#fred weasley reader insert

[maria021015]

Fred Weasley - Masterlist

One shots:

- Poetry

Ginny is upset about Harry’s reaction to her valentine poem, and y/n assures her a poem is a very romantic gesture, When Fred hears this, he gets an idea.

- Rivalry

Fred Weasley and y/n y/l/n have been at each other’s throats on the quidditch pitch for years, until one rogue bludger finally has them by each other’s side.

- The One Time She Said Yes

All of the times Fred Weasley asked y/n to marry him. And the one time she said yes.

- Bet On It

Fred and y/n have been friends since First Year. The Yule ball is fast approaching and Fred guarantees that he’ll be able to get a date before she can. She begs to differ. Enter, the bet. Who will win?

- Three’s A Charm

When y/n receives three Dwarf Valentine’s before lunch, she’s convinced this has to be a prank. Only, for once, Fred Weasley didn’t mean to be funny.

- Dance With Me

There’s nothing like some good old fashioned jealousy to push two people together.

- Figure You Out

Cedric Diggory was a good boyfriend. He was loyal, and kind, and handsome. He was smart, and thoughtful, and hardworking. He was a great boyfriend, even. Just not for you.

Fred is insistent that the two of you simply aren’t a good fit. He doesn’t know your favourite things, his hobbies don’t align with yours, and…well, he just can’t seem to figure you out. Not the way Fred has.

- Academic Rivals

Fred Weasley was somehow your greatest academic rival, and you had no idea how. How - when all he does is slack off - is it that he keeps matching your grades? You’re determined to get to the bottom of whatever his (undoubtedly nefarious) secret is.

- The Girl Who Hates Quidditch (coming soon)

When Ginny introduced Fred to her friend who hates quidditch, none of them expected Fred would make it his personal mission to change her mind. He might not achieve his goal, but he might just fall for her in the process.

- Still Annoying? (coming soon)

Fred Weasley has never liked Ginny’s annoying little friend. But maybe she’s not so annoying - or so little - anymore.

- Verituserum (coming soon)

Fred, George, and Lee have been avoiding you all day and you’ve had enough. When you blackmail your way into the Gryffindor common room to confront them, you don’t expect Fred to start bombarding you with strange compliments. You definitely don’t expect what comes next.

- Amortentia (coming soon)

You and Fred get paired up for potions class, and today’s assignment? To brew the most powerful love potion in the wizarding world. Amortentia. What could possibly go wrong?

- Freaky Friday (coming soon)

You and Fred Weasley hated each other. And not for any good reason. Mostly because he was a Gryffindor and you were a Slytherin. Or maybe it was because he was a Weasley and you were a Malfoy. Or maybe both. Whichever it was, it was simply natural for you to hate each other. Until walking a week in each others’ shoes (literally) makes you realise maybe he’s more than a Gryffindor and a Weasley, and he finds out you’re more than a Slytherin and a Malfoy.

- A Twin Thing (coming soon)

When Fred Weasley meets an extraordinary girl he thinks it was love at first sight. Until their second meeting throws him off kilter. It’s almost like she’s a different person entirely.

- Clueless (coming soon)

Y/n was pretty much a textbook Ravenclaw. Studious, intelligent, and creative. Unfortunately for her, she was also quiet, reserved, and went completely unnoticed. Fred Weasley was the exact opposite. Loud, chaotic, and always in the public eye. Maybe that was why he was failing transfiguration. Nevertheless, Fred needs a private tutor, and in exchange y/n wants him to teach her how to stand apart from the crowd. Unfortunately for them, they are both entirely clueless when it comes to each other.

- Reconciliation (coming soon)

You and Fred Weasley had been together for years. Your lives were so well meshed, it was almost impossible to tell where he ended and where you began. So when you arrive back at the apartment you two share, the last thing you expect him to say is ‘we need to talk’.

- The Swap (coming soon)

When the Weasley twins ask you and Angelina to the Yule ball, the two of you are ecstatic. Until you start to realise maybe you preferred Angelina’s date over your own.

Multi-part:

- Penpals - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

What happens when Fred’s new owl accidentally sends a letter meant for George to the wrong person? The mysterious recipient might just write him back. And it might end up being the best mistake Fred has ever made.

- Hogwarts’s Resident Goth Girl - Part 1, Part 2,

Hogwart’s resident goth girl y/n was unfriendly at best and completely unapproachable at worst. In fact, in all his six years at the school, Fred Weasley had never heard her speak once. When George dares him to ask her to the Yule Ball, all of that is about to change.

[magical-reid]

The Fine Line Between Pretending and Falling

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Ravenclaw! Reader

Word Count: 1.6 K

Prompt: 31: “You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me.” “I lied.”

Summary: When Ravenclaw Y/N enlists Fred to be her fake boyfriend to fend off a persistent admirer, she expects an elaborate but ultimately harmless plan. But Fred’s penchant for theatrics—and the growing feelings between them—turn what should have been a simple ruse into something much more complicated.

The problem started with Jeremy Tuttle.

For weeks, you’d tried to politely decline his advances, endure his overly enthusiastic conversations, and sidestep his relentless invitations to study together. It was exhausting, and no amount of subtle rejection seemed to deter him.

Desperate for a solution, you turned to Fred Weasley, a master of mischief and persuasion, to play the role of your fake boyfriend. His easy charm and love for theatrics made him the perfect candidate—or so you thought. What you didn’t realize was how quickly Fred would take the reins, blurring the lines between pretense and reality.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Blurred Lines

What you hadn’t anticipated was how much you’d enjoy Fred’s company. He made you laugh, even when you were determined to stay annoyed with him, and he had a way of noticing things others overlooked.

One evening, as you sat in the library revising for your Charms exam, Fred appeared beside you with a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.

“I figured you might need a snack,” he said, sliding the box across the table. “And don’t worry—I picked out the good ones. No earwax, I promise.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Fred.”

He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a soft grin. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned your attention back to your notes, willing the flutter in your chest to settle.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Great Hall Incident

The plan was going well—or so you thought. By the fourth day, Fred had ramped up his efforts, wrapping his arm around you in the corridors, and occasionally whispering something teasing that made you blush.

But everything came to a head one morning in the Great Hall. You were seated at the Ravenclaw table, buttering toast, when Fred sauntered over from the Gryffindor side, earning curious looks from the other students.

“Good morning, love,” he greeted, dropping a quick kiss on the top of your head before sliding onto the bench beside you.

You blinked at him, startled. “Fred, what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, instead reaching for a piece of toast from your plate and biting into it with a grin.

The answer came a moment later when you spotted Jeremy entering the hall. Fred must have noticed him first.

Before you could say anything, Fred leaned in and, without warning, kissed you square on the lips.

Gasps rippled through the Great Hall as heads turned toward the spectacle.

Your heart raced as Fred pulled back, his smirk firmly in place. “Just making sure everyone knows you’re taken,” he said, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

Your cheeks burned, but before you could respond, you caught sight of Jeremy standing frozen in the doorway, his face a mixture of shock and embarrassment.

Fred glanced in his direction and gave a small, satisfied nod before returning his attention to you. “Toast’s a bit dry, don’t you think?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Fred said, entirely unbothered, “you keep me around.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Quidditch Sweater

A week later, you found yourself seated in the Ravenclaw stands during a Gryffindor Quidditch match. It was cold, and Fred had insisted you wear his Gryffindor sweater for “authenticity.”

“You know, to really sell the whole boyfriend thing,” he’d said with a wink as he handed it to you that morning.

Now, as you watched the game, his red-and-gold sweater hung loosely on you, the scent of broomstick polish and something distinctly Fred lingering on the fabric. You felt more self-conscious than you ever had, especially when a few of your Ravenclaw friends raised eyebrows at your outfit.

When Fred scored a spectacular goal, he looped around the pitch, searching the stands until his eyes landed on you. His grin widened, and he gave an exaggerated bow in midair before flying off again.

“Ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, though you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

After Gryffindor’s inevitable victory, Fred made a show of flying over to you, landing just beyond the stands and jogging up the steps with his broom in hand.

“Thought you’d like a personal victory lap,” he teased, pulling you into a quick hug.

The sweater hung even looser now, but as Fred ruffled your hair with an affectionate grin, you realized you didn’t care who noticed anymore.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Gryffindor Common Room

It was late one evening when you found yourself in the Gryffindor common room, sitting beside Fred on the worn couch near the fire. You weren’t sure how he had talked you into staying, but the warmth of the flames and the easy laughter of the Gryffindors around you made it hard to leave.

George, however, wasn’t letting it go unnoticed.

“You know,” he said, leaning against the arm of a nearby chair, “you don’t need to fool anyone here. We all know the ‘fake boyfriend’ routine is for show.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think we’re not just this madly in love, dear brother?”

George smirked. “Because you’re sitting here with hearts in your eyes, and she’s the one keeping you grounded. It’s almost nauseating.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

George grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

Fred threw a cushion at his brother, who dodged it with practiced ease, but you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know, we could always move this to the Ravenclaw common room,” you teased Fred, leaning against his shoulder.

Fred shook his head, feigning horror. “Too quiet. Not enough chaos for my taste.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Hogsmeade

When the next Hogsmeade weekend arrived, Fred didn’t even wait for you to ask—he showed up outside the Ravenclaw tower with his hand already extended.

“Shall we?” he said, grinning.

The walk to the village was filled with light banter, Fred making exaggerated gestures every time a group of students passed by to ensure they noticed the two of you holding hands.

At Honeydukes, he bought your favorite sweets, stuffing the bag into your hands with a mock-serious expression. “A boyfriend’s duty,” he said solemnly.

By the time you reached The Three Broomsticks, the whispers around Hogwarts had reached a fever pitch. You could feel the curious stares as Fred guided you to a table, but you found yourself caring less and less.

When the two of you finally returned to the castle, your cheeks were flushed from the cold—and from Fred’s endless teasing.

“You know,” you said as you climbed the stairs back to your common room, “you’re enjoying this way too much.”

Fred leaned closer, his grin softer than usual. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his voice quiet.

Your breath hitched, but before you could respond, he kissed your forehead, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“Goodnight, love,” he said, leaving you standing there, your heart racing as he disappeared down the corridor.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Not Pretending Anymore

The next evening, as you sat together in the library, Fred broke the comfortable silence between you.

“You know,” he said, his voice unusually serious, “this whole fake boyfriend thing was supposed to be fun. But…”

You glanced at him, your quill hovering over the parchment. “But?”

Fred hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I’m pretending anymore.”

His words hit you like a bludger, your heart pounding as you struggled to find the right response.

“Fred…”

He smiled faintly, his usual bravado gone. “I’ve never felt this way before, and it scares me. But the idea of not trying? That scares me even more.”

“You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I lied.”

Fred’s hand found yours, his fingers brushing against your own before curling around them. “So, what happens now?”

You swallowed, your voice soft but steady. “Now, we stop pretending.”

And as his lips met yours in the quiet of the library, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the undeniable truth between you.

[awaitresswhowrites]

i still think about golden boy way too much…

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

the way FRED WEASLEY glances over his shoulder a second before he can lean down for a kiss, pinning you up against that wall and helping you pick your knee up to tuck him between your legs. the way his arms wrap around you to press you flush against him, and there’s an ache in your neck from looking up at him, so he curls his body around you as he stoops—anything to get you as close as possible. he was acting coolheaded before, but now that he’s got you alone it’s like a dam breaks. he’s desperate, and he’s letting it all out. snogging if you’ve ever seen it. noses are battling it out as he tilts his head, probing your mouth with his tongue and making your pretty little head cloudy and confused as to why you like it so deep. your arms wrap around his neck as he lifts you to the tips of your toes, held up by him in his haste to rub your body on him. he wants to feel you, he wants friction, he wants his buddy in his trousers to cop a feel under your skirt if only he could get the right angle. it’s downright obscene the way you two eat each other’s faces, and the sounds you make because of his actions. barely pull away for a breath when he’s asking, “wanna take this upstairs?” bcos he needs something more. he needs to have his tongue down your throat while he’s ramming into you. no more teasing him by swaying your little hips, no more flashing him in private, no more telling him you can’t get his horse cock out of your head—it’s time.

[cowboylikemac]

MR.BRIGHTSIDE || F.W

pairing: fred weasley x reader

summary: A fiery rivalry with Fred Weasley turns into a secret romance filled with stolen kisses and hidden glances. When the truth comes out—first to Ron, then Molly—the fear fades, replaced by warmth, laughter, and the unexpected feeling of home.

warnings: none

word count: 5k

a/n: i am actually in love with this one bc i freaking love this song so why not romanticize it

The Gryffindor common room smelled of parchment, ink, and the faint char of someone’s failed spell. You leaned against the wall near the fireplace, arms crossed, your wand tucked into the sleeve of your robes. Fifth year was a pressure cooker—OWLs looming, Umbridge’s saccharine tyranny, and the constant buzz of Harry’s latest drama. But none of that was half as infuriating as Fred Weasley, who was currently sprawled across a couch, tossing a Fanged Frisbee in the air with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face.

“You’re going to take someone’s eye out, Weasley,” you snapped, dodging as the Frisbee whizzed past your head.

Fred caught it mid-air, his grin widening. “Only if they’re not paying attention, love. Which, clearly, you are. Always so… vigilant.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Love?” He sat up, all lean limbs and red hair catching the firelight. “Suits you. You’re so full of warm, fuzzy feelings.”

You scoffed, pushing off the wall to grab your Charms textbook from a nearby table. “Keep dreaming, Fred. I’d rather kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt than deal with you for longer than I have to.”

George, lounging nearby with a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, snorted. “Careful, Y/N. That’s practically a love letter coming from you.”

Ron, sitting at a table with a half-finished essay, groaned. “Can you two not start this again? I’m trying to focus.”

You shot Ron a sympathetic look. He was your closest friend in Gryffindor, the one who’d welcomed you into the fold back in first year when you’d been too stubborn to ask for help navigating the castle. You’d bonded over shared complaints about homework and his brothers’ endless pranks. But being Ron’s friend meant being in Fred’s orbit, and that was a problem.

Fred Weasley was chaos incarnate—brilliant, reckless, and infuriatingly charming when he wasn’t being a complete git. You’d been at each other’s throats since second year when he’d “accidentally” charmed your bag to spew chocolate syrup all over the Great Hall. He claimed it was meant for someone else. You didn’t buy it. Since then, it was a war of words, pranks, and glares across the common room.

“Focus on your essay, Ronald,” Fred said, tossing the Frisbee to George. “Y/N and I are just having a friendly chat.”

“Friendly?” you said, incredulous. “You charmed my quill to write backwards yesterday.”

“And you hexed my shoelaces to tie themselves together,” he shot back, eyes glinting. “Fair’s fair.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Hermione, sitting across from Ron, slammed her book shut. “Enough! If I have to hear one more argument about who hexed who, I’m going to charm both your mouths shut.”

Fred winked at her. “You’re no fun, Granger.”

You rolled your eyes and stormed upstairs to the girls’ dormitory, your heart pounding with the familiar mix of irritation and something you refused to name. Fred Weasley was not worth your energy.

—

The Gryffindor common room was alive with music and laughter, a rare moment of rebellion against Umbridge’s suffocating rules. Someone had smuggled Firewhisky, and Lee Jordan had rigged a charmed gramophone to blast music loud enough to drown out the portraits’ complaints. The room pulsed with energy, students dancing and shouting, the air thick with the scent of butterbeer and something sweeter—freedom.

You stood near the drinks table, nursing a goblet of pumpkin juice, your robes swapped for a black sweater and jeans. Ron was beside you, ranting about Quidditch tryouts, his face flushed from a sip of Firewhisky he’d “accidentally” tried.

“You’re telling me Angelina’s making us run laps?” he groaned. “I’m not built for that.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “You’ll survive. Just don’t trip over your own feet again.”

“Oi, that was one time!”

Your banter was interrupted by a loud whoop from the center of the room. Fred and George were demonstrating their latest invention—portable fireworks that spelled out rude words in midair. The crowd cheered as “UMBRIDGE IS A TOAD” fizzled out in sparks.

“Idiots,” you muttered, though a smile tugged at your lips.

Ron followed your gaze. “They’re mental, but you’ve got to admit, they’re clever.”

“Clever at causing trouble,” you said, but your eyes lingered on Fred. His hair was a mess, his sleeves rolled up, and the way he moved—confident, alive—made your stomach twist in a way you hated.

As if sensing your stare, Fred looked over, catching your eye. He smirked, raising his goblet in a mock toast. You scowled and turned back to Ron, who was now complaining about Snape.

But Fred wasn’t done with you. A few minutes later, he sauntered over, George trailing behind with a grin that promised mischief.

“Having fun, Y/N?” Fred asked, leaning against the table, too close for comfort.

“Was, until you showed up,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

George laughed. “You two are like a bad potions experiment—always exploding.”

“Only because she’s so volatile,” Fred said, his voice teasing but his eyes sharp, like he was studying you.

You bristled. “And you’re so insufferable.”

Ron groaned. “Merlin, just ignore each other for one night, yeah?”

Fred ignored him, stepping closer. “Come on, Y/N. Dance with me. Might loosen you up.”

You snorted. “I’d rather dance with a troll.”

“Harsh,” George said, clapping a hand to his chest. “Fred’s not that bad.”

But Fred’s grin didn’t falter. “One day, you’ll admit you like me.”

“In your dreams, Weasley,” you said, turning on your heel and heading toward the dance floor to escape him. The music shifted, a new song kicking in—a pulsing, electric beat that made your heart race. You didn’t know the name, but it felt like a storm, all jealousy and longing, the kind of song that made you want to scream and run and feel everything at once.

You danced with a few friends, letting the music drown out your thoughts. But Fred was never far, his laughter cutting through the crowd, his presence like a magnet you couldn’t shake. When you glanced back, he was dancing with Angelina, his hands on her waist, her head thrown back in laughter. Something hot and sharp twisted in your chest, and you hated it. Hated him. Hated yourself for caring.

—

Later, you found yourself back by the drinks table, catching your breath. The room was a blur of lights and bodies, the music still pounding. You were pouring yourself another drink when Fred appeared, alone this time, his face flushed from dancing.

“Still sulking?” he asked, grabbing a bottle of butterbeer.

“Still annoying?” you countered, not looking at him.

He chuckled, but there was an edge to it. “You’re jealous.”

You froze, your goblet halfway to your lips. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He stepped closer, his voice low, teasing but with something sharper underneath. “You were glaring daggers when I was dancing with Angelina.”

Your face burned. “You’re delusional. I don’t care who you dance with.”

“Right,” he said, smirking. “That’s why you’ve been watching me all night.”

You slammed your goblet down, turning to face him. “You’re so full of yourself. I wasn’t watching you—I was making sure you didn’t set the room on fire with one of your stupid pranks.”

He raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “Sure. And I’m Merlin’s long-lost cousin.”

You were inches apart now, the air between you crackling with tension. The music shifted again, that same stormy song from earlier, its beat sinking into your bones. I’m coming out of my cage, and I’ve been doing just fine… The lyrics weren’t clear, but the feeling was—raw, desperate, like something breaking open.

“You’re insufferable,” you said, your voice shaking with something you couldn’t name.

“And you’re impossible,” he shot back, but his eyes flicked to your lips, and your breath caught.

The argument spiraled, as it always did, a flurry of insults and jabs. But then he said something that stopped you cold.

“You act like you’ve got it all figured out, Y/N, but you’re all talk. Bet you’ve never even—” He cut himself off, his eyes narrowing as if he’d just realized something. “Wait. Have you never been kissed before?”

Your face went scarlet. You had been kissed—once, in third year, a clumsy, awkward thing that left you embarrassed and the boy in question avoiding you for weeks. It wasn’t something you advertised, but it wasn’t nothing. Still, Fred’s words hit a nerve, and you hated how exposed you felt.

“That’s none of your business,” you snapped, turning to leave.

But he grabbed your wrist, gently, pulling you back. “Hang on. I didn’t mean—Merlin, Y/N, I was just taking the piss. But… really?”

You yanked your wrist free, glaring. “I’ve been kissed, Weasley. Not that you’d know what a good one feels like.”

His smirk returned, but there was something softer in his eyes. “Is that a challenge?”

Your heart stuttered. The music pulsed, the crowd a distant blur. He was too close, his voice too low, his gaze too intense. “You wouldn’t dare,” you said, but it came out weaker than you meant.

“Wouldn’t I?” he murmured, stepping closer. And then, before you could process it, his hand was on your cheek, his lips brushing yours—soft at first, tentative, then deeper, like he was pouring every unspoken word into it. It wasn’t your first kiss, but it was the first that mattered. The first that felt like fire, like magic, like him.

When he pulled back, you were breathless, your mind a mess. The song was still playing, its jealous edge mirroring the chaos in your chest. Fred looked as stunned as you felt, his eyes wide, his usual bravado gone.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered. “That was…”

“Don’t,” you said, stepping back, your voice shaky. “This doesn’t change anything.”

But it did. And you both knew it.

—

The next week was torture. You avoided Fred, but every time you saw him—across the Great Hall, in the common room, joking with George—your heart did that stupid flip. He didn’t push, didn’t tease, just watched you with a look that made your skin burn.

One night, after a particularly brutal DADA lesson with Umbridge, you found him in an empty corridor, testing a new prank product. He looked up, and before you could bolt, he said, “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Bullshit.” He stepped closer, his voice low. “You felt it too. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

You wanted to deny it, to throw it back in his face, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you kissed him again, hard and desperate, and he kissed you back like he’d been waiting for it his whole life.

It was a secret after that—stolen moments in empty classrooms, hushed arguments that turned into kisses, your heart a tangle of fear and want. You didn’t tell Ron, couldn’t bear the thought of him finding out. He’d never understand why you, of all people, fell for his brother.

But secrets don’t stay hidden at Hogwarts. One night, Ron caught you and Fred in the common room, too close, too obvious. His face went from confusion to betrayal in seconds.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded, his voice shaking.

You froze, Fred’s hand still on your arm. “Ron, I—”

“You’re with him?” Ron’s eyes darted to Fred, then back to you. “After all the crap you’ve said about him?”

Fred stepped forward. “Mate, listen—”

“Don’t,” Ron snapped, storming out.

You stood there, heart pounding, the music from that night echoing in your mind. Fred squeezed your hand. “We’ll figure it out,” he said softly.

But as you watched Ron disappear, you weren’t so sure.

—

The Gryffindor common room was quiet, save for the crackle of the dying fire and the distant howl of wind against the castle walls. It was late—too late for anyone to be up, but you couldn’t sleep. Not after Ron had seen you and Fred, his face twisting from confusion to something raw and betrayed. You sat on the edge of a worn armchair, staring at the embers, your heart a tangled knot of guilt and defiance.

Fred was beside you, uncharacteristically still, his usual swagger replaced by a tense silence. He’d tried to follow Ron after the outburst, but you’d stopped him. This was your mess to fix—Ron was your friend, and you owed him an explanation. But what could you say? That the one person you swore you hated had somehow become the one you couldn’t stop thinking about? That every argument, every glare, had been hiding something you were too stubborn to admit?

The portrait hole swung open, and Ron stormed in, his face still flushed, his eyes blazing. He stopped short when he saw you and Fred, his gaze flicking between you like he was trying to solve a puzzle that made no sense.

“Ron,” you started, standing up, but he cut you off.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice low but sharp enough to cut. “Just… don’t. How long has this been going on?” His eyes locked on yours, and the hurt in them made your chest ache.

You opened your mouth, but the words stuck. Fred stepped forward, his hand brushing yours as if to steady you. “A few weeks,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “It wasn’t planned, mate. It just… happened.”

Ron laughed, a bitter sound that didn’t suit him. “Happened? You’re my brother, Fred, and you—” He turned to you, his expression softening just a fraction, but the anger was still there. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. You hated him. You told me a hundred times how much you couldn’t stand him. And now you’re—what? Sneaking around behind my back?”

Your face burned, the weight of his words sinking in. You were stubborn, independent, the girl who didn’t need anyone’s approval—but Ron’s disappointment hit harder than you expected. “I didn’t mean to lie,” you said, your voice quieter than you wanted. “I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t even know what this was until it was too late.”

Ron ran a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps. “Too late? Merlin, Y/N, you could’ve told me. Instead, I find out by walking in on you two—” He gestured vaguely, his face twisting like he couldn’t even say it. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

Fred’s jaw tightened. “Ron, listen. I know you’re pissed, but this isn’t about you. It’s about us.” He glanced at you, and for a moment, the firelight caught the softness in his eyes, the kind he only showed when no one else was looking.

Ron stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s you, Fred. You’re my brother, and you’re… you. You prank people, you break rules, you leave a trail of chaos everywhere you go. And she—” He pointed at you, his voice breaking. “She’s too good for that. She deserves better.”

The words stung, not because they were true, but because they echoed the doubts you’d been fighting since that night at the party. Fred was chaos, a wildfire you couldn’t control. But he was also the only one who saw through your walls, who matched your stubbornness with his own, who made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t before.

Fred’s hand clenched into a fist, but his voice stayed steady. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t spent every day wondering why the hell she’d even look at me?” He stepped closer to Ron, his height making him seem older, more serious. “But I’m not playing her, Ron. This isn’t a game.”

Ron stared at him, then at you, his eyes searching for something—reassurance, maybe, or proof that this wasn’t a mistake. You wanted to give it to him, but your own heart was a mess of fear and want, and all you could do was stand there, caught between the two brothers.

“I need time,” Ron said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t… I can’t deal with this right now.” He turned and headed for the boys’ dormitory, the portrait hole swinging shut behind him.

You sank back into the armchair, your hands covering your face. Fred sat on the armrest, close but not touching, like he wasn’t sure if you wanted him to. “He’ll come around,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

You looked up at him, your throat tight. “What if he doesn’t? He’s my best friend, Fred. I can’t lose him.”

Fred’s eyes softened, and he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You won’t. Ron’s stubborn, but he’s not stupid. He just needs to get over the shock of his best mate snogging his brother.”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound shaky. “You’re awful.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” he said, his grin returning, though it was softer, almost hesitant. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

You met his gaze, the memory of that first kiss flooding back—the music, the heat, the way it felt like the world had tilted. “I haven’t,” you said, and the words felt like a confession.

He leaned down, kissing you softly, and for a moment, the world was just the two of you, the fire’s warmth, and the quiet promise of something real.

—

The next few weeks were a tightrope. Ron barely spoke to you, his silences heavy with unspoken hurt. You threw yourself into DA meetings, channeling your frustration into spells and strategy, but every time you saw Ron across the room, wand raised, his jaw set, guilt twisted in your gut. Fred, meanwhile, was a constant—slipping you notes in the common room, stealing kisses in the shadows of the library, his presence a reminder that you’d chosen this, chosen him.

The breaking point came during a DA meeting in the Room of Requirement. Umbridge’s decrees had tightened, and the group was practicing defensive spells, the air thick with tension and the unspoken fear of what was coming. You were paired with Ron, casting Protego against his Stunning Spells, but his aim was sloppy, his focus elsewhere.

“Ron, come on,” you said, lowering your wand. “You’re not even trying.”

He glared at you, his wand still raised. “Maybe I don’t feel like helping you and Fred play happy couple.”

The room went quiet, heads turning. Harry, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow but stayed out of it. You felt Fred’s presence across the room, his eyes on you, but you kept your focus on Ron. Fred gave everyone in the room a look reminding them to mind their own business.

“That’s not fair,” you said, your voice low but firm. “You’re mad, I get it. But shutting me out isn’t going to fix anything.”

Ron’s face reddened. “You lied to me, Y/N. You and Fred, sneaking around like I’m some idiot who wouldn’t notice. How am I supposed to trust you?”

Your temper flared, but you forced it down. “I didn’t lie. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t even know what I felt until it was too much to ignore.” You stepped closer, your voice softening. “You’re my best friend, Ron. I’d never hurt you on purpose.”

He looked away, his jaw tight, but you could see the fight draining out of him. “It’s just… weird. You and Fred. He’s my brother, and you’re… you. I thought you hated him.”

“I did,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Or I thought I did. Turns out, he’s not so awful.”

Fred, who’d been pretending not to listen, snorted from across the room. “High praise, love.”

You shot him a glare, but there was no heat in it. Ron looked between you, his expression softening, though he still looked like he’d swallowed a sour Bertie Bott’s bean.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said finally, his voice low. “Fred’s… Fred. He’s not exactly known for being serious.”

Fred walked over, his usual grin replaced by something steadier. “I’m serious about her,” he said, his eyes on Ron. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Ron studied him, then you, and something shifted in his gaze-acceptance, maybe, or at least the start of it. “Fine,” he said, exhaling sharply. “But if you break her heart, I’ll hex you into next week. Brother or not.”

Fred’s grin returned, full force. “Deal.”

—

The resolution wasn’t instant. Ron was awkward for days, his conversations with you stilted, but he stopped avoiding you. You caught him watching you and Fred sometimes, his expression a mix of curiosity and resignation, but he didn’t pull away again.

The real turning point came during a chaotic night in the Great Hall. Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad had raided a DA meeting, and you, Fred, and Ron ended up in detention together, scrubbing cauldrons under Filch’s gleeful supervision. Fred, predictably, turned it into a game, flicking soap suds at you when Filch wasn’t looking. You retaliated, splashing him with water, and soon you were both laughing, your hands brushing as you reached for the same sponge.

Ron groaned, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. “You two are disgusting.”

You froze, expecting another argument, but Fred just grinned. “Jealous, Ronniekins?”

Ron rolled his eyes, but he flicked a sud at Fred, and for the first time in weeks, the three of you were laughing together, the tension melting into something warmer, something familiar.

Later, as you walked back to the common room, Fred’s hand in yours, Ron fell into step beside you. “You’re still a git,” he said to Fred, but his tone was lighter.

“And you’re still a prat,” Fred shot back, but he squeezed your hand, his eyes warm.

Ron glanced at you, his expression softening. “You’re happy, yeah?”

You nodded, your throat tight. “Yeah. Really happy.”

He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Then I guess I’ll live with it.”

—

The Burrow was a riot of warmth and chaos, its crooked walls humming with the energy of summer. The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and lavender, the garden buzzed with gnomes scurrying through the overgrown grass, and every room seemed to creak with the weight of Weasley family life. You’d been invited to spend two weeks here before sixth year, a gesture from Ron to mend the lingering awkwardness between you after he’d caught you and Fred together. But now, standing in the cluttered living room with your trunk at your feet, you realized this was going to be harder than you thought.

Keeping your relationship with Fred a secret from Molly Weasley was like trying to hide a Firework from Filch. She had a sixth sense for mischief, and you and Fred were walking a dangerous line. The plan was simple: act normal, no touching, no lingering looks, and definitely no sneaking off. Ron had made it clear he wasn’t going to cover for you if his mum got suspicious. “I’m not lying to her,” he’d muttered on the train ride home. “She’ll have my head.”

You glanced at Fred across the room, where he was helping George levitate a stack of old Quidditch Weekly magazines to clear space. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair a mess of red catching the sunlight streaming through the window, and when he caught your eye, he winked. Your stomach flipped, and you quickly looked away, your cheeks burning. Merlin, this is going to be impossible.

Molly bustled in, her apron dusted with flour, her wand tucked behind her ear. “Y/N, dear, you’re in Ginny’s room with Hermione,” she said, her voice warm but firm. “Boys, you’re all upstairs. No funny business, mind you.” Her eyes lingered on Fred and George, who both put on their most innocent expressions.

“No funny business here, Mum,” Fred said, his grin too wide to be trusted.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, grabbing your trunk and heading for the stairs. Ron followed, carrying Hermione’s bag, his ears red as he avoided your gaze. “This is a terrible idea,” he muttered under his breath.

“Relax,” you whispered back, though your heart was racing. “We’ve got this.”

But you didn’t. Not really.

—

The first few days were a masterclass in restraint. You and Fred were careful—too careful. You sat at opposite ends of the dinner table, where Molly piled plates high with roast potatoes and shepherd’s pie. You avoided brushing shoulders in the narrow hallways. When Fred passed you the butterbeer during a game of Exploding Snap in the garden, his fingers lingered a fraction too long, and you yanked your hand back like you’d been burned. Ron noticed, rolling his eyes, but Molly was too busy scolding George for charming the cutlery to dance to see.

At night, though, the Burrow’s creaky floors and thin walls made secrecy a nightmare. You’d lie awake in Ginny’s room, Hermione’s soft snores beside you, and hear Fred’s laugh from upstairs, low and warm, carrying through the house. It was torture, knowing he was so close but untouchable. The memory of that party kiss—the heat of his lips—kept you restless, your heart a mix of longing and fear. What if Molly found out? Would she send you home? Lock Fred in his room until school started back?

On the fourth night, you couldn’t take it anymore. You slipped out of bed, tiptoeing down the hall to the kitchen for a glass of water—or so you told yourself. The house was dark, the only light coming from the moon spilling through the windows. You froze when you heard a floorboard creak behind you.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Fred’s voice was low, teasing, but there was something softer in it, like he’d been waiting for this.

You turned, your breath catching. He was leaning against the doorway, wearing a faded Weird Sisters T-shirt and pajama bottoms, his hair sticking up at odd angles. The moonlight made his eyes glint, and for a moment, you forgot how to speak.

“Keep your voice down,” you hissed, but your heart wasn’t in it. “If your mum catches us—”

“She’s snoring loud enough to wake a dragon,” he said, stepping closer. “We’re safe.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Safe? You’re about as safe as a Blast-Ended Skrewt.”

He grinned, closing the distance between you. “And yet, here you are.”

Before you could retort, he kissed you—soft at first, then deeper, his hands finding your waist. It was reckless, standing in the middle of the Weasley kitchen where anyone could walk in, but you melted into him, the world narrowing to his warmth, his heartbeat, the faint taste of peppermint on his lips.

A loud creak from upstairs made you both jump apart, your heart pounding. You held your breath, listening, but no one came. Fred chuckled softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Close call.”

“You’re going to get us caught,” you whispered, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

“Worth it,” he murmured, stealing one more quick kiss before stepping back. “Go to bed, love. Before I do something really stupid.”

You rolled your eyes but headed back to Ginny’s room, your pulse still racing. The Burrow felt alive with secrets, and you were starting to think you’d never survive two weeks.

—

It happened on the seventh day, during a chaotic Weasley family Quidditch match in the orchard. The sky was a brilliant blue, the air thick with summer heat and the shouts of Ron, Ginny, and George as they zoomed around on brooms. You were on the ground, ostensibly keeping score with Hermione, but mostly watching Fred. He was a blur of red hair and laughter, dodging Bludgers with effortless grace, his grin infectious as he taunted Ron mid-air.

“Nice dive, Ronniekins!” he shouted as Ron fumbled a catch. “Maybe try using your hands next time!”

You laughed, and Fred’s eyes flicked to you, his smile softening for just a second. It was a mistake. Molly, who’d been setting up a picnic table nearby, caught the look. You saw her pause, her hands stilling on the tablecloth, her eyes narrowing as they darted between you and Fred.

Your stomach dropped. “Hermione,” you whispered, nudging her. “She’s onto us.”

Hermione glanced over, her expression a mix of sympathy and alarm. “Oh no. Just… act normal.”

But normal was impossible when Fred landed a few minutes later, sweaty and grinning, and tossed you a water bottle. “Stay hydrated, love,” he said, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

Molly’s head snapped up like a hawk spotting prey. “Fred Gideon Weasley,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “What did you just call her?”

The orchard went quiet. Ron, still hovering on his broom, looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. George snorted, clearly enjoying the chaos. You felt your face heat up, your stubborn streak urging you to stand your ground, but your heart was pounding.

Fred, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “I called her love,” he said, meeting his mother’s gaze. “Because that’s what she is.”

You wanted to throttle him for being so bold, but your heart did a stupid flip at his words. Molly’s eyes widened, then flicked to you, her expression a mix of shock and something softer—concern, maybe, or realization.

“Y/N, dear,” she said, her voice softening but still firm. “Is this true?”

You swallowed, your independence warring with the urge to hide. But Fred’s hand brushed yours, a quiet anchor, and you found your voice. “Yeah,” you said, lifting your chin. “It’s true.”

Ron landed with a thud, muttering, “Here we go.”

Molly’s mouth opened, then closed. She looked at Fred, then you, then back at Fred, her hands on her hips. “And you thought you could keep this from me? In my own house?”

“We weren’t sure how you’d take it,” you said, your voice steady despite the nerves. “Didn’t want to make things weird.”

“Weird?” Molly’s voice rose, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re sneaking around under my roof, and you think that’s not weird?” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Merlin’s beard, you two. I raised seven children—I know when something’s going on.”

Fred grinned, undeterred. “So you’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m mad,” Molly said, pointing a finger at him. “Mad you didn’t tell me! And you—” She turned to you, her expression softening. “Y/N, you’re practically family already, but you’re still a guest in my home. I expect honesty. And no sneaking off to the broom shed, understand?”

Your face burned, but you nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Weasley.”

She huffed, then pulled you into a sudden, bone-crushing hug. “Oh, come here. If you’re going to be with my Fred, you’d better get used to this.”

Fred laughed, but there was relief in his eyes as he met yours over his mother’s shoulder. Ron, still hovering nearby, groaned. “Can we go back to Quidditch now? This is too much.”

George zoomed down, clapping Fred on the back. “Told you she’d figure it out. Mum’s got eyes like a Niffler.”

The rest of the day was a blur of Molly’s overbearing warmth—she insisted on setting an extra place for you at the table, as if you were officially part of the family now—and Fred’s teasing, his hand finding yours under the table when no one was looking. The Burrow’s chaos wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and as you sat in the garden that night, Fred’s arm around you, Ron bickering with George, and Molly’s laughter drifting from the kitchen, you realized you’d found something you hadn’t known you were looking for.

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tags: @lydiascabinsix @lydiasfalling @laufeysvalentine

[malfoysanctuary]

Only Ever You

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: You weren’t supposed to care about Fred Weasley. But the moment you saw through him, the moment you refused to play along with the act… was the moment he knew he’d never want to be seen by anyone else but you.

You met Fred Weasley in the middle of your third year and thought two things:

He was too loud.

He was too pretty to be that loud.

The moment you stepped into the common room and locked eyes with two identical smirks, you knew you were being set up. A twin trap. A classic Hogwarts welcome.

“Y/n, right?” said the one on the left. “I’m Fred.”

“No, I’m Fred,” said the one on the right. “He’s George. You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

They both grinned. Cocky. Sure of themselves. And for good reason—every girl in Gryffindor tower seemed to melt when they walked into a room.

But you weren’t most girls.

You tilted your head, studying them. George’s tie was slightly looser. Fred had a freckle near his jaw you’d noticed once during breakfast. And George’s left shoe had a charmed dragon biting its own tail.

You smirked. “You’re Fred,” you said confidently, pointing at the right one. “And you’re George. Terrible attempt. Zero points for originality.”

Fred blinked.

George blinked.

You turned on your heel and walked away without waiting for a reaction.

And Fred—Fred didn’t stop thinking about you for days.

You were the first person who didn’t fall for it.

He hated how much he loved that.

The weeks that followed became a blur of accidental hallway run-ins and not-so-accidental stolen glances. You pretended not to notice that Fred Weasley had suddenly developed a habit of sitting closer to you in the common room, or how he always seemed to appear when Peeves locked you in a classroom or a stairwell decided to change mid-step.

Fred, for his part, was struggling.

He didn’t know how to flirt with someone who didn’t react the way everyone else did. When he teased you, you teased back—sharper, wittier, often winning. When he tried to get a laugh, you offered him a half-smile and returned to your book, leaving his heart racing and his ego bruised.

George had to physically slap him out of his daydreams at least twice a week.

“She doesn’t even like me,” Fred muttered one night.

“She doesn’t need to like you,” George said. “She sees you. There’s a difference.”

That was the problem, really.

You saw too much.

The turning point came during a Hogsmeade trip. The group was large—half of Gryffindor house bundled in scarves and gloves, heading for butterbeer and chaos. You and Fred had somehow ended up beside each other, your gloved hands occasionally brushing. Every time it happened, he tried to play it off like nothing. But you felt it. The tension. The spark.

“You alright there, Weasley?” you asked as he stumbled over a snow-covered root.

“Me? Perfect,” he said with forced bravado. “Just overwhelmed by your presence. It’s rather distracting.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched.

“I’d offer to tone it down,” you said dryly, “but it’d be a lie.”

Fred laughed—head thrown back, full and unguarded. And you felt it. A real laugh. Not a joke, not a mask.

Just him.

Later that day, after too much butterbeer and a shared peppermint stick between you both (Fred offered the other half and you hadn’t even hesitated), you found yourselves separated from the group in Zonko’s.

He watched as you examined an enchanted snow globe that made soft music when shaken.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I like quiet magic,” you said softly. “The kind that doesn’t shout to be seen.”

He stared at you like he was trying to memorize every syllable.

“I think I like that kind of magic too,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

He kissed you for the first time weeks later.

You were studying alone in the Astronomy Tower, the rest of the school either asleep or wreaking havoc below. He found you with a blanket wrapped around your legs, quill between your teeth, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, sitting beside you.

“You never do.”

“Not since I started thinking about you.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

You turned your head slowly, watching him.

Fred was all bravado and light—but his eyes were dark, earnest. He didn’t mean for it to sound like a confession, but it was. You both knew it.

He reached up and gently plucked the quill from your mouth.

“You’re the only person who ever looks at me like I’m not a punchline,” he said.

And then—slowly, carefully—he leaned in and kissed you. Soft. Unhurried. Like he was giving you time to pull away.

You didn’t.

You kissed him back, fingers curling into the collar of his jumper, the Astronomy Tower forgotten.

From that moment on, everything changed. But quietly.

He never made a show of it. He didn’t brag to the others, didn’t claim you like a prize. Instead, he touched you in soft ways—pinkies brushing in the corridor, a hand steadying your waist on the moving staircases, his scarf wrapped loosely around your neck when the wind got too bitter.

You caught him staring sometimes. During meals. During study. During Quidditch practice when he was supposed to be watching the Bludgers and not the girl with her nose in a book on the sidelines.

“What?” you asked one evening, catching him watching you as you read by the fire.

“Just thinking,” he said.

“About?”

“How you ruined my favorite prank,” he said with a grin.

You raised a brow.

“And how that somehow made me fall in love with you.”

Your stomach flipped.

And then flipped again.

You closed the book, set it down carefully, and leaned toward him.

“You don’t fall in love with skeptics,” you said.

“You do when they’re right,” he murmured, brushing his lips against your jaw.

You didn’t speak for a long time after that.

Words weren’t needed.

There were moments—quiet ones—that broke you open in the best way.

Fred writing you notes on stolen scraps of parchment and tucking them into your textbooks: “Page 394 is cursed. Proceed with caution.”

Fred carrying a second pair of gloves in case you forgot yours.

Fred whispering spells to warm your shoes before long walks to Hogsmeade.

Fred watching you walk into a room like he couldn’t not.

And then there were the moments you didn’t expect:

You, having a panic attack before your OWLs, pacing the library corridor with your fists clenched and tears in your eyes—and him, finding you without a word, wrapping his arms around you and resting his forehead to yours.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, love,” he’d whispered.

“I don’t like being seen like this.”

“You always see me. Let me see you.”

You’d cried into his jumper until the tears dried up, and he never once let go.

You were the one who kissed him next—under the archway by the lake, after a long day, your voice hoarse and your nerves worn thin. He pulled you close and rested his chin on your head.

“I used to think no one would ever really get me,” he whispered.

“Fred…”

“But you do. You saw through the act before anyone else even knew it was an act.”

You pulled back, kissed him hard, and tasted every part of the boy behind the jokes.

You didn’t say I love you that night.

But he knew.

And when he finally said it—weeks later, half-asleep, thumb brushing your knuckles as you dozed in his bed—you didn’t answer with words.

You answered by kissing the words into his skin.

Over and over again.

Fred Weasley wasn’t a boy made for stillness. He was mischief, magic, wildfire in motion.

But with you… he learned what it meant to pause.

To feel.

To fall.

And in the end, he realized—he didn’t need you to be like anyone else.

He loved you because you weren’t.

Because you saw him when no one else could.

And because the moment you saw through his twin’s game and looked straight at him… he never looked at anyone else again.

[gnarly-words]

things we don't say

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

description: after being together for three years, you'd think you and george would know everything about each other.

warning: established relationship, mentions of sex, pregnancy, vomiting, swearing

word count: 5.5k

april, 1995

you knew the twins were up to something after weeks of whispering in between meals and classes. they hadn't even done any of their usual pranks for an entire week, scaring most professors with what the weasley twins could be plotting.

the great hall was in chaos as you walked past, fireworks spiraling each which way. professor umbridge was being chased down the main aisle by a giant dragon shaped firework, the fifth years that were taking their owls doubling over in laughter. two bodies flew above the chaos, a streak of fireworks following behind their broomsticks. they lead the crowds out into the courtyard, shooting one final explosion of fireworks above them.

you stood frozen at the edge of the crowd, your heart in your throat as you watched the twins cheer on the roaring students. fred and george were sailing off, having staged the most glorious departure hogwarts had ever seen. and he didn't even tell you. you'd spent that very morning discussing your next hogsmeade trip over breakfast, having begged fred to let you and george finally have some alone time.

he caught your eye as they did one final swoop over the crowd, giving you a cheeky wink and smirk. you couldn't give him the same energy back, the shock of their departure still present on your face. you wished you hadn't waited so long to go to madam pomfrey, or to work up the courage to tell someone your fears. maybe the twins wouldn't have left so soon and would be there for you to lean on.

your vision grew blurry as tears welled up in your eyes. you walked away before anyone could see, wiping your face and walking straight back to the common room. your bed was still in the state of disarray that you'd left it earlier that morning when you'd ran to the bathroom to vomit. your half written letter to your parents was abandoned on your dresser, where it would remain for another week.

you barely left your bed for the rest of the day, katie only trying once to get you to come down for dinner before she gave up at the quiet sobs she could hear through your curtains. your other dorm mates weren't brave enough to try and bother you, remembering your outburst when they'd tried to wake you up early to sneak out and watch the sunrise during the winter break.

you slipped the small vial from your pocket, glaring as it glowed at you mockingly. pomfrey's words as she handed you the vial repeated over and over in you head; "pink means positive, blue means negative."

you always hated pink.

the days seemed to drag after the twins' departure, umbridge's reign of terror just getting worse. more rules were put into place, the inquisitor squad gaining more power. the new status seemed to go straight to malfoy and co's heads. you couldn't count how many times you'd found them harassing some poor first years and getting them into detention with umbridge.

you felt powerless against them, not having the usual protection of the twins that gave you the confidence to confront the slytherin. malfoy knew this and took full advantage of your new vulnerability whenever you tried to help the younger students. your hands were marred with countless scars, words overlapping one another, unintelligible.

madam pomfrey grew more and more worried each time you'd visit to get a balm to heal the wounds. she was still the only person in the whole school to know of your secret, only keeping her promise of not telling mcgonagall as you'd agreed to visit her weekly for check ups. katie, alicia and angelina had started to grow suspicious after the third weekly check up, cornering you in the common room after you'd come back one day.

"are you sick?" angelina bluntly asked.

"n-no?" you almost asked back, still shocked by having been lifted off your feet and carried to the quiet corner by the three girls.

"then what the fuck is up?" katie crossed her arms, the youngest seeming to have the biggest reaction to your visits.

"it's nothing. just drop it." you looked down at your feet, knowing full well if you looked at the trio you'd break down and tell them everything.

"is it umbridge? i know you've been getting detention but not every week." alicia lent against the wall beside you, her tall stature making you curl in on yourself.

"we're worried, y/n." angelina's worried eyes made you crack, tears welling up in your eyes.

"oh god." katie was the first to pull you in for an embrace.

"look what you did." angelina shoved the brunette chaser.

"me? you were the one going all mama bear on her." alicia shoved the girl back, the two squabbling like siblings as they covered your shaking form still in katie's arms.

"uhh, katie? why are you trying to suffocate y/n?" ron's voice broke through the girl's attempts at comforting you, the three jumping back to reveal your sobbing form to your brother-in-law. "bloody hell. what did you do?"

he pulled you in for a tight embrace, his familiar scent bringing you a small bit of comfort that you'd missed since george had left. that familiar weasley scent of their mother's baking that seemed to cling to all of their clothes, like molly had magicked them so they would always have a part of home with them.

"i'm okay, ron." you sniffled, pulling away reluctantly from the boy. "i'm just emotional cause of my period."

"oh, okay. right." ron's cheeks blushed furiously, his ears almost going the same colour as his hair. "do you need anything?"

the boy looked over his shoulder, his eyes searching for harry or hermione so he could escape the awkward situation he'd put himself in. you chuckled at his attempts, pushing him towards where the other halves of his trio had walked into the common room.

"i'm fine, ron. go relax before hermione starts badgering you to study." you waved the ginger boy off, smiling as the curly haired girl did exactly as you said she would and dragged him over to an empty table to study.

you sighed as you turned back to your trio of friends, their worried eyes still staring through you. grabbing angelina's wrist, you began dragging her up towards your dorms. you prayed that the other two got the message and would follow you up, their footsteps falling heavy against the steps as they ran to catch up.

you fell heavily onto your bed with a sigh, pulling the still glowing vial out of your dresser and setting it down on your bed. the trio of girl stared down at it in confusion, reminding you that all three had dropped potions after nearly failing their owl exams.

"are we supposed to know why that's glowing?" alicia whispered not so quietly to katie, who shrugged whilst racking her brain for what the potion could be.

"is it a love potion?" angelina picked up the vial, twirling it between her fingers before shaking it. "i thought they were clear."

"it's not a love potion." you took the vial from her hands, setting it down in your lap.

"then what is it?" alicia asked softly, sitting down at the edge of your bed.

you started down at the pink glow, finger trembling as you fiddled with the remnants of the small label you'd ripped off. you couldn't look up at them. what would they think of you when they found out?

"madam pomfrey gave it to me. said it was easier than casting a charm, less magic exposure.” you shrugged, hoping you wouldn't have to say the words out loud.

“exposure to what? you're in a bloody school for witchcraft ad wizardry.” katie asked, blinking slowly and sharing an equally confused look with alicia.

"to the uh... to the baby." you mumbled, refusing to look them in the eye.

angelina's mouth dropped open slightly, her eyes bulging out of her head as she turned to look at the other two. their faces held looks of equal shock and disbelief, each looking to the others to be the first to speak.

"you don't have to say anything. i just needed to tell someone before it went too far." you sighed, falling back into your pillows.

the three girls continued to share confused looks, each trying to get the other to be the first to speak. angelina glared at the younger duo that had seemed to decide that she was picking the short straw.

"are you uhm... are you gonna keep it?" angelina winced as she spoke, not meaning for her words to come out so harshly.

"i have no fucking clue." you groaned, rolling over to plant your face in your pillow. "he doesn't even know."

"what?" the trio asked in unison, angelina ripping the pillow off of your face.

"how have you not told him? you tell each other everything. it's annoying." katie gagged jokingly as she thought of you and george's relationship.

"i only found out the day before he left." you mumbled, rolling onto your side to face your friends. "he didn't exactly give me much time to tell him."

"he's gonna freak when you tell him." alicia chuckled, sitting down on the edge of the bed in between the other two girls.

"if i tell him." you shrug, already plotting how you were going to hide this from everyone at hogwarts.

"how exactly would you do that, exactly? aren't you staying with him over the summer." angelina stared down at you, a concerned look on her face.

"shit." you sighed, dropping back into your pillows, wishing they would swallow you up and let you escape the situation you'd found yourself in.

july, 1995

the crowds of king's cross came into view as they train pulled into the station. you sighed as you spotted the crowd of ginger that had formed near your parents. it seemed you wouldn't be making a quick escape without at least saying hi to the weasley bunch. you followed katie off of the train, waving her off as she rushed to greet her own parents.

you grimaced as the twins waved enthusiastically as they spotted you approaching, fred pushing his brother forward to hug you first. the tall boy scooped you up into his arms, twirling you both around as he peppered light kisses into the crook of your neck. his kisses trailed up to your face, pressing one final firm kiss to your lips.

"hi, georgie." you giggled, finally setting your feet back onto the ground, trying and failing to pull away from him arms.

"oi. i haven't seen you in three months, you're not escaping me that easily, love." he pouted down at you, keeping his arms wrapped around your shoulders as he walked you over to your families.

"and who's fault is that?" you glared jokingly at him, giggling as his spare hand tickled your waist.

"y/n/n!" fred shoved his brother away from you, pulling you into an equally bone crushing hug.

"hi, freddie!" you gasped, pushing the boy away as his arms tightened around you.

"oi! let the girl breath!" george pushed his twin's arms away and bringing you back into his arms.

"you both let the girl breath." mrs weasley rolled her eyes, pushing her sons away from you to pull you into a warm hug. "y/n, dear. how are you?"

"i'm good, mrs weasley." you sighed, enjoying as much molly hug time as you could get.

"three years you've been dating my son. it's molly to you." she raised her eyebrow at you, smiling as she pushed you over to your parents.

you smiled as you parents pulled you into a group hug, your mother whispering in your ear, "did you still want to come back with us?"

you nodded against her shoulder, pulling away with a worried expression. she gave you a questioning look, knowing you'd been looking forward to your stay at the burrow since george had suggested it during the winter break.

"we forgot to say, y/n's coming with us to france for the summer. sorry we didn't tell you sooner, molly. i hope you didn't have too much planned for her stay." your mother pulled you into her side, sensing you needed her comfort in that moment.

"oh, that's alright. is everything okay, y/n, dear?" molly's gaze was piercing, her knowing

"y-yeah. i just wanted to spend some time with dad’s family. i haven't seen them in a while." you smiled awkwardly, trying your hardest to ignore the twins' confused looks.

your father spoke to the side with arthur, their conversation too quiet for you to hear but you heard the words "order" and "meetings" and knew better than to ask. your trio waved the weasleys off as you all reached the entrance of the platform, george stepping forward to wish you farewell. you fell behind your parents' steps walking to meet the boy.

"why didn't you tell me you weren't coming with us?" george pulled you into his arms, his confusion not seeming to out way his love and care for you.

"why didn't you tell me you were leaving early to open your shop?" you huffed, burying your face into his chest.

"touche." he chuckled, pulling away to look at your face. "are you okay?"

"what? of course i am, georgie." you smiled, confused where the boy was going with his question.

"ron mentioned something about you crying a lot right after we left." he caressed the side of your face gently, a worried look in his eyes.

"little tattle." you scoffed, knowing the youngest weasley boy was just trying to bed helpful but still resenting his kindness. "i'm fine, georgie. we're fine. i just missed you."

"you missed me?" a wide grin spread across the boy's face, a teasing look in his eyes. "you missed me like a sad little puppy, admit it.”

"george." you groaned, burying your head into his chest again to escape his teasing.

you couldn't stop smiling as you looked up at him. your smile faltered as you remembered the reason you wouldn't be spending the summer together. you knew you should tell him, it wasn't something that could be written in a letter. but looking up at his face, you couldn't break the happiness that was radiating off of him.

"i'll write you as often as i can." you smiled, kissing his cheek lightly.

"you'd better. remember, i'm not the one that failed their apparation exam." george teased, grinning as you rolled your eyes.

"whatever. i'll come visit you at the shop when i go to get my supplies." you smiled, leaning up onto your toes to press your lips together.

"y/n! hurry up! the portkey is almost open!" your father shouted for you, making the two of you jump apart.

you smiled awkwardly at your boyfriend, giving him one final hug before running to catch up with your parents. the pair were stood next to an umbrella, your mother already opening her arm to pull you into her side

"shit, my bags." you hissed, starting to rush to get your bag from the platform attendants.

"your father already had them sent ahead with kippey." your mother rolled her eyes, still not used to her husband's pureblooded tendencies that he'd been brought up with.

"she wanted to be useful as she's gonna be stuck at home for a month." your father scoffed at your mother, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "right, you ready, y/n?"

you nodded, placing your hand on the umbrella and waiting for the familiar twisting feeling. the world warped around you, your head feeling like it was being turned inside out. you landed softly in your back garden, stumbling as thew world stopped spinning.

your stomach churned as you tried to steady yourself, the feeling of your breakfast coming back up sending you running to the small stream at the bottom of the garden. you barely made it to the water before you were hunching over and heaving up the contents of your stomach. your head pounded as you curled up into a small ball beside the stream, your vision turning black as your parents raced to reach your slumped form.

the blinding lights was the first thing you saw as you peeled your eyes open. your parents were outside in the hallway, worriedly talking to a doctor outside. their eyes lit up as they saw your eyes groggily looking round the room, racing to open the door and reach your side. 

“mum?” you croaked, reaching for her hand as she landed at your side. 

“hi, sweetheart.” she smiled, tears in her eyes. 

“are we at st mungo’s?” you looked around, not recognising the room you were in. 

“we’re at the muggle hospital near ours.” your father smiled from your other side. “mrs anderson saw you collapse and called an ambulance.”

you nodded, remembering the elderly lady from next door often looking out for you whenever you’d run too close to the road or the stream. your parents shared a worried look over you, a silent conversation happening above you. 

“kiddo, the doctors ran some tests.” your father started, stopping as he didn’t know how to ask you the question they both wished to be answered. 

“did you know?” your mother beat him to punch, her eyes drifting from her lap to your stomach. 

“i’m sorry, mum. i’m so sorry.” tears formed in your eyes, a sob building in your throat as you felt the disappointed speech coming. 

“we’re not mad, sweetheart. we’re just worried.” you mother cradled your face gently, wiping the tears that had run down your face. 

“how long have you known?” your father sat on the edge of the bed, cradling your hand between both of his own larger ones. 

“since george left.” you mumbled, gripping their hands tightly.

“jesus, kiddo.” your father sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “does he know?”

“n-no. i didn’t know how to tell him and by the time i’d worked up the courage, he and fred were flying off.” you hiccuped as you spoke, all of the emotions you’d been bottling up bubbling to the surface at once. 

“okay, it’s okay. calm down, sweetheart. the doctor said you should avoid too much stress.” your mother pulled you into a hug, allowing you to sob into her shoulder. 

the doctor walked into the room as you were still in your mother’s arms, your sobbing quietening into silent tears sliding down your face. 

“hi, y/n. i’m dr. lee.” the doctor sat down in the free chair by your bed, a chart in hand. “we ran a few tests whilst you were unconscious. i’m sure your parents have told you the biggest surprise but we need to discuss a plan with you going forward.”

you nodded your head, pulling away from your mother to face the doctor directly. you could see the pity behind her eyes, a small reassuring smile breaking through the obvious emotions she was truly feeling. 

“we did an ultrasound and it looks like your about twenty one weeks along. it would put you at a due of around december twentieth.” dr lee read from the chart, her eyes briefly looking up at you. “everything looks good with baby and they are perfectly healthy for their age.”

you sighed slightly in relief, knowing full well that you had not been eating enough to sustain both yourself and the baby at hogwarts. katie had begun sneaking food out of the kitchens for you but you hadn’t wanted to burden her at almost three in the morning when you were craving pumpkin pasties. 

“your parents said you were on your way back from boarding school when you collapsed. is there anything that could’ve triggered it?” you shared a look with your parents, worried how to respond without revealing anything wizard related to the muggle doctor. 

“we live down a lot of country roads. y/n’s always had a bit of a weak stomach from motion sickness.” your mother smiled, only half lying as you did often have to keep your head out of the window if your father decided to drive home. 

“and have you been eating and drinking enough? we had to give you two iv bags.” dr. lee flipped through her chart once more. 

“we’ve had some end of year exams. i guess i might’ve skipped a few meals by accident to study.” you grimaced remembering that it was far more than a few, specifically breakfast almost every morning. 

“you’ll need to make sure your keeping your fluid and food intake up when you go back in september. you’ll find you’re going to be needing more fuel the further into your pregnancy you get.” dr. lee wrote something on a slip of paper, passing the slip to your father. “i’ve wrote you a prescription for all of the vitamins you need to start taking. we can schedule a follow up appointment when you leave at the front desk.”

dr. lee smiled at your family, standing and leaving the room with a small wave to you. your parents exchanged a look once more, your father sighing as he lost the mental battle they were having. 

“we want you to stay with us and finish your final year from home.” he sighed, already seeing the rage brewing behind your eyes. 

“why? madam pomfrey said she could set everything up so that i can finish the year.” you looked between your parents confused, realisation dawning on you as you remembered your father’s conversation with mr. weasley. “this isn’t just about the baby. this is about the death eaters isn’t it?”

"we'll talk more when we get home." your father sighed again, standing to get the discharge papers from the front desk. "i'll meet you out by the car."

you remained in silence, your eyes following as he left the room. your mother remained sat twiddling her thumbs, her eyes not meeting your own.

"is dad mad at me?" your lip wobbled once more, the tears already flowing before you could stop them, internally cursing the new surplus of hormones coursing through your body.

"i think it's just a lot right now, sweetheart. the ministry has been asking him to help out more and he might have to come out of retirement fully." your mother placed a reassuring hand on your own.

"i didn't realise it was getting that bad." you lent back against the pillows. "i knew something had happened at the ministry a few weeks ago with harry but i didn't know how bad it was."

"you don't need to worry about any of that right now, y/n/n. we need to focus on you and this baby, okay?" she smiled at you reassuringly, leaning down to grab a set of clothes for you from her handbag.

“okay, mum.” you nodded, accepting the clothes with a grateful smile.

august, 1995

the world seems to be laughing unforgivably at you, the summer heat heavy and unbearable. it was a record high for your hometown, with everyone either locked inside with their fans on or cooling at the local swimming pool. you were enjoying the former, lounging on your bed as two fans blasted you simultaneously with lukewarm air. you’d already gone through three separate glasses of iced drinks your mother had brought you, the ice melting within minutes of you sipping the drinks. 

you pressed a light hand against your stomach, feeling the slight bump that hadn’t been there at the start of the summer break. dr. lee had assured you that the smaller than usual bump was normal in first pregnancies, especially due to your young age. you’d grown worried after not feeling the baby kick even though you were over four months pregnant. 

you had barely left your house since you’d come back from the hospital except for appointments or to go for late night walks with your dog, rufus. the trip to france had been cut short, your father’s side of the family shunning you once they found out. they are painfully uptight and traditional, whispering loudly behind closed doors whilst you’d packed to leave their toxic household. 

you father had almost hexed his own sister after she’d suggested abandoning you, your mother being the only thing standing between him and a long stay at azkaban. your parents didn’t say a word once you’d returned home, locking themselves away in their room for a full day before they finally emerged. 

so, instead of walking the streets of the town your father grew up in and helping your grandfather out at the family vineyard, you had spent the abnormally warm summer holed up in your bedroom. the only thing that had kept you going was the constant stream of letters from george and your friends. you’d lost track of how many times you’d heard his owl, errol, smack into your bedroom window, the sound becoming almost second nature as it occurred nearly daily. 

still, after tons of letter send back and forth between you, you never found a way to work in a way of telling george. you would pick up your quill to start writing the words but they always fell flat. they never seemed right, never seemed to feel like the right way to say what needed to be said.

george's letters grew irregular in frequency once the shop had opened, but were still filled with the same warmth that his presence would give. he wrote about the troubles they were having getting their shipments approved and the buzz that diagon alley seemed to have as students going for their school supplies would always make a stop into the shop.

you felt your heart swell with pride at how successful the twins' dreams were going, remembering when their mother would throw out their inventions and tell them to focus on studying instead. you had always offered to help the twins start up their business, wanting to put some of your enormous inheritance to use. but they always refused, wanting to get the money and open their joke shop by themselves.

ding dong.

you waited with baited breath for one of your parents to move to answer the door, rufus already racing down the stairs to bark at the stranger. you cursed yourself for forgetting both of your parents were out getting your school supplies, grunting as you rose from your bed. you threw on a large top of george's you 'borrowed' before leaving your room, your parents' warnings of not letting anyone else outside the family know your secret ringing in your head.

you patted rufus on the head as you passed his happy form, opening the door with a gasp. george's broad smile beamed at you from the other side of the doorway, his arms already opening wide for you to race into. you launched yourself into his waiting arms and sighed at the familiar comfort.

"hi, georgie." you giggled, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him.

"hi, y/n/n." he smiled back down at you, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

"wait." you jerked your head back, confusion clear in his eyes. "how'd you know i'd be home?"

"i saw your parents in diagon alley, assumed you'd be home alone." george wiggled his eyebrows at you, laughing as you tried to push away from him in protest.

"hush you." you rolled your eyes, finally pushing away to drag him into the house. "now, come inside before you let all the cold air out."

you continued to drag him through your house until you reached your bedroom. you both flopped onto your bed, george instinctively pulling you into his chest. your breath hitched as his hand brushed the side of your waist, praying he wouldn't notice the new roundness of your stomach.

"how was france? you didn't say much in your letters." george rubbed his thumb against the small bit of skin exposed above your hip.

"it was alright. dad's family weren't as loving as i remember." you tried to sound nonchalant, hoping he wouldn't probe further. "guess the rose coloured glasses finally slipped."

"what's that supposed to mean?" george looked down at you, trying to see around your halo of hair to get to your eyes.

"mum always warned me of their ways. the traditional pureblooded way they want things to be." you shrugged.

"did something happen?" george was never one to jump too quickly to conclusions, but your lack of an explanation worried him.

you froze slightly in his arms, head still resting on his chest. your face was thankfully turned away from his own, grateful that he couldn't see the worry crossing your own features. the warmth that radiated off of him was usually comforting, but in that moment, it just felt suffocating.

"i told you." you murmured, keeping your face out of his probing eye line. “just some family drama. it’s not worth getting into.”

he didn’t speak at first, just simmering in his thought. you could feel the tension building in the way he held you; still gentle, but less relaxed.

“y/n. you’ve barely left the house all summer." he said quietly. “you stopped mentioning france almost immediately. and when i saw your mum and dad earlier, they looked like someone had died. you’re hiding something.”

“i’m not,” you said a little too quickly, internally wincing at your tone. “george, i’m fine. i just- i needed a quiet summer. that’s all.”

“you expect me to believe that?” george pulled back to look at you, eyes narrowing slightly.

Your jaw clenched. “Believe whatever you want.” your jaw clenched, your heightened emotions getting the better of you.

he stood suddenly, pacing once before turning to face you, running a hand through his hair.

“bloody hell, y/n " the worry etched into his features broke your heart, your hands itching to reach out and hold his. "you think i haven’t noticed how different your letters have been? shorter, less you? you’re barely even looking at me.”

you stayed seated, arms folded protectively over your stomach. you knew he was right,but admitting that you were wrong wasn't an option your mind was giving you right now.

“i didn’t ask you to come here." you said, the words sharper than you meant.

he flinched like you’d struck him. for a moment, he looked like he might step back. your eyes were already watering at the pain you'd caused him. but instead of moving away, he just exhaled, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“yeah. i can see that.” he shook his head slowly, looking down at the floor between you. “but i came anyway. because i love you and i-”

he stopped, jaw working as he swallowed whatever he’d almost said. he turned away for a second, like he needed to gather himself. he turned and faced you again, his eyes were softer now, worried but softer.

“hey.” he said, voice quiet but steady as he knelt before you. “look at me.”

you didn’t.

you couldn’t.

your gaze stayed locked on the worn quilt bunched around your legs.

“hey, love.” he gently reached out, his fingers brushing your elbow. “you don’t have to tell me everything right now. i’m not leaving, no matter what.”

your throat closed up, the tears you’d been fighting finally spilling over. a sob ripped from your chest, his arms immediately wrapping you up. he pulled you close to his chest and cradled your head in his hands.

“you don’t understand,” you whispered against his chest after your sobs had finally subsided.

“then help me understand.” his thumb traced small circles over the back of your head. “i’m not going anywhere, love. not until you tell me you want me to go.”

“it’s not- it’s not that i don’t trust you." you shook your head helplessly, fresh sobs catching in your chest. "i just… i don’t know how to say it.”

“then don’t say anything yet.” his hand slid to cup your cheek, warm and reassuring. “we’ll just sit here. i’ll stay with you. and when you’re ready, you can tell me.”

you finally looked up. hurt was still swirling in his eyes. but they held the same love that had always been there. it made your heart ache to stare into the blue depths of his eyes, knowing what you would tell him would ruin the life he was creating for himself and his brother.

“i don’t deserve you." you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek.

“that’s bollocks,” he said, a flicker of a smile breaking through. “you’re stuck with me, y/n/n. no matter what.”

and when he pulled you into his arms again, you didn’t fight it.you pressed your face to his shoulder, crying harder than you had in weeks. and he just held you, like he always had, like he always would.

[rjunhuang]

how the harry potter boys would react to you hooking up with someone else.

featuring: harry potter, ron weasley, draco malfoy, fred weasley, george weasley. part two.

warnings: lowercase intended. gender neutral reader. informal writing?? they're a bit toxic.

note: can you believe i wrote this in 2023? it was an unfinished draft featuring more characters. i might make a part two w them included. also i do NOT like draco lol so i'm a little biased when i write him. honestly send in some requests on what other prompts you'd like to see w them

divider by enchanthings | comments & reblogs are appreciated! <3

harry!  he'd highkey be so salty about it. at first, he's just completely off put and hurt by the thought of you going out with someone else. HE THOUGHT Y'ALL HAD SOMETHING GOING ON </3

his literal initial reaction would be, "oh.. montague, huh.. hm uh.." before walking away from the conversation all together.

if you're a dumbass, you'd assumed he's just incredibly awkward when it came to hearing about other people's relationships, but supportive nonetheless. oh, you're wrong though. he walked off because he had no idea whether to be angry at himself for not pulling any sooner or at you for choosing someone slimey as graham montague to swap spit with or maybe just montague himself.

the longer this fling lasted, the more comfortable harry would be about expressing his distaste on the whole relationship. he'd given you lectures about how you shouldn't like those type of slytherins. you'd probably lost track on how many times he had indirectly called montague ugly. 

he would visibly show attitude whenever montague interrupted a conversation between you two. eye rolled and scowled like crazy, but he doesn't want to step the line as he's just seen as a friend by you —

"hey, mate, can't you see i'm trying to have a chat with her?"

he'd have dreams about hexing the shit out of graham though. maybe he'd slyly done it in the middle of class when no one's looking too.

if you accuse harry of doing so, he'd simply just shrug, "don't look at me." but would add a silent, "he had it coming though." 

it's like a silent warfare between him and montague soon enough. both of them would be throwing attitude around when you're lowkey oblivious to it all. harry won, obviously, and this would be the breaking point - montague had enough of dealing with harry so he'd just ended things with you. of course, harry's going to comfort you if you do get sad about it —

"i just don't know why he'd do this out of nowhere." you sulk under the hold of harry, both sitting on an empty hallway's staircase. harry has his arm wrapped around you, rubbing your shoulder. "yeah, wonder why.."

he'd had a massive ego boost knowing he was the reason graham montague won't go near you anymore. literally would have to hide his smirk the entire time when comforting you. but he wouldn't be harry potter if he wasn't ending it with a snarky comment. he's not sure whether you'd slap or kiss him for it, but he surely wouldn't mind it being both.

once you and harry finally ended up together, the thought of montague wouldn't even cross his mind. he wouldn't care less about some random troll-looking fool. probably didn't even notice the dirty looks from montague because his eyes are on you. you had his undivided attention.

ron!  he'd thought it's some sick, twisted joke. you'd told him the news that you're hooking up with cormac and just watched ron's face morph from being mortified to plain old disgusted. regarding situations like these, i think ron is a bit emotionally immature so he definitely wouldn't react well.

it had been saturday morning and almost everyone fifth year and above were recovering from a wild friday night common room party. that was the first night you hooked up with mclaggen and this morning, on the way to the great hall, he had pulled you aside to suggest making it a common occurrence — "some fun, no need for any strings attached." were his words. you had brought this up in the table during breakfast when hermione pointed out your flushed expression. the news leaves everyone shocked, but most especially ron. hermione had opened her mouth to begin reasoning with you, "i don't thin—" "THAT'S DISGUSTING!" ron wouldn't even beat around the bush, cutting off hermione. his mouth would be full with scrambled eggs and toast since he had stopped bothering to chew the moment you mentioned the word 'hooked up'. you'd mutter back a petty, "bold coming from the git with his mouth full." obviously hurt by his words.

it only worsened from that point onwards. the beautiful friendship you had with ron would crumble in a matter of time. it's constant fights with you two, ron's almost waiting for a reason to scowl or scoff whenever you're around. good luck even mentioning cormac in front of him, he'd just burst. the jealousy was so undeniably obvious yet you'd be so caught up in the anger of all of it to even realise. had it been someone less athletic than cormac, ron would've jumped him the moment he found out. 

he'd be a petty little bitch but all the dramatics are to hide his insecurity. of course you'd chosen the conventionally attractive hunk over him. he'd be pretty rough on himself because of it; it's pure heartbreak for him. he'd never admit it but he's cried once or twice after storming off from a fight with you. 

the end of your friendship with him would be in a final argument. merlin knows how it started, you never do. but almost a month into your fling with mclaggen, you've grown tired of ron's immaturity. so this time, you ask him.

"why are you even so pressed about this?!" you'd shout to ron. to which he'd counter with, "because he's a dim-witted fool who's only going to hurt you!" the frustration was unbearable as you lick your dry lips, raking a hand through your messy locks. ron is standing opposite to you, chest heaving from the intensity of the situation, yet he shamelessly takes a glance at your lips. "then if you're such an expert at this, tell me who i deserve to be wit—" ron must have a knack for interrupting others because he pulls you into a kiss, frowning as he does so. it's his final desperation for you to just hear him out. and you do, you kiss back and you're hit with the original passion you've always felt for him that these fights had blinded from you.

it's the end of your friendship and the beginning of a romance.

draco!  draco's love language is definitely cliche bullying. without a doubt, he doesn't know how to show affection to anyone at all so you two would definitely be enemies of some sort. i think he'd lowkey be oblivious to the fact that he's straight up mean to you but you've literally had enough of it. you'd had a crush on him since your first year together probably and eventually you caught his eye as well — except for all the wrong reasons. he grew a knack for constantly belittling you in some kind of way even remotely possible to him. though, in his eyes, he always saw it as flirting and you being into all of it. you accepted the attention for what it was and grew to expect his taunts during classes. shamelessly, you did enjoy the fights the two of you shared. however, 'banter' could only last for so long and you eventually grew insecure of the words spat from malfoy. your friends encouraged you to move on and you finally decided to take their word. you supposed you had a type for slytherins, seeing how harper soon enough came into your life. he was a good distraction from malfoy to the point that even the (apparently natural) platinum blond took notice of your distancing. you stopped countering draco's remarks with snarky quips nor did you even bother to spare a glance at him anymore. draco hated the feeling he failed to recognise as heartbreak. he was so caught up in this feeling that he ordered crabbe and goyle to snoop around and find out what changed about your life. it didn't take much investigating to discover the budding romance between you and harper. draco was far more distraught than he thought he'd ever been about the news - but what malfoy's goons failed to communicate was that you and harper were barely anything serious. 

despite that, draco was consumed by emotion. his immediate reaction after his minions left his dorm room was to owl his father with a letter demanding to expel harper from hogwarts. lucius' response, though, was an eerily formal letter telling his pissbaby of a son to never waste his time with such nonsense again. in other words, his father had completely shrugged him off. thus, draco hopped onto the plan b — which was to gang up on harper with his goons. draco liked to claim no one is on his level enough to be his friend, however, he had grown to like harper before this situation arose. they both shared interests in quidditch and shaming others of their blood status. 

soon enough, he had been on harper's case, constantly mocking the other slytherin boy whenever draco found the chance. it was no secret draco had a superiority complex over the fact that harper was the reserve seeker on the slytherin quidditch team whilst draco himself was the main seeker — so this became draco's number one target towards harper.

"your girl couldn't get the real thing so she opted for the knock off instead, yeah?" draco would sneer, adrenaline pumping from the audience that had surrounded him as he insults harper. he tosses a few kicks at the fallen over boy before crabbe and goyle take over with more aggressive ones. he'd snicker at the sight of the dishevelled harper, adding one more comment before walking away, "don't worry, she'll be running back to me soon enough."

fred!  if you think fred weasley's demeanor would even remotely falter at the news of you hooking up with someone else, you are wrong. even the fact that the special guy was viktor fricking krum wouldn't be able to stop the ginger from continuing to shamelessly flirt with you. fred's mindset was the literal definition of 'never back down, never give up'. he was not going to let you go simply because krum was snogging you on the sides. 

it's lunchtime on a wednesday where majority of hogwarts is present in the great hall, along with the selected students of beauxbatons and durmstrang. you were seated next hermione granger at her designated house table, discussing the slight change in the structures of the upcoming exams. so deep in your conversation with the girl, you had somehow failed to notice the presence of the infamous weasley twins with lee jordan right by their side — obviously. fred is the one to interact with you the most whilst the other two gryffindor boys do their own thing. the older twin's hand is pressed down on the table, leaning his whole body weight against it as he hovers over you. you notice a peculiar shadow cast beside you and turn your right, immediately being greeted with a wickedly grinning weasley. you can't help but notice the veins and slight muscle peeking through his rolled up sleeve from his dominant arm being supported by his weight.  hermione, having read the room, turns around, joining a conversation with neville longbottom and ron weasley. "hey, love." fred spoke up, almost purposively being loud enough for others around to take a quick glance. you tense up at the publicly proclaimed nickname, and though you have heard it leave his mouth several times before, this time there is a bulgarian national quidditch player who might just overhear. it doesn't take more than a second for you to spot viktor, who's looking right to your direction, obviously having heard and seen fred. the muscle in krum's tense jaw twitches as he sharply watches the two of you, while on the other hand, fred's gaze on you hasn't budged. in fact, he lifts his left arm up, fixing the position of your head to face him with the grasp on your jaw. "eyes up here, angel." he instructs before going on a tangent about how professor sprout had seperated him and george during class.

to say viktor krum wasn't pleased with fred's public display of affection towards you would be an understatement. apparently in durmstrang, they do things a little differently — such as rounding up your friends and beating up whoever crosses them, rather than the usual duels at hogwarts. so the sight of a bloodied fred entering your dorm had you leaping to your feet to question and aid him. despite the cuts around his face, fred's cocky smile never left his face. clearly he didn't get krum's message, seeing how he took every opportunity to hold your waist as you wiped the cuts clean off his face. krum truly wasn't getting to him. merlin, he seriously enjoyed pissing the guy off.

or so you thought until you caught onto fred's sudden interest in constantly pranking krum and the durmstrang boys. at first you assumed this could be revenge for ganging up on fred, but then you watched the weasley during one of his quidditch practises. beaters already had such an aggressive role — yet in your handful of years knowing fred, you'd never seen him play this aggressive. it was honestly impressive really, how he managed to keep a cool demeanor until he, well, couldn't.

george!  george never could understand what had gotten into you to start hooking up with adrian fucking pucey. seriously, all george could think about was how closely pucey resembled to the troll his younger brother and friends fought during their second year. despite his thoughts, he never uttered a single word out loud. he was far from supportive of the relationship but he did his best to stay respectful — maybe you were in an 'i can fix him' phase. though george had no idea how anyone could remove the definite troll genes from the slytherin. 

so sure, george kept his mouth shut and a respective distance from the whole relationship ... wrong. oh, come on, there's always a twist with the weasley twins. see, whilst publicly he was an angel .. behind closed doors and alone with you was a whole other wizard. the guy knew if he were to harass pucey with his pranks and stand against him, you would only push the ginger away. he didn't even want to risk such a thing. yet, he still wanted to be close enough to remind you of how much he cared. solitary moments with you begun gentle — he didn't want to cross any line, but still needed to have some sort of idea of where exactly that line was. it wasn't out of the ordinary for just the two of you to hang out — you were best friends after all. however, the more days spent with you, the more flirtatious george grew to be around you.

what starts with light touches on your elbow, soon grows into the two of you laying on the common room couch together, your head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around you as he talks sweet nothings with you. it was the same old george before you met pucey — how can you ever walk away from this? almost having read the room, george's gaze flickers onto your lips, the talk from him slowly dying out despite the fact that he hadn't even completed his sentence yet. your brain grows fuzzy at the sight of george slowly leaning in, your own gaze fixated on his lips. it was unfortunate that adrian had to step into your common room during that tender moment, clearly in search of you. knowing him, he was in need of some snogging right now. the darkening look in his eyes as he spots the two of you clearly highlights his distaste towards the whole scene. he had practically marched over to the couch, grabbing george by the collar as he slams him onto the nearest wall. you have to admit, the height difference of the five foot nine pucey compared to george's six foot three makes the whole interaction look a lot more silly. "fuck you doin' with my girl, weasley?" snarls adrian, his irish accent thick with rage. yet george seems less than phased, his arms raised as a smirk grows onto his face. "if she was your girl, mate, she would have pulled away." george calmly adds, glancing at you behind pucey with the most flirtatious eyes known to wizard kind. you can't help but feel stunned at the look, almost melting. "want to be the judge of this, darling?"

[4m0r1m]

Moonlight and Mischief

SUMMARY: At Bill and Fleur’s wedding, George Weasley can't take his eyes off you—Fleur’s charming and seemingly shy cousin. But when he finally gathers the courage to ask you to dance, he discovers you're far more playful and bold than he expected. What starts as a teasing flirtation under fairy lights soon sparks something deeper. (fluff)

WORD COUNT: 2,727 words

PAIRING: george weasley x reader

The Burrow had never looked quite so magical. Strings of golden fairy lights hovered in mid-air, twisting like fireflies above long wooden tables set with delicate china and platters of French delicacies. The garden, usually wild with weeds and gnome holes, had been transformed into a tapestry of summer blooms and fluttering white silk. A string quartet played beneath a floating canopy, and laughter rippled through the warm evening air.

George Weasley leaned against a tree just outside the circle of celebration, a glass of champagne cradled in his hand, watching the guests swirl around the dance floor. He’d been scanning the crowd for you all night—not that he’d admit it out loud.

You stood out like moonlight on the lake. Dressed in a flowing lavender gown that hugged your figure just enough to be elegant and left enough to the imagination, you were a vision. Your hair, loosely curled and swept to one side, framed a face he couldn’t stop looking at. Fleur’s cousin, they’d said. Maid of honour. French, like Fleur, but with a softness to your voice that hinted at long summers spent somewhere warmer, slower, sweeter.

George swallowed hard and looked away, trying to appear nonchalant. His twin brother, Fred, didn’t miss the glance.

“Oh, Merlin,” Fred drawled, sidling up beside him. “You’re staring again.”

“I am not,” George muttered.

Fred tilted his head dramatically. “Then I suppose you’ve just got a kink for tree bark. Honestly, mate, it’s getting embarrassing.”

George sipped his champagne and didn’t reply. But his eyes flicked back toward you—just for a second.

Fred followed his gaze and grinned. “You’ve got it bad.”

George gave a long-suffering sigh. “She’s Fleur’s cousin. Practically royalty in this setting. I don’t think she even knows I exist.”

“Oh, please,” Fred scoffed. “You’re the best man. That makes you the other half of the wedding's royal couple. It’s practically your moral duty to talk to her.”

George didn’t reply, but he didn’t move either.

Fred leaned in. “Unless you want me to do it for you.”

That got George moving.

He placed his glass on the nearest table and straightened his jacket, brushing imaginary dust off his lapels. “Fine. But if I make a complete fool of myself, I’m hexing your eyebrows off.”

Fred smirked, already smug. “Deal.”

George made his way across the lawn, weaving between guests, his heart thudding harder with every step. You stood near the edge of the dance floor, chatting to Gabrielle and sipping something pale and sparkling. Up close, you were even more breathtaking. There was something effortless about you—the way you laughed, head tilted slightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. The world seemed to hush as he reached you.

You noticed him before he could open his mouth. You turned slightly, one eyebrow raised, your lips curving with mild interest.

“Bonsoir,” you said lightly, your accent melodic. “The famous George Weasley, yes?”

He blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. Fred’s slightly less troublemaking twin. The one with the better smile.”

George chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that.”

You tilted your head. “Should I be worried that you’re here to ask something scandalous? Or is this the part where you finally ask me to dance?”

He laughed, caught off guard. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

Your grin widened, mischief flickering in your eyes. “Non. But I do love a bit of fun. Especially if it includes a handsome redhead.”

George was stunned into silence for a moment. You had looked like the sort who’d demurely decline a compliment, maybe blush and say something polite. Not the sort to tease him with a cheeky smile and a directness that made his chest flutter.

He offered his hand, bowing slightly. “Then I’d be a fool not to oblige. May I have this dance, mademoiselle?”

You pretended to consider, fingers tapping your glass. “Hmm… Only if you promise not to step on my toes.”

“I’ll do my best. But I can’t make any guarantees—I’m a Weasley, we’re known for causing chaos.”

You took his hand with a smirk. “Well then, Monsieur Chaos. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He led you onto the floor just as the quartet transitioned into a slower, more romantic number. He placed a hand on your waist, surprisingly tentative for someone so often loud and full of bravado. You noticed the way he looked at you, unsure yet enchanted.

“You really don’t talk much, do you?” you teased, swaying with him under the floating lights.

“I do,” George said, eyes locked on yours. “Just… not when I’m this distracted.”

“By me?”

He nodded. “I thought you’d be shy. Quiet. But you’re not. You’re trouble in a dress, aren’t you?”

You laughed, genuine and bright. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all night.”

The dance was slow but full of tension, the good kind. He spun you gently, guiding you back with ease. The warmth of his hand on your back, the closeness of your bodies, the scent of cinnamon and something woodsy clinging to his jacket—it all made your head feel a little light.

“Fred said you were staring at me,” you said, tone teasing.

George flushed. “Did he now?”

“He also said you had a crush.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Did he also mention he talks complete rubbish after two firewhiskies?”

You smirked. “So… you weren’t staring?”

He leaned in slightly, voice low. “Oh, I was. But I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I always notice,” you replied, your voice softening. “Especially when it’s someone like you.”

He blinked. “Someone like me?”

“Charming. Bit cocky. But sweet when you think no one’s looking.”

George didn’t have a response for that. He was sure he could come up with something clever, something flirty—but your words hit deeper than expected. No girl had ever summed him up so perfectly in one breath.

You twirled again, and when you came back into his arms, your expression had changed—less playful now, more sincere.

“Why didn’t you talk to me earlier?” you asked.

George shrugged. “Didn’t think I had a chance.”

You looked at him for a long moment. “You’re George Weasley. Of course you had a chance.”

He grinned then, unable to hold it back. “I’ll remind myself to have more faith in the future.”

“Please do.”

As the music wound down, neither of you moved. The guests were clapping politely for the musicians, but it felt like you and George were in a separate moment altogether, wrapped in the golden hush of twilight and the hum of something new, something exciting.

He cleared his throat. “Would it be terribly forward if I asked you for a walk? Just a short one.”

You slipped your arm through his. “It would be terribly forward if I said no.”

You strolled together toward the edge of the garden, where the noise dimmed and the stars peeked through the haze. There was a bench under a willow tree, and you sat together, your knees brushing.

“Can I ask you something?” he said after a pause.

“Of course.”

“Were you really surprised when I asked you to dance?”

You smiled at the memory. “A little. I thought you’d be more like your brother. Loud. Always performing.”

“And I’m not?”

“Not exactly. You’re… quieter. At least with me. More thoughtful.”

He looked at you, something tender in his eyes. “You bring that out of me.”

Your breath caught.

Neither of you moved, the moment stretching like taffy between you. Finally, George reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re not what I expected either,” he said quietly. “I thought you were sweet. Innocent. The kind of girl who’d run the other way from a bloke like me.”

“And now?”

“Now I think you might ruin me.”

You smiled, slow and deliberate. “Maybe I will.”

He kissed you then. Soft and careful at first, as if making sure you wouldn’t disappear. You kissed him back with a smile in your lips, one hand curling into his lapel.

When you pulled back, both of you were breathless.

George touched his forehead to yours. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

You laughed. “Oh, you have no idea.”

[samazing0831]

How to Break a Curse - Fred Weasley x Reader

Fred Weasley has always known how to flirt - except with you. Because with you, it would've meant something. Too much. And so he kept quiet. Even after the war. Even after you'd both survived everything but the truth.

But when a compulsion curse forces Fred to speak every truth he's ever buried - including the ones he's hidden from himself - you're called in to help. What starts as magical diagnosis becomes an unraveling of everything between you: school memories, missed chances, and the love you both spent years refusing to name.

Now the spell is breaking. But what if you're not ready for what comes next?

What if the truth is still too big to say?

6.1k words

A/N: This fic is for the Fred girlies who like emotional damage, slow-burn mutual pining, and the catharsis of finally saying the things that have gone unsaid for years. If you love accidental confessions, ancient magic, post-war grief, and the slowest of slow burns - this one's for you.

Fred Weasley never told you how he felt.

Not when you bandaged his hand after a failed fireworks charm in fourth year.

Not when Snape paired you together in Potions and you spilled Amortentia all over his notes - and he didn’t care, because your laugh sounded exactly like the fizzing of a sweet joke just before it exploded.

Not even after the war, when you’d grown into your own kind of brilliant, training under the best curse-breakers while he rebuilt the shop and himself at the same time.

You were always in his orbit. Close enough to touch. But never quite his.

He flirted with everyone. Everyone except you.

Because it would have meant something. Too much.

So he didn’t say it.

Not until the day the curse made it impossible not to.

The last thing Fred remembered before the spell hit was the sound of George saying, “You absolute idiot, don’t eat that -”

Then:

Snap.

Spark.

Dark.

Then:

Truth.

The owl arrived with an irritated rattle of wings and an urgent red seal.

You barely glanced up at first - still hunched over a centuries old scroll, ink smudge on your fingers, neck aching from the angle you’d been craning for hours. You were in the middle of translating an ancient ward-breaking glyph from a Celtic tomb, halfway between brilliance and burnout.

But then your eyes caught the Ministry mark.

You unrolled the parchment with growing unease.

“Urgent magical accident. Diagon Alley. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Spontaneous compulsion spell - patient unable to lie. Curse-breaker assistance required immediately.”

When you saw the name, you cursed under your breath - not because it was Fred Weasley.

But because it was Fred Weasley.

You muttered something unprintable under your breath, grabbed your satchel, and Disapparated without even changing out of your work clothes.

Wind whipped at your scarf the moment you reappeared on the cobbled edge of Diagon Alley. The early evening air was brisk, tinged with wood smoke and the sugary scent of something exploding several doors down.

You climbed the stairs to the flat above with dread curling low in your stomach. You hadn’t seen Fred in months - not since that mutual friend’s wedding, where he’d danced like a man trying to forget something.

You hadn’t forgotten anything.

The door creaked open before you knocked.

“Of course it’s you,” Fred groaned, flopped across the old settee with one hand over his eyes. “Of all the curse-breakers in Britain…”

You dropped your bag by the fireplace and gave him a once-over: flushed cheeks, twitchy fingers, and a slightly panicked glint in his eyes.

“You look like hell,” you said flatly.

Fred blinked. “You smell amazing.”

A pause.

Your brow raised.

“I - I mean -” He turned desperately to George, who was seated on the armrest with a half-eaten Cauldron Cake. “See? I’m broken.”

George choked on his cake, coughing through a laugh. “Oh, he’s so broken.”

Fred didn’t stop talking for the next ten minutes.

It wasn’t that he meant to - in fact, you could see the moment he realized he couldn’t help it, eyes wide with horror as each confession tumbled out of his mouth like a poorly warded truth serum.

“I used to doodle your name and mine in the margins of my Charms notes but made them invisible.”

“I definitely faked a nosebleed once to get you to fix it. You touched my face. It was a whole thing.”

“I flirted with Angelina to distract from the fact that I was in love with someone else. Obviously, it didn’t work.”

You stared at him.

“I -” he began, horrified, “I didn’t mean to say that. Wait. No. I did. I just didn’t mean to say it now.”

You slowly closed your diagnostic journal and looked at him - not the patient, not the prankster, but the boy you used to pass notes to in the library. The boy you tried so hard to ignore, even when he sat two rows over, turning your insides to jelly every time he laughed.

“Well,” you said, rising to your feet, “this is going to be interesting.”

The day faded into a dusky blue-gray outside, street lamps flickering to life below the window. You’d stayed longer than you meant to - partly for professional reasons, partly because Fred had finally stopped talking and fallen asleep, and partly because…

Well.

Because being in that flat again felt like stepping backward into something half-familiar and half-forbidden.

You moved quietly through the room, setting up the last of the diagnostic wards around his bed for overnight monitoring. A soft glow followed your wand tip, encasing the mattress in a protective shimmer.

That’s when you saw it - a photo, old and curling at the edges, tucked just under his lamp.

You reached for it without thinking.

It was one of those enchanted prints from Hogwarts: you and Alicia laughing on the lawn, books open but forgotten. Behind you, Fred photobombed with both thumbs up, mid-wink, grinning like he knew a secret.

He’d cut the photo unevenly to frame just you.

He caught you looking.

“I’ve had that since sixth year,” he said softly. “I never showed anyone. George would’ve never let me live it down.”

Your fingers lingered on the edge of the photo. Something in your chest tightened - an old, bruised feeling you’d never let surface until now.

You remembered that day.

You remembered the way Fred kept circling, teasing Alicia, always just barely brushing by you.

You thought it was a coincidence.

But now… now you weren’t so sure.

Truth, unfortunately, doesn’t sleep.

You’d only been back at the Weasley flat for one day and already regretted not charging triple.

The spell was something you hadn’t seen in years - an ancient truth-compulsion enchantment originally designed by paranoid Ministry officials during the early wizarding trials. It latched onto emotion. Instinct. Buried thoughts.

It wasn’t just a compulsion to speak.

It was a pressure point in the soul - twisting at instinct and memory, unraveling the threads people usually kept hidden. The deeper someone buried a thought, the faster it rose to the surface. Emotion made it worse. Shame made it impossible. The spell clung to those things like a bloodhound with a grudge.

In short: Fred was a live wire with absolutely no filter.

And he hated it.

Morning light spilled through the window of the flat like a spotlight on bad decisions.

You were in the sitting room again, running another scan - wand calibrated to a specialized focus stone, fingers ready, voice neutral. Fred sat on the edge of the couch, slouched forward slightly with the grim posture of a man preparing to embarrass himself in real time.

He was trying not to look at you.

Bad idea.

“Honestly?” Fred muttered as you hovered a spell-focus over his chest to measure magical resistance, “I can feel your hand through my shirt and it’s killing me. Thought you should know. For science.”

You didn’t blink. “Noted.”

“You’re very professional. That’s frustrating.”

“You can stop talking any time.”

“I really can’t,” he said miserably. “Also, your hair looks really soft today.”

You dropped the focus on his stomach.

He wheezed.

You stepped back calmly, scribbled a note, and pretended not to notice the color blooming at the tops of his ears.

By mid-afternoon, the flat had grown stifling - too small, too loud, too filled with unsaid things that Fred might accidentally say. You relocated to the front of the shop under the guise of needing open space for magical threshold testing, but really, you just needed to breathe.

George had roped Lee Jordan into helping restock a shipment of Fainting Fancies, while you and Fred camped near the warded entrance with a stack of charm protocols and a battered diagnostic wand that sparked if you angled it wrong.

It was mostly boring.

Until you added a layered pressure charm - subtle, but enough to press against the edges of his aura, and casually asked, “How do you feel under magical strain?”

“Terrible,” he said automatically.

You nodded, taking notes.

He paused.

“Also I think about kissing you at least once a day, and it’s so inconvenient.”

You froze.

Fred’s eyes widened. “That wasn’t supposed to come out.”

You didn’t move..

“It’s not new,” he rushed on. “Since sixth year. That stupid Amortentia lesson Snape had us paired up in? Yours smelled like ink and cloves. Mine smelled like you.”

You looked up sharply.

Fred winced. “See? This is awful. You’re going to run back to the Ministry and leave me to rot.”

You let the silence stretch for just long enough to make him sweat.

Then, finally: “I’m not leaving,” you said, quiet but certain. “But you do need to shut up before you give yourself a heart attack.”

“Too late. Already dying. Will definitely haunt you.”

You shook your head, trying very hard not to smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smirked. “But charming.”

“Unfortunately.”

That night, the flat settled into a soft quiet - the kind that only comes after a day spent pretending not to feel what you’re feeling.

You stayed in the spare room, door slightly ajar. Moonlight filtered in through the window, painting silver lines across your notebook as you sat cross-legged on the bed, journal open, mind racing.

Fred had always been flirtatious - you knew that. He’d turned it into an art form. But this… this wasn’t practiced lines or clever banter. It was too raw. Too uncertain. Too honest.

He wasn’t performing anymore.

He was unraveling.

You traced the edge of the page in your journal, half-distracted.

You’d written his name dozens of times today.

Across the hall, Fred lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might answer all the questions he was too afraid to ask out loud.

Somewhere between blurting out his feelings and realizing you hadn’t run screaming for the hills, something had shifted.

You weren’t just a memory of laughter in a Gryffindor common room anymore. You weren’t just a ghost from a chapter in his past.

You were here. Now.

And the truth was out in the open.

Fred wasn’t sure if that terrified him or freed him - maybe both - but one thing was certain:

He’d waited years to tell you any of this. And now that the dam had cracked, the only thing he wanted was to keep going.

Even if it killed him.

The day had been nonstop mayhem.

One of the Pygmy Puffs escaped. George accidentally sold a pair of reversible boxers that swapped genders and houses. And Fred? He knocked over an entire display of Banshee Buttons with his elbow, triggering a five-minute wail so loud it shattered two Sneakoscopes and scared a tourist into buying one.

You barely had time to recast the floor-warding spells before locking up.

Now, hours later, the three of you collapsed in the flat upstairs. The lights were low, the fire warm, and half-finished bottles of Firewhisky and butterbeer were scattered across the floor like trophies. You were curled up on the loveseat. Fred sat on the rug nearby, back against the sofa, legs stretched out. George was perched on the windowsill, swirling a cocktail that glowed faintly green.

“This batch might actually kill people,” he said cheerfully. “Which means it’ll sell brilliantly.”

You raised your butterbeer. “To war crimes in candy form.”

Fred clinked his bottle against yours. “Cheers.”

You were all exhausted, a little buzzed, and laughing in that slow, golden way that only happened late at night, when the chaos finally settled and the quiet came.

Which is exactly when George decided to ruin it.

“So,” he said casually, not looking up, “how long did your little school crush on Freddie here last?”

You blinked. Fred turned his head toward you, eyebrows lifting.

You scoffed. “What?”

“Oh come on,” George said. “Everyone knew. Back at school - all those stolen glances over cauldron smoke. The time you tripped over your own robes when he winked at you in Transfiguration?”

“I tripped because Ron threw a Quill-Chewing Chizpurfle at my head,” you muttered.

George smirked. “Right. Sure you did.”

You rolled your eyes. “It wasn’t a big deal. Everyone had a crush on Fred back then.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “Did they?”

You waved it off, too quickly. “It was school. We were sixteen. It didn’t mean anything.”

The silence that followed landed like a hex.

You didn’t notice it at first - not until Fred sat up straighter. His drink hung forgotten in his hand.

When he spoke, his voice was too quiet to be casual.

“I certainly didn’t have a crush on you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He looked at you - really looked - and in the firelight, his eyes weren’t playful. They were glassy. Raw.

“It wasn’t a crush,” he said again. “A crush was what I had on Angelina in fourth year. It lasted three weeks and ended when she jinxed my eyebrows off. I had a crush on that Slytherin in fourth year who looked like she’d stab someone with a sugar quill.”

He gave a single, humorless laugh.

“You?” He ran a hand through his hair, searching for words. “You were different.”

George, to his credit, said nothing.

Fred turned back to you. His voice steadied - low, but certain.

“I noticed you before you ever noticed me. You were the one person I couldn’t joke with the same way - not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t trust myself. Because you mattered.”

Your breath caught.

“I used to memorize where you sat in class,” he said with a crooked smile. “So I’d know where not to sit. Being near you made me forget punchlines.”

Your heart was thudding now, traitorously loud.

“And during the Battle…” His voice faltered. “I didn’t see you at first. And then I did. You were hexing a Death Eater - twice your size, might I add - with your arm bleeding down to your fingertips, and you still yelled at me to keep moving.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

“I thought I was going to lose you. And that night, when you limped past me holding your wand like it was the only thing keeping you upright - I wanted to say something. Anything. I even wanted to kiss you. But I didn’t.”

Silence.

Then:

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” Fred said softly. “And now this bloody curse is dragging it out of me like some sort of humiliating game and - Merlin, I wish I’d just told you before. When it was mine to give.”

You stared at him, the past rewriting itself behind your eyes.

George stood quietly. “Right. I’m suddenly feeling very much… like I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, disappearing down the hall with his drink and saintlike timing.

You were still staring.

“I thought you were just… Fred,” you said finally. “Friendly. Charming. Untouchable.” 

He looked at you then - broken open, not smiling.

“You were always the untouchable one.”

The flat was still.

Outside, Diagon Alley lay hushed beneath a soft coat of snow, the lamplight glinting off frost-laced eaves. Inside, the fire had dwindled to embers, casting sleepy gold shadows across the floorboards. Fred was curled on the couch beneath a frayed Gryffindor blanket, hands wrapped around a mug of cooling tea.

You sat beside him - not touching, but close enough to feel the space between you hum with everything unsaid.

Neither of you had spoken much since George had retreated to bed with an overly dramatic yawn and an oddly well-timed exit. That conversation - that confession - still hung in the air like dust, impossible to ignore.

You could feel Fred watching you from the corner of your eye.

But you didn’t look.

Not yet.

You were flipping through your spell journal, feigning focus, when Fred flinched.

Your head snapped up. “What was that?”

He winced, one hand going to his side. “Just a flare. Feels like something’s… pushing out.”

You shifted toward him instinctively. “You didn’t say anything earlier.”

“I didn’t want to -” He stopped, then gave a crooked smile. “Didn’t want to interrupt the awkward silence.”

You rolled your eyes, already tugging the blanket aside. Your fingers brushed the hem of his shirt.

“Lift up,” you murmured.

He obeyed.

Beneath his ribs, magic shimmered faintly beneath the skin - a bruised glow ripping with each breath.

You pressed your wand gently to its edge. “This’ll tingle.”

Fred didn’t flinch.

“I trust you,” he said.

You froze.

Just for a second.

Those words landed deeper than they had any right to.

Whether Fred noticed or not, he didn’t let on. He just watched you - quiet, steady, while you worked.

When the charm finished settling and the light faded, you lowered your wand and leaned back with a quiet breath.

“Thanks,” he said, still watching you like he wasn’t quite ready to stop.

“You should’ve told me it was getting worse.”

He shrugged. “I figured if I ignored it, it might go away.”

You gave him a look. “Has that ever worked?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “No. But that didn’t stop me from trying. With everything else, too.”

The fire crackled. SIlence stretched - not uncomfortable, but fragile.

Fred set down his mug, slowly, like it had become too heavy to hold.

“I thought if I told you,” he said, his voice quiet and raw, “I’d lose you.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“Back in school. After the battle. Even when you walked in yesterday. I thought if I said something real, it’d break whatever version of you I still had.”

You stared into the fire. Your chest ached.

“But now…” Fred exhaled, low and shaky. “Now I think I’m losing myself instead.”

You turned toward him.

Really turned.

Fred Weasley - the one who always had a joke, a smirk, an escape route - looked worn thin. Like the weight of years, of unspoken truths, had finally caught up.

“I didn’t want it to be a curse that made me say it,” he murmured. “But it did. And now you know. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

You hadn’t realized you were leaning in until you noticed the shift in his gaze - down, briefly, to your mouth.

His breath caught.

So did yours.

And for one suspended heartbeat, you both leaned closer.

Heat. Tension. Gravity.

But then -

Fred paused.

Just enough to pull back.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his eyes dropping.

You eased back too, your heart aching and alive.

“No,” you said softly. “Don’t be.”

Because you weren’t ready. Not yet. Not tonight.

But your hands still tingled from touching him.

And your chest was still tight from almost hearing everything you’d once told yourself not to hope for.

The room went quiet again.

But this time, the quiet wasn’t empty.

It was full of maybe.

And maybe it was almost loud enough to believe in.

The library at Grimmauld Place smelled like parchment and ghosts.

Dust curled in the corners. Enchanted books drifted lazily above their shelves, still dutiful after decades of neglect. Overhead, the chandelier flickered with an eerie blue light, casting shadows that shifted with the turn of every page.

You and Fred sat opposite each other at the long oak table, a fortress of books stacked between you - most cracked open to smudged entries on psychological hexes, emotional compulsion spells, and ancient, half-forgotten curses. The kind of magic people whispered about, but rarely wrote down.

Fred’s hair was a mess, and his jumper had a new hole scorched into the sleeve from a misfired detection charm. He looked exhausted.

You weren’t faring much better.

But there was something about this - about being here, late, together - that made the silence feel full rather than empty.

You ran a hand through your hair and murmured, “Found something.”

Fred glanced up.

You slid a battered tome across the table. The page was marked with a shaky scrawl and a rust-colored fingerprint. The entry read:

Spell Type: Veritas Malefica

Often mistaken for a standard truth compulsion. Rooted in grief-based magic.

Enchantment reacts violently to emotional suppression - not lies told to others, but lies told to oneself.

Fred blinked slowly. “What does that mean?”

You swallowed. “It means… the more you try to bury what you’re feeling - especially from yourself - the worse it gets.”

He leaned back, the realization settling like stones in his chest.

“So I’ve been making it worse,” he said, voice hollow. “Every time I pretended it didn’t matter. Every time I told myself it wasn’t -”

He didn’t finish.

You looked down at your hands. “You’re not cursed because you lied to other people, Fred. You’re cursed because you’ve been lying to yourself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp - it was heavy. Knowing.

Then Fred laughed - just once. Bitter and tired.

“Of course it’s emotional repression. I couldn’t have just accidentally swallowed a cursed sweet like a normal idiot.”

You almost smiled. Almost.

But then: “There’s something else.”

He looked over.

You hesitated, then pushed forward. “I think I’m the trigger.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Every time the curse flares - it’s when I’m nearby. When I ask you something real. When we’re close.”

Fred stared at you.

Still, you didn’t stop.

“I’m not saying I’m bad for you. I’m saying… I’m the one person you’ve spent years pretending you didn’t feel anything for.”

His eyes dropped away. “Because if I didn’t pretend,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

You nodded. “I know.”

Silence settled again - quieter now. Expectant.

And then you said it.

“I liked you too, you know.”

Fred’s head lifted. His gaze found yours - sharp. Breathless.

You weren’t smiling. You were just honest.

“I used to sit two rows behind you in Charms and laugh at your jokes - even the terrible ones. I’d take the long way to class if it meant running into you. I noticed when you stopped joking with me after sixth year. I noticed everything. But you never said anything, so I thought…”

“That it wasn’t real,” Fred finished, barely above a whisper.

You nodded.

A beat passed.

And then - Fred said the thing that mattered most:

“I think that’s when it started. The lie. The one I kept telling myself - that I didn’t feel anything. That you were just… someone I missed a chance with.”

Your breath caught.

Fred leaned in, just slightly, voice raw.

“And the more I lied, the worse it got. The more I smiled and flirted and joked like it didn’t mean anything… the louder it got inside my head. Until the curse made it impossible to ignore.”

You didn’t speak.

And, for once, neither did Fred.

He just looked at you - unguarded. Quiet. Like he was finally allowing himself to be seen.

The silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore.

It was warmer now.

Not because anything had been fixed.

But because nothing was hiding anymore.

The day after Grimmauld Place, something shifted.

Not in a catastrophic way. No slammed doors. No shouting. No curses gone awry.

Just… distance.

You weren’t cold. You weren’t avoiding him - not outright. But Fred felt it. In the extra beat between your replies. In the way your laughter skimmed the surface but never quite sank. In how your hands were always busy - labeling jars, reorganizing shelves, rereading the same page for the third time.

And Fred - who had spent most of his adult life performing noise in place of honesty - didn’t know how to survive the quiet.

So he filled it.

Poorly.

By midday, he was back to tossing out jokes. Half-hearted ones. Ones with all the punch of a wet sparkler.

“Careful with that,” he said, nodding at a crate of Sneezing Sparkles. “Wouldn’t want you bursting into glitter again. Not without warning me first. I need time to emotionally prepare.”

You didn’t look up. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Fred winced. He couldn’t tell if you were irritated, distracted, or just… elsewhere.

He hated it.

He hated not knowing.

By the time you’d locked up for the night, the air between you was taut - stretched thin by all the things unsaid.

Fred lingered behind the counter, pacing. You were counting inventory. Precisely. Methodically. Like precision could protect you.

“You’re not… avoiding me, are you?”

You glanced up. “No.”

He nodded too fast. “Right. Cool.”

You went back to counting. “I just needed space.”

“From me?”

You hesitated. “From everything.”

Fred leaned against the doorframe, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Is this about what I said?”

You didn’t answer.

Which, of course, made it worse.

Fred smiled - the brittle kind, the kind that hurt to wear. “Because I can take it back, you know. If that’s what you need. The curse is still having a laugh - I’ll probably say something worse tomorrow. Might as well get ahead of it.”

You closed the ledger. “Fred -”

“No, seriously,” he cut in, too fast, too loud. “We’ll pretend none of it happened. I’ll go back to flirting and making things weird in a fun way. We’ll rewind. Reset. Or maybe -” He laughed, sharp and thin. “Maybe I’ll just stop talking altogether. That seems safer.”

You stared at him. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, voice rising. “But neither is falling in love with someone who’s not ready to hear it.”

The words echoed - harsh and hollow.

Fred froze, eyes wide, as if he’d just heard himself speak.

You swallowed. “Fred…”

“I didn’t mean to -” He stopped. Exhaled. Then, quietly, “No. I did. I meant to say it. I’m not sorry.”

You didn’t move.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said again, softer. “And I hate that I didn’t say it years ago. Before the shop. Before the war. Before I was a complete and total jackass to you in school. Before I let a damn curse speak for me.”

The room went still.

And you?

You didn’t say it back.

Not because it wasn’t true. Not because you didn’t want to.

But because you weren’t ready.

The words were there - somewhere beneath your ribs, curled like a secret. But they hadn’t found their shape yet. They hadn’t learned how to stand.

And Fred - as much as it ached - deserved more than almost.

So you looked at him - open, aching, real - and said:

“...I can’t say it right now. Not like this.”

Fred didn’t speak. Just nodded. Once. Slow and sharp, like something cracking.

Then he turned away.

That night, the flat was quiet again.

But this time, it wasn’t full of maybe.

It was full of waiting.

The ancient ritual site felt like it was holding its breath.

A ring of weathered stones stood half-sunken in the frostbitten earth, their surfaces carved with runes long faded by time but not by meaning. The clearing was silent, save for the whisper of the wind through the bare trees - a hush that felt less like absence and more like reverence.

You stood with Fred in the center of the circle, boots crunching softly against brittle grass rimmed with ice. The winter air curled at your sleeves and stung your nose, but the real chill came from the magic itself - thick and waiting, like fog with a heartbeat.

Above, the sky stretched iron-gray, heavy with unshed snow. The clouds did not move. The world did not move. It was as if everything - time, wind, fate - had stilled to bear witness.

You turned to him, wand at your side. He hadn’t spoken since you both Apparated. Just stood beside you, solid and tense, like he was bracing for something he couldn’t name.

“This is the last chance to back out,” you said softly.

Fred shook his head, jaw tight. “I don’t want to be forced anymore. Not even into the truth.”

You searched his face, looking for doubt. All you found was exhaustion - and resolve.

“Even if that means you don’t say it again?” you asked, voice low. “Even if that disappears with the spell?”

A beat passed.

Then: “I’ll say it again,” Fred said, almost in a whisper. “I’ll say it as many times as you can bear. As long as you let me.”

It nearly undid you - the quiet certainty in him. The gentleness. How hard he was trying not to sway you.

You raised your wand.

Your hand trembled as you drew the final rune, its golden light blooming to life beneath your feet. A delicate warmth pulsed outward - soft, not showy. No sparks. No lightning. Just a subtle kind of release, like a breath held for too long finally leaving the body.

Fred gasped - once, sharply - and staggered a step back. Then stilled.

The pressure - that slow, suffocating undertow he’d learned to live with - had vanished.

No more tug beneath his magic.

No more invisible leash between his chest and his tongue.

It was gone.

And what remained was just him.

Unfiltered. Unbound.

Uncertain.

He looked up at you, and something in his face had shifted. Not dramatically - but undeniably. His eyes, usually full of mischief or guarded deflection, were open in a way you hadn’t seen before. Vulnerable. Luminous.

Like someone standing in the wreckage of something invisible but heavy - and trying to figure out what to do with the air that came rushing in.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

Because the spell was broken.

But the moment wasn’t.

You didn’t want to rush it. Didn’t want to shutter the fragile, aching stillness. So you stood there, breathing the same winter air, magic still humming faintly beneath your boots, waiting to see what - if anything - would come next.

Nothing did.

Fred offered a faint, searching smile - one that didn’t ask for anything, only promised.

Then he turned, and you followed him home.

Back at the flat, the silence continued - softer now, but not without weight. You sat on the edge of your bed, coat still buttoned, staring at the floor like it might offer answers.

Fred had gone to his room without a word. Not out of coldness. Just… to give you space. To let the choice be yours now.

And that was what gutted you most.

Because for so long, he had been the one stuck between wanting and not being able to say it. He had been cursed, compelled, uncertain.

Now, he was free.

And you were the one who didn’t know what to say.

You paced the length of your room, again and again, like maybe motion could organize the ache in your chest. Like maybe you’d trip over the answer in your own footsteps.

The curse was gone. You’d done what you came to do. You’d given him back his voice.

So why did it feel like you were the one unraveling?

Because he hadn’t said it again.

Hadn’t kissed you.

Hadn’t needed to.

And still - still - you felt the gravity of him in every breath. Still, your bones ached with the pressure of something half-formed.

The truth?

You wanted to run to his door and say it first.

But you didn’t know how.

The words lived inside you now - no longer curled and waiting like they had been. They were restless. Rising. Trying to find shape in a mouth that wasn’t ready to give them sound.

You pressed a hand to your chest. It felt like mourning something you hadn’t even lost. Like standing at the edge of a choice so big, you couldn’t see where it ended.

Because the spell was broken.

But your heart was still spellbound.

And for the first time in all of this…

The choice - terrifying, impossible, real - was yours.

The snow had stopped sometime after sundown, leaving Diagon Alley blanketed in a hush that felt almost reverent. The night sky stretched out in every direction — wide, open, impossibly clear — the stars above pricking like tiny wounds in navy velvet. Below, the last shops were shuttering, the alley buzzing faintly with the warmth of distant laughter and clinking glass.

But up here, it was quiet. Up here, it was just you and him.

Fred stood near the edge of the rooftop, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his coat, his breath curling into soft clouds that disappeared into the night. He looked different now — not visibly, not in any way you could point to — but something in his posture had changed. It was like he’d dropped something heavy that had been pulling him sideways for months, and now he was learning how to stand up straight again.

He didn’t hear you at first. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t know what to say.

You let the silence stretch.

It was the first time in ages he wasn’t being pulled by magic — wasn’t under its thumb, its push, its pressure. For the first time, everything he felt was real. Every look. Every word. Every breath between us.

And that meant he had to choose now. Really choose.

You stepped closer.

He turned at the sound, his gaze finding yours fast — startled, raw, searching. Like he wasn’t sure what he’d see when he looked at you. Like part of him was still afraid you wouldn’t come.

But you had.

“Hey,” he said, soft.

“Hey.”

You moved to stand beside him, your coat brushing his, your fingers twitching at your sides with nerves you hadn’t expected. The wind had teeth, but you barely felt it.

The weight between you wasn’t a curse anymore. It was something else now. Something human.

“Cold up here,” he said, his voice too casual, too quiet.

You smiled faintly. “Didn’t think you’d mind. You used to say the cold made you feel alive.”

He huffed a laugh, something wistful and a little hollow. “Yeah. That was before I knew what feeling alive actually felt like.”

You turned to look at him — really look. “How does it feel now?”

Fred hesitated. Then, slowly, he met your eyes.

“Loud,” he said. “Like everything’s louder. Brighter. Sharper.”

“And scary?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. That too.”

You could see it — the flicker of uncertainty. He wasn’t hiding behind jokes or masks. There was no spell smoothing the way, no magic buffering the vulnerability. It was just Fred. Scared. Honest. Free.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you said. “I just wanted to be here. To see you. You.”

Fred blinked, jaw tightening. “But I want to say it.”

Your heart skipped.

“I’ve wanted to say it for a while,” he continued. “Even when I wasn’t sure if it was me or the curse talking. And when we broke it, I thought… if it was real, it would still be there. And it is. It is.”

He took a shaky breath. “I love you.”

The words fell out in the quiet like they belonged there. Like they’d been waiting for the right moment to land.

You didn’t answer right away.

You stepped forward, slow and steady, until there was barely space between you. Then you slipped your hands into his coat, fingers wrapping around his — solid, grounding.

“I know,” you said gently. “And I believe you now.”

Fred’s eyes filled. He laughed — a watery, disbelieving thing — and then leaned his forehead against yours.

“No magic,” he whispered.

“No magic,” you echoed.

Just breath and cold and stars. Just you and him and the night around you holding its breath.

And then, you kissed him.

Soft, certain. Real.

It wasn’t a rush or a rescue. It wasn’t a promise or an apology. It was a beginning — honest and slow, stitched together with everything you’d fought for.

Fred kissed you back like he finally had permission to feel — really feel. His hands rose to your waist, your cheek, your jaw, not desperate but careful. Like he didn’t want to forget a single detail.

When you finally pulled apart, just enough to breathe, your foreheads stayed pressed together. You could feel him smile, wide and shaky and undone.

“Still cursed,” he said, voice barely there.

You blinked. “What?”

He smiled wider. “Hopelessly. By you.”

You laughed against his lips. “You idiot.”

“You love me anyway,” he said.

You kissed him again.

Not because a spell told you to.

But because you’d fought for this.

And it was yours now.

All of it.

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Incorrect Quotes

Fred : *Enters bedroom after taking a shower*

(Y/n) : Unbelievable I just can not believe you Fred Weasley!

Fred : What I haven't done anything?

George : Yet.

(Y/n) : Look at you, strutting around with that slutty little waist!

Fred : You think my waist is slutty?

(Y/n) : Oh I know it is. Go put a shirt on you slut.

Fred : *Struts across the room with a grin stretched across his face.*😏

(Y/n) : Slutty little minx.

(Y/n) : *slaps Fred's butt as he walks by.*😈

[maria021015]

Poetry

Fred Weasley x FemGryffindorReader

Ginny is upset about Harry’s reaction to her valentine poem, and y/n assures her a poem is a very romantic gesture, When Fred hears this, he gets an idea.

———————————————————————

The Gryffindor common room was still bustling at this time of night, excited girls giggled with their friends as they flashed roses and secret love letters they’d received. The boys were congratulating each other on jobs well done. A few people were moping at their efforts having been rejected.

You were curled up in one of the armchairs closest to the fire, legs tucked underneath you, your Potions homework long forgotten on your lap. Ginny Weasley sat beside you on a pouf, small shoulders hunched, eyes suspiciously shiny as she poked at the fraying edge of her sleeve. Fred and George Weasley were sprawled on the floor in front of you, an Exploding Snap deck crackling between them as they launched teasing insults and dodged bursts of smoke.

Ginny sniffled. “I just thought…maybe he’d like it. I worked hard on it,” she mumbled, blinking quickly and avoiding your gaze.

You reached out, brushing a strand of her fiery hair behind her ear with a gentleness that made her eyes glisten even more. “Ginny, it was sweet and brave. You poured your heart into it. If he didn’t get it…well, that’s his loss.”

Fred, from where he knelt by the fireplace, let out a theatrical groan. “You mean that poem? The one with the ‘hair as dark as a blackboard’ bit?”

“Yes, personally I don’t know how being told his eyes were ‘as green as freshly pickled toads’ didn’t immediately win him over.” George howled with laughter.

Fred dodged an Exploding Snap card and stuck out his tongue. “Oh yes, I’d love it if my eyes were compared to a disgusting, slimy animal, Gin.”

Ginny’s face went crimson.

“Hey!” you snapped, frowning at them both, even though you found it hard to reprimand Fred. The boy was your soft spot. Three years of friendship and you’d fallen for him hard. It was your little secret. “She was being honest. That poem was really romantic. At least she had the guts to say what she felt.” You glanced at Ginny, smiling warmly. “I wish someone wrote something like that for me.”

Fred paused, a Snap card hovering just above his hand. His eyes flicked to yours, sharp and curious.

“You do?” he asked lightly, but the tone was wrong. Equal parts careful and doubtful.

You laughed, not noticing. “Of course. Who doesn’t want someone to write a poem for them on Valentine’s Day?”

George snorted. “I’d write one, but it would be about myself. Bit narcissistic, but the rhymes would be top-notch.”

You rolled your eyes as Ginny giggled beside you. The moment passed, the twins went back to their game, but Fred didn’t look away from you right away. His eyes lingered on your profile as you smiled down at Ginny - soft, thoughtful, distant.

Little did you know, a plan was already forming.

———————————————————————

The next morning dawned pale and cold, but there was a strange excitement in the air, as though the castle itself had picked up on the undercurrent of mischief.

You yawned your way down the girls’ dormitory stairs, tugging your jumper over your head and dragging your bag behind you. The common room was quiet save for the fire.

As soon as you cleared the bottom step, a booming voice rang out, startling you so hard you nearly rolled your ankle.

“GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE OF MY SOUL! LEND THINE EARS TO A MESSAGE MOST BOLD!”

You froze.

There, standing in the center of the common room atop a side table was George Weasley.

Dressed in a white tunic. Wings. Tights. And - yes, unfortunately - a golden bow slung across his bare chest and a quiver full of heart-shaped arrows. He looked like an off-brand Cupid who had raided Professor Trelawney’s tea cupboard.

“Oh no,” you whispered, stepping back.

He cleared his throat dramatically and struck a pose. “Ahem. From a most secret admirer - though, really, he’s as subtle as a Bludger to the head - comes this ode of undying affection.”

You raised an eyebrow. “George…”

And then he sang. “O fairest flame with lion’s pride, who walks with stars and does not hide. Thy laugh outshines the morning light, and makes the darkest dungeon bright.”

You slapped your hand to your mouth, stifling a laugh. You instantly remembered your conversation from the night before and quickly came to the conclusion that Fred and George must be pranking you for your comments to Ginny.

“With eyes like firewhisky’s gleam, you haunt the corners of my dreams. Your wit as sharp as cursed blades, you set my quiet world ablaze.”

George twirled, nearly falling over. “I see you there by candle’s gleam, the queenly heart in crimson seam. And if I dare, I’d say it true, I’ve gone and lost my mind for you.”

“So if you laugh, or think it jest, know that I still feel so blessed. To see you smile just once a day would chase the lonely nights away. George bowed low. “Signed, with excessive admiration…your mystery poet.”

The common room erupted in laughter and applause.

You couldn’t help it - you doubled over, guffawing like a hyena. “Okay, nice one, George, but tell Fred his lines were a little cheesy for my tastes.”

George gave you a weird look but bowed and strutted out of the room like a peacock on parade.

You smiled to yourself, still giggling. You never noticed Fred watching you from the boys’ staircase, face unreadable.

———————————————————————

By the time you got to Charms that morning, you sensed something was wrong.

Fred wasn’t talking to you. At all.

In fact, he wouldn’t even look at you. Every time you made a joke, he turned away. When you nudged him with your elbow, he shrugged it off with and focused on his wand movements. Even in Transfiguration, where you normally passed notes or teamed up on McGonagall’s trickiest assignments, he kept his distance.

You stared at his back during lunch as he talked to Lee Jordan, heart sinking. What did you do? Was he mad at you?

“Oi.” You turned to find George flopping into the seat beside you, plopping mashed potatoes on his plate with alarming speed. “Why’s Fred mad?”

“Bit dense today, aren’t you?” The younger of the two twins shot back.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He leaned in, dropping his voice. “That poem I sang this morning?”

“…Yes?”

He looked at you like you were the slowest Hippogriff in the stables. “Fred wrote it. For you. And you laughed. Did you expect him to take that well?”

You froze, fork suspended mid-air. “Aren’t you supposed to laugh at jokes and pranks?”

“Except it wasn’t a joke,” George raised an eyebrow. “Ge was being serious.”

“He…what?!” you whispered.

George nodded. “Wrote it last night after you went up to bed. Told me not to tell you if you laughed. But honestly, I hate watching him mope. So I’m telling you anyway because I’m pretty sure you like him back.”

“What? No, I…Why would you think that?” You face flushed red and George looked at you with a pointed expression. “Okay, fine, maybe yu’re right.”

Your stomach twisted. You’d laughed. You thought it was a prank. And Fred - Fred Weasley, joke master extraordinaire - had written you a poem. A romantic, vulnerable, real poem.

You were an idiot. No. You had to fix this. And you had an idea of how.

“Hey George…”

———————————————————————

The sky above the Hogwarts pitch burned with the pale gold of a winter sunset, streaked with long violet shadows. The crowd was electric, banners fluttering, red and blue scarves waving like flames. Lee Jordan’s voice rang out above it all, his commentary full of jokes, cheers, and the occasional scolding from Professor McGonagall.

You stood just behind him in the announcer’s booth, eyes locked on the game below, though you could barely concentrate.

Your heart wasn’t in the match. It was in the air with Fred.

He soared like he was born to the skies - spinning through Ravenclaw Chasers, dodging Bludgers from their Beaters. His hair was a glint of auburn flame in the air, his movements all effortless grace and mischief.

And you had laughed at his poem.

You still felt sick about it. You hadn’t known - it felt like a prank, like one of those over-the-top stunts the twins pulled every other week. But you should have known better. Fred could be loud and wild, sure. But when he was serious, when he meant something, he meant it with his whole heart.

And he’d meant it for you.

Below, Angelina Johnson caught the Quaffle mid-air, curled her body into a spin, and slammed it through the center hoop. Lee shouted the score - Gryffindor now leading by twenty - and the pitch trembled with applause.

You took a deep breath and closed your fingers around the parchment in your pocket. It was creased and smudged from how many times you’d opened and reread it today.

“Looks like Harry’s about to end it. Ready?” Lee murmured, smirking as he took the enchanted microphone from its hook.

You nodded.

“And Harry Potter has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins!” Lee bellowed, his voice echoing over the loud celebratory cheers.

“You’ve got five minutes,” he said to her in a lower tone as he covered the mic before handing it to her, stepping aside.

The final whistle blew, echoing across the pitch like a gunshot. Red and gold confetti burst into the air from somewhere in the stands. Gryffindors leapt to their feet, screaming in victory. Fred pumped a fist into the air as George collided with him in a midair hug, both of them laughing madly.

Now or never. “Hi! Um, wait! Everyone, can you just stay where you are for a minute?”

The students turned in confusion. Some of the professors - McGonagall among them - raised eyebrows but didn’t move to stop you.

Fred, still hovering just off the ground, turned toward the podium, brows knit in curiosity.

You swallowed. Your stomach was full of pixies and nerves, but your voice was steady. “I know today’s supposed to be about the match,” you began, heart racing, “and Gryffindor absolutely crushed it—” (that got a round of cheers) “—but I have something to say. Actually, I have something to fix.”

You could feel hundreds of eyes on you. Your palms were sweaty. But all you saw was Fred, hovering alone above the pitch, motionless, staring.

“I messed up. This morning, someone sent me a Valentine. A really beautiful, clever, heartfelt Valentine.” You looked down at your parchment, unfolding it with shaking hands. “I laughed at it. I thought it was a prank. Because the idea that someone like him could like someone like me just felt impossible.”

A few oooohs and whispering spread through the stands.

Fred’s mouth parted just slightly, as if he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“So I’m doing the only thing I can think of,” you said. “I have one last valentine that needs to be read.”

You took a breath and began to read, your voice loud and clear. “To the boy who plays with fire and air, whose laugh is a dare and eyes soft with care, who flies like chaos with lightning breath, and stole my heart like it was an easy theft. You wrote me words I didn’t deserve, and I met them with the wrong kind of nerve. But now I see what you were brave to say, and I hope I can say it back today.”

Fred hadn’t moved.

“Because when you laugh, the world feels bright. And when you tease, it somehow feels right. And if I’m bold enough to speak this true, then yes, I’ve fallen hard for you.”

Your voice cracked a little on that last line. You glanced behind you. George gave you a wild thumbs-up and struck a match.

The fireworks exploded into the sky in a blast of scarlet and gold, showering the pitch with glittering stardust.

They twisted and turned midair, forming letters.

Be mine?

The crowd erupted. Cheers echoed off the towers, louder than the final whistle. Even the Slytherins clapped, impressed by the theatrics. Somewhere in the stands, a Hufflepuff was sobbing into their sleeve.

And Fred…Fred had tears in his eyes. He rocketed forward on his broom, landing with a soft thud in front of the podium. You stared down at him, every nerve in your body alight.

He didn’t say a word. He just jumped onto the podium, grabbed you around the waist, and lifted you clean off your feet.

You shrieked in surprise and then laughed, clutching his shoulders as he spun you in a circle, his forehead pressed to yours.

The crowd was deafening.

When he kissed you, it was all warmth and relief and pent-up joy. The world seemed to fall away - the stands, the cheers, the snow melting into the grass - and all you felt was Fred, grinning into your mouth like he couldn’t believe this was real.

He set you down gently, cupping your face with both hands, his voice soft just for you. “You weren’t laughing at me?”

You smiled through the tears threatening your lashes. “Not even a little.”

He kissed you again.

“All right! That’s enough, Mr Weasley, Ms y/l/n!” McGonagall finally cut in but even that wasn’t enough to stifle your joy.

———————————————————————

Later that night, long after the pitch had cleared and the sky returned to quiet stars, you sat by the Gryffindor fireplace, curled in one of the squishy armchairs. Fred sat beside you, legs stretched out, one arm lazily draped behind you. The party was still going strong in the background. Seamus was singing off-key, someone had conjured rose-colored fairy lights, and a plate of Chocolate Cauldron Cakes was making the rounds.

But all you could think about was the warmth of Fred’s hand slowly playing with your fingers.

“You know,” he said, glancing at you sidelong, “I was going to ask George to perform another verse.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He nodded seriously. “Something about your laugh sounding like a singing Fwooper.”

You couldn’t help but giggle and he snapped his fingers at the sound. “That’s it! Just like that!” Fred’s smile turned tender. “You looked beautiful up there.”

“I looked like I was going to vomit.”

“And yet, still beautiful.”

Your cheeks went hot. He leaned in a little closer. “I’ve liked you since the start of the year,” he murmured. “You were always hanging out with Ginny, even though she’s three years younger than us. And you look so pretty when you’re doing your homework, the way you chew on your lip all thoughtful like. And you’re always making those ridiculous puns in History of Magic…”

“They’re very good puns,” you countered.

“They’re so bad they loop around to genius.”

You laughed again, and Fred’s grin softened into something almost shy. “I wrote that poem because I didn’t know how to say it plain. I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same, and that I might make things weird or awkward between us.”

Your fingers brushed his. “I’m sorry I laughed. It’s been years of me waiting for you to finally notice me as more than your friend. I guess I got to used to waiting It didn’t occur to me it had finally happened.”

“Years, you say?” Fred tilted his head, eyes glinting with something mischievous.

“Oh, shut up,” you nudged his side with your elbow, face flushing pink.

“Maybe next Valentine’s, we both skip the poetry and just snog behind the broom shed?”

You feigned outrage. “That’s terribly unromantic.”

“Fine,” he said, leaning in so his nose brushed yours. “I’ll bring you chocolates and then we’ll snog.”

You pretended to ponder it. “Deal.”

He kissed you again, slow and sure, and for the first time all day, your heart was completely, utterly still.

You were his Valentine. And he was yours. And that’s how it would stay.

[magical-reid]

A Twist of Fate

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader (Uses Y/N a couple times)

Word count: 900

Prompts: 5: “Did you just tell the person I was gonna go out with that we’re dating?” 

36: “Take my jacket, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Summary: Fred Weasley interrupts your evening by claiming you're dating, revealing his jealousy and affection for you in a moment of unexpected vulnerability. Despite his misguided approach, you admit you care for him too, and the two of you begin to navigate the complexities of your feelings, with Fred's genuine love making the world feel warmer.

The snow outside the Great Hall was falling fast, painting the grounds of Hogwarts in a pristine white blanket. The cold air seeped into the castle, clinging to your skin even as you stood near the roaring torches in the corridor. Yet, none of that compared to the simmering heat of irritation building in your chest.

Fred Weasley was the reason for it.

You spotted him strolling toward you down the hallway, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who had just completely upended your evening. His red hair glinted in the firelight, messy as always, and his tall frame moved with the casual confidence that infuriated you even more.

“Fred,” you snapped as he approached.

“(Y/N),” he greeted cheerfully, a mischievous glint in his warm brown eyes.

“Did you just tell the person I was gonna go out with that we’re dating?” you demanded, your voice rising slightly.

Fred stopped in front of you, tilting his head as if deep in thought. Then, he grinned. “Oh, that’s what he thought I meant? That’s odd.”

“Don’t play dumb,” you shot back, folding your arms across your chest. “Why on earth would you say something like that?”

He shrugged, entirely too nonchalant. “Just thought he should know you’re spoken for.”

“Spoken for?” you repeated, incredulous. “I’m not spoken for! And even if I were, it wouldn’t be you speaking for me.”

Fred leaned casually against the wall, still infuriatingly calm in the face of your anger. “Well, someone had to do it. That bloke didn’t deserve your time.”

Your glare intensified. “Oh, and you think you get to decide who does?”

For a moment, Fred’s ever-present grin faltered. He looked away, scratching the back of his neck—a telltale sign he was nervous, though you rarely saw it. “It’s not about him, alright?”

“Then what is it about, Fred?” you demanded, taking a step closer. “Why do you care so much about who I go out with?”

He hesitated, his eyes flickering back to yours. And then, finally, he sighed, the lighthearted mask slipping away.

“Because the thought of you going out with someone else drives me mad,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “And, Merlin help me, I didn’t know what else to do.”

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling between you. Fred Weasley, the boy who never seemed to take anything seriously, was suddenly completely earnest.

“You—you can’t just say things like that,” you stammered, your anger replaced by an entirely different kind of flustered feeling.

“Why not?” he asked, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “It’s true. I like you, (Y/N). I have for ages. And maybe I went about it the wrong way, but I couldn’t stand there and let someone else get to be with you while I stood around like a coward.”

Your heart raced as you stared at him, his words sinking in. Fred Weasley, with his endless jokes and charming grin, had just laid his heart bare in front of you.

“That’s… not exactly fair,” you said finally, though your voice was softer now.

“I know,” Fred said, straightening up. “But I wasn’t trying to be fair. I was trying to be honest. And maybe a little selfish.”

The snow outside continued to fall, the soft sound of it filling the silence that hung between you.

Then, without warning, Fred shrugged off his jacket. Before you could react, he stepped forward and draped it over your shoulders.

“What are you doing?” you asked, startled.

“Take my jacket,” he said, his hands lingering on the fabric for a moment. “I don’t want you catching a cold.”

You stared up at him, your cheeks warming despite the icy chill of the corridor. His jacket smelled like him—fireworks, cinnamon, and something faintly sweet. It was warm and comforting, just like the boy in front of you, even if he drove you mad sometimes.

“I don’t need your jacket,” you mumbled, though you didn’t move to take it off.

Fred grinned, his usual confidence returning. “Yeah, well, I’m not taking it back, so you’re stuck with it.”

You looked at him, the weight of everything that had just happened pressing down on you. Fred Weasley liked you. He wasn’t joking, wasn’t playing one of his pranks—he was serious.

“Fred,” you said softly, stepping closer. His grin faltered again, replaced by something nervous and hopeful.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice unusually quiet.

“You’re an idiot,” you said, though there was no heat in your words.

He laughed, his eyes lighting up with relief. “I hear that a lot. Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“But,” you continued, your voice gentler now, “I guess I’m okay with it. If it means you’re my idiot.”

Fred’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked completely stunned. Then, a grin broke across his face, wide and genuine. “You mean that?”

You nodded, smiling despite yourself. “I mean that. But next time, maybe let me decide who I’m going out with?”

Fred chuckled, stepping closer until he was right in front of you. His hand reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch light and careful. “Deal. But for the record, I’ll always think I’m the best choice.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. “Of course you do.”

Fred’s grin softened into something warmer as he looked at you. The snow continued to fall outside, but you hardly noticed the cold anymore. Wrapped in his jacket, with his bright, steady presence by your side, the world suddenly felt a little warmer.

[6thhour]

Reevaluation

|Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader|

2725 words

Fluff

Notes: reader’s house is not specified, reader is a bit of a grump in the beginning, inaccuracies.

You met Fred Weasley in your third year at Hogwarts specifically during divination, you had the misfortune of being paired with him for the whole term.

Of course, you were privy to him and his brother’s reputation; you didn't live under a rock.

You thought he was absolutely insufferable with his horsing around and constantly turning around to chat with his mates, it was a wonder how he got anything done.

You ignored him outside of divination, half the time you ignored him in divination as well, and you were happy doing so, you dreaded seeing that head of ginger hair every time you walked into the classroom.

When Fred noticed you weren't exactly fond of him, that's when things started getting annoying.

He stopped turning around to talk with his friends and started talking to you.

It started with him acting like he wanted your opinion on the classwork “What do you suppose that is?” he'd ask, looking between you and his tea leaves

“Why don't you ask Professor Trelawney?,” you said, eyes not moving away from your teacup “She’s busy, give me a hand, will you?” he pleaded.

You let out a deep sigh and peered over into his teacup “Looks like a goat to me.” you observed, moving your gaze back to your cup.

“Huh, I thought it might've been a grindylow,” he said giggling to himself.

You rolled your eyes at him but that only spurred him on more.

He then started seeking you out in other classes, deciding to move and sit directly behind you in potions. “Do you have any more Haliwinkle shells? When I crushed mine the powder went all over my desk.” He chuckled.

You scoffed at him, nevertheless, you gave him some of your shells.

You started avoiding him after third year and you were doing a pretty good job of it.

Until your sixth year.

You were put in the same herbology class as the Weasley, even worse you were partnered up on a project that was vital to your grade.

“Hullo partner, this seems familiar, doesn't it? I'm getting a bit of deja vu, aren't you?” he asked with an incredibly smug smile overtaking his face as he approached, seemingly elated you'd been paired up.

You could only shake your head in defeat.

As everyone made their way to their respective partners, Professor Sprout began speaking;

“Your task is to raise a shrivelfig from seedling until it has grown enough to provide medicinal and magical properties.”

You were absolutely mortified. It takes weeks to raise a plant from a seed until it's fully grown.

As Professor Sprout continued speaking about the project Fred leaned down to whisper in your ear “Sounds like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,”

You turn your head towards him, seeing his smile still adorning his face.

“Evidently.” you deadpan.

He laughs at that even though you aren't sure what's so funny.

You purposefully take longer to pack up than everyone else to talk to Professor Sprout after class.

“Professor Sprout?” you grab her attention from preparing for her next class “Oh-Yes Miss L/N? Can I do something for you?”

“Erm, I was wondering if we had to do the project with a partner, I think I'd be better suited to work independently.” you expressed bashfully.

“I paired you and Fred Weasley together on purpose, I figured you two would work wonderfully together!” She exclaims with a puzzled look on her face.

“I know you two are kind of a contrast dear but give him a chance, he’s quite alright in herbology,” she reassured smiling at you now.

“Right… I suppose I can feel it out and give him a chance,” you reply defeat laced in your sentence.

“That’s the spirit! I'm glad to hear it!”

You bid your professor a quick farewell and begin your walk to your next class.

During breakfast the next morning you shared your distressing herbology news with your good friend Marjorie which might’ve been a mistake.

“With Fred Weasley? I thought you thought he was a total git!” she exclaimed loud enough for the people surrounding you at your house table and probably the other tables to hear.

“Merlin Marjorie! Quiet down would you? The whole student body of Hogwarts doesn't need to hear about my disdain for Fred Weasley!” You whisper shouted, causing Marjorie’s hand to slap over her mouth.

“Sorry,” she apologized, giggling shyly and looking around at who might've heard, in turn making you roll your eyes.

“What made you hate him so much anyway? He seems like a pretty alright fellow to me,” she asks before shoveling a spoonful of porridge into her mouth.

You sighed “I don't hate him, he's very… I don't know; he plays too many pranks, he thinks everything is a joke, I think he knows I don't like him and makes it worse on purpose.” you admit.

“He is fit though, you've got to admit,” Marjorie says pointing her spoon at you playfully, you scoff at her in disbelief making her erupt with giggles which leads to you doing the same.

You really weren't ready for herbology, you weren't ready to start this project with Fred Weasley of all people.

You went to your station and sat your things down as your partner came into the greenhouse laughing at something one of your other classmates said.

“Well hello again partner, how are you this fine afternoon?” The Weasley boy said as he sauntered over toward you.

“Fine, how are you, Fred?” you asked blandly.

“Ah, how nice of you for asking! I'm quite alright!” he said happily.

Today was the real beginning of the project, you had to plant the seedlings.

Once you and Fred had planted the seed you found yourself wishing you could charm the plant to grow faster.

“You alright? You look like you want to murder that soil.” Fred said, chuckling to himself.

You looked up at him “I just hope these things grow fast.” you murmured.

“If I didn't know any better I’d say you'd rather be anywhere but here,” the redhead said as he placed his elbow on the table, leaning down, becoming eye level with you.

“I like herbology, I just don't want to be wrapped up in this project too long.” you excused

“So it's me you don't like?” the boy said, chuckling.

“No, I mean-” you huffed making him laugh, you rolled your eyes at the sound, “The project will take weeks, I’d rather have that time to learn more about other things.” you finally let out.

“Sure,” he says standing back at his full height, a final chuckle escaping him.

Shortly after you're all dismissed from class.

It has been three weeks since you and Fred had potted the shrivelfig, it had been progressing nicely, actually, the whole class’s shrivelfigs seemed great until today.

The shrivelfig fruits have started to wither and their signature violet color has become a dark muted maroon.

“What do you think is wrong with ‘em?” Fred asked, bending at the waist to look curiously at the plant.

“I’ve got no clue, we've done everything right, we were so close to being done with the project,” you murmured, biting your nails.

“Maybe Sprout jinxed them,” He whispered half-joking.

You thought about it for a moment, your eyes widening now looking into his “I think you might be right, it is quite strange the whole class’s shrivelfigs have suddenly gone bad.” you said quietly.

“D’you want to go to the library after dinner? See if we can find anything about counter-jinxes.” he proposed.

“Yeah, we've got to get this sorted out.” you agreed.

“Bet you're happy I'm your partner now, huh?” he asks, smiling at you triumphantly.

You snickered at the proud look that engrossed his face, the sound only making his smile wider.

That evening during dinner in the great hall you were so distracted thinking about the shriveling shrivelfig and Fred that you didn't even notice Marjorie talking to you until she snapped her fingers in your face.

“Hey! I'm asking you a question! Have you been listening to anything I've been saying?”

“Sorry, what did you say?” Marjorie rolled her eyes at you playfully.

“I wanted to know how your herbology project is coming along, I heard Quincey Finnigan say one of Sprout's whole class’s shrivelfigs suddenly tanked.”

“Oh, yeah our shrivelfigs have totally wilted, we’re going to the library after dinner to see if we can find anything helpful,” you explained.

“We’re? As in you and Fred Weasley? My Merlin I think I need to lie down. You? Agreeing to be in Fred Weasley’s presence outside of class? Impossible.” She let out a hearty laugh.

“He actually might have figured out what happened to the shrivelfigs, we’re going to look into counter-jinxes, he's actually very clever when he tries,” You praised.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” she giggles poking your cheek.

“Oh come off it,” you say, batting her hand away and chuckling “I’ll give credit where credit is due.”

You and Marjorie laughed.

As you approached the library you saw both of the Weasley twins and you felt a pang of disappointment in your chest, at the thought of George joining you, you brushed off the feeling as annoyance ‘I won’t be able to tolerate both of them’ you thought

When you finally stopped in front of the twins you looked toward George “Will you be joining us?” you asked with a sigh.

“No, this sorry sod was just leaving,” Fred replied, giving George a playful shove.

“Aye!” George exclaimed, laughing before walking away backward.

“Don’t let that git drop your grade L/N!” the retreating twin warned through his laughter.

You huffed at their antics

“Let's go,” you ordered Fred

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a salute following you into the library, you rolled your eyes at him

You and Fred spent a while looking at jinxes and counter-jinxes having not a lick of luck.

It was nearing curfew when you started yawning.

“We ought to retire I suppose,” Fred recommends, standing and stretching.

You watched his movements, as your eyes raked over his tall stature you saw his sleeves rolled up to his elbows exposing his forearms, and his red and gold Gryffindor tie loosened around the collar of his shirt.

As your eyes traveled downward you saw his trousers were a bit short, probably due to his sheer height, and his ankles were exposed; due to the fact giving you a view of what you found to be mismatched neon polka dot socks.

“Hello?” you heard the ginger say “What? Sorry,” you apologized feeling your face grow hot as you realized you probably looked like a mad woman staring at him like you were.

He let out a breathy chuckle “We ought to get back, it’s almost curfew if Filch finds us we're in for a detention.”

“Oh yeah- you’re right,” you accept as you begin packing up your things.

You notice he's already packed up and watching you, you raise your eyebrow at him. “What are you waiting for?” you ask.

“Figured it wouldn't hurt to walk together,” he shoots you a cheesy grin.

“Oh, alright then,” you feel heat creeping up your ears and down your neck.

As you both start walking you fall into conversation about what classes you both take and upcoming quidditch games but you both circle back to your herbology project.

“How ‘bout we meet again tomorrow? We can keep looking at counter-jinxes but I thought it might be worth looking for potion antidotes or healing-type potions, something of that nature,” He suggests.

“Yeah, that sounds great, potions didn't even cross my mind, good thinking,” You complimented, sharing a smile with him, it seemed like a chain reaction when you smiled he smiled.

When you both went your separate ways you felt that pang in your chest again, confused since you had no reason to feel disappointed or annoyed, you had an alright time with Fred.

You chalked it up to you being stressed over your shrivelfig.

When you entered your shared dorm room you were bombarded with questions from Marjorie.

“You didn't murder the poor lad did you?”

“How’d it go?”

“Did you figure out what's wrong with your fig?”

You indulged Marjorie by answering her questions and telling her about the conversations you and Fred shared on your walk back from the library

“He doesn't seem to be as bad as I thought he was, he's a good conversationalist and very smart.”

After you said that her mouth dropped open in disbelief “Y/N! Missus Y/N L/N! You're going soft on me!” she giggled.

You could only scoff in amusement.

After dinner the next day you met with Fred again, he focused on counter-jinxes that could possibly restore the shrivelfig’s health while you looked at potion antidotes that might be helpful.

“OY!” Fred yelped before he began laughing like a maniac making his way over to you.

“Fred! We’re in a library!” you whisper-shouted.

“Sorry,” he whispered, still laughing. “But I think I've found exactly what we need, this restoration counter-jinx! I don't know how I didn't think of it before! I had to use it when George and I turned Percy’s robes pink!”

The taller boy pushed the book you currently had in front of you aside and placed the one in his hand on the table and pointed to the paragraph he had been reading.

You skimmed over it and gasped “Fred Weasley! You're a genius!” you were looking between him and the book and you were smiling, a smile he'd never seen from you before.

Fred checked out a book that had the instructions on how to perform the counter-jinx along with a book of jinxes he'd found that had nothing to do with your project.

You could only imagine what that book would be used for.

“We're going to have an O by the end of this project,” he said as you both exited the library laughing together.

You and Fred were incredibly giddy the next herbology class when you performed the counter-jinx and your shrivelfig was returned to its natural state.

“Oh, how wonderful! I’m very proud of the both of you, I knew you'd work well together!” Professor Sprout exclaimed as she examined your prosperous shrivelfig.

You and Fred looked at each other and smiled brightly at her words.

At the end of class, you and Fred were walking back to the castle feeling extremely proud of yourselves.

“I can’t believe I'm going to say this, but I think I'm going to miss working with you,” you admitted, a bittersweet smile etched on your face.

“Ouch!” He said rubbing his hand across his chest acting as if you'd physically hurt him.

You rolled your eyes at him and laughed at his dramatics.

“It doesn't have to end, you know, if you didn't avoid me we could actually hang around together,”

Your face flushes and you look down.

“I mean I know you think I’m an inconvenience but I'd say I'm a pretty smart inconvenience,” He says and you feel your face get warmer.

“Ugh, you aren't an inconvenience,” you reply “You're actually not bad at all,” you admit.

“S’that so?” he asks, his eyebrows inching up his forehead.

“Don’t make me take it back,” you groan.

“Oh I wouldn't dare, that's such high praise coming from you.” he quips

You both giggle.

“I am serious though, I'd like to hang out with you, outside of herbology” Your pace slows.

“You really would? Even if I treated you like shite?” You ask, feeling bashful.

“For sure, you're totally wicked L/N,” Fred states.

“Wicked enough for you to want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

There's a beat of silence, and then Fred stops walking.

”Damn, you beat me to it,”

He confesses.

You’re stopped right next to him and you finally look up at him.

“Yeah, you're definitely wicked enough for me to want to go to Hogsmeade with you this weekend.” He declares.

You smile at him and to your surprise he takes your hand in his and holds it all the way back to the castle.

“So does this mean you don't think I'm a git anymore?”

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

FRED WEASLEY couldn’t believe his stroke of good luck. The entire dorm to himself and all he had to do was make good use of it. Before, he might’ve used the empty space to test out more dangerous Weasley products. Now that he’s been hooking up with you, however, he sees this as an opportunity no less than golden. Retrieving you was easy, he knows all your usual places. All he had to do was appeal to your sense of adventure, whisking you away mysteriously, goading you to follow him up the stairs. Now you’re underneath him, legs sprung up on either side of him in suspense. They bob with his movements, sheathing into a hole elevated by his pillow under your tailbone. It’s the kind of angle that makes you wanna shriek but his hand over your mouth keeps you quiet and his sock on the door handle keeps roommates out. His long body hovers over you, and you can watch as his proportionate cock rams into you. Your pretty eyes flutter back at the sight, your neck falling limp as you take it. “You wanted this just as much as I did, yeah? Can feel it grabbin’ onto me.” he says in a near whisper, husky from effort. You hum in response, and it brings a chuckle to him, pecking the back of his hand to symbolically give you a kiss through it.

[cowboylikemac]

FALSE GOD || F.W

Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: You and Fred Weasley have been sneaking around Hogwarts, pretending it’s just physical until one night makes it too real to ignore. When you get caught, Fred finally confesses the truth it’s always meant something. And this time, you stop pretending.

Warnings: explicit content, smut, fluff, no major character death

Word count: 1.4k

You’re not supposed to be here.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” you whisper, breath hitching as he pulls your shirt down over your shoulder, exposing skin like he’s unveiling something sacred.

Fred grins against your collarbone, warm breath making you shiver. “You always say that. Right before you pull me into another room.”

You want to argue. You want to say he’s wrong— that it’s him who finds you every time, him who lights the match but then his tongue runs a slow line up your neck and the thought vanishes.

It always does with Fred.

Because Fred Weasley touches you like you’re a religion. Like he’s kneeling at an altar and you’re the only holy thing left in the world.

—

It started months ago. A party in the common room. Too much Firewhisky and not enough space. You were dancing, laughing and then his eyes were on you. Heat. Hunger. Worship.

He kissed you in a hallway that night, back pressed to stone, hands threading under your jumper. You didn’t stop him. You didn’t want to.

And now, here you are, again and again. Worshipping something neither of you will name.

“This isn’t love,” you told him once, after a night in the Astronomy Tower when your knees were bruised from stone and your lips were swollen from his teeth.

He just looked at you and said, “No. But we still bow to it, don’t we?”

—

His hand slides under your skirt now, fingers trailing up your thigh, slow like he has forever. You whimper, quiet, and his grip tightens.

“You always wear these skirts just for me?” he murmurs, eyes dark, voice low.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

So you kiss him — hard, all teeth and heat and it only encourages him. His hands are everywhere, greedy and reverent all at once. The way he touches you shouldn’t feel sacred. But it does.

When his fingers slip past your underwear, you gasp, hips bucking. He drinks in the sound like a man starved.

“You’re always so ready for me,” he mutters, forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing as he speaks. “You act like you hate me in the daylight, but down here in the dark…”

“Fred—”

“I know,” he whispers, sliding one finger in, then two. “I know what this does to you.”

You can’t think. Can’t breathe. His mouth moves to your chest, teeth grazing your skin before he sucks gently leaving proof of you on him, and him on you.

You grind against his hand, moaning softly, and he groans at the sight of you — flushed, ruined, whispering his name like a prayer.

And it is a prayer, in some twisted way.

Because Fred Weasley isn’t safe. He’s temptation in a red and gold tie, a boy who never plays fair, and you’re on your knees for him anyway.

—

He lays you back on the cold desk, shrugging off his robes and unbuttoning his shirt with shaking hands. Your eyes trail over every inch of him — his flushed chest, the faint freckles scattered across his collarbone, the scar near his ribs from a failed prototype. You want to kiss all of it. Memorize him.

And he watches you the same way — like you’re made of something rare and breakable.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” you whisper.

He pauses. “Yeah, I do.”

Then he leans down and kisses your stomach, your hips, the inside of your thighs. Each touch a vow.

When he finally slides into you, slow and deep, you both gasp like your bodies recognize each other before your hearts are ready to admit it.

You wrap your legs around him, nails digging into his back, clinging like you’ll fall apart without him.

“I dream about this,” he breathes against your neck. “About you. The sounds you make. The way you feel.”

You whimper, hips meeting his as he moves, every thrust perfectly measured, like he knows exactly how to ruin you.

The desk creaks. Your breath stutters. His name falls from your lips like it’s divine.

And Fred? He looks at you like you’re the altar and he’s the believer.

“Look at me,” he says.

You do.

And in that moment, it feels like love. It feels like everything.

—

After, you’re both quiet. The air is thick with sweat and secrets.

Fred leans against you, forehead resting on your shoulder. You thread your fingers through his hair.

“You’re going to get tired of sneaking around,” you say eventually, barely above a whisper.

He lifts his head. “You think that’s all this is?”

“I think we don’t talk about it.”

He’s silent for a beat. Then, “If this is a false god, I’ll still worship it.”

Your heart aches.

You don’t say anything else.

But when he kisses you again slow, soft, careful and you let him.

And when you both walk back to Gryffindor Tower separately, like strangers in the hall, you still feel him everywhere.

—

The next morning, everything feels different.

Not because of the sex — you’ve done that before. Not because he kissed you afterward like it meant something. He always does.

But because you’re starting to think it actually does mean something.

And that’s terrifying.

You’re sitting across from him at breakfast, trying not to look at him. He’s got a smirk tugging at his mouth, like he’s remembering how your legs shook around his waist last night.

George elbows him and mutters something. Fred laughs, but doesn’t respond. He glances at you and this time, you do look back.

Big mistake. Your stomach flips.

You tear your eyes away and dig into your toast. You don’t see the way Fred’s face falls.

—

You avoid him the rest of the day.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re busy. Because you’ve got that Herbology essay. Because you need to focus on literally anything else besides how Fred Weasley made you feel like something sacred in a dusty classroom.

But you can’t stop thinking about it. About him. About how, for a moment, it felt like more.

You’ve just turned the corner toward the Astronomy Tower again, your hiding place of choice

when a voice behind you says, “You’re avoiding me.”

You close your eyes. “No, I’m not.”

Fred scoffs. “You haven’t spoken to me since last night.”

You turn. He’s standing there in his school robes, tie loose, hair tousled. His expression is unreadable.

“I didn’t think we talked,” you stated in an almost cold tone.

He flinches.

You didn’t mean to sound cruel. But it’s easier this way, right? Easier to pretend it’s still just a game. Still just late nights and false promises.

Fred steps closer. “What do you want me to say? That I like you? That I’ve always liked you?”

Your heart stutters.

He lowers his voice. “Because I do. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”

The hallway is silent. You’re sure he can hear your heart hammering.

Then behind you someone clears their throat.

You both freeze.

And when you turn around, of course it’s McGonagall.

—

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing in her office, both of you flushed and silent as she paces behind her desk.

“Mr. Weasley. Miss Y/L/N I’d like to remind you both that Hogwarts is not a… playground for romantic entanglements.”

Fred mumbles something like “Yes, ma’am.”

You resist the urge to crawl under the floor.

“I will not be assigning detention,” she continues, stern. “But I do expect a level of decorum going forward. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” you both say in unison.

She sends you off with a pointed look. You practically run down the corridor.

Fred catches up with you near the stairs.

“Well,” he says, trying not to laugh. “That was horrifying.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m never showing my face again.”

He gently pulls your hands away. “Hey.”

You look up at him. He’s not smiling anymore.

“Are you still going to pretend this doesn’t mean anything?” he asks.

You bite your lip. “No.”

He exhales, relief flooding his face. “Good.”

And then, without hesitation, he leans in and kisses you. Right there in the middle of the corridor, no classrooms, no shadows, no excuses.

When he pulls back, he grins. “Guess the secret’s out anyway.”

You laugh, breathless. “I’m still going to kill you for getting us caught.”

He throws an arm around your shoulder. “Totally worth it.”

And for the first time, you walk back into the common room together. No sneaking. No pretending.

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a/n: i need fred weasley to false god me so bad (｡♡︎‿♡︎｡)

tags: @lydiascabinsix @lydiasfalling @laufeysvalentine