The castle thrums with energy, a festive kind of magic winding through every corridor. Laughter echoes off stone walls. Between classes, the halls become stages for romantic theatrics—enchanted confetti, serenades, and over-the-top Yule Ball proposals that draw crowds.

Fred, of course, made his move with signature flair. He’d shouted across the common room to Angelina, grinning like it was the easiest thing in the world. Ron and Harry had been stunned. George hadn’t been. That was just Fred—loud, bold, rarely ever turned down.

George could do the same. He had a list of admirers long enough to guarantee a yes. But he didn’t want just anyone.

He wanted you.

The thought of asking made his chest tight. Not from fear of rejection—but because this wasn’t a performance. This wasn’t a prank, or a joke, or something to be laughed off if it went wrong. This was real.

Every time someone mentioned the Yule Ball, he pictured you—on the sparkling dancefloor in the Great Hall, your hand in his, your cheeks pink with laughter. He couldn’t shake it. Didn’t want to.

So now, under moonlight leaking through tall windows, he makes his way toward the library. Curfew looms, but he moves with quiet urgency, dodging wandering ghosts and half-hearted prefect patrols.

The library is hushed and glowing with torchlight. Shadows stretch across the shelves. He slips inside, scanning for you—until he sees you.

Curled in a quiet corner, surrounded by a small wall of Arithmancy books, your brow furrowed in concentration. George’s heart trips at the sight.

He moves closer, his boots falling a little heavier to announce his presence. “Sweetheart,” he says gently, his hands resting on the back of the chair across from you.

You glance up, eyes meeting his with a silent question.

He draws a breath. “Mind if I sit?”

You nod once.

George slides into the seat, suddenly very aware of the way his palms are sweating. His usual confidence falters, but he pushes forward, eyes steady on yours.

“I was wondering if you’d go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Simple. Honest. No show, no spectacle—just him, and you.