immobulusmalfoy

[immobulusmalfoy]

Happy Birthday, Harry Potter 31st July, 1980.

[immobulusmalfoy]

can you do 3 from fluffy romcom cliches for George weasley? thank you!

Sorry it took so long, but yes!!! Here it is!!

Required

[immobulusmalfoy]

Required (Drabble) - George Weasley x F!Reader

A/N: I was in a writing rut and shared this list, so here's the fourth prompt I received! George is my favorite! ❤️

Warnings: Fred and Lee being brats, friends to lovers, no mention of the war whatsoever.

3 ⧽. there’s no more seats in the living room, so one of them has to sit in the lap of the other for movie night with friends

Wednesday movie nights. It was something Lee had started after he visited one of his cousins from America and they showed him a projector they’d gotten for Christmas. So naturally, Lee had to have one. He’d amassed a collection of VHS tapes and somehow kept acquiring more from unknown sources, but you all enjoyed not watching the same film over and over every week.

First it was just Lee, the twins, you, and a few people from Quidditch or classes. Oliver was specifically not invited because, Lee said and you quote, “nobody wants to talk about quidditch with that boy every night of the week.”

You’d first started it in the boys’ dorm, projecting the films against a large sheet you’d attached to the wall with spell-o-tape, but you quickly outgrew the space as others started joining. You’d then tried an empty classroom, which turned into Filch stealing the projector and a two day long heist-plot to retrieve it. Now, it was held in the Room of Requirement where no one else could get in unless they knew where you’d be.

The room was always set up with tons of cushions and a huge couch set into the floor like you’d seen in a muggle television show once. Something muggles called a ‘conversation pit,’ whatever that meant. But against the wall was a huge screen where Lee’s projector was able to show off the whole screen instead of most of it like your other locations. There was even a little kitchenette in the room where you could make snacks or store them since the twins were exceptionally good at stealing food from the kitchens.

Without fail, you’d end up joining them on their escapades, gathering as much food as you could carry in your bag which you’d hit with an undetectable extension charm. George had called it brilliant when you’d shown them and asked about shipping options for their joke shop using the same charm. You figured it was possible, but told him you’d have to practice and try it. Mostly to spend more time with him.

Because while Lee was the twins’ real best friend, you were there too. You’d grown up next door to the Weasleys and been the same age as Fred and George, so it was natural to become their friend and join in on their pranks and fun. If Lee and the twins were around, then you were too. You just happened to be a little bit quieter than them and their large personalities. But it’s why you loved them and they loved you. You balanced them out.

You didn’t know when exactly you started feeling more for George, but it came on gradually. Like falling asleep. Slowly and all at once at the same time. He didn’t know, thankfully, and you were mortified about him finding out. So you hid it.

Movie nights were difficult, though, because you always ended up cuddled into George’s arms. You never meant to, but it happened every time. You’d be laughing at something or scared over something in the film—because really, how did muggles come up with such amazing technology when they don’t even have magic—and you’d end up right next to George. He didn’t mind. Not one bit. In fact, he welcomed it with the same feelings and thoughts as you, though neither of you would ever admit it. It made Lee and Fred groan, knowing you two were mad for each other and refused to say.

So they made a plan. The Room of Requirement worked based on what you wanted most, and Fred and Lee wanted you two to end up together more than they wanted to drown Snape in a swamp at the moment.

Wednesday night came and you all gathered into the Room of Requirement. Everyone found their seats on the huge couch, but you found it smaller than normal because you couldn’t find a seat. Every space was full and you had less people than normal. The idea of it was confusing since the room had looked exactly the same for the last three months, so really what was going on?

Fred and Lee noticed immediately, snickering as they watched you standing there above the couch pit with your bowl of kettle corn looking nervous. They knew you wouldn’t ask anyone else to move and waited for George to notice. It took him exactly ten seconds after you stood there to figure out the situation. He sent a scathing look at Lee (since Lee had built the room in his mind, as per usual) before beckoning you over with his hand to his corner of the pit.

“Darling, come here. You can sit with me.” George sighed. You brightened immediately, stepping over the edge to settle down right next to him. However, that didn’t work because you ended up squashing someone else’s snack and accidentally stepped on Fred’s ankle. He yelped in pain, receiving your apologies and a smirk from his twin, who believed Fred deserved the pain for what he was doing to you.

“This is a disaster.” you whispered as you sat on the ground on the edge of the pit with your socked feet next to George’s arms. “I don’t want to make anyone else move or be uncomfortable.”

“Nonsense. C’mere.” George took your hand and the next thing you knew, you were sitting between his legs, halfway in his lap, leaning back on his broad chest. You squeaked in protest, but weren’t able to do anything else but stay there since the movie was starting. Lee had chosen a film called The Princess Bride that had come out a few years ago, but was apparently really popular in the muggle circles.

As you settled in with your bowl of popped corn in your lap, George stole a few pieces here and there, occasionally feeding you a piece from his own hand. Even though you were surrounded by your friends, you didn’t really notice any of them as the movie played on. You all laughed at the funny parts, gasped when it was exciting, and Lee even shed a few tears when Wesley and Buttercup finally ended up together in the end.

Sometimes, people stayed after to chat about the film. Or, in Fred’s case, to snog a girl he’d invited out in the hallway behind one of the tapestries. Lee could only wish he’d been that lucky and smooth. However, this evening everyone cleared out quite quickly. Except for you and George.

As the credits played and Lee turned off the projector, you’d settled into quiet conversation about classes you took together and your plans for the future, especially with exams coming soon. George knew you wanted to take over your uncle’s shop in Diagon Alley and you knew that he and Fred were planning on opening their own joke shop there, as well. But one thing led to another and you found yourselves looking at each other’s lips. Never taking the final step.

“You know they planned this, right?” George murmured, brushing his fingers absentmindedly over your uniform skirt which you hadn’t changed out of before coming.

“Hmm?” you hummed, barely paying attention to his words as you watched the way his mouth moved when he talked. It was enchanting—to you, at least.

“Fred and Lee. They did something to the Room. Made the couch pit smaller so you had nowhere else to go besides in my lap. I can’t say I’m upset about it, though.”

“No?”

“No, not upset at all. Can I—Can I kiss you?” George whispered, eyes watching your lips as well and the way you breathed. It was all he could think about, kissing you. Consuming his mind.

“Yes,” you whispered back.

That was all George needed, surging forward to press his lips to yours firmly. It was a fumbled first attempt, sending you both into a fit of giggles, but when you settled back down and tried again, it was the best kiss you’d ever had.

George was sweet and cradled the back of your head in his calloused hand, holding you in place gently as he pressed kiss after kiss to your lips and then your nose and chin and cheeks.

“Come to Hogsmeade with me Saturday,” he breathed out between kisses.

“I always go to Hogsmeade with you,” you said with a giggle. “You couldn’t keep me away.”

“No, and I wouldn’t dream of it. Go with me as my girlfriend.” George said seriously, looking deep into your eyes to show you how serious he was. “I’ll buy you supper and everything.”

You gave him a nod and a smile before kissing him again with a whisper of, “as you wish.”

[immobulusmalfoy]

#13 with Draco for the prompt thingy?

Here you are, darling! He's a silly boy.

Pond Scum

[immobulusmalfoy]

Pond Scum (Drabble) - Draco Malfoy x F!Reader

A/N: I was in a writing rut and shared this list, so here's the third prompt I received! Protective Draco is such a delight, especially when he's trying to figure out his feelings.

Warnings: Slight bullying (this is Draco, after all), characters have crushes but no resolution, and we don't talk about Bruno (Voldy).

13 ⧽. rescuing their crush/partner from unwanted advances

The Triwizard Tournament. The Yule Ball. Everything about this semester at school was crashing down on you and stressing you out. You were dropping grades for the first time ever due to the stress of being surrounded by students from other schools who were somehow better than you at a few of the subjects you were taking. Boys from Durmstrang hovered over girls close to their age, flirting with them and showing off some of the techniques they learned at school. Techniques like hand to hand combat as well as advanced spellwork. And while it was interesting to watch from a distance, you weren’t interested in getting to know anyone else. You were perfectly happy with the friendships you already had, mainly with Draco.

You were friendly with lots of people, but Draco was your closest and oldest friend, your parents having made you spend time together as children before Hogwarts. You’d hated each other at first until you realized you liked a lot of the same things. Hermione was a good friend, too, along with Ron and Harry sometimes. Though you weren’t as close with them and it made it hard to be friendly when they complained about Draco all the time. It was exhausting with just four people to keep track of, so how could all these other people keep track of so many other people?

With the Yule Ball approaching in just a few short weeks, ones full of exams and studying, the impending doom of needing a date was stressing you out even further. You’d hoped Draco would ask you, him knowing that you didn’t want to go with a stranger, but he hadn’t even brought it up. The only mentions he’d made of it were snide remarks about Harry being the fourth champion and how he didn’t deserve it as well as telling Pansy to shut up when she begged him to be her date. He declined, which made your hope grow. But he still hadn’t said anything and the ball was in a week!

However, now the pressure was on for everyone. You witnessed no less than six couples deciding to go together throughout your day, both in small and large ways. You dearly hoped no one would throw together a huge display to ask you, though you knew you wouldn’t be asked anyway. Or at least, it seemed that way since no one had asked yet.

That is, until today. You were walking to the library to meet Draco to study when Harry waylaid you in the halls with Ron. They called out your name urgently, making you think something was wrong.

“What is it?” you asked nervously. With them it was always something.

“Nothing’s wrong, per say.” Harry started, “but I have a question to ask you.”

“You’re a girl.” Ron blurted out. You eyed them both warily.

“Is this about the Yule Ball?”

“No.” “Yes.” They both said at the same time. Then they glared at the other and changed their answers oppositely again.

“So which is it?” you asked impatiently, wanting to be done with the whole conversation.

“What Ron’s trying to say is that you’re a girl and we noticed you don’t have a date to the Yule Ball. We don’t have dates either and I thought to ask you if you wanted to go with me. Or Ron. Doesn’t matter. Just, as one of the champions, I have to have a date according to McGonagall and I can’t just ask anyone.” Harry rambled.

You were shocked. With all the moaning and groaning he and Draco did about each other and, by extension, you, you had assumed that Harry definitely wouldn’t ask you since it could be misconstrued. But you were wrong. Perhaps it was revenge, but perhaps not?

“So will you?” Harry asked.

“Will I what?” you replied, knowing full well what he was asking, but hoping Draco would arrive to save you from this awkward conversation before he had the chance to officially ask what he and Ron were attempting to ask and failing miserably. No wonder they hadn’t found dates.

He was in the process of spitting it out again when a very familiar arm draped around your shoulders, the green of a certain Slytherin’s cufflinks in your sights. A sigh of relief escaped your lips.

“Potter,” Draco drawled, “is there a reason you’re trying to steal my Yule Ball date for yourself? Can’t you get anyone you like, Chosen One? No? I can’t imagine why you think my friend would be interested in going with pond scum like you.” He finished with a wicked smile. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his free hand twirling his wand absentmindedly, but you knew he was prepared to use it if necessary and Harry knew it too.

They gaped at the two of you.

“You’re going with Malfoy?” he and Ron shouted at the same time, clearly disgusted by the prospect.

“It’s a library, Potter, so perhaps you two could be quieter. I wouldn’t expect less from a Weasel. And yes, she is. You can’t buy class. Now, go find someone else to bother, Potter.”

“Thank you,” you whispered once the other boys had skulked off to bother some other poor souls. “You don’t have to go with me, though. I know you were just saving me from that prat and I appreciate it.”

Draco looked at you oddly as you both sat down at a table in the library like you’d planned. It was like he knew something you didn’t.

“I thought we’d already decided to go together? Our parents already planned our dress robes to match, as well. You didn’t know?”

“No?”

“I reckon I forgot to ask, then. I thought you knew. I’ve been brushing Pansy off for ages now and spending all my time with you, which I don’t mind, obviously. But I certainly couldn’t let Potter try and get you. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Is that care I’m detecting, Draco?” you teased, not minding at all. If you were going with Draco, if it had all been arranged, then you needn’t worry a bit about someone asking you with a grand gesture like you’d been seeing.

Draco shot you a look before delving into his satchel to pull out his books, quills, parchment, and ink as you did the same. He didn’t answer and you worked in silence for a while.

“You truly don’t mind that I didn’t ask?” Draco asked quietly once a lot of people had left the library, leaving the two of you mostly alone. “Truthfully, I forgot I hadn’t in all the mess this semester has been. Tormenting Potter took the foreground and I haven’t been very . . . friendly recently.”

“Honestly, I don’t mind at all. It’s very us. Not communicating and letting others do it for us. Did our parents really match our dress robes to each other?”

“Yes,” Draco sighed, “and I only know because our new house elf blabbed about it.”

“Well, I expect to dazzle everyone by your side now that all that’s been settled.” you finished with a smile, reaching over to hold his hand. He startled at the contact, but didn’t let go, choosing instead to continue with his essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts with his other hand while you worked on your Charms essay. But when you looked over at him for a second during your work, you caught him smiling at your entwined fingers, showing you just how much he did care.

[immobulusmalfoy]

#2 with Fred please please please

I got you, boo. Easiest thing I've written all year! Enjoy!

I Wonder (Drabble)

[immobulusmalfoy]

I Wonder (Drabble) - Fred Weasley x F!Reader

A/N: I was in a writing rut and shared this list, so here's the second prompt I received! This was so easy to write and I giggled so much!

Warnings: Character burnout, AU where Voldemort doesn't come back, and supreme amounts of fluff near Christmas. Enjoy!

2 ⧽. falling asleep in their shoulder, making them blush and watch the other lovingly

Fred would say he didn’t have much. He had his twin, he had his family, he had his joke shop, and he had you. You being his best friend other than George.

You supported their dreams and helped design packaging for their products as well as making sure orders were shipped on time. While the boys were the front runners and makers of everything, you were the force behind it all and it made you so valuable. Alongside Lee, who always tested products. Fred had to mention him, too, or he’d never hear the end of it.

Fred didn’t know when he first started looking at you as a girl and not as his friend (though you were definitely still his best friend), but he started wanting more and didn’t know how to tell you. He may have been the more outgoing twin, but even he has his limits.

George finally forced him to decide to tell you right before Christmas break of your sixth year all together, making bets with Lee on your reaction. George was sure you were in love with Fred too, while Lee was convinced that you were in love with a Hufflepuff boy instead because he’d seen you talking exactly two times. A fact that made both Fred and George roll their eyes.

Christmas break rolled around and you came home with the Weasleys since your parents were visiting family in the States, a journey you hadn’t wanted to make. But breaks meant long hours working on product testing, package design, potion making, charm testing, etc. From sunup to sundown and sometimes sundown to sunup, you three were working hard. Molly had to force you all down for meals and drag you to the gardens for small bouts of fresh air when she could. However, it was all catching up to you as young as you all were, and you three sat blearily on the couch on Christmas Eve, barely awake as Molly passed out lumpy packages to each family member.

Every year, Molly knitted each one of her family members, both biological and adopted, something. Usually it was a sweater, but sometimes it was something else she felt the person needed. Last year, you’d gotten a really pretty maroon sweater with golden stars stitched across the front and you were excited to see this year’s design, even if you could hardly stay awake.

George opened his first and snorted when he saw the lime green sweater Molly had made him with an orange ‘G’ stitched to the front. Fred guffawed and opened his to find the opposite color scheme, an orange sweater with a lime green ‘F’ stitched to it. At his urging, you opened yours and found a dark green sweater with a niffler knitted into the design.

“For all your hidden talents, dear.” Molly explained when you showed it off with a smile. “Besides, I know you like the little beasts.”

Mugs of hot chocolate were passed around while everyone chatted about the rest of the break and what each of you had planned, but it wasn’t enough to keep you awake. Fred was in the middle of a chat with his dad and Remus, who had also come to visit with Tonks, when he felt a weight on his shoulder. He looked down to find you had fallen asleep, your mug tipping out of your hand and your mouth slightly open.

Fred smiled down at you fondly, deftly removing the mug from your hands before you could drop it, and adjusting your sleeping body so you could lay more comfortably on his lap instead of his bony shoulder. It wasn’t the first time you’d fallen asleep on him and he knew it wouldn’t be the last either, but it didn’t bother him a bit. He returned to his conversation without a hitch as he stroked your hair, causing Remus and Arthur to exchange knowing glances. It was obvious to everyone that you and Fred were meant to be and Fred knew what they were thinking, his cheeks heating in response. He wasn’t embarrassed, but he wasn’t sure he liked how easily everyone could read his emotions.

Hours passed, everyone else filtered off to bed or their respective homes, and even Molly had conceded to letting you both sleep on the couch so long as Fred didn’t look when she set up the last Christmas presents under the tree. You were still asleep, so Fred agreed and allowed his mum to do her work before she placed a glamour charm over the tree and all of the items beneath it. She wished him good night, setting a final warning about peeking in the presents before she scampered off to bed herself, leaving the both of you alone for the first time the whole break.

Fred stared down at your sleeping form lovingly, thinking about the future and how he wanted to sleep next to you every night, but still freaking out about telling you how he felt. Because honestly, did you feel the same? Was he going to ruin everything? If you felt awkward after he told you, would you leave them high and dry? He was lost in his thoughts when you woke up, dazed and confused about where you were.

“Fred?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes to wipe the sleep away. “Why are we still on the couch?”

“You fell asleep on me and I didn’t want to move you or wake you up. You looked peaceful.” Fred answered, fingers still running over your hair.

You glanced over his shoulder to the clock beside Molly’s charmed grandfather clock to check the time and realized it was past midnight.

“Happy Christmas, Freddie.” you whispered, and then you did something you’d never done before. You leaned up and kissed him right on the mouth, softly and slowly, with purpose. Fred froze initially, not processing what was happening, but his brain finally caught up with his mouth and he kissed you back, bringing his hand to the back of your head to hold you up to him.

“Long time coming, that.” Fred grinned when you broke the kiss for air. “Happy Christmas, darling.”

Maybe he didn’t have anything to worry about or over think after all.

[immobulusmalfoy]

from the fluffy romcom cliche promp list ! #16 w boyfriend draco please ! xxx

I got you babes! Am I majorly rusty with Draco's character? Absolutely. But here you go!

Dandelions (Drabble)

[immobulusmalfoy]

Dandelions (Drabble) - Draco Malfoy x F!Reader

A/N: I was in a writing rut and shared this list, so here's the first prompt I received! I haven't written for Draco in so long that I'm afraid I'm a little rusty, but thanks for reading anyway!

Warnings: Slight bullying, AU where Voldemort doesn't come back, and supreme amounts of fluff. Enjoy!

16 ⧽. their crush/partner being the only one who can bring out their playful and sweet side

Draco had been through a lot. Having Lucius as a father certainly wasn’t going to be easy, no matter how much Narcissa tried to protect her son from the darkness their lives were surrounded by. She kept Draco as kind as she could for as long as possible, but even her attempts fell flat once her son was exposed to the blood purists and their ideals. She thanked her lucky stars that the Dark Lord hadn’t returned or Draco might have ended up his pawn. Still, she hoped that someone special might turn him the right way.

Draco had met you in his second year when you started getting grades on par with his, catching his attention. Pureblood though you were, you weren’t anything like his family. You were kind and sweet and you quickly caught Draco’s interest. First as a classmate, then as a friend, and then as something more.

The first time you made Draco laugh, it was nearing the middle of the night and you were the only ones in the potions classroom where you’d gotten permission from Snape to work on your homework away from the other students. You couldn’t even remember what you’d said, but Draco broke out into uncontrollable giggles and laughed so unabashedly that you stood there in shock before laughing with him. His laugh was infectious and you couldn’t wait to hear it again. However, Draco refused to laugh or smile or do much of anything like that around anyone else but you.

In the Great Hall, classes, outdoors, or even in the hallways, Draco would be his stoic, grumpy, and moody self around his fellow classmates. But when he was alone with you, you could get him to smile and laugh and goof off and it was the best thing ever. Easily your favorite thing in the world.

“Was that a laugh?” you heard Pansy’s muffled voice through Draco’s door as the two of you lay in his bed one Saturday during your sixth year. Draco was reading the paper and you were reading a magazine from Paris you’d recently been sent by your mother. “He doesn’t laugh. There’s no way she could make him laugh if we can’t.” Draco rolled his eyes hard enough that you could feel it.

He’d just read you a funny section of an article written by Rita Skeeter’s replacement in the Daily Prophet; something about the Minister of Magic’s “secret rendezvous at muggle comedy clubs” or something like that, breaking into a peal of laughter at the outrageous words. As if Rufus Scrimgeoer would associate with muggles. Or comedy clubs. And who exactly was he supposed to be rendezvousing with?

You couldn’t make out Blaise’s reply, but you knew he was the other voice on the other side of the door. Draco paused his reading to listen.

“Ignore them and go on. I want to hear what else this woman has to say about the ministry. Have they got any more stories about Potter and his ‘wild past?’” you asked, turning to face your boyfriend.

“I mean, honestly, what does he see in her?” Pansy continued, being loud on purpose. This time it was your turn to sigh. The Slytherin girl was always nasty, but she didn’t see it as nastiness and it was incredibly annoying. Why she felt the need to do it outside your boyfriend’s door was beyond you.

“Right, one moment.” Draco groaned as he climbed out of bed and threw the paper to the side. He slammed open the door and shouted, “Beat it!,” sending you into a fit of giggles beneath his blankets. After all, Draco did have a reputation to uphold as the Slytherin Prince. He’d grabbed his wand when he got up and quickly cast charms on the door to prevent the sounds outside and inside from leaking through again.

He had a wicked grin on his face when he turned back to you, making you laugh once again and a goofy smile appeared on his face instead of the devious one. He loved you and the way you made him feel, and he only really felt relaxed with you. Despite his reputation, the self he was with you was his true one.

“Honestly, I love it when you get all moody with everyone else. Makes me feel special.”

“Only for you, love.” Draco said as he climbed back in the bed beside you, smacking a seriously wet kiss to the side of your face that he could reach and laughing at your reaction. “They don’t deserve this side of me. Now, there is this funny story about Potter here . . .”

[immobulusmalfoy]

✶ . ၄၃ . FLUFFY ROMCOM CLICHES

1 ⧽. getting caught in the rain together

2 ⧽. falling asleep in their shoulder, making them blush and watch the other lovingly

3 ⧽. there’s no more seats in the living room, so one of them has to sit in the lap of the other for movie night with friends

4 ⧽. kissing in the middle of an argument

5 ⧽. feeding the other soup when they get even just mildly sick

6 ⧽. it’s freezing cold and they can’t figure out how to turn on the heat; they’ll just have to share the bed to stay warm then

7 ⧽. needing to kiss the other when they share clothes for the first time

8 ⧽. giving them unabashed heart eyes when they do something cute and getting caught

9 ⧽. tripping, but being caught in the arms of the other

10 ⧽. getting them their favorite food or treat as reconciliation after accidentally hurting their feelings

11 ⧽. sharing a bed without cuddling, but not being able to actually fall asleep until they’re holding each other

12 ⧽. gently placing their jacket over the other’s shoulders when they get cold

13 ⧽. rescuing their crush/partner from unwanted advances

14 ⧽. secretly holding hands under the table for a moment, just because they can’t resist each other

15 ⧽. having nicknames/pet names for each other than no one else is allowed to use

16 ⧽. their crush/partner being the only one who can bring out their playful and sweet side

17 ⧽. carefully bandaging the other’s wounds, even if it’s just a tiny cut

18 ⧽. back hugs in the morning

19 ⧽. finding the other crying at the beach after searching for them for hours, cheering them up, then playing in the sand and shallow water

20 ⧽. finally confessing their love, only to realize the other has fallen asleep right next to them

[immobulusmalfoy]

James and Oliver in “Fantastic Friends” (11/?)

[immobulusmalfoy]

Okay, so I'm in a bit of a writing rut and I need to kickstart it... SO, send me a number and a character (Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Oliver Wood, or Draco Malfoy) please!!

✶ . ၄၃ . FLUFFY ROMCOM CLICHES

1 ⧽. getting caught in the rain together

2 ⧽. falling asleep in their shoulder, making them blush and watch the other lovingly

3 ⧽. there’s no more seats in the living room, so one of them has to sit in the lap of the other for movie night with friends

4 ⧽. kissing in the middle of an argument

5 ⧽. feeding the other soup when they get even just mildly sick

6 ⧽. it’s freezing cold and they can’t figure out how to turn on the heat; they’ll just have to share the bed to stay warm then

7 ⧽. needing to kiss the other when they share clothes for the first time

8 ⧽. giving them unabashed heart eyes when they do something cute and getting caught

9 ⧽. tripping, but being caught in the arms of the other

10 ⧽. getting them their favorite food or treat as reconciliation after accidentally hurting their feelings

11 ⧽. sharing a bed without cuddling, but not being able to actually fall asleep until they’re holding each other

12 ⧽. gently placing their jacket over the other’s shoulders when they get cold

13 ⧽. rescuing their crush/partner from unwanted advances

14 ⧽. secretly holding hands under the table for a moment, just because they can’t resist each other

15 ⧽. having nicknames/pet names for each other than no one else is allowed to use

16 ⧽. their crush/partner being the only one who can bring out their playful and sweet side

17 ⧽. carefully bandaging the other’s wounds, even if it’s just a tiny cut

18 ⧽. back hugs in the morning

19 ⧽. finding the other crying at the beach after searching for them for hours, cheering them up, then playing in the sand and shallow water

20 ⧽. finally confessing their love, only to realize the other has fallen asleep right next to them

[immobulusmalfoy]

Fred & George Weasley

[immobulusmalfoy]

Just a quick drawing

[immobulusmalfoy]

Another Man's Treasure | Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader Summary: You're Cormac McLaggen's girlfriend — but Cormac pays more attention to Quidditch than you. Shame, shame.. Fred just can't let you go to waste.

Warnings & Themes: fluff, NSFW (oral!fem receiving), cheating on partner

When you'd begun dating Cormac, it was different.

He was attentive, sweet, mindful. But now? The man was a complete git. Most days, you sat on the bleachers of the pitch, feeling absolutely bloody dejected and watching him fly around on a broom for hours practicing for a team he was only a reserve on.

It was pathetic, truly. You and him. You sat waiting for a guy who couldn't show less interest in you if he tried — and he absolutely sucked at Quidditch yet continued to ignore a gorgeous girl for it.

It didn’t help that Cormac never introduced you to anyone either. You weren’t “his girl” at Gryffindor parties — just some girl hanging around him until someone asked who you were. You weren’t on his arm, weren’t in his conversations, and apparently weren’t important enough to even walk with to Hogsmeade.

You were Cormac McLaggen’s girlfriend in the way someone might say they “have a cat” and never feed it.

So, yeah, sitting in the stands while he zoomed around like a headless Hippogriff? It was just your Tuesday.

Sighing, you opened a book, frowning at the pages in front of you. You might as well get comfortable. It would be a while.

Below you, Fred and George Weasley stood, getting gear on to begin practicing. It was a gorgeous day and some of the Quidditch players actually had a solid reason to get out and practice.

Because again, only some had a productive spot on the team.

You felt eyes on you. Glancing down, you saw Fred. You rolled your eyes as he waved at you, wiggling his fingers in a flirtatious fashion.

You knew Fred and George. Everyone did. Every girl especially — they were tall, muscular, Quidditch stars, and incredibly easy on the eyes. You felt a warmth spread across your cheeks at his wave, despite how much you tried to ignore it.

You also tried to ignore the girlish excitement you felt. You were spoken for after all. What would you look like entertaining another man? A right slag, that's what. Waving back nonchalantly, you turned back to your book.

Fred sighed, clipping his helmet onto his head.

“Shame,” he addressed George. "That is a right shame. A crime, really."

George cocked a ginger eyebrow as he adjusted his gloves. “What is?”

Fred nodded subtly toward the stands. “Her. All alone. Looking like that. For him.”

George followed his brother’s gaze, lips tugging into a smirk once he spotted you. “McLaggen’s girlfriend?”

Fred glanced back up at you. You were back absorbed into your book, e/c hair blowing in the soft wind. Every once in a while, you glanced gloomily at your boyfriend, who once again didn't spare you a single ounce of his attention.

"She's the fittest girl at Hogwarts. Easily. Why is she with McLaggen?"

George scoffed under his breath. “Because looks clearly aren’t everything. Or maybe she’s got a savior complex.”

Fred frowned.

"He's not even good at Quidditch! He's bloody awful. Look at him," He gestured to the pitch, where Cormac was wobbling about on his broom. "Doesn't even look like he's playing. Looks like he's doing an interpretive broom dance."

George burst out laughing, nearly dropping his bat. “Merlin’s beard, you're not wrong. That’s not flying — that’s flailing with purpose.”

Fred rolled his eyes. “And somehow that is the bloke she waits around for every damn day like he’s the bloody star player.”

George snorted. “You’ve been keeping tabs, then?”

Fred gave him a look. “You telling me you wouldn’t notice her? Sitting there every day, looking like a dream and getting treated like a backup broomstick?”

“She’s not our problem, mate.”

Fred didn’t answer right away. His jaw ticked slightly as he watched you glance up at Cormac again, a flicker of hope in your eyes — one that died almost immediately when he didn’t so much as wave.

“She could be someone’s world,” Fred said quietly. “Instead she’s waiting for scraps.”

George eyed his brother, something more serious settling between them. “You’ve got it bad.”

Fred didn’t deny it. Instead, he said, “I’m just saying… if it were me, she wouldn’t be sitting up there alone. She’d be on the broom with me. Or on my shoulders. Or—hell, anywhere but forgotten.”

George paused, then smirked again. “So what’s the plan, Casanova?”

Fred grinned, a familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “Easy. Show her the difference between being looked at and being wanted.”

He kicked off the ground again, but this time with a different kind of determination.

He was set to embarrass the shit out of McLaggen. One, for being ungrateful. And two.. He was kind of hoping you'd get the ick.

George cackled as Fred shot into the air, weaving expertly through the sky while McLaggen hovered below like a confused Bludger.

“Oi, McLaggen!” Fred called loud enough for half the pitch to hear, voice full of feigned cheer. “You practicing for the ballet? Thought Quidditch involved a Snitch, not pirouettes.”

A few laughs echoed from the other players. Even George barked a laugh, tossing a Bludger up with a wicked grin.

Cormac scowled from midair, wobbling slightly as he turned toward Fred. “Bugger off, Weasley!”

Fred cupped a hand around his ear. “Sorry — couldn’t hear you over the sound of mediocrity!”

You peeked over the top of your book, startled by the sudden exchange. You tried to hide your amusement, but Fred caught the slight twitch of your lips. His chest swelled with triumph.

Phase One: Humiliate the knob. Phase Two: Make her smile. Phase Three: …Well, he hadn’t figured that bit out yet. But he would.

Fred flew another circle around Cormac, performing an exaggerated, showy dive that ended with a perfect landing — just below the bleachers where you sat.

He pulled off his helmet, glancing up at you with that telltale grin.

“Hope you’re taking notes,” he called, slightly breathless. “In case your boyfriend ever wants to learn how to actually fly.”

Your mouth parted slightly, a laugh escaping before you could catch it. “Are you always this cocky, or is today special?”

Fred’s eyes gleamed. “Only on Tuesdays. And when a pretty girl’s watching.”

He winked, then turned and jogged back onto the field — leaving you flustered, smiling despite yourself, and just a little less devoted to the prat in the air.

You didn’t know it yet, but Fred Weasley had just started rewriting your entire love story.

Of course, Cormac had opted to go over plays in the locker room after the incident at the pitch instead of walking back to the dorms with you. Typical.

You walked back alone, carrying your book and pulling your jacket tighter — the wind had started to get chilly as the day went on. You hummed to yourself as you got closer to the castle.

“Oi! Bookworm!”

You turned, startled, and there he was — Fred Weasley, jogging up beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hair was windblown, his cheeks still pink from the chill, and his smile was… well, unfair, really.

“Didn’t think it was nice to let you walk alone,” he said, matching your pace. “Seems your rogue Bludger of a boyfriend forgot where the castle was.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were already smiling. “He’s not my Bludger. He’s just... my boyfriend.”

Fred made a face. “You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, choosing not to respond right away. The path toward the castle was quiet, apart from your footsteps on the gravel and the low whistle of the wind. It felt weirdly intimate — the kind of silence that made you feel seen.

Fred didn’t push. Just walked with you, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You know,” he said after a moment, glancing sideways at you, “I wasn’t joking earlier.”

“About what?”

“About you being the prettiest girl at Hogwarts.”

Your heart skipped embarrassingly. “That so?”

“Swear on George’s life,” he said solemnly. “And I only say that when I really mean it. He’s very dear to me.”

You laughed again, surprised at how warm it made you feel — not just the compliment, but the effort. The way he noticed you, even in a moment as small as this.

“I’m not used to people saying things like that to me,” you admitted quietly.

Fred slowed his pace slightly, studying you. “Well, get used to it.”

You looked at him, brow raised. “Why?”

He smirked. “Because I’m not done saying them.”

And as the two of you crossed through the castle doors, brushing shoulders, warmth blooming where he accidentally touched your arm — you realized something:

You hadn’t thought of Cormac once since Fred showed up.

"I have a boyfriend, Weasley," you snorted. "I doubt he'd take kindly to you doing this."

Fred just grinned, undeterred. That infuriating, charming grin of his — the kind that made your stomach twist in a way Cormac's never had.

“Doing what?” he asked innocently, all wide eyes and mock-surprise. “Walking you back? Complimenting you? Being decent? Merlin forbid.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You know what I mean.”

Fred leaned in a little, voice lowering — not teasing now, but sincere, softer. “I know. And I know you’re with him. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see what he doesn’t.”

You blinked, startled by the seriousness that slipped into his tone.

“He takes you for granted,” Fred continued, holding your gaze. “Doesn’t mean I have to.”

The hallway was suddenly too quiet. Too warm. You opened your mouth, but you weren’t even sure what you were going to say — luckily, Fred filled the silence with a familiar crooked smile, stepping back and releasing the tension.

“But hey,” he added, casual again, “if he ever stops being the luckiest git alive... I hope I’m first in line.”

Then he winked — not flirty this time, not entirely — and turned toward the Gryffindor staircase like he hadn’t just lobbed a Confundus charm straight into your chest.

And Merlin help you...

You kind of wished he already was first in line.

—

The first Common Room party of the year always hit immediately after the first Gryffindor quidditch win.

Only 6th and 7th years were invited, of course — there was Firewhiskey and other alcholic beverages involved. If the younger students were invited, the festivities may get out to the professors. If that happened, everyone was being hexed by McGonagall and buried in a hole on the quidditch field.

You got ready with Hermione and Ginny Weasley (who you'd just met the same night). Hermione was your closest friend. After you'd confided in her about having a slight crush on Fred, she'd immediately introduced you to the ginger girl.

Hermione curled your hair gently as you giggled, listening to a story about Ron bubble from Ginny's lips.

“…and then Ron actually tried to hex Malfoy with a mouth full of treacle tart,” Ginny said, laughing as she swept some glitter onto her cheekbones. “Honestly, I’ve never seen treacle shoot that far.”

You snorted, barely managing to stay still as Hermione tugged the curling wand through another section of your hair. “Did it even work?”

“Of course not,” Hermione huffed from behind you. “He said ‘slug’ instead of ‘slugulus.’ All he managed to do was make a very sticky mess.”

You grinned into the mirror, cheeks already sore from smiling. There was a lightness in your chest tonight — the kind that hadn’t been there in weeks. You knew why.

Fred.

Even the name fluttered through your chest like a secret. It often switched between feelings of excitement and feelings of guilt.

You glanced down at your outfit — Hermione had loaned you one of her sleeker cardigans and Ginny insisted you wear her black mini skirt (“You’ve got legs, use them”), and your own boots tied it all together. You had to admit… you looked good.

No. You looked better than good. You looked like someone who was not dating Cormac McLaggen anymore — which wasn't true, but you looked it. You knew Cormac wouldn't approve of your outfit. You also knew he might not even pay enough attention to you to care.

Hermione raised a brow at you through the mirror. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m always smiling.”

“Not like that you’re not,” she smirked, handing you a tube of lip gloss. “You’ve got the look of a girl who’s about to fall.”

Ginny tilted her head. “For Fred?”

You rolled your eyes.

"Gals! I have a boyfriend."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, and he’s busy playing Quidditch, while Fred is right here, right in front of you, actually noticing you.”

Hermione shot her a look. “We’re not encouraging this, Ginny.”

You blinked, glancing at your reflection in the mirror again. The truth hit you like a ton of bricks: Fred had been noticing you for days. And you'd been noticing him right back. You'd even caught yourself imagining what it would be like to kiss him, to have someone actually see you instead of just waiting around for scraps.

Your fingers tightened around the lip gloss Hermione handed you, unsure of how to respond. The guilt felt like a heavy cloak you couldn’t quite shake off.

“I have a boyfriend,” you muttered, voice quieter this time. "But—"

“You're not blind," Ginny finished for you, that smirk still in place.

Hermione shot her friend a glance, looking more thoughtful than mischievous. “It’s just... if you’re not happy in a relationship, it’s okay to rethink things. Just don’t rush into anything.”

You met her eyes in the mirror, her voice striking a chord. You weren’t happy. You hadn’t been for a while.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you said, the words feeling heavier than you intended. “But I also don't want to keep pretending everything’s fine.”

Ginny reached out, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “You don’t have to pretend. And besides, if Fred’s interested, you should at least see where it goes.” She raised her glass of pumpkin juice. “No harm in that, right?”

You forced a smile, feeling a weight lift from your chest. “Yeah, I guess. No harm.”

Hermione let out a sigh, but there was no disapproval in her tone. "Just don't make any decisions you aren't ready for. But do what makes you happy, alright?"

"Alright," you nodded, feeling strangely reassured.

As you stepped into the common room, you tried to shake off the heavy thoughts clouding your mind, but they followed you like shadows. Cormac hadn't even noticed you when you walked in, his focus entirely on the latest Quidditch match stats he was bantering about with Seamus. You approached him with your arms crossed, smiling kindly when he finally glanced down at you.

"Hi, love."

He smiled back briefly, leaning down to peck your cheek.

"Hello, darling."

The brief kiss on your cheek didn’t feel like it used to. It was routine now, nothing more than a formality. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile, trying to ignore the empty feeling settling in your chest.

“How was the match?” you asked, hoping for some kind of real connection.

Cormac shrugged, already turning his attention back to Seamus, clearly eager to get back to the conversation. “Ah, you know, same old, same old. Quidditch, mate. Nothing to worry about. I’m already focused on the next game.”

You wanted to be nasty. You wanted to be rude.

How would he even know how the match was? The git didn't even play in it. He sat on the bench.

You bit your lip to stop the words from spilling out, but they hovered at the tip of your tongue, demanding to be said. The frustration you’d been holding back for weeks was threatening to pour out like a flood. How could he be so blind? How could he be so wrapped up in his own world that he didn’t even notice how much you were trying?

Instead of lashing out, you forced a tight smile, biting down on your irritation.

“Right,” you said, your voice slightly sharper than you intended. “You’re focused on the next game. Of course.”

He didn’t catch the sarcasm, of course. He was too busy regaling Seamus with more stats, as if that was the most important thing in the world.

You stood there, arms crossed, and felt yourself growing smaller in his shadow. The longer you stayed in his orbit, the more you realized just how little you mattered to him anymore. It wasn’t even about Quidditch anymore — it was about how he couldn’t be bothered to even acknowledge you, let alone make any effort.

You shifted on your feet, suddenly feeling like you couldn’t stand there another second. You could practically hear Fred’s voice in your head — You deserve better than this — and for the first time, it actually felt true.

With a last glance at Cormac, who hadn’t even realized you were still standing there, you walked off, a burst of energy propelling you away from the dullness of him. You didn’t know where you were going, but anywhere felt better than standing there like an afterthought.

And then you spotted Fred.

Of course, he was watching. He always seemed to be watching.

His lips quirked up when he saw you, and the glint in his eyes was almost enough to make you forget how awful everything had just been. Almost.

“Looks like that went well,” Fred remarked, crossing his arms as you stopped in front of him, feeling the weight of everything on your shoulders.

You almost didn’t know how to respond, but somehow, Fred’s presence made it easier. “Well, he’s still talking about Quidditch,” you said, your tone almost too calm for how you were feeling inside.

Fred laughed, glancing over at your boyfriend.

"Quidditch, yeah? The same Quidditch game I played and won today?" He asked playfully. "That's funny. I don't remember seeing a Cormac McLaggen on the pitch."

You couldn't help but laugh at the way Fred's tone had an edge of mockery, and the way he made Cormac sound so utterly irrelevant. You glanced at your boyfriend again, who was still in his own little world, bragging about his Quidditch expertise. It was honestly pathetic.

"Exactly," you replied, rolling your eyes. "I don't think Cormac would know how to hold a broomstick properly if it bit him."

Fred's grin widened, clearly pleased with your response. "Well, at least one of us appreciates Quidditch the way it was meant to be." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice, "And just so you know, I don't mind playing for two."

You met his gaze, a teasing smile curling on your lips. "Two?"

"Yeah, for you." Fred said it with such casual confidence, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, but the way his eyes lingered on yours made your chest tighten in a good way.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying not to let your thoughts run away with you. Cormac was still your boyfriend — kind of. But standing there, in Fred's orbit, you couldn’t ignore the growing pull between you two, a magnetic force you hadn’t expected.

"I don't think Cormac would appreciate you sharing the spotlight," you teased, but even you could hear the lack of real conviction in your words.

Fred chuckled, his voice lowering in that way that made it feel like there was no one else around. "Who says I’m sharing? You’ve got a lot more going for you than just his attention."

For a moment, the space between you seemed to shrink, and everything else — Cormac, the party, the chatter — disappeared. It was just you and Fred, and the undeniable chemistry that had been building since the first time he’d shown up at the pitch.

“Maybe you’re right,” you said softly, unable to pull your eyes away from his.

The party went on. You didn't even waste your time glancing at Cormac anymore. Instead, you took shots with your friends and cast every spare glance at Fred.

As you got drunker, your feelings got stronger. They always did. You sat with Hermione and Ginny, singing a song loudly and giggling. Before you knew it, Fred was back again, smirking.

Fred leaned casually against the table, his smirk never faltering as he watched you and your friends. He crossed his arms, but his eyes were all on you, gleaming with mischief and something else — something that made your pulse race just a little faster.

"Still here?" you teased, a playful challenge in your voice as you looked up at him from where you sat.

"Wouldn’t miss it," he replied smoothly, his tone low, yet dripping with that signature charm. "Besides, I don’t think you’d want to be stuck with Cormac for much longer."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was undeniable. “I’m fine without him,” you said, feeling the heat of alcohol start to cloud your thoughts, but only in the best way possible. "And maybe I’ve got better company right here.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into a half-smirk. "Better company, huh? What a coincidence. I was thinking the same thing."

The tension between you both was electric, palpable. It hung in the air, thick and unspoken, but you could feel it in the way Fred’s gaze never wavered from you.

Ginny, always the observant one, caught the subtle shift in the atmosphere and grinned. "Alright, you two," she said with a knowing look. "You both should just kiss already."

Your heart skipped, and for a split second, Fred’s eyes flickered to yours, his smirk turning into something more sincere, something almost... hungry.

You nearly choked on your drink, laughing in an attempt to mask the sudden heat on your face. "Ginny!" you protested, though it came out breathlessly. "You’re drunk."

Fred chuckled, his voice barely audible above the noise of the party. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then.”

The moment was interrupted. Cormac cleared his throat, a glare on his face. His friends stood behind him.

The air in the room instantly thickened, the playful energy dissipating as Cormac’s presence loomed over you like a storm cloud. He didn’t even glance at Fred; his eyes were fixed on you, his expression harsh, almost accusing.

“Everything alright here?” Cormac’s voice was low, the kind of tone that suggested he already knew the answer but wanted to make sure you felt the weight of his disapproval.

You shrugged.

"You seemed fine in your corner of the room."

Cormac’s jaw tightened at your response, and his friends shifted uncomfortably behind him, sensing the brewing tension. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“You’re drunk,” he muttered, his gaze flicking to the drink in your hand as though it was some kind of proof of your irresponsibility. “And you’re with him.” His eyes shot a pointed glare at Fred, who simply raised an eyebrow and leaned back casually.

“I’m allowed to talk to whoever I want,” you replied, keeping your tone steady, even though your heart was pounding. You could feel the eyes of the entire room on you, but this time, it didn’t bother you as much as it usually did. You were done hiding in Cormac’s shadow.

Fred smirked and took a step back, hands in his pockets as if to give you space, but still within reach should you need him. "Looks like someone needs to get a grip," he said lightly, his voice teasing, but there was an edge to it.

Cormac’s nostrils flared, and he took a step closer, his face reddening. "You think this is funny, Weasley?" His voice was low, threatening. "Stay out of this."

Fred’s grin never wavered. “I think it’s hilarious, actually. But hey, if you want to keep playing the jealous boyfriend role, go ahead.”

You could see Cormac’s hands twitch. He stepped forward. Fred raised an eyebrow, standing from his seat. He was easily a head taller than Cormac, maybe more.

"Stay away from my girlfriend, git. I hear all the whispers around this school. Fred Weasley flirting with my girlfriend. You're flirtin' with a right ass kicking next."

Fred’s eyes darkened slightly, but his smirk remained, though now it was colder, sharper. He stood tall, his posture effortlessly confident, an undeniable contrast to Cormac’s flustered and aggressive stance.

"An arse kicking?" Fred snorted, actually having the guff to laugh in Cormac's face. "Oi, Georgie! Did you hear that right? McLaggen wants to deliver me a 'right arse kicking'."

George, who had been leaning casually against the wall, looked up with a grin that matched Fred’s. He crossed his arms and took a step forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “An arse kicking, bloke?” he echoed, his tone full of sarcasm. “Oh, I do hope you’ve got more than just the threat of bad breath and an overinflated ego, McLaggen.”

The laughter between the twins only served to make Cormac’s face redden further, and you could almost feel the heat radiating off of him. It was clear that the situation was getting increasingly uncomfortable for him, and yet, Fred and George didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Yeah, mate,” Fred continued, his voice dripping with amusement. “Not sure you’ve got the goods for that kind of threat. How about you take that bad attitude and go sulk somewhere else before you really embarrass yourself?”

There was a palpable tension in the room as Fred’s eyes locked onto Cormac’s, but despite the threat of violence, Fred seemed completely unfazed. He just stood there, his smirk wide and his posture so relaxed it was as though he was daring Cormac to take the first swing.

Cormac got closer, him and Fred almost nose to nose.

"Stay. Away. From Y/N."

Fred’s smirk didn’t falter, though there was a noticeable shift in the air. His posture didn’t tense, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes now. He leaned forward just slightly, closing the gap between him and Cormac with a confidence that almost made it seem like he had all the time in the world.

“Make me,” Fred said softly, his voice low and almost casual, like the entire confrontation was a minor inconvenience. The challenge in his tone was unmistakable, daring Cormac to try something — anything.

Cormac’s face was mere inches from Fred’s, his breath hot and heavy in the silence that had enveloped them. For a moment, it seemed like neither of them would budge, like the tension was going to snap in a violent clash. But then Cormac’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, frustration evident in the sharpness of his jaw. He was seething, but Fred wasn’t backing down, wasn’t giving him an inch.

Finally, the dam broke.

Cormac lunged at Fred, but his friends were too quick, grabbing ahold of him. Your eyes widened.

Fred burst into laughter, his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, my! The froggy did jump. Let him go, boys. Let's see what he can do, yeah?"

The tension in the room reached a fever pitch as Fred's challenge hung in the air. Cormac’s friends, clearly unsure, hesitated for a second before releasing him, but there was no mistaking the fury in his eyes. He was seething, ready to lash out, but Fred didn’t flinch.

Fred’s laughter rang out, loud and carefree, like he was genuinely enjoying this absurd situation. He stepped back a little, hands in the air as if to say, “Come on then.”

“Go on then, McLaggen,” Fred taunted, his tone light, as though he were merely encouraging a schoolyard squabble. “Show me what you’ve got. But don’t go crying to your mates when it doesn’t work out.”

You could feel the eyes of everyone around you, the whispers and the stares. Some of the students were backing away, not wanting to get caught in the middle of this. Fred’s confidence was unmatched, but you could also see the moment Cormac’s resolve started to crack.

Fred’s posture was still relaxed, his smirk in place, but there was something more now — the challenge had shifted. The onlookers were waiting to see if Cormac would actually follow through.

For a split second, Cormac looked like he was going to make a move. His hand twitched, as if contemplating it, but then he stopped. His chest heaved with anger, but his eyes were calculating now, as if trying to figure out if it was worth throwing the first punch.

Fred raised an eyebrow, mocking him. “What’s wrong, mate? Too scared to even throw a proper punch?”

Cormac’s face was a mask of fury, his pride clearly wounded. He looked like he was about to explode, but after a tense pause, he began to walk away.

"I want you back in the dorm by one, Y/N." He hissed. Then, he left.

The moment Cormac’s voice cut through the tension, it was like a cold splash of water. You were still frozen in place, your heart pounding in your chest. His words echoed in your mind — the command, the possessiveness. You felt your stomach twist, the anger bubbling up once more.

But Fred, as always, didn’t seem fazed. He leaned against the table casually, his arms crossed over his chest, looking after Cormac with a raised brow. “Is that right?” he muttered under his breath, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

The air was thick with the aftermath, the party resuming its usual hum of conversation, but the dynamic had changed. Everyone could feel it.

Fred turned his gaze back to you, his eyes softening, though the sharpness of the encounter still lingered in the air. “You don’t have to listen to him, you know.”

His words hung there, simple but loaded. You knew it wasn’t just about Cormac anymore. It was about what you wanted, what you were going to do next.

You met Fred’s eyes, trying to steady your racing heart. “I know.”

But even as you said it, part of you felt a strange pull, a sense of responsibility to Cormac’s words. You could feel the control he tried to exert over you, like a tight grip on your very being. It wasn’t right, but the thought of confrontation still made your stomach churn.

Fred didn’t push. He didn’t need to. He stood there, waiting, giving you the space to process.

After a long pause, you finally spoke, your voice quieter now. “I don’t want to go back to the dorm tonight.” It came out almost like a confession, and you immediately regretted it. But Fred’s gaze softened in understanding.

“Then don’t,” he said simply, a warmth creeping into his tone. “You’re not his to command, Y/N.”

His words were a reminder — not just that you were free, but that you deserved more. You deserved to make your own choices, to not be controlled by anyone.

You couldn’t help but feel the weight of that. Fred’s presence had shifted from playful to something deeper, something more protective and genuine.

Without a word, he reached out, offering his hand to you. His gaze didn’t leave yours as he waited, his smirk gone, replaced with something that spoke volumes.

“You’ve got options. You can stay in my dorm, or we can go somewhere else. Your call.”

The offer was simple, yet it felt like the world was in your hands. Cormac’s control, his possessiveness — it felt a lot smaller in comparison to the choice Fred was giving you now.

Ultimately, you decided to go to Fred's upon the promise that he'd sleep on the floor and you could have the bed.

When it was time, you crept up the stairs sneakily, knowing you weren't supposed to be there. Before you'd left, Hermione and Ginny winked at you, mouthing 'use protection'. As usual, you'd used the lame quote you always did.

"I have a boyfriend!"

You stepped into Fred’s dorm with a mix of nerves and curiosity fluttering in your chest. The room had the unmistakable scent of boy — a mix of broom polish, something vaguely like cinnamon, and just a hint of mischief. Quidditch posters were slightly crooked on the walls, a pair of socks hung from the corner of his bedpost, and a few Zonko’s wrappers were scattered on the floor like confetti after a prank well done.

Fred closed the door behind you with a quiet click, then turned, watching your expression closely. “Alright, I know it’s not exactly five-star,” he said, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin, “but I promise the bed’s clean-ish. And I’m told the floor builds character.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the corners of your lips twitched up. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor, you know.”

Fred raised a brow. “You’re not about to suggest we share, are you? Because that might make your boyfriend — sorry, our resident caveman — a bit twitchy.”

You laughed, the sound soft and surprising even to your own ears. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Fred said, flopping down on the bed for the moment and tossing a pillow to the floor like it was a throne, “you’re here.”

You stood there for a second longer than necessary, watching him. For all the jokes and smirks, there was something undeniably warm about him — like you were safe in a place you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

“I’m only here to avoid a fight,” you said, not really believing it yourself.

Fred looked at you, unbothered. “Then I hope it was worth sneaking past McGonagall and the protection squad.” He mimicked Ginny and Hermione’s voices with a dramatic flair: “‘Use protection!’ — honestly, I feel like they’re rooting for me.”

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. “I hate that I keep using that same excuse. I have a boyfriend… it sounds weaker every time I say it.”

Fred’s voice was quieter now. “Then stop saying it.”

The room fell into a soft silence.

You lifted the pillow just enough to peek at him. “That’s not fair.”

He met your gaze with something softer than a smirk. “Neither is the way he treats you.”

There was nothing flirty in his voice this time — no edge, no teasing. Just truth.

You could feel how close you were. His thighs were resting next to yours, only an inch from touching. You were sad you couldn't share the bed without it being wrong.

Fred must’ve felt it too — the closeness, the tension that wasn’t born from a fight or an argument, but from restraint. The unspoken something that had been hanging between you two for weeks now. Maybe months. Maybe longer.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his presence like a magnetic pull, and it wasn’t fair. Not because of the situation, or the rumors, or even the rules — but because being near him made you feel calm. Real. Understood. Something you didn’t even realize you’d been starving for.

“I hate this,” you whispered, not even sure if you meant the situation, your relationship with Cormac, or the fact that you couldn’t just... let yourself fall into this moment.

Fred didn’t move, but his voice came low. “What part?”

You hesitated. “The part where I have to keep pretending I don’t want more than this.”

He looked at you then — really looked. All the mischief and bravado faded in a blink. There was something in his eyes that made your breath catch, something heavy with meaning, but gentle too.

“You don’t have to pretend with me. I won't squeal.”

Your eyes softened. You felt yourself almost melting.

Fred leaned forward, almost testing how far you'd let him go.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away.

His hand found the edge of the bed, steadying himself, his knuckles brushing lightly against your knee. It wasn’t bold or pushy — it was cautious, careful, like he was giving you every opportunity to stop him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

His eyes never left yours, and in them, you didn’t see a boy looking for a joke or a cheap thrill. You saw someone who meant it. Someone who knew exactly what you were risking and was willing to meet you there anyway — with patience, with warmth, with that steady, maddening confidence he always wore so well.

“You sure?” he asked, voice a whisper now, nearly swallowed by the hush of the room. “Because once I know you want this too… I don’t think I can go back to pretending either.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached out, fingers barely ghosting over his wrist — and that was all he needed.

Fred closed the space between you, slow and certain, his forehead gently resting against yours. No kiss. Not yet. Just that shared breath, that promise suspended in the air.

"I don't think I've ever felt this way in my life."

Fred let out the softest breath, like the weight of your words had struck something deep inside him — something real. His fingers brushed your knee again, this time more firmly, grounding himself as he searched your eyes.

“Me either,” he admitted, his voice barely audible, like speaking too loud might break the moment.

His thumb skimmed your wrist, tracing slow, reverent circles as he kept his forehead against yours. “It’s not just a crush. Not some passing thing. I feel it — here.” He moved your hand gently, placing it flat over his chest where his heart thudded steadily beneath your palm. “Every time I see you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was full. Full of every glance, every smirk, every quiet moment you’d shared that hadn’t made sense until now.

Fred leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes again, searching for the final piece of permission. His voice cracked just slightly when he whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

Fuck it.

"Please?" You asked, your voice a quiet whimper.

That was all it took.

Fred closed the distance without hesitation, one hand coming up to cradle your cheek with such care it made your heart ache. His lips met yours gently at first, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the feeling of finally having you this close. It wasn’t rushed — it was reverent. A kiss years in the making, built from tension, longing, and all the moments you’d spent denying it.

But once it started, there was no going back.

The second kiss was deeper, slower but more desperate — his fingers slipping into your hair, your hands clinging to his shirt. It was like something had finally broken free between you, and now that it had, neither of you could stop. The need in the room shifted from hesitant to hungry in an instant.

Fred pulled back only slightly, his forehead pressed against yours again, lips brushing as he spoke. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that — instead I got to watch moments like this wasted on some talentless git."

He kissed you again before you could respond — soft, then firm, like he couldn’t get enough. His voice came in a breathless whisper against your lips: “Say the word and I’ll stop, yeah?”

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you pulled him back in with a grip that left no room for doubt. Your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck as you kissed him harder, need surging like a flood. Fred groaned softly into your mouth — a low, desperate sound that seemed to vibrate right through you — before his hands found your waist, tugging you into his lap like you belonged there.

You did.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, his touch suddenly more urgent, more claiming. His mouth moved along your jaw, down to the edge of your throat, where he lingered with soft, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath hitch. “You have no idea,” he murmured against your skin, “how mad you make me, every time you call that idiot your boyfriend.”

His hands ran under the hem of your shirt now, slow and reverent even in the heat of it all, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you this way.

Fred's hands paused just beneath the fabric, fingertips brushing your bare skin like he was memorizing the feel of you. His breath was hot against your neck, the restraint in his movements contrasting the intensity of the moment. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push.

“You shouldn’t have to settle for someone who only wants to own you,” he whispered, lips brushing your collarbone. “You deserve to be worshipped.”

Your heart pounded at his words — not because of the heat, but the sincerity behind them. Fred didn’t just want you. He saw you. All of you. Every piece you’d tucked away, every part Cormac had ignored or tried to control — Fred was holding you like none of that scared him.

He pulled back enough to meet your gaze again, thumbs still stroking lazy circles into your hips. “I meant what I said. You call the shots. We stop whenever you say.”

His voice was still low, husky with want — but his eyes held nothing but respect, waiting for your permission, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

You felt yourself squirm under his touch, the heat between your legs almost becoming uncomfortable. You weren’t even sure if you’d feel guilty for doing this anymore. Fred was the most exquisite thing you’d ever tasted, a forbidden fruit.

Fred noticed the way you moved against him, the quiet, involuntary squirm, and his hands tightened slightly at your hips — not to restrain, but to ground. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze dark and reverent, as if he could already feel the shift in you, the slow unraveling of hesitation.

“I want to take care of you. Will you let me, love?” He asked, his brown eyes darker than ever.

Your breath caught at the tenderness in his voice — the contrast between his raw need and the reverence in his words made your heart ache. There was no arrogance in the way Fred looked at you now, no teasing or bravado. Just a quiet, aching sincerity. Like this had never been about just desire — it had always been about you.

You nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Please.”

Fred smirked, the hands on your hips lifting only to slide under the waistband of your skirt. “That’s my girl.”

You shuddered as his rough, Quidditch conditioned hands met the skin below your belly button, your e/c eyes glued onto him. The brisk air flooded your hips, thighs, and legs as he pulled the skirt off.

He tossed it to the floor quickly, his eyes raking over your body in awe.

“You’re gorgeous. Absolutely bloody perfect.”

His thick fingers trailed along the waistband of your underwear, toying with the thin fabric. He eyed the wet patch on the front, an amused smile on his lips.

“Betcha Cormac McLaggen never caused this mess, hm?”

You rolled your eyes, attempting to close your legs. He pushed them back open, chuckling.

Quickly, he tugged your panties down your legs too, his eyes darkening even further at the sight of you. Your pussy was perfect, glistening in the dim light of the moon. He ran a finger down the length of it, watching your essence collect onto it.

You exhaled, the cold breath hitting Fred.

“Pretty. So, so pretty.”

Before you knew it, Fred was repositioning himself, his body sliding down the rest of the bed. He positions himself between your thighs, pushing them further apart. His eyes look eagerly up at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Gonna take care of you, yeah? Show you an unselfish bloke, since you’ve never seen one.”

You could’ve cried.

With a firm squeeze on your thigh, he dives in.

He licks a thick stripe up the middle of your heat, eliciting a moan from your lips immediately. You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle against you — you definitely felt the vibration of it.

He laps at you eagerly, like a dog that just found water in the desert. Your clit gets most of the attention, but he occasionally goes where your essence has collected most, cleaning you up as he works.

“Oh my Merlin—” you gasp, a quiet whimper leaving your lips as your hand trails down to him, threading through his hair without even thinking.

This only pushes him further. He focuses on the most sensitive part of you, the cute little bundle of nerves, until you feel like you could pass out.

All it takes it one more push. He sucks at you, a loud sluuuurp, just enough pressure.

You come undone immediately, a lewd moan leaving your lips. You’d almost be embarrassed at how quick it was if you could even think.

“Fred!”

He doesn’t stop, leading you through your release. Your hips buck as you attempt to push him off, but his broad hand forces your hips down.

All that’s left now is to clean you up. He can’t let you go to waste.

Licking up every drop of cum you’d let slip, he came up off from you. The lower part of his face glistens sinfully.

Your jaw is still wide open in both bliss and disbelief as you look at him, a loud exhale exiting your mouth.

Quickly, as if it was perfectly normal, a typical part of his evening, he wiped your release from his face and sucked it from his fingers, humming gratefully.

He looked down at you with a lazy, satisfied grin, eyes soft but gleaming with something deeper. “See?” he murmured, brushing your hair from your face with the gentlest touch. “That’s what you deserve, love. Not the bloody Quidditch mascot.”

You laughed, breathless and flushed, your brain fuzzy.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Fred let out a dramatic groan and threw his head back against the pillow. “Merlin’s bloody beard, not again.”

You giggled, half buried in his chest, still breathless and dazed. “It’s a reflex at this point.”

He turned his head to look at you, one brow raised and a teasing smirk forming on his lips. “Yeah? Well, reflex or not, love, you really need to update your status. Because your boyfriend didn’t make you sound like that.” His fingers traced lazy circles over your spine. “I did.”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself closer to him. He wraps his arms around you tightly, curling you into his chest.

“Goodnight, Weasley. You’ve turned me into a sinner.”

Fred chuckled, the sound low and warm against your ear as he buried his face in your hair. “Then I’ll happily be the reason you fall from grace,” he murmured, voice laced with something both teasing and devastatingly sincere.

His arms tightened around you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”

The warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, and the fading ache of the night’s confessions lulled you into a peace you hadn’t felt in ages. And for once, you didn’t care about tomorrow — not about guilt, not about consequences.

The next morning, you still felt the same. No guilt. No shame. That’s how you knew for sure that your relationship with Cormac had run its course and that you needed to end it — ASAP.

And after his brutish behavior the other night, what better way was there to break it to him but through the very Weasley that had shown you the greener grass on the other side?

You entered the Great Hall, Fred’s arm thrown around your shoulder.

You didn’t even try to hide the smug satisfaction bubbling beneath your skin.

Fred was relaxed, smirking like he knew exactly the kind of storm you were about to unleash. His arm hung heavy around your shoulders, protective and possessive in a way that was unmistakably deliberate. You leaned into it — not for the drama, but because it felt good. Right.

The hum of morning chatter in the Great Hall dulled the second you walked in. Heads turned. Students smiled, cheered even. And at the Gryffindor table, Cormac McLaggen froze mid-bite, eyes narrowing as they locked onto the two of you.

You gave him a look that was cool, almost bored. “McLaggen,” you said lightly, as though you were passing a stranger on the street.

Fred didn’t stop walking, guiding you toward your usual spot like nothing was amiss. But as you slid onto the bench beside him, his arm stayed firmly in place, and his hand brushed your shoulder with just enough intimacy to make the message clear.

Cormac was already on his feet. “What the hell is this?”

Fred looked up at him with a smile that was too calm to be kind. “This?” He gestured lazily between you. “This is her making a better choice.”

Cormac’s jaw clenched. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” you cut in, voice steady, unfazed. “We’re over, Cormac. As of last night, officially. Your behavior lately? That was the last straw.”

He looked between you and Fred, fuming. “So you’re just gonna — what? Run off with him?”

You didn’t blink. “No, I walked away from you. And he was already standing there.”

Fred leaned back, hands behind his head now, relaxed as ever. “She simply decided she preferred gingers. And blokes that don’t pretend to be good at Quidditch. And blokes that brush their teeth.”

The Gryffindor table burst into scattered laughter, a few muffled snorts and gasps echoing down the line. Even George, two seats away, choked on his pumpkin juice, coughing into his sleeve with a wide-eyed, delighted grin.

Cormac’s face flushed a deep, angry red, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is funny?” he snapped, eyes locked on Fred. “You think you can just take her from me and humiliate me in front of everyone?”

Fred didn’t move, his tone still maddeningly casual. “Mate, I didn’t take anything. You lost her all on your own. I just happened to be the better option when the dust settled.”

You saw it — the twitch in Cormac’s jaw, the way his shoulders squared as if ready to swing. But this time, Fred’s eyes sharpened, just a little.

“Don’t,” he warned, his smile fading just enough to let the tension creep in again. “I’d hate to embarrass you twice in one week.”

Cormac turned, glaring.

“Whatever. I deserve better than some stupid slag, anyway.”

Fred was on his feet before anyone else could react.

There was no teasing in his expression now — no witty retorts, no lopsided smirk. Just pure, cold fury. The kind that silenced the whole hall in an instant.

“What are you—”

Fred’s fist connected with Cormac’s jaw before the insult could fully leave his mouth.

The sound was sickening — a sharp crack that echoed through the Great Hall like a thunderclap. Heads turned. Conversations halted mid-sentence. Even the enchanted ceiling seemed to flicker for a moment, as if the castle itself recoiled from the blow.

Cormac stumbled back, dazed, clutching his face with wide eyes and bleeding pride. He didn’t fall — not quite — but the damage was clear: his lip was split, and his ego shattered.

Fred didn’t follow it up. He stood over Cormac, shoulders heaving, eyes burning. “Long overdue, you absolute waste of space prat,” he growled. “Try that shit again and see what you get next, mate.”

McGonagall’s voice suddenly rang through the hall like a whip. “Mr. Weasley!”

Fred didn’t flinch. He only turned slightly, shielding you behind him again with a hand at your hip. “Sorry, Professor,” he said, still glaring at Cormac. “Slipped.”

—

The tension from the Great Hall carried all the way into detention, where Fred now sat slumped at a desk in an empty classroom, idly tossing a quill from one hand to the other. He looked more annoyed than remorseful — not at the punishment, but at the hour wasted inside instead of with you.

The door creaked open.

He glanced up — and there you were.

McGonagall had given you permission. She was an advocator for women, and you’d explained the entire situation to her. She was slightly reluctant, but ended up letting you enter with a ‘just this once’ slipping from her lips.

“You’re not in trouble,” he said, brow lifting in amused confusion as you shut the door behind you.

“No,” you teased, strolling toward him. “Figured if you’re gonna sit here sulking, I might as well brighten the place up a bit.”

Fred grinned, eyes following your every step as you hopped up to sit on the desk in front of him, legs swinging playfully. He reached towards your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“I can’t believe I can call you my girlfriend now. Never thought I’d see the day you gave up on the bench warmer.”

You smirked, gently nudging Fred with your knee as he leaned forward, resting his chin on your thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Gave up on him the moment I realized I was already in love with the guy who actually showed up for me,” you said, fingers sliding through his hair.

Fred beamed, practically glowing. “So you’re saying I’m your hero? Finally getting the credit I deserve?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the fond smile tugging at your lips. “More like my very chaotic, very ginger hero who got detention for punching my ex.”

Fred looked far too pleased with that title.

“Don’t forget, love. I also devoured his girlfriend in my bed two doors down from him.”

You raised your eyebrows, laughing as you lightly smacked his shoulder. “Fred!”

He grinned shamelessly, that familiar mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. “What? Just making sure history remembers me properly.”

You shook your head, but the smile on your face wouldn’t budge. “You’re unbelievable.”

Fred leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, voice dipping to something softer. “And yet… you still chose me.”

You exhaled, heart full. “Yeah. I did.”

And as he kissed you — slow, certain, and impossibly warm — you realized that, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t regret a single thing.

[immobulusmalfoy]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[immobulusmalfoy]

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