Sparks Fly || A George Weasley Story

Year 5: Very Good Close Friends

I stumbled down the hall, trying my best to make it to the great hall on time. I was hungry, and I wanted to see someone not wearing Gryffindor robes for the first time in what felt like a little over an hour, but could have also just been forty five minutes or so. And, thankfully, I did just that, although, if I was being honest, it wasn't exactly the person I'd been hoping to see.

Stood in front of me was Derrick, his pale brows curled together in confusion while a smile stayed planted firmly on his lips, "Where were you, Clemonte? I've been waiting for you since second period ended."

"I'm sorry, Derrick, I got hung up with something," I said, shaking my head, and trying not to think of George while I looked up at him.

"Well, why don't we just go and catch up now?" He asked, "There isn't anything good for lunch today anyways."

There was a strong urge to decline his offer, but what I saw over his shoulder quickly changed my mind. Only a few feet away, someone beside Derrick had noticed me coming in. A head of shaggy red hair was staring over in my direction, and it looked like they were going to head on over in our direction, and I didn't really feel like talking to them right now. The only thing George would want to talk about is what happened, and I honestly thought that it was best that I left him to sit in his unhappiness for a little longer.

If he wanted to apologize, he could do it later, but I didn't want to hear it for the time being. He needed to understand that he couldn't just do whatever he wanted and apologize an hour later and have everything be okay again. We weren't kids anymore, and that's just not how things worked. He'd have to show me that he was sorry, for real, to where there was no doubt in my mind that he actually meant it.

This wasn't something that I expected to happen overnight either, which would probably come as a right shock to George himself who was used to flashing a smile and having me melt in his hands. It wasn't going to happen this time, I wasn't going to let him constantly talk down about my choices and who I called my friends. I didn't care that he didn't particularly like Derrick, because I don't have to ask his permission to have other friends. He wasn't my big brother and he wasn't my father. I didn't have an older brother, and my father was dead.

"Sure, that would be fine," I said, "I wasn't even hungry anyway."

Sure, the last part was a lie, but it wasn't like Derrick could read my mind. I mean, technically he could, there is a spell for that, but I'd know if he was casting it on me (not that I thought he was that skilled of a wizard). I wasn't skilled enough to know how to fight off that particular spell, but I decided that if I had any spare time over the summer, or maybe next year, I'd start practicing. It was a very important skill for any wizard to know, especially if another wizarding war were to break out. The muggles had had two world wars so far, and countless others, what's stopping us from doing the same?

But I didn't want that to be the thing on my mind if he read it. Could you imagine how he'd react? You go to read the smart, athletic girls mind and she's thinking about how likely it is that the entire wizarding world could go to war if the ones with the messed up ideals gained another figurehead. Or worse, someone found a way to resurrect you know who in his whole form, where he wouldn't have to survive within someone like the parasite he was.

"Cool," Derrick nodded, "I know somewhere we can go."

He carefully took my hand in his, and I realized I'd never felt so small. His hand swallowed mine, but it was different than the feeling of holding hands with Fred or George. Derrick's hand was nowhere near as rough and weathered as the twins'... or as my own.

I reminded myself that the twins and I were very different than Derrick. He was the Derrick Grey, whose parents managed to slip out of an Azkaban sentence after their allegiance with he who shall not be names. They weren't too different than the Malfoys in my opinion, except in the way that he interacted with me. Draco was all talons and fangs, his words dripping the hate and venom that had been poured into him from the day he was born.