When George overheard you discussing a diary with your friends in the hallway, he couldn't believe it. Diaries didn’t seem like your style—pouring your thoughts onto paper with little hearts and giggles? It felt too cliché for someone like you.

But when he and Fred snuck into your dorm to set up a prank, George stumbled across the unexpected. A small, unassuming book tucked beneath your pillow caught his eye. At first, he thought it was a school notebook. But as he flipped through the pages, the dates and the familiar scrawl of "Dear Diary" made his heart skip a beat.

He hesitated, glancing around nervously. Should he? The temptation was too strong. George carried the diary back to his dorm, a mix of guilt and curiosity battling in his chest.

That night, beneath the soft glow of his wand, George read. He chuckled at your complaints about teachers, smiled at your musings about life at Hog.warts, and then—his breath caught. There, in your careful handwriting, were pages describing him. Funny, sweet, handsome, perfect. You had a crush on him.

His cheeks flushed. By Merlin, you liked him. Really liked him.

The next day, after Potions, he pulled you aside, leading you into an empty classroom. His heart pounded, but he masked it with his usual bravado. Before you could protest, he pulled the diary from his bag, holding it out with an amused, but softer smile.

“So,” he began, a teasing lilt in his voice, “I’m the love of your life?”