harry potter imagines

george weasley x reader: failure and burnt metal

george weasley x reader

summary: who can't fall in love when cooking?

warnings: none

author's note: i was originally going to write this like how cece and schmidt are in new girl, but it really didn't end up like that lol. also i was supposed to study for bio, but i wrote this instead, so it's not completely edited. enjoy tho - gracie ♡♡

key: y/n - your name; y/l/n - your last name

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"Once you have properly prepped the meat, you may add two sprigs of rosemary. Be careful to not overdo the rosemary, as it is a strong flavor," You read, your eyes scanning Molly Weasley's cookbook. "Oh, god, Molly. I hope you added a picture of rosemary because I have no idea what you're going on about."

You set down the cookbook and stared at the prepped meat in front of you. You were positive you had followed the recipe by the letter, but the famous Sunday roast looked somewhat grey and inedible. When you offered to host the Weasley Sunday dinners, you thought Molly would adamantly protest, and you would be home free. However, she didn't, and the whole affair was going much worse than you had planned.

You already had put out three fires, pulled something metal out of the biscuits, and was still debating if green beans should smell like the draught of living death.

You weren't a chef by any means; in fact, the most successful thing you'd ever cooked was pasta. Due to this, you generally avoid anything that had to do with cooking, baking, ovens, spatulas, or well, anything food-related that wasn't takeout. Yet, somehow, you had been cooking since four in the morning, and all you had to show for it was oven burns on your arms.

"Oh, god, this is hopeless. I'm hopeless," you groaned, waving your wand and watching as all of the burnt food you slaved over for the past sixteen hours disappear. "They're going to be starving, and all I can offer is cereal."

"Hello? Y/N? Oh god, what is that god-awful smell?" a voice asked, following a soft popping noise.

"It's the smell of failure and burnt metal, George," you cried, tossing Molly's cookbook to the side. "Don't you recognize the smell from all those years in potions class with me?"

"Actually, now that you mention it, I do remember this smell when you burnt off your eyebrows," George joked, peering into a pot on the stove. "I guess it's a good thing you still have until tomorrow because I think you accidentally boiled a dung bomb."

"Sod off, George, you know that's mashed potatoes," you huffed, scooping out a spoonful of grey mush. "At least, I think that's what I made."

"Oh, yes, y/n, this really does bring back memories," George laughed, swishing his wand and cleaning the pot. "Not to mention, the more you looked at it, the more it looked like your amortentia potion."

You let out a chuckle, remembering Snape's endless lecture about how you were the worst potions student he ever had the displeasure of teaching. You had memorized the speech by the time you brewed amortentia for the first-time and had everyone in the classroom retching at the smell.

"It smelled like it, too. I imagine Molly sent you here to scout out how I was doing?" You asked, laying down on the couch in misery and relief.

"Yup," George confirmed, sitting next to you and placing his lanky legs over your lap. "Mum's already preparing the backup dinner, in case I report back that you're knee-deep in burnt mush and tears."

You weren't sure whether or not to be comforted by George's words. On the one hand, this cooking nightmare would finally be over, but on the other, you were once again mooching off the Weasleys. "I guess you should tell your mum I failed," you sighed, tossing your head back. "Although, I imagine, at this point, she was already expecting that."

"No, I figured I would lie and say you're doing great, so I could see her face drop when she saw the food," George joked, earning a cold glare from you. "I'm kidding, y/n. Since this means so much to you, I'll just help."

"You'll help?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at the ginger boy. George Weasley was undoubtedly great at many things, but never in your life had you ever heard he was a fine cook.

"Y/N, I'm offended by that look you're giving me," George shouted, feigning hurt as he placed his hand over his heart. "You wound me!"

"Oh please, George, we both know that you're just as clueless as me in the kitchen," you replied, groaning as the redhead pulled you from the couch and towards the dreaded kitchen. "No, Georgie, not the apron."

"Too late," George laughed, placing a 'kiss the chef' apron over his clothes. "Today, we are going to make the finest roast in the whole country- minus my mum's."

You chuckled, the redhead's confidence adding to your own. "Okay, Carrot-head, let's start."

Hours passed by quickly, and you were pleasantly surprised by how great George was in the kitchen. Occasionally, you would sneak a few glances at the redhead, his eyebrows furrowed as he read his mum's neat handwriting. It was a sight to relish in; the boy covered in flour, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a determined look that made your knees go weak. Not that he knew it, but you were swooning over George Weasley in an apron.

"You're staring," George sang teasingly, tossing some flour at you. "I know I'm the better-looking twin, but you still have a pie to make."

"And why would I do that when you're so good with your hands- I mean, with your hands making the crust," You stammered, turned back to the crust with a red face.

"Is the y/n y/l/n flirting with me?" George questioned, walking over to you with a smirk. "I'm horrible at picking up the signs, so maybe you should just tell me that you're madly in love with me."

You felt the air knocked out of your lungs as Goerge leaned against the counter near you. "Oh, well, I don't think anyone would be that clueless to the fact that I like you," you stuttered, trying to ignore your quickening heart rate. "Well, perhaps Ron, it took him ages to recognize that Harry liked Gin-"

You were interrupted by George pulling your hips towards him. "I love Ickle-Ronniekins, but perhaps when you're proclaiming your love to me, you could leave him out."

All you could do was nod, closing your eyes as George's lips landed on yours. His hands dusted your face with flour as he gently cupped your face, nearly making your legs give out. The kiss just like you had imagined back in fourth-year, but better.

"You better get the cake out of the oven before it burns," you mumbled as you two pulled away at the sound of a timer going off.

"Eh, let it burn- no one likes Bundt cake anyways," George shrugged, pulling you in for another kiss.