raison d'être (george weasley x reader)

7.12

As the temperature continued to drop, students became the busiest they'd been all year in preparation for their final classes and upcoming winter exams. The days were especially tense for Hogwarts' athletes, who were all still remaining consistent with their practices, some more than others.

Angelina barked out a series of curses and scattered directions at the Gryffindor quidditch players, growing increasingly more frustrated by the strong winter wind's effect on their ability to play. Had you asked any of the other players, they would have told you that there was no justifiable reason to have continued practice for as long as they had — they should have gotten off the field after the second or third rough gust of wind, but Angelina was determined to keep the team in shape until the first day of exams, at which point she wouldn't be allowed to continue scheduling practice.

Given the weather, their usual support team was nowhere to be seen. Not even Lee nor Y/N had left the comforts of the castle walls, both opting to wait on their friends by the warmth of the common room fire.

George let out a grunt as he both fought to keep his broom steady against the wind's current and moved to swing his bat to keep the bludger away from Alicia, who swerved close behind him. Once it flew off in the opposing direction, he shook off his left hand, which was beginning to burn profusely.

"Ang!" Fred shouted over another burst of wind. "You have to call it! We can't play in this weather!"

"Let's just finish this round!" Angelina shouted back before veering off towards the goalposts.

Fred shot George an exasperated look before shaking his head and diving off after her, leaving George to circle the middle of the field.

As the hour carried on and the winds began to pick up speed, the Gryffindors found themselves spending more time trying to stay upright than paying attention to their impromptu scrimmage. Not only was it becoming difficult to fly, but it was also becoming dangerous since the diverted focus often led to near-misses with bludgers. If it weren't for Fred and George's quick reflexes and ability to withstand the onslaught of gales long enough to swing their bats, most of the team would have fallen by now.

"Ang!" Fred tried again, eyes flitting to the captain momentarily as he watched Harry struggle to stay afloat. "We need to get down now!"

Angelina grit her teeth and glared at the field.

"He's right!" Alicia shouted over another cold burst. "Harry can't see anything and we're barely hanging on! Ron's already almost fallen off four times!"

After a pause, Angelina let out a frustrated sigh and nodded, lifting her arm to direct the rest of the team down, "Let's call it!"

Once in the locker room, George found himself clenching and unclenching his fist, occasionally shaking his hand out, in an attempt to soothe the uncomfortable sensation that had built up on his skin. The winds had done nothing to help his scar and, in fact, they'd dried out the skin around it so much that he swore he could feel his hand crack with every movement.

"Is your hand bothering you?" George asked quietly, shutting his locker door to look at Fred.

"Not more than usual," Fred replied, glancing down at his brother's hand. "You weren't wearing gloves?"

"I was, but just my quidditch ones. I forgot my winter ones in our room," he mumbled, clasping his hands in a way as to bring some warmth to his fingers. "I didn't realize it would get this bad."

"You forgot them or Y/N borrowed them and you didn't have the heart to ask for them back?" Fred asked with a raised brow, now eyeing George's hands to assess how bad the damage was.