𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍; george weasley

043

FOURTY THREE

The Great Hall was a blur of flickering candlelight, rich house banners, and the hum of conversation. The end-of-term feast was usually a lively affair, but for Victoria, it felt like time had slowed to a crawl. She sat at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by her housemates, but her mind was elsewhere—or rather, focused a few seats down where George and Alicia sat, leaning into each other, their laughter soft but noticeable. Too noticeable.

Victoria tried to focus on her plate, pushing a piece of roast potato around with her fork, but her appetite had vanished. Across from her, Fred was cracking jokes with Lee, but he kept glancing at her, watching her more closely than usual. He always noticed. Fred had a way of seeing through the facade she worked so hard to keep up.

"Not hungry, Tori?" Fred asked softly, leaning in so only she could hear.

She shook her head slightly. "Not really."

Her voice was calm, steady, but Fred wasn't convinced. He followed her gaze, landing directly on George, who was laughing as Alicia whispered something in his ear. His twin's arm was draped casually around her shoulders. Fred frowned, and for the first time, he seemed to truly understand.

Victoria wasn't just having a bad day. She was hurting.

Without a word, Fred reached under the table and took her hand, squeezing it gently. The warmth of his touch made her look up, and he gave her a reassuring smile—a silent message: I see you. I'm here.

Her heart eased, just a little.

"Thanks," she whispered, squeezing his hand back.

Across the table, Harry and Ron were deep in conversation with Hermione about the summer plans, but Victoria couldn't focus. Her eyes wandered back to George again. She hated herself for it, but she couldn't help it. He was George, after all. The boy who used to steal moments with her in the corridors, who could make her laugh when nothing else could. The boy who, until recently, had been her closest friend.

And now? Now, he was someone else. He belonged to someone else.

Fred followed her gaze again and this time whispered, "You know he's an idiot, right?"

Victoria blinked, startled. "What?"

"George," Fred said simply. "He's a bloody idiot."

A soft, bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Maybe."

"Not maybe," Fred insisted. "Definitely." He gave her hand another squeeze. "It's obvious, you know. To everyone but him."

"Obvious?" she asked, a bit confused.

"That he likes you." Fred's voice was firm, but gentle. "More than likes you. And you're the same. Anyone with eyes can see it."

Victoria's breath caught in her throat. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but deep down, she knew Fred was right. She had tried to ignore it, to bury it, but her heart had always been drawn to George. Even when it hurt.

"But he's with Alicia," she murmured, glancing down the table again.

"Yeah," Fred said, his tone flat. "But that doesn't mean it's right. Or that it'll last."

Victoria's chest tightened, the ache of uncertainty pressing down on her. "I just... I don't know what to do anymore."

Fred leaned closer, his eyes soft with understanding. "You don't have to do anything right now. Just... don't give up on him. He'll figure it out. And so will you."

She looked at Fred, his warm brown eyes full of encouragement and care, and for the first time in days, she felt a little less alone. Maybe Fred was right. Maybe George would see what was in front of him. Someday.

The feast continued around them, the noise and laughter filling the hall. But for Victoria, the world felt quieter, her hand still held by Fred under the table, grounding her in the chaos of emotions swirling inside her.