Harry Potter One-Shots

Groove (George Weasley)

WORD COUNT: 898

"C'mon Georgie, pleaseeee?" I begged, tugging on his hand. My boyfriend, George, looked more than a little apprehensive.

"I don't see why we have to go... isn't this just a place full of Muggles?" he stalled, looking nervously around. The flashing lights from inside the club cast dancing, multicolored shadows over his handsome features. I rolled my eyes. Ugh, pure-bloods.

"Yes, but I promise you'll have fun! Just come with me and we can give it a try, and if you don't like it we can leave and find something else to do, okay?" I gave George my best puppy eyes, taking slow steps away from him and toward the entrance to the nightclub, called Groove. Being a Muggle-born witch, I grew up learning two different traditions of two completely separate worlds, and while magical teenagers are concerned with Apparation and finally getting Madam Rosmerta to serve them firewhiskey, non-magic teenagers look forward to the day when they can go to clubs for the first time. My best friends (the non-magic ones, of course, from my hometown) had taken me to Groove on my last night home the previous summer, before I left to stay the rest of the holiday at the Burrow. Now, after leaving Hogwarts with the twins in our seventh year, I figured it was time to let our hair down and have some fun since we weren't in school anymore. Fred, unfortunately, had declined to come, but George couldn't escape my plans.

We approached the bouncer, who looked us up and down, probably noticing George's nervous look, and nodded us in silently. I grabbed George's arm and started pulling him in the entrance toward the dance floor. All around us, people were dancing close together and there was a lingering smell of cigarettes and sweat in the air, along with the sickly sweet perfume of the sugary drinks being served at the bar and spilled on the floor.

I tugged George to the bar to get us drinks. Hopefully a drink would help him loosen up and have a bit more fun. I signaled to the bartender, who came over to us expectantly.

"What do you want to drink Georgie?" I asked. He looked hopelessly confused.

"We'll have a vodka soda and beer," I told the bartender, trying to cover for George's lack of knowledge of Muggle drinks. As we waited, I explained to him what I had ordered him, as well as what seemed to be happening around us.

"Over there is the dance floor, obviously it's where people are dancing," I pointed.

"You call that dancing? It looks like they're trying to get it on without taking their clothes off," George laughed. I rolled my eyes but laughed along with him. At least he was warming up to the place and was able to start cracking his signature jokes again.

"There's food in the back but it isn't very good. The real attraction is the drinks, which are about to arrive." Just as if I had summoned him, the bartender returned with my drink and George's beer. I gave him a few bills and told him to keep the change. Then, drinks in hand, George and I headed for the dance floor.

With the alcohol running through my veins, I was feeling a little bit more courageous than I normally would. I stepped close to George and put my hands on his chest. He leaned his lips down toward my ear.

"Want to teach me how to dance like a Muggle?" he breathed in my ear. I felt a warm heat creep up the back of my neck, and I pulled him in for a kiss. I let my lips linger on his for a moment longer than normal, swaying my hips against his in time with the music.

We danced for what felt like ages. We finished our drinks, got more, and finished those too. We swayed and spun and jumped and did all sorts of other dance moves that I don't even have words to describe. I'm pretty sure that all the Muggle couples on the dance floor thought we were crazy, but dancing like horny teenagers can only be entertaining for so long.

Eventually, shortly after midnight, we left the club hand in hand and stumbling back to Diagon Alley to the apartment. When we got home, George unlocked the door and we made our way inside to find Fred asleep on the couch with the Muggle television playing a show about mermaids, which was wildly inaccurate to the way that we magic folk know merpeople to be.

We tried (and failed) to make our way quietly down the hallway to George's bedroom. I had my own room in the apartment, but it had slowly morphed into a storage space/guest room since most of my nights were spent in the arms of my amazing, cuddly boyfriend. We struggled into our pajamas and flopped into the bed. George took me into his arms like he did every night, and pressed a sloppy kiss to my lips.

"I love you a whole lot, Y/N," he smiled sleepily. I grinned and brushed a stray piece of ginger hair out of his face.

"I love you too, George." The only answer my statement was met with was George's peaceful snores as he fell asleep, and I was not far behind him.