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FIC: Just Dare (George, Gen)
Title: Just Dare
Author: shiiki
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: George Weasley, Gen
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 400
Summary: He'll be damned if he's going to let anyone -- anything -- separate him from his twin.
He is the last in his year to be sorted. However, the wait until Professor McGonagall arrives at the letter 'W' is nothing compared to the interminable few seconds between the Hat's shout of 'Gryffindor' and the call of George's name, next.
Fred's grinning face reappears from under the Hat and he winks at George.
'See you there,' he mouths before walking jauntily towards the red and gold table where George can already see Charlie and Percy applauding with their hands high in the air. For the first time that night, George's stomach flip flops and falls into his shoes. The seconds seem to morph into hours as he watches Professor McGonagall's mouth form the words 'Weasley, George'.
The steps it take to get him to the stool are the longest he's even known. George's heart hammers so hard in his chest, it's painful.
He thinks of Fred, pointing at the Gryffindor table when they were marched into the Great Hall, whispering confidently, 'There it is, George, our house table!'
With Fred, it was easy to believe there was no question which house they'd go to. They quelled each other's doubts before they could even be realised. And Fred was right, wasn't he? He's sitting there with their brothers waiting for George now. George can't bear to look, but he'll be damned if he's going to let anyone -- anything -- separate him from his twin. He squares his shoulders determinedly and with hands he forces not to tremble, he crams the Sorting Hat on his head.
'I do, occasionally, send twins to different houses,' says a voice, amused, in his head.
'You just dare,' thinks George fiercely. Can the Hat feel the racing of his pulse or sense the sweat beading on his brow and condemn them as signs of cowardice? 'No, no, I'm a Gryffindor, like Fred! If I'm sent elsewhere I'll -- I'll set fire to you!'
'You just dare,' the Hat throws his words back at him. Then it chuckles. 'Yes, I certainly wouldn't dare, in your case. You are without question a GRYFFINDOR!'
With a grin identical to the one Fred wore earlier, George rips off the Hat. He can look at the Gryffindor table now and see the beaming faces and thumbs-ups from Charlie and Percy, and Fred's face mirroring his own in delight as he draws back the chair next to him for George to sit.
Author: shiiki
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: George Weasley, Gen
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 400
Summary: He'll be damned if he's going to let anyone -- anything -- separate him from his twin.
He is the last in his year to be sorted. However, the wait until Professor McGonagall arrives at the letter 'W' is nothing compared to the interminable few seconds between the Hat's shout of 'Gryffindor' and the call of George's name, next.
Fred's grinning face reappears from under the Hat and he winks at George.
'See you there,' he mouths before walking jauntily towards the red and gold table where George can already see Charlie and Percy applauding with their hands high in the air. For the first time that night, George's stomach flip flops and falls into his shoes. The seconds seem to morph into hours as he watches Professor McGonagall's mouth form the words 'Weasley, George'.
The steps it take to get him to the stool are the longest he's even known. George's heart hammers so hard in his chest, it's painful.
He thinks of Fred, pointing at the Gryffindor table when they were marched into the Great Hall, whispering confidently, 'There it is, George, our house table!'
With Fred, it was easy to believe there was no question which house they'd go to. They quelled each other's doubts before they could even be realised. And Fred was right, wasn't he? He's sitting there with their brothers waiting for George now. George can't bear to look, but he'll be damned if he's going to let anyone -- anything -- separate him from his twin. He squares his shoulders determinedly and with hands he forces not to tremble, he crams the Sorting Hat on his head.
'I do, occasionally, send twins to different houses,' says a voice, amused, in his head.
'You just dare,' thinks George fiercely. Can the Hat feel the racing of his pulse or sense the sweat beading on his brow and condemn them as signs of cowardice? 'No, no, I'm a Gryffindor, like Fred! If I'm sent elsewhere I'll -- I'll set fire to you!'
'You just dare,' the Hat throws his words back at him. Then it chuckles. 'Yes, I certainly wouldn't dare, in your case. You are without question a GRYFFINDOR!'
With a grin identical to the one Fred wore earlier, George rips off the Hat. He can look at the Gryffindor table now and see the beaming faces and thumbs-ups from Charlie and Percy, and Fred's face mirroring his own in delight as he draws back the chair next to him for George to sit.