#george-fabian-weasley

[george-fabian-weasley]

into the dark pt 1 — f. w.

Summary: Would you sacrifice your love for Fred to save the world, or would you join him into the dark together?

Words: 1,875 words

Warnings ⚠ : fem!reader, slytherin!fred, boyfriend!fred, fluff, a bit angst, mentions of bullying, mentions of harrassment, TW: DeathEaters

Disclaimer: Death Eater fred sounded so hot and i needed to write some dark things to quench my thirst so here we go! Hope ya'll enjoy because I sure damn did ;) also this collected dust in my drafts FOR SO LONGGGG lemme free this lil demonic bird

“Hello, love,” His breath tickling your nape made you slightly flinch at the surprise. You relaxed as you realized it was Fred and smiled when his arms wrapped themselves around your waist. “Hello, Freddie,” you chuckled as you turned your head to kiss his cheek.

He was hugging you from behind, and you could see a soft grin on his lips as he slowly swayed you both left and right. You purse your lips trying to contain your smile. Fred never fails to make your heart flutter, no matter how small his action was. You leaned your head onto his shoulder, and he nuzzled his cheek with yours.

He had asked you to meet him in his room after dinner during breakfast at the Great Hall. You had always spent time in his room after dinner anyway, so you were curious about what he would like to talk about with you.

Fred laid soft kisses on your neck, causing you to sigh out gently. His lips always knew where to kiss and where to touch, it drove you almost crazy at how he’s so good at it. Before you could dive right into the pool of ecstasy, you were snapped out from it as he took your wrist and led you to the chair by the fireplace.

Even when he’s born into a big family, Fred and his siblings always had the choice to have their own room in Hogwarts or not. Perks of having a successful father in the ministry, perhaps. The Weasleys are always known as the rich, pretentious, pureblood family. Next to the Malfoys, of course. Bloody hell, they’re actually very good friends with the Malfoys, Draco is good friends with Fred’s younger brother, Ronald.

“I need to talk to you about something, darling,” He gently said as he sat down on the chair, and you followed, welcoming yourself to sit on his lap. “Is it so important that you even asked me about it during breakfast?” You teased, playing with his red hair at the back of his nape. He smiled at your tease, before it faded slowly, “Well, kind of.”

You paused, your movement halted altogether, “Why? Did something happen? Are you okay?” Fred looked hesitant; nervous, even. He took a deep breath and looked at you, “Remember that one time I was called home in the middle of class and didn’t return until like days after?”

You nodded, “Yeah, your whole family was gone. You said it’s because a relative died.” He nodded, remembering how worried you were the day he returned. He smiled at the fond memory, before realizing the reason why he brought it up in the first place.

“Well, that’s not what actually happened…” “What? What do you mean, Freddie?”

“I think it’s best to just show you, I can’t really explain it even if I want to,” he muttered, sighing as he began to fumble with his right sleeve, folding it in until his elbow to show you. You gasped at the dark symbol on your boyfriend’s arm, it’s the Death Eater symbol.

Holy shit.

“Fred! Is it-” “Yeah, got it with George since we’re already of age, and Ron would get it with Draco next year,” Fred nonchalantly said; as if he's talking about the weather. And yet his eyes were scanning your expression carefully.

“This happened… On the day you disappeared?” you asked, and he nodded wordlessly. Your eyes were glued to the tattoo, the dark snake wrapped around the skull slowly slithered, and in some wicked and twisted way, you found the symbol…. Enticing.

“… Aren't you afraid?” he slowly asked, half expecting the best or the worst-case scenario. You slowly looked at him, eyes blinking multiple times, “Do you want me to be?” Your question caused him to snort a laugh, he shook his head laughing at the bizarreness of the whole situation, “No, of course not.”

“The last thing I want is for you to be afraid of me.”

There it is. The flutter. You licked your lips, trying to digest the whole thing, “Well, to be honest, I-I had seen it coming… but I didn’t know it would be this soon…” Fred nodded understandingly, already satisfied that you’re not freaking out like he thought you would.

You from a year ago would beg to differ, though.

“So, um,” you trailed off, unsure if it’s the right question to ask. Fred; being the attentive boyfriend he is, saw right through you and reached out to cup your face with his hands gently. He painted a soft smile on his lips, and nodded supportively, “It’s okay, you can ask.”

“Promise you won’t get mad?” “Have I ever been mad at you, love?”

“No, but you had been upset, though. So it still counts,” you shrugged and he laughed wholeheartedly, “It was one time and I’ve apologized for that for like a million times already. Get to the point, woman.”

You huffed a smile at the sound of his laugh and cleared your throat to ask him. “Are you one of them now? The… The Death Eaters?” He looked away for a split second, before he shrugged idly, “Technically. We won’t be active until we graduate, though. Perhaps just do some small missions, I guess.”

“How do you feel about it?” “Not doing dangerous missions?” His question made you laugh and shook your head, “No, being one of them in general.”

“Well, pretty excited, actually,” that’s when a huge grin broke upon his face, and Fred was grinning ear to ear. You understood where he's coming from, Fred was raised in a pureblood family with a pureblood supremacy ideology going on for generations. And naturally, following the pureblood supremacy, is the loyal worshipping of The Dark Lord. Fred has been taught his whole life that purebloods are the only worthy wizards and witches to perform magic, and while he doesn't necessarily agree with them (considering that you're literally a half-blood), he still couldn't escape from the other things.

You've taught him a lot over the past year that blood purity does not equal more or less magic. A muggle wizard is as worthy of magic as a pureblood wizard, because if they're not, then the magic wouldn't have chosen them in the first place. And while there are things that he was willing to learn about and change his way from discriminating against innocent people just because of their blood status, the thought of being the Dark Lord's follower is still considered sacred to him.

Somehow, you couldn't find any reason to be shocked, or scared. Neither betrayed.

“You should’ve seen the whole thing. It was huge and everyone was there. Even the Dark Lord was there when he made me that mark-” “T-The Dark Lord? He made this mark himself?” You find yourself flinching at the mention of He Who Must Not Be Named. You glanced at the dark tattoo on your boyfriend’s arm, and shivers ran down your spine. There it is. That fear.

“Well yeah, he’s the only one who can do it-” Fred halted as he realized you were frozen. “Y/N?” He called cautiously, looking at you as if you’re a ticking time bomb. And then he noticed. He noticed how pale you were, and how you were slowly trembling.

Maybe it just dawned on you that your boyfriend is a Death Eater now.

Understanding that it was a lot to take in, Fred smiled guiltily, “Hey,” he called again, and that was when you were snapped out of your thoughts, “Huh?”

“It’s late, why don’t we get some sleep, hm?” He gently asked, caressing your arm comfortingly. When you slowly nodded as you began to zone out again, Fred picked you up easily and walked to his bed.

He laid you down gently, and kissed your forehead, “Get some sleep, I’ll be right here if you want me,” he whispered. You numbly nodded, causing him to sigh quietly. Fred started to walk away; he needed to finish his homework before going to bed but halted as your fingers suddenly got a hold of his wrist. “Wait, Freddie…”

“Hm?” He sat back beside you, caressing the strand of hair that fell across your face. You looked down for a moment, before looking back at him and intertwined your fingers together with his, “I won’t run away. I won’t leave you, so don’t start thinking that I will. I-I just… I needed time to digest it all…”

Fred’s inside warmed up at your words, he softly smiled in gratitude, “I know, darling. And I understand. Take all the time you need, love. I can wait; I’m good at waiting.”

You couldn't fall asleep that night, thousands of thoughts were running in and out of your head. Fred was already beside you, soundly sleeping with his mouth a bit agape. You had a faint smile on your lips as you watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful and quiet, contrary to him awake and with a crowd; loud and just a pure menace along with George. You looked down on his arm, the arm with the dark mark. Even with the lights out, the dark mark could be seen. You trailed your finger lightly on the mark, moving along with the snake slithering around the skull.

As much as you're worried about Fred being a Death Eater, you're more concerned that other students would find out sooner or later. Hogwarts is a boarding school with its majority of students originating from light or muggle families. Only a few students are from dark families, such as the Weasleys, Malfoys and the others are allowed to enroll here.

If the public finds out about this… Fred would be doomed.

"I don't know what you're thinking, Y/N, but if you're worried about me getting exposed in school, don't be."

You flinched as you heard Fred suddenly speak, I thought he's asleep? "How did you know?" You asked. He was smiling with his eyes closed, "You're tracing my mark and you're furrowing your eyebrows. You're too easy to read, love."

You felt heat traveling to your face as you slightly smacked his arm, "How can I not be? This is a big thing, Fred, and our headmaster is literally one of the greatest light wizards of all time!" Fred finally opened his eyes and looked at you fondly, his hand idly caressing the side of your face.

"Look at you getting all worked up for me. I'm so lucky. Who else is going to be worried for me like this?" Your insides went warm as you heard his words, and his voice was groggy and deeper than usual too. Ugh.

"Don't try to distract me, Weasley! I'm serious!" You shouted-whispered as you smacked his arm slightly. Fred finally opened his eyes and laughed, embracing you into his chest.

"I've been hiding this mark from you for the last few weeks, love. I think I can handle the rest of the year," He mumbled in your hair.

And with that, the whole conversation of him being a Death Eater ends just like that. Never to be brought up again. But your mind couldn’t help but worry for the worst.

Let's just hope Fred knows what he's doing.

TAGLIST:

@multifandom-but @sirenswhispers @lilac-skies-xd @obsessedunicorn24 @foggyturtleknightangel @evewithluv @softlyqoos @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @lilypad-55449 @fiantomartell @hopemalfoyweasley @bucketandpotato @phuvioqhile @wand3ringr0s3 @harrypotter289 @emptyporsche @tallyovie @breadqueen95 @freds-slut @acosmis-t @colorfulprofessornickelangel @alluringshawn @cute-sidney @anna-banana-13 @lostaurorax

[anchoeritic]

hi kells <3

syaf IS THAT YOU OMG 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[desideriumwriter]

MORE DITZY READER WITH GEORGE I BEG OF YOU!!! 😫😫😫😫 I feel like she’d be the type to just give him a kiss on the cheek as a way of saying thanks, and George would just stand there stunned as she left. 🤭 - 🪩

i think my new obsession is writing george w/ ditzy!reader, the cutest pair ever <3 ty for the idea!!

wc: 0.7k

Whoever knotted your shoelaces to the metal rod part of the lamp on the wall did a damn good job at it. 

You held the chair that George was standing on steady as possible, your hands wrapped around the wooden back of the chair as George tried to pick out the part of your laces. 

Of course the one time he doesn’t bring his wand with him is when he needs it. You didn’t have yours either, your explanation being you left it hidden under your pillow, George didn’t bother to ask why.

George had already gotten one shoe off, handing it nicely to you despite how annoyed he was at how long it took just to get one untied.

“I can go get my wand if you need me to. I was worried I was going to lose it during dinner, there’s a hole in my pocket.” You explained, George looked down at you to see you sticking a finger through the rip in the fabric of your robes.

“No, no. It’s fine, I almost…damn…almost got this one.” He brushed your words off. 

After a few more moments of George practically picking at the shoelaces with his fingernails, the knot unraveled and he nearly let out a dramatic sigh of relief.

“You think it was nargles again?” George asked, carefully stepping down from the chair, he had one hand holding your shoe and the other reaching out for yours, suggesting for you to get up off the floor.

He wasn’t sure if he believed in Nargles or not. Knowing that most people believed they were either extinct, or had never existed at all. 

But when he was with you, they did exist. So did the butterflies in his stomach when he saw you.

“Most likely. They took my tie last week.” You took his hand so politely, he noticed how soft your hands were compared to his calloused ones. You did a little hop when you got up, it got a smile out of George.

Taking your other shoe from him, you sat down on the chair to slip your shoes on.

“Could you tie the other one for me? It’ll take less time.” You looked up and asked George as you slipped on your second shoe.

“I’ll tie both.” He nodded, already crouching down on one knee. Even though the whole point was tying two shoes at once would be faster, you didn’t protest, only nodding and smiling at his offer.

George’s head of thick, ginger hair was right was the only thing you could focus on as he looked down, tying your shoes with shift hands.

You impulsively stuck out a hand, running your hand through his hair, twirling a thick strand around your finger. George looked up, a bit confused.

“You have very orange hair.” You stated.

“Thank you?” 

“You take very good care of it, it’s very smooth, silky. Not many boys' hair look like yours.” 

“Well, I’m not sure if there’s a large amount of long haired ginger boys in our school.” George chuckled, his focus going back to tying your laces. You let out a hum as you unraveled your hand from his hair and let him finish.

George straightened the bow on each shoe before standing up, lending a hand out to you again even though you could stand up on your own. You took his hand anyways.

“There you go! I could fix that hole in your pocket too.” He suggested and you shook your head.

“It’s fine, I know how to do it myself. I’m quite good at patching up things.” You said proudly, “Thanks for getting my shoes.”

George meant to respond, but before he could you stood up on your toes to connect your lips to his cheek. Giving him a soft yet sweet kiss to his soon to be blushing face.

“You’re so kind, Georgie. I’ll make sure to wear my cork necklace, keeps the Nargles away.” You smiled, turning as you began to skip down the hallway.

George only stood there still in shock caused by the unexpected peck, jaw ajar as he raised his hand to his warm cheek, feeling it as a grin took over his lips.

[luvendiary]

breaching sunlight / f. g. weasley

summary: you could always count on fred to be like sunlight in your life. even when hogwarts seemed to be eternally overcast by a certain pink devil. warnings: not proofread. no use of y/n. 2k words. inspired by that one scene where fred and george are being super cute and console a younger student.

“What’s your name?”

Was the first thing you heard once you escaped Umbridge's office.

It was a quiet whisper. Not directed at you, but to someone else entirely down the corridor. 

You didn’t dare show your face yet. Not with your cheeks still damp and blotchy, your eyes puffy and your nose red from crying. Tears you’d held back until you were well out of her line of sight.

“Michael,” came a much smaller voice in reply. A boy — younger, no older than a second year by the sound of it.

“It’s going to be alright,” said another voice. Older and steady. George.

“Yeah,” came Fred’s voice next. “It’s not as bad as it seems. See? Ours are already fading.”

You stood hidden behind the wide stone column, one hand clutched tightly over your chest as you tried to regulate your breathing. You couldn’t let them see you like this. You knew they were waiting for you.

You heard Michael sniffle again — a tiny, wet sound. It cut through you like a knife. It made you want to punch that awful toad in the throat. It made you want to hug the little boy, tell him he did nothing wrong. 

“The pain stops after a while,” said George.

Michael sniffed again. “Does… does it always hurt that much?”

There was a pause.

You leaned closer to the stone.

Fred answered. Softer this time. “First time’s the worst.”

With a deep breath, you decided to reveal yourself. You inhaled deeply, before exhaling. You wiped your tears off your face and put on a smile before stepping out.

The sound of your shoes against the rock floor, made their heads snap up at you. You just smiled and raised your arm, showing them your newly acquired scars.

Fred stood up, quietly meeting you halfway, whilst George stayed crouched next to Michael.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sneak in a proper bomb in her tea without her noticing?” you asked, trying your best to sound humorous. 

“I’ll see what we can do about that,” he said as he ever so gently grabbed your arms to inspect it. You felt his eyes trace over the words carved into your skin.

I must not be a brat.

You felt the way his grip briefly tightened around you before loosening again. 

You stared at George and offered him a small smile along with a wave of your left hand — the one left unoccupied by Fred.

He and Michael both waved back. 

“You alright love?” George asked.

You just nodded, but a quiet sniffle made it past. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Fred didn’t press you on that — just gave your arm one last careful squeeze before letting go. He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning your face with that unreadable expression he wore when he was trying to make sense of something he didn’t like.

You just smiled, a tight lipped smile, up at him. 

He got the message. Even though he didn’t like it one bit. There was nothing he could do, not without a visit to the toad’s office of his own. Instead, he just placed his hand on your lower back and gently led you to the others.

You settled on the cold stone bench beside the others, the only sound echoing through the corridor being George’s encouraging words to the younger boy.

It made your stomach turn. Just a few months prior, these same corridors would have been buzzing with energy. Even Peeves seemed to not be in the mood for anything anymore. 

“What’d she get you in for?” Fred asked, breaking the silence as he stood beside you.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, the smile on your face faltering.

“I snapped,” you murmured, eyes fixed on the floor. “She said the Ministry’s wasting money funding the permanent care ward at St. Mungo’s.”

That seemed to get George’s attention as well.

“She said it right in front of Neville too,” you went on, voice taut and low.”

You paused, knuckles white where your hands were clasped tightly in your lap.

“And when I told her she was wrong,” you added, jaw tightening, “she called me a brat. An attention seeker. Said I was just trying to cause trouble.”

Everyone remained quiet for a moment, and you felt tears spilling over your eyes once again. You stood up sharply, anger flooding through your veins. Your head replayed the scenario, going over every other possible wretched and horrible thing you could’ve said to her.

You faced the opposite wall, your body shaking with anger as you tried blinking the tears away. 

“Merlin, that woman… she deserves Azkaban,” you mumbled, your voice breaking slightly as you bit your nails.

Fred was quiet behind you.

You didn’t turn to look at him — couldn’t — not with your eyes glassy and your hands trembling like that. The silence stretched out, thick and heavy, until the only sound was the soft scratch of your nail against your teeth and Michael’s sniffles a few feet away.

You flinched when you felt the faintest brush of fingers against your sleeve. His hand slipped down slowly until it found yours.

Your fingers had been at your mouth again, nails raw where you’d been chewing without thinking. But Fred’s fingers gently curled around yours, coaxing your hand down. He didn’t say a word, just held it quietly.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You didn’t turn.

He didn’t ask you to.

For a long second, you stood there, you facing the wall, him just barely close enough to feel the warmth of his arm against yours. His thumb moved once, brushing over your knuckles, careful not to go over the freshly carved scars. Though they seemed intent on doing so, you could feel his gaze wandering lower —taking them in. Wanting to brush his thumb over them to make sure you were okay. 

Then, barely above a whisper, he spoke again.

“How long were you standing back there?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat thick and unmoving. You shook your head a little, still not looking at him.

“I’m fine,” you said again, soft and too hollow to sound true.

Fred didn’t challenge it.

He just held your hand a little tighter.

After a moment, you turned your head just slightly, your eyes fixed somewhere far off down the corridor.

“How’d you know?”

His voice was low. Gentle. “I didn’t.”

You knew in true Fred fashion, a smirk was trying to make its way past his lips like it always did when he outsmarted you in some way. Though he held off for your sake and this particular situation. That didn’t stop  you from throwing a small glare his way, one that didn’t hold much power, because the simple sight of him looking at you with those pleading eyes disarmed you.

“I didn’t know for sure,” he clarified, voice quiet. “Just though I heard you.”

Crying. He didn't say it, but you knew that's what he meant.

You huffed a breath — half a laugh, half a sigh.

“I waited,” he added, softer still. “Just in case you wanted to come out when you were ready.”

Your grip tightened slightly around his fingers.

Fred nodded, once, just enough to let you know he understood.

Then he leaned back a little, shoulder resting against the stone wall beside you, still holding your hand. His thumb moved again, slow and thoughtful.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

“I’d say she deserves being trampled by Buckbeak,” George said, breaking the silence. “Wouldn’t you?”

A chuckle escaped your throat as you turned around to face him. “Or eaten by Thestrals.”

“Maybe the mermaids in the Black Lake would be interested in taking her for a swim,” Fred added, which made Michael laugh for the first time since you'd met him.

You let yourself breathe. One beat. Then another. The tension started to ease, just slightly, from your shoulders.

Fred glanced at you again, just for a second. And then he bumped your shoulder, gentle and deliberate.

You laughed softly once again and just tilted your head a little closer toward him — not quite leaning, but not quite not — and let that count for something.

George was still keeping Michael distracted with his increasingly ridiculous suggestions for Umbridge’s demise, when a sharp ahem echoed down the corridor.

Everything went still.

You didn’t have to see her to know.

You just knew.

The air felt heavier, colder, and yet somehow cloying, like you’d stepped into a cloud of cheap perfume.

You turned your head slowly — just in time to see Dolores Umbridge standing at the end of the hall. Her eyes scanned over the group like she was surveying insects beneath her shoe.

She cleared her throat again. Louder this time. Demanding attention.

You immediately stood straighter and moved.

Your steps carried you to Michael without thought. You planted yourself in front of him, shielding him from her sight with your body. You didn’t speak, didn’t glare, just stood there.

Fred and George flanked you without needing to be asked.

“Well,” Umbridge finally said, smiling so sweetly it made your stomach churn, “it seems I have stumbled upon a little gathering.”

No one answered.

Her smile never wavered.

“Naughty children,” she said softly, voice feather-light and utterly revolting, “must be disciplined. It's the only way they ever learn, after all.”

Still, you said nothing.

Umbridge's eyes fell on you for a moment longer than the others — almost like she was expecting you to speak up again. To bite back.

But you didn’t.

Finally, with a satisfied little hum, she folded her hands in front of her robes and said, “I believe it's nearly curfew. Best you all run along to your respective dormitories… before any of you make another unfortunate choice.”

She turned with a flounce, disappearing down the hall, the echo of her heels lingering long after she was gone.

“You know George,” Fred spoke up after a second. “I’ve always felt our futures lay outside the world of academic achievement.”

George chuckled, his gaze still pinned on where Umbridge had been standing moments before. “Fred, I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing.”

The days that followed felt like wading through mud — slow, heavy, and utterly exhausting. With Umbridge’s suffocating presence blanketing the school, it was as if every student at Hogwarts carried their own personal dementor, draining the life out of them bit by bit. Even the professors weren’t immune to the gloom. McGonagall, normally rigid and unsparing, had begun turning a blind eye to late assignments and overlooked detentions.

Umbridge was everywhere.

Or at least, it felt that way.

To escape the depressive atmosphere, you buried yourself in your OWL preparations. Every free moment was spent studying, revising, memorizing, anything to keep your mind from wandering. If you filled every hour, every breath, with work, then there would be no room left to think about how miserable everything truly was. The goal was simple: be too exhausted by the end of the day to feel anything else.

And you managed it. So well, in fact, that you barely noticed the twins slipping away more often than usual. You didn’t catch the way they whispered in corners or exchanged glances across the common room.

Then came the exams. And that was when everything finally boiled over.

The Great Hall had been transformed: desks arranged in long, even rows, spaced precisely beneath the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the leaden skies above. The air was thick with tension. Quills scratched across parchment like hissing whispers. The only other sounds were the rustle of paper and the relentless ticking of the large brass clock at the head of the room.

Umbridge stood at the front like a bad omen, arms crossed tightly beneath her horrid pink cardigan. Her ridiculous bow sat perched on her head like a ribbon slapped on spoiled meat. She paced back and forth, her heels clicking sharply across the stone floor, each step as grating as her presence.

You were halfway through a particularly difficult theoretical question when a loud, thunderous explosion rang from outside the Great Hall’s enormous doors.

Heads shot up.

Then another sound. Another explosion.

The hall was filled with murmurs then. Quills loosely hanging between unsure fingers.

Umbridge stiffened as she crossed the hall towards the great doors. Her heels echoing on her trail.

Another bang. Then a sizzle. Then what sounded unmistakably like cheering from somewhere beyond the doors.

Then, the doors slammed open with a thunderous bang that echoed off the high stone walls.

And in they came.

Fred and George Weasley — streaking through the air on broomsticks, red and gold fireworks trailing behind them like comets.

The hall erupted.

Fireworks shot in every direction — serpentine rockets looping and spiraling across the high enchanted ceiling. You ducked instinctively as a firework zoomed overhead, shaped like a Chinese Fireball. It exploded midair in a flash, releasing a burst of glittering red sparks.

Fred flew low between the rows of desks, scattering parchment and ink bottles in his wake. George followed, pulling a string of enchanted fireworks from his satchel and tossing them high into the air. They exploded in a synchronized display.

Once you looked up, you caught Fred’s gaze —and he winked along with that stupid, crooked smile of his that made your stomach flutter.

You laughed.

It bubbled out of you so suddenly, so violently, that your stomach hurt.

It felt so good. You could not remember the last time you had laughed like that. Was it perhaps last summer? Had Hogwarts even heard your laugh this year? You did not remember, and to be frank, you didn’t care. Not right now at least.

Everyone poured out into the corridor, laughter and shouts reverberating off the stone.

Out into the courtyard they flew.

You pushed your way through the crowd, breathless and smiling as the doors swung wide and the cold spring air rushed in.

Students had flooded the courtyard, some cheering until they lost their voices, others just staring up in open-mouthed wonder. You stood near the front of the crowd, craning your neck to see them — laughing so hard your cheeks ached. It felt like breathing after being held underwater for too long.

Even the professors who had come outside — Flitwick, Sprout, and even McGonagall — wore expressions that ranged from begrudging amusement to thinly veiled satisfaction. She didn’t smile, not really, but there was a certain tightness at the corner of her lips as she watched the twins circle around once more.

Umbridge stood red-faced at the entrance, screaming orders no one could hear over the noise, arms flailing in utter futility.

And just like that, with one final swoop — a blaze of gold behind them and a long ribbon of smoke trailing in the sky — they were gone.

The crowd was still clapping and shouting by the time you were herded back into the castle. Professors were firm but unbothered. There was nothing more Umbridge could do without losing what little control she had left.

Still, even being ushered back into classes couldn’t quite smother the fire they’d lit.

By the end of the day, your voice was hoarse from laughing.

You walked arm in arm with two of your friends, the three of you still giggling over the look on Umbridge’s face. The mood in the common room had been practically electric all day.

After dinner, you finally made your way up to the dormitory, a pleasant ache in your muscles and warmth still lingering in your cheeks.

You weren’t expecting anything when you pulled the curtains back from your bed.

But there it was. Nestled on your pillow.

A letter.

Plain parchment. No name on the outside. Just folded once, neatly. You recognized the handwriting immediately.

Fred’s.

You sat slowly on the edge of the bed, the voices of your friends fading behind you as they chatted near the wardrobe. You turned the letter over once, then opened it.

Inside, written in that unmistakably messy, slanted script:

Thought you might want a bit of quiet tonight.

(Also figured a flying exit would score me some rep points. Did it work?)

You were the first face I looked for. You always are.

Hope you laughed today. Hope you remember how to keep doing it.

It’ll be a bloody shame not to hear that laugh every day.  I’m rather fond of it.

See you soon. Can’t wait to show you what we’re working on.

Don’t miss me too much.

— Fred

You read it twice. Then again. You didn’t even realize you were smiling until your friend asked what was on the parchment and you shook your head, folding it carefully and slipping it under your pillow.

For the first time in weeks, sleep came easily.

[ambitiouspotions]

Could you write a oneshot about a very first kiss between y/n and george weasley, please?💌

LONG AWAITED | GEORGE WEASLEY | ONESHOT REQUEST

summary — in which george f. weasley and y/n’s first kiss finally takes place

word count — 1.1k

warnings — none, fluff!

author’s note — seventh-year students, no house mentioned for reader! thank you for your request! i hope you enjoy!

the start of seventh year, after a long, excruciating, and painfully hot and boring summer, you were waiting to board the train. your mother was snapping away at pictures as you tried to rush her, wanting to meet your group of friends you already saw go past. though the next thing to catch your attention through the spotty speckles the camera flash caused was george weasley looking at you longingly as your mother took the photos. his gaze was so taken by you that the first letter he opened during breakfast the next day was from his mother urging him to tell her who you were, though that was complicated. how does one explain to their mother that the girl they were staring at was merely a friend, no, a schoolmate at most?

you only spent time with him in previous years was when walking to hogsmeade, sitting in the courtyard, passing each other on the way to class, watching him during quidditch matches, stealing glances, and none of that was even spending time with him if his twin brother was right next to him as well. and that time he grabbed your hand when asking if you were alright after fred accidentally sent a textbook flying into your face in the library; that was merely just his more sensitive side showing, not because he liked you. well, maybe, he did like you.

you constantly caught him staring, but if you caught him staring, wouldn’t that mean you wanted to look at him, too? no, he must have been looking elsewhere; there was only one logical explanation: you were overthinking the situation like always. if george liked you he would’ve said something because the twins always tended to never shut their mouths.

and you thought george was cute, but who didn’t? that ginger hair was clipped now, after being a shaggy mop the year before, and had definitely somehow gotten just a little bit taller. your mind paused for a moment.

no, the even the shaggy hair was cute.

stop, stop, bring it in.

wait, how had you noticed he had even gotten taller? you didn’t pay that much attention to him.

yes, you did stop denying it.

you noticed that the hem of his school jumpers had been pulling up more than they normally had, revealing a bit of his stomach each time he raised his arms because he never tucked in his white school shirt like he was supposed to.

the staring at the train station wasn’t the only occurrence this year that made you question your sanity. it was the way you felt when your thigh was pressed up against his while at the three broomsticks in the cramped booth with friends. forced proximity or whatever the romance writers called it in their cheesy stories. then, the instance when fred had forgotten his coat on a windy december day when you all planned to eat lunch outdoors rather than in the great hall. you and george walked in silence, but it seemed like you didn’t need words when working out a comfortable area to sit. it seemed like george was going to say something when he finally relaxed, but that was when fred returned. finally, at the end of january, fred struck up a conversation with you as you were waiting outside of defense against the dark arts class. he had mentioned that the loosened tie around your neck was going to make george swoon if he saw you. you could’ve sworn the moment george sauntered up he had a bit of blush on his cheeks when he saw you.

now, in the present moment, mid-march to be more exact, you were staring into his brown eyes, like it was a color you had never laid your eyes on before. he was holding you close under an awning; the rain was pelting, the wind occasionally bringing the droplets onto you until he noticed and turned your bodies in the opposite direction. his quidditch uniform could take the beating from the rain rather than your soaked wool sweater and pleated skirt. the gryffindor quidditch team had taken another successful win in a rainstorm. your hair was a stringy mess, and the tips of your fingers stung the slightest bit when you tried to curl them from the cold flurries of wind. the only reason you stayed behind in the awful weather was because you saw him alone, waiting outside of the pitch waiting for the rain to die down for only a moment. all the other students were running from the pitch to find shelter at the castle. then there was a moment of peace, no one was here to ruin this one moment that assured you that you were not going mad or overthinking or even overreacting to the scenarios you had been involved in with him before. this was a satisfying ending to an insecure mind.

george had an initial hesitation, resting his forehead on yours before initiating the kiss. worried that you might not have wanted the same thing. you could see his inner conflict, it was one you knew all too well. the same conflict you struggled with from your sixth year until now. it was the confusion and second-guessing ruling your life that made the kiss so much sweeter. your eyes instinctively closed as he leaned in closer.

your hands were grasping the wet fabric of his maroon robe and one of his hands rested on your hip while the other was holding your lower back to keep you close to him. your lips moved in unison and with his. you savored every second of the thoughtful and intimate gesture. the soothing splatter of the rain creating an unknowingly beautiful atmosphere for the two to share a kiss.

you pulled back breathless, your eyes still closed. your breath just lingering over his lips as he exhaled. within a second you were meeting his lips again and standing a little straighter, having a bit more courage than the time before and taking in the surrounding factors this time. the first kiss was otherworldly, but being able to remember every detail of the second was somehow even more satisfying. george smelled of the earthy rain, the scent of sweat from his match was long washed away. you could feel where his fingerless gloves ended and his fingers began on your hip.

“dear merlin,” george mumbled, pulling away this time. his eyes were wide with delight. your grip loosened on his clothed chest. your face was flushed and he looked to the rain fading to a soft drizzle. with his arm around you, you made your way back to the castle.

[mairon-goth-minion]

I’m so sorry for McGonnagall honestly. She had to watch the kids she basically raised die, and then see their children thrown into a war against the same person. And she could see them. She could see them in the eyes of their successors, in their bravery, in their will to fight. She could see James’ determination and Lily’s heart in Harry. She could see Fabian and Gideon’s free spirit in Fred and George. She could see Alice and Frank’s courage and goodness in Neville. She could see Pandora’s endearing oddness and creativity in Luna. She could see them.

They were all as children to her, and no parent should have to bury their child.

So she’s left alone, seeing generations pass, having to outlive those to whom she teaches their first spells, carrying memories of long dead friends, wondering if surviving with memories is truly a better fate than passing away on the battlefield.

[swolocup]

Little insight on me: I was just talking over the phone with my crush for about 2 and a half hours

This idea brings me to Weasley sexualities.

Why? Because I can..

Molly: Thought she was bi in her Hogwarts years, fooled around with Andromeda, was straight eventually

Arthur: THIS MAN RADIATES GAY obvi he’s straight (totally dated Mollys brothers at one point)

Bill: You know the song “bi wife energy?” Yeah, well, that’s his theme song.

(They don’t call them the Bi-Wizard champions for nothing)

Charlie: Aroace dragon dad, need I say anything more?

Percy: GAY GAY GAY (for Oliver)

Fred: freaky little bi-romantic man

George: He’s PAN (“of course I procreate with pans! Don’t you love the way they-“)

Ron: Straight, (but totally like the heterosexual supporting cast of a gay drama type of straights)

Ginny: Bisexual mess, need I say more?

Extra bonus: Harry Potter (because let’s be honest, the day he entered the burrow was the day he became a Weasley)

Harry Potter: the sassiest bisexual man the wizardingworld has seen

[friendsdontlieokay]

Guys look at Gideon and Fabian trying to protect little Molly

[star-and-moon-shipper]

what if molly was so hard on fred and george because they reminded her of fabian and gideon and she didn’t want her sons to end up the same they had?

[stashandtell]

Nobody Asked For This: My Rankings of the Hermione x Weasley Ships with REASONS

I drafted this weeks ago and had set it aside with no clear plan to publish it. Then, after a stroke of 2 AM genius this morning, I wrote a piece called Ranking the Weasleys, (to be posted on 19 Sept 2024 in honor of Hermione's birthday) and it seemed like a great time to finalize this post and share it. Feel free to tell me your rankings in the comments, be it your list of the fittest Weasley as you find them or your ranked-list of pairings with Weasleys, whatever you fancy to share. Enjoy! - - - - I made a loooong post with recs for each of my top Hermione/Weasley ships that you can check out here. Read Ranking the Weasleys or see the related post where I talk about writing Ranking the Weasleys and I share just a few initial thoughts on the fetishization of war wounds in the fandom here. - - - - I've recently dove into the world of Hermione x Any-Of-The-Weasley-Brothers pairings, which is what happens when you're burnt out on the regular ships you read and looking for something more. Personally, I'm surprised I gravitate towards so many Hermione-focused pairings, especially het pairings, but that's just what I've been into lately. I hadn't considered pairings with her and any of the Weasleys until someone recommended Charmione fics in a thread for Theomione. Once I dug into the fandom's characterizations of the Weasley brood and had a better sense of who each of them were on their own, I found I really like many of these ships, some more than others. The rankings of my top-three rotate pretty regularly depending on the last great fic I've devoured. This is a snapshot of where things stand today but it could move around. Before we dive in, I've preview my rankings and the major themes of the pairings in the most popular fics shipping Hermione with a Weasley. 1. Bill: Wolf-ish Daddy 2. Fred: Uplifting, Fun, and Romantic 3. Charlie: Sexy and Rugged 4. George: Growing Through Grief 5. Percy: Acceptance of Self, Also Rules Daddy 6. Ginny: A Firecracker and a Friend 7. Ron: Angsty Best Friends-to-Lovers 8. Gideon or Fabian: Time Travel AU or Ghost Lover(s) 9. Arthur or Molly: I haven't read these ships so they're going in the bottom of the list. I'm not opposed to reading these pairings but there's already such a trove with all the brothers in my tbr list that I'm not sure I'll ever dive in. 10. Weasley Progeny: I haven't read any of these ships. I have not read many pairings that include anyone dating their friends' kid in the next generation. (Though I have read a small number of fics pairing characters like Hermione or Ginny with older characters like Kingsley or Sirius...shoutout to the older/younger Nottcissa ship.) 11. Aunt Murial: Technically she's a Prewett but I think I would be into a Murmione ship if we got there. So far nothing comes up on AO3. - - - - 1. Billmione: What I love about a Hermione x Bill dynamic is his position as oldest-sibling and caretaker. If the author has resolved the relationship with Fleur as one that has ended in divorce or death, that extra element of emotional tenderness really can push the story to complex depths. I also find it interesting to see how writers engage with Bill's hybrid/half-werewolf affliction. I'm hard-pressed to really fall in love with any Billmione fic where their relationship starts pre-Battle of Hogwarts, though I do get it. I personally enjoy stories that can be canon compliant so I want to see how the Fleur issue is handled. I also find that with such a significant age-gap for that developmental stage of teenager-dom, (not like Fleur was THAT much older than Hermione but still...), it's incredibly rewarding to see an older Hermione that brings some kind of life experience to the relationship so she can be more equal with Bill.

In some of the fics, especially a few of the multi-Weasley, reverse-harem style pieces I've finally started reading, Bill's older-brother position and wolfy streak create the core dynamic of the group.

I'm not the biggest fan of the multi-Weasley pairings with Hermione but what I loved most in the standout fics are the group dynamics and individual roles that come out. Hermione can be incredibly stubborn and independent on her own and it's always interesting when she's in opposition to Bill to see how the others in their relationship choose sides.

- - - - 2. Fremione: On it's face, I don't even know if I like this ship all that much but I keep finding myself suckered in. I suspect a big part of it is that it hits me in the sentimental feels. My inner-teen just loves a Hermione x Fred story that traces their young love to whatever conclusion the author brings it to. Even if they get together when they're older and Fred lives through the final battle, they both usually end up with a friends-to-lovers scenario that's full of light sweetness and sometimes romance.

There are some truly fantastic works in this ship and I go 50/50 on whether I prefer ones where Fred lives or not. Depends on my mood and the tone of the story I suppose. There are very few stories in this pairing that I haven't enjoyed and the element of pranking really can make shorter fics fun.

I REALLY enjoy past Hermione/Fred relationships being included in fics where she looks back on their love fondly while she navigates new relationships, sometimes with one of his brothers. Fred is often portrayed as a goof, which seems to encourage authors to consistently write a more engaging and dynamic version of Hermione instead of following some of the fanon's (beloved by me as well) personality tropes/traps of her being insecure, slow-to-assert-herself, angry-broken-or-both and etc. His character brings out some of her best qualities consistently across fics, imo.

- - - - 3. Charmione: I quickly realized when I started reading Charmione fanfics that I do not give a shit about dragons but deeply wish I did. It's a cool plot device and part of the world to hang out with but it's not for me. Tons of appreciation for writers who have thoughtful plot lines and research interesting medical maladies-- but it's hard to hold my interest. (A million kudos when a dragon-centered fic does though!) The Reserve is usually full of original characters, which is fine, but I find myself less invested in the story if we don't know much about these OCs to build out that world.

I often find in the dragon-reserve heavy pieces that I was getting part-way through were objectively GOOD multi-chapters but I kept stalling out in favor of reading something else. Usually whenever there's a Hermione that ends up at the dragon Reserve, she's characterized by her unyielding passions for creatures' rights, spurred on by house elf and werewolf activism. Those are interesting characterizations for her but they just don't keep my attention. That said, I have yet, to date DNF'd any Charmione work so clearly it's not a huge imposition. That said, Charmione is in the top third because there's so much that can be done with this character. I've read a number of fics where Charlie is ace (asexual, demisexual, etc.); where's he's inexperienced because he's married to his job; where he's "too free-spirited" and very experienced; where he's enthusiastically bisexual; where he's not interested in marriage; where he's pining over Tonks; and so much more. His sporadic attendance at family holidays and the ability for Hermione or others to visit him on the Reserve lends to great plot opportunities.

- - - - 4. Geormione: I haven't been around long enough to fully understand why Fremione is a more popular ship than Geormione, but here are some observations: - Fred is portrayed in the fandom as the more loveable, airy goof while George tends to be painted as the more serious and quiet of the two - Generally, in the canon, Fred speaks more than George, from what I've been seeing, as I notate up my secondhand copies of the books - Fred's death or, depending on the fic, brush-with-death, is ripe for the reimagining of his relationships and personality - According to internet gossip, Hermione with Fred were considered for pairing in the canon originally but it didn't suit the overall plans for the series. Source for this can not be verified but it's come up in multiple places. I believe this contributes to the numbers: Fremione has 2182 works and Geormione has 548 works on AO3, as I draft this. All that said, George is usually characterized as the quieter and possibly more serious twin. He might be more shy than the outgoing Fred. Post-war, he often mourns the loss of his twin brother, his best friend, and his sense of himself as part of the pair which can, frankly, be kind of a drag if a writer is looking for a pairing to write a hot romance about. (Not that people can't be sexy or have healthy sexual relationships while grieving!) However, when works take the journey to establish Hermione and George, it's often incredibly rewarding. It tends to feel like Fremione with the temperature turned down on the lightness and has the ability to go deeper into any darkness that needs to be explored. I do love a Geormione but there are statistically fewer works out there than some of the other pairings, thus it's earned it's spot mid-tier. - - - - 5. Permione: There's not much to say because there aren't that many longer fics with this pairing written and most times it's tied to a Hermione x Multi-Weasley scenario. This gets the 5th and some days I would rank it higher because there are worlds in which this is the actual correct pairing of all of the brothers, based on what we can surmise from the canon.

A swotty, uptight prefect-turned-Ministry drone with a regretful heart of gold, Percy's guilt over abandoning his family and Fred dying before him is well-matched for how many writers imagine Hermione's coping with the aftermath of the war. Hermione would have known him during some prime formative years and knows he'll date muggle-born or half-blood witches, a la Penelope Clearwater. It's easy to dismiss Percy as being "not fanciable" if you don't read this ship but some of the writers out there make a compelling case for him, particularly when they make a logical transition from his personal fastidiousness to him seeking to play with control and BDSM elements in his private affairs. I love a good Permione piece. He's often positioned as the conservative punching bag of the family and it's a thing of art when a writer makes us root hard for him.

- - - - 6. Herminny: I haven't much of anything in this pairing yet. Truthfully, I've been holding off on it because I'm sure I'll do a deep dive once I start. It shouldn't come as a surprise that I've read almost no Harmony works either. I love a F/F fic but tend to read in waves and I've been working my way through the Weasley brothers pairings (when I'm not refreshing for Nevmione and Theomione works.) If you have any excellent recs for Herminny or other pairings name, please drop me a line! The reason Herminny is above Romione is because I love many of the fanon characterizations of Ginny in all the other fics I've read, especially when she's mischievous, cheeky, in tune with her sexuality, and ready to take on her own adventures in the world. The ones I have read where she and Hermione have been together were lovely but most were very short fics in collections. - - - - 7. Romione: I read A LOT of Hermione-centered works and authors very often find a need to resolve the young romance with Ron or use him and their relationship as a catalyst that propels our heroine down a path into the arms of another man. I can honestly say that I have read ZERO Romione endgame fics to date, and that includes one shots AND drabbles (~100k words or less.) WILD, right?

I really enjoy angst and Ron is one of the punching bags most often leaned on by writers. One of these days, I'm going to go on a Romione bender as an offering of penance to his character for all of the times I rooted against him in every other fic.

- - - - 8. Lowest Tier: I have never read a Hermione x Molly nor an Hermione x Arthur fic, and while I'm not fundamentally opposed, I'd be flabbergasted to find either pairing beating Romione. I'd much sooner read an Arthur/Molly fic than one that ships either with Hermione because that's just where I'm at right now. I'm happy reading works that aren't smutty in any way but damn if some smut doesn't help along a work that really isn't capturing my interest. While I love when I see versions of Arthur and Molly who are loving friends and/or parental figures to Hermione, the angst-lover in me doesn't mind a solid bashing of either of them and it's hard to get that out of my head. As for the other possible pairs with Hermione and Gideon, Fabian, Murial, or the children of the other Weasleys, I'm just not well-read enough in any of those pairings to have an opinion. I literally only started reading Marauders-era works two weeks ago (and really ONLY well-known Wolfstar fics so far.) A Note About Fleur: One character who's excluded from this list is Fleur Weasley nee' Delacour. I've only read triad- or multi-Weasley fics that put Hermione with her and Bill. While I do love a Bill/Fleur/Hermione work, it seemed disingenuous to rank Fleurmione against the others with what little I've read. That and I'm so clearly jazzed about a Billmione where Bill's free-and-clear to be with whoever, that my ranking of Fleurmione would be heavily biased.

[randommmthoughts]

I don’t know wether Molly Weasley named her children after her family

But I know for sure that Fred and George are named after her brothers Gideon and Fabian

Makes me incredibly sad, because she must have had deja vu’s all the time her twins did stupid childlike things her brothers used to do too

[fandomassimilator]

How old were you when you realized the birth years of the six eldest Weasley kids coincided with an ABBA album release almost perfectly?

you cant tell me Fabian and gideon weren’t the biggest ABBA fans and would assign each of their nephews a song based off their album and play those records for the boys. It’s the only muggle band any of them know, and more specifically Bill Charlie and Percy explicitly remember it

Now imagine, a heavily pregnant Molly dancing around her kitchen with her brothers, husband and five kids while Chiquitita by ABBA blasts in the background

The songs assigned

Bill - he is your brother

Charlie - Mamma Mia

Percy - Money Money Money

Fred - Angeleyes

George - Chiquitita

Ron - Super Trouper

Ginny - no album or uncles for her but i think she’d be Slipping Through My fingers

[themoonandthedogstar]

save me Harry and George in Independent Study by SomewheresSword… save me Harry and George in Independent Study by SomewheresSword..

[luvendiary]

tea, spice, and everything nice / f. g. weasley

fred weasley x reader

summary: having the weasley twins as neighbors was never a dull experience. having one of them hung up on you, was never a bad thing. warnings: not proofread. no use of y/n. 3k words. i had to pull up pantone's color catalogue for this one.

It had been a normal morning. You had gone about your day as you usually did. You had managed to stick to your routine and get to work on time despite your very strong ache to stay in bed.

Work had been… fine. Nothing terrible, nothing particularly good either. Just the usual: a steady stream of owls, parchment stacks, and a boss who loved the sound of their own voice. You had smiled where you needed to, nodded at the right times, made polite conversation in the break room. The kind of day that wasn’t awful but still drained something out of you, leaving you a little heavy in the shoulders by the end of it.

Now, finally, you were headed home.

The streets of Diagon Alley were starting to quiet down, the usual buzz from the daytime crowd giving way to the lower hum of late shoppers and early dinner-goers. You walked with purpose, your bag slung over your shoulder, the thought of your warm flat and a cup of tea pulling you forward.

Living above Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had its quirks — mainly, that it was never really quiet — but it also meant you didn’t have far to go. Just a few steps past the glittering window display and up the narrow, winding staircase on the side of the shop.

And, of course, it also meant you always ran into one of the twins.

As expected, the door to the shop creaked open just as you reached for the stairwell handle.

“Evening, love,” came the familiar voice — smooth, amused, and far too awake for this hour.

Fred stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smudge of something sparkly across his cheek. He looked you up and down like he was scanning for signs of sabotage. “Did you enjoy work today?”

You smiled cynically down at him and offered him an unnamused laugh. “If I’m pulled into another meeting that could have very well been a letter I will start a goat farm in the mountains.”

He grinned. “Tempting.”

“They’d definitely talk less,” you mumbled to yourself as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

Truth was, you liked your job. But as it so often goes, people made it difficult.

He chuckled, then reached out and gently tugged on your bag strap, easing it off your shoulder and slinging it over his instead. “You look wrecked. Let me carry that.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest. This was part of the routine too — Fred pretending he was helping while also slipping in some excuse to walk you up to your door. You didn’t mind.

“You should’ve seen this kid earlier,” Fred said, as you both started walking up the stairs. “Thought he was being clever, right? Waited until we were both distracted helping some poor bloke who’d sneezed himself invisible, then snuck over to the shelf and stuffed three Tongue Taffies in his mouth.”

You laughed. “Three?”

“He had the gall to look proud about it. Smug little grin and everything. Didn’t even chew them. Just stuffed ’em in whole.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, the tongue hit the floor before I could even laugh about it. Poor sod nearly knocked over the Patented Daydream Charms shelf when he tripped over it. George had to levitate his tongue just so he wouldn’t drag it all the way home.”

You laughed harder, pressing a hand to your chest. “Honestly, your shop is going to give some poor mother heart failure one day.”

“That’s the goal,” he said brightly.

You were halfway up when a warm, spicy scent hit you — sharp, slightly sweet, with an edge of something burning.

You sniffed, lifting your head. “Is that… cayenne? Please tell me that’s not coming from my flat.”

Fred tilted his head, sniffing too. “Ah, no. That’s ours. George got a new idea for Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and now thinks he’s a potioneer. Nearly went bald about an hour ago.”

“Of course he did,” you muttered fondly.

Fred chuckled. “Come in for a bit? I’ll put the kettle on, you can debrief while George tries not to poison us all.”

You glanced at your own door, then back at him. The exhaustion hadn’t faded, but the idea of sitting down somewhere not silent and sterile felt better than whatever plan you’d had involving leftover stew and collapsing on the couch. “Yeah,” you said. “Alright. Just for a bit.”

Fred smiled, bumping your shoulder lightly as he reached to open the door for you.

The moment you stepped inside, a wave of spice hit your senses like a hex. You coughed, eyes watering almost immediately.

Fred laughed, helping you out of your coat and hanging your bag near the entrance. “You get used to it after a bit. Or you just lose your sense of smell entirely. Bit of a gamble, really.”

You followed the haze deeper into the flat, Fred just behind you. “George?” he called out. No reply.

You cleared your throat. “George?” you repeated louder.

Still nothing.

The kitchen, unsurprisingly, was the source of the problem. The air was thick with reddish haze, like someone had used cayenne pepper as confetti. George stood at the counter, utterly engrossed, hunched over a clutter of parchment, potion books, and a steaming cauldron. Goggles covered his eyes as he ground a deep red powder into fine dust with focused intensity.

Fred leaned around you and called again, “Oi, Georgie. We’ve got company.”

Still nothing.

Before you could try a third time, the cauldron gave a disgruntled pop and released a puff of red smoke directly into George’s face. He yelped, coughing furiously, and waved his arms through the air like he was swatting at an invisible swarm of bees.

Fred coughed pointedly. “You alright there?”

George turned, wheezing, and finally spotted you. “Oh! You’re here!” He reached to tug the goggles off as he continued swatting the air. You took note of how the rest of his skin was now covered a shade of light red, except for the section covered by the goggles.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh.

Fred didn’t bother. “You look demented mate,” he said with a soft laugh.

George gave him a pointed look. “I’m working.”

“Well, I for one, think you look adorable,” you said as you stepped further into the kitchen. “Is there a clear surface somewhere under here where we can have some tea?”

George grinned as he started closing his books and clearing the counter. “Hear that Freddie? She thinks I’m adorable.”

You joined him, sliding parchment and a charred spoon off the island and into a growing pile on the far end of the counter.

Fred set the kettle on the stove, glancing back with a smirk. “Yeah, well, she also thought a flobberworm was a baby dragon once, so I wouldn’t put too much stock in her judgment.”

“Okay, you need to let that go. That was one time.”

“You tried to feed it a chicken leg,” George chimed in as he set the cauldron down on the floor.

“I never should have told you that story,” you muttered, lips twitching. You stacked a few stray vials off to the side while George wiped down the counter with a flick of his wand.

Fred opened the cupboard above the sink and grabbed three mismatched mugs. You noted he took your favorite. You had claimed it a while ago, stating that you were stealing it because you liked it so much. Fred promised you that it would be your mug, reserved only for you when you came around. It wasn’t much, just a cup with a handle too big for its body, painted a splotchy blue with some even splotchier stars around it — the result of a pottery class forced by Molly onto all her children. Still, you loved it.

He handed it to you without a word.

“You know,” you said, inspecting the mug for the telltale chip on the rim, “I should be insulted that this was made by a ten-year-old and still somehow holds more charm than anything I own.”

“That ten-year-old was me, thank you very much,” Fred said, as he took the mug from your hands once again and set it on the counter with the other two. “A visionary.”

George snorted as he folded a powder-smeared tea towel in half and tossed it over the back of a chair. “You also made a bowl that collapsed under the weight of a single apple.”

“It was a concept piece,” Fred countered. “Minimalist, fleeting, and fragile. Like…uh, love…”

It came out more as a question, but you couldn’t blame him as he was very concentrated on pouring the hot water onto the mugs. George snorted.

You rolled your eyes, hopping onto the island. “More like structurally unsound. Like you.”

George let out a bark of laughter. “Merlin, she’s mean when she’s tired.”

“I’m not mean,” you said, yawning into your sleeve. “I’m just not deluded.”

“For once I’d like to hear you call me handsome and charming. But for now, unsound and deluded sounds nice enough,” Fred said as he handed you your tea.

You noticed he had prepared it just how you liked it.

You met his eyes briefly over the rim of the mug, letting the steam curl between you. “Charming and attentive. Maybe I’ll reconsider your structural integrity.”

The rest of the evening passed easily, the three of you tucked around the kitchen island like you had done a dozen times before.

Eventually, the warmth of the tea started giving way to the weight of the day. You stretched with a soft sigh and slid off the counter.

“I should head out,” you said after a while, already gathering the mugs and rolling up your sleeves.

George groaned and pushed himself off his stool. “Alright, but only if you do the dishes first.”

“I was going to, but know that you’ve told me I don’t want to anymore,” you said as you opened the tap water.

George grinned, bumping your shoulder as he passed. “She’s a keeper.”

“She’s not yours to keep,” Fred quipped, stepping in beside you at the sink, but you waved him off and nudged him back toward the island.

Fred didn’t argue, but he leaned against the counter just beside you, arms crossed, offering commentary the entire time.

You dried the last mug — your blue one — and set it back on the open shelf.

George, already halfway to the hall, waved lazily over his shoulder. “Night then. Don’t fall asleep in the hall.”

“Not a guarantee,” you called after him, a yawn muffling the words.

Fred held the door open as you stepped back into the corridor.

You turned to him. “Thanks. For the tea. And the company.”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Anytime.”

There was a pause. A silence that didn’t need filling but wasn’t empty either.

Then he nodded toward your door. “Get some rest, yeah? And if you dream of flobberworms, don’t feed them anything weird.”

You gave him a tired smile. “I’ll try my best.”

He lingered just a second longer — as if about to say something else — but only nodded his head and stepped back into the flat.

You turned the key in your door and slipped inside, the warmth of their kitchen still clinging to your sleeves.

Normal, you thought, flicking on the light.

Your version of it, anyway.

You woke up with a sneeze so violent, it startled your pillow straight off the bed.

The second one nearly sent your bedside lamp toppling.

By the third, you were upright, bleary-eyed, and already aware that something was very wrong — because your hair had just flared a neon green, reflected clearly in the mirror across the room.

And then it turned fuchsia. And then orange.

You groaned, muffled into your sleeve, eyes watering as another sneeze cracked through your chest.

“Bloody hell,” you rasped, stumbling toward your door, blanket still draped around your shoulders.

There was only one explanation. One infuriating, spice-coated, cayenne-smelling, potion-brewing explanation.

You pounded on the twins’ door with the side of your fist. “Fred! George!”

The hallway echoed with your sneezes. Your hair was flickering like a broken traffic light.

The door creaked open on the third knock, revealing a very sleepy, very shirtless Fred.

His hair was sticking up like it had been electrocuted, and he was squinting at you through one barely open eye. “What in Merlin’s—?”

You sneezed directly into your elbow. Your hair turned aquamarine.

Fred blinked. “Well, that’s new.”

“What did you do to me?!” you said miserably, gesturing to your technicolor head. “I can’t go in like this tomorrow!”

Fred scratched the back of his head, clearly still waking up, though his mouth twitched like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “George did say he was using mood powder as a base.”

You sneezed again. Bubblegum pink. You glared at him. “Mood powder?!”

He held up a hand, stepping aside to let you in. “Come in before you dye the entire corridor.”

You stormed past him, dragging your blanket like a cape, muttering something under your breath about bans and hexes and murder.

Fred followed after you, yawning into his shoulder. “On the bright side, that shade of blue is rather flattering…”

Another sneeze.

Purple.

You threw your hands up in defeat. “Tell George I’m putting this in my official neighbor complaint log.”

Fred raised a brow. “You have a neighbor complaint log?”

“I do now.”

He snorted, heading toward the kitchen. “Alright, alright. Let’s find something to counteract it before you hit plaid.”

From the bedroom, George’s sleepy voice echoed faintly, “Plaid’s still in the prototype stage!”

You groaned into your blanket.

Fred returned with a glass of water and what looked like a fizzing candy. “Here. Chew this. Don’t ask what’s in it.”

You stared at it suspiciously. “Will it stop the sneezing?”

He grinned. “Probably.”

“…If I wake up with scales tomorrow, I’m moving.”

Fred offered a lazy salute. “Dibs on your flat.”

You sneezed again.

Chartreuse.

You were still sneezing.

Not as violently as before, but each one seemed to make your limbs heavier, your brain foggier, and your hair increasingly chaotic. At one point, you were pretty sure it turned the exact same shade of purple and orange as the Weasley Wizard Wheezes logo, which made Fred laugh so hard he nearly dropped the antidote vial George had handed over with an apologetic shrug before promptly retreating back to bed.

Now, you were curled on the twins’ couch, still wrapped in your blanket, blinking slowly like a sleep-deprived owl. Your body was swaying from left to right, rocked by the sneezes combined with your body’s inability to keep straight.

Fred returned from the kitchen with a mug of water and knelt beside the sofa. “You alright there?”

“Mmhm,” you mumble.’ Another sneeze. Your hair flashed coral, then faded to a sleepy lilac.

Fred handed you the glass, steadying it in your hand when your grip faltered. “You’re fading.”

“I’m awake,” you said into the rim, though your eyes had dropped shut entirely.

He smiled, brushing a stray lock of brightly colored hair from your temple. “Alright, genius. I think you’re staying here tonight.”

You made a vague gesture, something between agreement and a high-five, but still you stood up. Stumbling as you did. “Mm’going to work,” you mumbled.

You didn’t make it far, as your leg knocked into a side table and your hands fumbled with the chain on the door.

Silently, Fred guided you back to his couch and made you sit down. “I’ll be back. Don’t move.”

You protested, but your body melted into the soft surface.

Fred chuckled and stood, grabbing a throw blanket from the armchair and tugging a second one from the hall cupboard. He returned a moment later and gently draped them both over you, then paused. You were nearly asleep, lips slightly parted, a stubborn lock of color-shifting hair stuck to your cheek.

He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and then — with a resigned shake of his head — dropped down beside you on the couch.

You stirred faintly when he shifted, blinking groggily. “Fred?”

“Yeah?”

“You smell like cinnamon.”

He huffed a laugh, arm sliding around your shoulders to steady you as you leaned fully into him.

“Also gunpowder…”

Fred glanced down to find you blinking slowly, already halfway into sleep, your hair dimming to a dusky rose that curled softly around your face. You looked peaceful. A little ridiculous, with the sneezing and the magic-dyed hair, but mostly peaceful. And warm. And close.

For a while, it was quiet. The flat was warm, still scented faintly of spice and burnt sugar, and the only sound was the soft ticking of the charmed clock in the corner and your sleepy breathing beside him.

Just as Fred was beginning to drift off, your voice mumbled, barely audible:

“…I like the lilac. S’nice.”

He smiled into your hair and absentmindedly brushed his thumb along your arm. “Yeah. I like it too.”

You didn’t answer. This time, you were out for good.

And Fred, with you tucked under his arm and your hair still faintly glowing against his side, figured he didn’t mind being woken up at all.

The next morning started with the sound of cabinets opening too loudly and the unmistakable clink of a teaspoon dropped into a mug.

Fred stirred but didn’t move. His arm was still tucked around you, your head resting in the crook of his shoulder. Your legs were tangled, your blanket half falling off the couch. His neck was a bit sore, and your hair had taken on a maroon hue, but he didn’t dare shift. Not yet.

Then came the pause. That stillness in the room that meant someone had walked in and was now seeing something.

Fred cracked one eye open.

George stood in the kitchen doorway, a spoon still in his hand, expression entirely unreadable. His goggles were pushed up on his forehead, and he had a tea towel slung over his shoulder like someone who’d intended to mind his business this morning and was now clearly regretting the attempt.

Fred blinked.

George blinked back.

Fred raised a brow, voice a hoarse whisper. “Don’t.”

George tilted his head, surveying the blanket cocoon you were half-buried in, still out cold.

Then his face split into the slowest, most irritatingly smug grin Fred had ever seen.

“You two look cozy,” George said in a tone that carried the weight of every teasing comment he was clearly holding back.

Fred exhaled through his nose. “She inhaled your stupid potion dust and turned into a human kaleidoscope.”

George looked entirely unbothered. “And now she’s spooning you on our couch. Fascinating how the universe works.”

Fred made a noise of protest, but George was already walking away, whistling some off-key tune as he disappeared down the hallway.

A beat passed.

Then Fred heard George’s voice faintly call back, “Mum’s going to love this.”

Fred groaned and let his head fall back against the couch. You, miraculously, kept sleeping.

Or maybe not. Because from the tangle of blankets, a very sleepy voice muttered, “Tell him if he says anything to Molly, I’ll dye all his pants fuchsia.”

Fred smiled, eyes closing again. “Deal.”

You sighed softly, snuggling up to the blanket, only to realize it wasn’t a blanket you were holding. But instead the very naked torso of Fred Weasley.

Your eyes shot open, and Fred could feel you tense up.

“Is there something wrong?”

“I, uh. I didn’t mean to — I must’ve just—” you stuttered. “You’re shirtless.”

You were practically draped across him, your face tucked just under his jaw, one leg tangled over his. His arm was still looped loosely around your back, holding you to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His chest was bare, warm against your palm, the rise and fall of it steady with sleep.

“And you’re very warm.”

Fred looked down at the tangle you were both in, then back at you, his mouth twitching into a faint smirk.

“You drool in your sleep.”

Your jaw dropped. “I do not—!”

He raised both brows.

You narrowed your eyes and went to push yourself upright, but Fred just tightened his arm around you and flipped you over, so that you were trapped between him and the back of the sofa.

That made you huff a laugh. “I have work in like… an hour.”

“Mm. Sounds fake.”

You considered that. You were still sleepy, your head a little foggy, limbs heavy. And this was… surprisingly nice. Calming, even. Fred’s warmth. His stupid heartbeat under your ear. The faint smell of cinnamon and smoke. The way neither of you had to say anything at all, and it wasn’t awkward.

You sighed, melting back into him slightly. “I think I’m calling in sick.”

Fred rested his chin against your head. “Just sleep a bit longer. We can figure this out after tea.”

You chuckled, and tucked your head under him as you allowed his arm to rub your back lazily. Your fingers traced small patterns onto his chest, and you felt him let out a sound of approval.

You had the feeling there wouldn’t be much to figure out.

[desideriumwriter]

DESIDERIUMWRITER’S G.W. MASTERLIST

all masterlists

♡ = fluff | ☆ = angst

FICS

♡ Blindsided - As the Gryffindor Quidditch team celebrates their win on the field, Malfoy begins to openly throw insults in front of George and Fred towards them, their parents, Harry, and you. George isn’t able to ignore and shrug off his mockery. It only ends in a shocking altercation between the Redheaded Gryffindor and sneering Slytherin.

♡ Don’t Make Her Wait -  With the Yule Ball coming up, George knows who he wants to take as his date, you. Too nervous to ask, Fred helps him out with a bit of luck.

♡ Here Comes Your Man - Coming Soon!

BLURBS/DRABBLES/HCs

♡ george comforts you on your period

♡ clingy!george hcs

♡ george x ditzy/lovegood!reader

♡ ditzy!reader gives george a kiss on the cheek

♡ ditzy!reader makes george a flower crown

SERIES

Summer At Grimmaulds - On hold!

[lcisabc23]

Isn't it annoying?

Fred sighed as he lay back on the bed in his and George's shared room, waiting for George to return up the stairs with their food. After a couple of minutes of waiting, Fred sat up and went out of the room to listen down the stairs, he could hear his mother lecturing George. feeling a bit protective of his brother he went downstairs to get into the middle of this. "my brothers would have never been hiding in their room! not spending time with their family!" Their mother screamed at George making George groan "Mum for the last time we are not hiding away, Fred has a headache so we are staying upstairs till it goes away!" he said trying to stay calm knowing if he raised his voice their mother would find more reasons to yell at him. "Gideon would have never talked back to me like that!" she shouted making George groan he was holding the plates of food while trying to hold the cups while he did. Fred watched for a few seconds knowing George was getting overwhelmed "George what is taking so long mate, you trynna kill me?" Fred said rubbing his head and walking over to George grabbing the plates of food while George held the cups. "your brother tells me you have a headache Freddie would you like some potions to help with it, darling?" Molly said changing up her attitude seeing as Fred actually seemed to have a hurting head. "it's fine mum I just wanna relax for a bit" Fred said moving towards the stairs and making sure George was behind him.

The whole way to their room George remained quiet staring at the ground as he sat down on Fred's bed, "why does she always do that" he muttered as he put the cups on the side table beside him. "what compare us to our uncles?" Fred said jokingly as he sat beside George handing him his plate and making George sigh and nod. "isn't it annoying? She keeps comparing us to them we only met them once before they died, they are amazing but it's totally uncool to be compared to them all the time" George said with a groan as he played with his food. Fred nodded along with his younger twin "I know but that's just how mum has always been, remember when she yelled at us for turning Ron's bear into a spider. She went on and on about how they would have never done that to her." Fred said with a chuckle before eyes the way George was playing with his food "Eat George or I'll shove it down your bloody throat" Fred threatened as he ate some of his own food eyeing George who looked at him offendedly. "I will! it's just that mum always makes the stuff I dislike" he said with a groan as he forced himself to eat the food.

"I wish they were still here truth be told," Fred said with a gentle smile making George chuckle and nod, "they were amazing greatest pranksters to ever exist," George said making Fred agree. HOWEVER ON THE OTHER SIDE "Our babies agree with us we are the best of the best" Fabian said hugging Gideon tightly "True that, they come a close second. The marauders a third" Gideon said making Fabian nod and sit next to the two who were talking about random pranks they should do once they go to Hogwarts again as they eat their food. "Molly needs to relax on them," Gideon said with a frown, the two were talking and following George when she began to yell at him. "She changed so much," Fabian said with a sigh Gideon agreed as he crouched beside George "I hated this food as well it was simply horrendous when Molly made it," Gideon said with a shiver.

"Y'know Freddie why does it feel like we are being watched" George said with a shiver making Fred look at him with a raised eyebrow. "because you have stalkers that are simply mad for you Georgie," he said with a sarcastic tone making George look at him offendedly once more.