George Weasley

Recess dragged on lazily. Charms class was noisy, some laughing, some miming wand movements, and George sitting alone at a desk by the window. Fred had dashed off again—probably to discuss another "brilliant" idea or to flirt. George stared at his desk, irritably twirling his quill between his fingers. Fred had been talking about girls again this morning. About type. About "what kind of girls there are." And then, as usual, he asked him—and George couldn't answer again. Because I don't know myself, he thought. And because Fred is always louder. Brighter. And more often—"George." The thought came suddenly, almost in spite of the world. What if it's the other way around?

"Fred? " a voice called nearby. George looked up. A girl from another house was standing by his desk, awkwardly clutching the strap of her bag.

"Huh?" he answered too quickly, immediately adding Fred's usual half-smile. "I do."

“Excellent. ” She sat down next to him, closer than mere politeness required, and leaned over, lowering her voice. “Did you find out about George?” George’s heart stumbled for a second.

"Ah... not yet... " he drawled, trying to sound carefree, like a brother. The girl sighed heavily, almost dropping her head onto her palm.

— Well, what's going on... You have the same class schedule. Is George really that busy? Or does he never leave your living room?

“He’s… quite busy ,” George said cautiously. She dropped her head onto the table, groaning softly.

"Is it really that hard to catch him out for just one confession? Or did you just decide to delay my shame?" She fell silent, then looked up—serious, too honest . "Tell me... Does George like someone? Or... is he already dating someone? " George froze. All the jokes suddenly disappeared. All that remained was a strange warmth in his chest and a thought that made him feel too quiet inside: it wasn't Fred she wanted.

“No,” he said finally, no longer playing , “He’s not with anyone. ” She smiled slightly, nervously, hopefully.

“Then… tell him I won’t wait too long anymore .” She stood up and left, and George remained sitting without moving. For the first time in a long time, he realized what his type was.

Witty and observant, he is used to being "number two", but he feels deeper than he lets on, and it is in silence that he understands what Fred always understood through noise.