✓|¹𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋 ━ George Weasley

ﾟ - ➴ 𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

💌🏹

╰┈➤ ❝ [𝑃𝑅𝑂𝐿𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸] ❞ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

The Burrow
Village of Ottery St Catchpole
- Devon, England
( August 17th, 1985. )

                    𝑻he summer George and Fred were six was a particularly sweltering one, the kind where the days stretched long and lazy, and the sticky air made everything move a little slower. The Burrow buzzed with the chaos of too many children crammed into too small a space, but for George, that summer had one highlight: the Harringtons.

The Harringtons lived in a charming, ivy-covered cottage not far from the Weasleys. The families often exchanged visits, their children running wild between gardens and kitchens. Olympia Harrington, with her golden hair and determined scowl, was George's age and already had a knack for bossing him around in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant

Olympia Harrington, always the picture of focus and determination, stood on a wooden stool at the counter in the Burrow's chaotic kitchen. She wore an oversized apron that dragged slightly on the floor, the fabric covered in floury handprints. Her golden hair was tied back in two uneven plaits, and her little tongue poked out in concentration as she carefully poured sugar into a mixing bowl.

"Easy there, dear," Molly Weasley said kindly, her voice warm as she gently steadied the bowl. "Not too much, or it'll be sweeter than a Cauldron Cake."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," Olympia replied, her tone as serious as if she were concocting a potion instead of baking. She adjusted the spoonful of sugar with meticulous precision. "I want it to be perfect."

"It'll be perfect because you're putting your heart into it," Molly assured her with a smile, wiping her hands on her apron. "Though I will say, a bit of practice never hurts." She reached for the cinnamon and handed it to Olympia.

"Cinnamon next, right?" Olympia asked, her bright eyes scanning the recipe card propped against a flour tin.

"That's right, just a pinch," Molly replied. She glanced out the window above the sink, where Cassie was darting around the yard, her laughter mingling with Fred and George's shouts. Little Ron toddled behind them, determined to keep up, though he tripped over his own feet every few steps. Percy sat under the shade of a tree, nose buried in a book, entirely unbothered by the chaos.