harry potter imagines

george weasley x reader: acrylics and watercolor

george weasley x reader

summary: george and you meet in front of your best paintings

prompt: "stay with me"

words: 1228

warnings: sad vibes because my calculus test went bad

author's note: this is for ​weasleyflowr's 300 follower writing challenge, and honestly, can't think of anyone who deserves 300 followers more than her. I can't wait until her 1,000 follower writing challenge - gracie ♡♡

_

You grew up in a world that left you untouched by the fear that came with the second wizarding war, guarded by your pureblood status and parents that subtly provided Voldemort their support. Arriving at Hogwarts only fed your obliviousness, being a place that allowed you to hide away in an abandoned classroom, and paint until your hands ached. Your enchantment with the ability to create life with acrylics and watercolors kept you blind to the war stirring amongst the world.

Your obliviousness and privilege left you ostracized by the students of Hogwarts, specifically those who were preparing to die fighting for what's right. You couldn't grasp it, especially since your parents told you that the upcoming war was a conspiracy, but it never left you bitter. You were too in love with the feeling of a brush sliding across a canvas to bother with sneering Gryffindors.

You were in love, and not even a war could break you out of it. At least, until the war came full force, tearing apart your family and wrecking Hogwarts, your home. You had never thought about the legacy you would leave behind- not like the other students were had showed up on May 2nd- but you hoped that yours would make you smile.

You survived May 2nd, scarred but alive. Surviving meant more to you than you expected, eliciting something in you that you didn't know you had. You wanted to use your love for painting to do something grand- to honor everyone who didn't make it to the end of the war. So, you did what you did best.

You painted until your eyes stung, and your hands cramped. You perfected the smile on Colin Creevey's face, the curl of Lavender Brown's hair, the scars on Remus Lupin's cheeks, and the freckles on Fred Weasley's hands. You spent endless nights attempting to bring life to canvas until you finished, 363 days after you started.

363 days later, with calloused hands and stained fingernails, you marched into Hogwarts and started to hang them up outside the Great Hall. You didn't slow down when Filch began to scream at you or when crowds of students surrounded you. You only slow down when McGonagall joined you, grabbing a few nails and hanging up a portrait of Tonks and Lupin.

And now, you stood before the gallery of art you created, watching as the enchanted portraits talked amongst each other lovingly on the day where it all ended.

Most of the visitors were out by the memorial, but you stuck staring at the portraits, wondering what their lives would have been if they lived outside of their frames. The thought haunted you, but not as much as the idea they all left someone behind.

"I- I wanted to say thanks," a voice whispered, snapping you out of your melancholy thoughts.

"What for?" you asked, turning to look at the redhead. You had recognized him the minute you caught a glance at an oddly-placed freckle on his hand. George Weasley. The twin of the person who was the hardest to paint.

"For making him laughing," the redhead responded simply, admiring the way his brother's eyes crinkled softly. "You could've made him all sad, like some of the Hogwarts portraits, but you made him lively."

You shrugged your shoulders, wrapping your arms around your torso. "Fred was-was the most difficult to draw," you admitted. "I have thousands of sketches of him- some with you, some with a beater's bat- but this was the best."

"I don't think we even have a picture better than that portrait," George replied. "If Fred were-if he were here, I reckoned he'd be as sorry as I am."

You let out a quiet chuckle, wondering what the redhead could mean. "Don't, George. I should be the one saying sorry, and we both know that. I pretend the war wasn't coming, and I-I didn't even know which side to fight on at first."

"You made the right decision, though," George reasoned, forgetting his apology at your words. "I saw you, you know. I saw you fighting Bellatrix alongside Ginny, Hermione, and Luna. You choose the right side, and that's all that matters."

"You may believe that, but I think I still have some more pleading for redemption. These paintings helped, though. You know, staring at these people who were brave and good from the start in the eyes. It was-"

"Nice of you, especially since you didn't have to do it. You could have just walked away and healed on your own."

"I was going to say cathartic," you chuckled.

"Sorry, I've been out of the finishing sentences game for a while," George joked half-heartedly. "I miss Fred."

You stayed silent, possible ways to answer running through your mind. "I miss Fred, too. I miss all of them. I didn't know any of them personally, but I know there's a hole in our lives without them."

"He would have liked to know you personally- they all would have. Tonks, especially, would have liked you," George respond, turning to look down at you. "I didn't get to finish before. I'm sorry that Fred and I spread rumors that you were a stuck-up, rich, death eater's bride-to-be."

His words brought a smile to your face, despite the grimness of the day and solemnness of the conversation. "You two were the ones who told everyone that?" You asked, shaking your head at the red-faced guy beside you. "I thought it was Ron- he always stared at me oddly."

"Ickle-Ronniekins? He didn't have that much reach- not that I am proud of how quickly we spread the rumors."

"Okay, Mr. Popular, no need to rub it in," you huffed with faux-annoyance. "No matter how much reach you had- the rumors never bothered me. I was too wrapped off in the idea of running away and painting in Italy-"

"I'm glad you didn't. I like the idea of Fred annoying Filch for the rest of Filch's life," George interrupted.

"You can go over and talk to his painting if you want. It should be a lot like talking to him if he were here. McGonagall placed the enchantment on all of the paintings," you stated, noticing George kept glancing at Fred's portrait.

"I-I don't know if I can, to be honest," George sighed, fumbling with something in his hand. "It took me so long to get out of bed after he- he left, and I don't know if I could leave if I started talking to him."

"He's not really your Fred, George. He is just a portrait," you spoke softly, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "He's acrylics with a watercolor background. Your Fred was much more than that, and he'll be with you outside of Hogwarts. Besides, I can make a portrait for your shop, and then he can visit."

"You'd put all that time in again to paint him for a joke shop that isn't even open?"

"It'll be open again one day, and it'd be a nice piece to remind new customers how it began," you shrugged. "Now, go talk to the portrait, Weasley. I command you too."

You gave the redhead a reassuring smile when you began to turn on your heels back towards the memorial. "Stay with me," George stated, grabbing your wrist gently.

"As long as you need."