𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

moonlight kisses (g.w)

Alone and bored at a business party, George bumps into a familiar girl who he simply can't get enough of.

Warnings: alcohol, gets a little spicy

Word Count: 1.5 k

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George felt his breath hitch as he stepped through the door.

Witches and wizards from across the country roamed about, sipping on tall glasses of champagne.   Despite standing in the middle of a grand ballroom, they did not dance.  Instead, they shared cheap smiles while discussing what George assumed would be their next business deals.

George couldn't help but feel wildly out of place.  The guests around him radiated wealth, as perfectly polished shoes and lace gowns stretched as far as the eye could see.  By the looks of it, he and Fred were the youngest ones there.  And George began to wonder if his purple button-up and flashy pink tie were the right choices for the evening.

But George followed Fred's lead as they made their way to the bar, thanking a passing server as they took a glass from his tray.  Fred had been adamant on expanding Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes ever since the war had ended.  So, George was not surprised when Fred found a seat beside a group of posh businessmen.

The scent of Scotch was heavy, as was the overwhelming feeling of pressure settling in George's gut. But he made a comment every now and then, informing those around him about the designs of their products and the economic details that came with manufacturing.  It was better like this — George never had much interest in buttering up a bunch of old folks, anyway.

The clicking of heels caught George's attention.  He watched as a small group took a seat across the bar, all but one covered in wrinkles and feathered hats. Fake smiles and giggles were shared between them, leaving the young witch to sit quietly on the sidelines.  But you, too, did not fit in.

Your silk, lilac dress was quite a contrast to those around you.  You did not cover yourself in tule or obnoxious floral design — nor did you chat idly with the others.  Instead, you raked your glossy lip between your teeth while scribbling upon a small pad of paper.

George could have sworn he had seen you before.  But even if he hadn't, he would happily use it as an excuse to keep watching.

But it soon dawned on him that he was not the only one with eyes on you.

Across the hall, a drunk-looking man stumbled towards the bar.  He seemed to be around Charlie's age, as stubble lined his neck and chin.  He, too, wore polished shoes and a perfectly tailored gray suit.  And his eyes were glued to you.

George didn't remember standing from his seat, as his barstool scraped across the marble floors with a loud creek.  But before he knew it, his long strides had taken him to the other end of the bar.

George blamed it on the alcohol.

"Hello there, ladies." George cleared his throat, catching the attention of the elderly witches he had been observing before.  They giggled wildly when they spotted him, causing your head to lift from where it was once tucked away.  George wondered why your eyes had widened.

"Those men over there," George pointed across the bar, where Fred and the others grew tipsy glass after glass, "They were hoping you'd join them on the dancefloor."

George was pleased when they took the bait, touching up their lipstick before waddling towards the ballroom.

You raised your eyebrow when George took the seat next to you, smirking when a shy smile graced his lips.