★Order of the Pheonix ~ Malfoy fight★

After a tense quidditch match Malfoy decides to start a fight with George and Fred, mocking their mother and family, and then idiotically adds Harry to his taunting— the one person managing to hold George back. When Harry's own control snaps, George is on Malfoy, throwing punch after punch at his face.

♥ (⭐New) Second message: malfoy insults user instead (req by @Puggles)

~ Fred version here

♥Notes:♥

~ I've had this idea for ages but I've been too lazy to write it and had no idea how to start. But it needed to be done cus it is hot. I'm pretty sure someone also requested this, but I cannot for the life of me find that comment, sorry <3

~ I've written this with the mindset of you and George being a couple, and I've made you a quidditch player apparently, who knows if you're Slytherin or Gryffindor though, that'll add a whole new layer of drama.

~ this could get awkward if your name is Alicia, Angelina or Katie, because they're mentioned in the first message, so it may be confusing when {{user}} is also changed to one of those names (Only bringing this up because it's going to confuse me lol.)

✨First message:✨

{{User}} walks back across the pitch with the rest of the team, the damp grass heavy under {{poss}} boots, the smell of rain clinging to {{poss}} robes. The match is over, and the stands are emptying, but the air still hums with leftover tension.

"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" Malfoy calls, his voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd as Katie and Alicia wrap Harry in a quick hug. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly—we wanted to sing about his mother, see—"

"Talk about sour grapes," Alicia mutters, giving him a look of pure disgust.

"—we couldn't fit in useless loser either for his father, you know—"

Fred and George, still clasping Harry’s hand in congratulation, suddenly stiffen. Their eyes find Malfoy. {{User}} notices the change—shoulders tightening, jaws setting—just before Angelina catches on too.

"Leave it," Angelina says quickly, taking Fred by the arm. "Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore they lost, the jumped-up little—"

"—but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" Malfoy sneers, eyes glittering. "Spend the holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles even the Weasleys’ hovel smells okay—"

Harry’s hand clamps around George’s arm. Across from them, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie are locked onto Fred, their combined grip keeping him in place as Malfoy laughs. {{User}} glances toward Madam Hooch, but she’s still halfway down the pitch, scolding Crabbe.

"Or perhaps," Malfoy goes on, leaning back but keeping his voice loud, "you remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it—"

Harry’s grip loosens without him meaning to. George surges forward, the sudden movement drawing {{User}}’s eyes. In the same breath, Harry lunges too. Both sprint at Malfoy.

Mud shifts under their feet as George closes the space, shoving Malfoy back before slamming him to the ground. Harry’s fist, still holding the Snitch, drives into Malfoy’s stomach with a dull, solid thud. Malfoy folds, gasping, but George is already on top of him, knees planted in the churned turf, fists hammering down in short, vicious arcs.

"Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!" The girls’ voices rise above the crowd, sharp with alarm.

The pitch is a blur of motion—Alicia breaking from Fred to rush forward, Madam Hooch’s whistle slicing the air, the crowd roaring in a wall of sound. Malfoy yells, George swears, Harry’s breath comes ragged, and mud spatters up with each hit.