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hollandsfavbabe · 11 days ago

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Stupid, Bloody Beaters

pairing: fred weasley x reader

synopsis: in which your sudden, unwilling participation on Gryffindor’s quidditch team leads to a connection you didn’t know you needed with the only person you never expected to fall for

warnings: umbridge being umbridge, r is female and gryffindor, unjustified hatred, slight anger issues, cringey dracotok pickup line (please tell me someone will understand), slightly suggestive at the end

word count: 8.1k

masterlist

a/n: This is my contribution to the fandom in hopes that there will be another fic boom, I miss my ginger boyfriend. Consider it the first of many as I have literally thousands of WIPS for him, I just never finish them. I also read in the official Quidditch manual that boys are often preferred over girls for the Beater position due to their 'strength' and I think that's just another stupid example of smelly Rowling's disgusting gender ideology so this is sort of a response to that... Here you go Fred army, be fed!

When Hermione had worn you down enough to finally agree to attend that morning’s quidditch match with her, never in your most unprompted fantasies would you have guessed how horribly it was destined to end.

It wasn’t worth her satisfaction nor the high mark on your upcoming potions paper that she promised to help you with. But you’d agreed, defenseless against her constant harping until you couldn't take it anymore. You figured there’d be no harm, only unfathomable boredom. Merlin had you been wrong.

You were reluctant to go for many reasons. Even if the overstimulation of the roaring Gryffindor crowd alone wasn’t enough to deter you, as a skilled flyer yourself, you didn’t find any of the plays in the slightest bit remarkable. There was no move performed in a simple Hogwarts game that you couldn’t conquer on a slow, windy Tuesday at your house. However, you commiserated with Hermione’s wishes of supporting your mutual friend, Ron, in one of his first games on the team as the boy bore the habit of unbearable nerves.

You’d known Ron and his family for longer than you had even studied at Hogwarts as many warm summers at the Burrow supported your deeply founded friendship. The Weasley’s home was always buzzing with life, much preferable over your own lonesome home where your parents, busy Muggles, worked day and night. There was just one notorious foil in your perfect paradise and his name was Fred Weasley.

It didn’t matter the length of your relationship with the Weasleys, the twin never showed any promise of getting along with you. Perhaps if he possessed more qualities that likened him to George, who possessed the capacity for occasional compassion and some level of benevolence, there may be more common ground to trod on. But he wasn’t, Fred was conniving, cruel, and always conspiring on how he could milk more galleons out of the Hogwarts student body. Sure, some of his inventions could be considered useful (like the delightful daydreams charms that you had enjoyed more times than you were willing to admit), but most proved to be a money making scam in your opinion. And after more than a decade of knowing Fred, you had found nothing in the slightest bit redeemable about him. You had been victim to too many of his pranks as a child.

And you hated him for it.

By no means was this your first quidditch game, but it was your first attendance in a long while especially considering the absence of games the year before due to the failed Triwizard Tournament.

With all the action on the field, it was difficult to focus on one player. You tried to watch only Ron, but your wandering eyes couldn’t resist the action around the tall hoops he was guarding, moving with the Quaffle from robes of scarlet to emerald and back again. Then there were the Beaters who’s sharp blows could be heard roaring from each side of the pitch. They swooped in and out of the mass of brooms that guarded the main ball, protecting their own colors and striking the opposite.

You were so transfixed by them, like an avian dance, you didn’t realize you were only following Fred for several minutes until Hermione broke you out of your trance. She pointed towards the Slytherin crowd, mumbling about a chant that had broken out in the stands with the most atrocious lyrics all attacking poor Ron.

The tension came to a head when Harry at last found the Snitch, narrowly avoiding a Bludger to win the game, but the song only gained volume and intensity. You were dragged by Hermione out of your seat to console your friend, chasing after her as she flew through the stairwell to the center of the pitch. Neither of you made it in time to hear what Malfoy, no doubt the leader of the chorus, was spewing to Ron. It wasn’t just him anymore as Harry and the twins were in the midst of the scene.

You couldn’t hear anything the boastful blonde said, but you knew very well after four years sharing a castle with him that Malfoy never gave up the opportunity to make your lives miserable. So as George’s fist suddenly collided with his pale sneering grin soon joined by brutal hits from Harry, you could only assume it was a strike well deserved. In all honesty, no amount of violence was enough compensation for the suffering he had caused you and your friends.

You noticed Fred wasn’t far behind, only missing the action by force as it took restraining by all three Gryffindor Chasers to keep him out of the fight. Even then he was making gains on the turf, inching forward with his hands set on strangulation.

You wished it had only been Madam Hooch and McGonagall to break up the fight. At least they would’ve been fair, perhaps a brief suspension and a week of detention. But of course, enabled by the misguided authority of the Ministry, Umbridge inserted herself into the matter.

That’s how you ended up on a bench outside her office, nestled between Ron and Hermione as you waited for the final verdict of how the involved should be punished. Hermione had offered to walk you back to the tower, but you insisted on staying for support. Frankly, your curiosity overpowered your desire to leave and you figured Hermione would appreciate having someone other than the boy she was mad for, not that she’d ever admit it.

“And that’s when Malfoy started talking absolute filth, saying rubbish about my parents and Harry’s mum. So they pounced on him, Harry and George. Only way to shut him up really,” Ron wrapped up his explanation of the event, filling in key context where it was missing. “I reckon they’re getting the whole team suspended. That Umbridge doesn’t give a damn about quidditch. It already took us ages to register.”

“Let’s hope all they get is detention.” replied Hermione.

“I don’t see what she had against Gryffindor anyway. Other than Harry, of course, but why should our whole team have to suffer?”

“You do know she was a Slytherin, right?” you informed.

Ron only gave a low moan, shocked, but not at all surprised. He believed more than anyone that all evil is born in Slytherin house and Umbridge was more evil than most billionaires. There was no telling as to what punishments her sadistic mind could come up with. You were left only to speculate.

Many minutes ticked by before the grotesquely pink door that guarded Umbridge’s equally intense office creaked open, spitting out Harry, Angelina, McGonagall, and the twins. By the melancholic look on each of their faces, you could tell Umbridge decided on the worst possible scenario.

Before any of you could ask for an explanation, McGonagall rushed ahead of her students and much to your surprise as well as your dismay, she turned directly towards you.

“Am I correct in assuming you have a broom and ample flying experience?”

You froze out of utter confusion, unsure of why the Head of your house suddenly cared about your flying skills after three of her most valuable players were likely up for expulsion.

“Come on,” she chided, scolding you by your last name. “I haven’t all evening.”

“Uhh yes, Professor,” you sputtered. “but I don’t-”

“Good.”

There wasn’t any time for inquiry as the infamous Dolores Umbridge slithered from her office not a moment later, her plump face complimented by her signature smug grin. She exuded an air of satisfaction as if pleased by her decision and much to your horror, she looked directly at you.

“Congratulations on your new role, my dear. I do hope you’ll be prepared for next week,” she smirked wickedly, providing absolutely no context. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find Kirke. Let’s hope he’ll be an adequate replacement.” though by the insincerity in her tone you could tell she was in fact against whatever she had claimed.

You felt your breath again return to you as she sauntered off, disappearing into the next corridor.

“What’s she on about?” Ron asked what all of you were wondering once he was sure the woman was long gone.

“Well,” Harry began, unsteady as he met your anxious gaze. “There’s been a certain adjustment… to the team.”

“What kind of adjustment?” Hermione repeated.

It was George who spoke now, each word dashing from him in a frustrated explanation.

“That bloody woman banned us from flying the rest of the season! Locked up our brooms and everything.” George complained.

“Actually, she banned us from flying for life and gave us a week detention, but yes. That is the general gist of it.” corrected Fred who was actively concealing his own anger much better than his twin.

“And since we had to register each player with that old hag,” Angelina rolled her eyes as she gestured towards Umbridge's office. “we don’t have a reserve team to pull new players from.”

“Who’s in then?” Ron asked.

His question was met with silence and it didn’t take you long to notice why. Heart beating wildly within its cavern in your chest, you realized in horror as each person who had been forced to meet with Umbridge, Angelina, the twins, and even McGonagall.

“Why are you all staring at me?” you asked.

But it was obvious. Deep down you already knew. You shook your head before anyone could answer you, denying your fate as if it hadn’t already been written for you.

“No!” you cried as your professor stepped forth to lay a hand against your shoulder. “I can’t play!”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, dear,” she informed you with a lament. “Umbridge threatened to suspend the whole team if we couldn’t name anyone. And I’m told you're the best flyer left in Gryffindor.”

“What about Ginny? She’s much faster than I am.” you suggested, though you had a sinking suspicion it wouldn’t matter.

“Ginny will be taking Mr. Potter’s place as Seeker.”

You’ll be replacing Fred.” interjected Angelina and of all the news you’d been told in the last five minutes, her statement alone had to be the worst of it.

In place of a response, your eyes widened and you had to focus in order to keep your jaw closed. Gryffindor giving away the cup altogether was a preferable alternative to relying on you as Beater, though both would have the same consequences.

“I’m aware of your lack of expertise in the position you’ve been assigned,” McGonagall began, her tone changing to one of comfort. “But I’m afraid you’re the only student in Gryffindor who’s close to qualified for playing in our match next week. That is if you’re truly as talented as Mr. Weasley had implied…”

Of course. You should’ve known it was Fred who dragged you into this mess. You searched behind your professor to shoot him a confused glare, one that he dodged. Despite her attempt at consolation, no comfort could slow you’re spiraling as the words drifted out of your scurried mind and into the world.

“But what if I can’t? I’ve never even held a bat! And I’ve never played with a real team, only in scrimmages.”

”Fred’s agreed to help you adjust before you start with the team,” answered Angelina, elbowing the twin as she spoke. “I'm sure you’ll be just fine once you get the hang of it. At least I hope so.”

“But-“

“I’m sorry, but we can’t debate this unless you want to go up against that awful woman,” McGonagall nodded towards Umbridge’s foul pink door. ”It’s been decided. Now if you excuse us, Ms. Johnson and I need to find poor Mr. Kirke before Umbridge can break the news to him.”

Then they were off, hurrying away in the direction Umbridge had gone in only moments before, Angelina only pausing to shout at you over her shoulder. “Training on the pitch, ten o’clock tonight. Be there.” And then she was gone.

Fred stepped forward as you turned back to the group, red from what you could only assume was guilt. Not for what he was putting you through, but most certainly because he got called out for it.

“I-”

“Don’t.” you snarled before he could spew any insincere garbage, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I guess I’ll see you on the field.”

With nothing more to say, you set off for the tower. And no one tried to stop you.

Now with practice, you only had a few hours to chisel down your very real and growing pile of homework before your mandatory training with the only person you wouldn't choose to be around even if you were paid in Honeydukes vouchers. And you knew he felt equal disdain towards you.

Despite assurance from Hermione as she brought you back a plate of supper, you couldn’t accept that everything would work out for the better. You couldn’t even enjoy one of your favorite meals at the Gryffindor table seeing as you were preoccupied with the final draft of your herbology thesis and ridded of any appetite.

“Listen, it’s really not that bad,” Hermione tried, taking your plate after you swallowed the only morsels you could stomach. You supposed the rest would go to Ron being the bottomless pit that he was. “At least it’s with Fred and not someone like Cormac McLaggen.”

“Honestly, I’d take McLaggen,” you argued. “I’d take anyone over Fred.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I absolutely do.”

In lieu of proper wear, you pulled a simple outfit out of your closet, just enough to keep you warm in the night air. You weren’t trying to look impressive.

“Try to remember what the goal is,” suggested Hermione. “You’re doing this for Gryffindor and for Harry and George. Don’t let your feelings prevent that.”

“I’m doing this because of that devil woman ruining our school, Hermione,” you seethed, frustration pouring out of your. “Now I have to deal with him on top of it all.”

“I know,” she empathized. “Trust me, I hate Umbridge as much as everyone else, but you just can’t think of it that way. It’s easier to see it differently.”

“And how am I supposed to see it?” You were flipping through the contents of your trunk now, searching frantically for your favorite jumper.

“You don’t have to admit it, but I know how badly you’ve been wanting a place on the team,” Hermione smiled knowingly. “Ever since 2nd year and now a spot’s been practically gifted to you.”

Without any sort of rebuttal, you turned to face your friend who was holding your jumper out for you. Of course it was out of your trunk.

“He’s gotten better since you guys were younger,” she explained. “Who knows, he might even be nice to you.”

“I really hope you’re right.”

Unsurprisingly, you were forced to wait on the field for several minutes before Fred arrived. Seconds ticked by as you leaned against one of the towering goal posts and fiddled with the splintering tip of your broom. It was a quarter past ten by the time his figure formed through the distant fog and his familiar smirk came into view.

“Sorry I’m late,” he called, hurrying over to you. “Detention ran over, brutal by the way, and I had to find a spare broom since mine is chained up in that old bat's office.”

You looked at the worn broom in his hands, almost sorry that he had to go to all the trouble for a lesson you didn’t see as necessary. No one deserved to suffer under the wrath of that woman, but perhaps if anyone did, you would want it to be Fred.

“Whatever,” you shrugged, unyielding to any empathy that tried to force itself up to the surface. “Let’s just get this over with. You have the stuff?”

“What am I, your Alihotsy dealer?” he chuckled, though you had no amusement to spare for his otherwise pathetic humor.

Your silence washed over Fred like a blanket of bluntness and he immediately grew more serious.

“Angelina said she left a couple paddles and a bludger for us to use over there.” he pointed behind you where as promised, a box was poorly concealed behind one of the thick poles. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed it before, but you watched closely as Fred retrieved it, popping the lock as he dove into explanation.

“From what she told me, Ange wanted me to go over everything, but I’ve seen you play a mean chaser more than once at the Burrow, so I know you already understand the basics.”

He bent down to pick up one of the paddles, twirling it around his fist as it fit comfortably in his perfect grip like the right ring around a finger. His experience was evident in the way swung it, every move precise after years of playing.

“I’m just going to refresh your Beater memory, maybe help you hit a couple since it is a partner position.” he stated, tossing you the other paddle.

You caught it easily, ignoring how unnatural it felt in your own hand before mounting your broom with impatience.

“Yeah yeah, let’s just get on with it so I can go to bed, okay?”

You took off from the turf before Fred could protest, circling above him as you soared to level with the hoop of the highest goal. You couldn’t see it through night and fog, but he shrugged as he released the squirming bludger out from its bindings and hurried to meet you in the air.

Though it sprung on you without warning, you were quick to hit the vicious ball away as you slammed it into what you realized too late was Fred’s direction. Luckily, he dodged the hit with ease.

“Woah, careful,” he chided. “The point is to send it towards the other team, not your partner.”

“I get it, Weasley, just hit it back. Spare me the lecture.” you glared. It was an accident, afterall.

Fred sighed as he waited for the ball to return and struck it his expert way, without the need to look at it. Instead his eyes were focused on you. The Bludger flew upwards and bounded towards you on its descent and while your deflection wasn’t quite as effortless as your companions, it was decent enough to send the thing away. Only for a few seconds.

“Always try to hit with the inside of the paddle,” Fred spoke, jumping into another lecture. “A backswing in the air is too hard, even for the most experienced and especially if it’s a windy game. Instead, try to reorient yourself so you can-”

“I GET IT!” you shouted, fed up with the unsolicited explanations. You were successful at so many other positions in Quidditch, you didn’t think you needed it. You narrowly avoided the next attack as the bludger sped towards you again. It was a miracle that you could lift your paddle in time to slam it away, the force sending a sharp pain through your arm. But it wasn’t enough.

“Woah!” Fred shouted, eyes wide. “Careful, look out!”

You were adjusting to the blow when disaster struck. You couldn’t see it, but it hit all the same as the bludger struck your side with such a force that it knocked you from your broom and sent you spiraling towards the grass far below. You didn’t even have time to scream.

You could faintly make out a shout of your name as Fred flew straight for you, catching you just before you could splatter on the ground like a ripe watermelon. You clung to him instinctually, holding back tears and heavy breaths. You leaped onto the turf the moment he touched down on solid ground sulked away trying to shake off the fall.

From behind you, the snarling ball sank into the grass, dirt flying, and was soon caught by Fred before it could rebound and cause anymore destruction. He held it tightly in the crevice of his toned arm as if it weighed no more than a snitch.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Rendered by some form of speechlessness from the descent, you didn’t respond. Your face was turning red with frustration that only worsened with every word that left Fred’s mouth. You knew he didn’t care, so why was he pretending to?

“Maybe we should take a break,” Fred suggested, hoping to elicit any kind of a response from you. “Or we can move this to tomorrow? Clearly tonight is not the night.”

“No,” you refused, waiting for your broom to fall and catching it by the handle. “I want this to be over.”

“I know, but maybe we’ll be more productive after some rest.”

“I don’t need rest,” you scowled. “Just need you to tell me what I have to do so I can be done.”

“Hey,” Fred exclaimed. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help!” you shouted. “Maybe after years of suffering from your stupid pranks, I don’t think you have the ability to be helpful in ANY capacity and I would much rather you go back to leaving me alone!”

Silence.

It was a rare occurrence in the presence of a Weasley twin, but your harsh words had accomplished it.

You almost felt sorry when Fred turned from you, sure that your outburst had driven him away for good and that he was walking out of the pitch and forever out of your life, but he only made it to the goal posts. He leaned his brom against the center post and quickly secured the Bludger back into the box before making his way to the edge of the pitch where the stands were draped in Gryffindor scarlet and gold. He lifted it, ducking a shoulder under before he turned back to nod you over.

“You coming?”

You hesitated, wondering if you were really welcome after your fit, but after a second of deliberating, you nodded and followed ashamedly. Fred waited for you to set your broom beside his and held up the fabric for you as you dipped inside.

You were bewildered.

You’d never thought of what the underside of the stands looked like, but if you had, you would’ve pictured dusty wood frames and darkness. The setting that lay before you couldn’t be more of the opposite. Nothing short of a scene from one of those old, famous Muggle Hollywood movies you tried to watch whenever you could access a television. Though there indeed stood wooden frames, moonlight coated each block and illuminated the space. You were shown to the center where grass grew to the perfect length despite a lack of trimmings.

The change in your mood was instantaneous and suddenly your frustration melted into tranquility as you started so much calmer than before. As if the very sky soothed your fury.

“I come here a lot during Quidditch season, or I guess I used to.” Fred began, sensing your change in mood as he offered you something much more valuable than a taunting smile or a playing tip. An explanation. He gazed around the space as if it was his first time seeing it too.

“Is it allowed?”

“Probably not, but as you know, rules aren’t often a factor in my decision making. Sometimes I just needed to get away from it all, just for a moment. There's so much bloody noise out there, especially when Wood was captain, being in here blocks out the rubbish. Helps you remember what’s important.”

It was hard to picture Fred as someone who needed a break, who had a breaking point of his own, but under the fabric you could feel it.

“It's perfect for games too,” he grinned, pointing down a line of wood towards where you knew the Gryffindor pathway lay. “The entrance into the field is just over there and no one ever thinks to come under here so it’s nice and private.”

Silent seconds ticked by steadily as you continued to observe the area, spotting a marking on one of the tallest wood beams. You reached out for it, slowly tracing the carving of Fred’s name and a #2, his flying number.

“It’s helping isn't it? Or did I just give away my favorite hiding place for no reason?”

You turned to him, looking him in the eyes for the first time that night.

“No, I feel better now.” you agreed, taking in a steady breath. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

“I only want to help, you know? I swear I’m not trying to talk down to you.”

It hit you then, how all this must’ve impacted him. You knew Fred didn’t want you to replace him anymore than you were willing to and from what you’d see of Harry’s lacerations from lines with Umbridge, you couldn’t imagine punishment was easy for him. But he showed up anyway and was happy enough to help you in any way he could.

“I know,” you agreed. “I’m just so frustrated by this - this whole situation. And I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“It’s alright,” Fred smiled. “I didn’t take it personally. You’ve always done that when you get angry.”

You often forget how long you and Fred have known each other, how many times you’d stayed over at the Burrow, in most cases for weeks at a time. Of course you were only there to visit Ron and Ginny, but it was his home as much as theirs. Years speed by when you're busy hating someone. But you weren’t sure you hated him anymore. And if he had enough heart to show you his secret serenity space, he certainly didn't hate you.

“I bet you even like my pranks sometimes.” Fred smirked.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to admit though you had a feeling he wasn’t asking you to confirm. You were sure he already knew.

“Sometimes I thought you were just being mean. But I don’t think you’re really like that. I just never took the time to understand.”

“I think we’ve been off on the wrong foot all this time,” Fred smiled, as if he hadn’t revealed that he understood you almost as well as you understood yourself. “Maybe it’s time to start the night off fresh?”

“I think I’d be okay with that.” you chuckled, growing fond of this new, reimagined version of the boy you’d always loathed. Clearly you had mistaken him.

“Great well,” he extended his hand. “I’m Fred.”

“Lovely to meet you, Fred,” you felt silly as you met his grip, shaking his hand as you re-introduced yourself.

“I think it’s time to practice some Quidditch.”

“Alright,” you smiled. “I think this time, I’m open to listening.”

“Good,” Fred beamed. “And don’t think I underestimate your skills. I was there when you broke Ginny’s nose with our Quaffle.”

“That was an accident!” you exclaimed, in disbelief that he even remembered the incident from many summers ago during a good old fashioned Weasley match.

“Well, regardless, that’s exactly the energy I want you to harness for beating. As long as you're okay with me giving you some pointers?”

You nodded, crawling under the fabric again and back out into the night to continue your training, the rest of which went fairly smoothly considering you had been set on despising Fred only minutes prior. With every piece of advice, every slightly helpful hint, and especially every encouraging compliment when you were able to learn and adapt quickly, he started to win you over. And you started to see him in a completely new light.

Suddenly, all the annoying characteristics about him became only charismatic. His jokes were no longer cruel and insensitive, but hilarious to the point where you had to cover your mouth to prevent laughing so hard. New traits that you hadn’t bothered to notice before shone through like his familial loyalty and pride. And deep, deep under his surface, you saw a certain kindness in him that you wouldn’t have believed existed days ago.

It was only an hour before the two of you could successfully pass a Bludger back and forth across the entirety of the field, hitting objects in place of players and diving to save them from enemy blows just as you would be required to in a real game. Fred was undoubtedly impressed.

“You’ve still got some Chaser in you, but I think you’re ready to play. That’s all I have anyway.”

He flew to the ground, dismounting smoothly and holding up a hand for you to follow, but you were still adjusting to this new perspective and you didn’t want to head into the castle just yet. More accurately, you didn’t want to walk alone with him.

“I think I’m going to stay out for just a while longer.”

“Sure, right,” Fred chuckled, lowering his hand to scratch the ginger hair on the back of his neck instead. “I don’t think Angelina needed us to do this again, but if you need some extra practice with a decent partner, I'm always available.”

“You sure you can fit me in your schedule with all your detentions and scheming?” you grinned.

“Absolutely,” he laughed. “I doubt Umbridge would miss an evening with me. I don’t make them easy on her.”

“Thanks,” you smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

“Right well, I’m off to bed,” Fred waved, warranting your send off. You shot up into the night, not wanting to stare at him a moment longer. “Just be careful of Filch when you come in!” he shouted up to you, unsure if you had heard as you looked very preoccupied flying about. He grabbed his broom and idly stalked away, sliding off of the field and in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

Little did he know how your eyes followed his every move as you watched him go, so utterly conflicted and unfocused. In all honesty, you didn’t need to practice any more, in fact, you felt too exhausted to even go through another exercise. But you just couldn’t leave with him, not when you could feel the warmth of attraction blooming in your chest. The world as you knew it was starting to spin the wrong way and all because you discovered Fred Weasley was a decent human being. More than decent really.

The rest of the week prior to your first match was a nervous blur. While classes were the same as always if not more unbearable, your life had been flipped in every possible way. You spent every waking minute on the quidditch field whether it was practicing with the rest of the team (and earning Angelina’s respect when you picked up the sport so quickly) or flying around on your own and trying not to think about Fred.

Oh Fred. He was another problem all on his own. The energy between you shifted so rapidly, it started to become obvious to everyone else. You tried to go on as friends, as if everything was exactly as it was before, but you weren’t fooling anyone. Especially not each other.

You could feel his eyes on you during every meal in the Great Hall, catching his gaze as easily as catching a Quaffle and much more frequently. He started talking to you more, nothing grander than a hello when passing you in busy hallways or snide comment about Umbridge after a rough class with the witch, but it was always pleasant and each time he earned a smile.

You found yourself avoiding him the moment Hermione finally broke her silence on the matter, asking if you two had finally gotten over your years long battle.

“It was always one-sided, you know,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I’ve talked it over with Ginny. He’s never felt the same disdain towards you.”

“Nothing has changed, Hermione. He just helped me with one little thing, that’s all.”

“If you insist…”

All your worrying and hard work made a week feel like only a couple of days. And suddenly, before you could summon the wherewithal to mentally prepare for competing in front of the entirety of Hogwarts, game day was upon you.

Dressed appropriately and grounded on the field, you looked up to the sky as various moving shapes of red and royal blue soared high above before the official commencement that was to take place in minutes. You knew you could do it, all of your training had far prepared you for the task at hand, but you were unbelievably nervous. There was always the chance of messing up and those voices in the back of your mind were impossible to quiet. Not wanting to over exert yourself, the thought of a break popped into your head. Somewhere where no crowd could watch you and you could be on your own for a while.

You noticed the edge of the field, the portion where Fred had taken you under the fabric and just when you were sure many of the spectators were focused elsewhere, you made a run for it.

The space was even calmer in the daylight, bright and airy and utterly empty. Exactly what you needed. You slumped against a wooden beam, reaching up to trace the inscription of Fred’s name, grateful he had revealed this little sanctuary to you.

“Game day nerves?” a voice rang from behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Only one person could’ve known where you were.

“A little,” you admitted. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to live up to expectations.”

“It’s not you we have to worry about,” Fred assured. “I’m more anxious to see if Kirke can play. I reckon he’s not half as good as you are.”

“He’s not all bad,” you defended your Beater partner. “But there’s certainly some truth to that.”

“I brought you something,” he smiled and your eyes travelled down to his hands which you realized were clutching something behind his back. “It’s just a little help, if you want it. Thought you could use some confidence.”

You shot him an inquisitive look.

“That's suggestive.” you teased.

“Nothing like that, get your head out of the gutter.”

You watched as he revealed his gift, pulling out a familiar scarlet cloth that shone with promise.

“Here.”

He handed it out to you, an offering you simply couldn’t refuse, purley out of curiosity if nothing else. You plucked the fabric from his hands, letting the cloak unfurl from a wrinkled blob into a magnificent robe, his own Quidditch wear you realized. Last you’d seen them, he had been wearing them proudly while trying to kill Malfoy. You fingered the small embroidered number two on the chest.

“Is this-”

“You bet.”

“You’re giving me your number?”

He shrugged as if it was a small favor rather than a grand gesture. He didn’t need to admit it for you both ro know how much it meant.

“It’s better than 18, innit?” he referred to your current, less than ideal robes. “I’m never going to need them again and I figured they’d fit better than whatever Angelina could scrounge up.”

He was right. The only robes available to you were far too big as they slumped off your shoulders and pooled at your feet. Angelina had claimed that it wouldn't make a difference in the air, but all the extra fabric felt heavy, leaving a burdensome strain. But your Captain had enough stress weighing on her shoulders. So you didn’t make a fuss.

You raised Fred’s robes to your nose, taking in the nostalgic smell of the Burrow, hints of Molly’s baking taking you right back to summers with the family and a new spice that must’ve been Fred’s addition. Cinnamon and firework powder. You refrained from grinning as your nose inadvertently scrunched in delight.

“It’s been washed, I swear.” he promised, worried that your reaction was out of disgust.

“I know,” you acknowledged. “It doesn’t carry any kind of hex though, right? I’m not going to be blown off my broom in midair?”

“Not this time, no. Unfortunately, I care too much about the outcome of this game, but thanks for the idea.”

You rolled your eyes, turning it over to find that his name was still sewn into the back just above his former number.

“This is my favorite addition,” he beamed with excitement, inching closer to adjust your hold as he tipped the fabric into one of the red tinted rays that managed to slip into your hideout. Suddenly, black letters began to form in inky black magic and spelled out your last name atop of the maroon sewed, making it the only readable name.

“It’s a sunny day outside. I thought everyone should get to know who they’re rooting for.”

“Thanks.” you mustered, though it didn’t capture even a fracture of what you were really feeling. So many conflictions fluttered around at once as you fought off your feelings for him before they could invade your mind. It scared you, even more than the impending threat of the game just ahead.

But you could tell he felt it as silence fell upon the two of you. A comfortable understanding of finally being on the same page only now you wanted him closer.

A sharp whistle sounded in the background as Madam Hooch signaled for the game to begin. You didn’t have any more time to spare as you were expected on the field.

“I better let you change, unless you want to go through with your first offer or you’ve become unnaturally attached to those giant things-”

“Get out of here.” you chuckled, pulling on the length of the strings that held up your current attire. Though you had on other clothes, Fred turned as the old robes slipped off you easily, pooling in a pile by your shoes. Stepping out of the mess, you pulled on Fred’s and though it took some adjusting as they were still bigger than your true size, they served as a much preferable alternative to the spares, lighter and exceedingly more breathable.

“They look good,” Fred admired, turning back to face you one last time before you had to leave. “You don’t look like you’re playing dress up anymore.”

“I’ll try to live up to the name.”

“You will. You’ll make your own.” he promised, slipping under the fabric in the direction of the spectator area. “Good luck.” he wished, and then he was gone.

You grabbed your broom and headed for the opposite end, waltzing to where the rest of your team was waiting to make their entrance. Though it took some effort, you were sure to rid your step of its gleeful skip by the time you reached the public eye.

“Looking good, Weasley.” Angelina joked, no doubt already aware of Fred’s surprise. “Nervous?”

“No.” you lied.

“Good.”

“And here I thought I would be the only remaining Weasley on the team.” Ron interjected, stepping up to stand beside you.

“That was presumptuous,” Ginny laughed from behind the two of you, clad in her own Seeker gear.

“You aren’t,” you stated, placing an encouraging hand on your friend’s shoulder. “But you are the only Keeper. So do the best you can.”

Another whistle blared outside in the center of the pitch and soon enough you were up in the air, one hand clinging to your broom and the other wrapped tightly around your bat. It didn’t take long for you to find Fred in the crowd as your eyes searched the stands for him and your other friends. They all sat nestled beside one another, lost in a sea of scarlet. You resisted the urge to wave at him.

Instead you met his gaze and gave him a subtle nod, warmth blooming in your chest again as you swore his smile grew wider. You had to force yourself to snap into focus and avoid looking at the Gryffindor section as other flyers spread out all around, readying themselves for the first play.

“And also new to the team,” your name was started by Lee Jordan who despite being barred by McGonagall in years prior, was acting commentator. “Though she’s a different number than what Captain Angelina Johnson informed me, don’t be fooled folks. I’m told she’s very good for a newbie. At least I hope that part is the truth.”

Each second felt like a millenium before the game had finally kicked off, you were suddenly much too caught up in the action to give any thought to the stirring feelings inside, batting each Bludger like your teammate’s life depended on it. In some kinda way, it did.

All those hours spent refining your skills were now out for everyone else to see and you were absolutely magnificent. Saving every teammate that required assistance and scoring every Bludger that threatened to disable your Chasers, you swiftly became a crowd favorite and the ultimate replacement for the usual spectacle of the Weasley twins.

“There she goes, a near hit from lucky number 2 against Ravenclaw Chaser - Blimey - and a brilliant save as she dives to protect Chaser Alicia Spinnet! And Spinnet scores a goal!” Lee exclaimed, shouting into his mic. “That’s 10 more points to Gryffindor. She really is good! Maybe even better than the twins - whoops - never mind. I’m getting dirty looks.”

As the game went on, you proved yourself as a worthy opponent time and time again, even stealing saves from the other Beater when he could get to where he was needed in time. Though Kirke was a decent partner as you learned in practice, he wasn’t nearly as experienced as you and much less able to adapt to his new position (you felt you had Fred to thank for that). But it all worked out as you were quick to compensate for all his losses, fast and strong enough to erase all his mistakes before they could cause a problem.

“Looks like new Seeker Ginny Weasley found something, she’s descending into the center. This could be it ladies and gentlemen, the tie breaker and oh no! Looks like Ravenclaw is having a go!”

You watched as it happened, heart sinking as one of the Beaters in blue sent a Bludger straight for Ginny and you didn’t even have time to think before you rushed to save her. You had to dodge several players, weaving between them like wool on a loom as you hurried towards the center with the speed of a Chaser. You soared past Ginny, rearing up to hit the Bludger and sending it spiraling downwards with so much force, it sank into the dirt.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Sneaking towards you like a torpedo, you didn’t have time to listen to the warnings of the crowd or more of Lee Jordan’s before you could sense another Bludger aimed at you. Swinging with all of your might and praying you could sense its position, you successfully backhanded the attack and spared yet another life.

The Gryffindor stands roared with excitement.

“Impossible move by 2! A fully backhanded save. I’ve never seen anything like it, at least not in a school league. And what’s this? Ginny Weasley’s got the snitch! Gryffindor wins and the game is over!”

You landed, exhausted, but beaming with pride as the stands screamed, but when you looked for him, the only person you wanted to see cheering for you, his spot was vacant. Lee spoke over your thoughts.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since she started playing.” he joked, though it was true.

A sudden applause broke out from behind you as a figure emerged from your special place, his special place. Your smile widened as you met his proud stare, clapping for his brilliant protege. Fred smiled at you and instant warmth returned to you and forced your feet to move and your grasp to release your equipment. You couldn’t stand it any longer. All you knew was how badly you wanted him, so you ran straight into his open arms.

“Woah, where’s she going?” Lee questioned into the mic, not that you could give a Devil’s Snare. You were laser focused. “Has all that flying made her mad? Her team is the other way! I wonder, oh, OH! Well, that explains it. In case you’re wondering who she’s tackling folks, that's ex-Beater Fred Weasley. Or is it George? Nope, definitely Fred. I don’t know what the rules are on kissing on the pitch, but those late night tutoring sessions are starting to make a lot more sense….”

“JORDAN!” McGonagall scolded, tugging at the mic.

“That’s all from me I suppose. Here’s to a new game and a budding romance!”

“I thought she hated him.” Harry leaned to whisper to Hermione as they stood from their seats, making their way down much slower than Fred had. They didn’t have the same kind of motivation.

“She did,” Hermione shrugged, although she had long ago figured that with the right push, the two of you would eventually collide in such a manner. “But things change. She got to know him.”

It felt like hours before you and Fred finally pulled apart, but you hadn’t gotten your fill when the moment finally came. Lips twisting into a bashful smile, your arms clung to his neck while his hands curled around your waist. Dizzy from the rush of the game and having him so close, you found yourself leaning into him. His freckled face flushed as he grinned at you like he had just pulled off the proudest prank of his whole life, finally getting to kiss you.

“I take it you liked the robes?” he smirked.

“I hope that wasn’t too forward,” you uttered, though by the way he pulled you closer, you knew it wasn’t. “I’m really glad we decided to start over.”

“Actually, I’ve sort of been waiting for this,” he admitted. “Been mad for you for ages, you know.”

“I’m starting to understand that.”

Noses brushing, you were set on leaning in again until a throat cleared from beside you as other spectators started to flood onto the turf. Your friends and George had joined your side and much to your chagrin, Umbridge had taken hold of the mic.

“A reminder that girls and boys are not to to be within eight inches of each other!” she shouted, her voice booming inside the pitch as if she had forgotten that it was already amplified.

You reluctantly removed yourself from his grasp, not wanting to get yourself banned from playing though you wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms. He bent to whisper into your ear.

“Lucky for us, I have nin-”

“No,” you cut him off. “I've heard that way too many times since she instilled that rule.”

“Fair enough.” he shrugged, relishing the delighted look plastered on your face as he moved with you to join your loved ones.

It wasn’t until much later during the peak of celebration that you were able to reconnect.

The night had long taken over as the twins threw one of their famous Gryffindor parties in your honor, setting the common room ablaze with drinks and music and a bustling, eager crowd. You bid your time, taking in the praise and celebrating with all of your friends, but as soon as you were sure no one would miss you, Fred managed to smuggle you away into his dormitory where he held you as his willing captive.

He pressed you against one of the sturdy stone walls, lips slotting together behind closed doors where no prying Dolores Umbridge had any chance of forcing you eight inches apart.

“You sure you don’t want to miss the party?” you gasped through shallow breaths between kisses, eyes fluttering shut as Fred moved to your jaw.

“Are you serious?” he chuckled. “And miss my one shot with the girl of my dreams? Not a chance.”

“It wouldn’t be your last chance.” you assured him, but you were grateful he wanted to stay. You weren’t anywhere near ready to stop as your fingers twirled into his bright hair. You weren’t sure what you would do if he had never brought up your name as a replacement and you were glad you’d never have to find out.

“And to think last week you hated me,” he muttered, raising his head back to brush his lips against your own, words slipping in between kiss after fervent kiss.

“Shut up, Weasley,” you retorted, melting into him as he obliged, allowing the night to take its pleasant course.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #quidditch #it cant just be me that remembers the 9 inches thing #please #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n

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