Weasley Twins Oneshots & Imagines

Placing Bets (G.W.)

Your laugh seems to echo across the entire Quidditch pitch. Okay, not really, but it's both loud and soft at the same time in George's ears, and it floats in the air between you both, and he's desperately clinging to the sound of it—just like he does whenever you laugh. Just like he did when you were both eight years old and met for the first time in the village outside of Ottery St. Catchpole all those years ago, after having shown you a magic trick when you giggled yourself into oblivion.

In love with you right then, he was.

"You're not allowed to laugh at me," he teases you now. His voice is calm and steady in his ears and he's thankful that he doesn't sound as nervous as he feels. He rebalances himself on his broomstick after nearly falling off and peers at you with a smirk.

"I'm sorry—but you can't expect me to not laugh when you do something as silly as try and surf on your broomstick, George."

His feet finally touch the ground, and much to his dismay he sees the rest of the team emerging from the changing rooms, undoubtedly gearing up for tryouts. He swallows over a lump in his throat when both Harry and Fred nod at him from the other end of the pitch. He knows he's a fantastic bloody beater, but the fact that you're going to be watching tryouts with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione are making him feel less confident than before. He stands up straighter to try and push these feelings away. It doesn't work. You seem to notice.

"Hey," you say after a moment and place a hand on his shoulder, "you'll be great. Just try not to fall off of your broom this time, okay?"

A laugh escapes his lips and he says to you as you make your way toward the stands, "Well I bloody hope I don't fall, since I'll be spending the majority of this tryout doing my very best to impress you, anyway."

You roll your eyes at his comment, but he sees a rosy pink color flood your cheeks. "Best focus on the bludgers, Georgie, don't want any of them to whack you, yeah?"

He laughs again, takes a deep breath, and turns toward his teammates. Fred is looking at him with raised eyebrows and a laugh so sweet it could cure an illness. Once he realizes that you're now out of earshot, Fred teasingly slings an arm around his twin's shoulders, turns to Harry and asks, "He's been in love for the longest bloody time—how much longer d'you reckon before he finally does something about it?"

"I dunno, mate," Harry says and kicks George playfully in the shin, "he's been pining for what—eight, nine years now? Give it another five or so, I reckon he'll be able to maybe ask her out then."

"I'll be sure to send bludgers toward the both of you today, then," George replies with a mischievous grin as the other two fall into raucous laughter. He peers up at the stands, easily finding you sitting with his siblings and Hermione, and when you finally look up and meet his gaze, you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and wink.

Like George seriously needs to be sent into overdrive before what is arguably the most important Quidditch tryout of his entire life. He does his hardest to nudge Fred very hard in the ribs when all he can hear are snickers and kissing noises in his ear.

George peers up at the very dark, cloudy gray ceiling in the Great Hall. He absolutely hates it when it rains. He's looking particularly grumpy as he listens to the thunder clap outside the tall windows. He's sipping rather moodily on his pumpkin juice when you plop down next to him and say, "Brighten up, would you, Weasley? Why the long face?"

"It's raining," Fred replies before George can catch his breath and answer you himself, "Georgie hates it when it rains."

"Why?" you ask suddenly, scooping a bit of vegetables onto your dinner plate, "We've known each other for so long, how have I never known this about you? I love it when it's raining! The sound of the pitter-patter on the roof, the way the grounds smell right before a rainstorm—it's absolutely beautiful."