George Weasley x Reader

Chapter 12 - Piss Off Pucy.

  You were astonished as a dull Autumn sun lazily sept through the imposing windows in the dormitory. You had been awake for hours, and at this moment thought about how light could reach this low, all the way into the dungeon.
Looking at the swirls of small moons and stars on the watch kept by the bed, you concluded it was six in the morning. Reluctantly, you dragged your legs out the warm safety of your bed toward the showers. Flint had been getting the whole team up earlier and earlier each Saturday for practice, not to mention six 'til nine each Tuesday night. You were physically drained. The scorn of other players, like Pucy who were determind to completely slaughter your spirits and stamp out your cockiness, was the only thing getting you up at this ungodly hour. Proving them wrong was a priority which was almost becoming a hobby.
It really showed your absolute skill in Quidditch how, even half asleep and mindlessly daydreaming, you could still play better than the rest of the team.
Although determind to hate Draco, you were floundering slightly as the new broom, bought by Mr.Malfoy, gave the Slytherin team an even bigger ego which was being constantly inflated and upheld by continuous victories.
The amount of less than welcome mornings and long nights was starting to show. Not only by the purple circles round your, now slightly dulled eyes, but in your school work. Dispite still keeping a relative amount of sanity with the lack of sleep, your performance was distinctly lacking. On several occations Heather and Stan had written and even the usually unobserbant Fred had noticed a decline.
George, you could tell, was getting more and more worried, constantly urging you to sleep whenever possible. Sometimes you gave in and napped during library and study sessions. Finally, one wednesday afternoon in History of Magic, you dozed off on George's command. You slept for about three quaters of an hour before being rudly awakened by a paper ball hitting your head.
It had turned out that you had fallen asleep on George's arm and he had fallen asleep on top of you. There were sniggers and giggles as you pushed the boy off you and flicked your stray hair away and you knew instantly who had thrown the offending paper ball. Pucy. You honestly had no clue what you had done to deserve this. Well actually, you did. You'd been consistently rude to him at every opportunity, and you'd relished every single second of it.
For the remainder of HOM Pucy was fixed with an impressively cold, hard stare. You were definatly going to make him pay. People laughing at you and not with you, was something you hated most. Pucy was definatly going to regret everything he had done. You weren't sure what he would regret, but it would definatly be something.