dearxia

[dearxia]

SO CUTE AHHHH

Every Year in Greece? | F.W.

summary: after ten years of marriage, you and Fred find yourselves celebrating in Greece with your family.

pairing: dad!fred weasley x mom!reader

includes: PURE FLUFF, reader is implied pregnant at the end

a/n: I’m about to be free of all stress after March 8, so the posting should be consistent very soon!!

Love is absolutely endless. No matter how, where, or who falls in love, it was always bound to come. In your life, it came the second you met Fred Weasley in your first year at Hogwarts. Maybe it didn’t occur to you straight away that he was the true love of your life, but you knew as time went on.

Now it was your ten-year wedding anniversary.

This year, your family had collectively agreed to celebrate in Greece, with the added surprise of Molly and Arthur joining to watch over your two troublemakers—children you and Fred loved with every piece of your hearts.

Sunlight filtered through the white curtains, casting a golden glow over the room where you and Fred lay tangled beneath soft sheets. His head rested in the crook of your neck, warm breath fanning against your skin as you lazily traced patterns into the freckled expanse of his back. The world outside was quiet save for the distant sound of waves lapping against the shore. Peace. Pure, perfect peace.

Until it wasn’t.

With a burst of energy only Weasley twins possessed, the door slammed open. The newly appointed Weasley twins—Jane and Henry—launched themselves onto the bed with gleeful squeals, sending Fred jolting upright, hair tousled and eyes bleary.

“M’sorry, lovey,” you mumbled and pressed a kiss to his head as he groaned in mock agony. You reached for the two lively children, pulling them into your arms. “Now how did you two escape Nana and Papa?”

“They were busy making breakfast for us!” Jane answered with a bright grin, laughter filling the air when Fred began to tickle her. She squealed, squirming in your arms. “Daddy!”

You chuckled softly before turning your head toward Henry, his laughter quieter than his twin’s. You nudged your chin to his forehead, earning his attention. “Are you excited to head to the beach, Henry?”

He shifted in your arms and nodded, his browns eyes—the same one’s his father had—sparkling with excitement. “Yes! I’m gonna build the biggest sandcastle in the world! It’s gonna be bigger than the Burrow!”

Fred’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, Jane now in his arms and messing with his hair. “Bigger than the Burrow? Mate, we better get to the beach now before other people begin taking all the sand!”

Henry’s mouth fell agape, voice coming out as loud as his father’s. “People do that?”

You suppressed your laughter as Fred dramatically described his story about his vacation to Egypt when he was fifteen—slipping out of bed to get for the day for Godric knows how long the twins will encourage their father to keep talking.

By the time you exited the bathroom with the white sundress Fred bought you just for Greece and hair pulled back—still styled perfectly like usual—Henry was sitting crisscrossed on your side of the bed still listening to his father while Jane finished another braid in his hair. As always, Fred remained unbothered by anything his children did to his hair, especially the braids his daughter adorned him with.

“—And your uncle Georgie and I could’ve trapped your uncle Perce in the tomb when…” Fred trailed off as he saw you step out of the bathroom and began to pack for the beach. His eyes scanned your figure before meeting your eyes, your warmed cheeks saying unspoken things. “Bloody hell, your mum’s gorgeous.”

At the mention of their mother’s return, the twins whipped their heads in your direction, clambering over the bed to race into your loving arms one more. You stumbled at the sudden impact and held them close, your smile absolutely blinding to Fred.

“You two need to get out of your jammies and into beach clothes,” you squeezed their shoulders and ushered them out of the room swiftly, tilting your head out the doorway to ensure they made it to their room before turning back to Fred. “You need to change too, Weasley.”

Snapping out of his quiet daze, he finally stood and stretched like a lion, freckles that were scattered across his body practically glittering from the rays of sunlight. He met your stern look—the one where you narrowed your eyes at him with your hands on your hips—and placed a large hand on your waist, pulling you close to him.

Keeping your facade up, you bite your tongue in hopes of not letting a smile slip through. However, nothing ever gets past Fred Weasley’s careful eye.

“I suppose,” he murmured and tilted his head down to meet your eyes properly, squeezing your hip softly.

You subconsciously wet your lips and flit your eyes down to his inviting lips—instantly lifting them back to meet his teasing eyes. “Better hurry if you want to help Henry make his sandcastle.”

Fred hummed and thumbed your waist, “Sure.”

Finally giving in, you wrapped your arms around his neck as a loving smile adorned your face, pushing on your toes to be closer. You play with the hair in your reach, twirling the red hair in between your fingers. “I love you, Fred Weasley. I hope you know that.”

He grinned and closed the distance between the two of you, pressing a tender kiss to your lips and pulling you impossibly closer to him. Fred deepened the kiss ever so slightly before pulling away, leaving you in a daze and wanting more.

“I love you a helluva lot more,” he looked between your eyes and slowly release you from his hold. “I’ll see you in a minute, gorgeous.”

“You make me swoon,” you tease lightly as you moved around him to exit the room, jokingly glaring at him when he smacked your ass on the way out.

The morning sun continued to stream through the windows as the Weasley family gathered around the kitchen table, the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of Molly’s famous pancakes and Arthur’s perfectly brewed tea. Jane and Henry were already seated in front of their breakfast with the kind of enthusiasm only children could muster, syrup somehow already smeared across their cheeks when their father entered the kitchen.

And indeed, Fred Weasley indeed made you swoon.

When he wandered into the kitchen with the bag you packed for the beach, you felt your face heat up at the sight. He wore his light blue summer shirt that complimented his features beautifully—you honestly weren’t sure if he was a greek statue brought to life.

“Mum, you’re gonna cut into the plate.” Jane giggled and stopped your movements, tilting her head when you snapped your attention back to her food. “What’re you staring at daddy for?”

“Why are you being nosy?” Fred poked his daughter’s back, smiling when she laughed at the familiar feeling. “Mum can stare at me all she wants.”

Fred slid into the seat beside you, his arm casually draped over the back of your chair as he leaned in to whisper, “You know, I could get used to this. Waking up to you, the kids, and a view like that.” He gestured toward the window, where the sparkling Aegean Sea stretched out endlessly, its waves glinting like diamonds under the morning sun.

You smiled, leaning into him slightly. “Ten years of this, and you’re just now getting used to it?” You teased, nudging him with your elbow.

“Ten years of this,” he echoed, his voice softening as his gaze met yours. “And I still can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Jane scrunched her nose in playful disgust, stuffing her mouth with a fork full of pancakes with blueberries. “Ew, Daddy. You’re so mushy.”

Fred gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if she had wounded him. “Mushy? Me? I’m the definition of ruggedly handsome, Jane.”

Henry, still munching on a piece of cut up banana, giggled and shook his head. “Mum thinks you’re handsome, but you’re just silly.”

You smirked and took a sip of your tea as your kids argued with their father, knowing they were an exact replica of him. You sighed and rested a hand over your stomach, holding back a laugh when Jane stuck her tongue out at Fred.

“I happen to like silly.” You added as Fred stuck his tongue out at his daughter, making you roll your eyes in amusement.

Fred locked eyes with you and waggled his eyebrows. “I guess you're lucky too, love, because you’re stuck with me.”

The morning passed in the easy rhythm of family life—Molly and Arthur doting on their grandchildren, Fred entertaining the twins with wild hand gestures as he retold stories—this time slightly exaggerated for dramatic effect—and you soaking in every moment.

By late morning, you made your way to the beach, the golden sand warm beneath your toes. The twins raced ahead, kicking up tiny clouds of sand as they shrieked with joy. Fred, carrying the beach bag, walked beside you, fingers loosely laced with yours.

“You happy, love?” He asked, squeezing your hand gently.

You turned your face up to the sun, the salty breeze playing with your hair, and sighed contentedly. “More than I ever thought possible.”

Fred grinned and tugged you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple before lifting his voice. “Alright, team! Let’s build a sandcastle bigger than the Burrow!”

Henry and Jane cheered, already digging into the sand with determination.

You knelt beside them as you set up the blanket on the sand, laughter bubbling from your lips as Fred made a show of supervising, hands on his hips like some kind of foreman. The hours passed in golden warmth, filled with playful splashes in the sea, shrieks of delight as Fred tossed the kids into the waves, and soft, stolen kisses between you and your husband when the twins weren’t looking.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting everything in a golden glow, the four of you sat before your grand sandcastle—an uneven, slightly lopsided but utterly magnificent creation.

Jane leaned against you sleepily, her damp, red-curls sticking to her forehead. “This was the best day ever,” she murmured, yawning.

Henry nodded in agreement, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Yeah… Can we do this every year?”

You glanced at Fred, your heart swelling at the sight of him watching your children with so much love it was almost tangible. He met your eyes and smiled, the same boyish, mischievous grin you’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

“Every single year,” Fred promised, voice full of warmth.

You lean closer to him and give him a quick kiss, eyes shining with your own secret. “Maybe with one more addition to the family,” you whisper.

His eyes widened and looked down toward your stomach, grin widening when you nodded. He pulled you closer to him, in return pulling the sleepy twins along.

And in that moment—with your family nestled together, the waves whispering their lullaby, and the sky painted in fiery shades of orange and pink—you knew that love, real love, was absolutely endless.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[dearxia]

Jade I’ve entered my Fred Weasley era and a special friend owns me. Almost finished with my second read through and will probably immediately roll into my third. From the bottom of my heart, it hits different. I was wondering if you’d do one where ghostie gets overwhelmed in the shop and spontaneously decides to take a walk to clear her head. And Fred assumes she’s just stepping out for a moment to get air and promptly freaks out when he sees she’s gone? Doting, overprotective Fred makes me melt 🥹

The Weasley’s do three for two on Thursdays, drawing a large crowd without fail and despite a sore lack of their most common demographic. The school kids, often too overwhelmed with their schoolwork to mail in, and too far away to come in person, send their parental gophers with lists and good intent. 

“And, uh…  Genovian powder,” the white-haired woman says, peering at you through a pair of wonky glasses. Behind one green half moon and a purple star lense, spider-leg lashes blink slowly. 

“Peruvian?” you offer nervously. 

“No, don’t think so.” 

“We have Peruvian Darkness Powder, or there’s Calesthian Dragon Powder, but if there’s a Genovian one here I haven’t seen it,” you say with an apologetic frown. “But I can ask George.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“One of the Weasley’s. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Working like this as someone to help and appease customers makes you cringe at yourself. Hearing how you talk to people. It’s not as though there’s shame in giving the customers patience or working, but there’s definitely something to be said about how fake it feels on you. Your poor attempts at being easy-going can make your chest ache in slow, overdue regret hours after you’ve turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED. You’re still worrying at your cheek when you find George where you’d suspected him, demonstrating firecracker poppers disguised as hair ties to a crowd of frowning parents. 

He thankfully abandons the task quickly when he notices you waiting. “What, ghost?” 

The nickname is said without thought. Anyone listening won’t get it, but it doesn’t matter. You feel a little bit better when he says it because getting it marked the first time anyone ever noticed you enough to care, and whenever they use it now, it’s reinforcement. Like a reminder that you’re their ghost, whatever that is (a too long definition). 

“Genovian powder?” you ask. 

“No, not us. Calesthian–”

“I asked her, she’s sure it was Genovian–”

“They’re all bloody sure until you show them the box–”

“I know, but I don’t think she’ll believe me–”

“She’ll bloody well believe me, then,” George says, giving your arm a shake before he rounds you. He spots the woman and her Technicolor glasses immediately, jumping into a spiel they give about the Darkness Powder as he goes. 

“Can you show us the Pygmies?” someone asks you. 

Pygmy puffs, fake love love potions that explode in your face when you try to use them, help with a return, bathroom break, tight jeans with a stiff zipper, bruise on your elbow from the back door, customer doesn’t know where the stairs are to get to the second floor, you’re on the second floor, a flash of lovely Fred by the till, his loving smile, encouraging, his huff and the hair on his forehead ruffling about. 

You nod toward the door. Fred nods back, hurried, It’s fine. 

The second you’re through the door you can take a breath. The further you get from the shop, the looser your chest feels. You hurry down the alley past the dragon popcorn machine and just keep walking. Some of the other shopkeepers are around and greet you quickly, but there’s barely anyone to see. Everyone must be in the Weasleys’. 

You spot a few sturdy looking boxes down the side of the Magician’s Tree pub and sit down hard. Your face feels greasy and itchy, your hands are aching from the Pygmies, a scratch running in a road line down your wrist. You feel at it with your thumb nail. It looks like you could’ve done it on purpose. 

What if Fred thinks you did it on purpose? 

You scratch at the thickest part, which isn’t any wider than the edge of a nail, not even deep enough to scab. It’s just two lines one after the other where whatever hurt you must’ve been jagged. It’s a scratch. It isn’t– you couldn’t have done it with intent, and Fred will know that. You picture his worrying and feel sick to your stomach suddenly, dropping your head back against the wall to take deep, cold breaths. He won’t mind the scratch, and he’ll believe you when you tell him it wasn’t you, but he’ll worry first. 

You aren’t sure where you are for a little while. Eyes slipped shut, someone else’s hand on the wheel. 

He’ll worry, you think insistently, standing up. 

You make your way back to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and shoulder open the door. 

The displays are a mess. A stack of potions that promise to turn your skin a modern, appealing green have come down. Ones come unstoppered, leaking a bright yellow liquid in an oval across the floor. You think vaguely that you should clean it and kneel beside it, pulling the slight of your wand from your back pocket. “Tergeo,” you whisper, curling your wrist. 

The potion disappears. 

Standing, you hold your arm wide and pull, thinking a meagre moving spell that deigns to work, upping the display and shuffling each potion back onto its shelves. 

You hadn’t thought you were gone so long as for it to be closing time, but perhaps it was nearly the end of the day. You give most things a clean with quick magic or elbow grease, closing the shutters and locking the door. You go up the staircase to the second level and do the same, before retreating back to the ground floor and heading past the tills to the stairs to the flat. Fred and George will be making dinner, or George might’ve gone home already, though he usually says bye first. Yesterday he stole a sideways hug and disappeared a half a step away from you, clothes whipping in his wake. Fred called him a prat, and a few seconds later George had apparated back, sure that Fred had said something cruel. I know you were, brother mine. Their freaky twin sense knows no bounds. 

The boys aren’t in the flat. The door to the bedroom is open wide and there’s an obvious lack of them —if Fred were here, you’d hear him. Humming or mumbling or making the bed. 

A slip of white fog slams its way into the room in a swoop from the kitchen, a hurried magpie curling around your shoulders to hold itself, flapping pearly wings an inch from your face. GHOST, it whispers, WHERE ARE YOU? MEET ME AT THE FLAT, NOW. 

You blink at it. “I’m here,” you say, startled again when it disappears in a burst like sand. 

A minute later and there are footsteps barrelling up the stairs. You let your wand fall back into your hand and point it at the entrance through doorways, not actually sure what you’d do if it were an intruder. 

The logical part of you knows that it’s Fred, but the relief doesn’t come until he’s opening the door and stopping short. “Oh,” he says, sounding as cracked in half as he can be while still physically whole. His lips part again as though he’s got more to say, but he crosses the flat to you in four big strides and wraps his arms around you instead. He squeezes you hard enough to make the bones in your back click. 

“What happened?” you ask worriedly. “Are you okay?” 

He says your name, again like he means to keep on. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, pulling away to take your face into cold hands, missing nearly all of his usual tenderness. This is the touch of lingering panic, slowly melding itself into love. “Are you? Where did you go?” 

“I went– just went past the Magic Tree. Did you close?” 

“When I couldn’t find you, yes, I closed. I looked up and down the alley twice, I didn’t see you.” 

“I– sorry–”

“No, it’s okay, it’s fine if you’re alright.” He gazes at you imploringly. “Are you?” 

“I don’t know,” you admit, a little diffident in the face of all this worry. You hadn’t thought of whether you were alright or not, you’d just walked off, and now you’re not sure you were fully you when you came back. The longer he holds you in his palms, the worse you feel. The pinch of his mouth brings tears to your eyes. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks quietly. 

Obviously you aren’t. You show him the scratch anyway. 

“Ow,” he murmurs, sympathetic as his hands fall from your face to hold your elbow and wrist instead. It seems deeper while he looks, longer, and it stings as he presses his thumb to an edge. “Shall I mend it?” 

“Yeah. Yes.” 

Fred pulls your arm to kiss the crook of your elbow, and then the cut is healing, from red to pink to purple to white, a second and then gone, his non-verbal cut-mending charm practised, perfect. Tomorrow, you won’t be able to see the scar. 

He smiles at you. “See that? Magic kiss.”

“That was good.” 

“They’re all like that, you know,” he says, which is as much warning as you want or need as he ducks in to kiss you. Kisses twice, a third time, nose tapped into yours and breath warm as it skims your lips, your Cupid’s bow, and your soft cheek. 

“Fred.”

“Ghost, I thought you were going to have a sit down outside of the shop like you do, but you– why’d you go all the way to Magic Tree?” 

“I didn’t mean to walk that far.” 

You can see his tongue behind his lips, running against the line of his teeth. He’s frowning without meaning to, deeply, his eyebrows drawn and his usually gentle eyes dark, like he’s angry, or he could be, but it never turns itself on you. 

“No?” Fred asks, his voice dropping in register, “Where’d you mean to go?”

“I didn’t mean to go anywhere.” 

“You don’t have to cry,” he says under his breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m not,” you say back, because you don’t want him to worry, because you’re not sure if you’re gonna cry or not and it wouldn’t matter if you did, only you don’t think you can stand the look on his face now, like you’ve accidentally hurt yourself and he feels sorry for you, like you could be sitting in the hospital wing at school right now waiting for a verdict. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

“The scratch?” 

“Everything, lovely.” 

“I cleaned up downstairs.” 

He nods. “Okay. Thank you.” 

Fred guides you wordlessly to the sofa and waits for you to sit before sitting right next to you, not a lick of space between you as he bunches an arm around you and presses your forehead to his mouth, but he doesn’t kiss it. He hugs you, occasionally adjusting against you like you’re slippery, and he doesn’t speak. 

“I scared you,” you croak. 

“Yeah, you did.” 

You feel a sob like a bubble in your throat. You squeeze your mouth shut and press your face into Fred’s shoulder, nonplussed by your own emotion, hating to make a show of things. Fred shushes you gently, already waiting to rub your back as the tears start, and when they won’t end. “It’s okay,” he says, twice, three times, until it’s one word. “S’okay, you’re okay, it’s alright, Y/N. It is.” 

You don’t make a sound that isn’t sucking in air or the worst kind of whine at the back of your throat. You don’t sob out loud. You don’t try to say sorry. 

Eventually, you scare Fred worse. “Baby,” he says into your forehead, more touch than sound, “you need to calm down. You’re gonna make yourself sick.” 

You nod emphatically and cling to him, worried he’ll move. He stays where he is, humming approvingly when your tears begin to slow. You must sniffle into his shoulder for a quarter of an hour without his complaint, an odd relief in his hand as he rubs circles against your upper back, like this is a good thing. A part of you thinks he must be furious and annoyed to have to do it, but the reality, and that you’re familiar with, is that Fred just loves you, so he doesn’t mind. 

You don’t say sorry. You won’t try. It’ll upset him more. 

“Alright?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Want a drink or something?” 

“No.” 

“Sure you’re okay?” 

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

“You don’t have to know,” he says, pulling away to rub a nice finger down your cheek. He dries salt tracks and carefully, carefully brushes the last of your tears from your eyelashes with a pale fingertips. His cheeks are blushed from your hugging. His freckles are like paint flecks wet against his skin. “We can have a cup of tea, or hot chocolate or coffee. I can make you cream of chicken, if you want. It’s about dinner time.” 

“I don’t want anything. Do you want something?” 

He smiles. Endeared. 

“No,” —he follows the bridge of your nose with a fingertip— “I don’t need anything.” 

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than him, paying a great deal of interest to your lap. 

“Are you feeling at all better?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” 

He draws a line across your jaw, past your chin to shy of your ear. “It’s okay if you don’t feel better.”

“Do you want me to?” 

“Feel better? Of course I do.” 

You let yourself sink into his lap. Shuffling and collapsing, his hand falling to the small of your back.

Fred holds you for a long time. After, he makes dinner, and you get misty eyed at the table, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t notice, and you struggle through every bite and ask him if he was really, truly scared, and he says he was. He doesn't protest when you ask to go to bed while the sun is still up, only closes the curtains and casts a charm to keep the light out, only tucks you in, only rests his weight against you with his hand held lightly across the bottom of your face. You kiss his palm. He lets his index finger brush under your nose, like he’s looking for a seam.

[dearxia]

HES SO XUTE

the albatross || f.w.

summary: the albatross is the largest bird that can go years without landing; they spend their first 6 years of life flying over the ocean before coming to the land to mate. It is capable of traveling more than 10,000 miles in a single journey and circumnavigating the globe in 46 days. (he's been up in the air his whole life, but is finally able to land when he falls in love with you: alt, 4 times everyone noticed he loved you, 1 time you noticed he loved you too)

words: ~4.1k

warnings: TOOTH-ROOTTING FLUFF, CLICHE, your usual stuff yk 

a/n: i’ve had that snippet above stuck in my notes for a year now and never made anything of it and thought hey i should do something about it. so here were are. also i can’t resist doing the 3x1/4x1/5x1 trope. its so superior. ngl tho writers block hit me kinda hard with this one so i struggled to finish…sorry in advance for my writing, idk how i feel ab the way this turned out 

add yourself to my hp taglist here!

one 

You were looking forward to today’s Transfiguration lesson. 

Up until this point, McGonagall had you continue practicing nonverbal spells; having them carry over from sixth year because she wanted to emphasize their importance. In addition to that, you were set to start learning how to transfigure tortoises into trumpets. It was bound to be a loud but entertaining affair.

“I need you all to remember to focus,” she reminded at the start of class, “and please, refrain from playing your trumpets should you manage to successfully transform your tortoise—I’m looking at you, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley.”

“Aw, darn it,” you heard the twins chorus in defeat. 

“Now, you will first review what you have in your notes, then practice individually. You may begin.”

A small, dusty green tortoise appeared on your desk, causing you to crack a tiny smile. You heard students muttering the incantation from all around you as they attempted the spell, one of them yelping in pain when their tortoise bit their finger. 

“Careful, Longbottom,” the Professor warned. 

You shook your head and smiled to yourself, patting your tortoise on the head. It seemed to just sigh in response.

Several minutes went by before someone broke your focus, poking your shoulder. 

“Psst! Y/N!” 

“What?” you hissed under your breath, looking over your left shoulder at Lee. “What do you want?”

He shrugged and passed you a slip of parchment. “For you.”

“Okay…”

You unfolded the paper and peered closer, examining the signature scrawl of none other than Fred. 

You look gorgeous today, darling. And it’s quite distracting, if I’m being honest.

Scowling, you glanced over to see that Fred was shamelessly staring at you and shot him a pointed glare. He simply gave you a cheeky grin then looked back down. Scribbling out a snarky reply—I look gorgeous every day, you daft dimbo—you crumpled up the parchment and decided to chuck itat his head. Without sparing another glance, he reached up and smoothly caught it with one hand. 

You muttered to yourself under your breath and refocused your gaze on your work. 

Not even a few moments later, Lee was poking your shoulder again to signal that Fred had tossed the note back.

Your name is pretty, but it’d look prettier next to my last. 

You know what else would look pretty? My fist in your face. -your reply

The exchange continued on, with him sending flirty notes, and you replying with half-flirty, half sarcastic remarks. But just as you were about to aim at Fred’s head for the nth time—

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Weasley, what in Godric’s name are you two doing?” 

You froze in your spot. Professor McGonagall was standing right by your desk, note in hand with her eyebrows raised and arms crossed over her chest. “Er, I—”

“Is there anything you two would like to share with the class?”

“No, it’s—”

“Actually, Professor, there is,” Fred declared, standing up and marching over to where you were, taking the paper out of McGonagall’s hands and opening it. “Since she hasn’t gotten to read it yet, I shall.”

He cleared his throat and began to read. 

“I’d face the storm, the darkest night,

With reckless heart and blazing light.

No cursed spell, no shadowed door,

Could shake the love I hold in store.

For you, I’d charge, both fierce and true—

My greatest courage lives in you.”

The classroom erupted into giggles as he finished with a bow, grinning proudly. It felt like your face was up in flames, if it wasn’t already burnt to a crisp. If Fred looked equally flustered you couldn’t tell at all, and he was masking it with that stupid cheeky look of his. 

You were too mortified and focused on the possibility of receiving detention to notice that McGonagall was trying to hide her smile; taking away House points now in the very back of her mind. 

Flitwick owed her 10 sickles. 

two

“Oi! Y/N, wake up!”

Something fluffy smacked you straight across the face and you hissed in annoyance, sitting up and rubbing your eyes to identify your attacker.

“Okay, I’m—what the hell are you three doing in here? It’s 3 in the morning,” you grumbled. “If you get caught—”

“T’was Fred’s idea,” Lee said innocently and dropped the pillow, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Hey! Why are you pinning all this on me? That’s not fair,” the older twin demanded. 

“Anyways, Y/N, the kitchens are empty.”

“No shit Sherlock, it’s the middle of the night. What do you all want?” you kept your voice down.

“We’re cooking up a storm tonight.”

“I hope you’re not referring to more Canary Creams?”

“No, we mean actual sweets,” Fred explained, taking your hand and pulling you out of bed. “Come on.”

The four of you crept down the staircase and through the halls as quietly as possible; George and Lee quietly talking to each other behind you while Fred remained by your side, hand still in yours. You were too tired and delirious to notice or care that he could’ve let go ages ago, but didn’t.

“Okay, we’re here,” George announced quietly and pushed open a grandiose, wooden door. 

The usually bustling kitchen was dead silent so that all you could hear were each other’s slow breaths. 

“Accio recipe,” Lee muttered quietly, and an old, worn maroon book came zooming towards him. He set it down onto the counter and propped it open, flipping through the pages and stopping on one particular recipe. “I hope you lot are up for some treacle tart.”

“I wish I could stay mad at you for smacking me in the face with that pillow, Lee,” you tried your hardest to suppress a laugh. “But you read my mind.”

“Okay then!” He clasped his hands, “let’s get to work.”

You picked one of the long wooden tables in the center of the room then got to work, quickly but efficiently rushing around the kitchen to collect what you needed. Fred rolled his sleeves up and leaned against the counter to watch you, in awe as you began measuring and pouring the ingredients with near-perfect accuracy.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help?” you finally looked up and noticed that he hadn’t been doing anything. 

“Sorry, you’re just distracting,” Fred sent you a wink, and you scoffed. “Okay, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I’ll help you.” 

You fell into a silent but comfortable routine afterwards, evenly splitting up the work to finish preparing the tarts in less time. Neither of you noticed how you gradually inched closer to one another as you did so, shoulders brushing together every time you reached over to grab something or continue mixing the batter. 

“Hold on a minute, there’s some flour right—” Fred paused, thumb grazing your cheekbone. You felt a jolt of electricity where his skin brushed over yours. “—there.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, face suddenly feeling too hot even though the kitchens were far from it. 

“Always my pleasure,” he smiled, oblivious to your flustered state. 

Lee was standing with George a few rows away, focus switching between you two and the first batches of treacle tart that were now in the ovens, slowly beginning to bake. The distinct scent of sweet syrup and berries soon began wafting through the air, filling the room with a sweet and tantalizing aroma. 

“They can’t keep their hands off each other,” he grinned knowingly. “They’re standing just inches apart…they have the entire table to themselves and yet they stand like that.”

“And they say they’re just friends. I call bullshit,” said George, watching as Fred said something to you and you rolled your eyes, whacking him with your wooden spoon. Fred tugged you forward in response, trapping you in his strong arms as you let out a faint giggle, protesting for him to let you go. It wasn’t until he tilted his head down and you begrudgingly pressed a kiss to his cheek that he finally released you from his hold, looking as smug as ever. 

“10 galleons says they’re getting married in the next two years.”

“15 galleons.”

“You’re on, mate.”

three

DA practices were now everyone’s sole source of motivation. They had finally started work on Patronuses, which they had been very keen to practice, though, as Harry kept reminding you all that producing one in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they weren’t under threat was quite different from producing one when under threat, like by a Dementor. 

You exchanged a soft smile with Cho, admiring her silvery swan-shaped Patronus before attempting to refocus on your own work; on the last several tries you hardly managed more than a cloudy, wispy form. 

Closing your eyes, you recalled the time you had Quidditch practice on a snow day. Oliver ended practice a bit early (Angelina did have to convince him a bit though) and you spent the rest of that time pelting one another with snowballs and zipping around in the air, laughter echoing across the space. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt that carefree.

“Expecto Patronum!” Excitement began to build up in you but your shoulders slumped in defeat when again, just a thin wisp of silver smoke came out of your wand tip. “Damn it.”

“Y/N, you’ve got to think of something happy,” Harry reminded you.

“But I did,” you exhaled, voice strained. “I don’t get it. I thought…”

“Maybe it wasn’t strong enough. Try a new memory,” he suggested, “do you have anything else that might work?”

“Well, there is one…I don’t know if it’s my happiest, but it is one of them, and it is strong…”

“Then try that,” he said kindly. “You can do this.” You nodded and he walked away to help Neville, who was also struggling to cast his Patronus.

Readjusting your wand in your hand,  you closed your eyes once again and allowed the new memory to fill your mind. 

The first few weeks after the end of term and the start of the summer holidays were always the hardest. As badly as you missed home and your parents, you also missed constantly being around your friends and the Weasley family. At this point it had been three weeks since you’d seen Fred; you never went longer than that without seeing him. 

You and your parents had spent three blissful weeks traveling around France. From exploring the lavender fields in Provence, smelling the fresh sea air and seeing the breathtaking Mont-Saint-Michel castle in Normandy, to biting into pillowy soft pastries in Paris, you did it all. But you still felt that distinct ache to be back at Hogwarts with your close friends. 

“The Burrow!” you exclaimed, Floo powder in hand. Glowing green flames engulfed your body and then you were standing outside your third home in mere seconds, giddy with excitement. 

“THERE SHE IS!” you heard several voices shout with delight. Your best friends immediately came bursting through the door and stampeding towards you. Fred was the first to reach you, positively glowing with happiness as he swept you into a tight bear hug, spinning you around. He attacked you with repeated kisses to your temple then cheeks as he said how glad he was to finally see you. He was clutching you so tight that you almost lost your breath, but you were so happy to see him as well that you couldn’t care less. 

“Oi, we’re here too, lovebirds!” you heard Ron shout. You laughed and pulled away from Fred’s embrace to go greet everyone else. As you were hugging Ginny you made eye contact with Fred, that gleaming look still in his eyes. Your heart felt so full at that moment, you thought it would burst. 

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” you shouted. A flash of silvery-blue light emitted from your wand and a dainty squirrel burst forward. You smiled to yourself as Harry complimented your work. 

But what surprised you more was the small bird swooping in from above—it caught sight of your squirrel Patronus and started chasing it around the Room of Requirement, their forms glowing brightly. Several others stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle, confused but amazed. 

“Pretty cool, innit,” you heard a voice say from besides you. You turned to make eye contact with Fred, who was looking at you with amusement. 

“Yeah…is that a sparrow?” you pointed up at his Patronus, which was still chasing yours around the room and leaving a trail of glitter behind itself as it did so. 

“It’s a magpie,” said Fred. “Although I also thought it was a sparrow at first.”

“Well, it looks like they like each other…” 

“Art imitates life, right? Is that what they say?”

“Something like that, I guess,” you laughed softly, leaning into him. “It’s beautiful.”

“What did you think of?” he asked. “Beating Umbridge’s arse to a pulp? Just say the words and I’ll gladly help with that.”

You snorted. “No, I tried that last time but I guess it wasn’t strong enough. I don’t know how this one could’ve been happier than that.”

“Then whatever it was, it must’ve been pretty strong.”

“Definitely…” The scene flashed across your mind again, and you felt heat crawling up your cheeks. “it was.”

“His Patronus can’t seem to let go of hers,” Hermione whispered from the other side of the room; hers and Ginny’s otter and horse Patronuses were gracefully gliding around them. “You know what that means…”

“I haven’t a clue,” Ginny responded as she glanced over Fred, who now had an arm around you. “Why’s that so important?”

“Because, Gin!” she whisper-shouted. “Magpies hunt squirrels!”

“Okay…what’s the correlation there?” Ginny was now confused. 

“He’s in love with her, of course! I was reading up on Patronuses last week; when someone has feelings of deep affection for someone else, either their Patronuses change to match or they produce what’s like an opposite to the person they love. Hence the hunter and prey pairing.”

“You just figured out they love each other?”

“No, but this just confirms it,” the bushy-haired girl’s mouth stretched into a wide grin.

four

It felt like hours since you had last seen the light of day. Right now you were waist-deep in assignments, preparing for your mind-numbing History of Magic project that was due the next morning. Sleep was threatening to pull you under and it took everything you had not to slump over and doze off on the spot. 

“Ange,” you yawned and cupped a hand over your mouth, “did you finish the revisions yet?” 

“Almost,” she returned your tired yawn and slid the parchment she was working on over to you. “Do you mind checking this over for me?” 

“Mhm,” you mumbled, peering down at her tidy handwriting and picking up your quill. You rubbed your eyes and drew out a long breath. “Godric’s sake, what time is it?”

“Quarter to midnight,” Katie responded, jotting something down in her notepad, “I think we’re almost done…”

“...these damn revisions are taking bloody forever,” you groaned, placing your chin in your hand, “almost more than the time we took researching.”

“I despise history,” said Alicia.

“Hear, hear,” you and Angelina said tiredly.

All of a sudden you heard a rustle and the screech of someone pulling a chair out next to you. The comforting smell of broomsticks and cinnamon instantly hit your nose, which didn’t help with you already wanting to doze off. 

“There’s my Y/N,” Fred greeted warmly. His hand-knitted maroon Weasley jumper hung loosely off his toned frame, bringing out the color in his eyes and cheeks. He looked painfully attractive in everything, you realized.  

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Not when I know you aren’t,” he said plainly. “It’s late, but you’re here, right? So that’s why I’m here as well.”

You seemed to be completely oblivious to the way he kept staring at you as you continued to work. He couldn't help but stare; he found it rather endearing, the way you'd sigh every so often when stuck on a difficult problem and how you'd get this crease between your brows because you were deep in concentration. 

After several minutes you finally glanced up, a quizzical look on your face as you realized he was still watching you so intently. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” he smiled softly, reaching over to briefly cup your cheek. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie exchanged knowing looks at this. “Just looking out for you, of course.”

The flickering lanterns overhead cast a warm golden light over the room, illuminating his features in a dim and hazy glow. There was an unmistakably soft and wistful sort of look in his eyes and you felt your heart race the longer his eyes stayed on you. Did he always look at you that way? You couldn’t remember the last time he had looked at you with anything other than admiration and delight but then again, Fred was known to be very open with those he cared for. 

Another hour went by and by this point you were fast asleep, head leaning against your arms on the table and parts of your hair spilling across your forehead. If he didn’t know any better, Fred would’ve thought you were an angel, part Veela, or something along those lines. Was there anything better? he thought to himself. If there was, that’s exactly what she is.

Fred slid his jumper off and as carefully as possible, slid it under your head so that you had something soft to rest on and wouldn’t wake up complaining that there were ink stains on your skin. He took the quill from your outstretched fist and set it by your side, and wordlessly began putting your things into your bag for you.

It was another two hours until you eventually stirred awake but he stayed, quietly waiting and watching; relishing in the peace and comfort that he knew only your company could bring. 

plus one

It probably would’ve been a wise idea to heed Katie’s advice and not overwork yourself; even Hermione had said you clearly looked exhausted and needed a break from studying. But being as stubborn as you were, you didn’t listen, and now you were starting to feel the consequences of your actions. 

So here you were now alone in the girls’ dormitory, curled up in bed with a stuffy nose, sore throat, pounding headache that felt like it would split your brain in two, along with crippling nausea. Despite your stomach grumbling after having skipped out on breakfast and lunch, the mere thought of eating made you feel even more sick. 

All you wanted to do in that moment was crawl into a hole and fall asleep for several centuries. 

Realizing that sitting there doing nothing wouldn’t help, you decided to at the very least, open your Charms textbook and get caught up on the past few reading assignments. You mentally reminded yourself to thank Angelina for standing in today and taking notes for you; the girl was saving you hours’ worth of work that likely would’ve had you collapsing all over again.

A loud CRASH from somewhere nearby caused you to jump slightly and almost slam the book closed on your fingers. Glancing around at the sudden noise, you were about to assume it was Peeves being chased by Filch after causing trouble (you definitely didn’t experience this from having helped him and the twins out with a prank in which you chucked a Dungbomb into his office). But then you remembered they never directly entered the girls’ dormitories and laughed to yourself.  

The door creaked open and Fred’s all-too-familiar figure stumbled through, breathing hard with his hands behind his back. He was shifting from foot to foot and he looked kind of…nervous?

“Fred?”

“Y/N, I haven’t seen you all day,” his face broke into a bashful grin, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m…alright…”

“Well, I got you something,” said Fred, and quickly handed you a sweet-smelling bouquet of flowers. “I hope you like these, it took a while to grow them. Longbottom helped me out a bit.” 

“T-these are…” you stammered, pulse racing. The flowers shone brightly under the afternoon light; they were probably the prettiest things you’d seen in, well, forever. 

“—your favorite, I know,” he finished your sentence.

“But how did y—”

“It’s the same kind of flower as the dried ones that are in the bookmark you use for all your classes,” he explained, still slightly out of breath as he sat down at the edge of your bed, reaching for your hand. “It’s the color of your favorite wool hat. It’s the color of the jumper I bought, I told you it’s because I liked how my eyes went with it but really, it’s because it reminded me of you. It’s what I smelled in George and I’s Amortentia in Potions. It’s you, Y/N, it’s all you and it has always brought me back to you. It always will, every single time.”

Suddenly, the realization slammed into you with a force of a Bludger traveling a hundred miles an hour. 

Fred Weasley loved you. You loved Fred Weasley.

And it had taken you forever to notice. 

He sat by your side and reached for your hand, taking it in his and interlocking your fingers together like it was normal; like he had done so dozens of times before. Because he had, but something about this one made your heart skip an extra beat and all the words you wanted to say leave your brain instantly. 

“I look terrible,” you turned your face into his chest so that your cheek was now resting against the fabric of his jumper, “and you might get sick too. You should go…”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled, sliding his arms around you, “I’ve got all day. Snape can take my delightfully dimwitted Potions essay and shove it up his a—”

You chuckled a bit at this and took that moment to glance up at him—he was still gazing at you longingly. You’d never seen him look at anyone or anything that way; unless you counted the excited look he got when Hogwarts had its annual holiday feast and piles of food appeared on the tables. Or that look he got after winning a Quidditch match. 

“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” you asked, shaking your head. “For taking as long as I did to realize that I’m in love with you. Everyone was practically screaming at me about it and yet I still couldn’t put the pieces together and see.”

That signature grin was back on his face. “You’re in love with me?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Weasley—”

He grinned, stopping what you were going to say next by closing the gap and sealing his lips over yours. Now it wasn’t the nausea that had your head whirling around; it was the feeling of him kissing you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, and it was intoxicating. He was right there all along—your best friend for as long as you could remember—and suddenly you couldn’t seem to register anything else other than the fact that you wanted to stay in the moment until you completely lost your breath. 

“Fred, I told you, you’re going to get sick,” you exhaled as you pulled apart, “I know you don’t want that.”

“And I told you I don’t care.” He brought you back in and kissed you a second, then third time, “all the more excuse to spend time with you.”

(He did get sick the following day, leaving a disgruntled Hermione to take care of not just you, but him as well.) 

a/n pt 2: yes the poem was done by chatgpt. i’m horrible at writing normally, and even worse at writing poetry. sorry yall LOL. also can you tell i love writing cheesy monologues. yeah. and also i’m sorry for the cringe ending

tags: @miissasa @bittermileymilez @daisydark @brinachiii @foreverthemaraudersera @viharbinger @ladyclay @apileofschist @arkofblake @lizzyrose200 @4ngeltrumpettt

[dearxia]

hi guys So when is my package containing my own Fred coming :(

# FIRST LOVE, ㅤㅤ FRED WEASLEY

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word count: 2.2k

The first time you realized you liked Fred Weasley, you were fourteen.

It was a fleeting moment, in the middle of a casual conversation in the Gryffindor common room. He threw his head back, laughing at some silly joke his brother had told, his eyes shining under the firelight. And that was when it happened. Something in your chest tightened slightly, a cold sensation filled your stomach, and suddenly, Fred Weasley wasn’t just a mischievous friend with whom you shared classes and pranks. He was someone who made your heart beat differently.

But Fred was… well, Fred. He flirted with everyone, threw careless winks at girls in the hallway, and pulled pranks that left professors on the verge of a breakdown. He didn’t see you that way. At least, that’s what you told yourself every time you saw him sprawled on the Gryffindor couch, his arm lazily draped over the shoulders of some other girl.

So, you buried the feeling. Moved on—or at least tried to.

But Fred fell in love later.

It was at the beginning of fifth year that he realized it. At first, it was subtle, almost imperceptible. Small details he ignored or attributed to coincidence. Like the fact that your eyes always seemed to find his first in the Great Hall. Or how he missed your laughter on days when you didn’t spend as much time together.

But then came the moment that really hit him—the one that knocked the air from his lungs and made his stomach twist.

You were in the courtyard, sitting with your friends, and someone cracked a joke. He laughed, of course. But then he looked to the side and saw you laughing too. And it wasn’t just any laugh. You tilted your head back slightly, your eyes shining, your shoulders relaxed. A light and genuine sound, carefree. Something inside him clenched. Hard.

And in that instant, he knew.

You were no longer just the friend he joked around with and talked to without a care. You were the girl he searched for in a crowd without even realizing it. The one who made his heart race when you smiled that certain way, in a way only he seemed to notice.

And that’s when fear set in.

Fred Weasley was never afraid. He faced teachers, rules, even magical creatures with a grin on his face and a wild plan in his head. But when it came to you, he had no idea what to do. Because what would happen if he crossed that line and lost you?

So he hid it. Kept winking at other girls, kept telling jokes as if nothing had changed.

But it had.

George noticed before Fred could even admit it to himself.

“You’re screwed,” George casually commented one night while organizing products for their next prank.

Fred frowned. “What are you talking about?”

George chuckled, his gaze mischievous. “You, idiot. You stare at Y/N all day and don’t even realize it.”

Fred scoffed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but you do.” George tossed a Chocolate Frog at him. “The great Fred Weasley, feared by teachers, master of pranks… in love.”

“I’m not in love with Y/N, she’s my friend.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Then why do you scowl every time you see her talking to another guy?”

Fred opened his mouth to protest but found that he couldn’t.

George laughed even harder. “You’re absolutely screwed, mate.

Fred sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew George was right. But admitting it out loud? That was another story.

And then came that night.

The tavern in Hogsmeade was lit by floating candles, the air filled with the scent of butterbeer and carefree laughter. It was one of those cold nights packed with teenagers, where nothing seemed to matter except the present moment. Students were scattered in groups, occupying tables and speaking loudly to be heard over the background music.

Fred was in the middle of the chaos, surrounded by George and their friends, immersed in the whirlwind of jokes and teasing that filled the room. The atmosphere was light, the typical Weasley energy mixed with their friends’ excitement. The game had started off playful—rounds of embarrassing questions, stupid bets, and dares that grew bolder with time. The classic truth or dare, which Fred loved. Until the next question came, cutting through the fun.

“Well, I’ll go with truth this time,” Fred said, trying to keep his tone relaxed, though his eyes gleamed with suspicion.

Angelina, with that mischievous smile he knew all too well, leaned forward slightly.

"Have you ever thought about kissing Y/N?" she asked, her voice laced with playful mischief.

The question hit Fred like a blast of cold air. He laughed—a knee-jerk reaction, almost instinctive. Laughing was his defense, his shield against anything that made him feel too much. And there, in front of everyone, it was easier to pretend nothing special was happening. He simply smiled, carefree, as he always did.

“She’s my friend, why would I?” he replied.

The answer came before he could think. Light, casual. As if it meant nothing. As if he wasn’t burying something deep inside his chest.

But then he saw you.

You were there. Close enough to hear.

For a second, he couldn’t quite read your expression. It wasn’t anger. Not even obvious sadness. It was something worse. It was silent acceptance.

It was the way you looked away, let out a quiet sigh, and returned to your conversation as if it didn’t matter. As if, in that moment, a part of you had given up waiting.

And that was when Fred realized he was screwed.

Because something inside him screamed in protest. Something in him wanted to run to you, to say it was a lie, that he only said it because he didn’t know how to admit the truth. But how could he? He had spent years pretending he felt nothing. Now, when he finally understood what he truly wanted, maybe it was too late.

And then he saw you with someone else.

Fred couldn’t explain why that moment hit him like a punch to the gut. Maybe it was the way you tilted your head back to laugh, your eyes shining with something genuine. Maybe it was because, for the first time, that laugh hadn’t been caused by him.

He was walking through the corridors of Hogwarts, surrounded by the usual noise of students going back and forth, when he saw you there. Leaning against a wall, arms crossed in a relaxed way, while some guy—a random guy, one that wasn’t him—said something that clearly amused you.

His heart clenched.

Maybe it was just a conversation. Maybe that smile of yours meant nothing beyond politeness. But, for the first time, Fred had to face a possibility he had never truly considered: that you might move on.

The first time you didn’t seek him out to talk about your day, he missed it. His eyes scanned the Great Hall, expecting you to appear at his side as usual, ready to share some silly story or complain about an impossible History of Magic assignment. But you didn’t come.

The first time you didn’t laugh at his jokes, he wanted to punch himself. He told one of those stupid jokes that always made you roll your eyes before laughing for real, but this time, your expression remained unreadable. And in that small instant, he realized he might have gone too far.

He loved you.

And it wasn’t just any love. It was a consuming love, one that burned in his chest and made his breath falter. A love that made him want to go back in time, undo every poorly chosen word, every laugh thrown into the wind as if nothing mattered. He wanted to go back to the exact moment he said you were just a friend and slap himself.

Because now he saw.

Now he understood.

The night at Hogwarts was steeped in mystery and a quiet melancholy. The sky, burdened with clouds, unleashed its fury in a symphony of cracks and rumbles, echoing against the glass windows and the castle’s cold stones. The wind cut through the narrow corridors, carrying with it the feeling that time, somehow, was running out.

Fred Weasley hurried up the dormitory stairs, his breath heavy and his mind racing. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the words he needed to say were weighing down his chest, piling up until he could no longer bear the burden. The rain, now forming small streams along the steps, made him feel more alive, more aware of everything at stake. He knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

The door to his dormitory was just ahead, and with a near-desperate impulse, Fred knocked, his cold, trembling hands striking the solid wood with a firm and determined sound. One, two, three knocks—a rhythm that seemed to stretch into eternity. Inside his mind, echoes of doubt, the “what ifs” and “maybes,” tangled with the certainty that he had no more choices. He couldn’t turn back now.

There was a moment of deep silence, a second of absolute tension, where the fear that he might already be too late tried to creep in. But then the door opened, and there you were, eyes wide with surprise. Your hair was slightly tousled, the fatigue of the day mingling with the confused expression of someone who hadn’t expected a visit from someone so… caught in the storms of his own heart.

Fred stood there, drenched to the bone. His red hair stuck to his forehead, his shirt and rain-soaked cloak clinging to his body. But what stood out the most wasn’t his physical state—it was the look in his eyes. Something there was different. He wasn’t just standing in that hallway; he was deep inside himself, in a place only the purest and most sincere feeling could have led him to. And in those words, he could no longer hide what he felt.

“Fred?”

He took a step forward—there was no hesitation. He knew he needed to speak, to pour out everything he had kept inside for so long. His chest burned, but not with anger or frustration—with a tense, repressed love that was finally finding a way to be spoken. The words escaped in a rush, with no room for filters, no room for disguise.

“I was an idiot.” He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours as if searching for a thread of hope to hold on to. “I took so long to realize… to see what was right in front of me this whole time.”

His voice was low, rough, marked by the intensity of his confession. He looked vulnerable, a little lost, as if, for the first time, he was truly seeing what had been around him all along.

“All the times I pretended everything was fine… that I didn’t care… all the times I lied to myself… They were lies.”

Rain streaked his face, but his gaze was clear—clear of any doubt. “I know now. I know that… I fell in love with you long before I even realized it. And if there’s still a chance… if you give me a chance, I will do everything I can to prove how real this is.”

The space between you felt smaller, drawn together by the weight of his words. And as he spoke, the words seemed to dissolve into the air, leaving everything clearer than ever. He wasn’t speaking just for himself anymore—he was speaking for both of you, for everything that could be, for all the things that had been hidden between you, waiting for a moment like this.

You stood there, motionless, your heart pounding in your chest. Your mind echoed with the sound of all those turbulent nights, the moments of pain, the frustration, and the challenges that had kept you apart. But now, facing Fred, his soul as exposed as yours, there was something else. A new feeling—something you didn’t yet know how to name—but it spread between you, filling the empty spaces.

There was hope.

Fred took a hesitant step forward, his eyes searching yours, almost pleading. His hand, cold from the rain, reached out for yours, as if trying to touch the only thing that truly mattered now—what existed between you. The gesture was simple but carried an immense longing, a vulnerability he had never shown before.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath, “let me show you that I can be more than I was.”

You felt the weight of his words, the sincerity overflowing from them, and something inside you broke—an invisible barrier you had built around yourself. The love he had kept hidden, the words he was finally saying, all of it resonated deep within your soul. You had known from the beginning that something existed between you. But now, with words and feelings finally aligned, you couldn’t deny what had always been there.

With a soft smile, you reached out, your fingers barely touching his, your breathing slowing as if, finally, the two of you were breathing in the same rhythm. “I was waiting for you, Fred,” you whispered, your voice nearly breaking with emotion.

Fred smiled—a small, hesitant, but genuine smile, as if, at last, he had found his peace.

And then, your lips met. The rain still fell, the wind still howled through the stone corridors, but now, nothing else mattered. You were there, in the same space, in the same moment, finally understanding that what had always been inevitable… was happening.

You fell in love first.

But he fell harder.

[dearxia]

AAUAUUUGHHHH Best thing I’ve read in a min🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

A Madness Most Discreet pt. 2 | G.W.

feat. George Weasley x Malfoy!reader

summary: You and George grow closer after Gryffindor beats Slytherin in the first Quidditch match of the year, succumbing the magnetic pull towards one another. But things only get more complicated when the two of you return to the harsh reality of your situation.

cw: MDNI 18+, smut, mentions of injury, simp!George, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), piv, cruel parents, hurt/comfort, naive!reader, mentions of war and death eaters, lying (or withholding the entire truth)

series navigation | part one | masterlist | divider by @roseraris

You tossed and turned all night, seeing George, feeling his hands on you every time you closed your eyes. Before you knew it, the sun was shining, and everyone was getting ready for the first Quidditch match of the season.

Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

Your heart gave an excited trill. George was a Beater on the Gryffindor team, and even though he'd be slinging bowling balls of fury at your brother, you found yourself eager to see him in action.

You quickly got ready for the match and followed the rest of your house to the pitch. The energy was palpable, the rivalry one that never failed to draw a massive crowd. Unfortunately, it was a gloomy, overcast day, rain misting over the campus in a continuous haze.

Slytherin came out first, with Draco and Blaise leading the emerald charge. The Slytherin stands roared for them, jostling you and stomping on the stands. But the rest of stadium was silent as stone, many people even going so far as to start booing.

It hurt your heart a little, to see so many praying on Draco's downfall, but he didn't seem even marginally phased. His chin is lifted, his spine straight, a regal smile on his face even as the rain slicked down his hair.

A few moments later, the Gryffindor team exploded out of the tunnel, Harry and Ron at the head. But your eye immediately found George, leaning forward on his broom to rocket out above the pitch. He and Fred spiraled around one another before separating way above your head, red and gold fireworks shooting out between them as they plummeted back down.

The crowd whooped and cheered. “Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!” And you shook your head, catching the cheeky grin on his face when he flew by.

The game started quickly, and despite your best efforts, you couldn't take your eyes off of George. He was a master on the broom, and brutal with his Beater Bat. The strength and dexterity alone had your thighs clenching together, but coupled with his rain-soaked body, carefree smile, and contagious enthusiasm, you were ready to snatch him out of the air and drag him back to your room.

Madam Hootch called a temporary pause when a one of George's bludgers knocked the Slytherin Keeper backwards through the hoop, and into the infirmary.

The crowd was screaming for him, girls waving their scarves from every house, vying for his attention. But instead of paying them any mind, he hovered in front of the Slytherin stands. Whether he was extremely brave, or extremely stupid, you weren't sure. But he was eye level with you, twirling his bat in his hand, water droplets flinging off the end of it.

You heart rate spiked. He was close enough you could almost touch him. Could see the water beading along his brow, the mud smudged on his cheek.

“Begin!” Madam Hootch hollered, and George flashed you a wink before taking off once more.

Cheeks burning, you turned you attention where it should be, on Draco, who was hovering by the Gryffindor goal posts, eyes searching. Suddenly, he took off, Harry hot on his heels. They zigzagged across the field, clearly in pursuit of the nearly invisible snitch.

You saw Fred smack a bludger in Draco's direction and lost your breath, but Draco ducked at the last second, and it whizzed by him. He was rapidly gaining on the snitch, but so was Harry. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, you heart pounding in your ears.

“Go Draco!” You screamed, hands cupped around your mouth.

Suddenly, Draco grabbed Harry by the hood and yanked him backwards, nearly taking him off of his broom. Gryffindor booed, and Madam Hootch blasted the whistle, but the game kept going.

Harry managed to stay up, and even started to pull ahead again, when Draco reached for him once more.

A deafening crack echoed across the pitch. You looked for the source of the sound and saw George finish his follow through, bat arm raised high. The bludger was like a missile directed straight at Draco, and your stomach plummeted.

If there was one thing you'd learned throughout the match: George Weasley never missed.

The bludger beamed straight for Draco, but at the last moment, it whistled just under his arm, snagging the extra fabric of his robes and pulling him off course, missing his actual body entirely. If it had hit him…you shuddered. Draco's arm would have been snapped clean in half.

Moments later, Harry wrapped his hand around the snitch, and the stands erupted in cheers.

“Gryffindor wins!”

You were torn in two: half-disappointed for your brother, half-elated for George. But you knew Draco needed you more. It wasn’t like you could go celebrate with George, no matter how much you wanted to. So, you hurried out of the stands before the ocean of people started to move, Blaise at your back, making a beeline for the Slytherin locker rooms.

“He's going to be so pissed,” Blaise said, opening the locker room door for you.

You found Draco immediately, berating the Slytherin Beaters for not dealing with the Weasley twins sooner.

“D!” You called and he opened an arm to you, but didn't pause his raging. You slipped underneath it, wrapping your arms around his middle, not caring that he was soaked to the bone and near trembling with outrage.

“You will be on the pitch at dawn and practice until classes begin, then from the end of classes to dinner. Understood?!” Draco barked at the cowering Beaters.

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“Get out of my fucking face,” he snapped, before turning fully and hugging you against his chest. “Fucking Weasley's,” he grumbled, resting his chin on top of your head. “Should teach those worthless fuckers a lesson.”

You bit your tongue, anger flaring hot under your skin at his cruel words. You knew he was just speaking out of insecurity, but it still didn't sit well with you. No one was worthless.

But, instead of telling him off like you wanted to, you handled it how you did when your father was in a mood: by placating him. “You did amazing. And I'm so glad I finally got to see you play.”

“Would have been better if you saw me win. What does that say about me that I can’t beat a fucking Weasley.”

You leaned back, flicking his nose. “Stop with that self-depricating shit. It makes you look weak,” you parroted your father, knowing it would snap him out of it even if the words tasted bitter on your tongue.

“Yes, father,” he glowered, releasing you to greet Blaise with a handshake and quick hug.

You slipped away, finding Pansy in the crowd and together returned to the Slytherin common room, but the vibes were sour and hostile after such a narrow loss. After showering, Draco went straight to the conjured bar, hellbent on drowning his sorrows in liquor, leaving you alone, surrounded by drunken strangers fawning all over you. Not for the first time, you wondered if they even saw you, or just your name, flashing like a marquise over your head.

Malfoy! Malfoy! Malfoy!

They didn’t give a fuck about you, all they cared about was your favor, and the glimmer of power they could skim off of you.

All you could think about was George. He was the first person that saw you, not your name, not your legacy, but you. You weren’t sure if anyone else ever had.

To your family, you were the precious daughter, the shining jewel of the Malfoy crown. To Draco, you were another burden. You knew he loved you, but you were just another person to impress, to protect, to worry about. Another responsibility heaped onto his already bowed shoulders.

The common room door opened, and you spotted a paper bird soar through. You followed it with your eyes, mildly interested, when suddenly it turned towards you. Your eyes widened as it swooped closer, sailing just over your head, then fluttered down into your lap.

Hastily, you tucked it into your robes and excused yourself, slipping into a shadowed corner. You carefully unfolded the bird, heart in your throat.

Astronomy Tower. G

George's POV

George sat in a window of the Astronomy Tower, one foot propped up on the sill, the other resting on the floor. He twirled his wand in his hand, uncertainty making him fidget.

He'd tried to stay at the Gryffindor party and let loose, he really did, but all he could think about was you. The way you tasted, the way you felt, the way you made him feel. It was an endless loop in his mind, your lips on his, your pulse under his fingertips, your body moving into his, over and over and over and over—

“So, this is how you want to celebrate you victory?” Your voice echoed along the stone, yanking him from his reverie.

He dropped his foot and turned, his breath hitching when his eyes landed on you. Your lips were painted red, glossy in the moonlight, dressed in a white blouse and your Slytherin skirt. It had only been a few hours since he saw you bundled up in the stands, how could he have forgotten just how beautiful you were?

You strode closer, steps light and graceful across the stone. “There must be a rager happening in the Gryffindor common room? And yet—” you stepped between his knees, placing your manicured hands on his shoulders and looking up at him. “Here you are.”

It took all of his self-control to not kiss you right then and there. “Had other things on my mind,” he said with a shy smile, pocketing his wand and sliding his hands along the gentle slope of your ribcage, pulling you closer.

“Like?” You prodded.

“What about you? Things a little tense in the dungeon?” He teased, knowing exactly how sullen Draco would be after a loss on his account. Though, the victory had been decidedly less sweet after seeing the concern on your face as you fled the stands after your brother.

“Thank you for not breaking his arm,” you said.

His brow furrowed, surprised. “How do you know I wasn't trying to?”

“I was watching you, George. You could have taken his head off his shoulders if you wanted to.”

He shrugged a shoulder, humble as he could manage, though the praise filled his chest with light.

“Why didn't you?” You asked. “He deserved a good whack for what he did to Potter.”

George found himself at a loss for words, stunned by what he was hearing. You were so un-Draco-like, it was mind boggling. You had all of the pomp, all of the swagger, but none of the vitriol. You were genuine. Honest. He struggled to reconcile the relation of you, this beautiful, open-hearted, whip-smart creature, with the hard-headed, little bitch blondie he'd known for years.

“I'm not one to cause unnecessary harm—” he started.

“You sent that Keeper to the infirmary without a second thought,” you cut him off.

He loosed a chuckle. You were so refreshingly blunt, a trait he deeply appreciated. “Fine. I thought you'd be angry with me if I hurt him,” he admitted.

Your eyes flitted over his face as if searching for something. “You're too kind, Georgie,” you finally murmured, cupping his face in your delicate hands. You placed a kiss on his nose, his eyelids, his cheeks, and he melted for you, pliable as wet clay, and prayed your lipstick left its mark. “So sweet for considering my feelings.”

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest, his stomach clenching when so sweet rolled off your tongue. He exhaled, his affection taking up too much space in his chest to hold air.

“But George—” you gripped his jaw a little firmer and he opened his eyes, finding your face a few scant centimeters from his. “I have all the yes men I could want. I don't need another spineless twit.” Your other hand flattened against his sternum, feeling the heavy thump thump thump of his racing heart.

“Tired of cold, callous snakes?” He asked, placing his hand over yours on his chest.

“Merlin, yes,” you breathed. “You feel so…” your fingers curled into his sweater, pulling him a fraction closer. “So real.”

“Oh, I'm very real. But I'm not convinced you are.” He let his other hand slide around to your lower back, closing the last inch between your bodies. You smelled of cigarette smoke and expensive perfume, a bit of lavender oil on your skin.

“Why's that?” Your hands found their way into his hair, gliding your nails along his scalp in a way that made his bones soften, his eyes roll back.

“Too bloody perfect.” The last of his restraint slipped away, and he pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth, making his way down to your throat. He lifted your hair, revealing the mark he'd left the day before, and dragged his tongue over it, imaging how many more he could leave on countless hidden places.

“Are we insane?” you sighed, tilting your head back for him, so beautifully vulnerable.

He certainly felt insane—insane with desire for you. But he shook his head. “No, I think it's the rest of them that are mad,” he murmured against your skin, wanting to drown in your scent, your warmth.

“I think you're right.”

Reader’s POV

George slid his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, guiding your lips to his. A thrill coursed down your spine and you sighed, gliding your tongue over his lower lip.

He groaned, his grip on your hair tightening, and his tongue brushed against yours. Slowly, he coaxed your mouth open, lush licks and lingering presses, his hands firm but not rough. Like he was savoring a fine meal, a deliberate and purposeful devouring.

But you weren't nearly as patient as he was.

You caught his lower lip between your teeth, tugging lightly, and his breath caught in his chest. You soothed the sting with your tongue and released him, kissing the corner of his mouth, across his freckled jaw and down his neck, leaving smears of lipstick over his fair skin. Marking him as yours.

“Definitely aren't real,” he sighed, tilting his head back as your nursed a bruise under his ear, your head going fuzzy from the overwhelming smell of his cologne. “Is it true that Malfoy's have Veela blood?”

You huffed a laugh, breaking the seal of your lips on his flesh, and lowered yourself to your knees between his legs.

His eyes widened is surprise, his body freezing like a deer in headlights.

“What makes you think I'm part-Veela?” You asked, running your hands up his thighs, the muscles trembling under your touch.

“I-uh, well—you’re so—p-pretty and—saints.” George stuttered as you leaned forward, his bulge straining against his jeans.

You brushed your lips against the covered swell of him, and a strangled gasp escaped from his chest. “You think I'm pretty, baby?” You asked without removing your lips from his cock, glancing up at him through your lashes, and you felt him surge under the warmth of your mouth.

“D-don't start with me, rattlesnake,” he groaned when you dragged your tongue over the root of him. He threaded his fingers into your hair, his other hand gripping sill of the stone window, grounding himself. “You know you're gorgeous.”

“I do,” you replied, sliding down his zipper. You got a peak of his green checkered boxers, and you smiled to yourself. “But I like hearing you say it.”

His grip on your roots loosened, and he smoothed his hand over your hair, casting a lovesick smile down at you. “You're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen,” he murmured, bringing his thumb around to tug at your lower lip.

You dabbed your tongue against the pad of his finger before wrapping your lips around it, sucking it gently into the warmth of your mouth, the salty taste of his skin sparkling over your tongue.

“You're going to be the death of me,” he gruffed, watching you nurse his thumb with lust-fogged eyes, leaving a ring of red around his knuckle.

You grinned, pleased with yourself when he retracted his hand. As he shifted back, you moved forward, reaching for the throbbing ridge of his cock.

“You really want to do this?” He asked, looking around the empty tower. “Here?”

“Yes,” you replied immediately, saliva pooling under your tongue when his cock gave another lurch. “I really, really do.”

You were a physical kind of person, finding joy in giving and receiving touch, and all you could think about was making George feel good, making him happy, and showing him just how much you liked him.

“You're a wild little thing, you know that?” The end of the question twisted into a groan when you finally pulled him out of his boxers, hot and flushed a feverish pink, a string of precum dripping down the veiny shaft.

You licked your lips, wrapping your hand around his base. Fuck, he was thick. “Does that scare you?” You asked, dragging your hand up and down his length, applying the lightest pressure.

“Fuck yes, it scares me,” he panted, head falling back on his shoulders. “You scare the hell out of me.”

You tsked, running your tongue along the underside of him, and he shuddered, a whine eeking through his teeth. “I'm on my knees, George. How scary can I be?” You wrapped your lips around the head, tasting the musk of his skin, and sucked softly, tempering your eagerness to savor his reactions.

“Seven fucking saints, woman—fuck.” His hand fisted your hair again, practically trembling with the effort of not pushing you down further. “Have a little mercy.”

You started bobbing your head up and down, humming in approval at the way his cock kicked against your tongue. Lashes fluttering closed, you lost yourself in the feel of him, the soft sounds of pleasure spilling for his lips like prayers. Soothed by the rhythmic motions and pulse of his heart.

His hand moved for you hair to underneath your jaw, fingers stretched across to brace the span of it. “I wish I could take a picture of you,” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. “You look so fucking beautiful it hurts.”

Your eyes opened, looking up at him haloed in moonlight, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, eyes glossy as starshine. You knew that look. It was how people looked at the sunset, the full moon, the ocean. It was how people looked at things they adored, things they loved.

And George was looking at you like that.

You couldn't help yourself. You stood up, grabbing his stupid, beautiful, perfect face and crashing your lips to his. His arms enveloped you, hauling you into his chest as he kissed you deeper, his tongue stealing the taste of himself for your lips.

His hands slipped lower, hooking the backs of your thighs, and he stood, lifting you up into the air and wrapping your legs around his waist. Your back collided with the stone wall, the cold rock doing nothing to quell the heat blooming under your skin. Your lips never separated, and you moaned against his mouth when his cock grazed the thin barrier of your panties, practically non-existent in their dampened state.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he grated, one of his hands shifting so his finger could hook the gusset of your underwear.

“Don't stop—” you gasped when a rip echoed around the lofty space, and you felt the elastic of your underwear give way, tearing off your body. “George! Those were designer!” You cried, equal parts exasperated and wildly turned on.

He huffed a laugh, swiping the head of his cock through your drooling slit. “You're ridiculous,” he chuckled, voice laden with affection. “Ready, love?” He rested his forehead against yours.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please, baby.”

He smiled, pressing his lips to yours as he slowly speared you on his length, the stretch making you gasp as pleasure unspooled in your belly.

George groaned your name, sweet as honey, and your pussy clenched around him, dragging him that last inch into your heat. His lips moved down your neck, soothing you as he withdrew his hips, then thrust back into you, making you cry out.

“Feel so fucking perfect,” he panted against your throat, lifting and lowering you on his cock. “Fuck, you're so tight. Gonna ruin me.”

“George, shit—fuck me, please,” you begged, nails gauging holes in his poor sweater as you clung onto his shoulders.

He nodded, snapping his hips faster and faster, fucking you open. “Taking that cock so well, such a good girl f’me,” he growled, nipping at your throat when you keened a little too loudly, the sound echoing like a church bell around you. “If I'm ruined, so are you.”

He kissed you hard, teeth and tongues clashing as he pounded you up the wall, your body completely immobilized between him and the stone. His pelvis was creating just enough friction on your clit to have you seeing stars, and suddenly you were toppling over the edge—struck like lightning as your orgasm burned through you.

He devoured every one of your cries, not relenting for a second as you crumbled in his arms. “That's it, that's my fucking girl. You can give me one more, c’mon, rattlesnake,” he ordered, his thrusts growing sloppy as he approached his own release. “Can feel you tightening back up already, little cunt squeezing me so hard—go on, pretty girl, give it to me—”

Your cry of ecstasy cut him off, and your second orgasm dragged him over the edge, his thick cock bucking hard as he painted your spasming walls white. All you could see was stars, your entire body tingling with to force of it, pleasure sapping every ounce of strength and tension from your body.

Boneless, you slumped in his arms, trembling legs falling to the floor beneath you.

“Baby—babygirl, are you okay?” He asked, gently lowering you to the ground and bundling you into his lap.

“M'perfect,” you panted, lolling your head against his shoulder as your mind slowly pieces itself together, feeling starting to return to your fingers and toes.

He pressed kisses into your hair, cradling you protectively in his arms. “That was insane,” he chuckled, nuzzling into your shoulder. “I—you—fuck.”

You giggled, breathless. “That was insane.”

The clock tower rolled, rattling your teeth in your skull, and you clung a bit tighter to him, startled.

He shushed you, covering your ear with one hand and pressing the other to his chest, filling your mind with the steady thump thump thump of his heart.

You couldn't recall feeling safer than you do in that moment.

“That's curfew, love,” he said, disappointment clear in his voice.

You sighed as your heart sank, lifting your head and meeting his eyes. “I've never wanted to stay before,” you murmured, and his eyes melted, warm and dark as cocoa.

You didn't expect it to be this hard—having to leave him afterwards. But you wanted to linger in his arms, talk and cuddle, maybe doze off together, wake up too-warm and tangled in his sheets. Such simple, beautiful, impossible things. And you wanted them all with him.

“I wish we could,” he replied, tilting your chin up to peck your lips. “Merlin, I wish we could…”

“Draco would kill you,” you chuckled, tucking a stars of copper hair behind his ear.

“I can take that weasel.” George smirked, kissing you again.

You swatted his chest, giggling as his fingers tickled along your ribs, your chest glowing with joy. “That, I don't doubt.”

He sighed, pushing himself up and setting you on your feet. “Can I walk you to the stairs?” Some of his mirth seemed to ebb, sadness creeping back into his expression.

You stood on your toes to kiss his cheek. “I insist.”

He offered you his elbow and you looped your arm through his, walking together slowly down the stairs. At the bottom, you turned to face him.

“Goodnight, Georgie,” you said, hoping you don't sound as pitiful as you feel.

“Goodnight, darling.” He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss into your skin. “I'll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded, taking a few steps back, your fingers still clutched in his hand. “Tomorrow’s not so far, yeah?”

He gave you a half-smile, though it didn't meet his eyes. “Yeah.” His fingers finally released yours, and you felt like someone severed your arm from your body.

“Night, Georgie.” You blew him a kiss before hurrying down the hall, unable to bear the sadness in his eyes a second longer.

George's POV

George pushed his breakfast around his plate, staring a hole into the table in front of him. His friends talked excitedly around him, still amped about the match the day before, but George couldn't muster up the enthusiasm.

Going to bed without you the night before was one of the hardest things he'd done in recent memory. He stared at the ceiling for hours, replaying every second of the night, trying to memorize the way your body moved, the curve of your smile, and how it crumbled so gorgeously when you came for him. Not once, but twice.

The way you looked at him, like he'd hung the moon and stars, stuck in his chest like an arrow.

And now he found his gaze continually drifting to the entrance to he Great Hall, just waiting for you breeze through, well rested and untroubled.

Was this killing you the way it was killing him?

And why was it killing him?

It's not like he could be developing feelings for you, a Malfoy—

“George, what's up, mate?” Lee knocked his foot under the table, bringing him back to the present, and his friends all staring at him with mild concern.

George cleared his throat, straightening and shoving a bite of toast into his mouth. It tasted like cardboard. “Slept like shit, tweaked my back or something in the match,” he lied. Well, it wasn't entirely a lie. His back was sore, but from something infinitely more worthwhile than a match.

Did he really just think that? Fuck, what were you doing to him?

“Probably that rocket you sent at Malfoy,” Fred chuckled. “Too bad it didn't take his fucking head off right?”

They all whooped and hollered, high-fiving and jostling George.

“Guess my aim was off,” he shrugged, washing down the toast with a swig of orange juice. “You must be rubbing off on me, Freddie.”

The doors to the Great Hall swung open, and he saw Draco enter first, looking sullen and rotten as usual. You, brilliant, energetic you, came sauntering in behind him, arm and arm with Pansy as you laughed about something. The sound carried across the Hall, turning plenty of heads, but George looked back down at his plate, pretending your joy didn't light him up from the inside out.

He forced himself to join his friends conversation, if anything so he could keep his eyes moving, flitting back to you every few moments. You sat between your brother and Blaise, drinking a cup of tea and nibbling on a pastry.

Even from across the Hall, he could tell you weren't really listening to Draco. You had that same glassy-eyed look you got when Snape lectured in Potions, and George chuckled to himself.

His attention was broken when the owls came screeching in, letters and packages and feathers raining down on every table. Errol dropped a letter in front of Fred before landing clumsily on the table. The envelope was addressed to the four siblings and Harry.

Fred tore it open, waving Ginny, Ron, and Harry over from a few seats down, and began reading their parents typical weekly update.

But then, a booming shout echoed across the Hall, making the candles overhead flicker and extinguish, and a hush fell over the students.

“Someone’s got a howler,” Fred whispered, setting their own letter down.

“YOU DARE DISOBEY YOUR BROTHER AND VENTURE AROUND THE CASTLE UNACCOMPANIED!”

George immediately recognized the voice, his blood running cold.

Lucius Malfoy.

You sat curled into your self, staring wide eyed at the paper replica of your father's face hovering in front of you. George's heart cracked when he saw you bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

“YOU REPRESENT THE HOUSE OF MALFOY AND YOU WILL BEHAVE ACCORDINGLY. IF I HEAR OF YOUR INSUBORDINATION AGAIN, YOU ARE COMING STRAIGHT HOME!”

George very nearly stormed over there, fingers itching to rip the paper-Lucius apart, but then it burst into green flame, startling you to your feet.

The Great Hall was silent, Lucius’ voice ringing in everyone's ears, all eyes on you.

Draco stood with you, tried to take your hand, but you shook him off.

“How could you?!” You cried, angry tears rolling down your cheeks. George almost thought you were going to slap him, but then you turned on your heel, storming out of the Great Hall and slamming the doors closed behind you.

Immediately, conversation exploded, the gossip mill already turning.

“What the fuck was that about?” Lee said, turning back to the group.

“Daddy's little princess has fallen from her tower,” Fred joked, and George grit his teeth, anger simmering in his chest.

He watched and waited for Draco to get up and follow you, for any of your “friends” to go check on you, but none of them moved a muscle. Turning their attention back to their breakfast like nothing at all happened.

It made his stomach turn.

Should he go to you? Sit here and defend you? Play along with everyone else—no, he couldn't do that. Throttle Draco for snitching on you? That he could do. He'd just have to pretend it was for some other reason. But he could do that later. Right now, you needed him.

He reached farther than necessary for an orange, and cried out in pretend pain, clutching his back.

“Shit, man. Maybe you should go to Pomfry,” Fred said, concern flashing across his face.

George didn't have it in him to feel guilty for lying. “Yeah, yeah I think I will,” he said, pretending to wince as he straightened.

“Need me to walk with you?” Fred offered.

“Nah, I'm good. Some salve should take care of it. I'll see you later at practice,” George said, clapping his brother on the shoulder and waving to his friends before limping out of the Great Hall.

As soon as the doors closed behind him, he straightened, bolting down the corridor.

Where would you be?

He tried the closest girls lavatories, empty classrooms, broom closets, searching every alcove for you, until finally, it dawned on him.

He booked it to the library, probably failing at looking inconspicuous, but he was past caring. Aisle after aisle, he navigated the empty library until it spit him out by the corner the two of you studied in. And there you were, curled up under the window with your arms around your knees, head tucked down.

“Hey, love,” he said softly, not wanting to startle you. You startled anyways, something he was starting to realize you did often.

You relaxed when you realized it was him. “Hey,” you sniffled, wiping your cheeks, eyes puffy and bloodshot.

“Can I sit?” He asked, gesturing to the floor beside you.

You nodded, and he lowered himself down beside you, legs stretched out in front of him. He wasn't sure if you wanted to be touched, but then you leaned into him, a flower tilting towards the sun, and his heart melted. He draped an arm over your shoulders, tucking you into his side.

“I'm sorry, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your head. “Howlers suck.”

“I'm not upset about the Howler,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrowed. “No?”

You shook your head. “Draco was supposed to protect me, but instead he—” your voice caught in your throat, a hiccuping sob emerging instead. “He went behind my back and told father—we never tell father.”

George rubbed your back, trying to soothe you as the tears started again, soaking into his shirt. He wasn't very good in these situations, his own family sucked at emotional vulnerability, but he wanted desperately to take away your hurt. It was so strange to see his bold, outspoken girl curled into yourself like this.

He hated every second of it.

“Did Draco admit it was him?” George asked, perturbed that he was in a position to potentially defend Draco. But if it made you feel better…

“No, but who else?” You asked, picking your head up to look at him.

He swiped away your tears with his thumb. “Could have been one of his goons, Snape…”

“Snape?” You raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Your surprise…surprised him. “Yes?” He replied, mimicking your brow lift. “That's exactly the kind of thing he would do.”

“Why?”

George opened his mouth, then closed it. Did you really not know? How couldn’t you?

“Because he's a Death Eater, y/n,” George said, trying to keep his voice measured. “And friendly with your father.”

You blinked, clearly taken aback. “He is? Snivellus?”

George snorted in disbelief. “Yes. Death Eaters are everywhere, even Hogwarts. The Ministry too…”

“Wait—you're being serious?”

“Yes, baby. I'm being serious. It's—there's a war brewing.” He was completely shocked. He knew you were sheltered, possibly a bit naive, but you were too smart to be this unaware.

Unless, of course, you'd been lied to.

He could beat your father to death with that fucking cane. Keeping you in the dark like this was dangerous. How were you supposed to protect yourself if you didn't know what the threat was?

You looked away from him, face screwed up in consternation. “I mean, I know my family’s reputation, and that…he might be back. And I’ve heard some things in the halls, and in the Daily Prophet…but that's just a rag, right?” You looked up at him, so hopeful that he'd tell you everything was okay, that things weren’t as precarious as he was implying, and he understood a little more why your family kept you in the dark.

Even though he knew he should, he just couldn't bring himself to dash that glimmer of hope.

He tucked you back into the safety of his side, kissing the crown of your head. “It's a rag, love.” Not completely a lie. The Prophet had certainly spread enough bullshit about his family that he knew first-hand how untrustworthy it was. “And things are tense right now, but Hogwarts is safe, okay? You're safe.” Also not completely a lie. As long as Dumbledore was in the castle, you were mostly safe…mostly.

You nodded, hands curling into his shirt, and his chest ached with guilt.

He should have known you didn’t understand the severity of the situation. If you did, you probably wouldn’t be here, cuddled into his side in the first place. You probably would have never looked his way at all.

But he knew, and he looked. He allowed things to progress, encouraged it even. He knew that the rift between your family was more than just politics, was more than a class divide, and he still didn’t stop this.

His head thunked back against the wall, and he peered down at you, your breathing evening out, body warm against him, and knew that he still wasn’t willing to end things with you. Because you weren’t Lucius. You weren’t Draco. You weren’t a Death Eater.

You were just a girl, caught up in a war started by the people in power long before either of you existed, and just happened to be born on the opposite side as himself. He couldn’t fault you for that, especially not after knowing your own family had been lying to you about their role in it.

He should tell you the truth, even if it hurt you, even if it made you hate him—it was the right thing to do. But every time he went to open his mouth, the words died in his throat.

The day would come where your heart would have to break, and he prayed that it wouldn’t have to be him that delivered the blow. But, today wasn’t that day.

So, he held you tighter, dried your tears, and bit his tongue.

Thank you for reading!

If you'd like to be included in the taglist, comment below!

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© agreeeeeeeeeee 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[dearxia]

#Needthat 😼😼😼

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Ultraviolence - F.W

- ‘Ultraviolence’ by Lana Del Rey -

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warnings : fluff, overprotective!fred, no use of y/n

summary : Before his Quidditch match, Fred Weasley noticed Cormac McLaggen watching his girlfriend a little too closely. Not one to let things slide, Fred strode over and, without a word, slipped his oversized Quidditch hoodie over her head. As Cormac scowled in defeat, Fred placed a soft kiss on her temple and grabbed his broom,leaving her wrapped in his scent and warmth, grinning as she decided she’d be keeping the hoodie on all night.

AN : i just can’t stop writing fluff for both twins, i swear they hold a special place in my heart. anyways, thinking ‘bout posting fics bout marauders!

“heaven is on earth”

The raucous hum of the Gryffindor common room reverberated against the ancient stone walls, a medley of excitement and last-minute strategizing for the impending Quidditch match.

Fred Weasley, ever the embodiment of infectious confidence, lounged with an effortless charm that belied the electric anticipation surging through his veins. The scent of well-worn leather, broom polish, and the crisp autumn air drifted through the open window, mingling with the warm flicker of the hearth.

Among the sea of scarlet and gold, Fred’s gaze unfailingly sought one singular presence—her. His girlfriend, radiant as ever, nestled on the plush couch, entirely unaware of the way his heartbeat faltered whenever she so much as shifted in her seat.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one watching her.

Fred’s jaw clenched as he caught sight of Cormac McLaggen across the room, the arrogant tilt of his head and the smarmy glint in his eye making his intentions painfully clear.

The way Cormac leaned against the armrest, the unsubtle glances he kept tossing in her direction—it all sent a slow burn simmering in Fred’s chest.

Oh, absolutely not.

Striding over with the ease of a seasoned strategist, Fred didn’t hesitate before plopping down beside her, one arm draping across her shoulders in a way that was both nonchalant and unmistakably possessive.

She looked up at him with those enchanting eyes, a smirk already tugging at her lips as she took in his expression.

“Freddie, darling,” she purred teasingly, tilting her head. “You look a bit... ruffled.”

He scoffed, pressing a fleeting kiss to her temple. “Ruffled? Nah, love. Just making sure my girlfriend isn’t being pestered by some overconfident sod who fancies himself charming.”

Her chuckle was a melody he’d gladly listen to for eternity. “You mean Cormac?” she asked, feigning innocence. “He’s just being friendly.”

Fred narrowed his eyes, a playful glint of challenge dancing within them. “Friendly, my arse. He’s eyeing you like you’re the Snitch, and trust me, I know exactly how that looks.”

Before she could tease him further, Fred straightened, a sudden idea illuminating his freckled face.

With the exaggerated air of a man making an exceedingly important decision, he pulled off his Quidditch hoodie—the very one emblazoned with Weasley in bold gold lettering across the back—and, with a flourish, tugged it over her head.

The fabric, infused with warmth from his body and the lingering scent of his cologne, cocooned her immediately.

It was oversized on her, the sleeves falling past her fingertips, the hem reaching mid-thigh, and Merlin, did she look good in it. His name. His hoodie. His girl.

Her brows shot up in amused surprise. “And what exactly is this for?”

Fred leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur only she could hear. “Marking my territory, sweetheart. Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

She giggled, tugging the hood up dramatically. “Oh, so now you’re the jealous type?”

He grinned, waggling his brows. “When it comes to you? Always.”

Just then, Cormac’s gaze flickered toward them, and the way his expression twisted into barely concealed disappointment was delightful.

Fred smirked in satisfaction, wrapping an arm around her waist before planting a rather conspicuous kiss against her cheek.

“You’re insufferable,” she murmured, though the adoration in her tone betrayed her words.

“And you love it.” He grinned, then tapped the bold lettering on her back. “Now be a good luck charm and keep that on, yeah? Gotta win this game for my girl.”

She rolled her eyes but tightened her grip on the hoodie’s soft fabric, inhaling the familiar scent of him. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned. “Ridiculously in love with you, maybe.”

As he stood, grabbing his broom and preparing to head to the pitch, she watched him go, her heart thrumming with an undeniable warmth. Fred Weasley, for all his mischief and bravado, was utterly and irrevocably hers.

And as she caught Cormac’s resigned expression once more, she decided—maybe she would keep the hoodie on for the rest of the evening.

“i would do anything for you, baby”

[dearxia]

hi guys I’m mourning the George I never had 😣😣😣

Would you write something for George where his wife and their children prepare something special for his birthday?

A/n: YESSSSS ( i love George )

The home was unusually quiet for a Saturday morning. Too quiet. And that alone should have made George suspicious.

But he was still fast asleep, his arm draped lazily over the pillow where you should have been. Instead, you were downstairs, orchestrating what could only be described as organized chaos.

The kitchen smelled of warm cinnamon and chocolate, the air thick with the aroma of freshly baked pastries and a cake that had taken three attempts to get just right—because little hands had kept sneaking tastes of the batter. The twins, Arthur and Leo, had been particularly difficult to wrangle, their excitement too much to contain.

“Mummy, is the cake done yet?” Arthur, the elder twin by exactly four minutes, bounced on his heels, his red hair sticking up wildly.

“Not yet, love,” You answered patiently, smoothing icing over the top. “But you can help me decorate it.”

Leo, the more mischievous of the two, was already dipping a finger into the bowl of icing when his sister, Lily, smacked his hand away.

“Mum said no tasting!” she scolded, her green eyes narrowing at her younger brother.

“I was testing it,” Leo huffed, licking his finger anyway.

From across the room, the youngest, little Nora, sat on the floor, clutching a crayon in her chubby fist, carefully drawing what she insisted was “Daddy’s face” on a large piece of parchment. So far, it looked more like an oddly shaped potato with freckles.

You glanced at the clock. You were running out of time. George was known for being a heavy sleeper, but there was only so long before the smell of food—or the suspicious lack of noise—would wake him up.

“Alright, team,” you said, clapping your hands together. “Positions, everyone! Leo, Arthur, get the balloons! Lily, bring me the presents, and don’t forget the one you made. Nora, sweetheart, are you finished?”

Nora beamed up at you. “All done, Mummy!”

You took one look at the drawing and smiled. It was perfect and you just knew George would love it.

The family scrambled to their places. The kitchen was now a scene of controlled excitement, the cake sitting proudly in the center of the table, presents neatly stacked beside it, and a banner hanging slightly crookedly above—hand-painted with the words: “Happy Birthday, Daddy!” Paint hand prints across the banner.

And just as they took their places, they heard footsteps creaking down the stairs.

“NOW!” Lily shouted.

George barely had time to blink before a barrage of confetti exploded in his face, courtesy of Leo and Arthur, followed by an enthusiastic, ear-splitting chorus of:

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DADDY!”

George, eyes still adjusting to the explosion of colors and noise, grinned as he took in the scene before him—you, his beautiful wife standing in the middle of it all, smiling at him with that look of amused exasperation you always wore when dealing with little troublemakers.

“Well, if this isn’t the best way to wake up,” he said, laughing as Nora toddled over and proudly thrust her drawing into his hands.

“’S you, Daddy!” she announced.

George studied the crayon masterpiece, his heart swelling. “Blimey, you got my good side and everything.”

As he knelt down to pull all four of his children into a big, warm hug, you came up beside him, slipping an arm around his waist.

“Happy birthday, love,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

George sighed contentedly, looking around at his family—his home, his world, his greatest gift of all.

“Best birthday ever,” he murmured, gaze softening you let your fingers run through George's hair.

"Just you me and the kids. Fred said he'll watch the shop."

[dearxia]

Guys I need him bad 😢😢😢😢😢😞😞😞😞

Hate and Love | F.W

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Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: in the mission of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow, you and Fred get thrown off-track as his broom breaks, resulting in an overnight detour at a hotel.

Warnings/content: minors DNI 18+, halfblood!reader, One Bed Trope, enemies to lovers, boner!alert, oral!freceiving, p in v, grumpy x sunshine (if u squint), raw penetration (wrap it plz), cumming inside, orgasm denial, fluffy ending, fighting death eaters, dom!fred, sub!reader

Wordcount: 5.8k

———

You stood near the wall, arms crossed, in the house of number four Privet Drive, the place where it all began for one of your closest friends, Harry Potter. The group of you were gathered in the empty living room, discussing the highly dangerous plan of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow.

Beside you stood the twins, listening intently as Mad-Eye Moody instructed orders.

Seven of them had just taken polyjuice potion, resulting in seven 'Harry's', all in accordance with Moody's plan.

“Right then, we’ll be pairing off. Each ‘Potter’ will have a protector and to make it simpler for you, I'll choose the pairs.” His mismatched eyes scanned the group, assigning pairs, and an aggravating pit settled in your stomach once Moody called out your name, “Y/N, you're with Fred.”

Your head snapped toward Fred, who groaned audibly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He muttered, but George nudged him softly, urging him to be tolerable while they changed out of their regular clothes.

“Yeah yeah, happy to be paired up with you too.” you rolled your eyes, the sarcasm in your tone apparent.

Fred and you had never gotten along. Since your days at Hogwarts, the two of you had been like oil and water—always at odds. He thought you were too uptight, too rule-abiding, while you found him utterly insufferable, reckless, and far too smug for his own good.

But for Harry, you’d endure today. He'd done a great deal to help you throughout your years at Hogwarts, so it was only fair of you to return the favour.

“Head for the Burrows, we’ll rendezvous there!” Moody finished. The room stirred with movement as everyone prepared for what was to come.

Outside, the night air was cool as you mounted Fred’s broom behind him. The scent of his cologne, something warm and woodsy, hit your nose, and you hated that you thought it smelled decent, inhaling a bit more. You hesitated for a moment before wrapping your arms around his waist, well, 'Harry's' waist.

Fred stiffened slightly at your touch, “Don’t get too comfortable back there.”

“Oh, believe me, I won’t.”

Before you could snap back another remark, he kicked off into the sky, soaring above London, splitting up from the others.

Everything was eerily silent for a few moments. The flight seemed too smooth for your liking. You kept an alert eye, constantly scanning your surroundings.

You caught a shadow in the corner of your eye, and you whipped your head around, squinting your eyes at the figure in the dark.

"What the..." You muttered.

"Fred go faster...." You ordered, losing sight of the shadowy figure.

"Why don't you come fly the broom then." He retorted, clearly annoyed.

"Fred! I"m serious!" You yelled, gripping his waist tighter, as he exhaled before picking up the pace.

"In case you forgot, I need to be able to breathe to fly this thing properly." He grunted as you practically squeezed every breath out of him.

"Right, sorry," You loosened your grip ever so slightly, "...it's just, I swear I saw something."

You turned around again, catching a glimpse of a shadowy figure. The shadow was no longer a mystery figure but a person, or, three people rather.

Death Eaters.

"Oh shit! Fred! They're here!" You took your wand out and began fighting with them.

Spells shot through the night, streaks of green and blue illuminating the sky like a twisted fireworks display. The death eaters had appeared out of nowhere, zooming in, attacking viciously as they trailed behind you on their brooms.

“They’re following us!” you shouted over the wind, turning back around to gauge Fred.

“Oh, really? Thought we were just out for a lovely evening flight,” he shot back sarcastically, dodging a hex just in time.

You rolled your eyes but focused on firing spells behind you, hitting one death eater square in the chest and sending him spiralling downward.

"Stupefy!" You shouted, casting the second death eater off his broom. Two down, one to go.

Just as you felt a moment of victory, another spell whizzed past, striking the broom.

The wood splintered with a sickening crack. "Uhh, Fred?" You called out, glancing at the broom.

“Hold on—” Fred barely got the words out before the broom snapped completely, and the two of you plummeted toward the Thames River.

You hit the water hard, the impact knocking the wind out of you. You kicked frantically, breaking the surface and gasping for air. The coolness of the water had your body in shock, shivering as you forced yourself to stay afloat.

Fred emerged a second later, coughing.

Glancing above, you saw the third death eater laughing maliciously as he flew off, leaving you and Fred. He must've figured it wasn't the real Harry, given that you called him 'Fred'.

“Great! Look what you’ve done!” you accused, treading water furiously.

“What I’ve done?! That was you—you were supposed to be fighting them off!” he retorted, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He had transformed back into his original self, the fiery redhead Fred you knew.

You groaned, swimming toward the embankment where a set of stone stairs led to dry land. Your fingers were frozen as you pulled yourself up, collapsing onto the pavement. Fred followed, shaking out his drenched hair like a dog.

“Brilliant. Just brilliant,” you muttered, clutching one-half of the broken broom while he had the other. “Now how are we supposed to get to the others?”

Fred sighed, pushing his hair back. “Let’s just go somewhere dry first.”

You nodded begrudgingly, too cold and exhausted to argue.

When you emerged from the river, it was given that pedestrians would stare at the two of you strangely. Swimming in the Thames River wasn't exactly the most normal thing to do, let alone at this hour.

Though, in this particular instance, more of them were starring at you, rather than Fred.

Fred cleared his throat, eyes darting down to your chest then back up before averting his eyes immediately.

You furrowed your brows, glancing down, only to remember that you were wearing a white shirt along with the worst possible undergarment to pair with it, a black bra.

You felt your cheeks heat up, as you covered your chest, "Let's just go..."

Fred shook his head, taking off the grey jacket he wore and putting it over you, "Here."

Though still wet, it offered the coverage you much needed and you were entirely grateful. "Thanks." You muttered softly, as you two began walking.

"Figured you wouldn't want to walk around flashing the whole of London."

The two of you walked in silence as you tried to figure out a way to get to the others. “We can apparate—” he started.

“Absolutely not. There are muggles everywhere,” you snapped, nodding to the late-night pedestrians strolling along the streets.

Fred scoffed, shooting you an eye-roll. “Alright, Professor McGonagall.”

You ignored him, scanning the area. A small, dingy-looking hotel caught your eye. Without another word, you trudged toward it, Fred trailing behind. The receptionist, a bored-looking woman in her mid 40s, barely glanced up as you approached the desk.

The hotel looked cheap enough for an overnight stay. All you needed to do was clear your mind and get a good night's rest before figuring things out in the morning; yes, that sounded ideal to you right this moment.

“Two rooms, please,” you said firmly.

She tapped at the keyboard, chewing on some gum as she did so. “We’re fully booked.”

Your heart sank. “What about one room? With two beds?”

"Sorry, we're full." She continued typing, then clicking on the mouse as she looked around the screen, "It's peak season honey, we're always maxed out."

"Please you've got to have at least one room, with two beds, anything?" You pleaded, desperate for whatever you could acquire.

"We'll take whatever we can get, you've got to have something." Fred added, backing you up as he stood closer to you.

She checked again, then looked at you, eyes lighting up. “Ah, it seems that we do have one left with two beds, but the heating is broken, that's why we didn't offer it to customers. Actually, I was supposed to call the maintenance guy, but he's my ex, you see, so it's a bit of a rough story. I always thought he loved me, you know, how could someone not, I mean look at me? I'm gorgeous. He was supposed to come by today but we—”

"We'll take it!" Fred interjected swiftly, clearly exhausted. "Thank you."

Relief flooded you as you he paid with muggle money. You were surprised he even had some on hand, but after all, he was a businessman.

"Interesting, all this muggle stuff eh?" Fred mused, as you both entered the lift, his eyes darting around as he observed his surroundings.

"I suppose so, yeah. I guess I was lucky enough to be born a half-blood, you get the best of both worlds." You shrugged, as though hotels and 'muggle elevators' were the most natural thing in the world.

"Alright then, you lead the way, Ms expert." He mocked, gesturing for you to lead the way once the doors opened.

You scoff softly, marching down the hallway before finding your room number. Fred reaches seconds after you, looping his arm around your body to swipe the keycard.

He placed an arm on the door to open it, letting you in first before closing it after he entered.

But the moment you entered the room, your jaw dropped.

One bed.

“What? She said there were two beds.” You blinked, looking around the room in confusion.

“She must’ve meant the couch,” Fred said, nodding toward the small, lumpy-looking couch a few inches beside the bed, by the window.

You swallowed, “Right, well, who's sleeping where?” Honestly, at this point, you didn't even mind taking the couch, as long as you could get some rest.

Fred's eyes darted from the bed to the couch, exhaling exasperatedly before finally looking at you, "I'll take the couch."

"I didn't know Fred Weasley had manners?" You gasped, faking your amusement.

He shot you a glare, grabbing a towel as he did so, "Could you be any more aggravating?"

You tried to think of a witty comeback, something, anything to get a reaction out of him. But alas, you were lost for words. He did have a point though.

Come to think about it, you realised that you might've only been behaving this way because you were not used to him being so much of a...gentleman. This was foreign to you.

"I'll have the first shower." He shifts past you, nudging your shoulder, which sends heat through your bodies temporarily.

“Be my guest.”

You hear the lock shut, and seconds later, the water starts running.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you took in your surroundings. This was no five-star hotel, but it was presentable and decent enough for an overnight stay. The walls are dark grey, with ambient lighting all around the room. Navy blue sheets grace the double bed, with a soft brown leather footer in contrast. There is a tea tray and a kettle, on top of the dark brown desk that sat in the corner of the room.

Minutes later, the door clicks and unlocks.

Fred steps out, a white towel hanging around his waist. His hair is wet, and his body glistening with water droplets. Your eyes couldn't help but drift down, his body was incredible defined, a stark contrast to your school days when he was merely a boy, now, he was a man.

Oh, he definitely works out. You noticed his arms, much larger and buffer than they used to be.

"All yours." He jerked his chin to the bathroom.

You gulped, brushing past him before hurriedly entering the bathroom and locking the door.

Wow, since when did Fred Weasley get so, attractive?

The hot water was a blessing, washing away the cold. You stood under the steamy shower for a couple of minutes, taking in as much warmth as you could.

With no new clothes to change into, you wrapped yourself in the plush hotel bathrobe, sighing in frustration. It appears there was only a kids sized one left, and you had no choice but to wear it. Whatever, it’ll do the job for tonight.

You hung your wet clothes on one of the bathroom racks, and you saw that Fred did the same, you placed your clothes beside his.

You were humming to yourself when you stepped out, relieved to be in some dry clothes, dancing a little as you strolled to the bed.

When he heard you walking, Fred glanced up, something flickering in his expression, though you're not quite sure what.

“That bathrobe is way too small for you." He remarks, laying with his legs out on the couch, two arms behind his head as he rests.

"What was I supposed to do, wear my wet clothes to sleep?" You respond as you hop into bed, tugging the covers and snuggling in.

"It could be an enlightening experience." He hummed, as he shut his eyes, adjusting himself on the couch.

"You try it then." You counter, scoffing at his idiocy.

The curtains are drawn, and the lights are dim. Silence fills the room as you both unwind for the evening. Before you shut the lights from the switch beside your bed, you call out, "I'm going to off the lights now, need anything before I turn them off?"

"Yeah actually..." He perks his head up, turning to face you.

"What?" You ask, listening keenly.

"For you to be quiet." A small smile played on his lips as he laid back down.

You rolled your eyes, before hitting the lights.

"Good night." He cooed.

You lay there, tossing and turning, but you couldn't seem to fall asleep for the life of you. It didn't help that the room was so cold, due to the heater being unfixed.

Minutes passed in silence before you turned your head slightly. Fred was stretched out on the tiny couch, his long legs dangling uncomfortably over the armrest.

It was evident that he was way too tall to fit on all that, he did not look the slightest bit comfortable.

“See something you like?” Fred smirked, feeling your stare though his eyes were shut.

“What? No! I was just—”

“Just what? Admiring this handsome face?”

"Honestly Fred, how conceited are you?" You sat up now, shooting daggers at him. As much as you hated to admit it, he was, in fact, handsome. Annoyingly so.

Truth be told, had he not been so irritating, you might've actually considered dating him.

You loved the Weasleys, Ginny was like a sister to you, Ron, your close friend, George, always on the lookout for you. He even took you down to Hogsmeade for a meal and bought you treats when you cried over one of the Slytherin boys rejecting you back in your fourth year.

But Fred, oh Fred, you could never see eye to eye with him. You only ever tolerated him because his family was so warm and welcoming.

A tiny part of you felt guilty that he was forced onto the couch, despite being the one that paid for the room.

You wanted to offer the place beside you to him, seeing that the bed was larger than anticipated once you were actually tucked in.

"Well you are staring, something you need?" He countered, his eyes are still shut, arms still behind his head.

"Well, I was thinking...." You hesitated, "well, you could sleep on the bed. It's actually more spacious than I thought."

His brows shot up, and he opened his eyes, turning to face you. “In the bed? With you?”

“Don’t make it weird, Fred,” you huffed. “The couch looks uncomfortable.”

"Are you, being nice to me?" He teased, the urge to take back your offer growing stronger.

"Don't make me change my mind, Weasley."

After a beat, he groaned. “Fine. But don’t hog the covers.”

"Please I sleep like a log, it's not like I'm going to cuddle you or anything."

"Cuddle me eh?" He mused.

"Not bloody likely, besides you're too annoying to be my type." You retort.

Fred stood up, walking to the other side of the bed. He slid in beside you, and the bed suddenly felt too small. You kept your back to him, but quickly got up and put one of the spare pillows between you.

"See this line? Don't cross it and you're good." You commanded, and he chuckled lightly,

"Alright alright." He raised in hands.

You turned away from him, back to him as you attempted to fall asleep. You hadn't realised how far you were from him, you were practically tipping over the edge of the bed.

You scooted inside a little, bumping into the pillow wall you put.

After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, you sighed in defeat. The room was cold, and the blankets were not much help.

You couldn't help but wonder if you were the only one awake. You extended your arm behind you, trying to find the pillow 'wall' you had put up. But with all the tossing and turning from the two of you, the pillow must've slipped out of place and down the lower half of the bed somewhere.

As you extended your arm behind you, you accidentally came into contact with Fred's back, and he shifted slightly before turning to face you instead.

It's dark, almost pitch black, but with the small glimmer of light, you can see that his eyes are shut. Curious you called out, "Fred?" you whispered. "Are you awake?"

"I am now, no thanks to you." He fluttered his eyes open, facing you.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I just wanted to see if—"

"Don't be." He sighed, "Couldn't sleep a wink either. This room is bloody cold."

"The blankets aren't doing anything." You exhaled, agreeing, before an idea popped into you head.

"This might sound silly, but, if we revert back to old fashioned methods, we could, um—actually it's stupid, nevermind." You began, but quickly dismissed it.

"Go on, I'd like to hear what genius solution you've come up with."

"It's dumb, I don't think you'll like it."

"Try me." He replied.

You hesitated again before suggesting, “We could—uh—use body heat.”

He stared at you momentarily, it looked as though he thought about it, considering it before responding, “Absolutely not.”

"Okay, whatever, I just thought it was a feasible option. These robes aren't exactly pyjama material either." You say, trying to tighten your robes, with the hopes of warming up your body.

You both fell into silence again your back facing him once more, before Fred spoke up, "Come here."

"What?" You turned around.

"I suppose, we could try the body heat thing."

"Oh so now you want to try my idea?" You raise your brow, scoffing as you shift over slowly, and he extended his arm, pulling you in.

"Don't get any ideas, I just need to sleep and call it a day." You firmly spoke, pressing your back to him, as he faced you. You felt his heat, no doubt, it was working, and you were starting to warm up. In all the places apparently, your cheeks, and an area of yours down there. Your heart pounded as his hand rested against your back, his breath tickling your ear.

"Let's do shoulder-to-shoulder." You suggested, trying to hide your flustered-ness.

He didn't argue, respecting your decision. The two of you lay there, facing the ceiling as your shoulders touched. Though not as warm as before, it was still warmer at least.

You turned your head, Fred's face illuminated by the dim light coming through from the curtains, his jawline ever so chiselled. Merlin, he was undoubtedly a handsome chap. You shut your eyes, trying, yet again to enter a slumber.

As you laid there, eyes shut, Fred opened his, gauging you. He smiled softly as he took in your features, rolling his eyes fondly as he saw you breathing slowly.

You swore you were about to cast some sort of sleeping spell, because you still could not fall asleep for the life of you. You keep moving, accidentally brushing against Fred's body countless times but you couldn't help it, you needed to find a comfortable position.

You move your arm around the blanket, trying to find a comfortable position for yourself until you accidentally graze something, unexpected.

You freeze.

Did you actually just graze that?

Was he....?

You slowly turned to face him, your body merely an inch away from his. You see him shut his eyes, heavily breathing, his Adam's apple bopping up and down from swallowing hard.

"Would you quit moving so much?" He whispered, trying to contain himself.

"I....Fred, I didn't mean to." You pause. "You're still awake?"

"10 points to Y/H (your house), captain obvious."

You furrow your brows, turning on the bedside lamp which offered the tiniest bit of ambient light in the dark room.

Your gaze flickered down, and well, you saw, a little friend poking up from the sheets beneath him.

"Is that, because of m—" You swallowed not daring to finish the sentence, looking at his hard on. "I'm sorry shouldn't have moved so much."

"Alright, it's okay, it's not a big deal, so what it's normal right. I didn't mean to accidentally keep grazing or grinding on you, I was merely trying to find a comfortable position. Listen, I'm not weirded out or anything, you can go sort it out. Who am I to judge? This time tomorrow we'll all be at the burrow and I'll be sharing a room with Ginny and 'Mione, so it's fine, we can—" You began ranting out of nervousness, but Fred had enough, opening his eyes to sit up with you,

"Merlin, Y/N. Ranting like you're so innocent, moving around like that? On me?" He leans in closer, growling, "I bet you'd really want to know what got me provoked in the first place, yeah?"

You gulped, inspecting his features as he leaned in closer to you, now an inch apart, "You aggravate me, pushing my damn buttons all the bloody time. Maybe if you weren't such a whiny brat complaining about everything, I would've fucked you an hour ago till you were silenced.” He ranted before continuing,

“You want to know what got me so hard? You waltzing around in those darn bathrobes that are far too small, exposing every inch of your body, your cleavage is practically begging to be seen. I can't keep my fucking eyes off you. Ever since Hogwarts, it was always you, grating on my last nerves. I thought I hated you so, until I realised that there was a fine line between hate and attraction."

"Fred..." your eyelids flutter; how did his voice get so low and sensual? You could feel yourself throbbing, growing wetter by the minute, and you found yourself growing more needy for him.

"Bloody hell Y/N, you've got me wrapped around the irritating finger of yours."

"Just shut up and kiss me Fred." You breathlessly whisper, not realising that you'd been holding your breath the entire time.

After waiting for what seemed like forever, he wasted no time pouncing on you. His hand is behind your neck and he pushes you down onto the bed, hovering on top of you.

Fred's lips meet yours furiously, desperately, never in your life has someone kissed you this passionately before. You open your mouth, and he slides his tongue in, a desirous clash of tongues. He savours every inch of your mouth and it makes you wonder how long he's been wanting to do this for.

"May I?" He asks for permission as he tugs at the belt of your bathrobe.

You nod, too breathless to speak as you gaze up at him. Fred undoes your robes, leaving you clothe-less on the bed. He does the same, kneeling between your legs which are spread open and on either side of his waist. You subconsciously give him doe-eyes as he does so, merlin, he looked so deliciously attractive.

"So fucking beautiful, all this hidden from me all these years?" He leans down and gently kisses your neck while gripping your waist, sucking on a sensitive spot which earns a moan from you.

"Going to leave hickey's on you so everyone knows you're mine gorgeous."

"Who said I was yours?" Every so daring you retort, though you lacked conviction.

He chuckled lowly before sucking on another sensitive spot, leaving a reddish mark on you, "Fred..." you moan again. His kisses grow more wet and fervent as he plants kisses trailing down your body. His hands move from your waist to your breasts, massaging them gently as he continues further down your body.

You're barely able to control the obscene moans slipping from your mouth, any attempts at suppressing them growing more difficult by the second. You didn't even care that people around you might hear.

"You're soaking wet, and yet you say you're not mine." Fred cooed, his eyes glued to your heat, coated with glistening wetness.

You revel in the fact that he can barely take his eyes off you, you glance at him, eyes half-lidded, clouded with lust. Once he catches sight of your lustful eyes, desperate for him, he can't tear his gaze away from you. He slowly leans down, sensually licking your coated slick.

Your sensitive cunt throbs even harder upon the contact from his tongue, "Fred please..." You whine, throwing your head back onto the pillow.

He traces the shape of your vulva, pressing kitten licks on your needy clit, causing your legs to clamp around his head. He doesn't break eye-contact, as he continues to work his mouth around your core.

He continues sucking your clit, his tongue working his way on your swollen pearl.

You tangle your hands in his head, tugging lightly. Your body can't help but arch into his face due to the overwhelming pleasure, as he continues indulging in your cunt. "Merlin Fred!" You cry out as he suckles on a particularly sensitive spot.

"You taste so damn good love, so sweet unlike that bitter mouth, hm?"

"I'm yours Fred....all yours..." You whimper, succumbing to his words.

"Say that again." His voice low, commanding, you could feel the heat from his mouth near your throbbing cunt.

"I'm yours, Fred." You moan, as he continues straight into your core.

The feeling is heavenly, both hands tangled in his red locks as he gives you the most pleasant head you've ever felt in your life. Once he stops assaulting your clit, he lifts his head and faces you, his eyes smiling up at you, as though you are the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

Oh, you're so close, tilting over the edge of something mind-blowing. He leans down and gives your clit a few more kitten licks, planting soft kisses before pulling away, just as you were about to cum.

"Don't stop," you whimper, "I was so close...."

"Fred?" You plead, again, but he sits up and crawls to you, now hovering over you his hands on either side of your head. "Please let me cum...."

"You will, darling." He cooes, leaning down to your ear, "Around my cock."

You felt yourself throbbing yet again, upon his words. What the hell was he doing to you, causing you to feel this weak beneath him? This powerless? Your sharp, witty tongue, nowhere in sight.

"Please Fred, I need you." You whine, begging him for more.

"What ever happened to, 'I despise you'?" He hovered over you and you sat up, meeting his lips. Giving him a passionate, hungry kiss before pulling away,

"There is a fine line between hate and love, and I think today I've learnt that you've been sitting in the wrong category all along."

He smiled, brushing a hand on your cheek as he gazed down at you lovingly, "Took me so long to realise that you're the only person I've ever felt something with."

"Took us bloody ages." You roll your eyes fondly, before giggling as he pecked your forehead gently.

You gazed up at him with doe-eyes, and him down at you, to your lips then back up, his mouth parted slightly as he took in how breathtaking you looked beneath him. Shit, you were always beautiful to him, he'd only now realised.

"Need you inside me Fred." You plead softly, desperately, which only fuelled his desire for you even more.

"Anything for you, love."

You never thought you'd admit it, but he has a fucking incredible dick. You assumed he'd be packing because he was 6"3, but the sight of it made you drool. Bloody hell, he had every right to be so smug.

His slit was already leaking with precum, his eyes lock onto yours as he lowers himself. Your legs are still on each side of his waist, he grabs his dick and teases it along your wet entrance, sliding it a few times to coat it with your slickness.

You involuntarily buck your hips, desperate for penetration as you whimper. He slowly lowers himself down, and finally into you.

At first, you hiss at the pain upon being stretched out by his hugeness, you could feel him stretching your walls, registering that fact that he was fully inside you now.

"Fuck...." he moans, letting out a groan, "So tight for me hm?"

"Freddie...." You moan as he begins moving, rocking his hips slowly. You get used to the size of him, filling you to the brim, every slight bit of movement causing your walls to tense around his dick, rubbing within you sensually.

"I know baby, I know." He responds softly, continuing at this pace.

With every rock, his breathing increases, your soft pleas and his eager pants filling the room as he speeds up, going faster and harder.

Your moans start to get louder, getting more deafening by the minute. Fred leans down to plant kisses on your neck, and pecking your lips occasionally, you moan into him as he drives himself further into your core.

"You're doing so well baby." He coos into your ear, murmuring praises as he continues to thrust into you.

Fred doesn't stop pounding into you, you move your hands to his back, your nails practically digging into his skin from the pleasure.

Skin slapping against skin, you feel every jolt of his body into you. He's fucking you so gently but hard at the same time, treating you as though you were the most fragile thing on the planet.

"Baby..." You whimper, eyes fluttering shut, as he continues thrusting into you deeply, you are overwhelmed with so much pressure that you might cry, but it just felt so damn pleasurable.

"I'm getting close Fred." You pant, breathing heavily, as he picks up his pace.

"Look at me." He demands, and you open your eyes, gazing into his hazel ones. For once, they aren't filled with irritation, or the usual annoyance you were used to seeing, they were more gentle, admiring you, it was a look of love.

"Fred, I'm so close!" You cry out, feeling an orgasm coming closer, "I'm gonna—" you can barely finish your sentence, the pressure. on your g-spot and the intense penetration becoming too much for you to handle, along with the gaze of hazel eyes burning into you.

You let out an obscene moan as your walls clench around him, you jerk harshly, causing him to let out a guttural moan. It's a pleasurable ache, your entire body pulses beneath him.

"Gonna come inside you baby, that okay?" He asks, and you nod, to breathless to speak.

Seconds later, he comes undone, squirting his juices inside you. The world slows down as you enter your state of euphoria; you're entangled in pure bliss as you come down from your high. Your body is still electrified from the feeling before.

It takes a while for you to fully settle down. You slowly flutter your eyes open to find yourself engulfed in Fred's buff arms, your breathing in sync. The two of you lean against the wooden bed-frame, and you lean your head on his shoulder, while he cradles you.

You glance down at your body and notice that it's covered in marks, which looked bloody hot. Merlin, you really were Fred's now huh?

"So much for body heat." You chuckled softly, as he stroked your back gently.

He laughs, and you feel the vibrations of his chest, "The best kind of heat if you ask me." He says which earned an eyeroll from you.

Fred plants a soft kiss on your head, "Y'know I'm not one for apologies, but I was a bit of a jerk to you back in Hogwarts, and I want to apologise."

"It was a two-way thing, Freddie, suppose I should apologise for being one too. Merlin, you did grate on every last one of my nerves though." You tease.

"Always a pleasure." He grinned down at you, engulfed in his arms as you looked up at him, sharing a moment of sweet silence as you put the past behind you.

A ray of moonlight shone through the tiny gap in the curtain. You turned your head, glancing out the window as you pondered about the others back at the burrow.

"What're we going to tell the others when we find them tomorrow?" You giggled, taking in the state you were both in.

"I have a feeling they won't be surprised." Fred confessed.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone in my family thinks we have a thing for each other, especially Ginny. Won't stop talking about us that sister of mine."

"Since when?!" You were amused, the two of you were the epitome of the word hate back in Hogwarts and to hear a statement like this shocked you.

"Since school apparently." He laughed, shaking his head, "I thought it was silly too, but look where we are now."

"Just wait one day, you'll eventually get married." He mocked Ginny's tone, mirroring her facial expressions too, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Please, you and me?" You raised a brow, teasing him, though biting back a fond smile.

"Neverrrr." He scrunched up his nose, holding you closer as you both now laid down in bed, safely in each other's grasp.

Finally comfortable, you found yourself drifting off into a much-needed slumber. The same could be said for Fred, it was safe to say the body-heat idea turned out better than anticipated.

And with this newfound love, perhaps the broomstick breaking was a blessing in disguise.

[dearxia]

HES SO BF

——————————————————————————

Is to fall in deep - F.W

- ‘into you’ by Ariana grande’ -

——————————————————————————

——————————————————————————

warnings : fluff ( bare with me ), no use of y/n

summary : a trip to Hogsmeade with the older twin was supposed to be a simple, friendly outing. But when snow began to fall, it turned into a playful battle of enchanted snowballs and breathless laughter. Amidst the chaos, they tumbled into a snowbank, laughter fading into a charged silence. Friendship had melted away, replaced by something deeper, undeniable, and impossible to ignore.

AN : i just can’t stop writing fluff, but i promise i’m working on something new!!

“all i wanna do, is to fall in deep”

The trip to Hogsmeade with Fred Weasley had started, as most things with him did, with wild ideas and contagious laughter.

It was supposed to be just a carefree day between friends — exploring shops, sampling sweets at Honeydukes, and causing harmless mayhem. But when the snow began to fall, the day shifted into something more magical than either of them could've expected.

Snowflakes swirled around them like enchanted confetti, landing on rosy cheeks and tangled scarves.

Fred, naturally, couldn't resist turning the wintry scene into a snowball war. "You think you can hide from me, love?" he called out, eyes glinting with mischief as he hurled a snowball her way.

"Fred Weasley!" she gasped as the icy projectile hit her shoulder. "You're done for!"

And with that, the chase began. Snowballs flew, laughter echoed, and spells were cast to enchant snow to dodge or multiply mid-flight.

Passersby shook their heads, smiling at the duo whose joy seemed to shimmer through the crisp air. Her heart raced as she ducked behind a barrel, gathering snow in gloved hands, only to find Fred already behind her.

"Caught you," he whispered, eyes alight with victory.

Before she could respond, he lunged, sending them both tumbling into a snowbank. The cold bit through their clothes, but the warmth of his body pressed against hers dulled its sting.

Breathless laughter gave way to silence as their eyes met. His usual teasing expression softened into something unfamiliar yet unmistakable.

The world around them blurred. Snowflakes melted against flushed skin, and the air seemed to crackle with an unspoken realization. His gaze dipped to her lips, and in that instant, the playful battle was forgotten.

"Fred," she murmured, heart pounding.

"Yeah?" His voice was quieter than she'd ever heard it.

Neither of them moved for a moment, but then she leaned in. Or maybe he did.

Their lips met in a kiss that felt like bottled lightning — warm, intense, and utterly disorienting. His gloved hand cupped her jaw, thumb tracing her cheek as though committing the moment to memory. The kiss deepened, the snow around them forgotten.

“been waitin’ and waitin’ for you to make a move”

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths mingled in the frosty air.

Fred's forehead rested against hers, and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Blimey," he whispered. "Didn't see that coming."

She smiled, dazed and breathless. "Me neither."

"So," he said, voice returning to its familiar mischievous tone, "guess we're rubbish at being just friends, huh?"

"Completely rubbish," she agreed.

"Good," Fred said, stealing another kiss, this one quicker but just as electrifying. "Because being just friends sounds awfully dull now."

The snow beneath them was cold, but the warmth between them lingered.

And as they lay there, wrapped in the magic of a day gone wonderfully awry, she realized that life with Fred Weasley would never be simple—and she'd never want it to be.

“ ‘cause i’m so into you”

[dearxia]

SOSOSOOSOS CUTE

﹙💋﹚ DON'T SMILE, ㅤㅤ FRED WEASLEY

ㅤㅤ★ SUMMARY !

× After your breakup with Fred, he thought he could move on—until he saw you with someone else. He tried to ignore it, to convince himself it was for the best, but the truth was undeniable: losing you was his biggest mistake.

ㅤㅤ★ WARNINGS !

× None.

ㅤㅤ★ NOTES !

× Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog to help with visibility! I’d also be thrilled if you followed the account 💗 ﹙ib: dividers     cafekitsune and 13hoax﹚

word count: 1.5k

It was a cold night in Hogsmeade. The lights of the Three Broomsticks shone brightly, illuminating the street dampened by the endless drizzle. Fred Weasley sat in the darkest corner of the pub, his elbows resting on the worn wooden table, a butterbeer in front of him.

His friends were laughing, drinking, enjoying themselves as if the world were a simple place, free of pain. George was telling a joke to Lee Jordan, and Angelina was laughing, her eyes sparkling. But Fred couldn’t bring himself to join them. Not tonight.

Because you were there.

On the other side of the pub, holding hands with someone who wasn’t him.

It was ridiculous. He had no right to feel like this. You had broken up. The decision had been made, the words had been spoken, the promises undone—at least on his part. But the problem was that he couldn’t just let go. The problem was that every time you smiled at that guy, it felt like someone was ripping the air from his lungs.

Your voice still echoed in his mind, as if you were right there beside him.

"Fred, we can’t keep doing this. It’s destroying us."

But it was only destroying him, wasn’t it? Because you looked fine. Happy. While he was drowning in a butterbeer, hoping the alcohol would be enough to erase your image from his mind.

"Fred, you need to stop staring." George’s voice cut through his thoughts. His brother was leaning toward him, concern evident on his face. "If you want to leave, we can go."

Fred let out a dry chuckle. "Leave and go where? It wouldn’t make a difference."

George sighed but didn’t push further. He knew that when Fred was like this, there was no convincing him of anything.

Time dragged on. Fred lost count of how many times he lifted the glass to his lips without actually drinking. Until, at some point, you got up and walked to the bar. Alone.

His heart pounded. He should ignore it. He should pretend you weren’t there. But before he could think it through, his feet were already moving.

You noticed his approach before he could say anything. You turned slowly, your eyes meeting his. And for a fleeting moment, just one, Fred swore he saw something there. Something that told him maybe, just maybe, you were feeling it too.

But then you smiled. That practiced, polished, perfect smile. The one you always used when you wanted to hide something.

"Hi, Fred."

He wanted to say so many things. He wanted to ask if you missed him. If you thought about him when you were with someone else. If, deep down, you still felt that something was left between you two, burning beneath the ashes.

But all he managed was a weak, bitter laugh.

"Don’t smile because it happened," he said, his voice low. "Cry because it’s over."

Your smile faltered for just a second. A single second. But then, as if casting a spell, you recovered.

"I hope you’ll be okay, Fred."

And then you walked away. Back to your new reality. Leaving Fred behind, trapped in a night that never seemed to end.

He picked up his glass and downed the rest of his drink in one go. But it didn’t help. Nothing eased the pain.

Nothing ever erased you.

[Months Later]

The rain fell over Hogsmeade like a melancholic whisper, turning the cobblestone streets into shimmering pools. Fred Weasley shouldn’t be here. He knew that. But somehow, his feet had carried him to the door of the Shrieking Shack, the last place he had seen you.

Since that night, everything felt wrong. The laughter had faded from the hallways, the food in the Great Hall tasted like nothing, and even pranks with George had lost their spark. He tried to pretend it didn’t hurt, tried to convince himself that moving on was the only choice. But every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was you.

The creak of wood beneath his feet echoed in the silence of the abandoned place. And then, he saw you.

You were sitting by the window, watching the rain fall as if lost in your own thoughts. The faint moonlight illuminated part of your face, and Fred felt his chest tighten when he noticed the dark circles under your eyes.

He wasn’t the only one suffering.

"I didn’t know you still liked haunted places," he broke the silence, his voice rough with nerves.

You looked up slowly, surprise flickering in your expression. "What are you doing here, Fred?"

He took a hesitant step forward, running a hand through his messy red hair—a nervous habit. "I could say I just wanted a nighttime stroll… but I’d be lying."

You let out a sigh, turning your gaze back to the window. "I guess half-truths were always your thing."

Fred’s heart clenched. It was true—unfortunately. But he had always tried to be honest, at least with you.

"I miss you," he admitted. "And I hate to say it, but I can’t keep pretending I’m okay without you."

Your body tensed for a moment before you closed your eyes, as if trying to organize your thoughts.

"You hurt me, Fred. You pretended everything was fine when it wasn’t. You pushed me away when all I wanted was to be by your side."

He nodded slowly, regret filling his eyes. "I know. And I hate myself for it. I thought it would be easier. I thought if I smiled, if I joked around, the pain would disappear. But it didn’t. It only got worse."

Silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words. Fred took another cautious step forward.

"I know it might be too late, but if there’s still a chance… any chance… I’m here. I’m ready to fight for you, [Y/N]."

You finally looked at him, and in your eyes, there was pain—an open wound. But there was something else. Something that made Fred’s heart race, like the exhilarating drop of a broomstick in free fall.

Hope.

Back then, Fred hadn’t taken your relationship as seriously as he should have. Not because he didn’t love you—he did. But he was young, immature, and he liked the idea of being free, even though he had never been completely honest about it. It was only when he lost you that he realized how much it mattered. How much you mattered.

"You hurt me, Fred," you whispered, your voice softer now, more vulnerable. But before guilt could consume him, you continued, your confession coming out as a breath.

"But I missed you, too. More than I should have."

The words hung between you, heavy with everything left unsaid. And for the first time in a long while, Fred felt like maybe—just maybe—there was still a chance.

Fred exhaled shakily, a small, hesitant smile forming on his lips. "So… maybe we could start over?"

You hesitated for a moment before extending your hand to him. "Only if you promise not to run away this time."

Fred took your hand firmly, threading his fingers through yours as if he would never let go again. Your touch was warm, comforting, silently saying everything words couldn’t.

"I promise. If there’s one place I’m meant to be, it’s here…" He paused for a second, realizing the eerie surroundings. The cold air of Hogwarts wrapped around you, the dim torchlight flickering against the stone walls. He let out a soft laugh.

"Not here exactly. I mean… with you."

You rolled your eyes with a smile, the tension melting away. "Idiot."

Fred didn’t respond with words. He just looked at you, and in his eyes—always filled with mischief—there was something deeper. Something raw. Something that screamed everything he felt without needing a single word.

He took a step closer, his breath heavy, fingers still entwined with yours as if afraid you’d slip away again.

"Can I kiss you?" The question came out as a whisper, rough with anticipation and longing.

You didn’t need to think. You just nodded, your body responding before your mind could catch up. Your face tilted forward ever so slightly, a silent invitation to erase the final distance between you.

Fred didn’t hesitate.

He closed the space between you with a firm and determined movement, capturing your lips with his in a kiss full of longing and urgency. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a silent promise, an apology, and a declaration that nothing, not even time or mistakes, could truly keep you apart.

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, while your fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, tangling in his messy red hair. The world around you disappeared. Hogwarts could have been crumbling, and yet, in that moment, nothing else mattered besides the warmth of his lips against yours.

Fred smiled against your mouth, as if relieved to finally be able to do this again. When you pulled away, just enough to catch your breath, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, still smiling:

"This is definitely where I belong."

[dearxia]

When I should be talking to guys my age but I keep thinking about men the same age as my dad.

[dearxia]

THIS IS SO CUTE AAAAHHHH

it was a no-brainer that GEORGE WEASLEY got it from his father.

you saw it in his eyes—the manner in which they sparkled with so much curiosity whenever muggles were the topic of conversation, hundreds of questions always falling out of his mouth before he could restrain himself. 

it was endearing to witness him be so interested in things that you considered ordinary (which truly, they were), the questions always stemming from his genuine wonder of how muggles were able to live without magic, how they managed to accomplish tasks without spells, how certain devices worked without being charmed, how people went from one place to another without the help of floo powder or knowing how to apparate…

and having lived in a muggle home yourself for as long as you remember, it was one of the many things that you and george have talked about throughout your relationship, with you being more than happy to indulge him with his fascination with the non-magic folk in every opportunity that presented itself.

hence, when winter break came and your parents invited him to spend the holidays at your place, you knew that you had to take this chance to formally introduce him to the world that he has been oh-so-interested about.

“how are they doing this?” george mumbled beside you in complete awe, gesturing at the huge screen they had in the cinema.

you grinned and leaned closer to his side, the scent of his cologne and butter popcorn filling your nose. “they film it with a camera, and then edit it until it becomes one long video. a movie, as it’s called.”

“a movie.” he repeated, not hiding how impressed he was based on his tone. “and this camera you say, it’s not magic?”

“nope.”

“then how can it make the pictures move?”

“well, they’re not exactly pictures, love. they’re videos. or clips. i don’t know. there wasn’t exactly a class about this that i could attend.” you joked.

he laughed and looked at you. “well, whatever it is, it’s bloody brilliant. it amazes me how muggles can make pictures move without magic—and even make them have sounds! it’s truly fascinating. even magic hasn’t done that. unless you count a howler, of course.”

you gave him a fond grin, pleased that your mission to enlighten him with another thing from your world seemed successful based on his eager expression and the manner in which he was now focusing back on the movie.

as he did that, you couldn’t help but focus on him instead, your gaze glued to his face like he was the one you paid for to see in this dimly lit cinema. you admired the freckles that littered his skin, the slight smile he was showcasing, and his red hair that was neatly trimmed yet still had this effortless tousled look that tempted you very much to run your fingers in.

“hey, love,” you whispered abruptly, leaning closer to him.

george barely spared you a glance. “hm?”

“do you know what muggles usually do in muggle cinemas?”

at that, his attention is reverted back to you. “no.”

“it’s a tradition at this point, really.”

“yeah?” the innocence in his expression made you smirk. “what is it?”

without missing a beat, you gently pulled him by the neck and kissed him.

it started out just a peck, your lips pressing on his, and for a moment, george was sitting still, perhaps trying to read what was on your mind to prompt you to kiss him all of the sudden. but then you felt the curve of his grin against your mouth, and before you could blink, he angled his head, deepening the kiss with ease that told you he now understood what your intentions were.

you sighed, planting a few more soft kisses on his mouth and then deciding to pull back, seeing george look at you with a mixture of amazement and doubt.

“you just made that up, didn’t you?” he teasingly accused you. “are you telling me muggles consider it a tradition to kiss in cinemas?”

you tried to make your laughter as quiet as possible. “i’m being honest. and for the record, it’s not kissing that’s tradition per say—it’s much bolder than that. i was just being considerate and going easy on you.” you joked.

at your statement, you could practically see the shift in his expression, the confusion melting into sudden realization, as if the pieces of a puzzle had finally clicked into place.

slowly, an all knowing mischievous smirk appeared on his mouth, and this time, he was the one who was scooting closer to you, the gap between your faces thinner.

“well, in that case,” his nose brushed against yours, his voice dropping an octave, “who am i to deny a perfectly good muggle tradition?”

you didn’t even have the chance to laugh again, for george was already back kissing you, abandoning the movie and turning his full attention to you—no longer interested in the film now that he had you trapped in his arms, his lips eager and demanding as if he had no intention of stopping anytime soon.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[dearxia]

Easy to Love | G.W. 🩷

feat George Weasley x bsf!reader

SUMMARY: You get stood up by your boyfriend on Valentine's Day. Thankfully, your best friend George is ready to give you the Valentine's you deserve.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, hurt/comfort, cheating on shitty boyfriends, idiots to lovers, petty!George, dirty talk, oral, piv, dom!George, all the Valentine's fluff

AN: happy valentines day!!!! you all have my heart 🫶

masterlist

Your hurried footsteps echoed along the empty corridor, dampened by the screaming rain pouring from the thick blanket of clouds over the castle.

Fucking perfect, you thought, bitterly wiping tears and splattered rain from your cheeks. It was like the universe was taunting you.

Stood up by your boyfriend on Valentine's Day? Forced to walk back to Hogwarts in shame? Here, have some torrential downpour to really set the mood.

You still couldn't believe Jack stood you up. Left you looking like an idiot in the Three Broomsticks, alone and glowering into your fruity red drink, surrounded by pink streamers and heart balloons larger than your head. Completely humiliating.

Of all the shitty things he'd done to you over the last six months, this took the cake. And bizarrely, you felt like you deserved it for putting up with his bullshit for so long. You should have seen this coming from a mile away.

But you were too native, too stupid to see the red flags right under your nose. Well, that wasn't true. You saw them. You were just too scared to do anything about it.

Too scared to be alone. Too proud to admit you were wrong about him.

Merlin, George was going to be so fucking smug.

Your best friend, George Weasley, hated Jack. He hated Jack more than you'd ever seen him hate anyone. George had never had a problem with your past partners, albeit there was only two. But something about Jack brought out a side of George you’d never seen: vindictive, petty, mean.

Never directed towards you, of course, Jack and his friends bore the brunt of his wrath. It was enough that Jack steered clear of both George and his twin, who always matched his energy.

You knew George was just looking out for you, trying to protect you from, well, this. What you were feeling now. But you'd be damned if you gave him the satisfaction of being right.

Finally, the Fat Lady greeted you with a warm smile as you reached the top of the stairs. “Not out celebrating, lovey? Look at you, you're soaked!”

You sighed, looking down at your new dress, a babydoll in your favorite shade of pink, the fabric mottled with water and clinging to your skin. “Men suck*,*” you said.

The Fat Lady laughed. “They certainly do! What's the password, dear?”

You have it to her, and she swung open, a wadt of thumping music and the week of alcohol washed over you.

Shit. You'd completely forgotten about the Valentine's party tonight. While a drink sounded lovely, a drunken grind-fest was the last thing you wanted to participate in.

You pushed your way through the crowd, trying to make a beeline towards the girls dormitory. The crowd was thick, pushing and shoving, while music thumped loudly in your brain. Red hearts and cupids and streamers, were everywhere, a sheen of pink glitter starting to collect on your still-damp skin. Everywhere you looked, couples were all over each other, making out of dancing to the music, cuddled up on every available surface.

Tears burned behind your eyes again, and you tried pushing through with a little more force.

You popped out into a quieter area by the roaring fire, a circle of chairs occupied by the Quidditch team and a few others, which meant—

“Y/n?”

You looked up from your feet and locked eyes with George, who was hurriedly shifting a girl off his lap, ignoring her whine of protest while she grabbed at his white shirt.

The knife of hurt inexplicably twisted deeper in your gut, and you turned your back to him, pushing the other way through the crowd.

“Hey—wait!”

You made it to the stairs, but there was no outrunning those long legs—a lesson you'd learned countless times.

George snagged your wrist, turning you back towards him. “What happened?” The furrow between his brows deepened when he took in your tearful, soaked form. “Why are you wet? And where's the bilge-rat you call a boyfriend?”

You yanked your hand out of his hold. “Fuck if I know,” you snapped, trudging up the stairs, George on your heels.

“What do you mean? Didn't you have a date?” He asked, his tone getting angrier by the second.

You didn't respond, opening the door to your dorm and trying to slam it in George's face, but he caught it and pushed in behind you.

“Fuck, will you just tell me what happened? Are you okay?” He made an effort to soften his voice, catching your purse when you flung it at him.

“No, I'm not okay!” You cried, finally facing him, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Jack stood me up. He left me at the bar and—” emotion pinched your throat, cutting off your words.

You watched George cycle through the five stages of grief, frozen in the middle of the room. Then—

“Do you want me to find him?” He asked, voice a carefully measured calm.

“And do what?” You wiped at your cheeks, beyond frustrated. You couldn't decide if you wanted him to fuck off, or give you one of those big bears hugs he was so good at.

“Break his teeth in? Throw him in the lake? Set his hair on fire—”

“Stop it, George,” you muttered, sounding more defeated than angry.

He crossed the room to you, taking your trembling hands. “How can I fix it, love?” he asked, peering down at your pitiful, makeup smudged face.

You shook your head, avoiding his perceptive gaze. “Unless you have a time-turner to make me less of an idiot—”

“Hey.” George squeezed your hands, shaking you. “Don't talk about my girl that way. You did nothing wrong.”

You jerked your hands away, pushing past him and stalking over towards you vanity. “Please. You wanted me to leave him before we even got together. You made it abundantly clear how much you hated him.”

“Of course I did. He’s a prick—”

“So, clearly, you think I did something wrong by staying with him.” You angrily tugged your hair out of its style, wet strands tangled and getting frizzy, and started scrubbing off your makeup with a towelette. “Congratu-fucking-lations, you were right. You got what you wanted. Are you happy now?”

George looked like you'd struck him, hovering behind you in the mirror. You hated that he looked so handsome tonight in his white button down and dark wash jeans, his copper hair messy and flecked with glitter and heart-shaped confetti. It made it so much harder to be angry with him.

“You think this is what I wanted?” He asked. “The last thing I want is to see you hurting. Of course I'm not fucking happy that you're heartbroken. Even if it is over some limp-dick weasel.”

You scoffed, though you knew that was true, but it was easier to be angry right now. Easier to push him away than let him in.

George pressed on. “I'd like to hang him by the bollocks from the Whomping Willow for leaving you out in that storm, for all the shit he's done to you—”

“Just—go back to your party, George. I'm sure that doe-eyed girl is still waiting for you,” you hissed. It was a low blow, but you just wanted him gone so you could wallow in self-pity alone.

Suddenly, he was moving. His hands griped your waist, spinning your around and pressing you back into the vanity. His expression was severe. “Don't fucking do that,” he bit. “Don't act like I'm the bad guy when all I've wanted—” his voice caught in his throat, and he turned his head away, like he couldn't look at you.

His hands were burning through the thin fabric of your dress, his grip tight enough to ache, and you felt a long-suppressed heat kindle in your belly. George had manhandled you plenty of times: throwing you over his shoulder, dragging you by the hand through the halls, lifting you to retrieve a book from a high shelf. But this felt…different. Charged in a way you'd spent years trying to ignore for the sake of your friendship.

“What, George?” You asked, gripping the edge of the vanity so you didn't reach out to touch him.

He sighed. “When all I've wanted is to make you happy.” He looked at you again, his dark eyes filled with hurt and something warm, honeyed, that you refused to acknowledge.

Your anger crumbled into guilt. “I-I should have listened,” you croaked, tears rising once again. “I'm sorry, I—”

“No, no. None of that,” he shushed, bundling you into his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I just feel so…so stupid,” you whimpered, crying into the safety of his chest, enveloped in the spiced, slightly sweet smell of his cologne.

“You aren't stupid, love. Far from it,” he soothed, hand smoothing up and down your spine. “This is on him, not you. You don't deserve to be treated like this.” He rocked you gently while you cried, cooing softly in your ear and keeping you grounded with his touch, until finally, your sobs ebbed to sniffles, and you drew a full, shaky breath. “There you go,” he said. “Take another one—that’s it. I've got you.”

“Thanks, Georgie,” you sniffled into his shirt.

“No need to thank me. I'm sorry that your Valentine's was ruined,” he murmured into your hair.

“I'm sorry yours was ruined too,” you mumbled, your fists tightening in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him a fraction closer, unwilling to part just yet.

“Ruined?” He chuckled. “Got my Valentine right here.” He squeezed you a little tighter, the air wheezing for your lungs until you laughed.

“Since when am I your Valentine?” You asked, pulling back to look up at him, a traitorous stab of affection making your heart skip. Shit, you should not be feeling these things for your best friend. It was just your hurt feelings, the holiday—nothing more.

“Since second year when I gave you that heart-shaped box of chocolates,” he said, pretending to be offended that you didn't remember.

“The one that exploded pink powder all over my face?”

George grimaced. “I forgot it did that…sorry, by the way.”

You smiled, pinching his freckled cheek. “You're forgiven.”

He grinned back, glancing down at your wet dress. “C’mon, get out of this wet cupcake and meet me in my dorm, I have something for you.”

“Cupcake?” You rolled your eyes, finally stepping out of his arms, though his hand lingered on your waist until you were fully out of arms reach. “It's a dress!”

“If you say so,” he teased, perusing your legs as you walked away. “I prefer your bunny pajamas, but—”

You chucked your shoe at him. “Fuck off, I'll see you in a second.”

He held his hands up in surrender and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him.

What on earth could have have for you? Probably his usual box of chocolates, you mused as you peeled off the soggy fabric. Hopefully the non-explosive variety.

You riffled through your trunk, searching for something oversized and comfortable. But to your dismay, nearly everything large enough was your boyfriends, and you absolutely refused to wear something of him.

But at the very bottom of your trunk, something familiar caught your eye. You pulled it out, unveiling an old Quidditch hoodie, the letters faded and fabric soft from countless washes. George had lent it to you before a particularly cold match, and Gryffindor won in a landslide. It became a good luck charm of sorts, one you wore to every game there after.

But when you started dating Jack, he'd gotten pissed at you for wearing it, and you'd hidden it at the bottom of your trunk, never quite ready to give it back to George.

It smelled of green grass and open sky, and you tugged it over your head, letting it's warmth envelop you. Then, you put on a pair of sleep shorts and fuzzy socks, and padded out of the room towards George's, knocking twice before letting yourself in.

Fred and George were standing by the window, arguing in hushed voices, and straightened abruptly when you walked in.

“Hey, gorgeous!” Fred said, crossing the room and pulling you into a back-breaking hug. He reeked of beer. “How are we?”

“Peachy,” you replied tightly, glancing at George over Fred’s shoulder. He was scratching the back of his head, looking sheepish.

“Naughty girl, lying to me.” Fred winked, and you swatted his shoulder. “But don't worry, love. The boys are on it!”

“The boys? Wait—Fred!” But he was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him. You glared at George, and he held his hands up.

“They were worried about you!” He said defensively. “We care about you, y’know…” his voice trailed off when his eyes landed on your hoodie. “You still have that?”

Heat creeped up your neck. “’Course I do.”

“I thought shit-for-brains made you—”

“He tried,” you replied, tension coiling around the two of you once again.

A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “My good luck charm,” he chuckled, and your heart leapt into your throat.

“So, what do you have for me?” You asked, sitting on the edge of his bed like you always did. But something in his eyes flashed, making your lower belly heat.

What was going on with him?

He pushed himself from the wall and walked towards his trunk, just to the left of you. He rummaged around, withdrawing a pink gift bag with heart-covered tissue paper sticking out from the top.

“Oh, George…you didn't have to do this,” you said when he sat beside you.

“I wanted to.” He shrugged, setting the bag on your lap.

Heart pounding in your chest, you carefully removed the tissue paper, finding a pile of candy: chocolates and gummy lips and heart-shaped lollipops. There were also a few sachets of your favorite tea, pilfered from the kitchen, you imagined, and a copy of the book you'd been eyeballing your last trip to Hogsmeade with him and Fred.

Your heart was so full you feared it may burst. “Georgie, this is so sweet, thank you—”

“There's one more thing,” he said, gently taking the bag from you. He stuck his hand all the way to the bottom, and withdrew a small, pink-wrapped box with a ribbon tied around it.

The air was sucked from your lungs, ears ringing with shock as you gingerly took the box from him. He fidgeted beside you as you slowly unwrapped the paper, fingers trembling. The energy was taught around you, practically humming with tension.

A velvet box fell into your palm, the most gorgeous shade of burgundy with a delicate golden latch.

You almost didn't want to open it, terrified of what this meant, but so giddy you could sing. George, the poor guy, looked ready to burst out of his skin with impatience.

Carefully, you opened the lid. Inside was a gorgeous chain bracelet, the metal polished to perfection, with two charms resting against the velvet pillow. A tiny heart with your initial etched onto it, and a small fox, George's favorite mischievous, red-haired critter.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, tears pooling on your lower lashes. It was the most thoughtful gift you'd ever received. “George, I—”

“And you can get more charms, there's a shop in Hogsmeade with loads, books and birds and stars--”

You flung your arms around his neck, cutting off his nervous rambling. “I love it, Georgie, thank you,” you murmured into the crook of his neck.

He relaxed, his arms looping around your waist. “Of course,” he replied.

You pulled back, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand, inspecting the little fox. It crossed your mind that if Jack saw this, he'd be livid, probably go so far as to threaten George, break off the precious little fox, and your smile fell.

“Hey, what happened?” George asked, shifting to kneel in front of you as you curled inward. “You don't like the fox?”

“No, no—” you tried to suppress the tears forcing their way up. “I love the fox. I just—”

George's expression hardened. “Jack won't like it,” he said, an edge to his voice. “You're not going to stay with him, are you?”

You shook your head. “No, I'm not. But we're technically still together—”

“That's bullshit,” George snarled, pushing to his feet and stalking away from you. “He fucking forfeited his right when he left you alone like that. You could have gotten hurt. He just fucking abandoned you and is probably off with some other bird—”

A sob broke free from your chest, and he halted his tirade, shoulders sagging.

“Do you want him?” George asked, crouching in front of you again.

You shook your head. “No, I don’t,” you admitted.

George reached out to cradle your face, catching your tears with his thumbs. His eyes were so sweet, so sincere, it made your teeth ache. “Do you want me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words still felt like a punch through your chest.

Your mind was reeling. Of course, a part of you always wanted more with him, but… “I do, of course I do…but what if that ruins everything?” Your fingers curled into his shirt. “I don't want to lose you—”

“Never,” he said, shaking you so you met his eyes. “Never.”

“Relationships are different, though. What if we don't work like…that?”

His hands moved down to hold your neck, his touch gentle but insistent, your pulse thundering under his fingertips. “I’m still me, and you're still you. Are you going to look me in the eyes and tell me you haven't thought about it? That you haven't felt the pull?”

You don't reply, averting your eyes from his face.

“Not even when you're all alone, and Jack’s left you half-loved, tangled in your sheets…you don't think about me coming in there and taking care of you?”

Heat scorched your cheeks, your thighs clenching at the low purr of his voice, a pitch you hadn't heard before.

“Because I think about it all the time.”

You pussy throbbed and you gasped, shocked by the way your body was reacting to his words alone, your mind scrambling to keep up with this new reality you've stumbled into.

“Knowing I could treat you better, love you better—it keeps me up at night, baby. Imagining all the ways I could take care of you, make you happy, make you mine—”

Unable to stand it any longer, you yanked him forward and connected your mouth with his, cutting him off. He groaned, surging up to tackle you back onto his mattress, his lips hungry and rough against yours. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, his lips, his touch, his heat, burning you from the inside out.

No one has ever kissed you like that before, desperate, ravenous. With an eagerness that was palpable, his heart thundering against yours as he pressed impossibly closer to you.

He pried open your lips with his, his tongue plunging into your mouth with fervid strokes. One of his hands slid under your hoodie, caressing the bare skin of your hip and up your side, leaving tingles in the wake of his calloused palm. His other hand found the crook of your knee, lifting it up to hug his waist, opening your legs so he could press closer, harder…

“George!” You gasped when he rolled his hips against yours, the hard ridge of his cock straining against his jeans, your tiny shorts offering next to no barrier.

“Fuck, I've wanted to hear that for so long,” he panted, burying his face into your neck to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin. “Sound so pretty, baby.” He rolled his hips again, and your whole body arched closer to him, desperate for more as a weak whine spilled from your lips. The seam of his jeans caught your swelling clit just right, making your entire body hum with desire.

“Merlin’s fuck—what are you doing to me?” You keened, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, starving for the feel of his skin against yours.

“The bare minimum,” he teased, nipping at your earlobe. “You make it so easy to love you.” His hands squeezed at your flesh, his breath hot against your neck as he continued rocking your hips together. “So fucking sexy, so responsive. I knew you'd be perfect—” he grunted when you thrust your hips back up against him.

You finally managed to get his shirt off, pushing it over his shoulders and he tossed it onto the floor. The pale stretch of freckled skin on his chest made your mouth water, but you didn't get to admire him for long. He tugged your hoodie over your head, casting it across the room, and revealing the near see-through lacy red thing you'd selected for the evening and didn't bother changing out of.

A broken sound hissed through his teeth. Jealousy bloomed in his eyes, his jaw feathering with irritation.

You reached up to caress his cheek, drawing his eyes to your face. “He never got to see it,” you cooed, petting the hard line of his jaw and coaxing him to relax. “All yours now, yeah? No one else's.”

His eyes searched your face, anger melting into scalding desire. “Say it again,” he rasped.

“All yours,” you hummed, pecking his lips.

His hand spread across your collarbones, long fingers stretching nearly shoulder to shoulder, and he shoved you roughly back onto the bed. The next moment, his mouth was on your chest, hot and warm through the thin lace as he smeared open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His tongue lashed one peaked nipple, drawing a cry from your lips as he sucked the bud and fabric between his teeth.

Your hands flew into his hair, tugging and guiding his mouth where you wanted him, and he went willingly, eager for any and all contact, quick to repeat the tricks that made your breath hitch.

His hand slid down your stomach, beneath he waist band of your shorts, and he dragged his middle finger through your dripping slit, a high-pitched moaning making him smile against your chest.

“Merlin, you're soaked,” he purred, kissing up your neck and capturing your lips in a messy, top-lip kiss. His finger swirled around your puffy clit, applying just enough pressure to have pleasure radiating through your body. “You get this wet for him, baby?” He whispered, dipping his fingertips into your entrance, once, twice, before sinking down to the knuckle. “Little cunt sucking me right in. She was ready for me, hm?”

“G-George,” his name was a fractured whimper on your tongue, your mind going fuzzy when he curled his finger up, hitting a spot that you'd never felt before.

“Oh, you poor thing,” George cooed, adding a second finger and stroking the same spot again, your whole body hitching up the bed at the intensity of it. But his body weight held you down, his mouth painting gentle kisses along your skin to try and soothe you. “He never touch you like this? Never found that spot—fuck, right there, baby? That's it?”

You bobbled your head like an idiot, grinding your hips back into his hand as he started fucking his fingers into you more deliberately, the lewd, gooey smack of your pussy filling the dorm.

“Good girl,” he praised, propping himself up to peer down at you, eyes blown wide with lust as he took in your trembling, sweat-kissed skin. “How did I get so fucking lucky?” He asked, leaning down to kiss you again, all softness and affection, so different than the relentless way he was dominating your cunt.

You pawed at his jeans, tugging at his belt. “Mmph, please—need you,” you whined against his mouth, and he groaned.

“Fuck, you're killing me, love,” he grated, his hips bucking into your hand. “You want my cock that bad?”

You nodded, still struggling with his belt.

He pushed off of you and undid his belt, removing his jeans and shoes in record time, his flushed cock slapping up against his stomach. He grabbed you by the ankle and tugged you to the edge of the bed.

“You've got a slutty little thong under here, don't you?” He asked, toying with the waistband of your shorts.

“Maybe,” you said, half-distracted by his cock jumping at the sound of your voice, the tip slick with precum.

He glanced down, following your gaze, and chuckled. “My eyes are up here, pretty girl,” he chastised with a light slap to your inner thigh. He pushed your shorts down your legs, followed by the red thong your wore underneath. He tossed the thong onto his bedside table, instead of the floor with the rest of the clothes.

You raised an eyebrow at him, about to make some teasing remark, when he dragged his cockhead through your messy slit, and all thoughts tumbled right out of your brain, dripping from between your legs.

“For later, yeah?” He said, smirking when your eyes rolled back when he tapped your clit with the head. “So next time I see that fucker, I can show him exactly what he lost.”

“George—” you started to chastise him for being cruel when he notched at your entrance, sinking halfway into your willing pussy, and you both cried out. The fullness, the stretch, was mind-melting. Better than anything you'd felt in your life.

George braced his hand beside your head, sagging forward as he hissed a curse under his breath. “Fucking shit, love,” he panted, his muscles locked up so tight he was practically vibrating. “M'done for if you keep squeezin’ me like that.”

You moaned, lifting your hips to take him a little deeper, needing more even though you felt like he was ripping you apart at the seams. “Please, Georgie,” you whimpered, clawing at his skin. “Want all of you.”

“I know, honey. I know. Just give me a second.” He leaned further down, peppering kisses across your cheeks and jaw. “Don't wanna hurt you, gotta relax f’me.”

You took a few breaths, trying to get your muscles to relax as his lips moved over your fevered skin. You felt him slide a bit deeper, the stretch not quite as intense.

“Good girl, that's it. Just a little further,” he praised, his hand gripping the flesh of your hip as he started rocking into you, slow, rolling thrusts that got incrementally longer each time, until his pelvis met yours and you were a moaning mess, writhing beneath him, desperate for more.

George straightened, his hand on the bed shifting to your shoulder, and he snapped his hips forward, forcing a cry from your lips as pleasure struck you like lightning. He set a rough pace, fucking you deep and hard, his grip on your body keeping you locked in place.

You were lost in it, helpless to the pitch and roll of his ocean, completely adrift in the pleasure he was pulling from your body. You tried to fuck back against him, but your body refused to cooperate, dumb and boneless and cockdrunk.

“So fucking pretty like this. Tell me how pretty you are, baby,” he said, his hand leaving your hip to rub tight circles over your clit.

“Mmph—fuck, so pretty,” you managed, voice throttled with lust and desperation.

“Yeah, you are.” He grinned. “My pretty girl takin’ this cock so well. He fuck you like this? Have you a drooling mess for him?”

You shook your head, nails biting into his thighs as your release prowled closer, coiling tight in your belly. “No, never,” you keened, when ratcheted up the pace sensing your looming orgasm.

“That's right, all mine. Who does this pussy belong to? Who has your heart?”

“You, you! Fuck, George, I’m—”

“Go on, love. Come for me, I'm right there with you. Come on.” His thrusts grew rougher and sloppier as his own release approached, and with a final, punishing snap of his hips, you both went flying over the edge and into white hot bliss.

You screamed and he caught the sound with a kiss, fucked you through it as your pussy clamped around him. Wringing every bit of pleasure from you both until he sagged forward, his head falling into the crook of your neck as you both gasped for breath.

He kissed along the damp column of your throat, making his way to your lips, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your trembling thighs. “Did so good,” he murmured between lazy pecks. “I'm proud of you.”

You giggled, feeling almost giddy to have George in your arms, kissing you and praising you so sweetly. “That was amazing,” you breathed, and he smiled, giving one last thrust before withdrawing and using magic to clean you both up.

“You were amazing,” he corrected. “Like I said, you're easy to love.”

Butterflies rioted in your stomach. “So are you.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before handing you your hoodie and shorts. You both got semi-dressed and snuggled into his bed, his bare chest under your ear, heart thumping steadily.

You grabbed the gift bag and took out the bracelet. “Will you put it on me?”

“Of course,” he beamed, carefully taking the the jewelry and clasping it around your wrist, kissing the tender skin of your pulse before releasing you. “Looks perfect on you,” he said, looking down at your smiling face as you turned your wrist this way and that.

“I love it, Georgie. Thank you.” You snuggled closer into his side.

“Always.” He dropped a kiss on top of your head, then grabbed the gift back from you, pulling out a handful of candy and popping one of the lollipops into his mouth. “Not as sweet as your pussy, but…”

You rolled your eyes and placed a chocolate truffle on your tongue, letting the deliciousness fill your mouth.

Bang! There was a fumbling outside of the door and George quickly yanked the curtain shut, just before what sounded like several people came tumbling into the room.

“Get the fuck off of me, Weasley—” Jack.

“Absolutely not, you're going to apologize,” Fred replied, his voice a little too chipper for the current situation.

George was up in a blink, his chest littered with the marks you gave you him, and pushed through the curtain. “Well, well. Seems you aren't dead, or maimed…so what exactly is your excuse for standing up my girl on Valentine's Day?” George asked.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, I—your girl?” Jack hissed. “She's mine.”

George chuckled. “Love, would you like to come out here and set the record straight?”

“What?” Jack barked. “She's not here—”

You slipped out of bed and tried to right yourself before stepping out of the curtain and into the room. Fred and Lee had Jack by arms, dressed only in his boxers. Harry and Ron stood off to the side, watching everything unfold with mild amusement.

George was leaning against the bed frame, lollipop in his cheek, a triumphant smirk on his face.

“We're done, Jack,” you said, getting it over with. But strangely, you didn't feel any of the guilt from before. And you shouldn't. Jack was a prick, and didn't deserve your tears or empathy.

“I miss one date and you shack up with fucking Weasley?” Jack spit, and George's eyes darkened. “Fucking whore—”

Fred and Lee shook him roughly, yelling at him to watch his mouth, and you recoiled a bit. George seemed to stay surprisingly calm, until you saw him reach from his Beater bat beside the bed.

“George, wait—”

George jabbed the tip of the bat into Jack's sternum, and the boy went pale. “If I hear you running your fucking mouth about her again, I will smash your jaw to splinters. Clear?”

Your heart lost its rhythm. You'd never seen George like this, and you loved it. Loved being his.

Jack bobbed his head yes, trembling in Fred and Lee's hold.

Lee snickered. “Prick looks like he might piss himself.”

“Now get the fuck out,” George ordered.

“Wait, one more thing,” you said, and the boys all turned their attention to you. You sauntered up to Jack, and you saw a flicker of hope in his eyes.

Fucking idiot.

You thrust your knee up, nailing him right in the bollocks, and he howled so loud the other boys dropped him into a heap on the floor.

“Fuck you,” you spit, turning on your heel and stepping into George's open arms.

“That's my girl,” George cooed, taking the lollipop of his mouth to kiss you properly, the strawberry flavor sweet on his tongue. He waved at the others over your head as he deepened the kiss, and you heard them all file out, laughing and jeering as they dragged Jack behind them, the door swinging shut and locking.

“He deserved it,” you mumbled between kisses, giggling when George lifted you into the air, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“And now it's time you get what you deserve,” he smirked, laying you back down on the mattress and shifting down between your legs. “And I get my reward for absolutely crushing Valentine's Day.”

You burst out laughing, the sound shifting to moan as he licked a stripe through your slit. “You're right, best Valentine's Day ever.”

[dearxia]

ao3 is crazy because you'll read the most gut-wrenching 200k word slowburn that leaves you sobbing into your sweater at four in the morning and the author will be applejacksmonstercock

[dearxia]

HES SO PRECIOUS IM SOBBINF

could I request one where reader tells Fred that she's pregnant and he gets a bit overprotective of her?

A/n: DAD!FRED

You’d been trying to find the right moment to tell Fred all day, but as usual, the Weasley twins had been busy causing mayhem in the shop. Every time you thought you had a second alone with him, someone would burst in needing something.

Finally, after the last customer left and George conveniently decided to “check inventory” in the back (which you highly suspected was his way of giving you privacy), you took a deep breath and turned to Fred.

“Fred,” you started, trying to steady your nerves.

He grinned, draping an arm around you. “Yes, love? What can I do for you? Want me to prank Percy again? Because I’d be delighted.”

You laughed but shook your head. “No, it’s… something else.”

Something about your tone made him sober up instantly. His playful smirk faded into concern, his eyes scanning your face. “You alright?”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it. “Yeah, I’m fine. Actually… I’m better than fine.” You took a deep breath and finally said the words. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Fred just stared at you. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. It was like watching a broken puppet try to function.

“You’re… what?” he asked, voice higher than usual, your once confidant husband looked like he was hit with a Bludger. The man who survived the Battle of Hogwarts looked like he was two seconds away from keeling over.

You laughed softly, nodding. “Pregnant, Freddie.”

A slow, disbelieving grin spread across his face, but then—just as quickly—it shifted into something else. His hands suddenly hovered near you like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you.

“Merlin’s beard—okay, okay, sit down. You should be sitting.”

“Fred—”

“No, no, no, I mean it,” he said, ushering you toward the nearest chair. “You should be resting. Are you tired? You must be tired. You’re making a baby, that’s got to be exhausting....I... oh god." Fred gripped his hair now realizing how tired he must have made you.

You rolled your eyes as he kneeled in front of you, looking you over like you might break at any second.

“Fred, I’m fine.”

“Well, you won’t be if you keep standing around like that!” he insisted. “We need to get you something to eat. You’re eating properly, right? Oh, I need to tell Mum. She’ll know what to do. And Healer appointments—do we need to make one? When do we make one? You need to sit! Why are you standing! You shouldn't be standing."

You burst out laughing. “Fred, breathe!”

He sucked in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, but his eyes were still filled with excitement and overwhelming concern. “Okay. Right. I’m breathing. I’m calm.” He took another breath and then suddenly turned toward the back of the shop.

“OI GEORGE! SHE’S PREGNANT!”

You groaned, covering your face as George came running in, eyes wide. “Blimey, really?” He grinned at you before turning to Fred. “And you didn’t pass out? Proud of you, mate.”

Fred glared at his twin before turning back to you. “I swear, love, I’m going to take the best care of you. No heavy lifting, no stress, no....no nothing..but pure relaxation."

You sighed, already knowing that Fred was about to become the most overprotective man in existence. But as he kissed your forehead and pressed a hand gently against your stomach, his wide-eyed awe and love made your heart melt. A nervous smile on his lips as his he held you close, the man now guiding you to the back of the store to sit down.

Overprotective? Yes. But the love of your life was also about to be the best dad in the world.

[dearxia]

A Madness Most Discreet | G.W.

feat. George Weasley x Malfoy!reader

summary: Draco's older sister arrives at Hogwarts for her final year of schooling, and sets her sights on a certain red-headed trickster.

cw: MDNI 18+, pov switching, making out and adult language, light angst (we're just getting started baby), pining, Malfoy family drama and blood prejudice, confident!reader

series navigation | masterlist | divider by @roseraris

Readers POV

No one knew what to expect when the Daily Prophet reported that you, the eldest child of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, would be attending Hogwarts for your final year of schooling.

You'd been homeschooled your entire life due to your father's protective nature, but with Draco being 16, he felt you'd have adequate enough protection. Not to mention, he had more pressing matters to attend to than your schooling.

You were beside yourself with excitement. Finally, you'd see the outside of the walls of Malfoy Manor. Finally, you'd get to be around people that weren't Death Eaters twice your age, or your little brother. You loved Draco, but come on. A girl's gotta eat.

Draco and Professor McGonagall led you through the ancient corridors to the Great Hall, every portraits eye trained on you. The newcomer, the subject of many whispered conversations that passed by them less than an hour prior. It seemed even the castle itself was buzzing about your arrival.

You wanted desperately to ride the train with Draco, but your father insisted you be transported separately to minimize the scene you’re appearance would cause.

But you were not one for subtlety.

“I’m begging you to not make a scene,” Draco hissed in your ear, his Slytherin robes brushing your calves. You weren’t sure when it happened, but at some point your little brother grew like a weed and now stood a head taller than you.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, D.” You looped your arm through his, leaning your head on his shoulder. You were lying through your teeth, and he knew it.

“Seriously, y/n. There’s enough attention on us already.”

“Salazar’s tits, Draco! Would you relax? Everything will be fine.” The three of you reached the door to the Great Hall, closed firmly and unbelievably high.You swore you heard McGonagall curse under her breath, and Draco’s arm tightened around yours.

It seemed a scene would be made after all, and you fought the smile threatening to curve your lips.

“Ready, Malfoys?” McGonagall asked, turning to look over you both. The look in her eyes, almost pitying, made you hold Draco's arm a bit tighter, smile faltering.

What are they so worried about?

“As we’ll ever be,” Draco sighed.

McGonagall pushed open the doors, revealing the massive dining hall. Every table was filled with students, piles and piles of food over every surface, and more travelling on levitating trays around the room. Candles floated from the ceiling, the night sky clear and shining with stars.

Every head swiveled towards you, and you watched Draco’s demeanor change instantly. Suddenly, he was no longer Draco, but Lucius, and your stomach curdled, souring your excitement over a grand entrance.

Draco pulled you even closer to his side, casting a warning sneer to every eye that lingered too long while you walked towards Albus Dumbledore on the dais.

Your eyes ping-ponged from student to student, taking in the people you’d spend the next eight months with. You fought to keep your face neutral, an elegant mask of in difference like you'd been taught, but your heart pounded with excitement in your chest.

What a thrill to finally be seen.

The Gryffindor table was on your right, the maroon-clad students sizing you up with open disdain, but even that couldn't dampen the thrill tingling under your skin.

You spotted Harry Potter towards the center of the impossibly long table, flanked by some red-headed boy, Weasley, you surmised, and the girl you immediately recognized as Granger. Or so Draco called her, faux venom on his tongue.

His eyes flicked to her as well, and you suppressed the snicker that bubbled on your tongue. Despite your sheltered upbringing, you knew infatuation when you saw it.

You looked back towards the group, all of their eyes trained on you. But, your gaze snagged on one of them in particular, skipping over his twin beside him. His eyes were different, molten amber and sweet like honey, his hair like phoenix feathers, lips slightly parted like he was staring at a Great Wonder, but instead he was staring at you. Your heart gave an excited flutter.

Oh, there you are, a voice in the back of your mind whispered.

George's POV

Of course, George had heard that the eldest Malfoy was joining their class. Everyone had heard about your arrival. And Lucius made a point of telling Arthur shortly after the decision was made, something about ‘Keep those trouble-making twins away from my daughter.’

But, when the doors opened to the Great Hall and you entered on Draco’s arm, George had been stunned silent anyways.

You were beautiful, unfairly so. Which of course you were, you’re a Malfoy for Merlin’s sake. And George found that he couldn’t look away.

As you walked towards Professor Dumbledore, you scanned the tables, a curious glint in your gaze betraying your disinterested expression. George watched your eyes skip over Dean, then Seamus, then Hermoine, Harry, Ron—until your eyes locked on his. The air was sucked from the room, his heart hammering like a cornered hare as your gaze inexplicably held his.

Even as you continued to walk by, your eyes remained locked together, your head turning just slightly. A smirk sharpened your angelic face, and George’s jaw went slack. But then Draco gave you a nudge and you turned forward, a slight skip in your step.

“—pretty fit, eh?” Fred muttered in his ear. “Oi, look at ‘im,” Fred snickered. “George? Geooooorgie?”

Ron snapped his fingers in front of his face and George jolted back to reality. “Merlin, mate. Earth to George.”

“Sorry, what’d ya’ say?” George asked, looking around at his friends. They all stared at him with a mix of amusement and abject horror.

“Said she’s pretty fit,” Fred chuckled, bumping his shoulder.

“She’s a Malfoy,” Hermoine scolded.

“Yeah, so by definition, she’s hot,” Seamus replied.

“Exactly—”

George tuned them out as you were lead up to the stage, the Sorting Hat waiting on a stool to your right. Dumbledore was speaking, but George tuned him out as well, too fixated on the arrogant slant of your smile, the mischief shining from your eyes.

You had trouble written all over you.

McGonagall lifted the Sorting Hat, and it looked like you were speaking to it, no, flirting with it, your dark lashes fluttering.

“What is she saying to it?” Harry asked, leaning forward.

McGonagall placed it on your head, and the hat gave a great laugh, rendering the hall silent. “What a mind you have, girl. Clever, cunning, mischievous—a troublesome combination indeed. Seems even a Malfoy can be more than they appear. But even still—” The room held it’s breath, and Draco looked like he might keel over from stress, even paler than usual. “Slytherin!” The hat cried, and Draco exhaled, shaking his head at the dramatic pout on your face.

Saints, that pout. George wanted to sink his teeth into it.

“You think she’s going to be as bad as him?” Ginny asked, watching as Draco escorted you down the stairs and over to the roaring Slytherin table. People were throwing themselves out of their seats to make room for you, and you basked in the attention like a benevolent queen returned to her kingdom.

“Worse, probably,” George muttered, forcing himself to look away from you and back to his dinner. Suddenly, he found himself without an appetite.

Reader's POV

Your first three weeks at Hogwarts had been a whirlwind of introductions, lectures, and parties. The world was at your feet, the lower classman wanted to be you, your classmates wanted to fuck you, and everyone else was terrified of you. You never had to wait for a drink, or a meal, and someone was always willing to do your assignments for you, not that you needed it.

It seemed your education under your father far surpassed that of your peers, in certain subjects at least. You could out cast them all with ease, and were looking forward to when dueling would begin.

And, you seemed to see your tall, red-headed boy everywhere you went. You'd learned that his name was George, a Weasley, Draco had sneered when he caught you ogling his tall, lean frame by the lake one afternoon.

You knew how your family felt about families like the Weasley's, but despite your father's best efforts, you couldn't bring yourself to hate someone for something as trivial as what ran through their veins.

An opportunity to speak to George hadn't presented itself until you'd escaped to the library one evening. The attention you initially craved was starting to border on suffocating, and you wanted a few hours of quiet to yourself.

It was a lesson your mother had taught you. You can withstand anything so long as you hold onto yourself.

But when you entered the library and started pursuing the stacks for the Potions section, you found none other than George Weasley stretched out in a window seat, a book in his lap, his head lolled against the window as he snored.

You tiptoed closer, taking in the state of him. He was dressed in trousers and a white button down, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his tie a little loose around his throat. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his fingers through it, and his socks were mismatched argyle.

You knew you shouldn't, but you found him extremely endearing, so soft-looking and cozy. Your fingers itched to straighten his tie, smooth his flaming hair.

Instead you lifted the book from his lap and read the cover. “Pyromancy and Magical Combustion: A Spellcaster’s Guide”

George stirred suddenly, his hands flexing around empty air.

You considered backing off and leaving him to rest, but where the fun in that?

“George,” you purred, but he didn't respond. “Geoooorge,” you tried again, poking him in the sternum. He turned his head, freckled nose scrunching. “George, darling. It's time to wake up.” You walked your fingers up his chest and tugged lightly on his red and gold tie.

“Hm?” He mumbled, brown lashes fluttering open to reveal his sleep-trodden, amber eyes. They locked on your face, widening for a second before he jolted upright. “Y/n? Merlin, where the fuck—”

“It’s alright, love,” you shushed him, using deft fingers to straighten his tie and fix his collar. “You're in the library, sleeping like an angel. Lucky it was me that found you and not Pince.” You glanced up at him, finding his jaw a little slack, his eyes round as he stared at you in shock.

You always were a little too bold for your own good. Reckless in the pursuit of what you wanted.

“I, uh, yeah. Lucky me.” He swiped a hand through his hair. “Sleeping like an angel, hm?” He asked, regaining some of that cheeky charm you’d witnessed from afar over the last few weeks. A trait that only piqued your interest further.

“You looked awfully sweet to me,” you said, batting your lashes.

“Said the rattlesnake to the kitten,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Rattlesnake?” You scoffed, feigning hurt with a hand over your heart. “I don't bite!”

“I don't believe that for a second, Malfoy.” His eyes skimmed over your face, down to your lips.

You flashed said fangs, and he smiled back.

“Why are you in the library?” He asked, glancing over your shoulder. “Alone? I haven't seen you without Draco or one of his goons since you arrived.”

You rolled your eyes. Draco had assigned Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini to watch over you when he couldn't, and it took a concerted effort to evade them and come here. “Was getting a little tired of the entourage,” you admitted.

“A Malfoy? Tired of attention?” He tapped a finger on your forehead, featherlight. “I think you might be broken.”

“You're one to talk, Mr. Weasley. Where’s your twin? Recently severed, are we?”

He chuckled, the sound low and honey sweet. “Hufflepuff party.”

“And you didn't go, because…? You love pyromancy so much?” You held up the book, teasing him.

“Wasn't in the mood to socialize,” he said, shrugging a shoulder.

“Well, George, it seems we may have more in common than we realized.”

His eyes warmed. “Seems so.”

“Could you help me find the Potions section?” You asked, cocking a thumb over your shoulder. “Draco never gave me a tour…”

George popped up, revealing his full height and sending you back a step, and your mouth filled with a saliva. The top of your head barely skimmed his collar bone, his limbs long and lean.

He offered you his elbow. “Right this way, Ms. Malfoy.”

You rested your hand on his bicep, the burgeoning heat between you flaring brightly at even the smallest contact, and he lead you through the stacks.

He was warm and steady beside you, his cologne fresh and clean smelling, his muscles flexing slightly as he steered you. Butterflies stirred in your stomach, pleased that your instinct when you spotted him had been correct.

He was a delight. Handsome, sweet, clever. A loyal Gryffindor, the opposite of all the other pricks that threw themselves at you.

When you arrived at the clearly labeled Potions section, you turned to face him. “You’re in my Potions class, right? Are you any good?” You asked, wanting to delay his departure.

“Pretty good, yeah. Why? Need a tutor?” He quirked an eyebrow, his voice coming out a little too fast to be ready as anything but eager.

“If you've got the time.” You shrugged. “I wouldn't want to keep you.”

“Nonsense. I'm happy to be of service,” he said, winking at you, sending a fizz of desire pulsing through your blood.

George gathered the books you needed and led you to a secluded table at the back of the library, recognizing the risk of anyone seeing the two of you together, even doing something as simple as studying.

“So, what's the trouble with Potions?” He asked once you were settled in, books splayed around the table.

“My father didn't see the value in it, and it's not like we have a laboratory in the Manor,” you said, dipping your quill in your ink.

“So you were homeschooled your entire life?” George folded his arms against the table, leaning a bit closer. “Why?”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “My father had his reasons.” It was a practiced answer, a safe one, and it tasted bitter on your tongue. “He thought it wasn't safe,” you added, wanting to assuage the guilty feeling.

“Not safe?” George scoffed. “Hogwarts is the safest place in the world.

“Depends on who your enemies are,” you said, finally meeting his eyes.

“And who are you enemies?” He asked, sitting back on his chair.

You brushed the soft tail of your quill over you lips, mulling over your response. “Well, George. I suppose you are.”

“That's a shame, here I thought I was just your Potions tutor.”

You snorted, caught off guard by his joking. “Should be fine, as long as we aren't friends,” you chuckled.

“Definitely not friends.” He smiled. “Now, the thing about Beezors…”

George's POV

George watched you pour over your notes, brow furrowed slightly in concentration, and you did that god-forsaken fucking thing with your quill again.

Dragged the feather over your lips with the barest touch, the movement unconscious, and it made his heart seize every single fucking time.

He could hardly believe he was sitting across from you, walking through the curriculum you needed for the first Potions exam in two weeks. You'd missed a lot being homeschooled, but we're clearly incredibly bright, and you picked everything up with ease that rivaled Hermione.

He'd been fascinated by you from the moment you walked into the Great Hall, and managed to snag his eye every time you entered a room there after. You occupied his mind too, so much so he was already behind in Charms, but he wasn't even quite ready to admit that to himself yet.

You were a Malfoy, after all. It didn't matter that you were interesting, or clever, or beautiful. You were a Malfoy. End of story.

He should get up and walk away right now.

What right did you have asking him for help? You had everything. And you were smart enough to do this on your own. You didn't need him. And he shouldn't want you.

Oh, Merlin. And he didn't want you….right?

He couldn't. He barely knew you beyond your reputation and the whispers he'd gathered in the halls, but it felt like he did. Like he's known you for ages, the quiet between you comfortable despite his racing thoughts.

But no, surely not. He didn't want you. Nope.

You dragged you quill against your lips again, sighing softly, and he nearly melted to the floor like a lit candle.

Fuck. He wanted you.

“George?” You called, waving a hand in front of his face, and he jolted back to the present. “Dozing off again?” You teased, voice sweet as treacle.

“No, was just, ah, trying to remember what we covered fourth year,” he said, rubbing the back of his head and hoping you didn't catch the flush in his cheeks.

But based on the twinkle in your eye, you certainly did.

“Maybe we can cover it tomorrow?” You asked, closing your book and setting down your quill. “I'm not sure I can absorb anything else tonight—” a soft yawn punctuated your words, sweet as a lamb, and George had to look away so he didn't memorize the exact shade of your tongue.

Definitely don't meet up with her tomorrow. “Yeah, same spot?” He asked, gathering his things as well.

“It's a date.” You winked, and flitted between the stacks, disappearing from his sight.

George slumped back onto his seat, scrubbing a hand over his face.

When he showed up ten minutes early to the library the following day, he'd never felt more pathetic in his life.

All day, he told himself he wasn't going to go. That he was going to leave you hanging and end this before it got started. Whatever this was.

He was betraying his family by sitting in this chair, guilt churning and acrid in his gut. They would be so disappointed him. He could already hear his mother in his mind: you're a spineless fool.

And it was the truth. He'd lied to Fred and Ron about what he was doing, and snuck past Hermione and Harry who were studying by the entrance. He was lying to and hiding from the people he loved most, all for a Malfoy.

He was about to get up from his seat when you came breezing around the corner, a cauldron in your arms. He continued to rise but instead of fleeing, he took the cauldron from you with a chastising tsk.

“Stealing from Snape, are we, rattlesnake?” He set the cauldron on the table, turning back to you.

“I didn't steal it!” You argued.

He raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

“I'm going to bring it back later.” You rolled your eyes and dumped your bag onto the table, potions and herbs rolling out. “How else am I supposed to learn about potions?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Merlin, you were adorable. Pink cheeked from carrying everything, your hair windswept, eyes shining with that rebellious light. He was helpless, drawn to it like a moth.

“Just don't blow my eyebrows off,” he grumbled.

“No promises,” you teased back.

The two of you toiled the rest of the evening away over the cauldron, successfully making two of the four potions Snape had covered this semester.

You stood shoulder to shoulder over the bubbling green liquid, and he glanced down at you, at the victorious little grin on your face, and he felt his insides twist.

He reached to grab a bundle of herbs on your right, and you turned to grab an ingredient on his left, and your bodies bumped together in the middle, faces nearly colliding.

“S-shit, sorry,” he said, pretending he couldn't smell the expensive perfume on your skin. Like it wasn't rotting his brain from the inside out.

“Sorry for what?” You asked, leaning the rest of the way to get your ingredient, apparently completely unbothered by your chest pressed up against his, your face brushing his shoulder.

“Uh, I—”

“So tense, Georgie,” you murmured, reaching a hand up to squeeze at his flexed bicep. “I don't bite, remember?”

Every scrap of attention zeroed in on your hand touching his arm, his heart thundering in his chest. Georgie. The nickname rattled around in his empty mind. Georgie. Georgie. Georgie.

“I'll try,” he rasped, clearing his throat.

An hour later and you finished the third Potion, the sun long ago set over the horizon. It wouldn't be long before Pince came looking for stragglers, and you'd be booted from the library.

George glanced over at you, your cheek propped against your palm, lashes fluttering as your lids slid closed. Something warm bloomed in his chest watching you doze, peaceful and untroubled, trusting him enough to let your guard down so completely.

As quietly as he could, he picked up his things and yours, and discarded the potion. Carefully, he tucked the cauldron behind one of the the shelves for your next study session so you wouldn't have to lug it back and forth, vowing to take the fall if Snape caught on.

“Rattlesnake,” he cooed, nudging your shoulder. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

You groaned, nose wrinkling before you blinked open your eyes at him. A sleepy smile stretched across your face, and his knees turned to jelly. He wanted to kiss you so badly it stole his breath.

“Sorry, Georgie,” you mumbled, covering your mouth when you yawned.

“All good, love,” he replied, handing you your things. Shit, he cursed himself. Love had just rolled off his tongue, easy as breathing.

But you only smiled at him, slinging your bag over your shoulder and getting to your feet. “Thanks for your help,” you said. “Do you think you'll have time to meet next week?”

Quidditch matches started next week, eating into the little bit of free time he had. But he'd figure it out.

“Could probably meet Monday after practice, if you'd like,” he said, shouldering his own bag.

“Monday would be great.” You rose up onto your toes to peck his cheek. “See you then!” You tossed over your shoulder as you walked away, leaving him a flustered mess.

He rubbed his hand over his cheek, the place your lips brushed his skin still tingling, and sighed. How could he stay away from you? Why should he? Because of your last name?

It was the Malfoy’s job to be stuck up and judgemental, not his. And you seemed to be nothing like them…

Then, something occured to him. A thought so upsetting it punched the air out of his chest and he dropped back down onto his chair.

What if this was a trick?

What if this was a way for the Malfoy's to get close to his family? To get them to let their guards down? What if you were just a beautiful Trojan Horse?

He shook his head, trying to shake the dark thoughts loose. You couldn't be, not with those bright eyes and rebellious smile. He couldn't imagine you being so cruel. But then again…you were a Malfoy.

How could he know for sure?

He left the library with his head hung low, doubts swirling in his mind like a storm, making his stomach churn, but one stood clearer than the rest. Disruptive as a strike of lightning.

Was it worth the risk?

Reader's POV

Your connection with George deepened over those few study sessions, and it seemed he was just as into you as you were him. From the knocked together knees, to his fingers brushing against yours when he passed over an ingredient or book, to his eyes lingering on you over the cauldron, the signs were plentiful.

But Monday night, he'd been different.

He was acting strange the entire study session, watching you closely, giving clipped, one or two word answers. His shoulders seemed almost heavy, burdened.

At first, you chalked it up to him being tired after practice, but instinctively, you knew it had something to do with you.

Unable to bear it any longer, you turned to him after shelving your books. “Is something wrong, George?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

He froze in place, refusing to meet your eyes. Then, something seemed to give way in his expression, a loaded sigh loosing from his chest. “I'm not sure we should keep doing this,” he admitted, sounding almost pained. “Your family would have a conniption, as would mine.”

You let your arms fall to your sides. It was only a matter of time before this came up, you supposed. But, you were prepared for it. “And?” You asked, risking a step closer. “I'm not sure about you…” you placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart race, his muscles tense under your touch. But he didn't pull away. “But I make my own decisions.”

He placed his hand over yours. “You could have anyone you want. So, why me? What's in it for you?”

You recoiled slightly, removing your hand from him and taking a step back. “You think I have some ulterior motive.” It wasn't a question, nor was it a shock. Everyone always assumed you did everything with malicious intent. You just thought maybe George saw you differently.

George's eyes softened, sensing your hurt, but he didn't back away from his claim. “I think your father has it out for my little brother and his best friends, and I won't put them in danger just because I want to kiss a girl.”

Your heart gave a jilted pang, confusion making your brows furrow. You knew he was being completely honest. He wanted to kiss you, but he was afraid of what the consequences might be. Consequences you hadn't even really considered.

George had every reason to be skeptical of you. But your only ulterior motive was getting closer to him, and maybe getting under your father's skin a little should he ever find out.

“I don't have an ulterior motive, George. Nor do I take orders from anyone, least of all my father. I have no ill will towards your family, and I'm sorry that mine has treated you all so poorly.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Swear it,” he said, holding up his pinky.

You wrapped your pinky around his. “I swear.”

His eyes searched your face and you saw the moment he decided he trusted you, eyes melting like honey. "I trust you, rattlesnake." A smirk broke through his serious expression. “Am I going to regret it?”

Relief ballooned in your chest. “In the best way,” you purred, bringing his pinky up your lips and brushing a kiss across his knuckle.

His pupils dilated, breath hitching in his chest. Then you were moving, his body pressing you backwards against the bookshelf, dropping your pinky to brace your hips with both hands.

“You're awfully confident,” he whispered in your ear, making your stomach flutter with anticipation.

You hadn't felt this excited in far too long, his touch, his voice as tempting as the finest wine.

“Are you going to find out why? Or keep prattling on?”

With a final exhale, he crashed his mouth to yours, his lips supple and insistent, your toes instantly curling in your shoes. You opened up for him and he licked into your mouth with firm strokes, deliberate and claiming. He tasted like lemon drops and black tea, and you were desperate for more of it.

Every other kiss you'd had felt lifeless and disappointing, empty and wet in the worst way. But this, the fervid caress of his searching tongue, felt like wildfire: burning, consuming, ravenous.

“George,” you gasped when his lips traveled down your neck, the tip of his nose a cold contrast to the heat of his mouth.

He nipped at your pulse, sucking the skin between his teeth to leave a mark.

“George!” You giggled, pulling on his hair to stop him.

“Y/n,” he hummed, smiling at you. His lips were puffy and slicked with spit, his eyes sparkling.

Two could play at that game.

You leaned forward, licking a long stripe from the hollow of his throat, over his Adams apple, to the underside of his chin.

“Shit.” His hands tightened on your waist, his head falling back to give you more access. You bit down, laving your tongue over his fevered skin, and his let out a low groan. “You little liar,” he gruffed, one of his hands coming up to tangle in your hair. “You do bite.”

You giggled, lapping at the light purple mark you left behind. “I'm not sorry.”

He tipped your head back and reconnected your lips, teasing and light. “You have no reason to be. Bite me all you like, rattlesnake,” he murmured between unhurried pecks.

“Careful what you ask for.” You caught his lower lip between your teeth and tugged gently, earning another groan, before kissing him a final time, soft and lingering.

Hearing the distant chime of the bell tower, you finally broke apart. Curfew. Pince would be around any second.

You brushed your nose against his. “I have to get back to the common room,” you sighed.

“’Course. Wouldn't dream of keeping you from your beauty sleep.” He brought your knuckles to his lips, kissing them lightly. “See you at the match tomorrow?”

You nodded, pulling your still tingling lower lip between your teeth. “Absolutely. I’ll be in green.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, pretending to wince. “I'll have you in red soon enough.” He released your hand and walked backwards out of the aisle, his eyes trained on you until he was forced to turn the corner, his hand sticking out to wave a final goodbye as he disappeared.

You placed a hand over your thundering heart, a little stunned by your bodies intense reaction him.

What in Salazar's name has you gotten yourself into?

George's POV

George left the library achingly hard and shook to his core, the blood that hadn't traveled south roaring in his ears.

That was the singularly most earth-shattering kiss of his life. And it was with the absolute last person he should be kissing.

George wasn't the type to get physical so quickly after meeting someone, but you were irresistible. And seemed to want him as badly as he wanted you, a fact he struggled to get his head around.

And even though he knew he should, he couldn't bring himself to regret a second of it. In fact, he was already anxiously awaiting the match tomorrow, debating whether or not he could squeeze in some extra practice at dawn while he walked back to his dorm.

As soon as he opened the door, he found his brother, Ron, Harry, Seamus, and Neville sitting up in their beds, and stopped short.

“Hey George!” Harry called, waving.

“What’s the matter with you?” Fred asked, clocking his trepidation immediately.

George had to fight to urge to clap a hand over the mark you’d left on his neck. Would they smell your perfume on his skin?

“Nothing? Why?” He asked, heading towards his trunk.

Fred eyed him suspiciously. “Where have you been?”

“Library,” George answered, a little too quick.

Fred studied him a moment longer, then snapped his fingers, a huge grin on his face. “You were with a girl!”

The rest of the boys oooooh’d, and George felt his cheeks heat.

“Yeah, right. You know me, drowning in babes,” he argued, throwing a towel and his pajamas over his shoulder. “I'm going to take a shower.”

“Ah, so just a snog, then?” Seamus teased.

George flipped them off and left for the showers, praying they forget about it by the time he got back.

Reader's POV

“Where the fuck have you been?” Draco snapped, rounding on you as soon as you stepped back into the Slytherin common room.

“Places,” you reply, kissing his cheek before strolling by.

He caught your wrist, tugging you back to him. “Y/n…”

“Draco…” You rolled your eyes. “I was in the library, relax.” You pull away from him and walk towards the girls dormitory, Draco on your heels.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time there,” he accused, an edge of suspicion in his voice. “I would have gone with you, or Blaise or Pansy—”

“I wanted to go alone,” you snapped, stopping so suddenly he bumped into you. A hush fell over the common room. “I don't need a fucking body guard, Draco. You need to back off.”

Draco's nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing. “Stop it,” he hissed. “We can talk about this in private.”

“Why? Is your ‘bad guy' reputation so fragile?”

His jaw flexed, and you could tell your words stung, hurt flickering across his eyes.

You sighed. “D, I can take care of myself,” you murmured.

“But if something happened to you…” his voice softened, trailing off.

“Let me have this,” you asked, taking his hand in both of yours. “Please. I've never had any freedom.”

He squeezed your hands. “I know, I know. Just…let me know where you are, at least? Don't just keep disappearing—what is that?” His eyes hardened, lowering to your neck.

You fought to hold your composure. “What? Oh, the burn? I bumped it with my curling iron this afternoon.” You grazed your fingers over the mark George had left, a flurry of butterflies kicking up in your stomach.

Draco dropped your hand, and guilt soured your fuzzy feelings.

“Who is it?” He growled.

“Draco—”

“You think I can't tell when you're lying?” He grabbed you and lead you into a quieter part of the common room, shadowed from onlookers. “Who was it, y/n?”

You glared daggers at him, squaring your shoulders. “I suggest you mind your own business, or we will have a fucking problem. I will not hesitate to dismantle every brick of this bullshit castle you've built. Clear?”

His jaw ticked, eyes blazing. “This is not a fucking game,” he said after a tense moment of silence.

“Just trust me, okay? I’m fine. We’re fine. Not everything is life and death.”

“Y/n, you aren't listening—”

“No, you aren't listening. We're safe here. And I have my brother to protect me from anything scary, yeah?” You reached up to pinch his cheek, and he scowled, swatting your hand away.

“I can't protect you if I don't know where you are,” he argued.

You sighed. “I'll try and tell you from now on, okay? But you can't be with me 24/7. You need to have a little faith in me.”

“It's not you that I doubt,” he grumbled, but you could tell that you'd won this round.

“Goodnight, Draco. And don't stay up too late, you've got a game tomorrow.” You poked him hard in the chest, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, sister.” He waved you off and you ascended the stairs to the girls dorm, leaving him to his friends, and you to toss and turn in your bed, dreaming of George.

Thank you for reading!

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[dearxia]

SO CUTE

Heal // R.W x reader

Request: ron taking the reader to the burrow while she’s sick.

Word Count: 1.6k

Authors Note: just a wee one! I literally just saw Tyler the creator lmao and I honestly am going through serious post concert depression. Hope you guys are having a great week !! MUAH

[masterlist]

Much Love, Saige

————

Getting sick just days before winter holiday was just about the worst thing you could think of. With so many tests to study for, limited time to rest, and more importantly spending as much time with your boyfriend before he goes away for a month. Your heart was broken by all of the lost time, but you were too ill to do anything about it.

You typically stayed at Hogwarts over break, deeply enjoying the silence in the common room and the lack of rambunctious young students every morning in the great hall. It was something you looked forward to every year, but this year you felt like you were being tested, mentally and physically. Hogwarts was home to you, and being there during its off-season was something most students didn’t get to enjoy.

——-

“Love?” A familiar voice rang out into the room, a soft warm embrace followed it just moments after. You moaned pitifully into Ron’s arms through the thick blanket. You were tucked away in his dorm room, basking in any last moments you could get before he shuffled off with the rest of his family.

Your head banged in pain; hiding under the covers to avert any light possible. The way you kept silent under the sheets, you could’ve been overlooked as a pile of unfolded laundry.

The smell of his worn clothes gave you a sense of comfort and reassurance that only he could give you, suddenly becoming sad again that he would soon be gone.

“Darling..” Ron drawled, his hands rubbing circles on your legs, trying to gauge how you felt. He waited in silence for a moment, watching you stir under his touch, happy that you were at least moving and alert.

“I packed your bag love, I cant leave you here over break.” Ron asserted. He knew if he asked you’d say no, so he kindly took it upon himself, willing to carry you with his bare hands all the way home if need be.

You didn’t respond, the words bouncing through your head repeatedly as you kept your eyes closed. You moaned slightly, adjusting your posture to better face him.

Moving the blanket away from your face, you squinted up at him, partially inquisitively, partially blinded by the morning light.

“I'll be fine here I promise. I have the house elf’s and…” you stopped to cough, a deep guttural fight to clear your lungs interrupted your efforts. Ron just cocked his head to the side, smiling as he watched you attempt to act normal.

“See, I'm fine!” You leaned onto the pillow, holding yourself up as best you could. Your skin prickled to the cold air, goosebumps making you shiver back under the covers. Ron stifled a laugh, reaching his hand over to rub your cheek lovingly.

”No fighting it now. My mother has already started making soup for you tonight when we arrive.” He cooed quietly. He watched you open your mouth to interject, cutting you off quickly. “Ehhp nope. Don't say a thing.” His finger lightly tapped your lips shut, enjoying the thought of having the opportunity to take care of you for once.

Ron was always the one to be sick, be hurt, or need help. Something in his nature to tease you into extra love and care from you. Sometimes it felt like he would fake it just to get a little kiss here and there, but you didn’t mind.

Ron leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead, holding it there for a moment. He wanted nothing more than for you to feel better, wanting his sweet humorous girl back, but the thought of you finally meeting his family made him happier than ever.

”Train leaves in over an hour, so let's get you ready-“

———

Ron spent all his time next to you. He helped you get dressed, tidy up his room, and walk you to the hospital wing to have you take a quick elixir from Madam Pomphrey before she sent you both off.

You stayed quiet most of the trip, holding onto Ron’s arm for support throughout the castle and on to the train. You felt as if your energy needed to be used for survival, the dramatic feeling of death looming over you as you took every step.

Ron couldn't help but laugh at your theatrics knowing how you felt, but couldn't help but mock you slightly as you both walked along.

“I think I'm dying.” You moaned, finally sitting down on the Hogwarts express, your legs aching in a dull pain.

“You are not dying.” Ron laughed, situating you next to him, moving so that you could lay your head on his lap. You curled up as best you could on the short seats, Ron’s hands immediately running their fingers through your hair. The tranquility rushed over your body as you relaxed further into his legs.

“I think I am.” You sniffled lightly, closing your eyes in peace. You could feel the effects of the potion you got earlier, but you wished you were in bed with Ron, both of your bodies tied up. The warmth would heal you faster, his hands wrapped around your body.

Before you knew it, you drifted off to sleep, the thought of spending all of winter break with your boyfriend almost healed you entirely.

————

Like a child in the night, you woke up in a bed, unsure how you got there. Around the room, scattered posters and memorabilia of the Chudley Cannons. The ceiling slanted at a point, a warm comforting feeling of a pitched tent came over you. As you tossed and turned in the bed, a soothing scent of wood smoke and a sickly sweet smell of Ron’s cologne.

Your head had stopped hurting and your body felt heavy as you continued to lay. The window revealed that it couldn’t have been too late as the sun had only began to set. Gauging your energy, you swung your legs over the bed and sat for a moment. You silently wished Ron was here, the anxiety of walking downstairs in his family home alone for the first time freaked you out. You knew they were lovely people, but you hated that their first impression of you would be stifled coughs and eye bags.

Like magic, you heard footsteps ascend in the hallway, loud thumps that quickly slowed the closer they got. As they reached the door, you swore they must of been comically tip toeing, just before a soft knock tapped the wooden hatch.

“Come in.” You croaked, your lips curling into a wide smile as the door opened.

“Ah!” Ron chirped, peaking his head around the corner. His face swelled with enjoyment as he made his way over to you, scooting himself on the small bed and holding you tightly.

“You seem to be doing quite well now.” He murmured into your hair . “That potion knocked you out quite fast, had to lug you off the train and back here myself.” Ron laughed. The struggle of holding your body’s dead weight was hard, but once he got you on his back you held onto him like a koala, even in your sleep you reached out for him.

“Oh god.” You chuffed, the imagery of your sleepy body being dragged up and through the family's home, unable to say hello only made you more anxious. You hid your face in your hands, suddenly too embarrassed to function.

“It’s alright I promise.” Ron cooed, his hands stroking your arms lovingly. “Come on, supper is almost ready and you should probably eat something.” He smiled, reaching and pulling your hands from your face, kissing the tops of them lightly. You nodded in defeat, reading you had been postponing the inevitable.

Walking down the stairs with Ron, you realized just how large his home was. His room was at the very top of the wooden monolith, the stairs cascading down forever. As you walked, Ron pointed out the twins' rooms, the bathroom, and several little pictures that hung on the walls you passed.

“Aweee!” You beamed, finding a small framed image of Fred, George, and Ron all together as very small children. Fred and George stood on either sides of Ron, holding up bunny ears and pulling at his cheeks. “You’re so little.” You giggled, taking one last look at it before Ron pulled you ahead, shaking his head smugly.

Once you finished your decent, a waft of fresh bread and cooked stew entered your nose. Your stomach practically kept out of your stomach the closer you both got to the kitchen.

“Hi mum. This is-“ Ron began to announce your presence in the kitchen, his mothers back turned to the stove attending tonight's meal. Once she had heard her son's voice, she swung around in awe happily walking over arms open.

“Oh shush it. I know who you are.” She enveloped you both into a large hug, stepping back and taking a good look at you. ” Well you look much better than you did earlier dear. Call me Moll, we are so happy you are here to spend the holidays.” Mrs.Weasley's smile was warm and endearing, her motherly touch making you feel welcome at once.

She released you both from her grips and clasped her hands together.

“Do you think you both could set the table?” Her eyes bounced between Ron and you before turning towards the cabinet in the corner.

“Place out eight bowls tonight - we’ll have Hermione later this week if she can make it.” Her head nodded as she mentally counted the heads of all the children she was taking in over break. You both smiled and got to work immediately.

It was only the first night, but could could tell it would be the best month of your life.