HARRY POTTER:
THE GOBLET OF FIRE!
GEORGE WEASLEY x READER

SUMMARY: the weasley twins are definitely the Hogwarts weed dealers, and you help them grow plants because you're always in the greenhouse. this is an unabashed concept me and iaskedforbuckybarnes came up with lmao. i did this for myself.

WARNINGS: drug use, drug mentions
WORD COUNT: 4500+

__________

Along with an extensive collection of magic items, potions, elixirs, doo-dads, pranks, and treats, the Weasley twins sold many things specifically requested by other students. Often it'd be done with a favour (finding an exotic magical creature, procuring test answers, finding lost items, the lot), and the person would pay extra.

In third year, someone asked if Fred and George could get them muggle items, and while they were hesitant, they went along with it. The person was only asking for them to grow a muggle plant, and anyone with sense in their brain knew that the twins had an in with the Botany kids - Neville and his best friend (Y/n) would constantly help them find obscure flora and ingredients for potions. So they began to grow it, and sell it, and suddenly, everyone wanted what they had just begun growing innocently.

Soon, it took up a whole portion of their sales, and Fred and George became the main herb dealer to students across the board. Mostly Hufflepuffs, but they'd take the money where they got it.

During the whole process, the twins had started hanging out in the greenhouses more than they had ever before. Suddenly, their friendship group was crossing over with none other than their younger brother - Neville being the one to help them the most. Fred was certain that he didn't even know what the stuff was, but you were well aware.

The first time they came to you with the idea, you'd been mortified. You were a muggle born and knew exactly what weed was, and the idea of having it at school seemed just bizarre; but in a magical school, there weren't necessarily even rules against it. It wasn't illegal, and you almost had to remind yourself that the stigma around it did not exist with wizards like it did normal people. In fact, the twins seemed unbothered by any of your concerns, and simply stared at you with two equally pouty faces and twinkling eyes until you agreed to help them with a huff.

You'd set up several pots of the stuff in a corner of one of the greenhouses, and rotationally dried, and put the plants into jars. During harvest season you'd bring in a whole group of your friends to help snip the stems, get rid of leaves, and get the product ready for sale. It was a simple cycle, and most of the time you didn't have to worry about it. They grew just like your other plants, and after a few months, you cared for them just like the other flowers, trees, and plants that you'd kept since your first year at Hogwarts.

Professor Sprout had a soft spot for both you and Neville, and mostly allowed you in the greenhouse whenever you wanted, and you'd had a key to get in since second year when you needed a place to keep an exotic plant that your aunt had sent you from South America. You couldn't count how many lunches, free periods, afternoons, and holidays you'd spent there with Neville and your other friends - laughing and nurturing and learning. You couldn't help but love the fogged up glass, and the vines that curled around it's outside, threatening to break its integrity. You loved the feeling of the slight heat and humidity hitting you as you walked in, contrasting with the cold Scottish air. You loved the smell, and getting dirty, and watching everything grow under your caring guidance.

Throughout the time you'd spent in the greenhouse, you thought that your days with the Weasley twins were your favourite. They were undoubtedly the most infectiously happy and funny people you'd met. They were witty, and smart, and always felt like they cared about you despite their business dealings. You had to admit that it should have been a strange relationship, but it just didn't feel that way. You'd consider them to be some of your best friends, and couldn't help the burst of excitement you'd feel every time one of them told you that they'd be stopping by.

On that day, it was Friday, and the entire school seemed to be winding down for the weekend. Gryffindor common room which was bustling right after classes ended, now had a dwindling population. Some kids waiting for their friend on the sofa, and Fred, George and Jordan at a corner table, working on designs for new Wizard Wheezes products. Fred could tell George had stopped paying attention a couple minutes in, his head tilted to look off into the middle of nowhere in thought. George had always been the kind of person to do that (let's be honest, they were both daydreamers), constantly having moments to himself. Fred tried not to think about stuff as much as him - he noticed how doubtful it could make his brother. Drive him insane, really.

Suddenly, George started, not particularly caring that Jordan was halfway through a sentence, "I think I'm gonna go to the greenhouse," He said definitively, as if someone had asked him to weigh the pros and cons.

Jordan's mouth was paused where he'd been stopped, and he looked mildly peeved from being interrupted. He soon brushed it off as Fred laughed at his expression, seemingly also thinking that George was coming out of nowhere with his words.

"Okay, and this came from where?" Jordan asked with a raised eyebrow, and Fred couldn't help but chuckle, nodding in agreement.

George didn't seem to want to look at his friends, instead closing up his notebook and gathering his things to look busy, "I don't know," He shrugged offhandedly, "To check on things."

Fred's eyebrows narrowed in scrutiny, and Jordan scoffed.

"We went yesterday," His twin reminded him, and when George had finally stumbled out of his seat and looked back at his friends, the two boys almost swore they caught him blushing.

"I know . . ." He shifted on his feet, clutching his bag by its strap, "You can never be too sure," He remarked, trying his hardest to appear nonchalant, and at this point he didn't know why he was trying; this was his twin, and his best friend. They probably saw right through him, but that was for another day.

And with that, George slipped away from the two other students, making his way out of the Gryffindor common room in order to head down campus.

Fred's eyebrows were drawn together, and he remained silent until he peered over to Jordan, who was already looking at him with a puzzled expression, "I noticed him making up excuses to go all month, but I thought he was just paranoid about the new plants."

"But (Y/n) said yesterday that they were totally fine," Jordan shook his head, leaning back in his chair as he began to ponder what on Earth George could be hiding from them.

"Exactly," The redhead concluded, "So what's up with him."

______

When George finally arrived, you were elbow deep in a pot that you were packing for an engorged Mandrake plant. Every once in a while, a plant species would have a large baby, and it was up to the older students to deal with them - some plants had magical properties that an inexperienced wizard couldn't handle.

Noticing a ruckus by the door, you paused your conversation with Neville to look over your shoulder. When you saw him, your lips immediately bloomed into a generous smile, and George almost wanted to sigh in something akin to relief. He liked seeing you. He really did.

You fumbled as you pulled your big gardening gloves off, "Hey, George," You greeted, flattening down your hair, and wiping down your apron to look more presentable. He couldn't help but notice that your apron had little flowers embroidered onto it - and a small hippogriff on its pocket. The humidity was making strands of your hair stand on end, but you were beautiful to George all the same. "Do you need help with anything?" You queried with curiosity.

George suddenly froze as if he didn't know what to say; because in all honesty, he didn't. He was planning on coming up with an excuse on the fly, but the way you were looking at him with expectant eyes, and your bottom lip drawn between your teeth, he was at a loss for words. "Um . . . nothing, I guess," He finally said, "Can I not just visit my friends?" He joked, and it seemed to relieve his anxiety a bit, because he finally cracked a smile.

You rolled your eyes at his answer, turning on your heal to get back to your task. You preferred to talk to people while you were working - it made it feel almost therapeutic. You'd always been someone that had to do something with their hands to feel fully engaged, and it helped with that.

George didn't waste time finding a seat next to Neville, who greeted him with an awkward smile. He reckoned that the kid wasn't much up to talking when he wasn't comfortable, but he'd often pitch into their banter once he got used to having people around. The red head supposed that he was okay, for a third year anyways.

From a counter behind you, you picked up a ceramic pot, cradling it in your arms as you moved it to the work table in front of you. You placed it down right next to the larger one you'd already prepared, fishing out a small garden clipper so that you could begin to trim the dead leaves off of the Mandrake plant in front of you. It'd been sickly ever since it had began to outgrow it's home; but you were soon going to rectify that.

All the while, George was watching you with quiet wonderment that Neville definitely did not miss. He couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows, looking down as he pondered how long this had been taking place. He didn't ever remember George having any particularly strong feelings towards you. But what did he know; he could barely remember what he had for breakfast that morning.

When you finally looked up from what you were doing, you noticed that George had already been looking at you, and you couldn't help but feel your cheeks warm. You cleared your throat, clipping a branch from it's place, "So, um, what have you been up to since . . . yesterday?" You asked, and George couldn't help but laugh lightly at your question. You could get used to hearing that.

"Nothing much, if I'm honest, love," He leaned back in his chair, eyes fluttering up to gauge how you reacted to his words. He was hoping his face didn't give away how anxious he was for you to like him. When he saw the way you hid a smile, the knots in his stomach only seemed to tighten. "Just some more of the usual," He divulged, and it was true. For some reason all he could think about was coming to visit you when he finally got the chance. And he tried to push it out of his head but that really wasn't happening anytime soon.

George watched as you scrounged around the table for a second in thought, nose scrunching as you were clearly trying to find something in your cluttered workplace. From behind a half full bag of seeds, were a pair of fluffy ear muffs. Neville tapped him on the shoulder, offering George a pair as he secured his on with the other hand.

George suddenly felt nervous, drawing his eyebrows together as held up his hands, "Listen, I can just come back later."

You let out a melodic laugh, and he couldn't help but be drawn to it like honey, looking over to you where you appeared bewildered at him, "What, George? You can handle them in first year, but not now?"

The way you raised your eyebrows at him expectantly, all attention on him drove him crazy in a simultaneously good and bad way. He grabbed the item from Neville's hands in a huff, because the way you were looking at him; he just couldn't back out, "Fine . . . but I'll have you know that I'm a very different person from first year George."

You chuckled at him, shaking your head fondly, "To be fair, he is a pretty big guy," You patted the side of the mandrakes pot affectionately. They were some of your favourite magical plants with how animated they were, but dealing with a baby this large was tough work.

George adored that you felt so strongly for your botanical friend. He noticed how much you payed attention to them, and treated them kindly, and nurtured them as time went on. He would love to see you beam over how much one of them had grown, or flourished, and he was there for the times where you'd pull your hair out because it seemed like it was all going wrong. He'd help you replant things, mist vegetables, dig holes, feed carnivores; you name it, and George couldn't turn you down. Not once.

You were under the impression that he was a helpful friend, but for some reason none of your friends were buying that anymore - and George's mates weren't far behind.

____

Almost the entirety of the next day went as per usual for George. However, he was not expecting that to change as he met up with Jordan and Fred in the library. They'd all decided to meet up after school, and despite being in the same class, George had to venture up to the Gryffindor common room to get his rough draft of his essay that was due in the coming days. It couldn't have been fifteen minutes since he'd seen his brother and friend, but when he rejoined them, he noticed their demeanors towards him had change.

He was wondering what could have possibly influenced this, when Fred piped up with a grin, "Well now I know why you've been acting all weird, mate."

George raised an eyebrow incredulously, "I have literally no clue what you're on about," He replied, eyebrows drawing together as he placed his bag down, finding a seat at their table.

"Yesterday we were trying to figure out why you were being so secretive about leaving-"

"Then one of (Y/n)'s friends divulged that you may or may not have a big fat crush on her," Jordan finished with a completely smug smile.

George raised an eyebrow, trying to play it off despite the way he obviously flustered, "What? You're mental, Jordan."

Fred scoffed, "Don't act like we're dumb, mate-"

"Well, we kind of are. We had to find out from someone else to even figure it out," Jordan reminded him, which only made him sigh in return.

"In any case . . ." The red-head carried on, "We've revised our memories, and blimey! It makes sense. You practically make us hang out there every day."

"I do not," George defended, but the other two boys were simply not having it anymore.

"We can't unsee this, I hope you know that," His twin told him teasingly, and all he could do was groan in reply, burying his head in his hands.

"Fine, I do like her, okay? Just don't mess this up for me," He admitted, in what felt like an idiotic, yet last resort move. Peering up through his brows, he implored his friends, "I don't want to screw anything up with her."

Fred showed him his palms in surrender, along with Jordan's 'okay okay's, but despite that, George almost immediately knew he was fucked. He'd never live this down.

He was almost disappointed that they'd figured it out at all. Having these feelings to himself was kind of nice. He was weak for you and nobody else had to know. But he guessed that someone would figure it out somewhere along the line - he just wanted it to be a little later.

__________

When you got to the crest of the hill, you saw that only George was there waiting for you. Perplexed, you readjusted your scarf and made your way up to him with a curious expression.

"Hey, George!" You beamed, and he couldn't help but nearly get knocked off his feet. You were always so pretty; and it didn't help that you looked so excited to see him. Your hair was pulled back, loose strands framing your face, and your eyes twinkling as you got closer. Without missing a beat, you pulled him into a big hug.

He couldn't help but laugh light-heartedly at your friendliness, and his chest shook against you in a comforting way. When you pulled apart, the bridge of his nose was spreading with a pink hue, and you couldn't help but adore how it looked with his freckles.

"Where's everyone else?" You queried curiously, because most of your friends had promised to be there, too. You were sure you weren't that early — in fact, you'd been let out of class a little later than usual.

George looked as sheepish as ever, scratching the back of his neck as he avoided your eyes. "I had a feeling they'd do something like this," He admitted with a low tone.

His gaze met yours again, and you peered at him through your lashes, your hands holding at the strap of your bag. It was embroidered with a plethora of little flowers, and you always had plants and roots hanging out of it — taking samples from all over the school to grow in the greenhouse. He didn't quite know what to say to you in return, but settled on a partial truth, "Fred and Jordan . . . they're always trying to get me alone with you."

It was your turn to turn pink, hiding a smile behind your hand as it went up to cover your face in embarrassment, "Why do they want that?"

George looked dumbfounded, like he hadn't expected you to ask outright. His lips parted, and he couldn't seem to find the words as he stuttered slightly, running a nervous hand through his hair.

"It's okay," You reassures with a genuine smile, your eyes twinkling with empathy for the anxious man. He was glad that you were as kinda as you were; but it only made him fair that much worse when it was one of the reasons he liked you so much. "Here, I've got something for us anyways," You remarked, holding up a perfectly rolled joint between your fingertips. You hadn't been very good at the whole rolling-it-up thing, but you got good eventually, when you realized you could charge naive Slytherin boys inordinate amounts for one blunt alone.

He couldn't help but laugh, relieved by your reply and your demeanor. "Oh? So it's already harvest season, hm?" He pried, watching as you put it away in your bag for later.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, nodding, "Yeah . . . I was telling Jordan in class earlier! We're probably gonna have to get the group together to chop them all down."

"Dibs on helping you to oversee everyone else doing the work," George remarked, and you couldn't help but be amused, shoving him in the shoulder slightly.

"Naturally," You played along, because after all, George probably did help you more with the actual growing process than anyone else. Well, when you thought about it, maybe it was because he was always hanging around. "You're lucky you're my favourite," You couldn't help but let the words slip, your heart immediately thumping once it'd left your mouth.

Your could feel your face get warm, and George was beaming, tilting his head with a smug look, "I'm your favourite?" His stomach was filled to the brim with butterflies, and he couldn't believe you'd actually said that. You weren't usually so forward, and knowing that you liked him so much (even as a friend), was quite nice. By the looks of how flustered you were, he thought that the two of you might have been on a more similar page than he'd previously thought.

"Shut up," You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way your lips tilted slightly into a bashful smile, "Are we gonna go, or what?" You asked, gesturing behind you to the path you had planned to take. It ran along the lake, on the outskirts of the forest. You had a spot there where it was peaceful to hang out, a large hill with a gathering of rocks and tall grass. He'd been there with you — but never alone.

__________

The joint hung from your lips loosely as you dug around in your bag, looking for the old lighter that you always kept at the bottom of it somewhere. You were rustling for a moment as the two of you sat quietly, enjoying the hum of cicadas that were already out despite it not being that late.

When you finally touched the familiar metal, you pulled it out with a victorious smile, looking up at George. He, however, was already offering you a small flame, produced from the tip of his wand that he held out to you with a slight grin.

"Oh," You mumbled with red cheeks, your eyes meeting his as you leaned in to touch the cigarette to the fire — lighting it as you breathed in. The end burned for a second as you took some of it in, leaning back as the ember started to died down. He seemed entranced by your actions, watching you as you coughed it out slightly behind your hand in response, flushed as you offered it to him.

He slipped his wand away, taking it from your grasp before it could go out.

Although you didn't smoke traditionally, you always sampled what little of the buds you kept to yourself for friends. That meant that you weren't an expert at smoking by any means, and neither was George, honestly. But he thought it looked attractive on you, putting the joint to his lips where yours had been, so he could take a drag.

You enjoyed the sun, despite it being diffused by the constant white clouds in the sky, leaning back on your palms so that you could look at the view in front of you. George, well . . . he thought you looked beautiful, watching on with a fond smile that couldn't help but build on his face. Feeling his vision on you, you flickered your gaze over to catch him in the act. He seemed content in letting you, tilting his head back as he exhaled, hoping he could suppress the feeling of butterflies bounding to his stomach.

You watched his Adam's bob slightly, catching yourself admiring him when you wholly didn't mean to. It's just, you adored his freckles, and his absent smile as he peered back to you.

"I've been thinking lately . . ." You pondered aloud, tugging your scarf away from your face slightly to reveal a bashful smile. George loved your smile. Since he met you, it'd been an addiction — just trying to get you to beam, and blush all because of him. He absently ashed the item in his hand, the tip falling to the side in his wake.

"Which is different to usual, how?" George queried with a slightly amused grin, making you chuckled under your breath despite yourself. His eyes twinkled, tilting his head at you curiously, because a preemptive pink hue was filling your face — spreading across the bridge of your nose, and your cheeks.

There was something about it that made his head spin, and God, did he want to kiss you so bad now that you were alone. Now that you were probably closer than you'd been before, barely apart as you sat.

"C'mon, I'm trying to be serious here," You admitted, watching with gentle eyes as he chuckled, putting the joint to his lips, taking another deep inhale before he replied.

"Sorry, love," He murmured off-handedly as he sighed a cloud of smoke out, curling in the air between you. He held the item out to you, watching as you flustered at the pet name he'd given you. It wasn't like him to be that confident around you — but if he fucked something up he could just blame it on the weed. "Carry on," He implored gently, holding it up toward you.

You took it in return, not able to meet his eyes as you breathed it in. It didn't take a lot to get you high those days, and you could tell that both you and George were already on the way to being very much inebriated. You let it out with a laugh, clearly a little uncomfortable as you spoke your next words, "My friends keep asking why you're hanging around so much . . . they think you have a thing for me — you know?"

George didn't quite know what to say. When you finally looked up at him, he was even more breathless, his mind racing a mile a minute. He never thought you'd ask him that up front; never mind right there, right then. And with the way his face was heating up, he didn't think he could deny anything to you outright. Certainly not with the way you were looking at him, expression soft but curious as you reached out to place your hand over his gently, comforting him.

"Oh, I know," George chuckled with little humour in his tone. He couldn't seem to meet your eyes, despite how much he loved them — afraid for once that he was really going to lose you because of this, "My friends, too."

You had stubbed out the joint on the rock next to you, your attention now fully on him as you lifted your hand up to tenderly brush a stray hair from his face. You'd always loved how it looked when it was long, and the feeling of your touch was lighting him nerves on fire.

"They're right," He told you, finally glancing up so that you could meet his warm brown eyes, "I really do."

For a moment, you seemed surprised — but then, despite his worst fears, you began to beam, hiding your blush behind your hand as your laughed nervously, "George! Why didn't you tell me?" You asked, tilting your head at him as his cheeks turned red.

"I didn't know I could, in all fairness!" He chuckled, and he couldn't help but feel the way his shoulders fell — knowing that you didn't immediately hate him like he feared you would, somehow.

"I like you, too. And . . . I'd really like it if you kissed me," You admitted, gentle and honest as he grinned back at you, bright enough that your stomach was bursting with butterflies, and you couldn't help but mirror him as he leaned in.

Taking your request quite seriously, his lips were soon pressed to yours, warm and soft as his mouth moved against you. His one hand instinctively wrapped around your waist to bring you closer him, his other going up to hold your face delicately in his touch. You leaned into him, and he couldn't help but sigh into the kiss. Your hands were twisted in his hair, and tugging gently as his tongue slipped into your mouth, humming contentedly as you seemed equally as needy as he felt.

When you pulled apart for air, George was blinking like he couldn't believe any of it was happening. Your arms were still around his neck, playing with the tips of his red locks, pressed up right against him.

And oh my God, if he knew this would've happened if the two of you simply had one conversation alone, he wouldn't have been so afraid of the concept at all.

You felt just right in his grasp, looking up at him in a dreamy daze, gazing at his lips un-subtly. George decided that he could definitely get used to this.