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The following days passed with a strange tension between George and Y/n. Their encounters, though brief, were charged with an energy neither of them could easily ignore. It wasn’t exactly friendship—or even something close to it—but there was a flicker of something new, something unfamiliar in the way they interacted. Every word spoken felt like a challenge, but not just the usual sharp retorts. There was something else under the surface, something they both sensed but refused to acknowledge.

It was a Friday evening when it finally reached a boiling point.

Y/n sat at a secluded table in the library, the soft glow of candlelight casting long shadows across the pages of her textbook. She had a test on advanced potion-making the next day, and she was determined to do well—especially since she knew that Weasley, despite being a complete prat, was annoyingly good at potions. That alone was reason enough to beat him at his own game.

As she scribbled down a note about the different properties of bezoars, she suddenly felt a shift in the atmosphere. The door to the library creaked open, and though she didn’t have to look up to know who it was, she felt her pulse quicken all the same.

George Weasley.

He was unmistakable, with that easy grin plastered across his face, the tips of his messy red hair peeking out from under his usual slightly rumpled robes. He had always walked into a room like he owned it, and even now, when they were technically on neutral ground, it was no different.

"Hello, Y/n," he greeted, his voice carrying across the room like an invitation for trouble.

Y/n didn’t bother to look up from her book, though she could feel the weight of his gaze. "What do you want, Weasley?"

He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, making no attempt to hide his grin. "Nothing, really. Just thought I’d offer some help."

Her eyes narrowed. "Help? Help with what, exactly?"

George leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, an exaggerated look of innocence on his face. "With that test you’ve been stressing over. I know, I know, it’s not like you need my help, but I’m really good at potions. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind a little guidance."

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat, though she masked it with an unimpressed look. "You? Help me? You’ve got to be joking."

"I’m serious," George insisted, his tone light but with an edge of sincerity. "I’m not all pranks and jokes, you know. I can be... helpful when I want to be."

Y/n stared at him, weighing her options. She didn’t trust him—not for a second—but the idea of getting ahead in potions was too tempting to dismiss outright. And if there was one thing she couldn’t deny, it was that George Weasley had a knack for making the impossible seem easy.

"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "But don’t expect me to make it easy for you, Weasley."

He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. "I wouldn’t dream of it."

---

They spent the next hour studying together, a strange, uneasy truce hanging in the air. For every serious explanation George gave about the properties of certain ingredients, Y/n countered with a sharp question, testing him in ways she hadn’t planned. It was the only way she could cope with the overwhelming sense of competition that simmered between them.

"Tell me," she asked suddenly, glancing at him from over her textbook, "how did you get so good at potions? I thought you were more into pranking than actual work."

George looked up from his own book, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, you’d be surprised. Fred and I didn’t just spend all our time causing chaos. We were actually pretty good students when we wanted to be. Potions, charms, transfiguration—we were top of the class."

Y/n raised an eyebrow. "Top of the class? Really?"

"Really," George said, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. "We’ve got brains, you know. Just because we don’t flaunt it doesn’t mean it’s not there."

Y/n scoffed. "I’m sure. But I’m still not convinced."

"Maybe you’ll see for yourself when you ace your test tomorrow," he teased, nudging her textbook with a finger. "That is, if you don’t screw it up first."

Y/n shot him a dark look. "Don’t get cocky, Weasley."

George smirked but didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. It was enough to know that, for the first time, he’d gotten under her skin in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

---

The night before the test, Y/n was still studying in the Slytherin common room when she felt the familiar tingle of someone’s presence nearby. Her eyes flicked to the door, half-expecting to see Daphne, but instead, she was met with a shocking sight: George, standing in the doorway with a piece of parchment in his hand.

"Y/n," he said, his tone a little more serious than she was used to. "I thought you might need this."

He walked toward her, a smirk tugging at his lips, but it was softer, less playful. He held out the parchment, and when she took it, she found it was a list of potion ingredients, along with notes and additional information she hadn’t found in her textbook.

"What’s this?" she asked, genuinely confused.

"Just some last-minute tips," George said, shrugging. "I figured you could use it. You know, since I’m such a great help."

Y/n blinked, her irritation from earlier dissipating slightly. She scanned the list, recognizing some of the information, but there were details here she hadn’t come across yet. It was solid advice, the kind she’d been looking for all along.

She glanced up at him, her expression unreadable. "Why?"

George didn’t answer right away, instead leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. "Because, for once, I’m tired of seeing you lose, Y/n. You deserve to get ahead. It’s not all about competing, you know."

Y/n’s breath caught, her mind racing. This wasn’t the George Weasley she was used to. This wasn’t the troublemaker who lived to annoy her. This was something else.

She held his gaze for a long moment, the space between them thick with unspoken words. Finally, she broke the silence.

"Thanks," she said quietly, before turning back to her books, the weight of the moment lingering in the air.

George lingered for a second longer, his eyes lingering on her before he shrugged and turned to leave.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ll call it a truce for now.”

Y/n didn’t respond, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and conflicting emotions. For the first time in ages, she wasn’t sure whether she was still fighting an enemy or whether she’d just made an uneasy ally.

But one thing was for certain: the game had just changed.