The Gryffindor common room is bursting at the seams — students packed onto every chair and couch, laughter and cheers bouncing off the walls. The fire crackles, casting warm light over flushed faces and fluttering red and gold banners celebrating the latest Quidditch victory.

You step inside, scanning the crowd until your eyes settle on him.

George.

He’s there, relaxed and glowing, clearly proud of the win and his part in it. His usual grin is wide, easy, lighting up the room like a beacon. Fred and Lee Jordan sit on one side of him on the couch, and on his other — Angelina.

She’s leaning in, legs crossed toward him, her laugh a little too loud at whatever Fred just said. Her smile shifts when she sees you, twisting into something smug — like she knew you’d walk in and find her already there. She inches closer to George, her shoulder brushing his now. Like it’s her place. Like she belongs there.

And you’ve seen it before — the way she looks at him when she thinks you’re not paying attention. The way she laughs harder at his jokes, touches his arm a little longer than needed. Like she’s hoping he’ll notice. Like she’s hoping he’ll choose her. Like your place beside him is temporary.

But George doesn’t so much as glance at her.

His gaze is somewhere else — scanning the room, clearly looking for something. Or someone.

Then he spots you.

His whole face changes. That easy grin stretches wide as his eyes lock with yours, and then, without a trace of hesitation, he pats his lap.

“Saved you a seat,” he calls, voice rising effortlessly over the celebration.

You start making your way through the crowd, heart fluttering at how clearly he wants you here.

“Come on, love,” George repeats, patting his lap again.

Angelina stiffens beside him, a subtle shift you don’t miss. The sight sparks a quiet satisfaction deep in your chest — you know exactly where you belong.

He shifts slightly as you reach him, then wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you down onto his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hands settle against your hips, warm and sure, and he leans in close.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Fred and Lee smirking and exchanging a look, clearly amused by the scene.

Angelina, on the other hand, tries hard to hide her annoyance.

But you don’t pay her any mind, because in this moment you know you’re the one who has George’s full attention—and that’s all that matters.