George had been acting strange all week.

Not in a something’s wrong way. More in a he keeps disappearing for suspiciously long stretches and refuses to tell you why way.

Every time you asked where he’d been, he’d just smirk and say, “Classified information,” before kissing your cheek and running off again.

So when he walked up to you in the common room, hands tucked behind his back and eyes bright with mischief, you knew he’d finally reached whatever grand reveal he’d been plotting.

“Here,” he said, stepping close and pressing something into your hands. “I made you something.”

You looked down. A deck of cards. A little crooked. A little smudged. Absolutely him.

Across the top card, in his unmistakable messy handwriting, were the words:

52 Reasons Why I Love You.

Complete with a doodle of a heart and what was possibly you? Maybe? It looked a bit like a potato but the affection was obvious.

“George,” you whispered, thumbing the uneven corner. “You made this?”

“Spent a bloody age on it,” he said proudly. “Nearly glued my own fingers together. Twice.”

You flipped the first one.

“You laugh at my jokes even when they’re terrible.”

Your heart squeezed.

Then you read another.

”You tuck your feet under my leg when you’re cold. Makes me feel important.”

Then another.

”You make me feel like I’m worth something, even on the days I don’t.”

Your eyes blurred.

And that’s when he gently took the deck back, holding it out of reach.

“Oi,” he said softly, grinning as he brushed your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t read them all at once.”

You blinked up at him. “Why not?”

“Because,” he said, leaning in until his forehead pressed against yours, “I worked very hard to be charming, and I need it to last. At least a week. Maybe two.”

A quiet laugh slipped out of you as you reached for his shirt and pulled him into a tight, warm hug.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said quietly.

He huffed a soft laugh. “Oh, I definitely did. Couldn’t let you forget how mad I am about you.”