her snake-bite heart // george weasley (harry potter)

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"Come on, George, we need to be back before one of the professors catches us here," Fred hissed, while carrying bottles of Butterbeer and bags filled with Chocoballs and Acid Pops.

They had won the Quidditch game against Ravenclaw after Harry had cast a Patronus on Marcus Flint and his cronies. It had been brilliant. The whole Gryffindor Tower celebrated as if they had already conquered the cup. Even Hermione Granger, who had taken an absurd number of subjects for a third-year student and did nothing but study, had accepted a Butterbeer.

But better, Gryffindor would be playing the finale against Slytherin. Something that George had looked forward to.

May couldn't come fast enough.

Around midnight, Fred and George had snuck out to get some fresh supplies. But in their haste, the statue of the One-Eyed Witch had slid shut too quickly and Georges leg was stuck.

It was the worst timing. The fires in the corridor had sprung on and it was just a matter of time until Filch or Mrs Norris would show up.

"I cannot move, wait. I heard something." George stopped wrinkling his leg and held his breath.

Fred, too, remained silent. The twin cocked their ears.

At the end of the corridor stood Mrs Norris. She looked at them and then disappeared.

"I am done," George said in horror. "Fred, go, quick, before Filch comes. Take the candy and go back to the Tower."

Fred didn't allow himself to be told that twice. He grabbed the candy away from George and hurried out of the corridor.

George tried to wiggle free and finally, the statue gave way and let George's ankle go.

But it was too late.

"Well, well, what do we have here? One of the infamous Weasley Twins." As soon as George had scrambled to his feet and wiped the dust off his jumper, he looked straight into the warty face of Filch; the care-keeper of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Good night, Filch, you old Squib. How are the magic lessons coming by?"

"Shut up, you Weasel. Where's that hideous twin brother of yours?"

"I don't know. We're not attached from the hip, you see," said George, who put his hands in his pockets.

"Shut it. You're coming with me." Filch grabbed his ear and dragged him out of the corridor. "Sneaking around past midnight. Let's see what your Head of House will think about that, ay?" His voice cackled with genuine pleasure.

George sighed. He knew he was done. Staying up in the Gryffindor Tower was one thing, but wandering the corridors by night was another.

He was right.

McGonagall was furious. "Weasley! What are you doing up at this time of the night!" Her hairnet trembled ominously and she held the chequered nightgown close with her free hand.

"Partying, professor. It is not every day we are competing in the finale for the Quidditch Cup." George mustered a very charming smile. Behind his back, he crossed his fingers.

McGonagall heaved a deep sigh and looked at him over the edges of her crescent glasses. "How much I want to tell you that's true, I will not. For that cheek you will receive detention with me, Mr. Weasley. Tomorrow night, straight after dinner. I shall now escort you back to the Tower to make an end to that party. It's almost past one o'clock in the night!"

She didn't take any points and for that, George was grateful. It could have been much worse. She could have taken away the points they had won with their victory against Ravenclaw.