The Gryffindor common room had slipped into that rare, peaceful state where the fire burned low and shadows stretched lazily across the stone walls. Most of your classmates had long since gone up to bed, their laughter and footsteps fading into silence. Only you and George remained, tucked into the sofa by the hearth, the warmth of the flames wrapping around you both like a secret.

Your books lay forgotten on the table, pages left half-turned, quills abandoned. For once, George wasn’t filling the air with witty remarks or elaborate schemes. He sat unusually quiet, gaze fixed on the fire, the orange light dancing across his freckled skin. His hand rested on the arm of the sofa, just close enough to yours that you could feel the heat radiating from him.

The quiet was comfortable, though it carried a current of something unsaid — a pull you were both too aware of to ignore. You shifted ever so slightly, and your fingers brushed his. The touch was feather-light, accidental, but George didn’t move away. Instead, he turned toward you, and the look in his eyes made your stomach flip. There was no mischief there, no teasing spark. Just an open, quiet softness.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” he said finally, voice low, almost fragile, like speaking it too loud might break the moment.

Your breath caught as he reached for your hand, his larger fingers sliding between yours, holding them as though he’d been waiting for the courage. His thumb traced a nervous circle against your skin before he leaned in.

The kiss was careful, unhurried. George wasn’t rushing, wasn’t playing a game. He was giving you time, giving you choice. It was gentle and steady, as though he wanted you to feel every ounce of the truth in it. The warmth of his lips lingered, making your chest ache in the best way. And when you didn’t pull away, when you kissed him back, he pressed just a little closer, relief written in the way his hand tightened around yours.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breath warm, his eyes closed for a moment as if he wanted to hold on to the feeling.

“That,” he whispered, voice low and steady, “was even better than I imagined.”

The fire crackled softly beside you, the only witness to the quiet beginning of something you both had been waiting for.