Hermione’s in a right strop, lecturing him about using first years and how wrong it is to test their products on children. The way she’s acting, you’d think they were doing dangerous experiments instead of perfecting a few harmless pranks. Still, George knows better than to speak up and interrupt her. She’s already threatened to owl their mum, and that’s scarier than any lecture he might have to endure. Besides, he’s heard enough of them that he can recite them by heart by now, so he just uses the time to freely stare at her without drawing anyone’s attention.

Fred’s the one who gave the first year’s the batch of sweets, anyway, so this is one time that George isn’t even at fault. Oh, sure, he knew Fred was going to do it, but that just makes him an accomplice, not a participant. Hermione isn’t going to see the difference, but he does. She just assumes that it’s them, and he’s gotta admit that sometimes he hates being one of the twins. It’s not like she’s ever going to see them any differently, like she’s going to realize they’re clever as hell even if it’s not in the same way she is, like she’s going to wake up one day and decide that she’s not developing feelings for ickle Ronniekins but for his dashing older brother George instead.

So George keeps his mouth shut and lets her lecture while he admires the fire in her eyes and the way her hair is wild around her face and the way she purses her lips in between parts of her argument, and he just imagines snogging her like crazy to stop the lecture because she’s not for him not matter how much he wishes she was.

End