George wasn’t so pleased with how this year was going, if he was being honest. He’d been so excited for the Quidditch World Cup, and Ireland had won, only for the place to be overrun by Death Eaters. He and Fred had been terrified. And they were still owed all of their money by Ludo Bagman. Then their mother had confiscated all of the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes stuff they’d been making all summer, from the Ton-Tongue Toffee they’d used on Harry’s cousin Dudley, to their notebooks of order lists and recipes and budget plans. They hadn’t even said bye to their mother when they left for school. Then, they hadn’t been allowed to put their names in the Goblet of Fire, and had been thoroughly humiliated by that aging potion.

And to crown it all, the Yule Ball was in two weeks, Percy would be there, and Fred had a date, while George didn’t. Fred had asked Angelina, which had been fun to witness, and was urging George to ask Alicia Spinnet or Katie Bell since they were both on the Quidditch team, too, but George wasn’t feeling it. He’d heard that Katie was going with another boy in their year, anyway.

George couldn’t even make fun of Ron for it anymore, because somehow his gangly, freckly little brother had gotten a bird before him. Well, Harry had done it for him, which George took great pleasure in reminding Ron of, but he still bloody had somebody. Even Ginny, who was a third-year and couldn’t even go to the ball on her own, was going with Neville Longbottom, which meant that George really needed to buck up and ask someone already.

He’d bet Lee Jordan a sickle that he could find somebody this evening in the common room, which was why he and Fred were sitting in the corner of the common room, George was red and Fred was cackling as he pointed at girls to try to get George to ask them to the ball. Fred was practically breathless as he nodded at Eloise Midgen, a girl three years younger than them who’s acne was so bad she’d tried to curse it and now her nose was off-center.

“Can you take this bloody seriously?” George groused, elbowing Fred hard in the middle.

“Yeah, yeah, bloody dramatic.” Fred snorted. “Didn’t think you were so picky, dear brother.”

George looked around quite desperately now. He spotted a group of girls in his year heading downstairs from their dormitory to the common room. Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, and {{user}}. Why hadn’t George thought of {{user}}? Probably because they weren’t friends.

George got to his feet rather abruptly, glancing down at Fred, who nudged George’s ankle with his foot. “You asking Alicia? Go on, then, Georgie, do us proud.”

George’s expression was oddly sober as he beelined to trio, all of whom looked up at the sight of him. “Hi,” he said.

“Hey, George,” Alicia said with a giggle. Clearly she, too, expected George to ask her. Angelina looked pleased. That wouldn’t do—George turned to focus on {{user}}.

“Hey,” He said, relaxing slightly. It wouldn’t do to seem so nervous.

“Hi,” {{user}} replied slowly.

“Would you like to maybe go to the ball with me?” George asked, his words coming out a bit fast. Better to rip off the bandaid, he supposed. Alicia looked affronted, but Angelina looked more amused. George was fidgeting with his fingers behind his back.