Weasley Twins Oneshots & Imagines

Butterflies (G.W.)

"Weasley!"

It's rather obvious that Professor Snape is now regretting his decision of pairing George up with you in an attempt to separate him and Fred. He is seething, his eyes turning a deeper color than normal, very angry at how much you two have been giggling in the corner. Who knew you'd get on so well? You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears—

It's obvious he woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning—or perhaps, someone put something very bitter into his breakfast tea.

When he turns around, eyes now narrowed, to focus on some Slytherins, George turns back towards you and peers admiringly at you through the small cloud above the desk. He sprinkles a bit of powdered moonstone into the cauldron and continues the conversation in a hushed voice, "So anyway, you're a Ravenclaw, yeah? Can you guarantee me a good grade on this?"

"I don't guarantee anything," you laugh softly as the potion bubbles nicely, "You've got to put in the work."

"Suppose I can do that."

"Good," you reply, separating the unicorn hairs carefully in front of you, "Make it worth my while, Weasley."

You find yourself grinning softly at him as you watch his eyes begin to sparkle, feelings of nerves bubbling up inside you, just like the Potion.

As the lesson drags on, George finds himself very eager and hungry to learn more about you in your fleeting time together.

"You're mad," you say a little while later, certainly not abiding to Snape's 'no talking' rule, but he's so distracted, you don't even bloody care— "the Kenmare Kestrels are absolutely smashing it right now, how d'you not find them absolutely brilliant?" You don't know when exactly Quidditch came up in your conversation, but—

It's slow. Easy. Warm.

The butterflies in his stomach are going mad.

George laughs haughtily, running a hand through his hair and peering into the cauldron, "My entire family is basically exclusive Chudley Cannons fans—reckon Ron'd have my head if I showed any interest in another team—"

You're offended on behalf of Ireland. You shake your head in dismay.

"Chudley Cannons," you repeat to yourself, "I can't believe—"

You let out a startled yell when you hear a small explosion from the back of the classroom. The tip of Snape's nose is black, and the Hufflepuffs in front of him are looking rather distraught. It seems as though they'd added a rather foul smelling ingredient to their potion, which caused them to burn their eyebrows right off. George stifles a laugh, and you slap him playfully across the arm.

The dungeons smell of burnt rubber for the rest of the lesson.

You still try and convince the Weasley in front of you just how great the Irish Quidditch team really is, and he puts his hands up in surrender.

"Okay, okay," he laughs. His insides feel fuzzy and warm and.. nervous, almost. He clears his throat in an attempt to make these feelings go away. He bites down nervously on his lip as he watches you stir the potion slowly, "I suppose if I were to swear allegiance to a team other than the Cannons—"

You smile proudly and nudge him across the desk, "Ah.. my work here is done."

As the bell signals the end of the lesson, and there's nothing negative for Snape to say about the potion you've brewed, George's insides tighten and he scrambles to desperately prolong leaving the dungeons.

You swing your bag across your shoulder, "Nice little change of pairings,"

His heartbeat increases. "Yeah, it was,"

"Reckon you'd like to go back with Freddie next week," you say teasingly, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck, "back to the regular routine."

George pushes his sleeves to his elbows and then gently guides you out of the classroom.

"I dunno.. not sure I want to go back to my brother," he tells you, admittedly, still feeling extremely nervous in your presence. He doesn't even try not to grin from ear to ear—you're making it difficult for him not too.

He finds it very difficult to want to go back to the way things were, especially after what was arguably one of the most enjoyable Potions lessons he'd ever endured.

You ask teasingly, suddenly curious, "Hmm? Want to stay with little old me?"

A laugh escapes your lips and echoes off of the walls leading up from the dungeons, but you can feel your face turn very, very rosy when he places his hand on the small of your back to gently guide you up the stairs,

"You made it worth my while."