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Hogsmeade
— Scottish Highlands
( January 18th, 1995. )

                       𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒, bringing with it a sharp chill that frosted the windows of the castle and painted the grounds in pristine white. The excitement of the holidays had faded into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of classes, homework, and the relentless march toward exams. For most students, the return to academia was a struggle, but for Olympia Harrington, it was a chance to shine.

Her mornings were spent in the Ravenclaw common room, perched by the tall windows with her quill scratching diligently against parchment. Professors had already begun praising her work, with Professor McGonagall declaring her recent Transfiguration essay "a masterpiece of logical precision", and Flitwick practically beaming as he handed back her Charms exam—105%. Olympia had always been the kind of student who thrived under pressure, and this January was no different. While her peers grumbled about late nights and long assignments, she soared, quietly solidifying her spot at the top of the class.

But academics weren't the only thing occupying Olympia's mind.

Her relationship with George Weasley had become a surprising, bright spot in her usually structured life. Since the holidays, their connection had blossomed. Olympia found herself smiling more often, her days punctuated by moments stolen between classes or in the Great Hall. George had a way of making her laugh even when she least expected it—sometimes with an outrageous story, other times with a simple, conspiratorial wink from across the room.

However, January's busy schedule had taken its toll. Both of them were swamped with responsibilities—Olympia with her rigorous coursework and George with his Weasley Wizard Wheezes inventions with Fred (oh and school work too...hopefully.) The result was a frustrating lack of time together, leaving both of them longing for more.

Their conversations, though lively, had become briefer, exchanged in hurried whispers as they crossed paths in the corridors or in notes passed in class. Despite their growing feelings, they hadn't had a proper chance to just be together. It wasn't for lack of trying, but Hogwarts had a way of demanding everything from its students, especially those as ambitious as Olympia and as involved as George.

That's why, a few days ago, George had pulled her aside after dinner, his face unusually serious.

"Olympia," he'd begun, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare display of nervousness. "I've been thinking... we haven't really had a chance to, you know, actually spend time together. Just us."

She'd tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint smile. "It has been a bit chaotic, hasn't it?"

"Chaotic's putting it lightly." His grin returned, his confidence reasserting itself. "So, I was thinking—Hogsmeade weekend's coming up. How about you let me take you out? Just you and me. No Fred, no Cassie, no textbooks."

Olympia's heart had skipped at the earnestness in his tone, the way his brown eyes held hers. "Are you asking me on a date, George Weasley?"

"Caught me," he'd replied with a dramatic sigh. "I am indeed asking you on a date. What d'you say?"

The answer, of course, had been yes.

Now, as the week crept toward the weekend, Olympia found herself glancing at the calendar more often than usual, her mind drifting from Arithmancy equations to thoughts of where George might take her. She couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation at the idea of a day away from the castle, away from the pressure, where it would just be the two of them.

Whatever George had planned, she knew one thing for certain: it was going to be a day she wouldn't forget.

The bathroom was warm and filled with the faint scent of lavender soap, a welcome contrast to the biting chill outside. Olympia sat cross-legged on the edge of the sink, her blue Ravenclaw robes swapped for a cozy light sweater and fitted jeans. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her, wide-eyed and slightly nervous, though the faint flush in her cheeks hinted at her excitement.

Behind her, Seraphina bustled around like an artist preparing her canvas, wand in hand and a smug look on her face.

"I still can't believe you're going on a date with George Weasley," Seraphina teased, tilting Olympia's chin up with a gentle hand. "And to Hogsmeade, no less. This is so romantic, I might cry."

Olympia rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "It's not that big of a deal. It's just-"

"A date," Seraphina interrupted, flicking her wand toward Olympia's cheek. A soft shimmer of highlighter appeared, catching the light perfectly. "Stop trying to downplay it, Olympia. You're smitten, and everyone knows it."

Olympia sighed, though her grin betrayed her. "Fine. Maybe I am a little excited. But can you blame me? I mean, he's—" She hesitated, searching for the right words.

"Charming? Hilarious? Hot in that goofy, disheveled way?" Seraphina supplied, smirking as she arched one of Olympia's eyebrows with another deft flick of her wand.

"Exactly," Olympia said softly, glancing at her reflection. "And he's been my best friend forever, I don't know how he managed to—" She trailed off, her cheeks turning pink.

"Managed to what? Charm you out of that icy Ravenclaw tower you live in?" Seraphina teased, standing back to examine her work.

"Stop," Olympia groaned, though she was laughing. "You make me sound like a hermit."

"Bitch, you are!" Seraphina said, nudging her gently with a good laugh. "But seriously Ols, he's good for you. You're... lighter these days. Happier." She met Olympia's gaze in the mirror, her teasing tone softening. "And that's a good thing."

Olympia swallowed, her heart fluttering at the thought of George and the way he made her laugh without trying, the way he seemed to see past her carefully composed exterior to the girl underneath. "Thanks, Sera."

"Don't thank me yet," Seraphina said, straightening and twirling her wand one final time. A light dusting of pink tinted Olympia's lips, soft and natural. "Now, thank me for making you look absolutely stunning."

Olympia turned toward the mirror, studying the subtle changes Seraphina had made. Her features looked brighter, her eyes more pronounced, and the gentle glow on her cheeks added just the right touch of warmth.

"I love it," Olympia said, hopping off the sink and giving Seraphina a quick hug. "Thank you."

"Of course," Seraphina said, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeves. "Now go knock George Weasley off his broomstick."

Olympia laughed, nerves and excitement swirling together as she grabbed her coat. "Wish me luck."

"You don't need it," Seraphina called after her. "He's already mad about you."

Olympia stepped out of the Ravenclaw Tower, the cool winter air nipping at her cheeks as she wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck. The castle grounds were blanketed in snow, the crunch of her boots echoing in the stillness as she made her way toward the front gates. Her breath came out in soft puffs of steam, and despite the chill, her heart felt warm, anticipation bubbling in her chest.

She reached the courtyard, where George was already waiting. He was leaning casually against a stone column, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. His red hair stood out vividly against the white landscape, and when he spotted her, his face broke into a wide grin.

"Blimey, Olympia," George called out as she approached. "You look—well, fantastic."

She felt her cheeks heat up, but she managed a smirk as she stopped in front of him. "And here I thought you Gryffindors were immune to flattery."

"Only when it's not true," he shot back, giving her an exaggerated once-over. "But in this case, you really do look amazing."

"You're not half bad yourself," she said, taking in his slightly tousled hair and the confident ease with which he stood. He was dressed simply in a thick sweater and scarf, but somehow it suited him perfectly—unassuming yet undeniably charming.

"Shall we?" he asked, holding out his arm with a flourish.

Olympia hesitated for half a second before slipping her hand through his arm, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his coat. "Lead the way, Georgie."

As they started walking toward the village, George kept the conversation light, pointing out the way the icicles hanging from the castle looked like "angry goblin teeth" and joking about how he'd nearly slipped on the stairs that morning. His easy humor helped settle Olympia's nerves, and soon enough, she found herself laughing along with him, the tension of the week melting away.

"You've been hard to catch lately," George said after a moment, glancing down at her. "I swear you're either in class, the library, or hiding in some secret Ravenclaw lair."

Olympia rolled her eyes. "It's called studying, George. You should try it sometime."

"Oi, I study!" he protested, feigning offense. "I mean, Fred and I study... ways to sneak out after curfew, but that still counts, doesn't it?"

She gave him a mock-serious look. "You're incorrigible."

"And you're entirely too responsible," he said with a grin. "Which is why we balance each other out perfectly."

"Is that so?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Absolutely," George said confidently. "You keep me grounded, and I... well, I make you laugh, do that counts for somethin'."

She couldn't argue with that. George had a way of pulling her out of her head, of reminding her that life wasn't all about grades and expectations. It was one of the things she liked most about him.

As they approached Hogsmeade, the sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air, the small village bustling with students eager to escape the confines of the castle. Snow dusted the rooftops, and the scent of butterbeer wafted from the Three Broomsticks. George stopped just outside the entrance to the village and turned to her, his grin softening into something warmer.

"Alright, Olympia," he said, taking a step closer, his hands trailing to her waist. "I've got a plan for today. But first, any requests? Anything you're dying to do?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Well, I could use a butterbeer. And maybe a few chocolate frogs."

George chuckled. "Easy enough. But just wait—I've got a few surprises up my sleeve."

"Oh, Merlin," she teased, "should I be worried?"

"Only if you hate having fun," he shot back, offering her his hand this time. "Ready?"

She slid her gloved hand into his without hesitation, her smile matching his as they headed into the village together. For the first time in weeks, she felt completely at ease. Today wasn't about classes or schedules—it was just her and George, and that was more than enough.

The warmth of the Three Broomsticks enveloped them the moment they stepped inside, a stark contrast to the icy chill of the village outside. The pub was alive with energy—students packed into booths, villagers chatting by the fire, and Madam Rosmerta flitting about with trays of frothy butterbeer. The golden glow from the lanterns reflected off the polished wooden tables, creating a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

George steered them toward a small table tucked near the window, pulling out a chair for Olympia with a flourish.

"Your seat, my lady," he said, his tone mockingly formal but his grin all George.

"Why, thank you," Olympia replied, playing along as she slipped out of her coat and settled into the chair. "Such a gentleman."

"Don't spread that around," he teased, shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over the back of his chair. "I've got a reputation to uphold."

Olympia rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward as George leaned back in his chair, studying her like she was the most interesting thing in the room.

"Two butterbeers to start?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Sounds perfect," she said.

George gave her a quick wink and was off to the bar, weaving through the crowd with an ease that spoke to his natural confidence. Olympia watched him as he chatted briefly with Madam Rosmerta, gesturing animatedly. Even from across the room, she could see the way people gravitated toward him, drawn in by his easy charm and infectious energy.

He returned moments later, two steaming mugs of butterbeer in hand. Setting one in front of her, he slid into his chair and raised his glass to his lips.

Olympia did the same. The rich, creamy flavor warmed her from the inside out, and she sighed contentedly. "This was an excellent choice."

George leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "See? I'm full of excellent choices. Keep that in mind when you see what else I've got planned."

She arched an eyebrow. "I'm bloody terrified. "

"Don't be," he said, his grin turning mischievous. "Well... maybe a little."

They fell into an easy rhythm, the conversation flowing as naturally as it always had between them. They talked about their favorite childhood memories—like the time Fred and George had tried to charm her books to fly around the Great Hall, only to have them attack a very unimpressed Percy—and laughed over their mutual love of sneaking sweets into the library when they were younger.

After a while, George tapped his mug thoughtfully, then looked up at her with a glint in his eye. "You know, Olympia, butterbeer's great and all, but... what do you say to something a little stronger?"

She raised an eyebrow, fighting back a grin. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Weasley?"

He gasped, clutching his chest as if she'd insulted him. "Me? Never! I'm just saying, a little Firewhisky might take the edge off this bitter January weather. Completely innocent suggestion." He suggested, more so for himself: his nerves were killing him, though he'd never let her know that.

"Uh-huh," she said, narrowing her eyes but unable to keep the laughter out of her voice. "Innocent, my arse."

"Alright, alright," George said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Butterbeer it is, for now. But if you change your mind, you let me know."

"Oh, I will," Olympia said, shaking her head with a chuckle. "Though I think you're the one who needs to be careful. We both know you can't handle your Firewhisky."

George leaned back in his chair, smirking. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, you don't?" she said, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "What about that time during fifth year when you and Fred snuck a bottle into the Gryffindor common room and ended up—what was it again? Oh, right—singing the Hogwarts school song on the table in nothing but your socks and boxers."

George groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I thought we agreed never to speak of that again."

"I agreed to no such thing," Olympia said, smirking as she took another sip of her butterbeer. "And besides, it's too good a memory to let go."

"Alright, fair," George said, laughing. "But you're not as innocent as you pretend to be, you know. What about that time you charmed your brother's quill to write everything backward because he wouldn't stop teasing you?"

"That was completely justified," Olympia said, grinning. "Atlas deserved it."

"See? You don't deceive me. You're trouble, Olympia Harrington," George said, leaning forward again, his voice lower and more teasing. "And here I thought I was the bad influence."

"You still are," she replied, her tone light but her cheeks warming as his gaze lingered on her. "I'm just smarter at hiding it."

They sat there for what felt like hours, lost in each other's company, the rest of the bustling pub fading into the background. Olympia had always valued George, but there was something new now, something electric in the way George looked at her, like she was the only person who mattered. It was both thrilling and terrifying, and for once, she wasn't overthinking it.

And here, in this moment, with George's laughter ringing in her ears and the taste of butterbeer still on her lips, everything felt exactly as it should.

"So," he began, his tone deliberately casual. "I was thinking, since we've relived all the embarrassing highlights of my teenage years, maybe it's time to even the playing field."

Olympia raised an eyebrow, taking the last sip of her butterbeer. "Oh? And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

George smirked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "Well, I could remind you of the time you tripped during your first Defense Against the Dark Arts duel and sent your own wand flying across the room."

Her cheeks immediately flushed. "That was ages ago!"

"And yet, it lives rent-free in my memory," George teased, his brown eyes gleaming with mischief. "I'll never forget the look on your face when Professor Lockhart handed your wand back to you. Priceless."

Olympia groaned, hiding her face behind her hands. "You're the worst."

George's words hung in the air, his tone playful as always but carrying an unfamiliar softness. "Ah, but you like me anyway," he teased, his grin as crooked as ever.

Olympia's stomach tightened at the choice of words. Like. It was such a simple word, yet it struck her harder than she expected. Once upon a time, George and Fred threw around love so effortlessly to Olympia and Cassie—playful, casual, but oddly comforting. 'Love you, be safe,' they'd shout when parting ways. 'You know you love me,' they'd tease when she rolled her eyes at their antics.

But now, things were different. George wasn't calling her love in passing or tossing the word around with his usual charm. Now that they were dating—actually dating—the word seemed to carry more weight, and he'd switched to like. Was it intentional? Or just the natural way things shifted now that they were together?

The realization tugged at her, the uncertainty pooling in her chest. She hated change. Her hands dropped slightly, her smile peeking through. "Debatable."

"Is it?" he shot back, winking.

She shook her head, laughing. "Alright, Weasley. Enough embarrassing stories. What's next on this so-called 'perfect day' you have planned?"

George tapped his chin dramatically, pretending to think. "Well, we could head to Honeydukes. Stock up on enough sugar to survive the rest of winter. Or—" He leaned in conspiratorially. "We could stop by Zonko's and see if there's anything worth testing out on Filch."

Olympia narrowed her eyes, though she was clearly fighting a grin. "I thought today was supposed to be about us, not your endless feud with the poor caretaker."

"Who said it can't be both?" George countered, his grin widening. "Besides, you're my partner in crime now, remember? It's practically your duty to help me out."

Olympia sighed, dramatically resting her chin in her hand. "Fine. Honeydukes first, though. If I'm going to be an accomplice, I'll need chocolate."

"That's the spirit," George said, standing and offering her his hand again.

                 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 of the outside world melted away the moment George and Olympia stepped into Honeydukes. The shop was alive with the hum of students eagerly filling their baskets with sweets, their chatter mingling with the sound of crinkling wrappers and the faint hum of enchantments from the candy displays. The air was rich with the scent of melted chocolate, caramel, and sugar—a heady mix that seemed to seep into every corner of the brightly lit store.

George hadn't let go of Olympia's hand since they left The Three Broomsticks. In fact, his grip had only tightened slightly when they entered the bustling shop, as though he had no intention of letting her wander off. As Olympia's eyes scanned the shelves lined with colorful, glittering candies, his hand shifted slightly, his thumb brushing against hers in a slow, deliberate motion.

"Alright," George began, his voice low and teasing as he leaned down, speaking close to her ear. "I want you to know, this is a momentous occasion."

She tilted her head toward him, raising an eyebrow. "Momentous? We're buying candy, George, not signing a peace treaty."

"Ah," he said, his grin widening. "But it's how we're buying candy. This is the first time we're shopping together as, you know..." He trailed off, his eyes glinting with amusement as he straightened up and gestured vaguely between them. "A thing."

Olympia rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed slightly. "A thing? That's what you're calling us?"

"Alright, alright," he said, holding up his free hand as if to defend himself. "Let's call it... partners in confectionery crime."

"Better," she conceded, pulling him toward a display of Chocolate Frogs. "Now, stop stalling. You know these are a priority."

George followed with an exaggerated sigh, his free hand sliding naturally to the small of her back as they approached the shelf. He stood close, close enough that his arm brushed hers as she reached for a box of frogs.

"Chocolate Frogs?" he said, tilting his head as if he were deeply considering her choice. "A bit basic, don't you think?"

"Excuse me?" she shot back, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Chocolate Frogs are a classic. They're nostalgic, delicious, and they come with collectible cards. What's not to like?"

George smirked, leaning closer until she could feel the warmth of his breath against her hair. "Oh, nothing, love. I just thought someone as brilliant as you might go for something a little more... adventurous."

"Adventurous?" she echoed, her lips twitching as she turned to face him fully. "What, like Fizzing Whizzbees? Or maybe a Blood-Flavored Lollipop?"

He laughed, his hand sliding up to rest lightly on her waist. "No, not quite. I was thinking more along the lines of..." He plucked a box of Every Flavour Beans from a nearby shelf, holding it up triumphantly. "This."

Olympia crossed her arms, her brow arching skeptically. "You think this is adventurous? George, it's more like playing roulette with your taste buds."

"Exactly," he said, wiggling the box enticingly. "Where's your sense of fun, Harrington? You might find something amazing. Or... well, you might get earwax. Either way, it's exciting."

She stared at him for a moment, her expression carefully neutral, before she snatched the box from his hand and tossed it into her basket. "Fine. But when you're the one gagging on a vomit-flavored bean, don't say I didn't warn you."

George laughed, his hand tightening slightly on her waist as he pulled her just a fraction closer. "I knew I could talk you into it. That's the thing about us, Harrington—I always win."

"Always?" she challenged, raising an eyebrow as she glanced up at him.

"Always," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, the corners of his mouth twitching with that insufferably cocky grin of his. "Though, to be fair, I've been winning since second year when I convinced you to stop hiding in the library and come sneak out to the kitchens with me."

She scoffed, her cheeks warming at the memory. "You bribed me with treacle tart."

"And you've never turned down one of my brilliant ideas since," he replied smoothly, his fingers brushing along her side in a way that sent a shiver up her spine. "Face it, Harrington. You've got a soft spot for me."

"I've got a soft spot for dessert," she corrected, though her smile betrayed her.

George grinned, his thumb tracing a light circle against her hip. "And here I thought you stayed for the charming company."

"Charming my arse," she shot back, though the warmth in her tone softened the jab.

Before he could fire back, she turned abruptly, pointing to a nearby shelf. "You know, if you're so determined to be adventurous, maybe you should try one of those Blood Pops."

George's eyes followed her finger, landing on the ominously dark red lollipops glinting under the shop's lights. He swore one of them had a tooth. He made a face, pulling her even closer as if shielding himself from the suggestion. "I draw the line at candy that might bite back, thanks."

Olympia smirked, leaning into him slightly. "So much for adventurous."

"Careful," he warned, his voice dipping into a teasing drawl as his hand drifted to the small of her back. "Keep poking fun at me, and I might just leave you to deal with Filch on your own."

"You wouldn't dare," she said, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh, I would," he said, his grin widening as he leaned down, his face so close to hers that she could see the flecks of gold in his warm brown eyes. "But only because I know you'd get out of it with that annoyingly clever brain of yours. It's infuriating, really. You're too good at everything."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she said, though her lips curved into a smile.

"Won't it?" he asked, his voice dropping again, his gaze flicking briefly to her mouth before meeting her eyes again.

For a moment, the playful banter faded into the background, replaced by a warm, almost tangible tension that settled between them. George's hand on her back felt steady and deliberate, his thumb brushing in a way that made her acutely aware of how close they were standing. The noise of the shop seemed to blur, the other students nothing more than a faint hum around them.

Then, with a quick shake of her head, Olympia stepped back, breaking the moment. "Come on, Weasley," she said, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward another shelf. "If I let you distract me any longer, we'll be here all day."

George followed easily, though his smirk hadn't faded. "Distract you? Harrington, I'm just trying to show you the joys of a well-rounded candy haul."

"Is that what you're doing?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"Absolutely," he said, stepping up beside her and slipping his hand into hers again. "Though I have to admit, watching you get all flustered is a pretty great bonus."

Olympia shook her head, though the flush in her cheeks gave her away. "You're impossible."

"And yet," he said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he looked down at her with that maddeningly soft smile, "you're still here."

She didn't respond, but the look she gave him—equal parts exasperated and fond—said more than words could.

By the time they finally approached the counter, their baskets were filled with an assortment of sweets, from Chocolate Frogs to Acid Pops to a box of enchanted truffles that George had slipped in with a pointed, teasing look. As Madam Rosmerta rang them up, George leaned closer to Olympia again, his hand brushing hers as he whispered, "You know, I think this is the most fun I've ever had in Honeydukes."

"Is that because of the candy or the company?" she asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

He didn't hesitate. "The company. Always."

Olympia rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as they stepped back into the cold, their hands brushing once again as they walked toward their next stop.

"Alright, Weasley," she said, glancing up at him. "You've had your cake. What's next?"

George's grin turned wicked as he steered her toward Zonko's. "Oh, just you wait, Harrington. The real adventure's only just beginning."

The snow crunched under their boots as they walked toward Zonko's, their breath visible in the frigid air. George had slipped his arm around Olympia's shoulders, drawing her close under the pretense of keeping her warm, though she suspected he simply liked having her near. She wasn't complaining.

"So," George began, his tone casual but his grin sly, "I noticed you didn't say no back there when I called you my partner in crime."

"That's because I was too busy trying to stop you from bankrupting me on candy," Olympia retorted, though she leaned into him slightly, her shoulder brushing against his chest.

"Partner in crime and financial advisor," he teased, his hand squeezing her shoulder lightly. "You really are a catch, aren't you?"

"I'd say so," she replied, smirking up at him.

George laughed, the sound warm and infectious, before reaching into the Honeydukes bag dangling from his wrist. "Speaking of being a catch..." He pulled out the box of enchanted truffles, the faintly shimmering heart-shaped candies catching the light. "I think it's time we test these bad boys out."

Olympia raised an eyebrow. "George...are those enchanted truffles?"

"Clever as always" George said, already flipping the box open. He plucked out one of the truffles, holding it up between his fingers. "Guaranteed to make you feel something magical. What do you think?"

"I think you're trying to get me to be your test subject," she replied, though her eyes flicked to the candy with obvious curiosity.

"Not at all," George said, his grin turning almost devilish as he leaned in closer, holding the truffle just an inch from her lips. "I'm just offering you the first bite. Go on, Harrington. Don't be shy."

She hesitated for a moment, her cheeks warming under his gaze, before parting her lips slightly. George's eyes stayed locked on hers as he slipped the truffle gently between her lips, his fingers brushing her mouth in a way that sent a shiver through her. The candy melted instantly on her tongue, its flavor sweet and rich with an undertone of something that felt... almost electric.

"Well?" George asked, his voice low as he watched her intently.

"It's—" Olympia started, but the words caught in her throat as the enchantment kicked in. A sudden rush of warmth spread through her chest, a sensation that was equal parts exhilarating and comforting. She blinked, her gaze snapping back to George, whose grin had softened into something almost tender.

"Your turn," she said, recovering quickly and plucking a truffle from the box. She mimicked his earlier move, holding the candy just inches from his lips. "Let's see if you can handle it."

George smirked, leaning in without hesitation. "Oh, I can handle it."

She rolled her eyes, but her breath hitched slightly as he took the truffle from her fingers, his lips brushing her fingertips just enough to make her pulse quicken. He chewed thoughtfully, his expression unreadable at first, before a slow, lazy grin spread across his face.

"Wow," he murmured, his voice dropping a note. "You weren't kidding."

"It's good, isn't it?" Olympia said, her own voice softer now.

"Good doesn't even cover it," George said, his eyes locked on hers. He stepped closer, his hand slipping to her waist again as he leaned in. "I think it's working, too. I'm definitely feeling something magical."

Olympia rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her. "You're impossible."

"Mhm," he murmured, his thumb brushing a slow circle against her hip. He placed a quick kiss on her lips, pulling away just as quickly as he had leaned in.

Before she could respond, he pulled her into step again, his arm still snug around her waist as they reached Zonko's. A rather teasing grin dancing along his lips. He held the door open for her, his smile returning to its usual playful self.

"Welcome to the real fun, Harrington," he said, steering her inside. "Let's see if you can keep up."

But as Olympia followed him into the colorful chaos of the joke shop, the warmth of the truffle and his lingering touch made it clear she was already more than enchanted with George Weasley.

The moment they stepped into Zonko's Joke Shop, Olympia was hit with a wave of chaotic energy. The shelves were crammed with items promising various levels of mischief—Skiving Snackboxes, Fanged Frisbees, and boxes of Screaming Yo-yos, all buzzing faintly with magical energy. The air smelled faintly of smoke and something citrusy, and laughter echoed from every corner as students tested out Zonko's wares.

George, still keeping his hand on her waist, guided her through the crowded shop with the confidence of someone who knew every inch of the place. "Right, darling," he began, his grin already mischievous. "Welcome to the heart of chaos. Let's find something to make today truly unforgettable."

"Unforgettable as in fun or unforgettable as in detention?" Olympia asked, glancing at a nearby display of Ever-Bashing Boomerangs.

George's grin widened. "Why not both?"

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was impossible to hide. George was clearly in his element, his free hand trailing over shelves as he inspected various items. Every so often, he'd pick something up, show it to her with a dramatic flourish, and wait for her reaction.

"What about this?" he asked, holding up a box labeled Instant Swamp Starter Kit. "I've been meaning to get one of these for Fred. Perfect for a little... harmless common room redecorating."

"Harmless?" Olympia asked, raising an eyebrow. "You and I have very different definitions of harmless."

George chuckled, setting the box back down and pulling her further into the shop. His hand slid from her waist to her lower back, guiding her effortlessly through the aisles. "Alright, no swamps today. Let's keep it simple. Something small, manageable—"

He stopped abruptly in front of a shelf filled with colored powders. "Or," he said, picking up a small tin, "something dramatic."

"George," Olympia warned, her tone half-serious. "Please don't—"

But before she could finish, George opened the tin with a flick of his thumb. A thick, inky purple cloud erupted instantly, engulfing them and half the aisle in complete purple.

"Brilliant!" George's voice came from somewhere to her right, muffled by the dense cloud. "I didn't think it'd work this fast!"

"George Weasley!" Olympia hissed, blindly reaching out for him. Her hand collided with his chest, and he immediately grabbed it, his laughter echoing in the pitch black.

"Relax, Ols," he said, his tone annoyingly amused. "It'll wear off in a minute. Probably."

"Probably?" she shot back, her irritation undermined by the laugh she was trying to suppress.

Before George could respond, a loud crash sounded from the far end of the aisle, followed by an indignant shout from the shopkeeper. "Oi! What's going on back there?"

"That's our cue," George whispered, his hand sliding down to grip hers tightly. "Come on!"

Still unable to see a thing, Olympia let herself be pulled along, tripping over what she could only assume was a rogue Fanged Frisbee. She stumbled into George's side, earning a low chuckle from him as he steadied her with one arm.

"Hold on tight, love," he said, his voice close to her ear. "I've got you."

"You're a bloody idiot," she muttered, her free hand brushing against what felt like a shelf of self-throwing stink pellets.

After what felt like an eternity, the darkness began to thin, and Olympia could just make out George's grin in the dim light as they stumbled into an empty corner near the front of the shop. His hair was dusted with what looked like glitter—where that had come from, she had no idea—and his jacket was slightly askew, but he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Olympia brushed her hands down the front of her coat, trying to smooth herself out after the chaos. "You're lucky you're cute, George Weasley, because that was ridiculous."

George, looking utterly unrepentant, leaned casually against a nearby display of Extendable Ears. The faint glitter dusting his hair sparkled in the dim light, and the lazy, cocky grin he wore made it clear he was proud of himself. "Ridiculous? That was a stroke of genius. Did you see how quickly the entire aisle cleared out? Pure artistry."

"I couldn't see anything," she shot back, though her lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "Because you blinded us with magical smoke!"

George laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Details, details. What's a little chaos between friends?"

She stepped closer, pointing a finger at his chest. "If we get kicked out of here, I'm blaming you."

"You'd miss me too much if we got banned," he teased, catching her finger lightly and pulling her hand into his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles in a soft, absentminded motion that sent an uninvited flutter through her chest. "Besides, I'd find a way back in. I've got a knack for slipping past rules."

"That's not something to brag about," she said, though her tone lacked any real admonishment.

George tilted his head, his grin softening as he looked at her. "You like it, though. Admit it."

"Like what?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"That I keep you on your toes." He stepped closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair off her shoulder. "You're too used to being perfect all the time, Olympia. Someone's got to remind you that life's a little better when it's messy."

Olympia's retort died on her lips, her breath hitching slightly as his fingers lingered on her shoulder. "I'm plenty messy."

"Not even close," George said, his voice low and teasing. "But stick with me, and we'll get there."

Before she could respond, the shopkeeper's voice bellowed from the back of the store. "I don't know what you lot think you're doing, but if I catch anyone else setting off something you're out!"

"That's our cue," George murmured, his grin returning to full force as he tugged Olympia by the hand. "Let's grab something quick before he realizes it was us."

They moved swiftly through the aisles, George's hand never leaving hers as he pointed out various prank items with exaggerated enthusiasm. "How about this one?" he asked, holding up a box labeled Portable Fart Storm. "Perfect for Fred. He'll blame it on the Gryffindor first years."

"I think I'll pass," Olympia said, laughing as she pulled him toward the counter. "I don't need to encourage you any more than I already have."

"You're no fun," George pouted, though the twinkle in his eyes said otherwise.

As they reached the counter, George caught sight of a bowl of brightly wrapped candies near the register. He grabbed one, examining it with curiosity. "Chameleon Chews," he read aloud. "Turns your skin the color of whatever you're thinking about most. Let's see..." He unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth before Olympia could stop him.

"George—" she started, but he held up a finger, chewing with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

A moment later, his skin began to shift—first to a faint red, then to a deeper pink, before finally settling on a warm, rosy shade. Olympia's eyebrows shot up. "You're blushing," she teased, crossing her arms.

"Am not," George said, though the color didn't fade.

"You are," she insisted, a laugh bubbling up. "Oh, this is priceless. What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing!" he said quickly, his tone defensive but his grin giving him away.

"Liar," she said, leaning in with a smirk. "Come on, Weasley, what's got you so flustered?"

"You," he admitted without missing a beat, the teasing lilt in his voice making the confession both infuriating and endearing.

Before she could reply, the shopkeeper cleared his throat loudly behind them, clearly waiting for them to pay. Olympia reached for her bag, but George beat her to it, sliding a few coins onto the counter.

"Don't worry, love," he said with a wink as he grabbed the bag of purchases. "This one's on me. Consider it an apology for the glitter—and the darkness powder."

Olympia rolled her eyes but smiled as they left the shop, stepping back into the snowy street. George's hand found hers again, and as they walked, she couldn't help but notice the faint pink tinge still lingering on his cheeks. Whether it was from the candy or something else entirely, she decided not to ask. For now.

As they wandered away from Zonko's, the bustling streets of Hogsmeade started to quiet down, the snow falling in soft, lazy flakes. The excitement of the day had settled into a warm, companionable silence, though George still hadn't let go of Olympia's hand. He swung it lightly between them as they walked, his thumb brushing over hers every so often—a small gesture that felt more intimate than anything else they'd done that day.

"Alright, Harrington," George said, his voice breaking the stillness. "We've had chaos, sugar, and more than a little embarrassment on my part. Time to end the day on a high note."

Olympia glanced at him, her smile curious. "And how exactly are we doing that?"

"You'll see," he said, his grin turning boyish as he tugged her gently toward the edge of the village. "I've got one last surprise up my sleeve."

"Should I be worried again?" she teased, though she followed without hesitation.

"Always," George replied, flashing her a wink. "But trust me, you'll like this one."

He led her up a small hill just beyond the last row of shops, where the snow lay untouched, glittering like diamonds under the faint light of the setting sun. A few trees framed the clearing, their branches heavy with snow, and the view overlooked the frozen lake in the distance. It was quiet here, away from the noise of the village, with only the crunch of their boots in the snow breaking the stillness.

George finally stopped at the top, turning to face her with that crooked grin she'd come to expect—and, if she was honest, adore. "Alright, close your eyes."

"George," she said, half-laughing, half-skeptical.

"Just trust me," he said, his voice softer now, his free hand brushing lightly against her arm. "I promise, no pranks this time."

She hesitated for a moment before sighing and obliging, her lashes fluttering closed. "If you throw a snowball at me, I swear—"

"No snowballs," he said, his voice closer now. "Just... this."

Before she could ask what he meant, she felt his hands settle gently on her waist. A soft warmth spread through her chest as he guided her carefully backward, her feet crunching in the snow until he stopped her.

"Alright," he said, his voice low and almost reverent. "Open."

Olympia opened her eyes and let out a soft gasp. George had brought her to a spot where the entire landscape seemed to stretch out before them. The lake, frozen solid, glistened like glass in the distance, and the sun had dipped low enough to set the snow ablaze in shades of gold and pink. The trees, dusted with fresh snow, framed the scene like a painting, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Yeah," George said, though when she glanced at him, he wasn't looking at the view—he was looking at her.

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away. "When did you find this place?"

"Fred and I stumbled on it last year," he admitted, his grin turning softer. "I've been saving it for the right person to share it with."

The sincerity in his voice sent a flutter through her chest. She didn't respond right away, her gaze drifting back to the view as the moment settled between them.

"Come here," George said suddenly, his hand tugging hers lightly as he sat down in the snow and pulled her down beside him.

"Are we seriously sitting in the snow?" she asked, though she let him guide her without protest.

"It's worth it," he promised, draping his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer. The warmth of his jacket and the steady weight of his arm felt impossibly comforting as they sat together, the golden light of the setting sun casting a soft glow over everything.

For a while, they didn't speak. Olympia leaned into him, her head resting lightly against his shoulder, and George's thumb traced absent patterns on her arm. The quiet was companionable, the kind of silence that didn't need to be filled with words.

"You know," George said eventually, his voice low and thoughtful, "when I planned today, I just wanted to make you laugh. Make you forget about all that pressure you put on yourself."

"You did," she murmured, her eyes still on the horizon.

"Good," he said, turning his head slightly to look at her. "Because you deserve more days like this. Just... simple. Fun. With someone who can remind you how amazing you are."

She glanced up at him, her heart catching at the sincerity in his gaze. "You're not as ridiculous as you pretend to be, you know."

"Don't tell anyone," he said, his grin returning, though it was softer now. "It'd ruin my image."

She laughed quietly, the sound melting into the stillness around them. Before she could respond, George shifted, his hand lifting to gently cup her cheek. His thumb brushed lightly over her skin, his touch warm despite the cold. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers softly at first, as if testing the waters. When she didn't pull away, his grip on her waist tightened slightly, deepening the kiss. It was warm and unhurried, a quiet promise wrapped in the stillness of the snowy evening.

When they finally pulled apart, George rested his forehead against hers, his grin returning but gentler this time. "You know, I think this might just be the best date I've ever had."

"Me too," Olympia admitted, her voice soft but certain.

They stayed like that for a while longer, wrapped in each other and the quiet beauty of the world around them, the chaos of the day settling into something far more meaningful.