vivianette - Tumblr blog

vivianette · 3 days ago

Text

Reconciliation

Fred Weasley x FemReader

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

Warnings: angst, happy-ending

———————————————————————

The flat smelled like burnt sugar and cedarwood. Familiar. Warm. Lived-in. The orange glow of a lone enchanted lamp flickered weakly in the corner of the sitting room, its flame occasionally dimming as though it, too, felt the weight pressing against the walls. Outside, the rain whispered against the windows, a gentle, rhythmic hush that felt too soft for what was coming.

Fred stood near the kitchen counter, his back to her, one hand braced against the edge of the wood like it was the only thing holding him up. His other hand kept flexing and curling, fingers twitching as though itching to cast a spell or break something. He hadn’t said much since she’d come home. No kiss. No joke. Just a barely-there glance.

She stood in the doorway, still holding the paper bag of takeaway she’d picked up on the way home. Fish and chips, their usual. The bottom was going damp from the oil, her knuckles whitening around the handle. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t come to meet her. Why the flat was so quiet. Why Fred looked like he was standing inside some invisible storm. But she could tell something was off.

“Fred?” she said, her voice too gentle. Like it would shatter if it met resistance.

He turned slowly, but not all the way. Just enough to look at her over his shoulder. His face was unreadable, jaw tight, mouth flat. Even his freckles seemed subdued in the low light. “We need to talk.”

She blinked. Her heart stuttered, faltered. “Okay…” she said cautiously, setting the bag down on the counter and moving closer. “Is it…is something wrong with George?”

“No. He’s fine.” He still wouldn’t look at her properly. Just kept staring past her, at the floor, or maybe at the wall beyond her shoulder.

“Okay,” she repeated, trying to keep her tone light, coaxing. “Then what is it?”

He finally turned to face her, and that’s when she knew. Something awful was coming. She knew his expressions like she knew the back of her hand. Had kissed every smile, laughed into every smirk, and memorized the curve of every dimple. But this face? This wasn’t one she recognised.

“I think we should…take a break,” he said, voice flat. Detached.

She laughed. It was quick, sharp, and automatic. “A break from what? Fish and chips? I thought this was your favourite.”

He didn’t smile at her joke. The silence that fell between them was loud. She could hear the ticking of the enchanted clock on the wall, the low creak of floorboards as one of them shifted their weight. Her heart beat like a drum in her ears.

“No,” she said, suddenly still. “No. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he asked, stepping away from the counter.

“Say things you don’t mean. Fred, if this is about the shop, or the war, or whatever you’re dealing with, just talk to me about it. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m not saying it to hurt you,” he said, but his voice was tighter now, strained. “I’m saying it because it’s true. My feelings have…changed.”

She recoiled like he’d slapped her. “Bullshit.”

Fred blinked, caught off guard. He almost flinched.

“You love me. Don’t pretend you don’t. You’ve never been able to lie to me, Freddie.”

He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. His shoulders were tense, bunched high around his neck. He didn’t answer.

She stepped forward, close enough to touch him. Her hand hovered, fingertips just inches from his chest, but she couldn’t bring herself to close the distance. He looked like he’d shatter. Or maybe she would.

“Is this because of what you’re about to do?” she asked softly. “Because I know.”

He looked at her then, sharply. “You what?”

“I know what you’re planning. Going on the run. The secret radio broadcasts you’ve been fiddling with when you think I’m asleep. I’m not an idiot, Fred. I know you. And I’m coming with you.”

“No,” he said instantly. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“You’re not,” he snapped. “You’re not coming.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need you safe!” he shouted suddenly. The walls seemed to echo with it. The rain outside went quiet for a moment, like the world had paused to listen.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, chest rising and falling fast. “Then just say that,” she whispered. “Say you love me but you’re scared. Don’t lie to me to try and push me away.”

He looked at her like he was drowning. Chest heaving. Hands shaking. His mouth opened, then closed again. The fight in his shoulders collapsed.

“I—” he started, voice breaking. “If you go with me, I won’t be able to protect you. I’ll be distracted. I’ll worry. And that’s dangerous. You don’t understand. I love you too much to lose you.”

“But not enough to not let me go,” she added.

Fred exhaled shakily. His jaw tensed. “I do love you,” he grits out. “More than anything. That’s why I’m doing this.”

She stepped forward, eyes flashing. “Don’t. You don’t have to lie to push me away like I’m some helpless—”

“I’m not lying,” he snapped. Too quickly, too sharp.

She closed the gap between them in two fast steps. “Yes, you are. You’re a shite liar, Fred Weasley. You’re trying to make me hate you so I don’t follow you.”

His breath stuttered as her face inched closer, challenging him. Her voice softened, eyes locking on his. “But I’m not going to hate you. I’ll just hate being without you.”

Fred’s jaw twitched. He couldn’t look her in the eye anymore. Her hands reached up, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt. He didn’t have the strength to stop her.

“We’re partners, Freddie.” she whispered. “You and me against everything.”

The air seemed to rush from her lungs at once. And then he was in her arms. Or maybe she was in his. She couldn’t remember who moved first. They kissed like it was the last breath before drowning. Frantic. Desperate. Her hands were in his hair. His arms around her back. They stumbled toward the bedroom. It wasn’t soft. It was devastating.

Their mouths crashed together again and again. Her hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer, and Fred let out a groan like he’d been holding his breath for hours. He grabbed her waist, backing them into the wall, kissing her like he was starving and she was the only thing that could ever satiate the hunger.

But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

She broke the kiss just long enough to gasp against his lips, “Tell me you don’t love me.”

Fred’s forehead rested against hers. His voice was wrecked with emotion, chest heaving. “Don’t make me lie again.”

She kissed him harder this time, hands slipping under his shirt, palms pressing to his chest like trying to memorize the feeling of his heartbeat against her palm. He gripped her hips, fingertips leaving a trail of bruises like he was afraid she’d vanish. But still he murmured between kisses, “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” she rasped. “I’m asking you to let me love you. Even if it’s dangerous.”

He shook his head, desperate, lips grazing her jaw. “You could die. You’ll follow me and—”

“I’d never leave you.”

Those words shattered him to splinters. He lifted her suddenly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively. They stumbled toward their bedroom, colliding with the edge of the sofa, knocking over a chair. Fred cursed under his breath, laughing brokenly into her neck.

“I’m a right bastard for this,” he confessed. “I should’ve stayed cold. I should’ve let you hate me.”

Her hands were in his hair now, tugging as her lips brush his ear. “Too late.”

He kicked the bedroom door open blindly with his foot, guiding her through the frame without ever pulling away. They crashed into the edge of the bed, falling with a gasp and a tangle of limbs and desperation.

Clothes begin to peel away like secrets. His shirt, her sweater. Her hands dragged down his belt as he kissed her feverish skin like it was the last time he’d ever be allowed to.

His mouth found hers again, slower this time, more reverent, as his hands framed her face like he was memorising every detail.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her skin, voice cracking. “I’m sorry.”

She cupped his jaw gently, her thumb brushing the curve of his cheekbone. He kissed her again before he could say something he’d regret. It was urgent, frantic, but laced with sorrow. With love. With the kind of longing that only came with knowing the clock was ticking.

———————————————————————

The room was still, dim, and warm with the ghosts of the night before.

She stirred under the tangled covers, her arm reaching instinctively toward the familiar dip in the mattress where Fred always slept. Her fingers brushed only cool linen.

She blinked, disoriented for a moment, the pale light filtering through the half-closed curtains casting a soft grey wash over the room. Morning, but early. The kind of hour where dreams clung too tightly to the edges of reality. Her hand slid across the sheets again.

Nothing but a cold expanse of sheets was there to greet her wandering fingertips.

“Fred?” she murmured, voice rough from sleep and something deeper. Her heart fluttered, unsure.

There was no answer.

She sat up slowly, the sheet slipping from her chest and pooling at her waist. A chill crept over her bare skin. A quiet unease settled into her bones. Something was off.

The apartment - the place that had been theirs for so long - was too quiet. No clatter from the kitchen, no half-muttered curses over burnt toast. No footsteps. No kettle. No Fred.

She rose from the bed, pulling a blanket around her shoulders, and stepped onto the cool wood floor. Her feet moved on their own, down the narrow hallway.

The bathroom door hung open. The mirror was clear. No fog, no damp towel, no half-used shaving cream. Empty.

Her chest tightened. She padded into the kitchen, heart pounding harder with each step. It was clean. Unusually clean. No half-drunk tea, no crumbs, no trace of him having been there at all. Their abandoned fish and chip dinner from last night was still siting exactly where she’s left it. Cold on the counter.

She turned slowly, eyes flicking toward the coat rack. His coat - the brown one with the crooked stitching on the sleeve - was missing. The space beneath the bench by the door, where his boots always waited, was empty. Gone.

Her stomach dropped. Her hands trembled as she turned back down the hall, stepping quickly now, ignoring the sharp ache in her knees as she crashed back into the bedroom. She opened his drawer only to find it was half-empty. Most of his things were missing. The wand holster that usually lay tossed beside the bed was gone too.

Her heart pounded against her ribs like it was trying to warn her.

“No,” she said aloud, voice cracking.

She dropped to her knees beside the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress, eyes wide and stinging. “No, Fred, please—”

She pressed her face into the sheets. They smelled like him. Like cinnamon and firework powder, like skin and home and warmth.

A sob ripped out of her before she could stop it. It came from deep inside, raw and choked and broken. She curled in tighter, fists twisting the blankets, teeth clenched to try and stop the sound but failing miserably.

He had left.

He’d held her like she was all he had left in the world, kissed her like he couldn’t breathe without her, and then left.

Her mind spiralled, replaying how he’d kissed her against the wall, how he’d let her fight for him, how he’d finally given in and made love to her like he meant it. Like she was enough.

He’d let her believe she’d won. And then he’d slipped away. Silent. Cowardly. Or was it brave?

The tears came harder now, thick and hot, rolling over her cheeks as she let herself collapse onto the bed. Her face buried in the pillow that still held the indent of his head, her hands clutching the cooling warmth where his body had lain only hours ago.

He didn’t leave a note. He didn’t say goodbye. He hadn’t even looked her in the eyes and told her the truth.

Because she would have stopped him. She would have followed. And he knew it. So he broke her instead.

She shook, breath hiccuping through sobs she couldn’t control anymore. Her chest ached in a way she didn’t have words for. Something hollow and sharp all at once, like a cracked ribbed cage barely holding in the ruin of her heart.

The light crept brighter through the window, illuminating the half-empty room.

The silence pressed in.

Fred was gone.

And she was alone.

———————————————————————

The jumper was too big, the sleeves swallowing her hands and the hem hitting nearly to her knees. But it was his, and it still smelled like him.

Smoke and sugar. That faint trace of fireworks and the piney scent of the forest behind the Burrow. It had faded over time, but she pressed her face into the wool anyway, hoping the memory of him would cling longer if she just held still enough.

The bed was too big without him. Always had been. The left side remained untouched, the pillow still fluffed, a silent monument to where he should have been.

She lay curled on her side, knees tucked to her chest, one arm curled beneath the jumper and the other resting over the battered wireless radio on the nightstand. Her fingers ghosted over the knobs, tuning slowly. Carefully. As if she’d done this a hundred times before. Because she had.

The static crackled softly, gentle white noise hissing through the speakers as she adjusted the dial. A sliver of some old warbled melody flickered into being. The end of a big band waltz. She turned past it. Another station boasted the distant echo of a WWN talk show, too cheery, too alive. Her wrist paused, fingers twitching.

She tapped the radio gently. Her wand, always within reach, slipped into her hand with muscle memory. She brought the tip to the side of the dial and whispered, just barely audible, “Albus.”

The word lingered in the air like a prayer. The static hiccuped - once, twice - then resumed its soft hiss.

No signal. No voice. No update. Not tonight.

Her chest tightened, but she didn’t sigh. Sighing meant admitting it was hopeless. Sighing meant moving on. So instead, she stayed still. Listened. Waited. Just in case.

Because sometimes, rarely, the radio crackled to life. And for five, ten, twenty minutes, Fred’s voice would filter through the static, joking too loudly, sometimes with Lee, sometimes alone. Their secret pirate transmission. For anyone who was listening. For her, if she could find it in time.

She hadn’t heard him in two weeks.

Her eyes burned, but she blinked the tears back and buried her face deeper into the sleeve of his jumper. Then a knock came alive at the bedroom door.

Her whole body tensed, instinctively shrinking deeper under the covers. She didn’t move.

The knock came again. Harder this time. More insistent.

She stared at the radio. Don’t go away, she thought. Please. Just one word tonight. One breath. Something.

The knock stopped. A beat passed. Then the door creaked open anyway.

“Don’t ignore me, you antisocial lump,” Angelina Johnson’s voice rang through the quiet.

She didn’t look up. Footsteps padded across the carpet, stopping beside the bed. The mattress dipped slightly as Angelina placed a tray down. A single plate with a slice of toast, scrambled eggs, and a mug of tea, still steaming.

“I brought you food. Eat it.”

“Not hungry,” she mumbled, eyes still fixed on the radio, her wand tapping gently against its side. “Go away.”

“Right,” Angelina said flatly. “Because wasting away under a jumper like a ghost is so helpful. You’ve gotta eat. That’s non-negotiable.”

The bed dipped again as Angelina sat beside her. The radio kept hissing. Angelina didn’t flinch at the static. She knew the ritual. She’d walked in on it enough times.

“I tried the password,” she said quietly. “There’s nothing new. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I tried too. You should still eat.”

Her stomach turned at the thought. But Angelina didn’t relent. She didn’t yell, didn’t plead. She just sat there. Her silence heavier than most people’s words. Admittedly, Angelina’s company had been a great comfort over the past months. In Angie, she’d found strength and comfort, and understanding. George had left her too, in the middle of the night with no warning. Both brothers were gone. Angelina and George might not have been together as long as she and Fred had, but they still loved each other deeply. Only, Angelina seemed to turn to keeping herself busy to avoid the loneliness and sorrow that crept in.

Eventually, she rolled onto her back and pulled herself up to sit, her limbs sluggish and heavy like she was moving through wet cement. Angelina handed her the toast. No fuss. Just held it out until she took it.

She bit into it mechanically. Chewed. Swallowed. Sipped the tea. Let the warmth linger in her throat a second longer than necessary.

Angelina smiled, soft and satisfied like someone who’d just won a quiet battle. But the peace was brief.

“You need fresh air,” she said, gently but firmly. “Just a walk. Around the block. We don’t have to talk. We can come right back—”

“No. I’m not leaving.”

“Babe, you can’t—”

She shoved the tray away, not hard, but with finality. “I said no, Angelina. What if the radio comes on while we’re gone?”

She turned back to the radio, hand trembling now as she picked up her wand again. She tapped the side once more. “…Albus.”

The same static greeted her.

Angelina stood, her expression unreadable. Her voice was soft as she gathered the tray. “You’re not the only one who misses them, you know.”

“I know,” she said.

But her voice cracked on the second word. Angelina lingered at the door for a moment. Her eyes softened, but she didn’t argue again.“I’ll be in the spare room if you need me.”

The door shut with a quiet click. The silence returned.

She curled back into herself, wrapped in wool - in memories. Her wand still rested on the radio, her thumb running over the wood like a rosary.

One more try. “Albus.”

Nothing but static. But she waited anyway.

———————————————————————

The morning light didn’t reach their bedroom the same way anymore.

It used to pour through the window in warm golden streaks, catching on the dust motes in the air and warming the floorboards beneath her bare feet. Now it felt colder, thinner. Pale and disinterested, like even the sun had begun to forget the shape of his body in the bed they used to share.

She stood at the edge of the room in her underwear, arms folded tight over her chest as she stared at the open dresser.

Most of the drawers were empty now. She’d steadily worked through all of his clothes until the smell of fireworks and candy had faded from each piece. But one drawer had remained mostly untouched.

She’d been rationing it. Wearing Fred’s things in secret rotations. A T-shirt here. The flannel he always wore while tinkering in the shop. The socks she used to tease him about when he wouldn’t admit they were actually George’s. But now, even those were losing his scent.

She pulled open the last drawer, slow and deliberate, half-expecting to find it empty too.

But there, shoved to the back beneath a pair of mismatched wool socks and a faded Quidditch jersey, was an old jumper she instantly recognised.

It was the burnt orange one, pilling at the sleeves, neck slightly stretched, with a frayed patch on the right elbow from where he’d snagged it climbing the orchard fence. He used to wear it constantly that summer before sixth year. The summer they stayed at the Burrow together.

She reached out and touched the jumper with careful fingers, like she was afraid it might dissolve if she held it too tightly. As she lifted it from the drawer, the weight of the memory struck her with unexpected force.

She closed her eyes. And when she opened them, it was like she was seventeen again.

The field behind the Burrow buzzed with late-summer crickets, and the grass, still warm from the day’s heat, tickled her ankles as she crept barefoot through the tall stalks.

“Fred, where are we going?” she whispered, laughing breathlessly as he pulled her hand through the darkness.

“You’ll see,” he whispered back, glancing over his shoulder with that glint in his eye that meant trouble.

He wore that orange jumper. The one she always teased him about. The color clashed horribly with his hair, but he’d insisted it was “bold, not bad,” and she couldn’t argue when it smelled like him and felt like home when he hugged her in it.

They broke through the edge of the field and came out into a small clearing. The stars above were spread out like a quilt. Endless and soft and shimmering. Fred let go of her hand only to drop a blanket down onto the grass.

“Ta-da,” he grinned, flopping down. “Best view in all of Ottery St Catchpole.”

She sat beside him, still catching her breath. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” He gasped, hand over heart. “I drag you out here, impending a probably punishment for breaching Mum’s curfew, risk getting hexed by gnomes, and you give me ‘not bad’?”

She laughed, eyes glittering. “Alright, it’s beautiful.”

They lay down beside each other, arms touching, eyes fixed on the sky. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

The sounds of the night wrapped around them like a lullaby. Wind rustling the trees, the hoot of an owl somewhere near the garden, and the distant creak of the Burrow settling into sleep.

He shifted slightly, turning to look at her. “Do you ever think about next year?” he asked softly. “Everything changing?”

She blinked, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his voice. “All the time.”

“George and I…we might not be going back. We’ve got plans. The shop, a flat in Diagon Alley…Mum’s going to lose her mind.”

She smiled faintly. “I bet Filch’ll be glad you two won’t be running around Hogwarts.”

He laughed, but it faded quickly. “And you’ll still be there. Without me.”

Her throat tightened. “You’ll visit. On Hogsmead weekends. And you’ll write to me.”

“Not the same.”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s not.”

He reached over, brushing a piece of hair from her face. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I won’t be,” she said. “I’ll have the others. Angelina. Ginny. School.”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly, “That’s not what I meant.”

She turned her head, meeting his eyes. There was something raw there. Something wide open and unguarded.

“I don’t want to be without you,” he said again, “because…I love you.”

It was so simple. So honest, and the first time he’s said it. She stared at him, the weight of the words settling around her like stardust. She’d imagined hearing them. Had whispered them in her head so many times. But this wasn’t in her imagination. This was real. Her Fred. In an orange jumper. Lying in a field with his heart in his hands.

“I love you too,” she whispered, voice trembling.

He smiled brightly, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Then he kissed her. And the stars kept spinning above them, but it felt like they’d frozen in time.

The jumper was still in her hands. The same one he’d worn that night. She lifted it slowly, pressing it to her face. It smelled like old woodsmoke.

And something sweeter. The cologne he wore back then, before the war, before things got complicated. It was faint now, but still there, woven deep into the fabric. She held it to her face and broke.

The sob crawled up from her ribs, raw and unsteady. Her shoulders shook, hands fisting in the wool, her body curling over like the grief might split her in two. But she didn’t let go. She couldn’t.

Because for a moment, just a moment, it was like he was there again. Lying beside her in the dark, whispering I love you beneath the stars.

———————————————————————

The crooked silhouette of the Burrow stood in front of her like a memory too bright to look at directly. Leaning slightly to the left, held together by magic and love, it had always looked like it might collapse under its own weight, and yet somehow, it never had. Just like Molly, and Arthur. Just like all of them.

She stood at the gate, her wand-hand trembling slightly at her side, the fingers of her other hand curled around the thin strap of her worn bag. Her boots were caked with the dry dust of May, the remnants of the battle still embedded in every seam. She hadn’t worn anything fancy. Just jeans and a jumper that used to belong to her father. She’d long since run out of clothes that smelled like Fred. It had been over a year, after all, since she’d last seen him. A year of flying under the radar. A year of living with Angelina. A year of not knowing when life would return to normal, or if it ever would.

An anxious knot tightened in her chest as she stood there. This was a terrible idea.

Molly’s owl had come two days after the last funeral. Not Fred’s, thank Merlin. But others. So many others. The names she didn’t even know she’d memorised: Colin Creevey. Lavender Brown. Remus. Tonks. Some gone in fire, some in flash, some in silence.

But Fred had lived. He was home. That was the line she couldn’t stop returning to. He was alive.

And she was angry.

The kind of anger that fermented in the gut, bitter and slow. Not the firestorm rage that burned hot and fast. No, this was the cold, aching anger that came from months of waiting. From empty beds and unanswered letters. From the nights she’d fallen asleep to static on the radio, whispering passwords into darkness just to hear his voice. And when she’d needed him most, when the world had been ending, he hadn’t been there. Not for her.

She raised her hand and knocked once before she could change her mind. The door flung open faster than expected.

Ginny launched forward and wrapped her in a fierce hug, nearly knocking her off the step. “You came!”

She managed a breathless smile, gripping Ginny just as tightly. “Molly invited me. I…I didn’t want to be rude.”

“You’re family,” Ginny said fiercely. “It would be rude if didn’t come.”

From behind Ginny, others followed. George clapped her on the back like no time had passed, Percy gave her a solemn nod that meant more than a thousand words. Ron and Harry smiled and called her name like they hadn’t just survived a war. Hermione hugged her too tightly. Angelina, who was already there, gave her a look of quiet understanding.

And then there was Fred.

He stood near the far corner, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t moved. His hair looked longer, as if he hadn’t had time or inclination to cut it. There was a shadow under his eyes that hadn’t been there before, or maybe she just hadn’t seen it. Maybe she’d refused to look.

She caught his eye, just for a second, and it sent a jolt like a bit of lightning through her core. Neither of them smiled. The silence between them felt like its own kind of spell. A barrier. A wound. She looked away first.

“Molly,” she said, her voice cracking just slightly, “can I help with the table?”

“Of course, dear,” Molly said, bustling over and placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve already set out the plates, but the glasses and napkins are still in the cupboard.”

She nodded gratefully, stepping past Fred without a word, her shoulder brushing the doorway. She didn’t look back.

———————————————————————

Dinner at the Burrow had never been quiet. Even in the worst of times, this place had a pulse, a rhythm. Like a heartbeat too stubborn to stop. Laughter still lived in the walls, soaked into the wood of the kitchen table, and even if it was quieter tonight, even if there was something unspoken tugging between the adults and the younger faces alike, there was still warmth. Still food.

Molly had made shepherd’s pie, roasted pumpkin, and steamed greens. There were platters of rolls charmed to stay warm and a pot of treacle tart just waiting for dessert. It smelled like comfort. It smelled like home. But she couldn’t taste any of it.

Fred sat across the table from her, two seats down, beside George. He hadn’t spoken to her. Not once.Every time she looked up, he was already looking at her. He wasn’t smiling.

She turned instead to Angelina, seated beside her, and managed a whisper. “I can’t do this.”

Angelina squeezed her knee under the table. “You can. And you’re going to. Eat your bloody pie.”

It was the only thing that made her smile all night.

The tension between her and Fred was palpable, like the moment before a wand duel when your fingers flex just slightly, your heart hammering, your eyes locked on someone who could destroy you. She kept catching herself tracing the rim of her goblet, shredding her napkin with slow fingers. Every nerve in her body told her to look at him again. To yell. To cry. But she didn’t.

Instead, she listened as Harry tried to explain Muggle car maintenance to Arthur, who was eating it up with wide-eyed curiosity. George cracked a joke that made Hermione groan. Ginny kicked Ron under the table.

And she smiled at all the right times. Laughed when expected. But her eyes kept sliding back to Fred. He was quieter than she remembered. That unsettled her more than anything.

She wondered if he was still angry. If he thought she had moved on. If he’d ever meant it, when he’d said his feelings had changed. When he’d said goodbye. When he’d left her, sleeping and trusting and in love.

When the meal finally ended and plates began vanishing with quick cleaning charms, she stood quietly and slipped out of the room. No one stopped her when she climbed up to Ginny’s room and pretended to go to bed.

———————————————————————

Slowly, one by one, Ginny, Angelina and Hermione had joined her. All three had since drifted off to sleep. But she was still wide awake, eyes screwed shut as a flow of memories played before her eyelids. There was no way she’d be getting a wink of sleep here. Not when she knew Fred was in the room below her. Not when she knew the trek to it so well. When she’d made that journey many a night before.

Letting out an exhausted and irritated breath, she climbed out of the makeshift bedding on the floor. Stepping lightly over the creaking floorboards, she made her way out into the hall and then descended down the staircase. Her eyes were instantly drawn to Fred and George’s shut bedroom door. Her stomach flipped but she forced herself to walk past it and continued to the ground floor of the house.

The living room was empty now, chairs pushed back and a few half-empty wine goblets left on the mantle. The fire had burned low, casting orange light against the walls. She padded into the kitchen.

She opened a cupboard, pulled out her favourite mug - the blue one with the tiny chip near the handle - and filled it with water, whispering a quiet charm to warm it. Her hands trembled as she added a spoonful of honey and a crushed bit of dried chamomile from Molly’s neatly labeled jars.

The tea leaves hadn’t even begun to diffuse when the floorboards behind her creaked again. She didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. She recognised the weight of those footsteps. The lanky gait.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Fred asked quietly.

Her breath hitched but she still didn’t turn. “No,” she said. “Too many ghosts in this house.”

Fred didn’t reply for a long moment. Then he stepped closer, but not too close. “Thanks for coming,” he said.

“I didn’t come for you.”

“I know.”

Another defeaning silence rose quickly. Then she turned, ever so slowly, and looked at him fully for the first time in nearly a year.

He hadn’t changed that much. Still lanky, still handsome in that infuriatingly charming way. His jaw was sharper, though. He looked like someone who had learned to live on half-slept nights and hard decisions. There was an ache in her chest at the sight of him. One she hadn’t felt since the day he left.

“You didn’t write,” she whispered.

“I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t have to lie to me, Fred.”

He swallowed, looking away, his voice tight. “I did. If I hadn’t, you would’ve come with me. I wasn’t going to risk anything happening to you.”

“I should have come with you,” she snapped, stepping closer now, tears welling. “We promised each other—”

“I kept you safe,” he said, voice harsh. “That was the promise I kept.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She clenched her fists. “And what about me?” she asked. “I didn’t want to be kept safe. I wanted to be with you. And you left me. For a whole year!”

He looked at her now, and in his eyes, she saw every sleepless night, every regret, every almost. “I know,” he said. “And I’ve thought about it every single day.”

“You think I haven’t?” She blurted. “Do you think a day went by when my thoughts weren’t consumed by you? When I wasn’t worrying about where you were. What you were doing. If you were even still alive out there.”

“Better than having to be there,” he insisted. “Better than having to worry about me while being hunted by snatchers and dueling with death eaters.”

She had no response for that. The mug in her hand had gone cold, tea forgotten the moment he entered the room. Fred stood there, blocking the doorway like the ghost of every memory she’d fought to survive. He still looked at her like she was something he’d dreamed up. Like she might vanish again if he blinked too long.

“It’s still hard for me to believe this is real. That it’s not a dream and you’re really here,” he murmured, as if the words had to be tested aloud to be believed.

Again, she didn’t answer. Just stared at him. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic mug as if it were the only thing anchoring her.

Fred stepped closer, slowly, eyes flicking from her face to the chipped rim of the cup in her hands. “I thought about this moment so many times,” he said quietly, almost like he was ashamed of it. “What I’d say. What you’d say. Whether you’d slap me or hex me or just walk away.”

“You forgot the part where I say nothing at all,” she said, voice tight. “Where I just sit at dinner like a guest and not the woman who lived with you. Loved you. Waited for you.”

He flinched. “You’re not just a guest.”

“Felt like one.”

“I did it to keep you safe—”

“Oh don’t you dare,” she snapped, stepping toward him, placing the mug down hard on the countertop with a dull thud. “Don’t you dare keep pulling the noble sacrifice card. I fought. I was there. At the Battle of Hogwarts. You weren’t there keeping me safe, Fred. I handled it on my own. No, this whole mess is because you were to afraid to keep me close, so you pushed me away.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Maybe you’re right. I didn’t handle it the way I should have. But you have to understand, I couldn’t watch you die.”

“And I couldn’t watch you walk away. But I had to.”

There was a pause, long and aching. Then he stepped in close, so close she could feel the heat of him, the familiar smell of something smoky and warm that always clung to his shirts. “I missed you every single day.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Good,” he said. “Because that means you still feel something for me. And I’m still in love with you.”

Her mouth found his before her brain could catch up. The mug was left abandoned on the counter, forgotten like everything else except the way his hands curled around her waist and hers fisted in the collar of his old shirt.

They crashed together like magnets snapping back into place. It was urgent, desperate, and breathless. He kissed her like he was trying to make up for every second they’d lost, mouth moving hungrily over hers, fingers tracing her jaw, her neck, her back. She moaned softly into his mouth as he walked her backward, bumping into the pantry door, then the edge of the bench, sending a jar of sugar nearly tumbling.

“Fred! Fred, we can’t. Not here,” she gasped against his lips, pushing lightly against his chest even as her hands tugged him closer. “Your family’s upstairs.”

He smirked into her skin as he kissed down her neck. “Didn’t stop you last time,” he muttered.

She pulled back just enough to raise a brow. “What are you—?”

But she knew exactly what he was talking about. That very same summer before sixth year. The whole house was sleeping. She’d been tiptoeing down for a drink, only to find him already in the kitchen, shirtless and smiling in the golden candlelight. They’d kissed in front of the pantry, just like this. Hands roaming. His mouth hot and reckless against her throat. They’d nearly been caught when the stairs creaked and Molly stirred. She’d giggled into his chest, both of them ducking behind the table, biting back laughter and hunger alike.

“I cannot believe you remember that,” she whispered, breath shaky, face hot.

“Could never forget it,” he said, pressing her up against the cupboard again, voice low and rough. “Especially the part where you said, and I quote, ‘if we get caught, I’ll tell them you seduced me.’”

She laughed, short and breathy, even as her nails dragged lightly down his chest. “Sounds like something you’d do.”

“Merlin, I missed that laugh,” he murmured before capturing her mouth again.

Clothes began to shift and fall between kisses. Her shirt lifted over her head, his hands slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans. He touched her like he’d been starved for the feel of her skin, like memorising her all over again was the only way he’d survive.

She pulled back only when her knees hit the cupboard door behind her, breath ragged. “Fred, we can’t—”

“I need you,” he said simply. “Not just tonight. Not just here.” His lips ghosted over her collarbone, his hands stilling just beneath the hem of her top. “I need you back in my life. Every damn day.”

She searched his face, stunned by the ache in his eyes. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do,” he whispered.

Then, he dropped to one knee. Her pulse stuttered. “What—”

“I’m not joking.” His voice dropped to something tender. “I’ve had the ring since before I left.”

He pulled back just slightly and reached into his pocket, fingers trembling just a little. Her eyes welled up as he held out a small, well-worn box. It was scuffed from being carried everywhere for months. He opened it, revealing a ring so beautiful and perfect that it made her breath catch in her throat.

“You were going to propose before? Before everything?”

He nodded, throat tight. “I wanted to. I had this whole plan. Candles. Music. Something sappy. But then the war got worse, and I couldn’t risk you following me. I thought I’d lose you.”

“You nearly did,” she whispered.

“But I didn’t,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re still here. Still mad at me. Still perfect. I know I don’t deserve it, but I love you. I’ve always loved you. I don’t have a fancy set up. I don’t have a speech. I don’t even really have a job anymore unless we can get the shop up and running again.” He laughed, dry and nervous, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “But I have a whole future in my head. One where we don’t let the world get between us again. One where we do things right.”

She stared at the ring, then at him. Then laughed, watery and disbelieving. “What am I meant to tell people when they ask how you proposed?”

Fred smirked and pulled her into his arms again. “Tell them it was during the most passionate night of our lives. In my mum’s kitchen. While half-dressed and furious.”

She stared, heart racing, hands trembling. A choked sob bubbled from her throat, even through the tears burning behind her eyes. “You want that to be the story?”

“Best proposal story ever,” he grinned, rising to his feet again and kissing her softly. “Unless you’d rather tell them it happened under the stars. Or on a broomstick. Or in front of a bloody hippogriff. We’ve got options. I’ll do it again, and again, until I get it right.”

She shook her head, pulling him in again, her lips brushing his. “You’re an absolute buffoon, Fred Weasley.”

“I am,” he murmured. “But you’ve never let that stop you before.”

She pressed her forehead to his, voice thick and trembling, but certain. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

———————————————————————

The scent of sizzling bacon and freshly baked bread drifted up the stairs, sunlight spilling through the curtains in lazy golden streaks. She stretched beneath the duvet, sore in a lovely, familiar way, and for the first time in what felt like ages, her body didn’t ache from sadness or tension. It just ached from being alive and in love.

She padded barefoot down the stairs, wearing an oversized jumper - Fred’s, again, obviously - and soft flannel pyjama shorts. Her hair was still mussed from sleep, and she hadn’t bothered with much more than washing her face and brushing her teeth. The usual morning chaos echoed from the kitchen: George arguing with Ron over toast, plates clinking, Ginny muttering something about Harry drinking all the pumpkin juice.

But the moment she walked in, the noise dulled. Everyone turned. She blinked tiredly. “Morning.”

No one responded right away. Fred, standing at the end of the table putting down a tray of pancakes, looked up the moment he heard her voice. His entire expression softened into something that made her stomach do that awful, fluttering thing it always had when he looked at her like that. As if she’d just walked into a room and turned on all the lights.

Without a word, he crossed the kitchen, placed a steaming mug of tea in front of her, and leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Just how you like it,” he murmured.

She smiled into her cup as she cradled it, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

“What on Earth,” Percy muttered, a bewildered expression taking over his features.

“Were you two not at war last night?” Ron asked, halfway through a mouthful of toast.

Arthur glanced between them, bemused. “Did I miss something?”

“You definitely missed something,” Angelina said, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

She tilted her head, smirking over her mug. Fred looked far too smug as he sat beside her, arm casually draping along the back of her chair like they hadn’t spent the previous day avoiding eye contact at this very same table.

And then Ginny gasped loudly. “Oh my Godric! Is that a ring on your finger?!”

All eyes dropped to her left hand, which was still curled around the tea mug. The delicate gold band sparkled like it knew exactly what it was doing. She looked at Fred. He looked at her. They exchanged a shared, secretive smile.

Then she raised her eyebrows, teasing. “So…do you want to tell them, or should I?”

Fred turned to the stunned table with a wicked grin. “We’re engaged.”

The reaction was instantaneous. Ginny shrieked. Hermione let out a dramatic “What?!”Ron dropped his toast. Arthur’s mouth fell open in genuine surprise. And Molly…Well Molly burst into tears and screamed in delight. “OH, MY STARS!”

Chairs scraped back so fast it was a wonder no one toppled over. In seconds, she was being swept from her seat, hugged, kissed, and congratulated in loud, overlapping bursts of joy.

Fred was pulled from one sibling to the next, everyone clapping him on the back and demanding to know when, how, where.

Molly cupped her hands over her mouth, eyes watering. “I knew it! I knew it! Oh, sweetheart, welcome to the family!”

“I thought I was always part of the family,” she laughed as Molly crushed her into a hug.

“Yes, but now it’s official,” Molly cried. “Oh, look at that ring! Fred Gideon Weasley, I swear, you’re lucky she said yes after all you put her through!”

He smirked from over her shoulder, and as the Burrow filled with laughter, joy, and the sound of everyone trying to talk over each other, she looked around the table and felt something settle in her chest. Life was finally as it should be. As it had been once, long ago.

Fred caught her gaze from across the room. Lifted his brow. Gave her that crooked smile that still made her knees go weak. She smiled back.

Molly was already rattling off plans for an engagement dinner, Ginny cooing over the ring, and Arthur trying to discreetly ask Fred about the proposal while still grinning ear to ear.

Fred had just managed to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her back to his side, beaming proudly, when George leaned lazily against the counter with a very smug expression and said, loud enough to cut through the noise, “Well I already knew. Hard to miss, considering I couldn’t even sneak downstairs for a glass of water last night without nearly being deafened by the sound of impending nuptials happening in the bloody kitchen.”

Percy choked on his tea.

Ginny squealed in horror. “GEORGE!”

“Merlin’s beard!” Arthur gasped, looking everywhere except at the couple.

Molly looked like she might faint. “In my kitchen?!”

Fred clapped a hand over his face, muttering, “You were supposed to be asleep.”

“I was!” George shot back. “Until I woke up to the sound of the spatula drawer being assaulted.”

“Fred!” Molly shrieked.

“It was a passionate moment!” he defended, turning pink.

“It was also a health code violation!” George yelled, waving his arms dramatically.

She was blushing so hard she nearly dropped her tea, clinging to Fred’s jumper for balance as he groaned into her shoulder.

“Worst part is,” George added, “now every time I try to make a sandwich in the middle of the night, I’ll have to ask myself, Has this counter been—”

“GEORGE!” came the collective scream from the entire table. But George only grinned wider, completely unbothered.

“I’m just saying,” he muttered, lifting his hands innocently, “some of us didn’t need a formal announcement.”

Fred shook his head, pulling her closer with a groan. “Welcome to the family, love. Hope you like oversharing.”

She just buried her face in his chest, laughing, the ring on her finger catching the light as Fred pressed another kiss to her hair.

And amid the chaos, the teasing, and the scandalised gasps echoing through the Burrow, she had never felt more loved, or more at home. It was going to be chaos. It was going to be messy. But it was them. And it was perfect.

———————————————————————

Tag list: @vivianette @ellouisa17 @wisp1q @divineani @cattleray @billieeilishkisser

#vivi recs🍓

385 notes · View notes

vivianette · 3 days ago

Text

Crushable? More Like... Debatable (F.W)

🍓Synopsis: It was hard to feign nonchalance when all your friends had their share of romantic experiences while you waited around for a miracle. Fred Weasley was that miracle.

🍓AN: writing something after ages because Fred is my current hyperfixation and he motivated me lol. Also lets pretend one direction exists in the timeline to make this work. Not proof read as always. English isnt my first language and i wrote this for fun. Enjoy!

🍓Pairing: Fred Weasley x Female Reader.

🍓Warnings: Fluff with a bit of angst, reader's insecurities, a flirty Fred if you squint, bad humour and even worse grammar.

🍓Word Count: 6.3k

🍓Taglist: @billieeilishkisser

🍓Masterlist

Life wasn't fair to you. You don't care if you sound like an angsty teenager right now but it's your life and you get to complain about it all you want. When all your friends and everyone around you have something it's only a matter of time you'd want it too. And for you that thing was romantic validation. You aren't hideous. You didn't have horns coming out your forehead the last time you checked the mirror. Hell you even got complimented by the girl just a year below you last week! You have a pretty good sense of humour, it was confirmed when the Weasley twins themselves laughed at your witty jokes. Having geniune friends around you confirmed that there was nothing wrong with your personality either. You're an above average student, even excelling at few subjects. Yet the question often arises in your head. 'When will it be my turn?'. The girls your age, your height, your weight and even your skintone seemed to have tasted what love was then why not you?

Maybe it was more of a popularity requirement. You weren't very well known but you did hang out with the somewhat popular crowd. Angelina Johnson for example, one of your closest friends, have had so many admirers in all the years you've known her. It was either them confessing or her showing interest that led to her having a very eventful dating life. You had voiced your concerns of never even having held someone's hand romantically once or twice when Angelina would tell you her wild romantic experiences and end the sentence with 'y’know?'. 'No Angelina I don't' is what you had once said and you love the girl to pieces but lord you would crash out if she lectures you about how 'love will come when you least expect it' once more. Loads of bull crap is what it is but you're sure the girl means well.

Maybe it's the fact that you never liked anyone yourself or to be more truthful you never really allowed yourself to like anyone too much to the point it would be considered 'serious'. You'd call it a silly crush and wouldn't let it be there more than a week in fear of actually falling for someone.

You had a system; if you won't like someone too much then you wouldn’t have to confess and be rejected of course because someone actually loving you or even liking you was an alien concept to you and voila you saved yourself from heartbreak. It's easier to reject yourself automatically on behalf of any guy you'd find cute than actually going through the process of doing something about it. You told yourself it was the safer option, the cautious route yet your foolish heart wanted you to risk it all for a particular red head sitting across from you. Fred Weasley.

"Yeah I'd date any of you girls" snapping you out of your zoned out state you listened as George answered Lee's question of whether he'd date the girls in your friend group. "All of them if I'm lucky enough" George winked at Angelina as she blushed which went unnoticed by the lot. "Oi that's incestuous" Katie replied scrunching her nose pretending to be disgusted. "Kinda like the Muggle show Y/N put us on" Lee Jordan chimed in.

"You mean Friends?" You asked shifting your attention from how impossibly soft Fred's hair looked to Lee. "Yeah didn't the whole friend group sleep with each other at some point?" Angelina joined in. "Be the Rachael to my Ross?" Lee batted his eyelashes dramatically at Angelina joking. "Oi you absolute git!" She replied laughing along with everyone as George slap the back of Lee's head earning an ouch from the shorter boy.

"Won't be the case for our group" Fred shrugged as he decided to lock his eyes with you as he said this statement. George snickered at what Fred said before quietly saying "yeah right" sarcastically calling out his bluff. But your heart dropped to your stomach instantly. Did he direct it towards you? Is this his way of warning you to not keep hopes of any future with him? Not like you have allowed yourself to in the first place, that's against your system. Plus, your brain loved to come up with stupidly dramatic what ifs.

You gave him a dry chuckle a bit irritated by what he said "Don't worry your pretty head, none of us wants your stupid ass" you replied hoping it didn't sound too aggressive to show it bothered you because why would it.

"Oh come on love, I bet you'd be ecstatic to have me" Fred teased putting his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together resting his chin on top trying to appear to be charming. It had worked. The group had all resumed their own conversations by now leaving you and Fred to the conversation. "Pfft you wish!" You rolled your eyes playfully before returning your attention to your plate in front of you. Fearing if you made eye contact he might see right through you. You picked up your fork pushing the peas that were left on your plate. You hate peas. So much for magic plates, didn't even know a person's food preference.

Fred's hand reached yours across the table grabbing your fork. The sudden touch making you jump a little. "Give it" he said taking your plate from you. Fred had been doing this since the day you once mentioned your hate for peas.

'Just toss them' he had suggested you before. 'And waste food? The guilt will eat me' you had replied. 'Tsk you're such a whiner you know that?' he teased harmlessly yet agreeing he'd finish your plate for you whenever your picky self couldn't finish the food or you got full.

It took him barely thirty seconds to clear your plate. "All done.", he announced to you proudly. You smiled genuinely grateful. These little gestures of his is what made you fall for him- wait, fall? That's silly you're just happy that you have such a thoughtful friend. The butterflies in your stomach are just gratitude bugs pfft.

"Aren't you happy to have Fred as your personal dustbin.", George wiggled his eyebrows at you teasingly. You scoffed masking any shyness you felt at his comment. "It was either him or you Weasley junior.", you quipped. "Tsk you're born a few minutes late and people come up with horrendous nicknames like these" George pretended to wipe his imaginary tears as Lee offered him an imaginary handkerchief to wipe them off with. "If you think about it Weasley junior really does sound like a cute nickname" Angelina reasoned. "Or something you twins would name your penis" you joked getting your friends to laugh uncontrollably, you guys did share humour of a twelve-year-old boy after all.

The laughter died down a bit "Let me assure you my Weasley is not so junior" Fred looked at you throwing you a quick wink. "ew gross! Freddie!" You lifted your hand pretending to give him a punch laughing as everyone laughed along with you. You could feel heat crawling to the back of your neck at his shameless comment. Fred only shrugged smugly "Gotta clear it up before any of the ladies heard such a preposterous accusation." He said in his defense making you roll your eyes as Lee patted his back in a congratulatory kinda way.

You were currently walking with your arms linked with Ginny Weasley. Due to the lack of girls in her household, six brothers good Lord, she would often come to you for big sisterly advice. You adored the younger girl she was always so sweet and friendly. You truly loved her like your own sister. Most of your hangouts included her and even the twins' younger brother Ron and his friends Hermoine and Harry, the famous wizard. The later one was whom Ginny was currently ranting about. Girl had a serious crush. The irony.

"He's always on my mind and it’s just so- so frustrating you know" Ginny sighed. "Oh I know" you agreed with your own struggles of trying to forget a certain red head. "Oh do you mean-" Fred appeared out of nowhere from behind as he swiped his hand between yours and Ginny's linked arms separating you two. Was he a telepath?

"Stop stealing my friend and go make your own would you?" Fred said suddenly walking in-between you two effortlessly linking his left arm with your right one Ginny stood to his right side gasping at his accusation.

Skin ship came to Fred like it's no big deal you were always too embarrassed to make a comment on it because it was so casual to him and you didn't want to make it seem like it affected you. But oh it did big time.

"She's my friend too you moron" Ginny snapped. Fred smirked teasingly "What were you girlies talking about anyways?", continuing to walk. "Girl talk, nothing that concerns you" she rolled her eyes at her older brother. "Oh were you telling her what you'd name yours and Harry's future kids?" Fred's smirk only widened. "Shut up!" Ginny was now visibly blushing as she slapped her brother's arm. "Oh so I was correct!". You couldn't help but giggle a bit at the two siblings. Ginny looked at you offended like you had sided with the enemy. "Whose side are you on?!" she whined and you felt only a tad bit bad as you tried your best to hide the laugh that threatened to spill any second now. "Yours Ginny, definitely yours." you replied trying to look as serious as you could while Fred raised his eyebrow at you making you almost slip up. "Aww come on! you can't say that when I'm the one holding you oh so dearly" Fred said dramatically pulling you closer acting clingy. "I thought we had something" he continued. "Yeah, you and every girl that entertains your stupidity" you rolled your eyes but couldn't help smile. "Uff right in the feelings" he put a hand on his chest faking pain. Ginny that was witnessing this exchange smirked knowingly "Give me back Y/N after you're done flirting with her" she stated waving you goodbye. "Never!" Fred replied back as she stuck out her tongue and left. "You're such an attention whore." you said clicking your tongue. The taller boy gasped at you saying your name, "At least use the dignified term!" "And what would that be?" "Attention harlot of course" Fred replied to which you laughed heartedly. The realization of you laughing so genuinely at something he had said swelled his chest with pride. "Dumbass." you replied but he couldn't help but smile down at you dragging you along with him to your next shared class.

After class both of you went your separate ways. The twins had Quidditch practice and Lee was off to Merlin knows where. You were cozily sat on a plush sofa in the Gryffindor common room along with Angelina, Ginny and Katie. The hot topic for today was what Katie should wear for her date this weekend with some Ravenclaw boy that asked her out. You swear she was going out with some glasses wearing Hufflepuff just last week but knowing how fast she switches boys you didn't question his disappearance. You chewed your bottom lip getting rid of the dead skin and also because you didn't want to sound salty when you just found out about how even Ginny, the girl younger than you already have had romantic experiences of her own when the topic of best to worst dates was circulating. Normally you contributed most to the conversation, having a talkative personality, but topics about love always made you feel alienated.

"He sent too many owls over the summer, like let a girl breathe!" Katie complained about the guy she dated in second year while the other two laughed. You joined in a second late wondering what a grave problem to have, someone to write to you endearingly. You wouldn't mind such a headache. "Kat you sure you don't have commitment issues?" you teased your friend earning a laugh from the girls. "Okay maybeee I do." Katie admitted "but don't tell Francis though" the new boy you assumed as she winked at you. Hermoine had walked in as she took a seat, the conversation piqued her interest. "You sure Katie isn't the only one with issues to commit?" the girl elbowed you teasingly. "I think she has an issue with love itself" Angelina snickered. Oh great the teasing circle had come around you now. "Nah I wouldn't say that." Ginny smirked making Katie gasp, "Oh my god, who is the lucky bloke?" she urged looking at you for answers. "What?" you were caught off guard by the sudden spotlight on you. "There's no one." you said failing to convince the four girls in front of you. "Is he in the same house?" Angelina asked. "In the Quidditch team, perhaps?" Katie added. "Maybe he's someone we know?" Ginny wiggled her eyebrows at you. Oh she was fully enjoying this, was it payback for when you failed to defend her in front of Fred? Most likely. She knew you the best out of all the girls gathered. You spent quite a lot of time at the Burrow along with Hermoine. The Weasleys loved you, coming from a big family yourself, you adjusted well to the loving chaos they had to offer. Being a muggle-born you bonded well with Arthur Weasley as he was always fascinated by the many muggle inventions you brought with you to the Burrow during summers. Molly loved to try the new recipes you’d bring. But there was only one Weasley that occupied most of your thoughts; Fred Weasley. You don’t know when it happened or maybe you pretended to not know but Fred had always been what came to your mind when the girls would gush about their current boy of the week. For you Fred was your boy of forever. He always had been. From the moment he’d willingly let you ramble on and on about theories for any particular fandom you were hyper fixating on at the moment, to the times when he’d keep you near him in a crowd and when you'd be the first one to know about the latest pranks he had been planning. And Ginny was very aware of your feelings, no matter how much she hinted at knowing you’d always pretend that there were no feelings. ‘Ginny you’re like a sister to me! So technically Fred is also like my brother!’ You had cringed internally when you had said this bullshit of a sentence trying to deny when Ginny has once asked you if you fancied her brother. “You can’t lie about your feelings for Fred forever!” Ginny had warned you but you were dead-set to deny.deny.deny.

“If I liked someone I would’ve told you guys already” you rolled your eyes lying through your teeth. “True, all she does is fawn over that muggle pop-star what’s his name again?” Angelina asked squinting her eyes trying to recall. “Zayn Malik.” Hermoine answered proudly being a casual fan herself. “Bloody hell you should’ve seen how she screamed at the twins chasing them around the whole castle when they snatched and hid her Zayn poster” You laughed fondly at the memory.

‘Oh what I’d give to have him all to myself’ you giggled like a delusional fangirl, you were always open about your interests with your constant rambles. ‘Fit bloke isn’t he?’ George grinned but it was directed more towards Fred than you, of course not that you noticed you were too busy admiring the singer’s poster in your hands that you father had somehow gotten signed for your birthday. Your ‘most prized possession’ is what you would refer it to as. Fred glared at George who was clearly enjoying the reaction he got out of his older identical. Fred snatched the poster from your hands. ‘Meh seems average to me’ he said as you audibly gasped. ‘Blasphemy!’ you giggled faking offense. ‘You take that back. He’s the best looking out of all the members!’, you presented your opinion as a fact. ‘They should’ve had a red head, would’ve made the band far more popular with the ladies’ Fred replied smirking as he fixed his own messy hair and for a second you silently agreed with him. ‘We have Ed Sheeran for that’ you joked seeing him scrunch up his nose in disagreement, ‘Not a good rep for us.’ You laughed at the subtle Sheeran slander. ‘I’m keeping this, you’ll get mad gawking at the poster like it’s the Mirror of Erised’. You tried to snatch it out of his hands but he was quick enough to hold it higher over your head. Curse him for being so handsomely tall. ‘Nope’ he said as he ran away laughing with George making you run after the pair screaming.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by George’s words. “What are we talking about?” He asked sitting next to Angelina on the couch. You noticed Fred also entering the common room followed by Lee. You noted how his hair were damp, probably because of the quick pre-practice shower, but would it kill him to look at least a little ugly? It’s like he wanted to seduce you. You shook your head at the indecent thoughts about your best friend.

“Y/N and her Zayn obsession”, Ginny replied. Fred stopped to dramatically make a disgusted face. “Oh gross! We don’t need to hear about your wet dreams.” He said looking at you. Your face heated up at his choice of words. “Oi, shut up!” you said. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous Fred.” Lee said adding to the drama mischievously earning a high-five from George and a giggle from Ginny. “Well obviously I am. Nobody is good enough for my girl.” Fred answered walking towards the empty spot beside you. ‘my girl’. The nickname irritated you to no extent. He’d always throw in such endearing words oh so casually and you hated yourself even more for always letting them affect you.

Ginny gave George a knowing smirk as Fred plopped down next to you resting his arm around you on the sofas back. You looked at him, quick to cover the heat creeping to your cheeks. “You’re dripping.” You ignored his earlier comment referring to his hair that he was too lazy to dry with a towel. He smirked at you, planning mischief that you caught on but were too late to stop. “Fred don’t you dar- aHH” he gave his head a quick shake letting the water droplets fall on you making you squeal. Hermoine caught in the crossfire by simply being next to you. She grumbled something about manners as the rest of your friends laughed.

“You absolute doggy!” You replied hitting his arm as he said a loud ‘ouch’ being overly dramatic but laughing. “Ah young love”, Lee sighed dreamily seeing how you two behaved. “There’s no love here” you said defensively posing it as a joke. “Right bro?” You panicked wanting to be convincing you turned to Fred. His smile faltered a bit but he didn’t let anyone know, not even you. “Ah you wound me woman.” He joked back. It was a joke, all of it. Always. No way Fred would actually, seriously, legitimately flirt with you out of all the beautiful girls that crowded Hogwarts. The thought stung but you were glad the conversation had shifted to everyone discussing the absurd assignment Professor Snape gave, giving you enough time to calm down. Only you noticed how Fred has now retrieved his arm from behind you wondering whether calling him ‘bro’ was what caused it but that would be a foolish conclusion, right?

At dinner time you were the last one of your friends to reach the great hall, too focused on the damn essay Snape gave you for potions. You quickly spotted your crowd as you hurried yourself to where they sat. Everyone said their hi’s to you as you settled in between Ginny and Angelina. Katie was at the Ravenclaw table with her current guy, whatever his name was. Only the twins, Ginny, Angelina and Lee were present. You were quick to notice the younger girl fully engrossed in her latest edition of Witch Weekly magazine. You leaned closer curious to what she was reading. Even if the magazine offered clichéd columns like; “Enchanted herbs for age reversal!”, “How to keep your hair silky all day”, “5 signs that he’s into you!” and “Are you crush worthy? Take this quiz to find out!”. The last one caught your eye by the pure absurdity of the title. “What the hell even is this?” You pointed and laughed humored by it. Ginny looked at you “Can’t tell if these are true or not but sure are very entertaining.” “Sounds kinda stupid.” Lee gave his opinion that no one asked for only making Ginny roll her eyes. “Stupid enough for us to try out,”, Fred replied from across you snatching the magazine from his sister’s hands. “Hey! I was reading that” to which Fred just stuck out his tongue. “What are you? Five?” Ginny said. “Let’s see what we have here" Fred said looking at the quiz. “What is your usual reaction when you’re in a romantic setting? Option A: you feel nervous and unsure making you act awkward. Nope not me! Option B: you prefer to keep things low-key to avoid being the center of attention.” “Definitely not you” you pointed out that made Fred laugh “Yeah you know me.” He said resuming his reading “Option C: you’re confident and love the attention making the most of the situation. Ding! That’s me.” He replied like he was actually enjoying this cringey quiz. It took him almost ten minutes to complete the quiz with 25 questions while simultaneously stuffing his mouth with dinner and to no surprise that the answer came- “Totally Crushable! You have a magnetic personality that draws people in. Your confidence, sense of humor, and approachable nature make you irresistible to others. Whether it's your charm or the way you handle yourself, you definitely have the qualities that make people want to get closer to you.” Fred read off his answer as Lee snickered and George rolled his eyes. “Oi don’t gloat” He teased. “Well damn, thank you Witch Weekly magazine, I’m almost blushing!” He said entertaining everyone. “Imagine having to take a corny quiz to find out your charisma levels” Angelina teased. “Exactly why I don’t need one” it was George’s time to boast. “It’s not corny, Y/N will take it as well, won't you darling?” Fred said turning to you. Sigh, again with the pet names. “Why are you roping me into this?” you narrowed your eyes at him. “Come on!” “Nope.” “Please?” “Do better.” “Your next Hogsmeade trip is on me. All expenses covered.” That piqued your interest. “You do know they opened a new trinket shop.” “Yup.” “The kinda costly one?” “I’m aware” he smiled at you. “And you’ll be paying?” “Any trinket of your choice.” “Just one though, we have a joint piggy bank.” George chimed in half joking. “But I get to go crazy at Honeydukes.” You negotiated as Fred pretended to think about it. “You’ve got yourself a deal lady!” Fred extended his hand towards you to shake on and you happily took it shaking it violently as a joke. He laughed at this giving your hand a firm yet gentle squeeze before letting go. You already missed his warm and much larger hand in yours. Ginny handed you her magazine as you decided to quickly earn yourself some goodies through this stupid quiz. “Doing too much aren’t you loverboy?” George whispered nudging at his twin sitting beside him. “piss off.” Is all what Fred replied hoping you hadn’t hear his brother’s comment.

You sighed as you began, confident that answering truthfully will ensure the desired results of ‘Totally Crushable’ but boy were you wrong. The words“Crushable? More Like... Debatable.” stared at you in bold as if they taunted you. “What?!” You said out loud making your friends who were busy with food and chatter to regain their focus on you minus Fred who was eagerly waiting for you to finish your quiz all this time. “What does it say?” you didn’t need to see his face to tell he was smirking. This fucker. ‘oh I’m not taking that quiz” Angelina quickly stated judging from the look you had she didn’t want to risk it either. You sighed handing him the magazine. “page fourteen third paragraph. Go on have your fun.” You handed him the magazine. He cleared his throat ready to announce your quiz results among your shared friends. “With your mild social awkwardness, questionable sense of humor, and talent for overthinking every human interaction, you're basically a walking rom-com side character.” He had started reading humored by the words, making you groan loudly mentally preparing yourself for the roasting you’ll be receiving courtesy your friends. “You have a hidden charm and your idea of flirting is eye contact. Merlin only a love potion can save you now.” Fred wasn’t even done reading the entire paragraph before Lee was gasping for air from how much he had been laughing. "Don't worry you can always adopt a cat!", You swear Lee was choking on his own saliva because he laughed too much as George slapped his back to help him but was also laughing along. You were laughing too now, embarrassed but you had to play it cool. “Ugh this is totally rigged!” you tried joking but could feel your face on fire. It wasn’t a big deal. But lately you’ve been having doubts about your appeal to the male kind. The last thing you needed was an embarrassing ‘proof’ of your undesirability in front of your friends, in front of Fred. All you wanted to do was get up and leave dramatically but you weren’t stupid that’ll prove that you let this silly magazine get to you. You had to be mature about this.

“And I’m the Queen of England” George teased at your comment of rigged quiz. You laughed at that even if all you wanted to do was get back to your dorm and throw yourself a pity party. It had been a while since you’ve had a good crying session, helps you with sleep really. Fred must’ve sensed you feeling down as he jumped in “Well who even believes this crap anyway” tossing the magazine onto the table. As much as your heart swelled at Fred playing hero you couldn’t stand the idea of him thinking you were insecure. The only way you could somehow take charge of the situation was by humour. “Well thanks to this quiz I get to blow your and George’s hard earned allowance” you gave your best impression of a smug grin and it somehow convinced Fred making him smile instantly “Aww man I was hoping you’d be too stumped to remember our deal!” he said jokingly. “You’re gonna be so bankrupt” you joked back laughing. “Remind me to never make a deal with you Y/L/N” Lee shuddered earning a laugh. ‘Great save’ you mentally congratulated yourself thankful that Ginny had started discussing how weird the new dessert Jelly tasted making everyone argue about the superior dessert choice.

The weekend came. The humiliation from the crush quiz was totally worth it now that you were standing in Honeydukes with your arms full with plenty of fun treats to last you two whole weeks. George claimed that he couldn’t bear seeing the twins’ money being blown away so he was off with the others somewhere in Hogsmeade. You had half a mind to grab a pack of Licorice Whips between your teeth- your arms were already full, but you weren’t about to let his wallet off easy (theirs technically). “Uh uh, you only get what your arms can hold.” Fred came into your view reminding you of the rules of your deal. As you turned to him, the carefully hoarded stack of candies you had in your arms wobbled and a few of your precious sweets fell on the ground. “And of course the fallen treats don’t count as well.”, he added.

“This is all your fault.” You said whining to him. “The fallen treats or the mortifying quiz results.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Both.” You answered. “Now that’s a bit unfair isn’t it?” he asked as he led you to the cashier counter to pay for the candies. “Maybe a bit, but still all your fault.” You teased and he clicked his tongue. “You will never admit when you’re wrong hmn?” he bantered. You raised your eyebrow at him like a warning. “But that’s because you can never be wrong of course.” He said like a perfectly trained dog taking the sweet bags from you as you both exited the shop. “Good boy, Weasley.”, you teased knowing how much this silly name irritated the boy. George came up with it since Fred would argue to the depths of hell with anyone but when it came to you he’d always let you have the last word. ‘You have him running like a dog!’, you remember George telling you in passing.

Fred rolled his eye so hard they might just stick there. “I can’t say much cause you’re a lady and I’m a gentleman.” He said proudly like he expected a medal from you. “Oh how chivalrous of you, kind sir.” You opened one of many boxes of Bertie Bott’s beans and popped one into your mouth. “Gross, orange.” You said quickly swallowing it to stop the awful taste. “You’re acting like it was earwax.” Fred commented. “This is far worse.” You promised. “Hit me.” Fred opened his mouth gesturing you to feed him candy. You gave him a puzzled look. “My arms are full!”- not a good excuse. But this felt too intimate to you and before your quick flustering could be noticed by the red head you quickly threw one bean without calculating the angle of your throw. The bean hit his nose. “Ouch!” he said laughing. “You throw like a girl”, “I am a girl” you reasoned laughing along with him but glad that you were able to turn yet another one of these small intimate moments into buddy jokes. You had a real talent of getting in the way of your own love life- hence, the lack of one.

Now the only thing left on the agenda was to get one trinket, as promised, from the new shop ‘Knewt Knick-Knacks’. Fred opened the door for you despite his prior complaint of full hands. “Gremlins first.”, he grinned cheekily making you shake your head as you entered. The shop looked absolutely adorable from the inside. It had polished wood floor, teal wallpaper sprinkled with tiny cream-colored polka dots and shelves full of various little trinkets ranging from a huge variety of charmed-keychains and dainty-jewelry to plush soft toys, crystal jars in all shades of rainbow and even mood-badges that would change depending on the emotions of the wearer.

“Go crazy.”, “I only have one trinket allowance.”, “Go crazy with one trinket allowance!” Fred humored. You guys always needed to constantly talk it was stupid (and very endearing to you but we don’t talk about that obviously). You first decided to check out all the merchandise present so you could finally decide on one thing that you liked the best.

This was your third round around the shop trying to find the perfect thing, you were incredibly choosey after all. “Stop torturing yourself and me, woman.” Fred walked up behind you, bringing his hands clasped together in front for you to see. You turned around “What’s in your hands?” you asked.

Fred gave you a nervous chuckle raising your suspicions further. “I swear if it's a toad or something I'll- a strawberry?" Fred opened his hands revealing a small strawberry trinket completely bedazzled with red rhinestones. You went ahead and picked it up from his hands. "It's so pretty and shiny!" You smiled admiring the ornament. "It’s your favourite fruit.” Fred stated. You can’t believe he remembered—but of course he did. He was always the first to let you know when they were serving strawberry tart in the Great Hall, even going so far as to sneak into the kitchen well past curfew to steal you some triple berry trifle on particularly awful days.

"Open it." Fred said softly smiling at you. You turned the trinket around to see that it opened at the middle with a hinge. You opened it curious to see what’s inside. The interior was made smooth and glossy, golden in colour. Right in the middle there was something engraved. You squinted your eyes trying to have a better look at the writing.

‘Incase you’re wondering you are very crush-worthy, in fact you’re my crush -F’.

The words stared at you. You read it again, once and then twice. Yup it really did say that your brain didn’t make it up. Looking up at Fred who was visibly anticipating your reaction, “Fred what’s this?”, you needed to make sure. “It’s uh- it’s a confession?”, seeing the puzzled look on your face he decided to sound more sure of his statement. “It’s my way of saying I like you, more than a friend should”. Fred was now fidgeting with his hands a behavior foreign for the usually confident and charming boy. Saying your face heated up was an understatement, you could bet an egg could be fried on your face from how hot you were feeling right now. But for whatever reasons you could not for the love of God produce any words from your mouth, your brain was working overtime trying to process what your best friend has confessed. This has got to be one of the Weasley twins pranks and if it really was you swear to Godric, Fred would be joining him soon.

“Please say something?” Fred gave you a nervous chuckle scratching the back of his neck. “..Do you mean it?”, she can speak again how nice. Fred almost melted into a puddle seeing the hopeful yet utterly adorable expression you had on your face right now. “Yes I mean it. I swear to God I haven’t meant anything more in my life”, he gently held both your hands in his as he continued, “I thought I liked you because you were my best friend but best friends don’t lie awake at night thinking about holding their best friends close to them. And friends don’t get bothered being called ‘bro’”, you winced at the memory. “I’ve been trying so hard to drop hints to you but it felt like you were ignoring them on purpose, really bummed me out if I’m honest”, Fred laughed embarrassed to admit that. “Damn it I had a whole parchment written about what to say right now but what I’m trying to say is that I like you and I’d be thrilled to be your boyfriend if you let me.”.

There were no signs of lying. Fred Weasley wasn’t pulling your leg, he actually liked you! You couldn’t help but gasp. The giddy feeling that took over you was new but it felt amazing. You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your lips as you clasped one hand to your mouth somehow embarrassed about your own happiness regarding the situation. “I’d love that.” You admitted and instantly Fred was enveloping you in a big hug, it wasn’t awkward, you and Fred had shared many hugs in the past but this one had to be our favourite. It just felt right. Felt like you belonged in his arms. “I wish I would’ve done this sooner.” He said leaning back a bit to look into your eyes but not wanting to let go. “Me too”, you giggled at him. “Oh aren’t you giddy.” He teased right away. “Well I did just get confessed to in the most rom-com way ever! So I’m allowed to be giddy.” You happily replied. He was now holding your hand grinning at you widely. “When did you do this?” you asked referring to the engraved strawberry, you didn’t see it in the shop when you looked at each and every trinket. “Had it especially made two weeks ago.” Fred admitted proudly. “Did it take it that long to make or?” You smirked at him as he playfully rolled his eyes. “Yes it took me two weeks to actually find the courage to execute the plan.” You laughed, he looked adorable all flustered. “Hey don’t laugh at me! I blame George he kept spooking me about how you’d slap me in front of the whole school talking about ‘how dare you Weasley!’ and stuff like that”, your stomach hurt from laughing too much. Looks like it was finally your turn to experience love, and you couldn’t have dreamed of a better person to share it with.

Bonus:

“Okay, cough it up, everyone!” George grinned, already collecting his honestly earned winnings. Apparently, betting on you and Fred finally getting together was quite profitable. “You betted on us?”, you asked mocking offense. “If only you would’ve confessed first, it’s like you wanted me to lose Y/N!”, Lee complained as he gave his money to George who only grinned while pocketing the last few coins. “Finally no more of Fred’s whining about ‘how do I make the first move’ like stop being such a wuss and- heY!” he had earned a slap on the back of his head courtesy to Fred. “At least he admitted his feelings, this one right here would swear to Merlin that Fred was like a brother to her.”, Ginny pointed at you while your friends laughed. “Gosh do not remind me.”, you said embarrassed. “Yeah, you’re banned from saying the word ‘bro’”, Fred teasingly warned you putting a hand around your shoulder. “Then what would you prefer? Babe?”, you had only joked but Fred seemed to like it. “Perfect.” He smiled at you before leaning in to give a quick but sweet peck against your lips. “Ew get a room!” shouted George in the background but none of you could care less.

429 notes · View notes

vivianette · 3 days ago

Text

Gyeomie enlisting😭

215 notes · View notes

vivianette · 4 days ago

Text

do you also write fanfics in your notes app at 3am in bed and fall asleep mid writing or are you normal?

i went from a deadly writers block to writing almost 2k words in a DAY (thats alot from a non writer like me)all because of the older weasley twin. Inspiration hits when im about to start the busiest week🤥

#vivi writes🍓#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader

5 notes · View notes

vivianette · 7 days ago

Text

Clueless

Fred Weasley x FemRavenclawReader

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

———————————————————————

The courtyard was soaked in sunlight and early October warmth, that rare sweet spot between the chill of Scottish wind and the bite of winter. The stone benches were still warm from the morning rays, and a half-empty Honeydukes bag sat between you and Luna as you popped Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and tried not to eat another earwax one.

Ginny was telling a story, all bright eyes and expressive hands, reenacting some disaster from Quidditch practice that ended with a Bludger nearly taking Jack Sloper’s nose off.

You snorted into your sleeve. Luna laughed softly, dreamily, licking sherbet off her fingers. She wore radish earrings that gleamed in the sun and a necklace of Butterbeer corks that clinked faintly as she moved. She looked like a painting no one would understand but would keep staring at anyway.

You loved being around them. Ginny was fire and confidence, and Luna was calm and strange and steady. You felt…safe here. Even if you didn’t quite know how to jump into their rhythm the way they did with each other.

And then, of course, the boys showed up.

Michael Corner and Andrew Kirke strolled up with that casual, obnoxious swagger that meant they were trying to look cool but had practiced the move in a mirror. You could smell the bravado before they even opened their mouths.

“Hey, Gin,” Michael said, planting himself on the bench arm beside her. “You were brutal with that Bludger. Thought poor Jack was going to cry.”

“Don’t flatter me, Corner,” Ginny said, grinning. “I meant to miss.”

Kirke snorted. “Not bad for a third year.”

You glanced up. You and Luna were on the same side of the bench, slightly tucked away, quiet. Luna was examining the sky with distracted interest. You just sat there, half-forgotten, trying to think of something to say.

Michael’s eyes flicked over you for a moment. “Hey. You’re…the Ravenclaw girl, right? The one who always sits in the front.”

You nodded, already regretting it.

He smirked. “You’re like…the answer girl.”

You blinked. “Sorry?”

“You know. Always got your hand up. Like a walking textbook.”

Kirke laughed. “Bet she does everyone’s homework.”

“I don’t—” you started, but your throat caught.

Michael grinned at Ginny. “You should introduce her to someone, Gin. Help get her a date or something.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. You felt your stomach twist, the familiar burn starting up behind your eyes. The ‘here we go again’ ache. The way people only saw your answers, your robes, the stack of books in your arms. The way no one expected you could get a date on your own. And they were right. You hadn’t had a single offer.

Luna blinked and tilted her head. “That’s not very kind,” she said calmly, licking a bit of icing off her thumb.

Kirke chuckled. “Alright, Loony.”

Ginny stood up so fast the bench nearly tipped. “Say that again.”

Kirke blinked, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Go on,” Ginny snarled. “One more word about Luna, and I swear I’ll test out my Bat-Bogey Hex right now.”

Michael dragged his hand up and down Ginny’s back, trying to calm her. “Okay, alright. He’s just having a laugh.”

“Find a better punchline,” Ginny snapped.

The boys backed off, muttering. You watched them go, every cell in your body buzzing. Not with gratitude, but with embarrassment. Hot, awful shame.

Ginny sat back down beside you. “Bunch of gits.”

Luna nodded serenely. “They’re afraid of people who don’t beg for their attention.”

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, voice small. “Why do they never treat me the way they treat you?”

Ginny’s expression softened. “You don’t want that kind of attention. They’re vultures.”

“I’d rather be a vulture’s meal than invisible,” you muttered, barely above a whisper.

The words hung there. Honest. Raw. Ugly.

Luna reached over and offered you a blue jellybean - your favourite flavour. “You’re not invisible,” she said. “Just…in a different dimension than they know how to see.”

You smiled faintly, but the sting was still there. It lingered as Ginny took your hand and squeezed it. As you told them you were fine. As you packed up your books and pretended your face wasn’t hot from more than the sun.

It lingered into the next morning, through breakfast and the ache of another day of being that girl. The quiet one. The too-smart one. The loser friend.

It lingered, until Fred Weasley slid into your life with a proposition you never saw coming.

———————————————————————

The library was hushed and golden in the late afternoon light, the kind of stillness that only came with rows of whispering students and centuries-old magic stitched into the walls. Your fingers were smudged with ink, your parchment rolled half-off the table, and your nose was practically buried in Intermediate Transfiguration: Theory, Practice, and Practical Catastrophes. The title wasn’t exaggerating. One mistake and your arms could vanish for a week.

You weren’t sure what time it was, only that your back ached from hunching and your tea had long gone cold beside you. Most of the Ravenclaws had cleared out after classes, off to chess matches or debate club or yet another social gathering you hadn’t been invited to. You tried to convince yourself that you didn’t mind.

That was when the chair across from you scraped against the floor with a loud screeeek, and a familiar voice said, far too loudly, “You’ll be shocked to know this, but I’m failing Transfiguration.”

You glanced up. Fred Weasley was grinning at you, eyes bright, his tie crooked, hair windswept like he’d run here from the Quidditch pitch - or maybe from a detention. Which, considering his track record, was equally likely.

You knew Fred, of course. He was the loudest of Ginny’s brothers and hard to miss because of it. Always in the centre of attention. Yet in all your years of being friends with her, he’d never really spoken to you.

Your quill paused mid-stroke. You blinked at Fred, unimpressed. “That is, quite possibly, the least shocking thing I’ve heard all day.”

Fred clutched his chest theatrically. “Wounded. Truly. Here I am, baring my soul, and you strike me down like a harsh winter breeze.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Fred, you once spelled your own hand into a cat paw.”

“And still passed that assignment. Miraculous, really.”

You exhaled through your nose and looked down at your parchment. “Why are you telling me this? You know McGonagall already offers extra help sessions.”

“I do,” Fred said, leaning in like he was about to share state secrets. “But I also know that if I show up to another one of McGonagall’s ‘private lectures,’ she’s going to hex me into a teacup. And George refuses to help because he says I’m ‘unsaveable’ and ‘too annoying when I’m confused.’ Which, rude, by the way.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And?”

“And you, dearest brainiac, top of the class, have a heart of gold and a terrifying knowledge of magical theory. I’ve been watching.”

You tilted your head. “That’s…not creepy at all.”

Fred grinned wider. “Observation, not stalking. I swear.”

You closed your book with a soft thud, folding your hands. “Are you asking me to tutor you?”

Fred sat back like he’d just scored a victory. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“And what, pray tell, do I get out of it?”

He gave you a look like you’d just asked the most obvious question in the world. “The gift of coolness.”

You stared.

Fred gestured vaguely to all of you - your ink-stained sleeves, your perpetually messy braid, your buttoned-up jumper. “Come on. You’re brilliant. Like scary smart. But you know how people talk. You’re invisible unless someone’s using you to copy a scroll. And yes, I understand that technically, that is hypocritical and I’m asking pretty much the same thing. But that’s not fair. And I figure…maybe you want to change that?”

Your mouth opened and closed. Was it that obvious?

Yes. Yes, it was. You had been thinking about it more lately. The way your classmates glanced past you. The way no one ever flirted with you unless they needed help with Arithmancy. You’d spent your first three years telling yourself it didn’t matter, but it was your fifth year now. Life felt like it was getting bigger, and you were still small. Still invisible.

“I don’t want to change who I am,” you said slowly.

Fred’s expression softened. “Good. I wouldn’t want that either. I’m just saying…maybe we work out a little deal. You help me not flunk out of Transfiguration. I help you get…noticed.”

You hesitated. “Like a social exchange?”

He grinned. “Exactly. A top-tier barter between two geniuses. You’re a reformer of the academically hopeless. I’m a reformer of the socially awkward.”

“I’m not awkward.”

“You just tried to hold your quill with the wrong end.”

You looked down at your hand. He wasn’t wrong.

“…Fine,” you muttered. “But this is going to take time. You’re a mess in Transfiguration.”

“And you,” Fred said, smirking, “are tragically unpopular.”

You glared. “We’re going to get along great.”

He stood and clapped his hands. “Excellent! Lesson One begins tomorrow. And don’t worry, I’m brilliant at makeovers.”

“Makeovers?” you echoed, horrified.

Fred winked. “Bring a sense of adventure. And maybe…a hairbrush.”

———————————————————————

The classroom was technically off-limits after five, but Fred Weasley had never been the type to follow rules. Or even acknowledge them. You found him there after dinner, lounging on a desk like he owned the place, arms behind his head, grinning like this was a joke and you were the punchline.

“Ah, my muse arrives,” he said dramatically. “Are you ready for Lesson One?”

You stopped in the doorway, eyeing the space warily. Desks had been pushed to the walls, a full-length mirror stood propped near the chalkboard, and in the center of the room sat an enormous trunk. It was open, and exploding with fabric.

Scarves, jackets, dresses, blouses, some kind of feather boa, and…was that a pair of sequined socks?

You blinked. “Fred…what is that?”

He leapt off the desk, practically bouncing over. “This, my dear Ravenclaw, is style salvation.” He gestured grandly to the trunk like a deranged showman. “Step one to being noticed: look like you were meant to be noticed.”

You folded your arms. “We agreed this was going to be a mutual exchange of skills. Not an exorcism.”

Fred laughed. “Come on, don’t be so dramatic. Everyone loves a good makeover montage.”

“That’s a sexist, conformist, capitalist cliché.”

He looked delighted. “And yet, undeniably effective. You ever seen anything get fixed in a movie without a hairbrush and a slow-motion twirl in front of a mirror?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not.”

“Good,” he said, reaching into the trunk. “Then let’s find out who you are when you’re not hiding behind oversized jumpers and ink-stained cuffs.”

That gave you pause. Because the truth was, he wasn’t wrong.

You didn’t think about clothes. Or hair. Or how to draw attention. You’d built your identity around staying small and smart and safe. That was your armor. But part of you had always wondered what it would be like…to not hide. To be seen and liked. Not in spite of your brain. But alongside it.

Still. You glared at the feather boa. “If you put that on me, I will hex you.”

Fred smirked. “Duly noted.”

You had no idea how it happened. One second you were refusing to change, and the next you were barefoot behind a transfigured curtain made from old tapestries while Fred Weasley tossed shirt after skirt after suspiciously shiny blazer over the top.

“I swear to Merlin if you throw one more sequin at me—”

“Relax! You’ve got good bones!”

“I am not a skeleton.”

You finally emerged wearing something not from your usual rotation. Something you’d picked out almost by accident. It wasn’t flashy. No sparkles. No plunging neckline. Just a fitted midnight-blue blouse tucked into a pleated black skirt that fell over your curves in ways you didn’t expect. There were little silver stars embroidered along the collar. Your hair - usually up in a practical knot, or swept to the side in a braid - was down now, soft waves brushing your shoulders. You’d pinned the bangs that you usually used to hide behind back into little twists.

Fred looked up from adjusting the mirror and froze at the sight of you.

You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Is it bad?”

He blinked, almost too slow. Then shook his head slightly, like he was waking up from a dream.

“No,” he said. His voice was different. Lower, less playful. “It’s…no. Definitely not bad.”

You bit your lip, looking at your reflection. It didn’t feel like a costume. It felt like something you might have chosen, if you ever gave yourself permission.

You turned back toward him, suddenly unsure. “Does it work?”

Fred was still staring at you.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “It really, really works.”

You looked at him, trying to decipher the expression on his face. His grin was softer now. Less teasing. There was something else in his eyes. Something unfamiliar that made your stomach flip.

You cleared your throat. “Right. Well. Now that we’ve survived your fashion intervention…”

“Survived? You thrived.”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

He leaned against a desk, hands in his pockets. “You look like you belong at the front of the room, and the center of the party.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms to hide the heat in your cheeks. “Maybe you’re just surprised I have a face under the bangs.”

Fred tilted his head. “I always knew you had a face. I just didn’t know you had that face.”

Your heart did a weird stutter-step, and you hated how easily he could fluster you. You turned back to the mirror, hiding your blush. “Lesson One is shallow.”

He grinned behind you. “Lesson One is about first impressions. Lesson Two’s deeper. Promise.”

You met his eyes in the reflection. “What’s Lesson Two?”

Fred shrugged. “Witty banter. Flirting. Charisma. Social fencing.”

“Fencing?” you echoed.

He stepped closer, just behind you now. His voice dropped an octave. “Every conversation is a duel,” he said. “And with the right words, you can leave people breathless.”

Your breath hitched, just for a second. Just long enough for him to notice. He smiled like he’d won something.

You rolled your eyes and turned to face him. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely. You’re my greatest project yet.”

Your voice was dry. “Good to know I’m a walking science experiment.”

Fred winked. “With spectacular results so far.”

You gave him a withering look, but your heart was hammering, and you couldn’t quite stop the smile tugging at your mouth. Makeover cliché or not…this might actually be fun.

And terrifying. But mostly, fun.

———————————————————————

The library was mostly empty. Just the occasional cough from a different section or the low creak of Madam Pince’s shoes echoing in the distance. The enchanted candles floated lower in the evening hours, casting everything in a golden glow that danced off ink bottles and the glint of brass lamp fittings.

You had commandeered a table near the back wall. It was your favourite of the many nooks and crannies. It was always quieter there, away from the chatter and the scraping chairs of last-minute crammers. Your Transfiguration notes were organized by spell category and color-coded by theoretical complexity. Fred’s notes were…nonexistent.

He showed up with a half-empty bottle of ink, a single quill with a chewed end, and a blank roll of parchment like it might spontaneously write itself.

“You’re not even going to pretend to take this seriously?” you asked as he flopped into the chair opposite you.

Fred offered a dazzling grin. “I am taking it seriously. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Physically, yes,” you muttered. “Mentally, that’s debatable.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I’ll have you know I’m entirely present. Mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Especially now that we’re discussing switching spells. Which is my favorite. Right after vanishing furniture and watching your eyes glaze over when I pretend I know what ‘counter-inversion’ means.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “We haven’t even started yet.”

“And yet you’re already glowing with enthusiasm.”

You shoved your notes toward him. “Page twelve. Start there.”

Fred sighed dramatically and scanned the page. “So boring,” he groaned. “Where’s the part where I get to turn Malfoy’s hair into candy floss?”

“That’s not how it works.”

“It could be.”

“Fred.”

He grinned again, flipping his quill upright. “Alright, fine. You teach me how to transfigure this quill into a candle, and I’ll teach you how to flirt.”

You snorted, eyes still on your notes. “That wasn’t the deal for tonight.”

“No, but it’s much more fun.”

You glanced at him. He was leaning forward now, arms on the table, chin propped on one hand, watching you with that same look he always had before pulling a prank. Except this time, you were the one about to be targeted. And you couldn’t quite say no.

“…Fine,” you said. “But I swear to Merlin, if you try and teach me how to wink again, I’m setting your hair on fire.”

Fred’s eyes lit up. “We’ll start with verbal flirtation then. Nothing physical.”

“Thank you.”

“Yet.”

You shot him a look.

He grinned.

You rolled your eyes and tapped your notes. “Alright. Quill-to-candle. What’s step one?”

“Concentration?” he guessed.

“Wand formation,” she corrected, and mimicked the spell with her own wand, showing him the pattern. “Now you try.”

Fred picked up his own wand and copied the motion, over and over and over again until you gave him a satisfied nod. “And the incantation?”

Fred squinted. “Um…Calidus Lumina?”

You blinked. “That’s the spell to light a torch.”

“…Ah.”

“Try again.”

“Fine. Candeficio.”

You nodded. “Better. Now focus on intent.”

He lifted the quill in his palm like it was about to give him a prophecy. “Intent…intent…” He muttered the word like a chant. “Turn into a candle…turn into a candle…”

Then he pointed his wand and said the incantation, and…nothing happened.

You reached across the table, nudging his hand. “It’s not just about wanting it to change. You have to know it can change. Transfiguration requires conviction.”

He gave you a dry look. “So I just need to believe in myself harder?”

“Basically.”

He groaned. “Fine. Teach me confidence, Professor.”

You smirked. “That’s your job, remember?”

“Oh right. Lesson Two.” He leaned forward again. “Rule number one: it’s not about what you say. It’s how you say it.”

You quirked a brow. “That’s vague and unhelpful.”

He smiled. “It’s all about being flirty.”

You sat back, arms crossed. “Alright. Go on then. Flirt with me.”

Fred blinked. He hadn’t expected that. You watched his mouth twitch. Just slightly. He recovered fast, but not fast enough.

“Gladly,” he said, smoothing his expression. “Let’s see…”

He leaned in again, elbows on the table. His voice dropped. “If you were a spell, you’d be Accio, because every time I walk into a room, I end up right beside you.”

You stared at him. “…That’s awful.”

Fred grinned, delighted. “But did it make you smile?”

You tried not to. You failed.

“Now your turn,” he said, sitting back. “Flirt with me.”

You faltered. “I…I don’t—”

“Come on,” he teased. “Hit me with your best line. Try to make me blush.”

You studied him. The way his hair fell just messily enough to look effortless. The faint freckles across his nose. The confidence that curled in his smile, like he knew exactly what you’d say before you said it.

So you raised your chin, steadied your breath, and said in a low tone, “If you keep leaning across the table like that, I’m going to assume you want me to kiss you.” You tilted your head, sweeping your hair over your shoulder to expose your neck, where your jumper had slipped off your shoulder. His eyes instantly followed suit, and you smirked. “And I might just do it.”

Fred froze. His eyes darting to lock on yours, and for once, he didn’t have a comeback. You waited. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed.

“…Okay,” he said finally, voice slightly hoarse. “You’re terrifying.”

You blinked. “Was that…too much?”

“No,” Fred said quickly. “That was…alarmingly effective. I think I forgot how to breathe for a second.”

You snorted. “Now who’s glowing with enthusiasm?”

He gave you a wobbly smile and picked up his quill like it was a lifeline. “Right. Quill to candle. Candeficio. Intent. Confidence.”

“Exactly,” you said, hiding your smile behind your notes.

The quill wobbled. Shimmered. Transformed into a lopsided candle.

Fred stared at it.

Then at you.

Then at the candle again.

“…You’re a witch,” he whispered.

You grinned. “That would be correct.”

He laughed, loudly and freely. You felt it reverberate in your chest.

As the candle flickered to life with a simple Lumos, casting shadows over your table, Fred leaned in just slightly - his knee brushing yours under the table - and said, softly, “I think we’re both better at this than we expected.”

And he wasn’t just talking about the spell. But you were too distracted by the flurry of butterflies his touch had awoken in your stomach to notice.

———————————————————————

The late afternoon sun spilled gold over the castle courtyard, casting long, slanted shadows across the stone benches where you, Luna, and Ginny sat. You were cross-legged on a blanket Ginny had magicked onto the flagstones, picking absently at a sandwich while your textbooks sat, momentarily forgotten, in a heap beside you. Luna was reading The Quibbler upside down, humming faintly, and Ginny was twirling a daisy between her fingers, eyes sharp and mischievous as ever.

You’d barely said a word. Not because you were unhappy but because your brain had been on a week-long Fred Weasley loop. It was ridiculous. Study sessions became almost a nightly thing. And last night he’d even had the gall to lean across the table - grinning with his crooked smile - and those long fingers of his brushed your knuckles as he corrected your posture (for ‘educational purposes’). Studying Transfiguration with him had quickly morphed into an emotional minefield, especially since the flirting practice was starting to feel suspiciously not like practice.

Ginny smirked and leaned back on her elbows, as though sensing your thought process. “So,” she said lightly, “how’s Fred?”

You choked a little on your food. Coughing, you waved your hand, and fixed Ginny with a glare. “He’s…Fred. He’s fine, as far as I know. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Just, you seem to spend more time with him than I do nowadays.” Ginny’s smile widened.

“We’re studying.” You defended.

Ginny raised a brow. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

You flushed and swatted her with the corner of your Herbology textbook. “We’re actually studying! He’s just…he’s helping me too.”

“Oh, I bet he is,” Ginny said, grin spreading wickedly. “Helping you with what, exactly? Getting over your…unfortunate romantic drought?”

“Ginny!” you hissed, horrified, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Merlin’s beard, can we not broadcast that I’ve been single since the womb?”

Luna looked up again, dreamy. “You haven’t been single. You’ve just been…patiently waiting for someone whose inner aura aligns with yours.”

“That’s beautiful, Luna,” Ginny said solemnly, before breaking into laughter.

You covered your face with your hands. “I hate you both.”

“You love us,” Ginny said, nudging your knee with hers. “And honestly, I think the Fred thing is great. He’s nice, he’s funny, and most importantly, he’s actually paying attention. That boy hasn’t studied a day in his life and now he’s showing up to the library early just to flirt with you. That’s gotta mean something.”

Your heart squeezed. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not real,” you muttered. “It’s just part of this deal we made. This whole ‘Reformer Program’. I’m helping him pass Transfiguration, and he’s helping me learn how to be…not a total loser.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Sure, because Fred Weasley is famously altruistic and willing to endure hour-long Transfiguration lectures for the greater good of your social life.”

“He did say he wants to pass his exam.”

Luna smiled softly. “But maybe he wants more than just a passing mark.”

Before you could unpack that, footsteps approached and a voice - soft and unsure - called your name. You almost thought you’d imagined it as you looked up and Dean Thomas came to a stop beside your blanket. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he had a slightly bashful smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter and brushing crumbs from your lap.

Ginny and Luna exchanged an amused glance and then both looked studiously elsewhere, like they hadn’t just been plotting your romantic life a second ago.

Dean scratched the back of his neck. “I was just wondering…There’s a party in the Gryffindor common room on Friday. I mean, it’s not an official thing, more like a casual get-together, but it’s gonna be fun. There’ll be snacks, music. Seamus said he might charm the pumpkin juice again.”

You smiled nervously. “That sounds…potentially dangerous.”

He laughed. “Only mildly. Anyway, I was wondering if you’d wanna come with me.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Like…with you, with you?”

He nodded. “If you want.”

You glanced at Ginny, who was failing spectacularly to hide her glee, her eyebrows bouncing toward her hairline. Luna was watching a beetle crawl across her skirt like it was a sacred ritual.

“I’d like that,” you said, voice a little shaky. “Thank you.”

Dean grinned. “Brilliant. I’ll meet you outside the portrait hole?”

“Sure. See you friday.”

He gave you a thumbs-up and strolled away.

There was a brief, stunned silence.

Then Ginny exploded. “WELL, WELL, WELL!”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, collapsing back onto the blanket.

“You’ve barely started the popularity crash course and you’re already getting asked out,” Ginny said, triumphant. “Fred’s gonna combust.”

“He won’t care,” you mumbled, trying to slow your racing heart. “He’s the one who told me I should try to socialize more. And flirt. He’s big on rule number one - it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.”

Ginny rolled onto her side and gave you a knowing smile. “Yeah. But I don’t think he thought anyone would beat him to it.”

You looked up at the clouds overhead and tried to convince yourself that this was exactly what you wanted. You were being noticed. Invited. Flirted with. This was the plan. This was how things were supposed to go.

So why, then, did your stomach twist with dread instead of excitement when you imagined telling Fred?

———————————————————————

You were late.

You hated being late. But you hated rushing down four staircases while trying to simultaneously apply tinted lip balm and shove a quill behind your ear even more. By the time you skidded into the library - curled hair slightly windblown, bag slipping from your shoulder, breath slightly wheezy - you were fully prepared to set up for today’s study session and wait for Fred to show up.

But the moment you rounded the corner into your usual tucked-away table, Fred was already there, feet up on the opposite chair, lazily flipping through an Intermediate Transfiguration textbook.

You blinked. “You’re early?”

Fred looked up, a slow smirk curling on his lips. “Well, well, well. Look who decided to show up ten minutes late to her own study session.”

You dropped your bag into the chair with a thud. “I’m three minutes late.”

He held up his wristwatch like a judge with damning evidence. “Eight, actually. And I’ve been here the whole time. Revising. Diligently. You may want to sit down before you faint.”

You rolled your eyes and flopped into the seat across from him, only to freeze mid-motion. He had notes before him. Real ones. Neatly written, color-coded, and everything.

Your mouth opened slightly in disbelief. “What are those?”

Fred glanced down at the parchment like he’d forgotten it was there. “Ah, yes. My noble sacrifice to the gods of academia.”

“You took notes?”

“I brought notes. There was bribery involved. Let’s not talk about it.”

You laughed, leaning forward on your elbows. “Who are you?”

“Frederick Gideon Weasley,” he said, tapping his quill to his forehead. “Soon-to-be master of flirtation and feline transfiguration. Stick with me and you’ll be turning hedgehogs into handkerchiefs in no time.”

You smiled and tugged your own book from your bag, but the jitter in your stomach returned almost immediately, swirling around a question you knew you had to ask before you chickened out.

“So…I got asked out.”

Fred paused mid-page-turn. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Dean Thomas. Asked if I wanted to go to the Gryffindor party on Friday.”

A long beat passed. You didn’t look up. You were too busy pretending to organize your inkpots.

Fred’s voice came a second later, lighter than usual. “That so?”

“Yeah.” You finally peeked up. He was watching you, but the corners of his mouth were curled just enough to mask…something. You couldn’t quite place it.

“Anyway,” you said quickly, desperate to fill the sudden silence, “this party. I have no idea what to expect. What do I need to know?”

Fred set his quill down, leaning back with a slow stretch like he was preparing for a monologue. “First of all, you’re telling me you’ve never been to a party before?”

“I mean…not like that.” You shrugged. “Just, like…Ravenclaw movie nights. Someone enchanted a popcorn bowl once to never go cold. I think that was the peak.”

Fred let out a noise that could only be described as an affectionate scoff. “That’s not a party, love. That’s a slightly rowdier study group.”

“Well, I’m not exactly a fixture in the Gryffindor social circuit.”

“Yet,” he said, leaning forward. “Which is why the most important thing you need to know is how to dance.”

You groaned and dropped your forehead to the table. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

“I am awful. Like, unsalvageable.”

“How bad could it be?”

You raised your head slowly, like a cursed puppet, and fixed him with a warning look. “You’ll see.”

———————————————————————-

It was twenty minutes into lunch, and Fred had found an empty classroom with just enough space to work with. He’d borrowed a Wireless from Lee and had it charmed to play something upbeat, snappy, vaguely Muggle - but not fast enough that you could use it as an excuse.

You were mid–uncoordinated spin when Fred winced so hard it looked like it hurt him physically.

He darted over and turned off the music. You stopped moving, breathless.

“Okay,” he said, hands on his hips. “It is that bad.”

“I told you.”

“I thought you were being modest!”

“I would never joke about my lack of rhythm.”

Fred ran a hand through his hair and gave you a long, squinting look. “Okay. Okay. No worries. We’ll start small. Forget what you think dancing looks like and stop pretending you’re waltzing with your great-aunt Gertrude.”

You snorted. “Her name’s actually Betsy.”

“Even better,” he said. “Look, the point isn’t perfection. It’s confidence. It’s fun. You’re supposed to vibe, not audition for the ballet.”

He stepped closer, one hand outstretched. “Let me show you. Just mirror me.”

You hesitated but took his hand anyway. He started with a sway, simple and easy, and you followed, trying not to think about the fact that his hand was warm, and his smile - when he noticed you were watching his feet - was way too soft for comfort.

“See?” he said. “Not horrible.”

“I don’t trust your definition of horrible.”

“I’d tell you if it were a crime against humanity,” he said. “I might lie to a professor, but never to you.”

You stared at him for a second too long. “That’s weirdly sweet.”

“Ah, what a compliment. What every man dreams of hearing.” He drawled sarcastically.

“Would you rather I shower you with fake compliments?” You shot back.

“Who says they have to be fake, love? Surely there’s one nice thing you could say about me that’s genuine.” He prompted you.

The music kicked back in, and he spun you suddenly, catching you before you could wobble.

You laughed, flushed. “Okay, fine. Maybe you’re a decent dancer.”

“I’m an excellent dancer,” he said, smug. “But clearly, drastic measures are required.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What kind of measures?”

Fred grinned, dropping her hand and already moving toward the door. “You’re not the only one with talented friends, darling. I’m calling in the big guns.”

You blinked. “The what?”

“Don’t you worry,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I have my sources. And if they can get a first year to move like a backup dancer for the Weird Sisters, they can definitely fix this.”

You folded your arms. “Rude.”

“But true.”

“Unfortunately.”

He winked. “Stay here, two-left-feet. Help is on the way.”

And with that, Fred Weasley disappeared down the corridor, whistling, while you stood alone in the classroom with your heart hammering against your ribs.

Because you knew this was all still pretend. But the way Fred had looked at you when he said “darling”? That didn’t feel like pretend at all.

The room was still echoing with the faint thrum of music from the enchanted wireless in the corner when two girls walked in. Fred was nowhere to be seen. But you instantly recognised the dark-haired girls. Though when you usually saw them, they were both wrapped in scarlet quidditch robes. Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet. Star Gryffindor Chasers.

You stood awkwardly in the middle of the cleared classroom, your arms hanging limply by your sides, your back stiff as a broomstick. “Hey,” You greeted with a slight wave.

Angelina Johnson leaned against a nearby desk, arms crossed, her Quidditch-toned frame draped in a crimson jumper with the sleeves pushed up, her curls pulled high into a puff. Alicia Spinnet stood beside her, fiddling with the volume knob on the wireless, the bassline of a sultry beat pulsing through the floorboards.

“So…you’re the girl whose been monopolising Freddie’s time,” Angelina said, cocking an eyebrow at you with an easy grin.

You arched a brow at her word choice. “Monopolising?”

Alicia laughed, the sound like a bell. “He’s been blowing off Quidditch practice, that’s all we need to know. So you must be interesting.”

“I thought he, George, and Harry were banned this season?” You arched a brow defensively.

“They are,” Angelina nodded. “Doesn’t mean they can’t show up to practice and watch. Instead he spends all his spare time making eyes at you across a desk in the library.”

You flushed, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. “I’m just tutoring him. He’s helping me…with something too.”

“Mhmm,” Alicia smirked. “Sure.”

They exchanged a quick glance, both grinning now, and then moved forward, surrounding you like friendly wolves.

“Okay,” Angelina clapped her hands. “Let’s start with the basics. You’ve got a body, yeah?”

You blinked. “Last I checked?”

“Good. Then let’s use it. This isn’t ballroom dancing, and it’s not your grandpa’s retirement celebration,” Angelina said, stepping behind you. “At parties, it’s about rhythm, energy, and confidence. You’re not just moving, you’re saying something with your body.”

“Like what?” you asked warily.

“Like, I know who I am. I know how to move. And yes, I see you watching.” Alicia winked, then demonstrated a slow, deliberate sway of her hips, letting the beat guide her.

You tried to copy her, but it felt robotic. Clunky. Awful. Your arms didn’t know where to go, your knees locked, and your hips—

“No, no, you’re thinking too hard,” Angelina said gently, reaching to adjust your stance. She placed her hands on your waist and rotated your hips slightly. “Loosen up. Feel the music, don’t dissect it.”

You exhaled through your nose, trying not to panic as Alicia moved in front of you again and mirrored the motion slowly.

“Try again. Right foot, then left. Let your shoulders follow. It’s not about looking good. It’s about feeling like you own the space.”

You focused this time, not on the mechanics but on the music. Letting it vibrate through your chest, into your spine, down your legs. You moved your hips again, more fluidly this time. Alicia smiled and matched your rhythm. Angelina clapped once.

“There you go!”

You laughed, a little breathless, a little stunned. “That didn’t feel horrible.”

“Because it wasn’t,” Alicia grinned. “You’ve got rhythm in there somewhere. You just bury it under…a stiff but admittedly cute outfit.”

You giggled, and the tension began to melt away. The three of you danced together now, taking up the center of the room. Alicia taught you to pop your hip on the downbeat; Angelina spun you around and corrected your footwork when you fumbled.

Soon you were laughing with them as though you’d long been friends. You didn’t know when the awkwardness had evaporated. Your body felt warm, your heart light. They weren’t mocking you. They weren’t pretending. They were just being girls, helping another girl feel like she belonged.

“Now,” Alicia said, flipping her hair behind her shoulder dramatically, “let’s talk hairography.”

“Hair-what?” you blinked.

Angelina grinned. “It’s all in the hair, babe. The flip. The sway. The over-the-shoulder smirk.”

Alicia demonstrated, letting her hair cascade down one shoulder while rolling her hips. You giggled helplessly. “I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can,” Angelina encouraged, flipping your hair over for you. “Just pretend you’re in a slow-motion scene from a movie.”

You tried. It wasn’t exactly elegant, but you were getting the hang of it. Slowly. Kind of.

And that’s when the classroom door opened.

Fred stepped in, book bag slung over one shoulder, hair windswept and face flushed like he’d run to make it in time.

“Alright, troops,” he said. “How’d it—?”

He froze mid-sentence. You were in the middle of a tentative body roll, your hair tossed to one side, the beat of the music still thudding faintly in the background.

Angelina and Alicia exchanged one look before smirking simultaneously.

The taller of the two girls walked past him with a hand on his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

Alicia followed, patting you on the back. “She’s ready.”

Then they were gone, their laughter echoing down the hallway. The moment the door clicked shut behind Angelina and Alicia, the air seemed to still. You reached for your bag, the inside of your cheeks still warm from blushing so hard, your scalp tingling from how much flipping and tossing of your hair you’d just done. Your thighs ached slightly, your ribs buzzed with laughter, and for once in your life, you felt a little…magnetic.

You glanced at Fred, about to say something about needing to get to class, when he cocked his head and raised a single eyebrow.

“Oh, no,” he said, voice dipping low and dangerous in that way that made your stomach flip. “Not so fast. You’re not leaving before I get a proper demonstration.”

You froze with your hand halfway to your satchel. “A what?”

He strode past you, utterly self-assured, and reached for the music device on the windowsill and turned the dial with dramatic flair.

A sultry rhythm bloomed in the air. Throbbing, and low.

You stared at him. “Fred, class starts in like five minutes.”

He ignored that completely. “Come on. Show me what they taught you.”

“I’m going to be late,” you tried, but even to you, it didn’t sound like much of an argument.

Fred stepped closer. Much closer. He offered you a hand, palm open, mischief glittering in his eyes. “Live a little, Ravenclaw.”

You hesitated. Then you placed your hand in his.

He didn’t waste a second. In one fluid motion, he pulled you forward and spun you into him. Your chest brushed his as he caught you at the waist, your back curved from the sudden momentum, hair fanned out around your shoulders. You let out an instinctive little gasp.

Fred smirked. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I wasn’t expecting a sneak attack,” you managed, trying to calm your racing heart as he settled both hands lightly on your hips.

“Here’s another lesson,” he murmured, lips almost brushing your ear as he swayed you gently into the music. “No one expects a sneak attack. That’s why it works.”

You laughed under your breath and turned, your arms hesitating before wrapping - lightly - around his neck. It felt too intimate. But he was already guiding your hips side to side in time with the beat, his own movement easy, loose, practiced.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your exposed neck. “Don’t think. Feel.”

You tried. You mirrored him at first, but more cautious. A little stiff. Fred didn’t give you time to stay nervous. He slid one leg between yours, closing the space between your bodies with an audacious little smirk, and your whole brain short-circuited.

“Fred—” you started, breathless.

“Yes, darling?”

“Is this supposed to be educational?”

“Deeply,” he said with a grin. “Purely academic.”

He spun you again, and this time when you returned to him, you let your body fall into his. Your hips moved more fluidly now, naturally syncing with the music, and with him. He pulled you even closer until your thigh brushed against his with every sway, your bodies catching the rhythm like fire catching oil.

Your hand slid slightly down his shoulder. His eyes dipped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

You laughed nervously. “This is not how I thought today would go.”

“What, you didn’t plan for a private dance party with a dashing Gryffindor in a dusty classroom?”

“I had ‘rehearse Transfiguration theory for two hours’ on my schedule.”

He dipped you suddenly, one hand supporting your back, the other gripping your hip. “Change of plans,” he murmured.

When he pulled you upright, your face was inches from his. Close enough to see the constellation of freckles on his cheekbones. Close enough to smell the cinnamon sugar from whatever he’d snuck at breakfast.

His hand trailed slowly from your hip to your waist, his fingers pressing into your side just enough to make you feel tethered. His gaze dropped again to your mouth. Yours flickered, traitorously, to his.

You were just about to say something - something clever, something flirty, something that might’ve changed everything - when the creak of the classroom door opening shattered the moment like glass.

Both of you jerked apart so fast it felt like you’d been electrocuted. You scrambled to turn off the music, heat roaring to your face, while Fred looked almost guilty.

Professor Babbling stood in the doorway, her silver spectacles perched low on her nose, frowning at the two of you as if she were trying to determine whether to scold or laugh.

“Classes are starting,” she said, clearly amused.

Fred cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, trying for innocence. “Yup! We were just…studying kinetic energy?”

You elbowed him. Hard. Then grabbed your things and bolted for the door with him at your heels.

In the corridor, you both slowed, breathless, the lingering tension between you still clinging like static.

Fred finally broke the silence, voice lighter than it should’ve been. “So…what did we learn today?”

You didn’t look at him. “That I’m definitely going to be late for Charms.”

But even as you walked away, part of you was already replaying every second of that dance. And wondering where it might have gone if no one had walked in.

———————————————————————

Ginny’s dorm room was a warm, cozy chaos of discarded clothes, perfume bottles, and a scattering of make-up products. Luna sat cross-legged on Ginny’s bed, adorned in a flowing silver skirt and a delicate blouse covered in embroidered mandrakes, combing glitter into her already wavy hair. You were perched on a stool in front of the mirror, cheeks lightly dusted in blush, still in your original outfit - a sensible blouse tucked into a leather skirt.

Ginny was applying the last touches to your make-up - boldening your eyeliner and blending it with some shadow to create a smokey look. When she was done, she spun your chair round the face the vanity mirror. Leaning in behind you, squinting at your reflection, she frowned.

“You look hot,” she said matter-of-factly. Then her gaze narrowed. “But you could be hotter.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Hot isn’t hot enough?”

“Not when you’re trying to impress Fred Weasley,” Ginny shook her head.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not trying to impress Fred. Or did you forget that Dean was the one who asked me to come with him?” You pointed out.

“Oh, pish posh,” Ginny waved her hand, crossing the room to riffle through her wardrobe.

Luna, dreamily brushing silver highlighter across her cheekbones, chimed in. “You know, he looks at you differently now. It’s softer. Sort of romantic, really.”

You swallowed. “He does not.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and spun toward her trunk. “He so does. But whatever. If you’re going to a Gryffindor party, you’re not wearing that blouse.”

You stared at her. “Gin, what’s wrong with my blouse?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s just…not the right look for a party. And you’re leveling up tonight.”

From the trunk, Ginny pulled a black top that looked more like a suggestion than an actual garment. It was tight and cut in a deep, plunging V, with delicate halter-style laces that tied around the neck, leaving the back and shoulders exposed.

You choked on your own breath. “Absolutely not. That’s a bra with ambition.”

“It’s a top,” Ginny said cheerfully. “And a very cute one.”

“I couldn’t wear that.”

“Couldn’t or won’t?” she challenged, tossing it at you. The fabric was buttery soft in your hands, deceptively light, and you could already imagine how it would cling, how it would reveal the shape of your collarbone, the slope of your waist.

You glanced up at Luna for backup.

She looked ethereal and vaguely hypnotized, as always, her eyes glittering like moons. “I think you’d look like a siren,” she said calmly. “The kind that makes sailors drown themselves on purpose.”

You hesitated. Ginny saw it - the moment of weakness - and pounced.

“Just try it,” she said. “If you hate it, you can take it off. But if you love it…I get to do your hair.”

You sighed, then grabbed the top. “Fine. But no laughing if I look ridiculous.”

“Oh honey,” Ginny said with a grin, “we’ll be too busy staring.”

You turned toward the corner privacy screen and quickly slipped off your blouse. The moment you pulled the top over your head and tightened the back laces, you froze. It fit like a dream.

Your reflection emerged slowly as you stepped around the screen. The low neckline revealed your collarbones and just a tasteful hint of cleavage. The skirt - now far more visible without the blouse covering it up - hugged your hips like it was made for you, ending mid-thigh, the shine of the leather catching the light. The sheer black stocking you wore beneath it provided a hint of modesty, but the knee-high leather boots still kept the look sexy.

The girl you saw in the mirror wasn’t the one who panicked in Potions or second-guessed every glance from Fred Weasley. She was sharp angles, soft curves, confidence dipped in ink and shadow. Your jaw dropped a little.

Ginny, standing behind you, gave a low whistle. “Now we’re talking.”

You turned toward her slowly. “I…look amazing.”

“You are amazing,” she said. Then, grinning wickedly, she stepped closer. “But for the piece of resistance…”

You barely had time to frown before her fingers were in your hair, undoing the careful little braid you’d worked in earlier. She gave a few gentle tugs, and your hair fell around your shoulders in a soft, glossy cascade. Thick and effortless, a little wild.

Luna clapped quietly. You met your own gaze in the mirror again, and this you could hardly believe what you saw.

Ginny stepped back, hands on her hips. “We are so ready to ruin lives tonight.”

You turned to them with a grin, heart hammering in your chest. Not from nerves, but from excitement. Ginny threw on a red leather jacket, and linked arms with you.

“Dean’s not going to know what to do with you,” she said, smirking.

You grinned back. She was probably right. Dean was all polite smiles and genteel manners. He wouldn’t know what to do with you. But you knew one person who might.

———————————————————————

The bass from the party pulsed through the walls, a rhythmic heartbeat that thudded in your chest before you even opened the door to the staircase. You could already hear the roar of conversation, laughter, the occasional glass clinking too hard against another, and the unmistakable whistle of Lee Jordan egging someone on from across the common room.

Ginny gave your hand a final squeeze at the top of the stairs. “Remember, be the storm, not the ship.”

You smirked, heart hammering as you took your first step down.

The Gryffindor common room was glowing with warm reds and flickering gold light from floating candles and levitated lanterns. The couches had been shoved to the edges of the room to make space for a makeshift dance floor, already crowded with students grinding, swaying, and spinning each other around to the beat of the music.

It was easy to spot Fred amongst the crowd. Your eyes seemed drawn to him like a beacon. He was leaning back against the stone wall near the fireplace, one hand curled around a butterbeer bottle, the other gesturing lazily as he joked with George and Angelina. His head turned, casually, like he was just surveying the room.

But the moment his eyes landed on you, everything in him stilled. Your gazes locked across the room.

And you saw it. The way his expression froze for just a heartbeat too long, like he forgot how to be cool. Like you’d actually managed to rattle him. Then his eyes dragged downward. Slowly, shamelessly. Down the bare expanse of your collarbones, over the curve of your waist, the leather clinging to your hips, the way your legs looked in stockings and boots that made your stride just a little more sensual.

When his eyes finally flicked back up to your face, something unreadable flickered behind them. Heat curled low in your belly.

You did that to him.

Before you could look away, a hand brushed your elbow.

Dean.

“Whoa,” he said, blinking a little as his eyes flicked over your outfit. “You look…amazing.”

You smiled, polite, but flattered. “Thanks.”

“Can I get you a drink or something?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly bashful under the light.

You could feel Fred’s gaze still lingering.

“Sure,” you said smoothly. “Why not?”

You shot a look toward Ginny and Luna - both of whom gave you tiny, knowing smirks - before letting Dean guide you toward the drinks table. The corner was filled with magically chilled butterbeer, pumpkin fizz, and someone’s very illegal stash of firewhisky.

Dean handed you a drink and leaned casually against the table.

“This is wild, huh?” he said, shouting a little over the music. “Gryffindors go big.”

“They do,” you said with a grin, sipping from the chilled butterbeer bottle. “Your parties have a very…unhinged charm.”

He laughed. “Better than Ravenclaw’s?”

“I mean, nobody’s quoting spell theory in a corner, so you’re winning.”

He chuckled, but you caught the way his smile was softer. “It’s nice talking to you like this.”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. You just seem more relaxed than you do in class.”

You smiled, genuinely this time. “Yeah. It’s nice seeing you without a bunch of plants inbetween us.”

Still, something in the conversation felt a little…safe. You leaned in slightly, brushing your arm against his as you took another sip.

He noticed. His gaze dropped to the way your lips wrapped around the bottle, then back to your eyes. Curious, not bold. Flirty, but not electric.

You tilted your head. “Wanna dance?”

Dean stammered. “Uh, yeah! I mean, sure. I’m not…great, but I’ll try not to crush your toes.”

You laughed and grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the center of the room where the music was thudding hard and bodies were moving without rhythm or hesitation.

The beat shifted into something faster, sultry, laced with bass and low vocals. You moved your hips in time with it, letting your hair fall over one shoulder as you turned back toward Dean.

He was grinning - blushing a little - but he caught your rhythm and started to sway with you. His movements were a bit awkward, but there was something endearing in the way he didn’t take himself too seriously. You laughed when he nearly tripped over his own foot and steadied him by the collar of his shirt.

It was fun. But as you rolled your hips and let your arms float up with the beat, you couldn’t help but think it. This was nothing like dancing with Fred.

Dean didn’t press too close, didn’t touch the small of your back like it was instinct. He didn’t brush his fingers along your spine or whisper anything cocky in your ear. There was no teasing, no fire.

He was sweet. And that was nice. But your mind - your body - remembered how Fred had held you with one hand at your waist and the other at your hip, the way his mouth had hovered near your throat without ever touching. How dancing with Fred had felt like someone striking a match too close to your skin.

Dean caught your hand and spun you, and you laughed, hair spinning with the motion. You liked Dean.

But Fred…Fred was still watching. You could feel it like heat against your back. And you liked that, too.

———————————————————————

The sun spilled through the tall library windows in pale golden shafts, warming the worn oak of the table where you and Fred sat side by side. It was early - too early to be up on a Saturday after a party like last night’s, in your opinion. But Fred had been oddly insistent that you go over Transfiguration before lunch.

He hadn’t even brought any jokes with him. Which was suspicious.

The redhead sat with his elbow propped on the table, twirling a quill between his fingers with less of his usual flair. His notes were open in front of him, though judging by the way his eyes kept darting toward the window instead of the page, he wasn’t exactly laser-focused.

You, on the other hand, were trying to explain the concept of multi-object transformations without throwing your textbook across the room.

“So,” you said, biting the end of your quill, “if you’re transfiguring two objects into one, it’s not just about visual cohesion, it’s magical function too. Like, turning a candle and a fork into a lamp requires merging two seperate enchantments, not just sticking them together with one.”

Fred blinked, slowly turning to face you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you even listening, or did your brain sneak off with your sense of humor?”

He blinked again. “Yeah, no, I’m listening. Sorry. Just…distracted.”

“You’re distracted?” you teased. “What is this, a cry for help?”

He gave a weak smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You tilted your head slightly, searching his face. “You alright?”

Before he could answer, a voice interrupted. “Hey.”

You looked up to see Dean standing at the end of the table, smiling in that easy, casual way that made him seem like he was always halfway through a relaxed conversation. His eyes flicked toward Fred for a second before settling on you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but…I was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade later. Like, properly. Just us.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the boldness in his tone. And then you smiled.

“I’d like that,” you said. “That sounds nice.”

Dean’s grin widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck again. “Great. I’ll let you get back to—” He nodded toward your book. “That.”

You laughed softly. “We need all the help we can get.”

He gave you a little wave and turned to go, his steps light.

You turned back to Fred and the change in him was immediate. He wasn’t looking at you. Or the table. Or his notes.

He was staring straight ahead at the bookshelves, jaw slightly clenched, his hand no longer spinning the quill but tapping it once, twice, three times against the table in a short, sharp rhythm.

You tilted your head again. “Fred?”

“Mm?”

“You alright?” You echoed your earlier question.

“Peachy,” he muttered, finally flipping his book open with a little more force than necessary. “So, you were saying something about candle-fork-lamps?”

You frowned, watching him carefully. “That’s what we’re going with?”

He didn’t look at you. “Yeah, why not?”

You leaned in a little. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m fine,” he said too quickly, flipping another page even though he hadn’t read the last one.

“Fred.”

His eyes finally flicked to you, but the usual spark - the mischief, the warmth - was buried under something else. Something quiet and simmering.

“Is this about the time?” you said softly, trying to ease whatever strange tension had settled between you. “You’re the one who wanted to meet this early.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And I regret it deeply.”

You huffed a laugh and nudged his leg with your boot. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m always dramatic.”

“But you’re not usually this bad at hiding it.”

He let out a long breath and slumped back in his chair, finally dragging a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s not…I just didn’t think he was your type.”

You blinked. “Dean?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. He’s all…neat. And polite. And doesn’t set things on fire for fun.”

“Not like you, you mean?” You tried not to smile. “Are you saying you’re my type?”

“I’m saying I didn’t think he was.”

You felt your cheeks warm, and for a second, the awkwardness between you felt like a live wire. Crackling with everything unsaid. You wanted to press it. Wanted to ask what he was really saying.

But Fred clapped his book shut and stood up suddenly. “Anyway,” he said. “You’ve got a date to prepare for, and I’ve got things to blow up. See you around.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, his usual swagger missing, his shoulders just a little too stiff. You watched him go, heart suddenly heavy with something you didn’t quite have the words for.

But it wasn’t nothing. It definitely wasn’t nothing.

———————————————————————

The Great Hall buzzed with the low hum of lunchtime chatter, the clink of goblets, and the occasional screech of an owl dropping off packages. Students lounged in their usual clusters, laughter and gossip drifting through the enchanted ceiling’s sun-dappled midday glow.

Fred Weasley all but ran into the hall. He clutched a folded parchment in his fist - creased from how tightly he’d been holding it since Professor McGonagall handed it to him. 84%.

He’d smashed it. His highest score in Transfiguration ever.

And it wasn’t just dumb luck or even hard work. It was thanks to her. She’d sat with him through every confusing charm, every chaotic diagram, every time he’d zoned out and asked her to repeat herself. And somehow, she’d made it all make sense.

He spotted her almost instantly at the Ravenclaw table, sitting at the back of the hall, laughing. Her eyes sparkled under the sunlight streaming through the stained glass, and Fred felt that familiar twist in his stomach that he was slowly beginning to accept had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with her.

She wasn’t alone though. Dean was beside her again, grinning, too close, his arm brushing hers as he said something that made her laugh. The look on her face was soft and bright. Fred watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her smile tilting as she nodded along.

He slowed. Then stopped.

She hadn’t seen him yet. She was focused, engaged, leaning slightly toward Dean like she was genuinely interested in whatever he was saying. It wasn’t the awkward flirty sway from the party or the stiff politeness from their study session. It was comfortable now. Too comfortable for his liking.

Fred stared at the parchment in his hand, his fingers tightening until it crinkled. The words he’d been rehearsing - “Guess who got a bloody 84 thanks to you?” and “I owe you at least five butterbeers and a personal firework show” - all turned to ash on his tongue.

He looked back at her one last time, heart giving a dull thud as she laughed again at something Dean said. Then he turned and walked off.

He didn’t head toward the Gryffindor table. Didn’t look back. Just shoved the parchment into his back pocket and stalked our of the doors, muttering under his breath.

“Yeah. That’s fine. Good for him. Great bloody job, Thomas.”

Fred shoved his hands into his pockets as he stalked across the courtyard, boots crunching gravel beneath him. The sun was warm but did nothing to loosen the knot coiled tight behind his ribs. His thoughts looped viciously: her laugh, Dean’s smug grin, how close they sat, how her hand touched Dean’s arm.

He didn’t hear her behind him. Didn’t see her until her hand snatched the parchment right from under his arm.

“Oi!” he spun, startled, but she was already backing away, holding the test result aloft and squinting at it.

Her eyes widened. “Fred! Eighty-four?!” she practically shouted, grinning wide. “That’s incredible! You nailed it!”

Fred tried to grab the parchment back, his lips pressed tight in a line, but she danced out of his reach with a teasing laugh.

“I told you you could do it. I knew it!” she beamed, and there was something so proud and sincere in her voice that it made his stomach twist again, but not the same way. This was worse. He should’ve been able to just enjoy this moment. He wanted to. But all he could see was Dean bloody Thomas sitting beside her like he belonged there.

He reached for the parchment again, this time with less play and more force. “Yeah, well. Thanks,” he muttered, snatching it back.

She blinked at the coldness in his tone. “What’s your deal?” she asked, tone light but tinged with uncertainty. “Someone didn’t get his beauty sleep last night, huh? Well I’ll let you off the hook today but you better rest up tonight because we’ve got another study session tomorrow morning. Bright and early, no excuses.”

“Studying for what?” His brows furrowed in confusion.

“Whatever your next lesson is, of course. What comes next now that I no longer boogie like great-aunt Betsy?” She flashed him a mischievous grin, and his stomach dropped.

Fred shrugged. “I’m sorted now.”

“What do you mean?” she frowned, adjusting the strap of her bag.

“No more lessons,” he said flatly, folding the parchment again. “That’s what I mean.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what? Just like that? You get one good score and suddenly we’re done?”

“You said it yourself. I nailed it.” He gave her a thin smile, eyes sharp.

“But we made a deal, Fred,” she said, brows pinching together. “You teach me the ropes, I tutor you. That was the whole thing.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “I got what I needed. And so did you. You’re a killer dancer now, remember? You’ve been…reformed.” He punctuated it with a mocking little wink that didn’t reach his eyes.

Her smile faded completely. There was a long pause between them, tense and crackling.

“Oh,” she said, voice dropping. “So that’s how it is? You get what you want and then just toss the rest?”

Fred crossed his arms. “It’s not like you need me anymore. You’ve got Thomas for that, don’t you?”

Her jaw dropped slightly. “Wait, is that what this is about?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a scoff. “What is this about? Why are you following me around if you’re so busy with—”

“Because I care, Fred!” she snapped, stepping forward. “Because I was happy for you! You worked your arse off and smashed it, and I thought we were—” she cut herself off, exhaling sharply.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her. And that silence? That said more than any bitter retort.

Her eyes narrowed. “Right. Okay. Well…guess I got it wrong.”

She turned, boots crunching hard against the gravel as she stormed off, the hem of her skirt whipping around her thighs. Fred didn’t stop her. Didn’t call after her. Just stood there in the courtyard, jaw tight, hands still curled in fists inside his pockets, hating himself a little more with every step she took away from him.

———————————————————————

The sun was warm through the Ravenclaw tower windows, casting hazy golden light across the wooden table where she and Dean sat side-by-side. His Charms textbook was open between them, but they hadn’t turned a page in twenty minutes.

“…and then he had the audacity to say we’re done? Like, poof, contract over. No goodbye, no thanks for the help, just ‘you’re reformed now’, whatever that’s supposed to mean,” she rambled, flipping her quill in her fingers.

Dean gave a polite laugh, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. She didn’t notice.

“And the way he said it,” she continued, voice rising slightly, “like I was some…some flavour of the month that he got bored of. He couldn’t even look at me when I called him out. Just stood there all smug, pretending he didn’t care. It was such bullshit.”

Dean shifted in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right.”

“Don’t you think that’s insane?” she asked, looking over at him with wide eyes, seeking validation. “I helped him for weeks. And I was nothing but nice to him. Okay, mostly nice. But still, he just acts like it never meant anything.”

Dean looked at her for a long beat. “You talk about him a lot.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Fred,” he said simply. “You talk about Fred…a lot.”

She hesitated, caught off guard. “Yeah, well. He’s been annoying lately.”

Dean gave a small, almost apologetic smile. “I don’t think that’s the whole story.”

She stared at him, unsure of how to respond.

“I like you,” Dean said gently. “You’re clever, and you’re fun.”

Something twisted in her chest. “But…”

“But I think your head’s somewhere else. Or with someone else.”

She sat back slowly, mouth parting. “Wait, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he said kindly, “that maybe we should leave this here, before it gets complicated.”

Her heart beat uncomfortably fast in her chest. “Because of Fred?”

Dean gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Sort of.”

“Did he say something to you?” Her voice sharpened.

He met her gaze for a moment, steady and knowing, and then began quietly gathering his things. He didn’t respond. She didn’t move. Just watched him walk away, heart thudding hard and fast in her ribs. And when he disappeared out of the common room, the silence that followed was too loud. Too telling.

Her jaw clenched. Her fists balled. This was Fred’s fault. Dean had all but admitted it. But what on earth was it that Fred had said?

———————————————————————

The sky had turned a low, clouded grey by the time she actually found him, casting a hazy glow over the lawn behind the greenhouses. The air smelled faintly of dirt and grass, damp from the recent drizzle. She spotted Fred alone near the edge of the garden beds, sitting against the bark of a twisted tree. His shoulders were hunched, one hand buried in his pocket, the other absently picking at a patch of stubborn weeds beside him. A stack of open books lay abandoned before him. If she had to hasten a guess, she’d say he’d been trying to study himself and had long since given up.

She crossed the gravel path with clipped steps, the crunch loud enough that his head jerked up. His eyes landed on her, but he didn’t smile.

“Oh,” Fred said flatly. “It’s you.”

She crossed her arms, standing just a few feet from him now, the tips of her shoes brushing the edge of the stone path. “Yeah. It’s me.”

He squinted at her like she was backlit by something inconvenient. “You alright?”

“Did you say something to Dean?” she shot back, skipping pleasantries entirely.

Fred’s brows pinched together. “What?”

“Did you say something to him? Threaten him? Tell him to back off?”

He turned his attention toward her more fully now, clambering to his feet and gathering his things into his bag. “What are you on about?”

She stepped closer, close enough to see the startled flicker in his eyes. “He dumped me.”

Fred blinked, pausing his actions and standing up straight. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” she said with a bitter little laugh. “Said we shouldn’t keep seeing each other. When I asked him why, he just said because of you.” Her gaze narrowed. “So what did you say to him?”

“I didn’t say anything to Dean,” Fred said, voice low, sounding truly baffled. “I haven’t even seen him since Monday.”

She crossed the final step between them. “So he just decided I wasn’t worth it anymore? For no reason?”

Fred’s eyes flicked down. His jaw clenched, lips twitching upwards.

She caught it before he could hide it. “You’re glad he ended it. Aren’t you?”

Fred didn’t deny it.

Her hands dropped to her sides, fingers curling. “Of course, you’re loving this! Just another moment to add to your scrapbook of ways to make me miserable.”

“That’s not fair,” he said sharply.

“No? Then why do you act like you care one minute and act like I don’t exist the next?” Her voice cracked despite herself, but she didn’t back down.

Fred’s mouth opened, but no words exited it.

She turned away from him, rubbing her fingers over her temple, overwhelmed by the burn rising in her throat. “I’m so bloody tired of trying to figure you out.”

“I didn’t do anything to Dean,” he said quietly, behind her. “But I’m not sorry he ended it.”

She whirled back to face him, exasperated. “Why not?”

Fred stepped forward, slowly, until she could smell the faint trace of earth and cinnamon on his clothes. His voice was low and tight. “Because I want you to myself.”

Her breath hitched. Her arms dropped.

Fred looked down at her, eyes flickering across her face like he was memorising every line of it. “I want you when you’re laughing. When you’re annoyed. When you’re ranting about homework or pulling faces in class or threatening to hex me for not showing up to a lesson.” His voice grew rougher. “I want you. Not because you’re some project. Not because of a deal we made. Not because of anything except the fact that you’ve been stuck in my head since the moment you leaned across that table and flirted with me. Even though it wasn’t real.”

Her heart was pounding.

“I want you,” he said, more quietly this time, “and I don’t know how to not want you.”

The wind blew lightly through the trees. The branches overhead shifted and scattered filtered light across his freckled cheeks, over the faint pink rising in them now.

She stared at him, lips parted, eyes scanning his face as if trying to find the lie. There wasn’t one. “I can’t believe you,” she whispered.

His face tensed, already prepared for rejection. “I—”

“I can’t believe you’re such an idiot.”

She grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him down into her kiss.

Fred gasped softly into it, frozen for the first beat. Then he moved. His hand griped her waist, pulling her flush against him. Her fingers tangled in the red locks at the nape of his neck as she deepened the kiss. His lips were warm, pliant, and tasted faintly of sugar - probably a stolen treacle tart from lunch.

Her back bumped against the low stone border of the garden, and he steadied her with both hands now, one on her lower back, the other rising instinctively to her jaw. His thumb brushed just under her cheekbone, the motion tender despite the storm brewing between them.

When she finally pulled back, breathless, her lips tingling and cheeks flushed, she muttered against his mouth, “You really are a complete idiot.”

Fred rested his forehead to hers, his nose brushing hers, eyes still half-lidded and dazed. “Takes one to kiss one.”

She laughed, chest still heaving, and kissed him again. Softer this time. Slower.

When they finally pulled apart for good, Fred was grinning like a man who’d just walked out of an explosion unscathed.

She smoothed his wrinkled collar. “You owe me an apology.”

“For what?”

“For being the most clueless boy in the history of Hogwarts.”

He raised his brows. “Excuse you. I’d say you were equally as clueless here.”

She shoved him lightly in the chest. “Doesn’t matter. You’re still an idiot.”

Fred caught her hand before she could retract it. “Maybe, but I’m your problem now.”

———————————————————————

Tag list: @vivianette @ellouisa17 @wisp1q @divineani @cattleray

355 notes · View notes

vivianette · 7 days ago

Note

hi, the bracelet idea won’t be very expensive. It’s actually very affordable and can make like a handful of bracelets. (too many to count) that’s why if I do this, it’s worth giving to fans. example like if I went to harry potter shop while on vacation etc.

Helloo, oh okayy i thought you meant sending them out so I was worried about the shipping etc but yeah that's totally doable for you! It'll be a fun moment im sure many fellow fans would cherish as a cute lil keepsake<3

#vivi talks🍓

0 notes

vivianette · 8 days ago

Text

Writing Description Notes:

Updated 9th September 2024 More writing tips, review tips & writing description notes

Facial Expressions

Masking Emotions

Smiles/Smirks/Grins

Eye Contact/Eye Movements

Blushing

Voice/Tone

Body Language/Idle Movement

Thoughts/Thinking/Focusing/Distracted

Silence

Memories

Happy/Content/Comforted

Love/Romance

Sadness/Crying/Hurt

Confidence/Determination/Hopeful

Surprised/Shocked

Guilt/Regret

Disgusted/Jealous

Uncertain/Doubtful/Worried

Anger/Rage

Laughter

Confused

Speechless/Tongue Tied

Fear/Terrified

Mental Pain

Physical Pain

Tired/Drowsy/Exhausted

Eating

Drinking

Warm/Hot

54K notes · View notes

vivianette · 9 days ago

Text

Only If You Catch Me

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: fred had always been frustrated by your endeavors with other men, especially other men that always looked quite a bit like him. after a disastrous mistake during quidditch practice you find yourself wondering how you had never seen fred Weasley in the light you saw him in now

word count: 4.4k

warnings: jealousy, language (maybe?), only proof read once so sorry for any mistakes!

a/n: this is my first big piece in ages, I hope you guys enjoy and im so sorry for my prolonged absence i fell off on writing for a while and im just now getting back to it

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Some things were just facts, plain and simple; the sky is blue, two and two is four and you had a type.

“Another ginger I see.” Alicia murmured as you sat down across from her, pints of butter beer clinking together. Your eyes were locked with a pretty freckled boy by the bar.

You huffed even though she was quite right, this must have been the third redhead that you set sights on this year. “Well William got boring and,” You paused wrinkling your nose, “-pushy”

The Three Broomsticks was packed, the sounds of chatter and warmth guarding you from the icy cold of the blizzard that had swept through Hogsmeade. You and Alicia had joined the dozens of students seeking cover in the popular pub and quickly snagged a small table near a large fireplace where you now looked out on the sea of flushed faces and smiles.

“With your type it's a wonder your last name isn’t Weasley.” Your friend chuckled and you laughed.

“If I could have gotten my hands on Charlie, it would be.” You replied, your silly crush on the older Weasley brother lasting from your first year to what you were sure would be your last.

Alicia giggled, taking a large swig from her pint, licking the foam off her top lip. “Why not one of the twins then?”

“What twins?” A voice asked from behind you.

“She couldn’t be talking about us now could she, Georgie?” Fred jested.

“No no,” The other replied, “I mean what could Spinnet possibly want from us?”

Alicia rolled her eyes with great effort, “Trust me when I say I want nothing to do with you. As for my friend here, I don't know if I can say the same.” she said with a smug grin and you sent her a furious look.

Fred smirked, leaning over the back of your chair, his large palms ghosting your shoulders, “Is that true? Do you need something from us?” He leaned in even further, his nose brushing your hair, “from me?”

You began to look a bit red as he pulled away, “Please Weasley,” you managed to scoff “since when do I need things from you? In fact, I believe you still have my Charms notes.”

Fred had come to stand in front of you now, George joining his side, “It's just that your notes are so much better for writing Flitwick’s essay. ” He argued.

“You don’t even take notes.” You said, exasperated.

“Exactly” The twins replied in unison.

Alicia snickered beside you.

Chairs appeared and Fred and George sat. The table seemed half the size it was before as Fred's elbow knocked against yours.

“Made yourselves at home have you?” You spoke, wincing.

Fred just grinned and leaned purposefully closer, thighs now brushing.

You slid towards Alicia who was turning a laugh into a cough and set your eyes back on the boy with freckles.

“You headed to the Slytherin match next weekend?” Alicia asked absently.

“Of course.” George replied, “I’ve bet Lee a galleon that Malfoy catches a bludger with his nose.” he chuckled, “He reckons it’ll be his gut.”

You all smiled at the idea, no one hated Malfoy more than those on the Gryffindor quidditch team.

“We also have business to do.” Fred said, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.

“You don't have any more of those nosebleed nougats do you?” You asked, eyes still across the room, “I’ve got to get out of Binns’ class tomorrow.”

Alicia's eyebrows shot up, you hardly missed History of Magic, or as you liked to call it, nap hour. “Why's that?”.

“No reason.” You mumbled, intently staring into your butterbeer.

Fred’s eyes darted between the two of you.

“Of course we’ve got some.” grinned George, oblivious, “2 sickles a pei-.”

“Or for free if you tell us what you're up to.” Fred interrupted, catching a strange look from his brother.

“I'm not up to anything!” You gasped with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Alicias eyes had narrowed to slits and Fred had never looked more unconvinced.

Your face began to grow hot and you found yourself wishing you had more grace in the act of lying.

“Oh come off it,” George said, “If she wants to snog Murphy instead of hearing about the seventh generation of goblin rebellions, who are we to judge?”

You were glowing pink now, sending a vicious look at George who had taken to sipping his drink innocently.

Fred looked appalled, his face contorted like he had just caught a whiff of something horrible, “Murphy!”

“Keep your voice down.” You hissed angrily, glazing across the room again to be sure he hadn’t heard, “I'm trying to keep it quiet.”

Fred was fuming, “Who wouldn’t, swapping spit with a git like that.”

You scoffed, pulling out a small coin purse, “Can I just have some nougat?”

“Nope.” Fred responded, voice suddenly ferocious, “We’re out.”

You were beginning to grow frustrated, “George just said you had some.”

Fred glared at you, “We’re out.” he repeated his nose high in the air.

You turned to George looking for help but he threw you an I’m-not-getting-into-this look and you were forced to round back on Fred.

You glared at each other for a moment before Fred caved, "Fine we’ve got some,” He huffed, “Three Galleons.”

Your mouth dropped, “George said 2 sickles!”

He crossed his arms, “They’re in high demand.”

You stood, chair flying back into the wall with a loud crack, “You’re a complete prick.” you said sharply snatching your bag and sweeping past Fred and over to meet Finn Murphy who was now standing to leave the pub.

“Well I think you handled that well.” Alicia said, grinning at Fred who looked as though he had been slapped.

George, who looked all too happy with himself for instigating such an interesting conversation, helped himself to the remains of your butterbeer as you and Murphy bowed out into the flurry of white followed closely by Fred’s glare.

“Looks as though she's gonna snog every redhead at school before you.” Alicia snicked.

“Yeah,” George snorted, “You might want to keep an eye on Ginny.”

Alicia giggled even harder, pressing a hand to her lips in an attempt to keep her drink in her mouth.

Fred could hardly hear them, too busy envisioning your latest with large boils all over his face or perhaps vomiting indefinitely.

Alicia managed to contain herself and shot Fred a sympathetic glance, “I've been trying you know, I keep bringing you up but she seems far more interested in Charlie.”

“Charlie!” He guffawed, “But he's been gone for ages!”

“Well he seemed to have made quite the impression.” Alicia chuckled.

“He was captain when she was appointed to the team.” George pointed out.

“Yeah when she was TWELVE” Fred gasped.

Alicia couldn’t help it, she had started laughing again, “Relax,” She spoke between breaths, “It’s just a silly school girl crush.”

Fred looked unconvinced and began to tap his heel incessantly against the floor.

“Take it as a complement!” She continued, “Charlie looks quite a bit like you, I mean you are related after all.”

Fred was not taking it as pleasantly as she suggested and began to rap his foot on the ground even faster, “We’ve got to do something.”

“We?” George snorted, “This is all you mate. I’m not the one in love with her.”

Freds ears grew pink, “I’m not in love with her!” he sputtered.

“Whatever you say.” Alicia spoke rolling her eyes.

The truth was that if Fred wasn't in love with you, he was so close he may as well have been. At the very least he had been pining after you for years and he had never been particularly quiet about it. In fact he was the opposite of quiet about it. His flirtatious remarks and dazzling complements were quite consistent. Unfortunately so was his coursing jealousy as you paraded around with boy after boy who was not him. Every year he swore would be the year. The year where you finally realized it was him you needed and all would be right in Fred's world. But time and time again he failed as you walked out the door with a different redhead. He was growing nervous, his seventh year was upon him and this may be his last chance before you were all carted off in different directions never to see each other again. The frustration of it all was turning him bitter.

That night Fred lay awake on his four-poster, staring at the ceiling venomously. What was it? He wondered, What was it that he didn't have that every other ginger you knew seemed to possess? Why was it never him pulling you into broom closets and meeting you after classes? What was he doing wrong? His thoughts spun until he drifted into an uneasy slumber.

By the time he arrived at the quidditch pitch for practice the next morning, the rest of the team was already changing into their robes as Angilina scribbled vigorously on the chalkboard in front of them, already changed and ready.

“Fred!” She shouted watching him try to sneak his way into the bustle of the team unnoticed, “What took so long? I was beginning to think I would have to send George back up to wake you.”

He shrugged, “Sorry Cap, I didn’t get much sleep last night if you know what I mean.” he winked at her and she looked sorely unamused.

You on the other hand perked up at the insinuation, finally looking at the twin who, in protest of his behavior the day before, you had been ignoring.

“She gets what I mean,” He smirked nodding towards you, “Up late with Murphy boy last night?” He asked viciously.

You flushed as the changing room filled with chuckles.

“Murphy?” Angelina asked, turning to you, “Isn’t he a bit,” She paused, “dim?”

You scowled at Fred silently before snatching your broom from the rack and marching so quickly out onto the pitch that you hadn’t even noticed you had hit Harry in the temple with its handle.

As Potter groaned in pain and fixed his askew glasses Fred looked over to Alicia who was shaking her head slightly. As the rest of the team slowly followed you out onto the field she and George made their way towards him.

“You’re an idiot.” Alicia groaned, “No wonder she won’t go out with you.”

George chuckled.

Fred glared at the pair, “It’s not my fault she insists on only snogging boys who are 'a bit dim.'" he spoke, mocking Angelina.

“I know that this may be hard to wrap your head around,” Alicia spoke sharply, “But maybe she went out with Murphy because he was, ya know, nice to her.” She then shouldered past the twins leaving Fred gapping at his brother desperately.

The day was crisp, the heavy licks of winter drawn in by a bitter wind. But the sky was clear and the sun was out, much to everyone’s appreciation.

Fred mounted his broom still angry, feeling foolish for upsetting you yet again as you stood with your back to him defiantly.

The whistle blew and the balls were released as the team kicked off, snow flying in all directions as you did so.

Fred's head was not in practice as it should have been but instead on you, watching you speed towards the goal posts with the quaffle already under your arm. You scored easily on Ron with a feign left.

Fred was so absorbed in you that he had completely forgotten about the bludgers, one of which was hurtling at him with frightening speed. With little time to react he swung his bat wildly and pitched the bludger in the opposite direction, which with a sickening feeling he realized was right at you.

He tried to shout but you must not have heard him over the howling of wind in your ears. Because when the bludger struck you heavily between the shoulder blades you were completely unprepared. Your vision danced as the air was knocked from your lungs. You were flung from your broom with a shriek and began to plummet.

Fred streamed after you, urging his broom towards the ground with a frightening speed. His Cleansweep shuttered under the immense pressure he suddenly held it in and never before had Fred wished so badly for Potters Firebolt.

He managed to get beneath you mere feet from the ground. The force at which you hit him knocked you both into the snow with a heavy thud, and there was a sickening sound as his broom snapped in two.

Neither of you moved for a moment, the snow settling around you and beginning to melt through your robes.

“Are you alright?” Fred asked and was struck with panic when you did not respond. He sat up quickly pulling you with him, your legs tangled together in the snow. He called your name desperately, hands holding your face as you lay limp in his arms.

Angelina landed beside the pair followed closely by George and Alicia both of whom were wearing nervous expressions.

“Y/n!” Fred shouted again, tears stinging his eyes, fear gripping his throat like a vice. He was moments away from shaking you when your eyes slowly peeled open.

“Fred?” You mumbled, confused.

The boy let out a barking laugh of relief and then dove into a hug, almost knocking you back to the ground.

Bewildered, you returned his embrace and realized quite suddenly how much larger than you Fred really was. You practically disappeared into his chest, his broad shoulders shielding you from the wind that whipped across the pitch. You felt frighteningly warm listening to his heart beat quickly beneath his robes. Your cheeks were hot as he pulled away from you and began to search for any look of pain or damage on your face.

“Are you alright love?” He asked again and was washed with relief when you nodded.

As you fully realized what was going on around you, you gasped, pulling the handle of Fred's broom out of the snow.

“Your broom!” You looked horrified, “Fred, your broom broke!”

Fred on the other hand brushed it off helping you to your feet and beginning to pat the snow off your robes, “It’s alright, I’m sure it's fixable.” he shrugged, “Listen, I am so s-”

But before Fred could finish his apology George burst between the two of you, “I am so sorry!” He spoke hurriedly, “The bludger caught me off guard. I swear I wasn’t aiming for you.”

You chuckled, giving George a pat on the shoulder, “I sure hope not, but 's not me you should be apologizing to anyway.” You said, “It's Fred’s broom that broke.”

George did not issue his brother any regrets and instead sent him a wink, whipping his wand out of robes and shouting “Repairo!”

The broom snapped back together and Angelina, who was desperate to get back in the air, looked to you, “You alright then?”

You nodded with a grin and turned back to Fred who was testing the strength of his brother's repair.

“Thank you so much Fred,” You gushed, looking up at him through your lashes.

The boy's heart skipped a beat, stomach lurching, “It was no problem really.” He breathed and miraculously found you in his arms for the second time as you lunged towards him.

“Thank you.” You murmured into his robes before disconnecting and swiftly boarding your broom again.

Fred watched you leave struck for a moment. Alicia shot him a thumbs up and a grin before he was able to clumsily climb onto his own broom and follow you back up into the air.

By dinner the story of your fall had been told and retold so many times that you were now said to have plummeted upwards of a hundred meters before Fred had heroically scooped you onto his own broom, saving what was sure to be your life.

In the great hall you kept getting asked if you were okay as down the table Fred got clapped on the shoulder and congratulated for his great save. He seemed to be enjoying the new story a fair bit more than you were.

Finn had come over to ask about you halfway through dinner but you found suddenly that he was no less than boring and he returned to the Hufflepuff table after a few short minutes with a look of disappointment on his face.

Fred watched this with such delight he was sure he was glowing. George -who he had been applauding as the best wingman one could ask for all day- poked him hard in the side and pointed down the table to where you sat. Fred turned to catch your eyes already on him. He winked exuberantly and you turned away with a scoff, but your cheeks had taken a rather deep shade of red.

He grinned so wide at George he thought his lips might split, “I mean this is some real progress!” He cheered, “Did you see that? She was staring at me!”

Down the hall you turned to Alicia, cheeks still pink, “Have you ever noticed how tall Fred is?” You asked so suddenly she choked on her pumpkin juice.

You stared at her curiously as she wiped her mouth with her sleeve smiling, “Oh yeah very tall.”

You hummed looking back down the table at the elder twin who was now laughing wildly at something Lee had said, “I guess I never really thought about it before.”

Angilina shot Alicia a glance as you were distracted and the two of them broke out into giggles.

“What?” You demanded though you were still smiling.

“Oh nothing.” Angilina grinned and you huffed turning back to your dinner.

You found yourself wishing Fred had chosen to sit a bit closer to you as you watched a group of girls across from him break out into giggles at something he said, “There's no way he's that funny.” You muttered knowing he in fact was.

Yet you couldn’t find yourself being all that jealous as he kept glancing up at you, as if checking to make sure you were still watching him and much to his delight you always were. His shoulders, you noticed from where you sat picking at plum pudding, were quite wide, his arms toned. It was no wonder that he had engulfed you completely out on the pitch.

How had I never noticed this before? You found yourself wondering. How had he managed to escape your list of potential suitors when he was so obviously perfect for you?

The thought struck you rather abruptly and while you would have liked to have sat with it for a minute, Alicia was standing and you knew it was time to head back to the common room.

As students began to flood from the hall you fiddled with the sleeves of your robes, thoughts full of brown eyes and freckles .

As if summoned, Fred appeared at your side grinning widely, “Hello.”

“Hey Fred,” replied Alicia.

“Have you guys heard the news?” He asked, throwing an arm around your shoulder. You tried hard not to blush and instead shook your head, staring at the floor. “Apparently, you owe me your life.” He was beaming down at you now and you found it hard to look away.

“Oh yeah?” You smirked, “And I heard it was actually you who hit me with that bludger.”

His smile disappeared only momentarily and you were happy to see it recover so quickly.

“Ah well, I figured Angelina wouldn’t keep her mouth shut.” He shrugged, “Though I swear if I had a choice I would have knocked her off her broom instead.”

And for the first time that evening jealousy took you strongly, “Oh yeah? I suppose she would have been a bit more fun to catch then?”

Fred looked startled by your bristly reaction, “Nah,” He responded, “That would have been Georgie’s job.”

You were satisfied with this answer and felt yourself leaning against him as you began up towards the tower.

George was delighted to see you still tucked beneath his brother's arm when you reached the common room. He called you over to where he sat and you placed yourself in a large squishy armchair as Fred perched himself beside you on an ottoman.

You spent your evening rather uneventfully, finishing an essay for Snape as the Gryffindors slowly filtered off to bed in pairs. When George rose to take himself to the dormitory you expected Fred to follow but instead he stayed rooted by your feet where he now sat cross legged on the carpet looking over what looked like an extensive order form.

Hours later you yawned, stretching when you finally finished your work. It was now well past midnight and only a few fifth years remained, cramming for a quiz in transfiguration the next day. You turned to look at Fred who had long since sprawled himself across the couch before the fire and found him snoring softly.

A jolt of infatuation made your stomach flip. His messy hair glowed shockingly bright in the fire light, his pink lips slightly agape. You gathered your things slowly, sure not to wake him before you stood beside him.

You knew you should wake him, you were the reason he had not retreated to bed after all. But he looked so peaceful like this, so soft. Instead you found yourself slowly counting the freckles that sprawled across his cheeks, leaning close to brush a strand of his bright red hair out of his face. He woke immediately at your touch, large brown eyes locking with your own.

You felt your cheeks go hot, “You should go up to bed.” You mumbled beginning to pull away.

He snatched your wrist with such haste it took you by surprise, “Do that again.” he spoke.

You furrowed your brow, “What?”

“With my hair,” It was his turn to blush now, “Touch my hair again.”

It felt as though the air was sucked from your lungs yet you found yourself obeying, fingers coming to comb through the soft waves that spread across his forehead.

He hummed, leaning into your touch slowly, gaze still locked with yours. The two of you stayed there for a moment, you kneeling beside him fingers in his hair, his hand still loosely wrapped around your wrist.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured and you looked at him confused.

“For what?”

“Hitting you with a bludger.” he responded remorsefully.

You laughed softly, your head thrown back, “It's okay Fred.” you grinned. You were close now, so close Fred could feel the tickle of your breath on his cheek, “I forgive you. You made up for it after all.”

He smirked in spite of himself, “I suppose I did, saving your life and all.”

You were giggling again and Fred was sure he was in some beautiful dream where all he could ever hear or see was your joy.

“I wouldn’t push your luck if I were you.” You grinned, “I may just chuck the quaffle at your head when you're not looking.”

“Only if you catch me when I fall.” Fred whispered, leaning closer still.

You let him, your lips connecting slowly. You were pleased to find he was a fantastic kisser, his lips soft and plush, eager to please. His free hand cupped your cheek as he pulled you closer still until you were practically on top of him.

One of the alarm clocks the fifth years had been attempting to turn to roosters burst to life and you pulled away abruptly remembering bitterly that you and him were not the only ones in the room. Fred chased after your lips with his own desperate for even a moment more with your mouth.

“You should get to bed.” You repeated standing now, knees a bit shaky.

Fred was disappointed by your departure but grinned wildly nonetheless as you gathered your books into your arms and turned back to him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Fred.” You yawned and began up the stairs to your dormitory determined not to let him see the childish glee that had spread across your face.

“Wait!” He called after you, lurching from the couch and stopping at the bottom of the steps.

You turned back to him taking in the wonderful sight of him staring lovingly up at you. He looked delightfully disheveled, his hair a mess and his lips swollen from your touch. You took two steps down now only one above where he stood on the hardwood floor.

You looked down at him expectantly as his eyes bore into your own.

He lifted himself onto his toes and grabbed your shoulders forcinging you forward where you connected for a second time.

This time his breath was hot and heavy on your lips, his earnest intensifying to a level that you could only describe as hunger. Your feet dangled momentarily in the air as he lifted you fervently into his embrace. You were suddenly engulfed in Fred again, he was all you could smell sweet and cinnamon, all you could hear were his pants in your ear, all you could feel was him, his arms around your middle, his thigh pressed between your legs and his lips and tongue working so well together that it was you who chased after him this time, whining in protest when he pulled back.

You stared at him, out of breath and stunned to silence.

Fred looked as though he had just won something very expensive the way he was grinning with triumph, his eyes dark with lust.

“Sweet dreams love.” He murmured leaning down to give you one final kiss, his lips moving sickeningly slow against your own, wet and warm. He hovered inches form your lips for a moment, as if debating diving back in, before he backed away tucking his hands casually into his robes.

“You should go to bed, love.” He smirked, “We’ve got an early practice tomorrow and I do believe you made me a promise about knocking me off my broom.”

You bit your lip to keep from breaking into girlish giggles. Your heart was still pounding as though you had just run a long race.

“Only if you swear to catch me though.” He added with a wink.

“I’ll always catch you Freddie.” you assured him before turning and hurrying back up the stairs, grinning so wide your cheeks had begun to ache.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

taglist: @accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-dood13 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @coldlilheart @the-natureofme @trickylittlewitch @layaa-layaaa @sarcasticallywitty @rosieweasley @dracosgoodgirl @inglourious-imagines @princess-jules47 @daedreamss @d22malfoys @evyiione

m.list

7K notes · View notes