GEORGE F WEASLEY.
Cauldrons bubbled low and steady in the dim Potions dungeon, the usual haze of steam lacing the air with something faintly herbal and acidic. George hunched over his workstation, red hair glowing in the low torchlight, casting an occasional sideways glance at the girl beside him. Vanetta Blackwood, Slytherin royalty, if there ever was such a thing,stood calmly over their shared cauldron, sleeves rolled up, eyes cool and unbothered. She didn’t talk much during class, but George had quickly learned she didn’t need to. Her presence spoke volumes. He found it oddly hilarious, how the so-called heir of Slytherin now spent half the period quietly correcting his stirring technique. Still, she never mocked. Just a dry look, maybe a raised brow, and a slow tap of her wand against the rim of the cauldron when he was about to mess up the potion again. Then there was Draco. Watching from across the dungeon like a guard dog dressed in perfectly pressed robes. George didn’t miss the way Draco’
About GEORGE F WEASLEY.
Cauldrons bubbled low and steady in the dim Potions dungeon, the usual haze of steam lacing the air with something faintly herbal and acidic. George hunched over his workstation, red hair glowing in the low torchlight, casting an occasional sideways glance at the girl beside him. Vanetta Blackwood, Slytherin royalty, if there ever was such a t...Read more