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Author: Majick Story: Plenty of George Rating: Everyone Setting: Pre-DH Status: Completed Reviews: 11 Words: 3,039 It had come as no surprise to George Weasley when the Yule Ball had been announced. He'd researched the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and so he'd known exactly what was coming on Christmas night. He also knew exactly who he'd be going with. Nobody. Oh, it would have been fun to be as horribly obnoxious as only he and Fred could be in pursuit of a girl to go to the Ball with, but he was much more interested in who Ron would end up going with. So he set up a side book on Ron's date to the Yule Ball, as well as the one that he and Fred were running on the Tournament itself, the book on when Oliver Wood would make his full debut for Puddlemere, the book on when Draco Malfoy would go too far and get himself hexed by a member of Gryffindor in front of the rest of the school – Mad-Eye Moody didn't count, they'd decided – and the book on when Ginny would get up the courage to ask Harry out. So he was quite busy enough, even leaving aside the ongoing problem with Ludo Bagman, without having to worry about choosing a girl to go to the Ball with. Much easier to tell everyone who asked that he would just dance with them on the night. After all, there was plenty of George to go around. * Anthony Goldstein hadn't even planned on going to the Yule Ball. He wasn't a Tri-Wizard champion – wasn't even that interested in the whole thing, as there were no Ravenclaws involved. He had nearly hexed Vincent Crabbe when the great lump had tried to sell him a Potter Stinks badge, though. People should have respected the champions – whoever they were. People died at the Tournament. Anthony had never known his uncle Tony, but his mother said that he had been the pride of Hogwarts. Quidditch star, top student, and headhunted by Professor Slughorn from his first week at the school, it had only been natural that he should have been one of the students that went to Bulgaria for the Tournament. What hadn't been natural was the way that Anthony had not returned. "You prat. You forgot again, didn't you?" his mother said softly, every Christmas morning, running her finger over the frame of her brother's photograph. It was the last one that their family had of him – he was sitting atop an unconscious troll, its heavy club hefted over his shoulder, beaming at the camera. Anthony had once asked his father what his uncle had forgotten. "Freezing Charms," his father had replied. "Your uncle could never manage them. And in the second task, it cost him his life." Anthony had resolved never to be caught short of a spell when he needed one. It was Christmas Eve. In less than twelve hours, his mother would spend a few minutes alone in the study with the picture of her brother. It wasn't fair, but death didn't choose fairly. It didn't choose at all. It just was. Just like it just was that he'd volunteered to accompany one of Fleur Delacour's friends to the Yule Ball that morning, as a favour to Roger Davies. Roger Davies, who'd never spoken to him before, and who had called him Alastair. Still, if he wanted to be on the Quidditch team, he needed to be noticed by the captain, and an evening of being called Alastair and trying to entertain someone who didn't speak any English seemed like a logical way of at least making overtures in that direction. If there was one thing that Anthony enjoyed more than anything else, it the logic of Arithmancy.* Eloise Midgen hadn't planned to go to the Yule Ball. She hadn't planned it – she hadn't expected it. She knew exactly what the male Hogwarts students thought about her, and if she ever forgot, she could always look in the mirror. But her friends had begged her to go with them ("Just us girls! And we have to support Cedric, don't we?") and she had finally relented, and spent too much money on a set of dark green dress robes upon which her wavy red hair sat, just so. And then Jessica, her roommate, had dug up an ancient spell in the library – she may have been a Hufflepuff, but she was a clever one, something she shared with her brother, a Ravenclaw. The spell, when cast, had shimmered across Eloise's face and turned the scars and blotches into pale, near-flawless skin. "El," Jessica had assured her, "you look amazing." Eloise stared in wonder at her face in the mirror. She hadn't seen it unmarked in such a fashion since she was ten – and then she'd had crooked teeth that a brace had tugged into position until she'd finally abandoned it that summer. "Is that me?" "For a few hours – it's not a permanent spell. I think it'll hold until midnight, or thereabouts." Eloise sighed in acceptance. Even for just a few hours, it was wonderful. Every year at Christmas, she wished to be rid of the acne that had plagued her for so long. Now, for once, she would be. She tore her eyes away from the clear skin and looked the rest of herself over as Jessica did several passes over her hair with her wand, washing it and untangling it. Her hair looked fine – even glossy. Her skin... but she'd already spent long enough looking at that. Her teeth were white and straight, her eyes a deep brown, and her nose... She smiled now, remembering the bewilderment of seeing her nose fall to the floor. Shock had made her obsessed with irrelevancies – why wasn't she bleeding? And then Amanda had walked in, shrieked, and run off to fetch Professor Sprout. Thirty minutes later, she'd been in detention for two weeks, and her nose had been reattached – at an angle. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout had agreed that it would teach her a lesson if she had to put up with a wonky nose while it healed and reattached itself perfectly. She knew full well that it had grown back perfectly straight – but people still looked at her strangely from time to time. She'd grown used to it, and didn't really mind. She had learned her lesson. Tonight, she wouldn't mind the stares at all. * The Tri-Wizard Cup stood on the top table, with Percy Weasley carefully positioning himself to be close to it. George snorted. There were legends of babies snatched and replaced with those of other families by goblins. Maybe that was how Percy had popped up, in the midst of the otherwise wild Weasleys. He'd already told George off once for dancing with Lee, saying that it was inappropriate. "Maybe if I'd let you lead, it would have been better?" Lee suggested, as Percy stalked off to the top table again. Since then, George had danced with Angelina, Alicia, Katie, Hermione, Ginny and her friend Luna Lovegood. Feeling that he had obliged everyone who might have felt that he was obligated to dance with them, he instead concentrated on dancing with everyone that he wanted to – including Professor McGonagall, who complimented him on his quick feet. He'd let her lead, as well. Finally, he took a breather. Steering clear of the spiked punch – some amateur prankster had turned the Pomegranate Surprise green, although that could just have been the surprise – he dipped a cup into the Pumpkin Broth and took a sip of the warming, refreshing drink. Turning around, he came face to face with Draco Malfoy. "Oh, look," Malfoy spat. "Another Weasley. God, I can't imagine anyone finding your mother attractive enough that she got so many kids out of it. The depths some people will sink to..." George let it flow over him, looking past Draco for a moment as he sized up the situation, deciding exactly where and who his allies were, if it came to that. He smiled slightly, as he remembered another Christmas encounter with Malfoy, two years before, when he and Fred had dropped the Slytherin boy headfirst into a six-foot deep snowdrift, and left him to dig himself out. Apparently he had been so flustered, he'd then let Harry and Ron into the Slytherin common room. And now – George leaned back to avoid Malfoy's breath – he was drunk as a skunk, and smelt just as bad. No wonder his girlfriend had abandoned him for the evening. No wonder he was in such a foul mood. "And you!" Malfoy shouted, pointing past George. "Didn't your dad die in this tournament or something?" * Anthony turned slowly, having given Malfoy a cautious glance on his way towards the door. His date spoke no English – but apparently the Gryffindor seventh year who'd taken her off his hands had no problems speaking French. Roger Davies had ignored him although, Anthony had to concede, as he had been sitting with Fleur Delacour on the top table, that was partially forgivable. All in all, it had been a thoroughly forgettable evening. Until now. "My uncle, Malfoy. Have a care," he bit out, his voice low enough that it didn't reach anyone but Malfoy and the Weasley twin. "Uncle, father, who cares? The less of you, the better, you stupid Half-blood!" Malfoy drawled, his words slurring to the point that it took Anthony a few seconds to realise exactly what it was Malfoy had said. By that time, the most amazing girl he'd ever seen had her wand pressed up under Malfoy's chin. * Eloise had thoroughly enjoyed the evening, and had barely stepped off the dance floor since the Weird Sisters had begun to play. Dancing with her friends was great fun, and dancing with boys that she'd never normally have had the courage to speak to was a revelation. But then she had caught sight of Roger Davies, the almost painfully handsome Ravenclaw, staring in a besotted manner at Fleur Delacour, and when she looked at the expression of her dance partner, she saw much the same look there. Excusing herself, she had dashed away, and taken a moment to catch her breath. That was... unusual. And rather unpleasant."...stupid Half-blood!" Eloise had heard those words, in that voice, more than once – quite often directed at her. Draco Malfoy had acted as though he owned the school from his first day. Never mind that she was older – she was a Halfblood, "and an ugly one at that," he never failed to add. Glad to focus on something else, Eloise reached into her clutch bag and drew her wand, planting the tip squarely against Malfoy's jugular. She was dimly aware of two other boys drawing on Malfoy at the same time, but she was faster. "Malfoy, you evil little ferret," she hissed. She paused, not sure of what to do next. Feeling rather self-conscious, she glanced at the other two boys. One was her age, a Gryffindor – one of the Weasley twins, although she had no idea which. The other one was a Ravenclaw boy, she realised. She'd seen him around, and he had always caught her attention, just as he had done now. Dimly, she remembered that she was holding someone captive – but who and why eluded her. * "Perhaps I can be of assistance?" George offered. He placed his own wand alongside the girl's, and pushed her hand gently away. "I'll, er, just leave you two to it. Oh, yes, one last thing..." He twitched his wand, and sweat broke out on Malfoy's forehead. Instead of a painful hex, however, a single white lily appeared in the boy's hand. "And that's my selfless good deed for the day," he said to himself, nudging the boy in the back as he marched Malfoy past them. The boy stumbled forward, holding out the lily as he did so. The girl took it, and George was gratified to note how well it went with her dress. "And now for the one that's not selfless. After you, Malfoy. If anyone asks, folks, I'll be back in two shakes of a rubber wand..." If they heard me, I'll be surprised. * For Anthony, the evening passed in a whirl of dancing and laughing, stories and jokes. To be with someone whose company he enjoyed so much was... intoxicating. He found himself telling her his uncle's story – the first time that he had shared the story with anyone. "No wonder you don't like Christmas very much," she sympathised. "Your mother obviously tried, but I don't suppose she enjoyed it very much." "No, I suppose not," he said, feeling serious and sober. "Although as a child, I was just concerned about the number of toys I got." "Well of course," she said, smiling. "That's how any child is." He smiled. Sometimes he felt guilty about that – and every Christmas day he remembered it with embarrassing clarity. But now it doesn't seem so bad, he thought. Most children would be that way. He was having so much fun that thoughts of his uncle soon flew from his mind – although when they ventured outside, he smiled to himself as he cast a freezing charm on the pond to allow them to skate on it. Anything closer to a fairytale evening would be hard to imagine. It even seemed to fit with the theme of the evening when she looked up sharply as the clock struck midnight and said- * "I have to go." He looked resigned. "Will I see you again?" "Of course," she smiled. "I do go to school here, you know." "You do?" Her face fell slightly. "Yes. I see you in the corridors quite often." "I... I don't know what to say. I'm sure I would have remembered someone as striking as you." She closed her eyes for a moment, and then nodded, sadly. "Yes, maybe you would have done," she said. "I have to go... before I turn into a pumpkin." "But... will I see you again?" "If you keep your eyes open, perhaps." She turned, and walked away, grateful for the twilight of the rose garden. She touched her face lightly, and could feel her spots swelling again. She didn't look back. * "I am a Malfoy! I demand to be set free this instant!" But not even the most ardent of Casanovas went near Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewt enclosure that evening, so no-one heard Malfoy's demands, nor saw him dangling just above the food bowl, upside down, with his face and hair smeared with the chopped liver that the Skrewts particularly enjoyed eating. * Two months had passed, and still Anthony looked for the girl in the corridors. Each time he saw red hair, his heart leapt, but mainly it was Michael's new girlfriend, or one of her brothers. He waited outside Herbology, listening absently to the fifth year Hufflepuffs talking. "It's all Ernie MacMillan's fault, you know," one of them said. "He's so set on making Prefect that as soon as he heard about our still..." Anthony grinned, and looked up at them. A flash of red hair caught his eye – but it wasn't her. His girl had been, well, alive. Confident. Vibrant. The girl in front of him was shy and near silent, even among her friends. She looked around, and their eyes met. She looked at him for a moment, as though searching for something. Briefly he wondered what it was, but as he walked into the warm greenhouse, all thoughts of her slipped from his mind. * Eloise walked with her friends towards the carriages. After all the excitement of the last year, she was glad to be returning home. Absently, she touched her face again. It was amazing how much better she looked, after spending as much time as she could studying in the bright springtime sunshine, and treating herself regularly with Madam Pomfrey's Bubotuber lotion. "We all have to get together this summer, okay?" Jessica said. "Give me a few weeks, and I'll have the still at home up and running," Amanda said, glaring at the back of Ernie MacMillan's head. "That'd be good," Eloise said, absently. She was watching out for him, as she had done for the last seven months. "We're taking this carriage," Amanda said. "El, we'll see you at the station?" Eloise looked around in surprise, but her friends had already shut the door, the carriage was pulling away and Jessica, the girl with the Ravenclaw brother, was waving and pointing madly. She bit her lip, and turned around. He was there, staring at her in astonishment, and she couldn't think of a thing to say. * George was helping Fred and Lee with their trunks when he caught sight of the Yule Ball pair by the next carriage. Where's Malfoy when you need someone to hex as a bonding experience? he wondered. Shaking his head, he cast a freezing charm at the ground beneath their feet, making them slip and slide, before their feet went out from underneath them and they had to grab hold of one another to prevent themselves crashing to the ground. They looked into one another's eyes, as George grinned and turned away. "What's that about?" Fred asked, reaching out of the carriage for the last trunk. "Nothing," George asked, hefting it up to his brother. "Hey, what's a seven month anniversary?" "Dunno – morning sickness, wasn't it? I'm sure that's what Mum said that time." "Oh, yeah, that's right. Anyway, got those order forms?" "Yeah. Enough to keep us busy this summer. I've got this great idea for a listening device, by the way..." George climbed up into the carriage, and sat back, relaxing in the feeling of another year over and done with. He glanced back from the carriage and smiled, before putting his hands behind his head, and stretching out his legs, listening to his brother's plans. Good job there's plenty of me to go around... The End
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