raison d'être (george weasley x reader)

6.3

The campsite buzzed with excitement as families and friends alike prepared for the start of the Quidditch World Cup. Children screeched joyfully as they chased one another, people passed around merchandise, and others began placing bets.

Inside the Weasley tent, Fred, who insisted on painting his entire face white and green to match the colors of the team, hopped around in excitement and shouted across the room to Ron, who was equally, if not more, loud.

"We bet Ireland will win, but Krum will catch the snitch," Fred proclaimed with a hearty shout.

"I can't believe we'll get to see Krum," Ron awed. Y/N could picture the starstruck look on his face as he said that.

Contrasting that image was Y/N, who sat quietly on George's bed, lightly running a paintbrush over his cheeks. Her hand rested on his knee for support as she painted two Irish flags on his face.

"It'll take a moment to dry," Y/N said, pulling back a bit to observe her work. "And it's not as neat as I'd wanted it to be, but-"

"Thanks," George smiled, giddy from the excitement of the game and the excuse it gave him to have her sitting so close. He was fully capable of painting the stripes on his own, but had thought of the idea to ask her the night before.

She nodded and glanced back at Fred, who was now betting against Ron. "Do you think the scarf and jacket are enough?" she asked, now turning back to face George. She had managed to find a dark green jacket in her closet before leaving and had bought a scarf during their previous outing. "I feel a little underdressed."

George shook his head, smile still plastered on his face. "You look great."

Thunderous cheers filled their ears as they ascended the never-ending steps that led to the top box. They were climbing so high in fact that the people they passed by in the lower rows had become nothing but specks in their vision.

"Blimey, Dad," Ron awed, looking over the railing. "How far up are we?"

"Well, put it this way: if it rains, you'll be the first to know," an icy voice cut through.

Y/N squeezed in next to Fred, leaning over to see Lucius and Draco Malfoy chuckling to themselves. An irritated tick appeared on her forehead and she moved to speak, but was stopped by Fred turning her the other way and nudging her towards the steps.

"Father and I are in the Minister's box," Draco gloated, looking pointedly at Ron and Harry. "By personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself."

"Don't boast, Draco," Lucius said, pressing his cane into Draco's stomach to stop him. "There's no need with these people."

Harry quickly grabbed Ron and Hermione, pulling them away from the rail. He moved to leave, but was stopped by that very same cane now digging into where his hand had just been.

"Do enjoy yourself, won't you?" Lucius said, glare as cold as his tone. "While you can."

"That mother-"

Y/N ripped her wand from her bag and stepped towards the Malfoys, but she was stopped by a firm hand grabbing her own. Her eyes snapped to George, who pushed her wand down with a slight shake of his head.

"George, he-"

"You're underage and surrounded," he warned quietly, leaning in as he spoke to ensure she could hear him. "You have great aim, but if he deflects..."

She grit her teeth in irritation; he was right.

The stadium was filled with green and red, every single person shouting in anticipation. By the time the group had reached their seats, the cheers had become the loudest they've been all day.