Harry Potter Imagines

George Weasley - Tipsy Celebration

TW: Alcohol

Taking a sip from your flask, you skipped across the common room to Crookshanks.

"Who's a precious kitty?" you cooed, feeling your words slurring together slightly. He was hiding under a sofa away from the sounds of chatter, laughter and music that filled the air. The Gryffindors were celebrating their pivotal quidditch win against Slytherin, setting you up for the House Cup. The whole team had played brilliantly, although more often than not your attentions were focussed on the twins, George in particular. Despite not having the best broom, his flight was always controlled and powerful, keeping his team safe from the relentless bludgers. You remembered the rush of adrenaline you'd felt seeing Harry catch the snitch, increasing your lead from 60 points to 210. The stands had erupted with cheers of "Go! Go! Gryffindor!" and the team had done several victory laps, George with a gorgeous grin on his face as he flew by Fred's side.

You bent down to stroke the ginger cat, intending to squat beside the chair but losing your balance and falling gracelessly to the floor, butt first. Taking a moment to consider your position, you decided that it was very amusing, and starting giggling to yourself.

"It's more comfy on the floor anyway, isn't that right ickle Crookshanks?" you rubbed his ear and he leaned into you affectionately. You used your free hand to take another sip from your flask. Alcohol was rare to come by among the students, but being a muggle-born, you'd learnt how to sneak alcohol past prying eyes with a hip flask and some cleverly arranged clothes. You saved it for special occasions, and what could be more special than such an important win? The warm buzz inside you was comforting, but you still felt a hint of longing for something. For someone.

"Moved the party to the floor, have we?" It was George, who plopped down next to you with a contagious smile on his face. A nervous but excited feeling settled in your stomach at his presence.

"I said the sofa was more comfortable," piped in Fred, perching on the arm of the chair, "but according to Georgie, the party is wherever you are." He winked at you as George pushed him away, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"Oh shove off Fred, don't you have somewhere else to be?" George looked at his twin expectantly.

With an eye roll and a very fake sigh, Fred replied, "I guess I'll leave you two to crack on with it then." Before you could stop him, he grabbed your flask and headed to the other side of the room, turning to call over his shoulder "Thanks for the drink y/n/n!".

You turned to George with a pout.

"He stole my alcohol!"

"I think that might be for the best." George gave you a teasing smirk. Noticing his cheeks were still red, you poked one of them with your finger.

"Awww Georgie, you're blushing." You said in an exaggerated whisper. The blush became more prominent, and George shook his head at you.

"What are we gonna do with you y/n?" But at that moment you heard your favourite song start playing on the enchanted stereo system.

"I know what we're gonna do - we're gonna dance!" You announced excitedly, jumping to your feet and using the sofa to steady yourself. Then you started wiggling your butt with a very determined expression on your face.

"Blimey y/n," George said slowly, stifling his laughter as he got up and stood next to you, "what kind of dancing is that?"

"It's twerking, you dummy!" You giggled, intensifying your movements.

"As much as I'm enjoying this, I think you might regret it tomorrow." Your movements suddenly ceased.

"Do you- do you not like my twerking?" You asked with such an earnest look on your face that George had to stifle yet more laughter.

"Of course I do, but I'm not sure the rest of the house is ready for your epic moves."

Absorbing these words, you nodded to yourself thoughtfully. "Yes, I am quite ahead of my time." And then you started doing the macarena.

Even though the room was a bit blurry, it hadn't escaped your notice that George had been smiling widely at everything you did, causing adorable crinkles to appear by his eyes.

"Georgie," you inquired curiously mid-macarena, and George raised his eyebrows, "has anyone told you that your smile is incredibly handsome?"

George's blush reappeared, and he remarked that it was a good job Fred had taken away your drink.

"I'm serious." You had become more determined - you'd even stopped dancing - suddenly wanting George to know how much you appreciate him. You stood face to face with him, putting your hands on his chest to make sure you had his full attention. "Your smile lights up the whole room." As an afterthought you added "even the dungeons!". For once George seemed lost for words, but you occupied the silence by sliding your arms round him and resting your head on his chest. You heard his heart beating loudly, and if you shut your eyes you felt a spinning sensation that wasn't unpleasant. He remained silent, but used one hand to hold you upright and the other to stroke your hair.

"I'm tired." You mumbled into his chest, feeling a wave of exhaustion hit you out of nowhere. You leaned into him to take some of the weight off your feet.

"I think it's bedtime for you." George said into your hair. You didn't object as he led you, arm around your waist, to the door of your dormitory.

"Will you sleep with me?" You looked up at him in time to see him start stammering.

"I- I'm not sure- you're a bit- not a good idea..." His eyes seemed to land on anything but you.

"Not like that silly!" You giggled. Then your expression turned solemn. "I just want to be held."

"Oh." George was surprised at this turn of events. "Well, I guess-" but you didn't wait for the rest of the sentence. You grabbed his hand and walked him unsteadily to your bed, which you got into without undressing, without even taking off your shoes. "Do you want me to take those off for you?" George asked, gesturing to your feet. You just mumbled into your pillow, too tired and drunk to concentrate properly on his question. The next thing you knew, hands were gently untying the laces of your boots and sliding them off.

When he'd finished, George looked uncertainly at you, as if wondering whether you still wanted him in your bed. His silent question was answered when you held your arms out to him, making grabbing motions in the air.

"Ok love, but I'm staying on top of the covers." And being the gentleman that he was, George stayed true to his word, lying on top of the duvet and tentatively placing an arm over you. You shut your eyes and focussed on the comforting feeling of being held, sighing contentedly. The feeling of longing had gone, because with George next to you you felt complete.

As you were drifting off, you heard yourself whisper into the darkness, "I love you Georgie."

Just before you were overcome by sleep, you could've sworn you heard the darkness whisper back, "I love you too y/n/n."