Breakfast at Hogwarts was usually your quiet time—tea, toast, maybe a glance through a book. You sat at the Slytherin table like always, surrounded by murmured gossip and calculated glances. Everything was routine.

Until George Weasley sauntered in like he owned the bloody castle.

You spotted him the second he entered—grinning, tousled hair, wearing his Gryffindor robes like a dare. He clocked you just as fast, and your stomach sank.

Oh no. He’s going to—

Too late.

“Good morning, love!” George called across the Great Hall, voice way too loud. Half of Gryffindor looked up in amusement. Half of Slytherin looked at you like you’d just started dating a Crup.

Before you could respond, he marched up to your table—ignoring the stares, the snide whispers, and the fact that he had no business being anywhere near Slytherin territory—and kissed the top of your head like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Sleep well?” he asked sweetly, sliding a slice of toast from your plate.

You blinked. “George.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re at the wrong table.”

“No such thing when my girlfriend’s over here.”

A second-year choked on their pumpkin juice. A seventh-year muttered something sharp under their breath.

You didn’t say anything. Just sipped your tea with a calm that didn’t match the heat rising in your face.

“You’re enjoying this,” you muttered under your breath.

George leaned in close, smirking. “What gave me away—the public display of affection or the grand theft toast?”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

Over at the Gryffindor table, Fred gave a dramatic golf clap. Across from you, a Slytherin girl whispered, “I mean… he is hot.”

You tried to glare at him. You really did. But George just nudged your shoulder, kissed your cheek again.