Loverboy: Year One - George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Chapter Twenty Three - How It Used To Be

"No."

"What do you mean no?" Emmie turned to look at me, momentarily forgetting about adjusting her hair.

"I mean, no." I said crudely, sticking my face farther into my book.

Emmie fiddled with the short black skirt she was wearing before crossing her arms. "Why not?"
"Well for starters, I wasn't invited." I stated matter of factly.

"Yes you were! I invited you!" Emmie interrupted.

"No, you were invited. You're just pitying me by inviting me." I said, my tone as cold as ice. "And besides, you said Fred was throwing this party for George, right? Since he was the whole reason they just won the most recent match?" Emmie nodded sheepishly, realizing my train of thought. "I don't know if you've noticed, but he wants absolutely nothing to do with me." My face fell. "So I'm not going."

Emmie made her way over to my bed, sitting down beside me. She placed her hand on my shoulder. "Y/N, George is worried sick about you."

I stiffened at her words. I'm sure Emmie felt this as she quickly removed her hand from my shoulder.

George was worried about me?

I quickly loosened up, hoping Emmie hadn't noticed the hope flicker across my face. "You're mental." I said, before diving right back into my book. "Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure the last words he said to me were 'don't talk to me'."

Emmie looked at me, genuine and sincere. "You're still his friend, aren't you?"

"I'm not so sure I am." My shoulders fell as I continued to read.

Emmie sighed. "Go, don't go. I won't force you to. But will you at least walk with me to Gryffindor tower?"

I thought for a moment. As sure as I was that George hated me, I still wanted to be his friend. Although any hope of being more than friends was completely insane to think.

I nodded "Sure, I'll walk you up there."

Emmie pulled me in for a hug. "Thank you!"

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I stood with Emmie in front of the Fat Lady painting, although she looked much more ready for a party than I did. Which made sense.

I wasn't going.

Emmie was wearing one of the many Hufflepuff jumpers the school supplied us with. It was tucked into a black, knee-length skirt that flared just a bit at the bottom. With that, she wore black tights that led all the way down and tucked into her black ballet flats she'd brought from home. (She'd had them hastily delivered by owl, although I couldn't imagine why.)

She'd curled her hair ever so slightly, making it appear to be just a bit shorter than normal and she'd clipped it back and out of her face with a small black barrette. She'd even put on a bit of mascara, making her lashes look extra long, and some pink tinted lip gloss.

She looked pretty, as always.

As for me, all I was wearing was one of my dad's old Hogwarts sweatshirts and a pair of striped pajama pants that had that bell bottom sort of look.

"Password?" The Fat Lady asked once more.

"I've already told you like a thousand times!" Emmie said angrily. She'd been screaming at the Fat Lady for about ten minutes now, and she seemed ready to fall over just from the screaming. Her face was the same shade as the Hogwarts express.

"Oh, I know." The Fat Lady giggled. "But look at how red you are!" She began to laugh even harder, and her hearty laugh echoed through the empty halls.