You and George had started dating quietly, the way things that mattered always seemed to begin with him. Stolen glances across the Gryffindor table. Fingers brushing in corridors. Laughter shared late at night in the common room when everyone else had gone to bed. It felt easy. Natural. Like something that had been waiting for you both to notice it.

When Dumbledore’s Army began, George didn’t hesitate to tell you about it. He leaned closer than necessary, voice low and serious in a way that still felt strange on him.

“You should join,” he said. “It matters. And… I want you there.”

So you went. Together.

The Room of Requirement became familiar quickly. The smell of dust and old magic. The low hum of voices. The way George always stood just a little too close to you, shoulder brushing yours as if to remind himself you were real.

It was Harry who taught you the Patronus Charm.

“Think of your happiest memory,” he said, wand raised. “Not just something nice. Something that fills you up.”

Your first attempts were clumsy. Silver mist sputtered from your wand, faded too quickly. George cheered anyway, dramatic and loud, like you’d already done something brilliant.

When it finally worked, it surprised you both.

A silver dog burst from the tip of your wand, light-footed and alert, circling the room before dissolving back into mist.

George blinked. “Blimey,” he said softly. “That’s… actually perfect.”

You laughed, breathless, heart hammering with pride. The dog stayed your Patronus for weeks after that. Quick, cautious, always watching.

And life moved on.

DA meetings continued. Lessons grew harder. Outside that hidden room, the world darkened, but with George, things felt strangely steady. He learned the way you took your tea. You learned when his jokes were a shield and when they were just jokes.

You kissed in quiet corners. You held hands under tables. You fell asleep studying together more times than either of you would admit.

You started to notice how much space he took up in your thoughts. How safe you felt with him. How your happiest memories now seemed to include his laugh, his voice, his stupid jokes whispered in the dark.

Then came another Patronus practice.

Harry told everyone to try again, to push for strength and clarity. The room filled with silver light as one by one, animals burst into being. Cheers followed each success.

When it was your turn, you raised your wand without thinking.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Silver light exploded from your wand.

The shape formed quickly, confidently, leaping forward before you even realized what you were seeing. A bird.

Not your dog.

A magpie.

The room goes silent.

You stare at it, breath caught, heart pounding so hard it almost hurts. You’ve seen that Patronus before. You’ve watched it burst from George’s wand dozens of times, confident and loud and alive.

Slowly, you turn your head.

George froze beside you, eyes locked on the Patronus still circling overhead. His wand hung forgotten at his side.

Harry looks between you and George, brows knitting together, recognition dawning. Hermione’s hand flies to her mouth. Even Fred has stopped grinning.

George finally looks at you.

“You didn’t—” he starts, then stops, swallowing. His voice comes out softer. “That´s mine.”