snatched the parchment from her hand with a mischievous smirk. "Studying? Really?" he teased.
"Yes, really," she replied, reaching for her work. "I didn't come all the way up here just for your charming company, Weasley."
"I'd hope not," he muttered with mock disappointment, though she could see the sparkle of amusement in his eyes.
"George," Deleine said, her tone soft but serious, "you're nearing the end of your school years, and I'm not far behind. I know there's bigger things goin' on, but we can't just ignore our studies. No matter how much you and Fred fancy the idea."
She reclaimed the parchment from his hand with a determined look. George sighed dramatically, watching as she turned her back to him, clearly more interested in her studies than in his antics.
"What if I want a kiss, then?" George asked, eyes glinting with mischief.
Deleine didn't even bother to look up. "Your idea of a 'small kiss' turns into a full-on snogging session. You'll just have to wait, won't you?"
George let out an exaggerated groan, flopping back onto his bed as he lazily tossed his wand into the air, catching it and repeating the motion, over and over. The room was filled with the soft sounds of her quill scratching against parchment, her quiet muttering as she read, and the occasional soft thud of George's wand landing in his hand.
An hour slipped by, the steady rhythm of their odd companionship filling the dormitory.
"Georgie," Deleine finally mumbled without looking up, still scribbling away, "when are the boys comin' back?" She twirled her quill thoughtfully, eyes still on her parchment.
"Never," George muttered under his breath. Deleine glanced up, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "Never asked," George quickly added with a sheepish grin, to which Deleine squinted, her quill pausing mid-stroke.
The light from the enchanted windows cast a warm, golden hue across the room, the soft glow creating a serene contrast to the playful tension between them. Deleine's parchment fluttered gently as she wrote, lost in the world of ink and spells, while George's eyes never strayed far from her, a crooked smile playing on his lips despite her stern focus.
