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Ginny Potter - A Harry Potter Fanfiction Archive and Community -- Fictioneer
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HP stories following Canon including OotP >> The Best Lies by evanspotter

Simple Text - To view MORE chapters use the chapter jump box to the right.
Disclaimer: You all know what goes here. Some of it's mine and some of it's not, very very unfortunately. Thanks to Jo anyhow.




Seven Years. Seven years. Seven years of her life were over. The beginning of the end, and yet the beginning of something entirely new. And this last year, the last months even, the ones that were supposed to define her as a woman, well... she just didn't know what to make of them. As she heaved her trunk onto the train for the last time, she decided that there was nothing she could make of them, no matter how she tried. Not now, anyways.

The castle loomed above her, its majestic face projecting all of its memories into her as though the moment the wheels of the train started to turn, it would all be lost. For the last time as a student, she looked up at the great structure and remembered all that it had symbolized: knowledge, discipline, defiance, trust, loyalty, and maybe even love. And that's where she was completely lost. Love.

The train before her marked the last adventure of this life, and the first steps of a new one. She took her place in the compartment, where her gaze turned immediately to the window. She felt the train lurch (her stomach did as well) beneath her, and as the train picked up speed, she felt as though she was leaving more and more of her behind. Though the compartment was full of her friends chatting excitedly about the future, she couldn't help but feel strangely alone.

"Alicia?" came Angelina's voice softly from beside her.

Alicia barely flinched.

"You're not alone, you know. We all miss him, too..."

"No," she said almost inaudibly, "Not like me."

And as Angelina attempted to revive her friend from a trance, the rolling hills lulled Alicia into one of her fondest memories.

* * *


The November sky glittered with numerous stars above an enchanted castle, the inhabitants of which were sleeping. All except two seventeen year olds who remained on the lush landscape admiring the jeweled night. The two stared intently upwards for some time until the smaller of the two, a girl, spoke.

"It's our last year, George. What are you going to make of it?" Alicia inquired, observing her friend's curiosity of the stars with amusement.

"Well," he said, taking a sigh and pondering her question. "I reckon I'll make sure Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup... and the House Cup, as well... Give all the teachers hell.... Play as many pranks as I can.... Mix everything up..." He gazed off dreamily into the night sky and stirred only when he heard her speak beside him.

"So... basically what you do every year. Hmm?" she teased, her arm tickling his as she moved closer to him.

"Oh, you think you're funny, do you?" he said, grinning at the shy face hidden behind his billowing robes.

"I certainly like to think so."

"Well, Miss Spinnet," he said, wrapping an arm around her and looking back at the sky, "I intend on doing everything I ever wanted to, but never had the courage to do before."

"Ah, and what might that be, Mr. Weasley?"

"Well... for starters," he began, turning to face her. She tilted her head to look up at him, a small smile playing at her lips.

"This," he whispered.

And before she knew what was happening, he had placed his lips on hers; a kiss as soft as the moonlight in which they were both drenched. As he pulled away, the moon and the stars above them enabled Alicia to see him in a new light, literally and quite metaphorically. There was a hidden smugness in his face and whether the twinkle in his eyes had always been there or it was merely the reflection of the stars, he had never been so irresistible.


* * *


George Weasley stared out the window of his two-bedroom flat and sighed heavily at the thought of being in solitude once again. Sometimes he found it easier to be alone; it gave him space to think, to breathe, and to conclude how much of an idiot he was. He had had it all. He had obtained fame (in a way), a sense of humor that everyone adored, friends, a small talent on the Quidditch field, but most of all... he had had her. But just like his ginger locks, she slipped through his fingers.

Over the last two months, George had tried his best to maintain alert, to offer his opinion, to do anything really, but it was a lost cause. And if you thought about it rationally, how could it not be? With thoughts of the only relationship he'd ever had swimming in his head? With memories of her soft hazel eyes inches from his own taunting his brain? With the fantasy of her touch haunting him? He had decided; it was impossible.

The thoughts were constantly with him, like ghosts clinging to his every muscle. It was nearly unbearable to be by himself. His skin was like prison bars; a fleshy jail that he couldn't escape. Yet as much as it pained him to be alone, being with people was even worse. Every person he communicated with made him feel as though he was betraying the memory of her. Every step felt as though his legs were made of lead and he had miles of sand to trudge through.

How could he have been that daft? That thick? That completely brainless? George sighed again, cradling his head in his hands. The feeling was coming back. Regret, guilt, despair. The three emotions tangled themselves into one horrible monster that fed on his insides, on his heart, on his lungs. And suddenly he was winded, his heart felt as if it had been penetrated with a knife. He frantically pulled at the window, and at last, he successfully tugged it open. A warm gust of air greeted his nostrils and swept through his hair, filling the room with its breath. He peered downward out of instinctive curiosity and nearly fell out of the window at the sight below him.

George blinked. It couldn't be. Was he dreaming? Was it a mirage? Were his eyes betraying him? If this was a joke, it was a cruel one at that. He leapt up from his bed and raced down the stairs, alternately skipping two as though to save time. As he flung the shop door open, the bell atop it tinkling softly, and whirled to face the incomer, he knew he had been correct. There was no mistaking those curls. They were just the way he remembered when they had last met.

* * *


"You're joking?!" Alicia said in disbelief, an almost accusatory tone attached to her voice.

"Funnily enough, this time I'm not," said George as he rushed down the corridor, dodging the students still exiting their classes and searching desperately for his mirror image.

"But how can you be serious? This is absolutely ludicrous! What in Merlin's beard do you think you'll accomplish by doing this?" she demanded, hurrying alongside him in attempt to keep up with his long strides.

"Well, what in Merlin's beard do you think I'll accomplish in staying here?" he shot back, coming to an abrupt halt and looking down at her.

The gesture took her by surprise and she stood silent for a moment before opening her mouth to retaliate, but George merely said, "Exactly," before speeding up again.

"Don't you care about what you're leaving behind?" Alicia cried out desperately, tugging on his sleeve as though to slow him down, but it did no harm.

"Old toad-face? A thousand educational degrees--"

"Since when have rules ever stopped you before!" she protested.

"--No Quidditch? Oh yeah, I'll miss that
loads," George said sarcastically, still worming through the stragglers who had not yet gone up to their Common Rooms.

"Your friends! The house cup! Getting into trouble! Trips to Hogsmeade!" She was screaming now, her face blotchy from frustration.

The ghosts floating by stared at her in bewilderment as did some of the last students to depart, yet she didn't seem phased by it. George said nothing still as if he had not heard her, and continued to pace the halls. As the dull murmur of voices began to soften and the resonating sound of their feet on the cobblestone became all they could hear, he risked taking a glance at her. Alicia's face was contorted in a mixture of emotions that could only be justly described as impatience, confusion, and sadness. George could only note, as beautiful as she was, the look did not suit her well.
And to think, it's all your doing, he thought.

She took advantage of his vulnerability by speaking again, this time quietly.

"You're not going to miss Hogwarts." Her voice reduced to a shaky whisper as though at any given moment, it would crack and roar up again in anger.

"You're-You're not," she began, almost hesitantly, "...You're not going to miss me?"

It was these words that stopped him. He whirled around to face her and looked upon her, appalled, as though the thought hadn't crossed his mind until she had brought it up.

He stood there gaping at her, unable to say a thing, unable to tell her that she'd be the only thing he'd miss, and mentally kicking himself for not being able to reassure her of it. Instead, he just stood speechless, her worried face taunting him with its innocence.

And when he could speak, his tongue got tangled up around the words and a jumble of letters tumbled out of his mouth.

"I…Th… Y… Wh…?" he choked as though there was something large caught in his throat, and her eyes welled up with tears.

At that moment, a tapestry adjacent to them blasted upwards and revealed a jumpy Fred emerging from beneath it.

"George! We've got to go!" he said, dancing uncomfortably as though he needed to use the bathroom badly. When neither George nor Alicia made any response to this, he added, "Now!"

George reached out to touch her black curls, allowing them to snake in between his fingers, and did the only thing he thought appropriate. He bent over and placed the softest kiss, as light as the wing of a butterfly, upon her porcelain cheek. As he drew back, his eye caught the mingled expression of woe and disappointment that was trapped in her features. He didn't think he could bear looking at her any longer, not while she wore the face that plainly read, "So, this is what you're choosing?" He attempted to morph his face into what he hoped told her that it was not what he chose, but as hard as he tried, he knew he could not reassure her. While it pained him to do it he released the locks of hair trapped in his fist and fetched his wand from beneath his robes.

And with that, George turned and sprinted toward the passage with the awkwardly dancing Fred at his heels, the tapestry flapping at their ankles as they disappeared from sight.


* * *


It was ludicrous. It was miraculous. For ages he had dreamed of her; he'd died without holding her in his arms, touching her face, smelling her hair. And now... he felt his heart flutter at the mere sight of her. Yet her presence had triggered some emotion in him that he couldn't quite place. Something not unlike fear. What was he to say to her after those months of being apart? Did she still fancy him? What if she didn't? No, of course she still fancied him. It couldn't be any other way. She was still his after all this time, wasn't she? Wasn't that how it was supposed to be? As he allowed the reassuring thought to fill him up, he stood there searching for the right words to say. It was difficult, more so than one would imagine, when the light caught her face and her curls bounced with every step.

In a matter of seconds, he would find himself face to face with her. He didn't know what to say or how to say it. He wasn't even sure he was capable of speech. The necessity of finding words flew from his mind; he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. The only thing that escaped him now was the murmur of her name on his tongue; his lips tracing each letter, emitting each sound as though it had been ages since he last did it. Alicia.


She was growing closer to him now. She felt her hand reach up to trace her black curls. Did her hair look okay? No, focus, Alicia. She wished she hadn't eaten that salad. How embarrassing would it be if she had something caught in her teeth? A brisk shake of the head. She forced herself to think of addressing the redheaded man that lie ahead of her. It wasn't working. Her heart was deafening in her ears, drowning out all the predetermined speeches she had half rehearsed on the train ride. It'd be a miracle if he couldn't hear it from where he was standing. She blinked. Mentally slapped herself for being so ridiculous. The damn idiot still had the same effect of her. Seeing him again, actually seeing him made her feel flighty; scanning his dreamy face made her heart skip a beat the way it had done every time he'd held her hand. In the few seconds she took to regain her composure, she decided she wasn't going to let him off that easy. She brought her self to say the name she hadn't dared speak in weeks. George.


Her shoes clacked loudly on the pavement, matching the rhythmic beating of his heart. He opened his mouth before closing it quickly out of fear of looking foolish, but the act only made him look like a gaping fish. And she was the one with the fishing rod, slowly reeling him in.

"So," she snapped, marching up to him. "We date for a year, a bloody year, and you go and leave...for two months without writing or-or trying to see me at all? Is that really what I mean to you, Weasley?"

"Alicia--"

"Just a meaningless snog, hmm?" she growled, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. "So, all that you told me was a load of dung?"

"No, Alicia, it's just--"

"Just what, George? ...Just a fling?" Alicia said, her lip trembled angrily and the grasp on his shirt lessened slightly.

His eyes darted down to his feet, as though they'd provide an answer, and glanced back up to meet hers. They were blazing with determination and anxiety.

When he next spoke, it was cautiously as if he was already anticipating her reaction, "I've been...busy."

And just as he had predicted, she exploded.

"Busy?" she said incredulously. "You were busy?!"

"Yes..." he replied, lamely.

"So what you're telling me is, that in the two months that you had left Hogwarts, you couldn't find an hour, a minute, or a second, to send me a bloody owl?"

"Well, what did you expect me to do?" George burst out with frustration. "Write you every single day 'Sincerely, George'? Is that what you wanted?" he retorted, moving his arms violently with a certain amount of restraint, as Alicia was still firmly clinging to him.

"Yes," she said, scoffing slightly at his suggestion. "At least I'd have known you cared." Her nostrils flared dangerously.

"You--" he began, disbelievingly, "You think I don't care... You think I don't care?"

"Well it sure seems like it," she said, simply. "You could've done anything, George, but the fact that you did absolutely nothing is what--"

"It was too damn hard, Alicia!" he nearly shouted, drowning out her last words. "Is that what you wanted to hear? That every time I wanted to pick up a quill, every time I tried, whatever I was feeling was too hard to describe? That words weren't enough? That it was impossible to put on paper?"

Alicia fell silent, and her soft hazel eyes gazed up at him, as though they were absorbing every word he breathed.

"Do you know...do you know how hard it was to work with Fred in our shop, when every time we made something new, I pictured your reaction? That every morning I regretted leaving that hell because I couldn't see you? That I actually wished for Defense classes with that hag because you laughed every time I made a joke?"

A pink tinge had appeared on the apples of Alicia's cheeks now as the wind blew her dark curls from her face.

"Is that what you needed to hear? What you needed to read in a letter? How much I missed you? Because you know I did. How much I care? Because you know I do." At this point, George had slipped his hands gently around her petite waist. "How much I love you?"

George could feel her hands fiddling with a button on his jacket, and it wasn't until he had said those words that she looked up, her eyes round in wonder.

"...What?" she whispered, the word barely leaving her lips.

"Tell me what you want me to say and I'll say it," he said. The wind was busy whipping his fiery hair to his head, but he paid no attention to it.

"Say... say you love me," she murmured.

"I love you."

George drew her in gently, placing the softest kiss on her lips. He could feel her hands moving up to his favorite spot, behind his neck, and even further to meet the ginger locks her fingers had longed so desperately to touch. The two remained entwined in each other’s arms for some time until a reluctant George pulled away.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked, murmuring into Alicia's parted lips.

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Well... it starts with an 'I'.... and it ends with a 'you'...." George said, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Ah yes, I suppose I am. I love you," Alicia whispered, mirroring his grin.

"Well, actually... I was thinking more along the lines of," a big inhale,"'I-
think- you're- incredible- George- so- bloody- incredible- now- shut- up- so- I- can- snog- you- senseless- because- we- both- know- that's- what- I- want- and- so- do- you'," an exhale, "but I guess that works, too."

The only response to this was her lips crashing down upon his, laughter emitted from somewhere between their lips, as a giggling Alicia was lifted off her feet and into George's embrace.

The shop door swung open unexpectedly adjacent to them, a bell atop it ringing as it slammed shut, releasing an antsy and seemingly excited Fred. He was holding some sort of sweet above his head and dancing, as though praising to some imaginary and almighty god. George and Alicia broke apart and turned simultaneously to look at him through skeptical eyes.

"George! It worked! The dung! It's amazing! Taste it! It's delicious... Bloody hell is it delicious. Try it," he cried, not even noticing to whom he was talking, for he was spinning in small circles as though to let out steam. When he heard no reaction, he stopped and squinted dizzily at the two silhouettes in front of him.
"George? The Doxy droppings? They... worked..."

Alicia looked at him; her eyebrows raised incredulously, and let out a laugh. Fred's expression matched hers, only his was more menacing; he narrowed his eyes and scowled observing the two's apparent happiness.

"So... you two are in love again, eh?" Fred said, eyeing her suspiciously. "That's disgusting." He scrunched his face as though the two had an awful stench and then broke immediately into a wide grin. "Glad to have you back, and you behave yourselves..." He gave them an almost undetected wink.

As Fred shuffled back into the chop, the bell atop the door giving almost a mock laugh, George turned back to Alicia. Her hazel eyes lit up as they met his, and she matched what he was feeling with a gentle sigh. For the first time in what felt like-what felt like his entire life, he felt truly happy. He looked at her face, into her eyes, every crease where a smile had existed, every freckle, and smiled. He smiled.

"Want to head inside?" Alicia asked, a suggestive smile dancing on her lips and jerking of the head towards the door.

"Mmm, yes," George said, "but first, just one more kiss. You're absolutely irresistible."

At this point, Alicia broke into a wide grin and it seemed that she could not resist him either, for she completely collapsed into his arms, allowing his muscular ones to surround her body. When at last the two appeared to be entirely satisfied with the kiss, they separated, but it was not long until George was murmuring, "Only one more, I promise." But that lead to, "One for the road," which lead to, "Okay last one, I swear," until George could think of no more to say to her and instead cradled her lips in his own.

"You really missed me, didn't you?" She teased, stroking his cheek with her delicate finger.

"Eh, not really," George said, failing to hide a smile.

She slapped him on the arm playfully. George feigned a look of over-exaggerated pain, pretending to rub the spot where she had hit him gingerly. His act only failed, as he broke into a huge grin and all his previous attempts of innocence were lost in his true mischievous manner.

By the almost skeptical, trying-too-hard-not-to-smile expression on her face, George could tell Alicia still found it adorable. And she had every reason to. It was, after all, the best kind of lying, her favorite kind. It made him look foolish, he knew, but then again, he was a fool for her.

"I'm a really great liar, aren't I?" He said smugly, taunting her with a sly wink.

"Terrible," she said, and kissed him.



A/N: I hope you liked it. I'm nearly satisfied with it. Which means I'm as close to liking it as I'll ever be.

This is my first piece. So criticize as you like. I may or may not be deeply offended by your comments, as I treat it like my baby.





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