yknwiu

[yknwiu]

So remember me in a softer light

[yknwiu]

Wanna Be Yours | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: helping a younger student resulted in you and the first-year walking into a prank not meant for you, and as you do so, you catch Fred's attention. the next day he tries to apologise with another prank and it backfires, but this only resulted in him falling even harder for you, he just knew wanted to be yours.

Warnings/tags: hufflepuff!reader (well it suits anyone really :D), love at first sight, he fell first and HARD, fred needs you so bad, pranks gone wrong, teasing, fluffy and cute, fred's a simp a/n: inspired by "Wanna be Yours by Arctic Monkeys"

———

The courtyard was alive with the soft hum of spring—branches swaying in the breeze, birds chirping from the castle walls, and a few students milling about on the cobblestones. Fred crouched behind a large stone pillar, his mischievous grin matching the one plastered across his twin’s face.

Huddled in a corner, the four of them—Fred, George, Lee and Oliver, were planning a revenge prank on Marcus Flint and Draco Malfoy for their obnoxious antics during the Quidditch match earlier.

“Are you sure about this?” Oliver Wood asked, trying to sound stern but failing as he bit back a chuckle.

Malfoy had spent most of the game taunting Harry, and Flint’s borderline dirty play had cost Gryffindor two near-goals. That didn’t sit well with Fred and George, so what better way to get back at them than with a prank.

“Hundred percent.” Fred said, smirking as he held up a pouch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. “Alright, we rig this near the tree. As soon as they walk by, poof! Total chaos. Then, George, you release the Dungbombs—”

“Already got ‘em primed,” George said, patting his pocket with a devilish grin.

“Don't forget the slime and feathers!” Lee added, holding up a jar of fluorescent green goop in one hand, and a bag of feathers in the other.

Oliver, who had reluctantly joined but couldn’t resist some payback, frowned. “Let’s make sure they’re the only ones who get caught in this mess though, yeah?”

“Relax Wood,” Fred said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s a foolproof plan. Nothing can go wrong.”

“Trust us,” George said, “We’ve calculated everything.”

“Right,” Lee affirmed, “It's simple charm, a bit of instant darkness powder, and—bam! Feathers, slime, and a nice little puff of stink powder for good measure.”

George cackled, clapping his twin on the back. “Beautiful. They’ll be too busy cleaning slime and plucking feathers off their robes to bother us for weeks.”

“That's what they deserve for acting like twits during the match.” Lee chimed in. "S'pose they do deserve it." Oliver chuckled, his reluctance turning into enthusiasm.

The trap was simple but effective: a hidden tripwire enchanted to release darkness powder, then a rain of slime and feathers from above, followed by the dungbombs. All they had to do now was wait for their targets. "Now, they're supposed to walk pass here any moment..." Fred told the others, as the four of them watched eagerly.

Fred’s eyes glinted as he nodded toward the enchanted tripwire stretched across the cobblestones, ready to unleash chaos on Flint and Malfoy the moment they stepped on it.

Everything was perfect. Until it wasn't.

From behind a stone archway, you appeared with a small Ravenclaw first-year in tow.

It wasn’t Malfoy or Flint who walked into the courtyard first.

It was you.

You were laughing softly, your eyes crinkling with warmth as you guided a nervous-looking first-year Ravenclaw girl who clutched her books tightly to their chest. The poor kid had taken a wrong turn, and you volunteered to show her the way to the library.

In your arms, you helped carry some of her load, making it easier for the first-year.

“Don’t worry,” you were saying, your voice kind and steady. “The library isn’t far. Just through the next hall and up the staircase."

Fred’s eyes locked onto you, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. He didn’t hear anything else. It was like the world had narrowed to just you—the way your hair caught the sunlight, the easy grace in your step, and the way your smile seemed to light up the entire courtyard.

How had he not noticed you before?

“Is Fred broken?” George whispered to Lee.

“Looks like it. Never seen him go this quiet before,” Lee replied, smirking.

Oliver elbowed Fred, snapping him out of his trance. “Mate, you’re staring.”

“Shut up,” Fred muttered, his eyes never leaving you.

"Who is she?..." He continued, holding true to Oliver's statement.

“Who?” Lee asked, following his gaze. He snorted when he saw you. “Her? Oh no. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Fred.”

Fred didn’t respond. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you but he was quickly snapped out of his trance as you approached the tree.

Oh shit. "Not the tree, don't walk past the tree..." He muttered to himself, hoping you would somehow magically hear him.

It was no use. Disaster struck.

You were met with instant darkness, coughing slightly as the powder released a thick fog around you and the first year.

Before you could grasp the full situation, a torrent of green slime and feathers rained down from above, coating you and the first-year from head to toe. The Dungbombs exploded seconds later, filling the courtyard with an awful stench.

The first-year yelped, clutching her books as the slime dripped down her robes. You froze for a moment, stunned, before shaking your head with a soft laugh.

Fred winced, guilt twisting in his chest.

“Oops,” George muttered, though he didn’t sound all that sorry.

Lee burst out laughing, "Merlin, did we just traumatise a first year?!"

“Poor kid,” Oliver said, though his lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

Fred, however, barely heard them. He was too busy watching you. Instead of panicking or getting angry, you crouched down immediately, brushing feathers off the first-year’s face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said gently, your voice soothing. “It’s just a bit of slime and feathers. Another tip, beware of silly pranks, it's all part and parcel of the Hogwarts culture." You comfort the kid, trying to lighten the situation by laughing softly, "Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

The first-year nodded, her lower lip trembling, and you smiled, guiding her toward a nearby fountain.

Fred couldn’t stop staring. He didn't know who you were, but he did know this, he wanted to be yours.

You were covered in slime and feathers, an absolute mess, yet you still looked radiant.

There was something about the way you put the first-year first, your patience and kindness shining through, that made his heart thud in the best way.

You helped her cleaned as much as you could off her robes, murmuring reassurances the entire time before chanting, "Scourgify!", instantly her robes were as good as new.

Only after she was cleaned up did you finally turn your attention to yourself. With the help of the cleaning spell, the feathers were out of your hair and the slime off your sleeves in no time.

“Merlin! Fred, you’ve got it bad,” Lee said, smirking.

“Oh, leave him,” George teased. “He’s clearly in love.” Fred’s ears turned pink, but he didn’t care. For once, he was speechless.

“How come I’ve never noticed her before?” The red head murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He was certain he would’ve remembered someone like you. “Maybe because you’re too busy pranking people,” Oliver said dryly. "Who is she?" Fred asked, ignoring Oliver's remark. "Seen her around a couple of times, especially in the library, she's in Ron's year." Oliver hummed, watching as you conversed with the first-year.

“That explains it,” George quipped. “She’s too smart to bother with Fred’s idiocy.”

Fred scowled, but his gaze remained fixed on you. There was something magnetic about the way you carried yourself, and he felt like everyone had disappeared, you were the only one in sight, to him.

He knew he had to make this right. He needed an excuse to approach you. Right! An apology. And of course, he had to impress you.

The Ravenclaw girl finally gave a small laugh as you finished off explaining the pranking culture at Hogwarts. “Thank you, I-..I think I know my way to the library from here now.” she said softly before hurrying off. ___

The next day, Fred had a plan. A proper one.

Breakfast in the Great Hall hummed with the usual morning chaos: the clink of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, and the occasional bursts of laughter from each houses' table.

Fred stood at the entrance, trying to look nonchalant but failing miserably. In his hands, he clutched a bouquet of enchanted flowers—slime-free this time—that were charmed to sing a cheerful apology tune when presented.

He wiped his palm against his robes for what felt like the hundredth time. “This is foolproof,” Fred muttered under his breath.

“You say that every time,” George pointed out, his tone dripping with amusement. He nudged Lee, who was barely containing his laughter. “What do you reckon? Will he get through two words before tripping over himself?”

“Five Galleons says he’ll combust,” Lee said, grinning.

“Will you two shut it?” Fred snapped, though the tips of his ears turned red. “This is serious.”

“Serious,” George repeated, mocking Fred’s tone. “You’re holding a singing bouquet, mate. Nothing about this screams ‘serious.’”

“Just watch,” Fred said, his voice low but determined.

That’s when you walked in, and Fred’s stomach flipped.

You were laughing as you entered, your head tilted toward one of your friends. That laugh—light, carefree, and far too distracting—was etched into Fred’s memory, playing on a loop since the previous day.

The sunlight streaming through the tall windows hit you at just the right angle, illuminating your smile. You were radiant.

Fred’s heart thumped in his chest as he stepped forward, the bouquet held out like a peace offering. “Hey!” he called, catching your attention.

You turned to him, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Yes?” you said, the corners of your mouth quirking up into a curious smile. What did he want from you?

Fred grinned, his confidence teetering on the edge of unraveling. “Listen, about yesterday—”

But before he could finish, the bouquet let out a sudden pop. A puff of pink smoke erupted, followed by an earsplittingly off-key version of “I’m Sorry About The Slime” that echoed through the Great Hall.

Fred barely had time to react before the bouquet detonated in a second burst, showering him in glitter and knocking him flat on his back.

The Hall erupted into laughter.

Fred groaned, staring at the enchanted ceiling, which now looked even farther away than usual. He could hear George’s loud, obnoxious cackling somewhere to his left.

“Five Galleons,” Lee said smugly.

Fred grimaced, but before he could even begin to think about recovering, a familiar voice broke through the laughter.

“Guess I’m not the only casualty this time.”

Fred turned his head, blinking in disbelief. You had flopped down beside him, lying flat on your back on the floor as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Glitter sparkled in your hair, and your grin was wide and unapologetic.

“What are you doing?” Fred asked, his voice caught somewhere between bewilderment and awe.

“Making sure you’re not the only one who looks ridiculous,” you replied, shrugging as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s only fair.”

Fred let out a breathless laugh, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten. “You’re mental.” But he loved it.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, glancing at him with a teasing smile.

From across the Hall, George shouted, “Right on, Romeooo!!” His voice was exaggerated and dramatic, and Fred could practically feel the heat rising in his face.

“Oi shut it, George!” Fred yelled, though his tone lacked bite.

You laughed again, and Fred swore his heart might actually burst. “You’ve got quite the fan club,” you said, gesturing toward the group of students, particularly, Fred's 'boys', who were now openly watching the scene unfold and chortling.

“They’re a bunch of idiots,” Fred muttered, though his lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “You know,” you said thoughtfully, “for someone who’s usually so good at pranks, this was a spectacular disaster.”

Fred groaned, running a hand through his now glitter-covered hair. “Tell me about it.”

“But,” you added, your voice softening, “I appreciate the effort and the apology.”

Fred looked at you, his heart stuttering. “You do?”

“Yeah.” You leaned closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “And between you and me, I think you pull off the glitter look better than anyone else here.”

Fred laughed, the sound loud and genuine, and for a moment, the rest of the hall faded away. “I reckon you pull it off better than I do.”

“Why thank you, it's actually my dream to be covered in glitter. Shining as bright as a quidditch trophy is the goal." You joked, but Fred smiled warmly.

You do shine bright, he thought.

As you stood up, you reached out a hand to help him up. Fred took it without hesitation, warmth spreading through him at the simple gesture.

“Come on, glitter boy,” you said, your tone teasing but fond. “Let’s get you sitting somewhere before you injure yourself again.”

Fred let you lead him to a bench at the side of the hall, his hand still tingling from where yours had been.

As you both sat down, he turned to face you, his usual confidence returning in a slow, steady wave, “I’m Fred, by the way."

You laughed, tucking a strand of glitter-dusted hair behind your ear. “I know. You and George are kind of hard to miss.”

Fred’s grin widened, his chest fluttering at the sound of your laugh. “Yeah? Well, you’re kind of hard to forget...uh?" As if on cue, you told him your name. "Y/N." You smiled. "Y/N..." He repeated back, how fitting, a pretty name for a pretty girl.

Your eyes softened, and for a moment, you studied Fred's features. He did the same, glancing at your lips occasionally.

You'd always seen him from afar, to you he was just a prankster, a jokester, busy with his schemes, you'd never thought you'd actually come face to face with him.

But now that you did, you saw him in a different light, almost.

“If this is how you usually apologise,” you said, your voice light again, “I’m scared to see what happens when you’re not sorry.”

Fred chuckled, shaking his head. “Stick around, and I’ll show you.”

You leaned back slightly, your smile lingering. “I just might.”

And in that moment, Fred knew—he didn’t just want to impress you. He wanted you, all of you, your wit, your laughter, your sparkling eyes.

He just wanted to be yours.

[yknwiu]

A 2025 rec list of lovely works by amazing writers

Fred Weasley

The Swap by @maria021015

Summer love, triangle by @emeritusemeritus

To Be a Weasley by @enakoritsi

Not Just Friends by @romanczukowsky

Mr.Brightside by @cowboylikemac

10 things I hate about you by @kyber-crystal

Wanna Be Yours by @mssorceressupreme

little sister, my arse by @cipheress-to-k-pop

George Weasley

I have yet to read anything for George, yet. Dare I say, I've been busy reading stuff for Fred. When I do, I'll be putting some recs for him too~

[yknwiu]

little sister, my arse (f.w.)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Summary: You were “like a little sister to him”—or so Fred said. Please. Anyone with half a brain could see there was something way more between you two.

A/N: For the sake of this fic just imagine that GoF and OotP are a giant mushed up piled okay?

Credits to @saradika-graphics for the divider

Fred Weasley was absolutely insistent that you and he were just friends.

Best friends, even.

“Like family.” He’d say with a laugh, ruffling your hair and tugging you into his side like you were an annoying little sister. Honestly, it made you roll your eyes so hard you were surprised you didn’t find a second brain back there.

Because everyone else knew Fred already had a younger sister—two years below you, in fact—but he never treated her the way he treated you.

In fact, he was practically blind to her antics. He waved off her detentions with a grin and said Hogwarts was meant for mischief.

And when she spent the better part of an hour snogging Dean Thomas in the corner of the Gryffindor common room? Not a word. Not a look. Just Fred, lounging like nothing was happening.

Even Ginny didn’t think a single year made such a difference—but Fred? Fred seemed to think it was a chasm. Enough of one to put you firmly in some sacred category: completely off-limits. Practically blood.

Your older brother? Please. He was clearly anything but.

You reached the base of the stairs and scanned the common room for your roommates, who were waiting to leave for the party in the Ravenclaw tower. You smoothed down your skirt and gave yourself one last look in the mirror.

You looked hot.

Not just hot—head-turning, legs-for-days, traffic-stopping hot.

Fred, who had been lazily chatting with your roommates (and turning down their offers to come along—claiming he was far too tired and absolutely couldn’t be hungover before tomorrow’s Quidditch practice unless he wanted to face Oliver Wood’s wrath), absolutely short-circuited.

He stared at you.

One second. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Then sputtered, “What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?!”

You turned in place, giving a little twirl, “Cute, right? What do we think?”

He narrowed his eyes, “I think you forgot the bottom half.”

Your friends broke into laughter. George just rolled his eyes, especially since Ron had walked out of the common room not fifteen minutes ago on his way to the same party—and Fred had told him that if he didn’t come back completely smashed, he was a pussy.

You crossed your arms, incredulous, “It’s a skirt, Fred.”

“It’s a postage stamp.”

“It’s called fashion.” You shot back.

“It’s called a crisis! You bend over and you're going to court!”

Your jaw dropped, “This is couture!”

Fred threw his hands up in exasperation, “Well, couture clearly means no pants in French!”

You rolled your eyes.

Fred stepped in front of you, arms crossed like he was about to fight someone, looking like he was about to have a stroke, "Go put on some pants, or you're not going."

You blinked at him, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He gestured vaguely at your legs like they offended him, "You can’t just go out dressed like that."

Your brows shot up, "Why do you even care so much?"

He didn’t hesitate, "Because you’re like a little sister to me!"

That earned a very loud groan from your friends. One of them actually facepalmed. George gave an exaggerated sigh and muttered under his breath, “Here we go again.”

"I'm not changing." You said, matching his energy with your arms crossed.

"Fine," Fred said, jaw tightening, "Then I’m coming with you."

You blinked again, "For what?"

He paused, "To supervise."

"Fred," George drawled from his seat, not even looking up, "You’re not a prefect. And this isn’t a Ministry investigation. It’s a party. You're being a real Percy."

Your friends exchanged looks and stifled more laughter. One of them leaned over and whispered, "If this is what having a brother’s like, I’m out."

"This is what it's like having a boyfriend but she gets none of the upsides." One whispered back.

Fred glared at them though they were hardly deterred, giggling louder now, “I’m being responsible.”

You just shook your head, turning toward the portrait hole, "Whatever. Keep up if you’re coming, mum."

Despite what Fred Weasley told everyone—including himself—you knew exactly how he felt about you.

He said it all the time, like repeating it would somehow make it true.

“You’re like a little sister to me.”

He’d ruffle your hair, wrap an arm around your shoulder, call you squirt. Like he wasn’t two seconds away from spontaneously combusting every time some poor boy looked in your direction for longer than a heartbeat.

And maybe he thought it was brotherly affection.

Maybe he genuinely believed that he was just being protective. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how his voice always changed around you—softer, warmer, less teasing. Maybe he didn’t realize that he never reacted this way when Ginny got into trouble, or when Hermione dragged Ron across a dueling mat.

But you noticed.

So did everyone else.

And every time Fred got all riled up on your behalf, trying to cover his nerves with shouting or sarcasm, it made you feel like the center of the universe. Like a sunflower turned toward its sun.

And because you were a menace—and because you were in love—you liked to test just how far you could push that brotherly façade.

Every Dumbledore’s Army meeting became your personal playground. Every duel, a performance. Every trip, stumble, or wince? Another chance to watch Fred's expression twist from calm to frantic in real time.

Today was no different.

You were paired with Zacharias Smith—a pompous, loud-mouthed git who was all talk and absolutely no skill. The second your names were called together, you spotted Fred across the room stiffen like he’d just been personally insulted.

But you simply smiled.

Smith was already getting cocky before the duel even started, twirling his wand with the confidence of someone who'd only heard about talent. Then he shouted an Expelliarmus—a bit too forcefully—and you seized your moment.

You gasped, staggered backward, and threw yourself to the floor with a dramatic thud, wand flying from your hand as you landed.

It wasn’t a bad fall. It barely even hurt. But that wasn’t the point.

Across the room, Fred froze mid-spell.

“Oi!” He shouted, already shoving past George and dodging Neville as he sprinted toward you.

His face was a picture of panic.

Your internal grin was feral.

He skidded to his knees beside you, eyes darting across your body like he expected to find a missing limb, “Are you alright?! What the bloody hell was that, Smith?!”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. He was always too easy. Like flicking a switch.

“I’m fine, Freddie.” You said, your voice soft and sweet, fluttering your lashes for good measure.

He didn’t even acknowledge it—too busy inspecting your arm, pulling up your sleeve to check for bruises like he was some kind of medic.

"That spell was way too aggressive," He growled, “He could’ve dislocated your shoulder, or—or cracked your wrist!”

You made a soft, wounded noise in your throat. (Maybe laid it on a bit thick, but who was judging? Certainly not Fred.)

“I’ll be okay,” You murmured, letting your bottom lip tremble just slightly, “My hero.”

Fred scowled. A full-on, brows-knitted, jaw-tightened scowl, “Don’t get soppy on me, squirt. You’re like a little sister. I gotta keep you safe.”

Little sister.

Right.

You tried not to roll your eyes.

Not like he said a word when Hermione accidentally launched Ron into a bookshelf twenty minutes ago and Fred had laughed so hard he almost cried. Not like he’d won a sickle betting against his own brother.

No, it was different when it was you.

When it was you, he sprinted. He shouted. He scowled like the world was ending.

You inhaled slowly and offered him your sweetest, most angelic smile, “Of course, Freddie.”

He didn’t look convinced. His eyes lingered a little too long on your face before he stood and offered you his hand.

You took it—warm, calloused, grounding—and let him pull you to your feet.

As he turned away to go yell at Smith again (Zacharias had wisely retreated to the far side of the room), you brushed off your robes and watched Fred’s retreating back with a sense of calm satisfaction.

You’d get him eventually. You were patient. And Fred Weasley had no idea what he was in for.

It was one of those rare warm afternoons in October—the kind that made you forget how quickly the season was changing. The sun hung low over the Black Lake, and a gentle breeze rolled off the water, ruffling your notes and carrying the faint scent of moss and sun-warmed grass.

You’d spread your books beneath a tree, determined to study for your upcoming exams. But, predictably, you’d spent more time watching the sky ripple across the lake than reading a single line. Still, it was peaceful. Quiet. A perfect moment.

Until it wasn’t.

A body dropped into the grass beside you with a dramatic sigh.

“Ugh,” Fred Weasley groaned, flopping onto his back like the world had wronged him, “I knew I’d find you out here being obnoxiously productive.”

You glanced over your shoulder, amused, “And here I thought I’d actually get some work done without distractions.”

“I know,” He said, shielding his eyes with one hand, “My devastating good looks are very distracting.”

You snorted, “Wow. Didn’t think anyone could love themselves more than Malfoy.”

Fred gasped, “That’s low. Even for you.”

You grinned, turning back to your parchment. For a while, the quiet settled between you again—comfortable and companionable. Sunlight filtered through the branches above, casting warm, dappled shadows over your notes. A few first-years skipped stones near the lake, their laughter drifting on the breeze. It felt like Hogwarts had slowed down—like the Tournament hadn’t upended everything, like you hadn’t spent the entire morning stressed about things you couldn’t control.

Fred sat up beside you, resting his arms on his knees. “Weird, innit?” He said, nodding toward the water, “No Quidditch this year.”

You nodded, “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d miss it, but… I kind of do.”

“No bludgers to the face every Saturday,” He sighed, “What a tragedy.”

You laughed, “You liked getting hit.”

“I like winning,” He corrected with a smirk, “There’s a difference.”

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head.

Fred leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him, “Well, who needs Quidditch when there’s the Triwizard Tournament, eh?”

You wrinkled your nose, “I still can’t believe they’re actually holding that thing again. A student died last time. I mean—who would be stupid enough to enter?”

Fred rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand and giving you a lazy, mischievous grin, “Funny you should ask. George and I are entering.”

You blinked, “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.”

Your mouth fell open, “Fred, you’re not even of age.”

“Technicality,” He responded, waving a hand, “We’ve got plans.”

“You’re mad,” You said, gaping at him, “Do you even know what the tasks are?”

“’Course not,” He said brightly, “That’s the fun of it. Life’s full of surprises.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Life’s also full of death, Fred.”

He grinned, “I think that’s a fair trade for a thousand galleons.”

You stared, “You want to risk dying for money?”

He gave you a look, “I want to open a joke shop.”

That shut you up.

He didn’t say it like a joke. There was a rare steadiness to his voice, something quiet and real beneath the usual chaos. He plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between his fingers, not quite meeting your eyes.

“George and I—we’ve been working on stuff for ages. Skiving Snackboxes, Canary Creams, that cough syrup that changes your voice pitch—we’ve got an entire catalogue in our dorm. No more sneaking around under Umbridge’s nose. We want real walls. A shop. Our names on the window.”

He paused, then added, “We’ve been looking at places in Diagon Alley. But they’re way out of reach. Even if we worked our arses off for the next ten years, we’d never make enough. The Tournament’s our best shot.”

You blinked, “Oh Godric. You’re actually serious.”

He finally glanced over at you, “Deadly.”

Your heart did a weird little lurch. Not just because Fred Weasley could be serious—which was a revelation all on its own—but because now you could see it. The dream behind the jokes. How much it meant to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” You asked quietly.

He shrugged, suddenly shy, “Dunno. Guess I didn’t want anyone laughing at it. It’s not exactly the career Mum had in mind.”

You nudged his shoulder gently, “Well, for the record? I think it’s brilliant.”

He looked at you then—really looked. The wind ruffled his hair, and the sharpness in his grin softened into something slower, more genuine.

“You do?”

You nodded, “Absolutely. I mean, if anyone can build an empire out of nosebleeds and puking pastilles, it’s you two.”

Fred beamed, and for a second, the world felt lighter.

“Thanks.” He said, quiet but full of meaning.

You smiled back and nudged his foot with yours, “You’ll still be an idiot, though.”

“Obviously,” He said, flopping onto his back with a groan—his head landing squarely in your lap, “Just a rich one.”

You looked down at him, sunlight catching in his eyelashes, his grin lopsided and smug. And you laughed—soft and full, like the sun had settled in your chest.

It was nothing and everything.

Just a moment. Just a feeling.

But it was these moments that truly made you believe.

You were never a just 'little sister' to Fred.

The Yule Ball was a glittering, dazzling spectacle—lights flickering off icicles, laughter rising above the string quartet, and students twirling like they belonged in fairytales. You, however, sat near the edge of the ballroom, nursing your second Butterbeer and watching the swirl of color and sound with a wistful smile.

You hadn’t come with a date. Not for lack of trying—well, trying in your own mischievous, joking way.

A few weeks ago, you’d cheekily asked Fred if he wanted to go with you. Just for laughs. You knew he was going with Angelina—everyone did—but you asked anyway, leaning across the common room table with a dramatic flutter of your lashes.

“Freddie, darling,” You’d purred in a mock-sultry voice, “would you do me the honor of escorting me to the Yule Ball?”

Fred had laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair, “Merlin, no. You’re like my little sister.” He said, ruffling your hair like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Ugh. Little sister. Would he ever give it a rest?

It still clanged around in your brain like a badly played triangle.

You’d rolled your eyes at the time and played it off with a sarcastic bow, “Guess I’ll be a single lady then.”

You could’ve gone with someone else—you’d been asked by a few boys from all three schools—but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept any of them. You’d considered it briefly, wondering if maybe it would make Fred jealous. Part of you hesitated because you didn’t want to give him another reason to believe you weren’t available—romantically or otherwise.

But, really… you didn’t want to go with anyone who wasn’t Fred.

So you came alone. In a dress you adored. Ready to have a good time with your friends instead of pretending to care about someone you’d barely remember in a year.

The small detail you’d failed to factor in?

Your friends hadn’t come alone.

So here you were—alone in a dress you actually loved, watching the dance floor glow with candlelight and spinning silhouettes.

You weren’t bitter. Not really.

…Okay. Maybe a little.

You were fine. You were great. You were single, glowing, unbothered—and just a little disappointed.

Fred had been dancing most of the evening with Angelina, stopping now and then to mess with George or shove cake in Lee’s face. But the moment he spotted you sitting alone, something shifted in him. His laughter faltered mid-sentence. The smile dimmed just slightly.

He watched you from the edge of the crowd. Your eyes followed the dancers, your foot tapping along with the beat. But you weren’t smiling like you usually did. You looked like you were waiting—for something. Or someone.

Fred excused himself from the group without a word and made his way toward you, face unreadable.

You looked up as he stopped in front of you.

“Fred?”

“You look like a lemon.”

You blinked. “Charming.”

He held out a hand, “Dance with me.”

You raised a brow, “And abandon my hard-earned reputation as the designated wallflower? You sure you want to ruin that for me?”

He smirked, but there was something softer beneath it, “Just so you’re not sitting here looking miserable. I mean, you looked like you wanted to dance. And you’re not a lemon. You’re… a pomegranate.”

You stared at him, “Wow. How could a girl possibly resist?”

You placed your hand in his, warmth zipping up your arm at the contact.

“Thanks, Fred. I didn’t want to sit here all night.”

“I’m rescuing you from a night of tragic wallflowering,” He said, placing one hand on your waist and taking the other in his, “A truly chivalrous act.”

“Right,” You said dryly, “Should I curtsy or just kiss your feet?”

He narrowed his eyes, “I could still leave you here, you know.”

“You won’t.” You said smugly.

You were on your third dance with Fred—completely unaware of time, music, or the fact that your feet were starting to ache—when someone tapped your shoulder.

You turned to see a Ravenclaw boy you vaguely recognized. “Hey—sorry to interrupt,” He said, smiling, “Would you like to dance the next one?”

You opened your mouth, startled, but Fred beat you to it.

“She’s booked for the night, mate." He said smoothly.

The boy blinked, “Oh. I just thought—”

Fred clapped a hand on his shoulder, laughing, “Appreciate you trying to put me out of my misery, really. But I couldn’t do that to you.”

The boy hesitated, then walked away.

You turned back to Fred, eyebrows raised, “Didn’t you just say you were dancing with me because I looked like a lonely?”

Fred shrugged, “I couldn’t, in good conscience, let him suffer through your dancing. Besides, you’d be bored with anyone else.”

You snorted, “I’m calling your bluff, Weasley. You just don’t want to admit you’re having fun.”

He gave you a wicked grin. “Maybe I am… but don’t let it go to your head.”

The night wore on, and you were breathless from laughter. Despite his usual disinterest in McGonagall’s dance lessons—apart from embarrassing his brother for dancing with her—Fred, to his credit, was a surprisingly good dancer. He had already spun you around twice, always managing to keep you steady even though, in these heels, it felt like one misstep away from disaster. But his latest antic nearly gave you a cardiac arrest.

“Ready?” He asked, eyes gleaming.

“Fred—what are you—?”

Then he dipped you.

Dramatically.

One strong arm behind your back, the other holding your hand as your head tilted back with a surprised squeak. You gripped his arms tightly, heart hammering.

“I could drop you,” He said casually, “Let everyone see you take a tumble in that pretty dress.”

“Fred Weasley, don’t you dare—”

He chuckled, voice low and steady, “I’d never let you go.”

Your breath caught.

He was close—too close. His voice was warm against your cheek, his grin lazy, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Like what he’d just said meant something.

You stared at him for a heartbeat too long.

Then, with a cheeky flourish, he pulled you upright again, smiling like it had all been a joke.

You didn’t say a word. Because if you did—if you pointed out how soft and sweet that had been—he’d ruin it. He’d backpedal. Say something like “Because you’re like my sister,” and you weren’t about to let that ruin the moment.

So you said nothing. You let him hold you a little too close. Let his fingers linger at your waist. Let yourself feel the weight of it—of him.

And then, slowly, the teasing faded. The jokes quieted. You were just dancing. Holding each other. His hand warm against your back. His eyes drifted to your lips just once and you had to stop everything in you from leaning into him.

At some point, your fingers brushed his collar, adjusting it just to touch him.

The both of you just lost in your own world.

Until the crowd began to thin. Until the music slowed. Until reality crept back in.

Fred glanced toward the edge of the ballroom.

“Oh, Merlin,” He breathed, “Angelina.”

You blinked, “Oh my God. You had a date.”

He winced, “I didn’t mean to leave her—”

“You left her the whole night, Fred,” You worried, still slightly dazed that the guy you had been crushing on forgot his own date for your company, “For your pomegranate.”

He looked sheepish, running a hand nervously through his hair. “That makes it sound worse.” He muttered.

“It is worse.” You said quietly, the concern in your voice barely masked by the soft glow of the ballroom lights.

Fred swallowed hard. “I’ll go talk to her,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flickering with a mix of guilt and dread, “She’s gonna kill me.”

He found Angelina standing near the exit, her arms crossed, the faintest crease between her brows. She didn’t look angry—not really. Just… tired. Like she’d been waiting too long to say what she needed to say, and it had worn her down.

“Took you long enough.” She said coolly, voice steady but carrying a weight beneath it.

“Angelina, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” She interrupted, stepping closer, her gaze sharp and unyielding, “Just be honest with me.”

Fred blinked, confusion clouding his expression, “Honest?”

She nodded, her voice softer but no less firm, “The moment you saw her, you forgot I even existed.”

His cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and something deeper, more complicated, “It’s not like that. She’s—”

“Don’t,” Angelina said sharply, cutting him off, “Don’t say ‘little sister.’ You’ve been using that excuse for ages. It’s not cute anymore. She’s not your sister. You didn’t spend the whole night laughing with her, dancing with her, looking at her like she hung the bloody moon because she was your sister.”

Fred opened his mouth, as if to protest, but no words came. The truth hung heavy in the air, unspoken but impossible to deny.

Angelina gave him a sad, almost wistful smile, “You know what? I hope she finally says something. Because you’re too stupid to realize you’re already halfway in love.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her silhouette swallowed by the crowd.

Fred stood frozen, watching the heavy doors swing shut behind her. The sounds of the ball—the music, the laughter—seemed distant, like they were happening to someone else.

Across the room, you were laughing with George, your eyes bright, your dress catching the light with every twirl. Your joy was undeniable, effortless.

Fred’s heart thundered painfully in his chest.

Oh.

Fred stumbled into the Gryffindor common room later that night, hair a complete mess, and his tie still hanging loosely from his collar like a badge of defeat. His usually cocky grin was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight. Not after Angelina. Not after you.

He hadn’t even managed to reach the part of his brain that could make sense of why the latter felt like it mattered more. The weight of it pressed on his chest in a way he wasn’t used to.

He made a beeline for the couch and flopped down face-first, letting out a long, weary sigh. Unfortunately, his relief was short-lived.

“Enchanté, loverboy.” Came a familiar voice.

Fred groaned without opening his eyes, “Go away, George.”

But George was already there, sprawled comfortably with a smug grin and a pillow in hand.

“Why should I?” George asked, grinning wide, “I’m genuinely enjoying your emotional meltdown. It’s been ages since I had this much blackmail material on you.”

Fred peeked one eye open, glaring, “You’re delusional.”

“Oh, am I?” George leaned in, his grin widening wickedly, “So, just to make sure I’ve got this right—you asked Angelina to the Yule Ball, spent exactly zero time with her, and then danced the entire night with someone you keep insisting is ‘just your little sister’?”

Fred scowled, sitting up slightly, “She didn’t have anyone to dance with—”

George gasped dramatically, clutching his chest, “Oh no! Poor darling (Y/N), tragically unwanted and left to fend off all those desperate wankers alone. Thank goodness you stepped up to do your familial duty and ward off all those other blokes with your death stare!”

“I didn’t—”

“And then there was the moment when you full-on blocked that Ravenclaw who asked her to dance—”

“He was creepy.” Fred interrupted, defensive.

“Was he?” George raised a skeptical brow, “Or did you just not like some other bloke getting close to what you think belongs to you?”

Fred sputtered, cheeks flushing, “She’s not mine!”

George leaned back, hands behind his head, looking like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup, “That’s not what your face said last night when she laughed at someone else’s joke.”

Fred blinked in surprise, “She did?”

George threw back his head and howled with laughter, “You absolute muppet. You’re in love with her.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are in love with her.”

Fred narrowed his eyes, “She’s like a sister.”

George chuckled, eyes sparkling with disbelief, “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”

The days after the Yule Ball stretched on with a strange sort of silence between you and Fred. It wasn’t the loud, obvious kind of silence that comes from a fight or an argument—it was quieter, more complicated. Like a door left slightly ajar, inviting but uncertain whether to open or close.

Fred wasn’t usually the type to get tongue-tied or awkward. He was a master of quick jokes, cheeky grins, and effortless charm. But in those weeks, whenever you were near, something tangled inside him—like a knot he didn’t quite know how to undo. His usual bravado wavered just enough that it made you catch him staring a little longer than usual or pause mid-joke, like he was rehearsing lines in his head that never quite made it out.

The common room felt different now when you sat near each other. The easy camaraderie you’d always shared was still there, but it was layered with something unspoken—something neither of you dared to say aloud. Conversations that used to flow effortlessly now stumbled into sudden silences.

He found himself watching you more, stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking—the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you loved, the subtle way you bit your lip when you were deep in thought, the way your laughter made the whole room feel warmer. Every little detail seemed to grow in significance, like clues to a puzzle he didn’t realize he was trying to solve.

He kept telling himself it was safer to keep things as they were. Safer to laugh it off, to shove feelings aside and pretend they weren’t there.

Still, the more he tried to ignore it, the harder it became. Every shared glance, every accidental touch, every laugh felt like a spark. And sparks—no matter how small—have a way of turning into flames.

So the days rolled on, filled with stolen moments and unspoken truths, until the night of the twins' birthday.

You’d gone all out.

Of course you had. They were your closest friends—your brothers in chaos, your constants—and no amount of recent awkwardness between you and Fred was going to change that. You weren’t about to let a few strange, tense weeks ruin what had always been effortless. You had promised yourself you'd make their birthday unforgettable.

So you did.

The common room was full of warmth and flickering firelight, the remnants of cake crumbs and torn wrapping paper scattered across the floor like confetti. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, and the twins were basking in the glow of attention and affection from everyone who adored them.

George let out a low whistle as he unwrapped your third gift—a meticulously crafted set of self-replenishing joke parchment. His eyes lit up like a kid in Honeydukes.

“Blimey, (Y/N),” He said, grinning, “Trying to buy our affection?”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder, “Obviously. Isn’t it working?”

They were thrilled—joking, laughing, trading banter with anyone who approached. It should’ve felt perfect.

And yet… that other gift still burned a hole in your pocket.

The real one.

Your eyes found Fred across the room—red hair tousled, cheeks pink from laughing too hard, head thrown back as Lee told some ridiculous story. He was glowing in the way only Fred could glow, like he was lit from the inside.

And still, you felt that tug in your chest. The ache of what hadn’t been said.

When the noise began to settle and the party mellowed into pockets of low chatter, you crossed the room and gently tugged at his sleeve.

“Fred,” You said, just loud enough for him to hear, “Come with me?”

He blinked down at you, caught off guard. “Yeah. Alright.”

You led him toward the farthest corner of the Gryffindor common room, past the roaring fire and beyond the clusters of chatting students, until you reached the quiet nook beneath the grand stained-glass windows. The flickering moonlight spilled in, mingling with the soft glow of a single enchanted lamp, casting gentle shadows that danced along the stone walls. Here, removed from the laughter and bustle, it felt like the rest of the world had paused just for the two of you.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small, worn box. It wasn’t wrapped. It wasn’t fancy. It didn’t sparkle or shimmer. But your heart was in it—completely.

Fred frowned a little, brow furrowing, “You didn’t have to—”

“Shut up and open it, Weasley.” You interrupted, pushing it gently into his hands.

He raised an eyebrow at you, amused but curious. Slowly, he lifted the lid.

Inside was a snow globe. The little snowflakes drifted gently over a miniature brick-and-mortar storefront, with a bright red ‘W’ hanging proudly above the door. As Fred looked closer, a tiny charmed figurine—obviously meant to be him—stepped onto the shop’s doorstep. The figure carefully put on his hat, then lifted it to reveal a small rabbit sitting playfully on his head. When he placed the hat back down and lifted it again, the rabbit was gone.

His fingers hovered over it, stunned. Not because it was extravagant—it wasn’t—but because it was him. It was the dream. His dream. Captured and preserved with such quiet devotion, it took the air straight out of his lungs.

“I made it,” You said softly, barely above a whisper, “I wanted you to know that no matter what… I’ll always be on your side.”

Fred stared at it.

Then at you.

His expression shifted like a storm—surprise first, then something softer. Something heavier.

You hesitated, “I know things have been weird these past couple weeks, but I just—”

Before you could finish, he stepped forward and kissed you.

There was no warning.

No hesitation.

Just Fred—urgent and messy and real. It wasn’t graceful, wasn’t the kind of kiss you saw in fairytales. It was all clumsy affection and months of unsaid things. You made a startled sound, but your hands moved before you could think—one curling into the front of his shirt to keep him close, the other gripping the side of his face.

You kissed him back with everything you had.

When he finally pulled away, breathless, his face was burning. His hands lingered on your waist, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

“Don’t say a word,” He muttered hoarsely, eyes squeezed shut, “Not. A. Word.”

You opened your mouth.

He jabbed a finger at you without even looking, “I mean it.”

You closed it again, biting back a wicked little smirk.

Fred groaned under his breath, dragging both hands through his hair as he turned back toward the others like a man marching to his execution.

The moment he stepped back into view, the common room erupted.

A chorus of laughter, wolf whistles, and mock applause rang out like someone had set off fireworks.

“FREDDIE!” Lee shouted, pointing, “You’ve got lipstick all over your mouth!”

George nearly fell off the couch, howling, “Finally, you absolute muppet!”

Fred turned back to shoot you a look—something between a death glare and a desperate plea for mercy.

You just leaned against the wall, arms crossed and smile syrup-sweet. “You told me not to say anything.” You called innocently.

His jaw dropped. George clapped him hard on the back.

“You’re doomed, Freddie. Doomed!”

Fred groaned again, eyes still locked on you, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle you or kiss you all over again.

You just winked.

And Fred, cheeks flaming and heart pounding, couldn’t even pretend anymore.

He was absolutely, irrevocably, spectacularly in love with you.

And he always had been.

Fred didn’t talk to you for two whole days after the kiss.

Which was absolutely hilarious, considering he couldn’t stop staring at you.

Every time you caught his eye in the common room, he’d jerk his head away so fast you half expected him to get whiplash. His cheeks would flare bright red like he’d just walked through a blast-ended skrewt.

At breakfast, he knocked over his goblet of pumpkin juice—not once, but twice—sending sticky liquid splashing over the table. When he tripped on the stairwell on his way to Charms class, narrowly catching himself on the banister, you barely suppressed a laugh.

George caught on immediately, his grin spreading wider than the Great Hall on feast day.

“You’re a bloody mess,” George said gleefully, clapping Fred hard on the shoulder as if congratulating a champion, “And all because of one little kiss.”

Fred muttered furiously, burying his face in his hands, cheeks still flaming. “It wasn’t a kiss,” He insisted, voice muffled, “It was—it was—”

“What? CPR?” George teased with a wicked smirk, “Pretty sure you didn’t need to snog her to save her life, mate.”

Fred groaned loudly and pushed his hands away, blinking rapidly as if trying to erase the image from his brain.

This went on for days.

He’d catch your eye, panic, and look away like you’d cast a Confundus Charm on him. His ears would burn brighter than the Gryffindor common room fire, and he’d mutter under his breath whenever you passed by.

It was, frankly, kind of adorable.

George was having the time of his life.

On day one, he started pacing the common room, sighing dramatically like a Shakespearean actor. “Ah, young love,” he muttered, voice thick with mock sentimentality. “So fragile, so awkward, so completely bloody hilarious.”

Whenever Fred glanced your way—no matter how fleetingly—George would launch a strategic attack with Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, pelting him like a mischievous spellcaster.

Fred just huffed and tried to act nonchalant, but even someone as blind as him could see he was utterly, hopelessly smitten.

Meanwhile, you watched the whole spectacle with a quiet smile—knowing this was just Fred's pathetic way of trying to come to terms that you were actually the love of his life.

Fred wasn’t there for the DA meeting today. While he said he was just not feeling well, a part of you wondered whether he was trying to avoid you on purpose.

Without his ever-watchful, overprotective presence hovering nearby, you found yourself sharper—faster, smarter, more daring than you’d realized.

You sparred with Harry, and it quickly became clear: you were a natural. Your feet barely seemed to touch the ground as you ducked, weaved, and cast spells with precision and flair. Your counter-curses came swift and clever, each movement more confident than the last.

When you finally disarmed Harry with a clean, flawless flick, sending his wand soaring across the room, even Hermione couldn’t help but clap.

Harry grinned, breathless as he retrieved his wandm “Merlin, (Y/N), where have you been hiding that?”

Your heart raced, a triumphant spark lighting up inside you. You shrugged with a sly smile.

“Maybe I just don’t like showing off.” You said playfully.

Harry’s eyes narrowed playfully, suspicion flashing in them.

Then it hit him. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his wand and pointed it at you.

“Wait a minute,” He said, voice teasing, “You pretend to be useless around Fred, don’t you? So he’ll fuss over you?”

You batted your eyelashes and gave him your most innocent, wide-eyed look.

“Moi?”

Harry burst out laughing, shaking his head, “You are pure evil. Brilliantly evil.”

You just winked, utterly unapologetic.

You didn’t plan to storm into Fred’s dorm like a thundercloud, but after days of the cold shoulder, the sidelong glances, and the maddening silence, you’d finally reached your limit. Tonight, you were done waiting.

The door swung open before Fred could even answer, and he was caught somewhere between surprise and guilt. His usual easygoing grin was gone, replaced by a flush creeping up his neck and a nervous flicker in his eyes. The room around him was cluttered with scattered prototypes and half-finished joke shop inventions, mirroring the chaos you sensed in his mind.

He shuffled uncomfortably, running a hand through his untamed hair, his gaze flicking anywhere but at you. The words he tried to form tangled and tumbled inside his head, leaving him stumbling over silence. His posture was tense, shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller, less exposed.

He was still rambling—stumbling over half-hearted excuses about how you were “like a sister,” how George was “just taking the mickey,” and how “it didn’t mean anything.”

That was when you snapped.

You grabbed him by the tie, yanked him forward, and kissed him like it was the only way to shut him up.

For a single, suspended, electrified second, Fred froze. Then he kissed you back, like he was catching up on something he hadn’t even let himself want until this very moment. His hands gripped your waist with a fierce uncertainty—unsure if he was pulling you closer or holding on for dear life.

He tasted like mint and adrenaline and something sweeter, something dangerous—because somewhere in that kiss, Fred realized he wanted to do it again.

Again and again and again.

But then you pulled away, chest heaving, lips swollen, and before he could stop himself, Fred chased after you, his mouth searching for yours on pure instinct.

You held him off with a hand pressed to his chest.

“This isn’t how you treat your little sister.” You whispered, voice soft but sharp—words that still landed like a hex.

Fred blinked at you, stunned, lips parted, like he’d just been hit by a bludger he never saw coming.

Had he really been calling you his little sister all this time?

Ew. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Yeah,” He finally said, “That’s… that’s not what this is.”

You tilted your head, that infuriating little smirk tugging at your lips—the one that always got him into trouble, even when he didn’t know why.

“Took you long enough to realize.” You murmured, voice all velvet and mischief.

Fred stared, mouth opening to argue—but he had nothing. Not a single retort. Because, bloody hell, you were right. He had taken too long. Too long pretending, too long denying, too long calling you his “little sister” when all he wanted was to kiss you again until he forgot every reason not to.

And now? Now he was properly wrecked.

Fred swallowed hard, eyes flicking back to your lips before settling on your smug little smile.

“Yeah?” He said, voice low, a little dazed, “What else am I late to, then? Might as well catch up properly.”

He stared at you, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. Then—just as he stepped forward again, a little more sure this time—

“Oi!”

The door slammed open.

George stood in the doorway, wide-eyed, munching on a half-eaten apple, “Didn’t realize we were hosting Snogwarts: The Reunion. Should I come back later, or are you two gonna keep traumatizing me?”

Fred groaned loudly, “Merlin’s bollocks, George, ever heard of knocking?”

George shrugged around a crunchy bite, “Ever heard of boundaries? That’s my bed you’ve shoved her onto!”

“Godric's bloody—George, do you mind?”

George took another loud bite, “Yes. But not enough to leave.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around Fred’s shoulders, and he groaned again, forehead dropping to your shoulder like he was silently begging for mercy.

Later that night, Fred found you curled up in the common room, tucked beneath a soft blanket with a book resting in your hands. The fire flickered gently, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Without a word, he collapsed beside you with all the dramatic flair he was known for, letting out a long, theatrical sigh as if the weight of the entire Quidditch league was pressing down on his chest.

“I’m a disaster.” He declared, voice heavy with self-reproach.

You didn’t look up from your book, “Mhm.”

Fred ran a hand through his tousled hair, voice dropping to a low confession, “I panicked. That first time. The moment caught me off guard. I was trying to show you how grateful I was—and well, I thought kissing you was the best way to do that.”

You closed your book with a soft snap and finally met his eyes, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, “It was a good idea. Until you ran off with lipstick on your face and hid behind George for two days.”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face in mock despair, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely." You said, amusement sparkling in your gaze.

Fred muttered, “I probably deserved that.”

“You do.”

He exhaled, steadying himself, “Look… I’m sorry. You’re not my little sister. You never were. I’ve been stupid and blind and oblivious, and I’m lucky you didn’t move on from a fool like me. I like you—more than is remotely reasonable.”

You smiled, a victorious glint in your eyes, “Say it again.”

Fred rolled his eyes, but the sharpness was gone, replaced by something softer, more real, “I like you.”

You tilted your head, voice gentle but playful, “Properly.”

He shifted closer, his heart pounding in his throat, “I like you, alright? I’ve liked you for ages. I just didn’t know how to say it… or what to do with it.”

Your smile softened into something warm, inviting, “Then show me.”

He did.

This time, the kiss was slower, deliberate. No panic, no rushing away. Just the warmth of his hands finding your waist, your fingers threading through his hair, and the quiet, electric certainty that everything was finally falling into place.

Bonus:

It was a brand-new day. Literally. But somehow, it felt metaphorically new too—like the kind of fresh start you didn’t even know you needed until it happened.

Fred Weasley strode into the Great Hall that morning, and when his eyes landed on you already seated at the Gryffindor table, casually sipping pumpkin juice like you hadn’t just rewritten the entire script of his life the night before, he nearly tripped over his own feet. He blinked, stunned.

You caught his eye, flashed a mischievous smirk, and patted the seat beside you.

He sat down slowly, unsure if this was real or some elaborate prank hatched by the combined mischief of Peeves and George.

“Morning.” You said, effortlessly snagging a piece of toast from his plate the second it appeared.

“Morning.” He echoed, eyes fixed on you, clearly unsure what to do with his hands—or how to behave now that the world had shifted on its axis.

“You sleep alright?” He asked cautiously.

You gave him a teasing look, “Better than you, probably. You kept tossing and turning. Too busy lying awake, replaying every moment from yesterday.”

His jaw practically hit the floor, “How did you know?”

“I didn’t. But now I do.” You quipped.

Fred groaned, “You’re the worst.”

“You’re the one who took three years to kiss me. I’m allowed to enjoy this.”

Before he could reply, George plopped down across from you both, grinning like a Kneazle with a bowl of gold coins in hand.

“Well, well, well,” George announced, sliding a crumpled parchment onto the table with theatrical flair, “What do we have here? Oh yes—that’s right! Three galleons, eight sickles, and a bag of Fizzing Whizbees. Collected over three bloody years.”

Fred blinked, “What is that?”

George’s grin widened, “The betting pool. Started it when I first noticed our dear brother here looking at you like a lovesick Kneazle but being completely useless about it. Most gave up after sixth year, but not me. I believed.”

You stared at him, incredulous, “You bet on us?”

“Of course I did. I’m not an idiot. Also, Lee Jordan owes me five chocolate frogs and the next round at Hogsmeade.”

Fred groaned, burying his face in his hands, “This is a nightmare.”

You patted his shoulder, barely holding back laughter, “Don’t worry, love. At least you’re finally winning something.”

He peeked at you through his fingers, utterly defeated, “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

You leaned in, planting a light kiss on his cheek, “Not a chance.”

Just like that, Fred Weasley—world-class prankster, confident flirt, and now completely and irrevocably yours—blushed bright red over eggs and toast. Meanwhile, George was already shouting across the table, “Oi, Angelina! Pay up! I told you it’d happen before graduation!”

“Well, well, Weasley,” Came Angelina Johnson’s voice from the far end of the table, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she set down her toast, “Not only did you break my heart, but now you’re making me lose a bloody bet?”

Fred groaned again, looking up just in time to see Angelina approaching with that infuriating grin firmly in place.

“I didn’t think it was possible to make this more awkward,” She said, sliding onto the bench beside George, “but you’ve really outdone yourself. I bet you thought you were clever, calling her your ‘little sister’ while sneaking off with her every chance you got.”

Fred’s cheeks flamed. “It wasn’t like that.” He muttered, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

You nudged him playfully, “I know Fred’s an idiot, Angelina, but you should’ve had some faith in me. There was no way I was going to graduate without pointing out that he’s clearly in love with me. Honestly, he should’ve figured it out last Valentine’s Day when he nearly had a conniption because Roger Davies asked me to be his valentine.”

Fred groaned again, but this time the sound was lighter, less burdened. He was too wrapped up in the warmth of having you by his side, teasing him—this time as his girlfriend—to care about anything else.

Bonus Bonus Scene:

It started innocently enough. (Okay, no. It really didn’t. Not even a little bit.)

You were at the Burrow for a family dinner—Molly, ever the doting mother hen, had insisted you come along. “You’re practically one of us, dear!” she’d said, completely unaware that you and Fred were teetering on the edge of indecency every time you looked at each other.

Fred had spent the entire afternoon teasing you with little touches—brief brushes of his hand at the dinner table, secretive smirks, and whispered comments that made you choke on your pumpkin juice while Molly gave you an oblivious, comforting pat on the back.

By the time dessert was cleared, you were practically vibrating with pent-up energy and barely able to keep your hands to yourself.

Fred caught your eye across the kitchen, his gaze locked with yours—and that was all it took.

You hadn’t even made it two steps into the hallway when he caught your wrist, pulled you into a shadowy alcove, and kissed you like he’d been starving for it all night.

You giggled into his mouth, clutching the front of his shirt, “Fred—someone will see—”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, his lips already trailing down your neck.

You melted against the wall, laughing breathlessly, tugging him closer.

Fred kissed you like a man who’d been waiting forever, hands roaming, mouth hot and urgent.

You were completely lost in the moment, lost in him—so much so that neither of you noticed the heavy footsteps approaching.

Until—

“FREDERICK GIDEON WEASLEY!”

You both jumped, nearly a foot in the air.

Fred stumbled back, his ears flaming bright red, wiping his mouth. (He was quite traumatized from the incident after your first kiss you see)

Molly stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, face the exact shade of a ripe tomato.

For a long, frozen three seconds, no one moved. No one breathed.

Your heart pounded so loudly it was all you could hear.

Fred looked like he was calculating a quick Apparition out of there.

Molly pointed a trembling finger at both of you, “WHAT—WHAT ON EARTH—YOU—AND—HE—YOU—KISSING!”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, but no words came.

Fred, somehow, found his voice first, “Uh... surprise?” he offered weakly.

“How long has this been going on?!”

Your cheeks burned as heat rushed up your neck, “Um... a while?”

Molly gasped as if you’d just confessed a crime, “A WHILE?!”

You winced. Fred winced.

Behind Molly, George peeked into the room, grinning so wide it looked painful.

Ron snorted from somewhere nearby.

Ginny was cackling so hard she had to lean against the wall.

Fred ran a hand through his hair, looking utterly defeated, as if willing the earth to swallow him whole.

“Mum,” He said, voice low but serious, “I’m in love with her.”

The room fell utterly silent.

Even George stopped laughing.

You blinked at Fred, stunned. He’d never said it like that before—not out loud, not so plainly.

Molly stared at him, then at you, then back at him again.

And then—much to everyone’s horror—she burst into tears.

“Oh, Fred!” She sobbed, “My little boy’s in love!”

You leaned in, grinning against the swell of your own heart, “Didn’t think you’d be the first one to say it,” You whispered, voice warm with mischief, “I was sure I’d have to drag it out of you in another three years.”

He chuckled, not pulling away, gazing at you in such a way that told you that had his mother not been in the room, you would've found yourself pressed against the wall once more, “Had to beat you at something, didn’t I?”

Bonus Bonus BONUS scene: (because I CAN)

The Three Broomsticks buzzed with weekend chatter—students crammed into booths, scarves trailing off shoulders, butterbeer steaming in their mugs. You were nestled between Hermione and Ginny, a little flushed from the warmth and the laughter, your empty glass pushed to the side.

“I still can’t believe he’s not here,” You murmured, stirring absentmindedly at a napkin, “Feels weird, doing all this without him.”

“Aw, you miss your boyfriend.” Ginny cooed dramatically, nudging you with her elbow.

You rolled your eyes, “Of course I do. But it’s more than that. He was everywhere last year. Loud, obnoxious, stealing sips from my drink, sticking notes to my back... It’s just quiet now.”

“He did write you, though,” Hermione offered, smiling, “Nearly every day, if I recall correctly. Your poor owl is exhausted sending your cute little love notes back and forth.”

You pressed your hand to your chest, mocking deep emotion, “Yes. A romantic sentence followed by ten paragraphs of commentary on the exact ratio of sugar to fizz in Fizzing Whizbees. I could swoon.”

“Well, it is Fred,” Ginny said, giggling.

“He said he might try to visit this weekend,” You admitted, eyes flicking toward the window as a group of third-years raced past outside, “But I haven’t heard anything.”

“Maybe he’s surprising you.” Hermione offered with a coy smile, lifting her mug.

“He’s not subtle enough for surprises,” You replied with a grin. “He’d probably drop from the ceiling shouting, ‘DID YOU MISS ME?’.”

At that exact moment, a familiar voice rang out from behind you.

“Well the ceiling was taken so I guess I'm doing this the old-fashioned way.”

You blinked, heart stuttering, and whipped around.

Standing just a few steps away, snow dusting his hair, cheeks pink from the cold, scarf looped loosely around his neck, and the most insufferable grin on his face.

You barely had time to register him before you were out of the booth and throwing your arms around his neck. He caught you easily, spinning you once before setting you down, laughing.

“You prat,” You breathed, hands on either side of his face, “You didn’t tell me—!”

“Would’ve ruined the surprise.” He said, eyes warm and crinkled at the corners.

Ginny raised her butterbeer like a toast. “You owe me five Sickles,” She told Hermione, “I said she’d cry.”

“I’m not crying!” You called back, affronted, though your eyes were definitely misty.

Fred beamed, “Give it ten minutes. I’m very moving.”

“Ugh, can't imagine why anyone would miss that.” Ginny muttered, grimacing into her drink.

And as Fred pressed a quick kiss to your lips and tucked you in closer beside him, it felt like everything had snapped back into place. The noise, the laughter, the warmth—Fred was back, and for a little while at least, the world was exactly as it should be.

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@haniscrying

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

@paankhaleyaaar

@superlegend216

Harry Potter Taglist:

@downbad4reid

@revesephemeres

@catiwinky

[yknwiu]

Aaaaaa I love the way you write 🫶🫶🫶

I was wondering if you’d do like a story where the reader has had a rocky family and not so great relationship with them, and then her and Fred are new in their relationship, and he invites the reader to the burrow and she just gets like slapped with all the Weasleys and how lovely the big family vibe is? Like a finding a family in your boyfriends family?? Idk how to explain 😭😭

take your timeeee (never wanna rush the amazing writer 🛐🛐 )

(Also was wondering if you’re doing a tag list and if I could be on it? If not that’s okay 👌)

-🌀

To Be a Weasley

Fred Weasley x Reader

warnings: fluff, a little bit of cursing

w/c: 3k

a/n: rlly liked writing this one, hope u enjoy! takes place around christmas time. reader is a seventh year gryffindor

---

You didn’t know where you went wrong. Maybe it was when you decided that you’d be dating Fred Weasley, maybe it was when you were sorted into Gryffindor, or maybe it started with your birth, when you came out the ‘wrong gender’. All you knew was that ‘family’ was never something that you’d understood. So it came as no surprise to you when you were sitting in the great hall at the Gryffindor table listening to a howler from your parents.

“An absolute disgrace! We come from generations of some of the greatest Slytherins and you, you put shame to our good name, tainting it with that Gryffinor title that you wear so proudly. You should be ashamed of yourself! Not to mention you’re dating one of those disgraces to the pureblood community. The Weasley’s give purebloods almost as bad a name as you do to the Y/l/n family! If you were a boy this never would’ve happened! We never would’ve had this problem! A son never would’ve dishonored our name, never would’ve put us to shame the way you have. We’re disowning you! May you cease to be a plague to the Y/l/n name. From henceforth we have no child!”

��“Yeah? Well good riddance! I don’t want the tainted name of Y/l/n, I don’t have any bloody parents, which won’t be hard to adapt to because I’ve never had parents! I spit on you, I spit on your stupid name, and I hope the name of Y/l/n holds a curse that drags you all to the deepest pits of hell,” you screamed at the howler.

The howler at this point had already torn itself apart, becoming a pile of shredded paper in your breakfast. You stood in place, breathing heavily as the entire great hall watched you. You sat down angrily, eyes never leaving the pile.

Years ago you may have cried. Years ago you may have cared about being a part of the family. Years ago you may have even tried to beg for a second chance, a chance to prove yourself worthy. But now? Now you couldn’t care less if your last name was Y/l/n. You’d never felt like a part of the family, and honestly? You were happy that you’d dirtied the Y/l/n’s clean reputation. Happy you’d wrecked their title. And especially happy that you were finally rid of that malediction of a name.

“Y/n?” You heard Fred say softly.

You looked over to see his concerned face, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you smiled. Really smiled. Smiled without restrictions, without worries, without a single shit to give.

“I’m free Freddie,” you whispered, “I’m finally, totally, completely, free.”

You laughed, the dots starting to connect in your head. 

“I’m free!” You shouted, throwing your arms around Fred.

Fred hesitated for only a minute before returning your hug, wrapping his arms tightly around you as you laughed with joy. 

A few days passed since you’d been publicly disowned, and you’d never been happier. Maybe it was just the fact that it was official now, but it felt like a weight had quite literally been lifted off your shoulders. You’d stopped trying to live up to your former name around halfway through your fifth year. For the longest time, you held onto hope that maybe one day your parents would accept you for who you were, and you’d get to live the life that you’d always wanted. Then that one day during fifth year it just clicked, and you gave up completely. 

---

You were sitting in the common room with Fred. His arm was draped lazily over your shoulders as the two of you talked to the group. You weren’t talking about anything in particular, just the midterm exams coming up, the latest in quidditch, and the newest bits and bobs of gossip around Hogwarts. Then came the conversation you’d been dreading the most. Christmas time vacations. You were excited for Christmas, definitely, but this would be the first year that you’d be spending Christmas at Hogwarts. And it wasn’t that that was a bad thing. It was just that you’d be spending your Christmas alone. 

You were absent mindedly listening about everyone's plans when Fred nudged your shoulder. You looked up at him, giving him a curious look.

“Say, I was wondering. Since you don’t have any place to be this Christmas…”

You raised an eyebrow, “Yes?”

Fred laughed nervously, “Well, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come spend Christmas with me, and my family.”

Your eyes went wide, “Oh, Fred, I dunno…”

“Oh, come on love, it’s not like you’d be imposing. Actually, it was mum that wanted me to invite you, you know? She’s very keen on meeting you,” Fred said, a small smile on his lips.

You frowned, “I dunno Freddie, family and me have never been two words that go together.”

That struck a nerve in Fred’s chest, “Alright then, it’s decided. You’re definitely coming.”

You shook your head, “Wait what? I never said that. In fact if anything, I think I said the opposite of that.”

“Please Y/n. If not for yourself, then for me,” he said, eyes pleading. 

You sighed, “That’s not fair, you know I can’t resist that face.”

Fred smiled widely, “So you’ll come?”

You smiled back, “Yes, I’ll come,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth. 

Fred sighed happily, pulling you closer to him. You tried to relax against him, but you couldn’t help but feel that nervous edge, gnawing at your conscience. 

---

“Wake up love, we’re here,” Fred whispered.

You opened one eye, groggily looking at Fred, “Ow it’s bright,” you mumbled, stretching your limbs. 

Fred laughed, helping you out of your seat. You got out of the car, eyes adjusting to the bright white of the snow that covered everything around you. You looked around, trying to see anything other than the white around you when you finally saw it. 

“Wow,” you whispered, eyes glued to the building in front of you.

It was tall, and mismatched. A little chaotic, but inviting. You loved it instantly. 

Fred smiled, “Home sweet home.”

You gathered your luggage from the car and waddled over to the burrow. Fred opened the door for you, helping you in. You were immediately hit with the smells of warm baked bread, cinnamon, and butter. Smells that you’d come to love due to a certain redhead. You barely had time to process what was going on before you were enveloped in a sea of arms.

“Hello dear, you must be Y/n, we’ve heard so much about you!”

“Oh Y/n, how lovely to finally meet you!”

“We’re thrilled to have you here!”

“How was your trip? Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

“Do you need help with your luggage?”

“Let me give you a tour of our home!”

“Oi, mum, dad, let her breathe, she’s barely been here two minutes!’ Fred said, pulling you out from the entanglement of arms.

You blinked, “Uh, hi, it-it’s lovely to meet you,” you stammered.

Fred frowned, “Are you alright love?” He whispered into your ear. 

You nodded, “Yeah, I suppose that’s just not quite the welcome that I’m used to.”

“Yeah sorry, mum and dad are a little overly enthusiastic sometimes,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

You shook your head, “That’s alright, it’s a nice change of pace.”

“Oh, Fred dear, why don’t you put Y/n’s things in Ginny’s room while we get her a nice cup of tea,” Mrs. Weasley said, guiding you towards the kitchen. 

Fred gave you a nervous look, before taking your luggage and disappearing into the staircase. You followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen, taking in your surroundings.

“You have a lovely home Mrs. Weasley,” you said, sitting down at the chair she’d pulled out for you. 

“Oh nonsense,” Mrs. Weasley said, bringing you a cup of tea and a plate of pastries, “And not Mrs. Weasley, you can call me mum.”

Your cheeks instantly flushed and you nodded, “Uh thank you, mum.”

Mrs. Weasley gave you a warm smile before turning back to the kitchen, starting to prepare the meal for the night. 

“Do you need help with anything Mrs, uh I mean, mum?” you asked, putting your tea down.

“Now don’t you worry about a thing dear, just relax and enjoy your tea.”

You shifted uncomfortably, not used to the gestures of kindness. When you had returned to your former home in the past, you’d never been greeted by anyone, let alone told to relax with a cup of tea.

You heard footsteps from behind you and turned around to see Fred coming down the stairs, eyes anxiously glancing around for you. You smiled at him, patting the seat next to you. He smiled, eyes darting towards his mother who was working away in the kitchen.

“Mum didn’t give you a hard time did she?” He whispered, taking a pastry.

You shook your head, “Not at all.”

“Fred Weasley! Those pastries are for Y/n!” Mrs. Weasley said, crossing her arms. 

“No, it’s alright Mrs. Weasley, I don’t mind,” you said with a polite smile.

“No, no, Fred should know better by now. And like I said, it’s mum, not Mrs. Weasley,” she said, smiling at you again.

Fred raised an eyebrow, “Mum?” He said, whispering to you.

You gave him a small smile and shrugged, “Perhaps she’s implying something,” you said with a wink.

“You think?” He said, laughing. 

“Fred, Y/n? Would you mind getting the rest of the family, dinner’s nearly done,” Mrs. Weasley said, wiping her hands on her apron. 

“Of course mum,” Fred said, as you both stood up. 

You followed Fred into the living room where he immediately pulled you to the side, already derailing from the given task. 

“You alright love?”

You nodded, “Yeah Freddie, it’s just a little different from what I’m used to, but it’s a good difference,” you added quickly, seeing the momentary panic in his eyes.

Fred broke into a full smile, relief washing over him, “Thank merlin, I was afraid mum and dad were gonna scare you off,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug.

You laughed, “I must admit it was a bit of a shock at first, but, it was sort of like a good surprise,” you said, hugging him back. 

You would’ve stayed nestled in him forever, but the smell of food reminded you that you were supposed to be gathering the family for dinner.

---

That was by far one of the greatest meals that you’d ever had. Comfortably full, happy, and content you retreated to the living room to spend some time with the family. You sat on the couch laughing at the scene in front of you. George was telling a terrible story about the time he and Fred had pranked Flich in their fourth year while Ron was fuming over his loss in exploding snap against Ginny. You were leaning against Fred, a wide smile on your face as you sighed happily. 

Fred nudged you, making you look at him, “So, what do you think?”

You paused, thinking for a minute, “I think… I think this feels more like home than home ever did.”

Fred beamed, “Good, because you’re one of us now.”

He leaned over, placing a kiss to your lips. You felt your stomach erupt into butterflies as you leaned closer in. It didn’t matter how many times Fred Weasley had kissed you, he always managed to make you feel like you were floating on cloud nine, in a world of total bliss. 

“Oi! Get a room!” Ron said, throwing a pillow at you two.

You leaned back, cheeks flushed, “We’re in a room Ronald” you laughed, throwing the pillow back at him. 

Fred raised an eyebrow, “Oh? Is that so?”

Your eyes went wide as he tackled you flat onto the couch, attacking your sides. You shrieked trying to push him off.

“Fred! Stop! That tickles!” You said, in between laughs.

You reached for the pillow behind you, beginning to smack him with it. Fred backed off, holding his hands to his face

“Hey wait! I don’t have my defense yet!” He said. 

He grabbed a pillow, preparing his attack, in the process however he hit Ginny who was far from fazed. She grabbed the nearest pillow, launching it at Fred. You laughed as he let out a small oof from being hit on the back of the head. Soon enough it had escalated into a full on pillow fight, sounds of laughter filling the room, and bits and pieces of goose feathers floating around as each pillow came in contact with a target. By the end of it you were laughing so hard your sides ached and the curves of your mouth were so far upturned that it felt as though it would be stuck that way permanently. You drifted off to sleep that night, mind happy and heart fulfilled. 

---

You woke up on Christmas morning, expecting it to be just like everyday you’d spent at the burrow. That is until Fred and George charged into the room practically dragging you out of bed. 

“Come on Y/n/n! It’s Christmas morning, get up! Get up!” Fred exclaimed excitedly, dragging you out the door, George following closely behind with a half awake Ginny.

You rubbed your eyes looking at your boyfriend, “Oi, slow down, what's the rush?”

Fred grinned, “You’ll see.”

You stopped in the living room to see a grand tree in the corner next to the fireplace. It was decorated with all sorts of bits and bobs that exhibited the Weasley family perfectly, and underneath it was teeming with gifts. 

Fred sat you down with his family quickly handing you a package that his mother had been holding. You took the package curiously, giving him an inquisitive look. You opened it to find one of Mrs. Weasley’s handknit jumpers. It was dark red with flecks of yellow yarn interwoven into it, and in the center was a large (your first initial) embroidered in gold yarn. 

“Is, is this mine?” You asked, mouth hanging open. 

Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly at you, “Welcome to the family dear.”

Your face broke into a grin as you stood to give Mrs. Weasley a tight hug, “Thank you,” you whispered, pulling the jumper over your head.

You spent the rest of the morning exchanging gifts and laughing with the family over gift choices. When you were all done, Mrs. Weasley retreated to the kitchen, starting to get ready for that night's dinner.

You looked at Fred, a large smile resting on your face, “Happy Christmas Freddie.”

Fred smiled, brushing a piece of hair out of your face, “Happy Christmas love.”

His eyes glanced upwards that back at you. Your gaze followed, to see a green vine with white berries dropping from the ceilings.

“Miseltoe,” you whispered, looking back at Fred.

Fred’s eyes landed on your lips as he subconsciously licked his own. He lightly cupped your cheek pulling you closer before resting his lips against his. You smiled into the kiss, that feeling of bliss overtaking you again as you melted into him, not caring about the groans of protest around you. Because in that moment, it didn't matter. You were happy, you were content, and you’d never felt more loved. 

---

One year later:

You’d just spent another Christmas morning with the Weasleys, you were wearing your favorite jumper (the one given to you by Mrs. Weasley of course), and wrapped around your neck you wore the new scarf that Mrs. Weasley had knitted for you. You’d just finished helping clean up the remaining scraps of parchment when Fred pulled you to the side. 

“Here,” he said, pulling a small box out of his pocket.

You opened the box and pulled out a thin necklace. At the end of it were two pendants, one was of the letter F, symbolizing Fred. The other was an oval locket with a picture of you and Fred from the previous Christmas, under the mistletoe. On the front there were (your favorite flowers) engraved on it, and on the back were the words ‘To my favorite girl, Y/n Weasley’.

You looked up from the locket to see Fred down on one knee, holding open a small velvet box that held the most gorgeous ring you’d never seen. Simple, but beautiful in its own simplicity. 

“Y/n, ever since I’ve known you, I’ve known that you were the most incredible, gorgeous, magnificent person that I’d ever met. I love everything about you, the way that you find the good in everything, the way your laugh makes me proud to be the luckiest man in the world, and your name. Your name is my absolute favorite name in the world, but I think I’d like your name better  if it ended with Weasley. So, Y/n what do you say? Will you marry me?” Fred said, a nervous smile creeping onto his face. 

You covered your mouth, feeling tears of happiness starting to form in your eyes, “Yes Fred. I’d love nothing more than to be Y/n Weasley.”

Fred beamed, pulling you into a tight hug. You laughed as he slipped the ring onto your finger proudly. 

“Come on, I’d like everyone to meet the newest Weasley,” Fred said, starting to pull you towards the family.

“Wait,” you said, making him turn around. 

You smiled, glancing up. Fred’s eyes flicked towards the ceiling before looking back at you. He leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to your lips. You smiled, kissing him back. Nothing could be better than to be Y/n Weasley, kissing Fred Weasley under the mistletoe.

taglist: @kozume-ko

[yknwiu]

[yknwiu]

[yknwiu]

[yknwiu]

Congrats my dear I am so happy for you! ✨️ Can I request a pumpkin guts with Remus? It's kinda inspired by another work of yours, a few weeks ago someone requested a blurb with Remus after a full moon and Y/N who is afraid of blood and wounds can't look at him so poor guy thinks reader is disgusted by him. I was wondering if you could make it angsty, I love the way you write angst!

Have a wonderful day! ✨️✨️✨️

fall into 30k with mei

--

Your stomach churns as you stand, and the bloody wounds stitched along Remus's abdomen definitely have something to do with it, but you're sure the rest is just plain, old-fashioned self-loathing. You swallow, your belly protesting the motion, and you curse as Remus's eyes dart towards you where they'd been buried in a book.

"Y/N?" He asks warily, and you breathe through your mouth.

You can smell it.

"Remus, I can't-" You blubber, "I- I can't be in here. I'm- my stomach hurts, and I- you- I'm gonna be sick."

He starts moving- tugging at the lacerations along his stomach and you sink your teeth into your lip to stop from wretching. You skitter towards the door, a hand thrown his way to stop him from making it worse, from aggravating the injuries you won't be able to stand until they're healed, only to reopen the next full moon, "Please-! Please stay there."

You won't look at him. You don't want to see whatever expression is on his face, whether it's anger or sadness. Or a mixed shade of both, something even more heartbreaking.

"It's not you, Remus." You swear, from the bottom of your aching heart, "I promise you on my life, I'm not upset by your condition, and I have no ill will towards you. You are-" You nearly choke on the words, "A wonderful man, and I'm sorry that I cant be as good to you as you are to me. I just- I physically cannot be here. I can..." You breathe deeply, still shying away from his gaze, "I can smell your blood, and its making me dizzy, and my stomach is churning, and I can't-"

"Go."

His voice cuts you off, barely-audible, but you hear it. You hear what's in it, too, resignation and the same self-loathing you'd put in your own voice.

"Remus, please don't be upset." You plead, "With yourself- or- or with me, I promise you I'm just sensitive. I have a sensitive stomach, and I can come back when you're healed better, I just-"

"I know." His voice is softer now, but just as sad, "Just- go. Please? Go rest. Drink water and feel better. Maybe you can visit me in a few days. When they're closed."

The word- the thought makes your nausea worse, and your face crumples into a grimace. You nod, though, tears stinging at your eyes, "I promise I will. I promise, Remus, I- I'll bring you more books and some chocolate and we can read, and-"

"Go." He repeats, and you wish you hadn't gathered the courage to look at his face, because there's nothing but a sad smile there, his eyes teary and dim, "Maybe some other time."

[yknwiu]

I love you… no, yes, what..?

Summary: Looking at Remus, people would say something like, “He’s a man who knows how to handle his alcohol..!”, oh but what kind of a silly lie is that? If only people would see the guy who was in your home… not mentioning your bed…

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem!readed

Tags/Warnings: Alcohol; Remus is a silly git when drunk; drunk Remus; drunk love confessions; FLUFF. GUYS! IM ACTUALLY CAPABLE OF BEING HAPPY!!!; at the end Remus starts getting super vulnerable BUT ITS FOR THE PLOT GUYS.

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: I know that there’s this BIG headcanon that Remus is the most sober one in comparison to every other marauder, BUT WE DON’T CARE. REMUS IS A CUTIE PATOTIE IN THIS ONE, SO LET ME BE!!! (Oh and btw, have I already told y��all that I have a full schedule of fanfics I’ll be posting in October? No? Well now you know)

Remus Lupin Masterlist.

‘No I’m telling ya… unicorns are some real baddies..!’

Here we go again…

‘Cuz can ye imagine walkin’ ‘round with a whole stick stickin’ out your forehead? I can’t- and then muggles just go and tell that they’re all pink and fluffy?! That’s some horse shit! Get it?’ Remus rambled drunkenly while one hand held a glass of whiskey Sirius brought (just some fancy junk that didn’t even taste good, really), but who was Remus to judge a good drink?

It was honestly so hilarious, how people thought that this walking light pole could stay sober after three bottles of booze. But oh how surprised they were, at their first party when they saw poor John Lupin hanging off the couch after one single shot. And his state the next day? You could’ve thought he downed a whole pint of vodka, no lemon on the side!

And this “problem” of his grew with him, didn’t necessarily change but still adapted to his lifestyle. Now, in comparison to four years ago, he could down five shots and still hold himself up.

‘And honestly, how can people just do that..! Can’t they like.. read or summat..?’ The thing you most endeared in Remus and his silly issue with alcohol was the way his tongue would loosen up, his accent he grew up with slipping out effortlessly. Half of the words he uttered you wouldn’t even really catch, but you were more than happy to just lean back in your chair and let him talk, even if it were him rambling about unicorns.

Letting your gaze wander, you looked at your other friends. Sirius was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the couch and got his hair braided by little Harry who was sitting in his lap, whom James and Lily couldn’t leave alone at home. For a second, it oddly seemed like Sirius was nodding off, even though the little menace was probably ripping out clumps and balls of hair. Lily was sprawled on the couch, her knee resting dangerously next to Sirius’ head. You were worried that if she were to jerk harshly in her sleep, Sirius would end up with a bump on the back of his head.

It was only James and Remus who were entertaining each other, still discussing unicorns. James was now visibly getting riled up and infected by Remus’ drunken anger, trying to give the poor unicorns some justice.

‘Right?! It’s just.. so unfair..! Oi, don’t tell anyone, but when I was little I wanted a unicorn so badly..’ James whispered, gawking at Remus, his glasses lost somewhere on the floor. He couldn’t even see anything, not even his friend who was sitting right in front of him. (Honestly, that blind bastard…)

The conversation continued when you suddenly heard Harry squeal in delight, clapping his tiny hands in joy when he looked at Sirius, clearly proud of his handiwork. His hair was very poorly braided, strands sticking out everywhere and James’ glasses tangled on the back of his head.

At the screeching sound, Lily bolted up from her light sleep, frantically looking for her child (or children,) and slumped back with a sigh when she saw that Harry was still safe with Sirius and that James was sitting at the table where you would be supervising.

‘Alright guys, I think we should already go home… Cmon Harry dear, we’re going home..’ At Lily’s words, both James and Harry whined, feeling too good in their current position. Though the big difference between the two guys was that Lily could scoop Harry up into her arms and he’d fall asleep short after, James though would have to get ripped out of Remus’ prying arms.

‘Nooo..!! You cannot just take my partner in crime away from me..! We were just about to plan how to save the extinct unicorns..!’ Remus gasped and grabbed James’ arm who was getting pulled away by Lily.

‘Yeah..! WE CAN NOT LET THE UNICORNS DIE!!’ James nodded feverishly, yelling at the top of his lungs. Harry was actively cheering for him, punching his fists into the air and roaring like a tiger cub.

‘You’ll be able to do that later. Now we go to bed.’ Lily glared at James and pinched his ear softly, tugging him by his ear to the front door. Sluggishly, James put on his shoes but couldn’t tie them properly, that’s where Lily was ready to take over, and when you finished getting Harry into his sneakers and fluffy hat, you knew that James and Lily were ready to leave.

‘I’m sorry that I won’t be able to help you clean the mess up, I just really need to get Harry in his bed.. That little smartarse doesn’t sleep properly when he’s excited..’ The mother in front of you apologised profusely, knitting her eyebrows in the middle as she held James’ arm over her shoulders.

‘It’s alright, I’ll be doing the cleaning tomorrow anyway. I don’t have the energy to do it right now..’ You chuckled, Sirius now standing next to James in the doorway, taking him over from Lily.

Lily sighed in relief, both from Sirius’ help and your understanding.

‘Thanks a lot.. I’ll come tomorrow in the morning. I promise..’ A gentle smile grew on her lips, her tired face merging into a youthful expression.

Saying goodbye to the last one of them, you sighed out loud, a small tired smile melting on your face. The apartment was now serenely quiet, and you were about to go upstairs and call it a night, have a shower, when you heard your phone buzzing in the living room.

Right,

You let go of the railing and dragged your feet down the hallway, passing the dining room, purposefully avoiding the mess and Remus who was sprawled on the table-

‘Remus..?!’ You totally forgot about the guy, too busy trying to help Lily with James that you didn’t even realise that Remus was still sitting there.

‘Oh dove.. you’re back..!’ He mumbled into his arm, his head lying on the wooden surface, his face squashed into a dopey smile.

‘Goodness, Lupin, I swear.. How can you even function properly?’ You scoffed, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders, tugging him up from his seat.

This would definitely be hilarious for other people, how a dude who was actively scratching the roof with his head was getting dragged upstairs while he rambled about some random stuff. He didn’t even seem to mind it one bit, yapping with no breaks for breath about some new facts he read about owls, gesturing wildly with his hands. One time he even smacked you right square in your face, and what did the bastard do afterwards? He giggled, his knees buckling just right in front of your bed.

‘No no no please don’t fall..! Just a few more steps..!’ You pleaded, quickening your pace before falling face first to the ground, Remus’ body limp over yours.

Internally crying, you pushed yourself up to your elbows to glare at Remus, who was innocently grinning at you, a lovesick expression disarming you in seconds.

‘What are you grinning at?!’ You scoffed, heat crawling up to your cheeks under his intense stare.

‘You’re cute, dove..’ He mumbled, his finger poking your cheek lightly, a sigh escaping his lips.

‘You’re insufferable! First smacking me in my face and then making me fall-‘ A laugh interrupted your angry rambling, a genuine, loud laugh. Remus put his hand over his eyes, resting his head on the floor while grinning like a madman.

‘Ahhh… You’re so so cute, dovie.. Could’ve just snogged you right here and right now… I love you so much..’ He couldn’t stop the words from escaping his lips, but he didn’t regret them. Didn’t feel the panic one would usually get from saying something reckless. Maybe it was just the alcohol making him stupid, maybe too brave… Maybe he will regret it tomorrow, when he faces the damage he had done to your friendship…

‘You don’t mean it.. It’s just the alcohol talking. Cmon, let’s go to my bed..’

‘Your bed..? What will do there..?’ He whispered as if it were a little secret, tugging you closer to his chest while you tried to squirm away.

‘Sleep there..! What did you even think about?!’

‘Oh I don’t know..’ He drawled, wiggling his eyebrows up and down, his warm palms pressed your back.

‘You’re insufferable!’

With a groan or a laugh, you couldn’t really tell, he buried his face into your chest, your arms automatically moving to his head, letting your fingers tangle in the delicate curls.

‘Please tell me not to go… I don’t want to go home, it’s not warm there like here..’ Your gaze immediately fell on the guy, who was holding you so close and so tightly as if he were afraid of something, maybe that you’d slip out of his fingers like quicksand. For the first time you didn’t see the usual stoic man in front of you, but a vulnerable boy that seemed to yearn for intimacy desperately.

‘No one is telling you to go, sweetheart..’ You whispered, feeling your heart ache.

After hesitating for a moment, you gently pressed your lips against the crown of his head, his soft hair tickling your chin and nose, threatening with a sneeze.

He hummed lowly in content as your lips made comforting pressure to his head, making him close his eyes.

‘Felt like it though.. people usually don’t let me stay over..’ He murmured into your shirt’s material, nuzzling his nose deeper and taking a deep breath of your scent.

‘If you’d ask me to run away with you, I’d do it. Because it’s you..’ You were sure that Remus was doing this on purpose, making your breath hitch in your chest, but then you thought of the fact that he was too intoxicated to think properly. Maybe the saying is right.. Drunk mind speaks a sober heart…

‘..I know that you probably won’t remember any of this, but I want you to know that you are loved. And that you can always stay at my place, for my home shall be yours too, if needed..’ You whispered into his hair, eyes falling shut from the previous exhaustion.

‘I love you so much, Lu..’ You finished with a smile, pulling away to watch Remus drool over the sleeve of your shirt, knocked out cold by dreamless sleep.

‘Good night then..’

-

Waking up the next morning was a pleasant surprise of soft sheets and a pillow under your head, Remus curled up against your body, his bare arms flexing around your middle as he held you closely.

You don’t remember going to bed, nor do you remember seeing Remus get rid of his sweater.

Wait, did you sleep with him?!

Panic overtook your senses, feet turning icy and clammy as you tried to make sense of what happened last night.

You didn’t drink much, so you were relatively sober, in comparison to other people, so the idea of doing something so out of pocket with a clear head was a thing even Sirius would’ve raised eyebrows at.

On one hand, if you actually slept with Remus, that would be alright.. Not the best case scenario, maybe a bit embarrassing but alright. But on the other, why the hell didn’t you remember anything?!

As if sensing your frustration, Remus started rousing from his sleep, a tired groan vibrating through his throat and his arms squeezing you so tightly you thought you’d pop like a balloon.

‘Morning..’ He murmured hoarsely, putting his chin on top of your chest, watching you with hazy but adoring eyes.

Suddenly realisation struck him like a lighting, and he yanked his arms off you, the sudden cold feeling like a fresh cut to your skin.

‘Uhh.. at night, I woke up and since we were on the floor I carried you to the bed.. and I hope you don’t mind the fact that I slept here.. I can wash the sheets if you ask me..!’

‘Remus..’ You started, wrapping your own arms around his bare torso, making him look at you with wide puppy eyes.

‘Thank you..’ You whispered and pressed one single peck to his chest, a soft whisper of the events the night before.

As if someone let a balloon loose, he deflated, slumping into you with a sigh. His arms once again found their way to their previous place, your skin yet having the chance to cool down from his contagious warmth.

‘I’m not sure if you remember, but I meant what I said yesterday.. If you ever need to stay somewhere, when you feel too lonely or too harsh, you can stay with me.. You are loved, so so loved…’

‘Of course I do.. I made sure to get at least this one safe in my mind.’

‘..Do you remember your P.E.U.N.O.H organisation?’

‘What’s that?’ Remus asked, his face twisting in embarrassment as if he had eaten a lemon.

‘Oh you don’t remember! You were so passionate about it though.. what a shame, no more ‘Poor Extinct Unicorns Need Our Help’ meetings..’

‘..I actually made that up..?’

‘You and James.’

…

‘Guys..! I locked myself in the bathroom last night and I couldn’t get it open so I just slept there! Don’t worry about me!’

Oh Peter…

Dividers by @/cafekitsune <3

[yknwiu]

nervous || remus lupin x reader

you and remus have been sitting with the most pleasant sort of tension since your years together at hogwarts – the kind that comes with lingering glances and warmth pooling in the belly. but, now that you're in university, remus is ready to take the next step. or, the one in which remus lupin asks you to go on a date after years of mutual pining.

remus x f!reader || 5k || no warnings

Remus Lupin has walked right up to you, startling you, sneakers brushing the toes of your shoes. You blink up at him, setting your quill to the side and tilting your head. Then, you blink again, watching the boy stare down at you, lips slightly parted as if he’s breathing in to say something. Except, he’s saying … nothing. 

Slowly, exaggerated, you nod at him questioningly. It’s not that you don’t like looking at Remus; you could stare at him for hours at a time, it’s just that this is unusual – you’re much more familiar with sneaking glances and blushing furiously like you’re back at Hogwarts when you catch his gaze. This is just plain awkward as you stare into his eyes, so grey they’re barely green. Sure, there’s the familiar head-rush as you face him straight on and witness the scars, the straight nose, and – Merlin – the freckles, but it’s fading as anxiety builds in your chest. 

You open your mouth to say something, sucking in a breath to ask if he’s alright or needs help with some Uni work, but he suddenly turns and strides away at your attempt. 

Your mouth snaps closed at that, teeth clicking together. You sit, stunned, processing whatever that was. Then, you turn to begin gathering your things, ready to go back to your flat and tell Lily about the situation, sure she’s the only one smart enough to make sense of whatever that was.

You’re shoving your last notebook in your bag when Remus returns, hair considerably messier. He actually looks like he’s mocking James, curls all mussed and standing up straight, but you know it’s just how his hair gets when he’s rammed his hands through it too many times. 

“Hello?” You ask, rushed, trying to say anything before he runs off like a scared niffler again. 

“Go on a date with me. A proper one, not just as friends.” He isn’t exactly rushing the words, but they’re louder than he usually talks, and the syllables are tripping over themselves. A slight quiver builds in the back of his throat, but he stares at you, jaw set and eyes boring into yours. 

“What?” You manage to cough out, heart suddenly pounding and face pooling with heat. 

“Go out with me. Tonight, tomorrow, now, whenever.” A hint of the accent he had when he was small, first year at Hogwarts, rough and city and so Remus, peeks through. You usually don’t hear it until he’s drunk or tired or tired and drunk. 

It’s that small detail that gets you, that hooks behind your belly into the core of you and drags you to nod. “Yeah, yes. Sure.”

You’re both staring at each other now, again, unspeaking. Your breath is coming out a little rushed. Nervously, you smooth your hands down your skirt to flatten any wrinkles and brush your hair out of your eyes from where the wind has moved it. He doesn’t move, looking at you, awed. 

It’s a gentle sort of crack in your relationship, slowly widening, this interaction. The first hint of a fault appeared in sixth year of Hogwarts, when you suddenly realized that Remus, your best friend aside from Lily, was suddenly really, really, attractive. Walking along the corridors with him and watching him talk about the astronomy lesson. Watching his hands as he wrote essays. Biting back a grin and having to look down when he laughed at the table because the sight was so radiant that you could hardly bear it. 

It became something tangible at the hints of returned feelings once you’d returned for seventh year. You’d catch him looking, blushing when you’d wear your denim skirts to Hogsmead, eyes tracing your legs and then snatching his eyes away guiltily. The annoyed way he would glare at your friends, mostly the other boys, when they would all find an excuse at the same time to leave the two of you alone in the library. 

It remained an unspoken presence between you as you both ended up at the same wizarding university, studying together. Another year had passed, though, and the familiarity of knowing the fondness that reached a little beyond a best friend was a shared experience so comfortable to you, so precious and seemingly breakable, that you hadn’t ever imagined the feeling of it breaking. Of normal shifting as the unspoken is said and the present circumstance suddenly changes. 

“Right,” Remus says, moving his hands up and then down like he doesn’t know what to do with them, nodding far too much at you. After a hesitation, he sits next to you. 

“Was that scary?” You ask, twisting so your knee presses against his, bare skin against corduroy. 

“No. Kind of thrilling, actually,” Remus answers, honestly as always. He isn’t looking at you, but you can see the wide grin stretching across his face, still. It’s so unlike him to share this unguarded reaction in such a public place and you relish it. “When would you like to go?”

“You said now is good?”

Remus whips his head around to look at you, grin sinking into something softer, fonder, private in the way that you know it’s not just for you, but intended for you to see. It’s something gentle, something he’s sharing as he tilts his chin down to look at you. 

“Eager, are we?” He asks, voice a little teasing, a little nervous. You nod, shy, and he laughs a little under his breath. “Brilliant. Now is perfect, let me take you to lunch.”

[yknwiu]

It’s over for me

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

Summary: James and especially Sirius have been teasing Remus about you, but Remus has been vehemently denying it. Honestly, it isn’t hard to spot if Remus turns into a flustered mess every time he is near you. Well, of course his friends were right, and Remus realises he is absolutely smitten with you.

Warnings: none, plure fluff because I’m a hopeless romantic <3

Word count: how do you all do that? Please enlighten me with your secrets. I don’t find a good way to do a proper word count? 😭

Another day in the common room. Remus set on the couch next to Sirius, who was fully invested in planning his next mischievous adventure, still having to repay some Slytherins for their nasty comments in last weeks potions class. Remus himself was buried in a book about Charms, needing to catch up on all of their school work that he missed during the full moon.

All of the sudden, he felt Sirius punching him more or less lightly against his upper arm and smirking at him. No words needed, of course it was you.

You approached the two, already smiling in anticipation. “Helloooo” you chirped as you rolled around the soles of your feet and then rolled onto your tippy ties with your hands in the pockets of your jeans.

You weren’t wearing your usual school attire, but rather dark red converse, blue flared jeans and a red cable knit sweater. It looked perfect. Then it dawned on Remus, it was the Hogsmeade weekend.

“Anyone of you joining me for today?” you said still beaming at the two marauders in front of you. Then you frowned your eyebrows together and asked “where’s James and Lilly anyways? Merlin knows how much they have been sneaking of lately”

Sirius just heartily laughed at that statement and saw in the corner of his eye that Remus was still starstruck by you. Sirius gave him another slight punch to the arm and Remus snapped into consciousness.

“Oh yeah…yeah we barely see them anymore” he tried to save himself with a nervous chuckle.

You just grinned at him slightly, noticing something’s up but not pushing it further.

“Soooo?” you chirped again.

“So what?” Remus asked still not working

“Anyone joining me for Hogsmead? I’ve been waiting ages to finally get out of the castle again.”

Your energy was like a magnet, pulling everything surrounding you in like you always do.

Sirius understood rather quickly than his dumbfounded friend. “Oh I’ve got some important business to attend. These Slytherins won’t know what hit ‘em. But I am sure that my dear Remus here will join you.” Sirius said with his usual grin of charisma.

Remus still not processing everything around him was finally catching up to his dear friends set-up and a hint of panic flashed across his mind.

Remus began to nod and anxiously smile at you.

“All right then, I’m gonna get my stuff from my dorm and I’ll meet you down here again? Is it fine if we leave in a few minutes?”

Remus finally mustered up some courage again, after being so overthrown by the whole situation. “I would love that”.

As you turned around and headed up the spiral stair case Remus could literally feel his face turn red. Sirius turned to Remus and just barked “I’m not in love with her like an absolute dumbstruck idiot, we are definitely just friends. Yeah right.” His imitation was very much dramatic as always, but Remus couldn’t deny it anymore, not to himself nor Sirius.

Remus absently minded stared into the common room and just breathed “It’s over for me”

Sirius fell back on the couch, slid his hand through his jet black hair and laughed as he said “How about a thank you?” Remus could tell he was having the time of his life.

In that moment Remus heard your foot steps darting down the stairs, and all he could think was the whole day that lay ahead of him with only you to spend it with.

[yknwiu]

Where’d All The Time Go?

poly!wolfstar x reader ☆ 2.7k

⤷ part of my Where’d All The Time Go? au

summary: after the first wizarding war ended, you, remus, and sirius moved into your new home, unpacking your lives and preparing to welcome harry and raise him as your own. despite the doubts that crept in, you vowed to give him a life filled with love.

warnings: mentions of war aftermath, grief, breakdowns, crying, lots of guilt, loss, family restructuring, emotional hurt/comfort, domestic situations, this acts as an intro to the au.

a/n: part one of this au! this takes place right before they take harry in <3 very much hurt with comfort!

The hardest battles were never fought with wands or blood. Surviving the war had been merciless but surviving the aftermath, the deaths of James and Lily, was even crueler. Their absence hung over you like an unshakable shadow, a hollow ache in every corner of your world.

Chairs sat empty where they once laughed, voices lingered in memory but never returned, and the weight of what had been stolen pressed against your chest relentlessly. That was the true war, the one no spell could fix, no magic could erase.

And still, here you were, bound to the two men who had endured pain beside you, who had argued, mourned, and fought for survival just as fiercely. Together, you had carved out a fragile peace from the ruin left behind, a tentative sanctuary in a war that had demanded everything of you.

The little cottage smelled faintly of dust and sunlight, boxes stacked in every corner holding the remnants of the lives you had lost. It was smaller now, quieter, but alive—a place to start again despite the grief that clung to your bones. Your fingers brushed the worn fabric of the couch, a mixture of exhaustion and relief threading through the silence.

“Set those near the kitchen,” Remus called from the hallway, his voice steady and low.

From outside came Sirius’s reply, loud and theatrical even through his fatigue. “You would think we are furnishing a castle instead of one cottage. I swear these boxes breed when my back is turned.”

You allowed a breath to slip from your chest and leaned further into the cushions, your body aching from the day’s work. The cottage was not grand, but it was warm, and it was yours. More importantly, it would soon be Harry’s. 

Instead of Harry, barely two years old, being thrown into foster care or sent to live with his Aunt Petunia and the Dudleys, you, Remus, and Sirius had filed to adopt him legally.

Dumbledore had agreed, and now you were preparing the house to welcome him, ready to build a family from scratch. You knew with absolute certainty that, even though you were not his mother, you would give him everything he could ever need or want.

After Lily and James’ deaths and the betrayal of your best friend Peter, who had been sent to Azkaban, you had all spent long hours weighing the decision. It had taken planning, deliberation, and courage, but you, Remus, and Sirius had resolved to raise Harry as your own.

Each of you carried your own fears: immense guilt on your part, feeling as though you were taking Lily’s place; Sirius struggling with the idea of being a parent, unsure he could raise a child when he himself had lacked a stable home; and Remus hesitant, wary of how his lycanthropy might affect the boy.

The Ministry forms had been signed, the guardianship approved, and soon the boy who had been left to grow in a loveless house would finally come home. The thought pressed on you with both weight and hope.

The door creaked open, and Sirius stepped in, hair tousled by the wind, a box in his arms. His eyes found you instantly, sharp with that restless edge he never hid, before he set the box down with deliberate care.

“You look tired,” he said quietly, his voice stripped of its usual theatrics now. “Sit a while longer. We can manage the rest.”

The simple relief of Sirius’s presence seeped through you, easing the exhaustion that clung to your body. “I'm fine,” you murmured, lifting a hand in reassurance. “Just tired.”

His eyes locked on yours, searching for proof in the lines of your face. “You sure, love?” he asked softly.

You nodded, and only then did he lean down to press a fleeting kiss to your temple. Then he turned back toward the door, muttering about needing to finish before it got dark.

You remained where you were, letting your hands rest loosely in your lap as you listened to the rhythm of their movement through the cottage. 

A sharp thud startled you from your thoughts. You opened your eyes to see a pale green vase resting precariously on the side table beside you, placed there only moments before. You blinked in surprise and straightened slightly.

“Remus,” you said softly, “be careful with that. It was a gift from Effie.”

“I remember. Effie and Monty, before their move to Wales,” he replied. Setting the books aside, he cupped your face with deliberate care, his thumbs brushing beneath your eyes as if to measure your weariness by touch alone.

“Would you just rest your pretty eyes,” he murmurs, so close now you can smell the faint traces of bergamot and old books on his jumper, “and let me and Sirius take care of everything? Just for a while, love. Stop worrying about everything and everyone else. It’s not good for you.”

You breathe in slowly. His palms are warm and grounding against your cheeks, but your chest is tight, your throat clamped. “I know, Remus, I know it’s just—” You pause. You try to swallow it down.

“I can’t help it. If I don’t worry, then I think. And if I think…” Your voice cracks. “If I think then I—”

Your breath breaks around a sob. It slips out before you can stop it, and then another follows, and suddenly you’re crying, shoulders trembling as all the weight you’ve been trying to hold in your spine slips out from under you.

Remus does not hesitate. He lowers himself further, steady on his knees before you, and gathers you into his arms. His embrace is careful but unwavering, one hand sliding to the back of your head as though he could anchor you there.

“It’s all right, love,” he murmured, the words steady, repeated as if by rhythm alone he could ease the tremor in your chest. “It’s all right. I know. I know it feels like too much.”

You cling to him, your hands fisting lightly in the fabric of his shirt, as if he were the last solid thing in a world that still felt unsteady. “I should be happy,” you whispered, your voice breaking against his shoulder. 

“We survived. We have this house. We’re starting over. I have you, I have Sirius, and soon Harry will be with us. I should feel grateful, but all I can think about is what he has already lost. He’s only a child, Remus. Barely two years old, and his parents are gone. How are we supposed to give him what he needs? What if we fail him?”

His hand moved slowly through your hair, fingertips gentle, grounding you against the slow rise and fall of his chest. 

You pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his face. “And I worry about you. About how you’ll manage the moons here, without potions, without wards. We are so far from everything we knew, and I cannot stand the thought of you suffering because of it. And Sirius—” your voice faltered, low and heavy—“he makes jokes and acts fine, but I see him when he thinks no one is looking. He is still grieving James, and he will not speak of it. He just carries it alone. How can the three of us raise a child when none of us are whole ourselves?”

“Look at me,” Remus said, drawing back enough to cup your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed carefully over your cheeks, catching the dampness there. His gaze was steady, almost stern, but never unkind. “Love. Look at me.”

You did, reluctantly, and the world seemed to still beneath the weight of his eyes.

“We are not whole,” he said softly, with a clarity that did not flinch.

“You are right. Sirius grieves, and so do I, and so do you. We are carrying more than anyone should. But that is exactly why we will not fail him. Because we know what it is to lose, and we will do everything in our power to keep him from feeling that same hollow.”

His hand rose then, cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed away the tears that had gathered. His voice softened, steady as stone.

“He does not need us to be perfect. He only needs us to love him, and that, I promise you, we can do.”

Your breath hitched, but his voice carried you through it.

“As for me,” he continued, his mouth tilting with the faintest curve, “I have managed the moon my whole life. I will manage it here too. It will not break me. And Sirius may never say the words, but he will love that boy with the same fierceness he loved James, and that is a love stronger than grief. And you—” his hands tightened ever so slightly, drawing you back from the edge of your doubt—“you will not fail Harry. You are already thinking of him, worrying for him, fighting for him before he is even here. That is what a parent does.”

You nod slowly, though the motion feels fragile, as if it might fracture beneath its own weight.

“We’re going to figure this out,” Remus says, his voice low but steady, the kind of calm that always steadies you. “All of it. However long it takes, however messy it gets—we’ll make it work. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

Your breath catches, shaky, and the words slip out before you can stop them. “Then why does it still feel like I am?”

“You’re not,” he says firmly, his hands cupping your face before he takes one of yours and presses it over his heart. “You have me. You have all of me.”

You nod again, slower this time, your forehead leaning into his as your glassy eyes spill over. For a moment, the two of you simply breathe, pressed together in that fragile silence.

The front door creaks open just as your breathing begins to even out again. You do not flinch, but you instinctively tuck closer against Remus’s chest. He does not let you go.

Heavy footsteps move across the floorboards, and then comes the clatter of something dropped against the entryway wall.

“Hey,” Sirius’s voice calls, rough with fatigue but missing its usual edge of teasing. “Are you two alright?”

Remus presses a last kiss to your temple before straightening, his arm still snug around your shoulders. 

Sirius rounds the corner then, arms overloaded with a kettle, a battered toaster, and a tangle of cords threatening to topple at any second.

His eyes land on you—your red-rimmed eyes, your uneven breath—and though his mouth twitches like he wants to crack a joke, it never makes it out. His expression softens in a way only you and Remus ever really see.

“You alright, love?” he asks quietly. But before you can reply, the kettle in his arms wobbles as if to betray the question.

“Careful!” you blurt, bolting upright as the toaster nearly slips. “That kettle—Effie gave us that, Sirius. That was a gift.”

He fumbles, managing to set the whole pile down in a graceless heap. “Blimey, love, I didn’t mean to drop the bloody family heirlooms.”

Before you can get too wound up, Remus squeezes your hand. “Sweetheart… everything in this house was a gift from them.”

You still, the words sinking in. He’s right. After Effie and Fleamont’s passing, their entire inheritance had gone to James, and after James’s death, it was passed to Harry.

As his godparents—and now, in every way that mattered, his parents—everything they had once owned was with you. 

It meant that, for the first time in a long while, you were doing well financially, a quiet comfort amid the grief. 

And it mattered, because you intended to raise Harry in the very best way you could.

“Still,” you mutter, pulling the blanket tighter around your legs, “that doesn’t mean we have to throw it all around like it's rubbish. Do you even know how to use half of that stuff?”

“No,” Sirius throws his head back dramatically. “Besides, why does everything in the Muggle world have so many buttons? What happened to switches? Common sense?”

“That is common sense,” you shoot back, unable to hide the faint smile tugging at your mouth. “You plug it in, you press start. That’s it.”

“I plugged in the radio and it started screaming at me in German!”

“That’s because you set it to a German station, you muppet.”

“How was I supposed to know that? The knob had numbers on it. What do numbers have to do with language?”

Remus snorts beside you, clearly enjoying this. “You’ve survived a war, Padfoot. I think you can survive a bloody kettle.”

Sirius eyes the toaster like it might bite him. “What is this contraption anyway?”

Remus is already rummaging through one of the bags. “It’s a toaster, Pads. It toasts bread. You eat it.”

Sirius squints at the slot. “Where does the fire go?”

You blink. “There is no fire.”

“Then how does it toast?”

“You plug it in and it gets hot.”

Sirius narrows his eyes at it with suspicion. Then he grabs the nearest cord and, before anyone can stop him, reaches toward the socket.

“Wait—” Remus shoots across the room in a flash, yanking the cord out of Sirius’s hand just in time. “Merlin, Sirius, don’t stick anything in there. You’ll blow the entire flat. Or yourself.”

Sirius frowns, shaking his hand out. “This Muggle world is confusing.”

You leave your boyfriends to bicker harmlessly over the mysteries of Muggle appliances, their voices rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow feels familiar and comforting. 

Quietly, you slip down the hallway to check on Harry’s room. The door sits just beside yours, and as your hand brushes the handle, a strange, almost magical sensation washes over you. It melts away the exhaustion and weight of the day as if it had never existed. 

The room itself is far from finished. A scattering of boxes and half-unpacked supplies fills the corners, but even in its incompleteness, it radiates life and possibility.

Your heart swells, a tender, aching warmth flooding through you as your eyes take in the small bed tucked into the corner, toys, and baby supplies. 

You sink to the floor, surrounded by boxes, fingers brushing over tiny clothes and soft blankets as you imagine Harry in your arms, taking his first tentative steps, his laughter filling the silence left by grief.

You see this room alive with warmth and love, each toy and stuffed animal a promise that he will be safe, wanted, seen, and loved beyond measure.

The quiet shuffle of the hallway draws your attention, and you are snapped from your reverie as Sirius and Remus enter, each carrying a box with more supplies.

“Watch your step,” you call softly, smiling as Sirius nearly trips over a stack of blankets.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, adjusting the box in his arms. “You’d think after all this time I’d have better balance.”

“This corner needs the blankets,” Remus says, breaking the silence. “Stack them here?”

“Yeah, and those toys can go in the basket over there,” you reply, glancing at Sirius. “Careful, that box is heavier than it looks.”

“I’ve got it,” he says, balancing it with an exaggerated wobble. “I’m basically a professional mover at this point.”

Through it all, your thoughts drift back to Lily, to the time when walls had been filled with hope and laughter, to the hands that once held hers as they prepared to welcome her child.

It feels almost surreal. Only two years ago, you had stood in a nursery just like this, planning and laughing with your best friend Lily as she prepared to meet her son.

Now, here you are—alone yet not alone—carrying that same love and hope in your own hands, ready to give it to the child she never had the chance to raise.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Sirius asks suddenly, his voice quiet, almost uncertain.

Remus, kneeling by a box, lifts a small baby nightstand and sets it gently in place. He holds a picture frame of James and Lily, frozen in laughter, letting the light catch their smiles before placing it atop the stand beside Harry's bed.

You watch them for a long moment, the corners of your lips tugging into a soft, bittersweet smile. 

“Yeah,” you finally say, voice low, steady. “I think he will.”

taglist: @jaylupinblack @dreamloud4610

[yknwiu]

me when its phone time in bed and i have a new fictional crush to obsess over all night

[yknwiu]

[yknwiu]

Request Idea Thingy for Who’s That Girl AU:

maybe reader comes home late at night while the others a sleeping and she tries to get a snack before going to sleep, but accidentally makes a loud noise waking someone up and shes just like: 🥺 cause she woke up her flatmates which is last thing she wanted to do.

btw i love your work so much ❤️❤️❤️

Thank you for requesting lovely <3

cw: alcohol

Marauders New Girl AU

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 867 words

You are very pleased with yourself for having memorized the sounds of your apartment so well. The floorboard behind you, two down and one to the right? It squeaks, but you’d pranced over it like a goddamn gazelle and not a murmur was heard from any of your flatmate’s rooms. The pantry door creaks a bit on its hinges, but only if you give it the time to—and of course you’re not so foolish. You whip that thing open silent as air, going for the treasure inside. 

The sitting room is littered with evidence of a boys’ night in. (You try not to let that sting. You tell yourself they probably missed you terribly.) Empty takeaway containers, throw pillows toppled onto the floor, a half-constructed blanket fort. Remus must have turned in first, or he wouldn’t have been able to help tidying up before bed. Sirius and James, though—well, that’s at least one snoozing on the sofa, the sleeping form buried in a blanket so that you can’t tell who it is or if it’s both locked in a loving cuddle. You try to be even quieter. 

The bread bag rustles a tiny bit as you open it, but you hope holding your breath makes up for the sound. You stuff a slice into your mouth, suppressing a moan at the pillowy softness. You lower yourself to the floor slowly, stealthily, and in a state of rapture. 

Until you knock over the rubbish bin. 

For plastic, it certainly makes a racket as it crashes to the floor. The loud thunk covers your surprised bleat, followed of course by a rustle as the detritus of your flat spills over the kitchen tile, and concluding with the lid rolling around in circles on the floor before settling with a dull clunk. A bit overdramatic, in your opinion. 

“What?” James slurs as he sits up from the sofa, as though you’ve asked a question he didn’t quite catch. 

It’s just him alone there, apparently, because Sirius comes out of his room a moment later, narrow-eyed and menacing. Remus’ door creaks open, too. 

“Oh, god.” Your hands come up over your mouth. You don’t know who to look at. “I’m sorry.” 

“What?” James asks again. He seems as though he might still have one foot in a dream. 

“I’m really sorry,” you say. “I, um. Did someone move the bin?” 

“If I’d known it was going to upset you so much you’d spill it all over,” Sirius says drily, “I would have left it where it was.” 

You shrink meekly. “It was an accident.” 

Remus is looking between you and the trash like he can’t quite make sense of what he’s woken up to. “Did you just get home?” 

“Mhm.” You reach into the bread bag, pulling out another slice to nibble on anxiously. 

“Babe.” Sirius looks down on you with an arch to his brow. “Are you eating plain bread on our floor right now?” 

You hug your bread closer to you possessively. “...yes.” 

“Why?” Remus rubs his eyes. “Why are you doing that?” 

“Because, it’s good. And you weren’t supposed to see.” You look up at him woefully. “I’m sorry I made you wake up. I was really trying not to, I promise.” 

Remus’ expression melds into something softer. “Oh, don’t get upset.” 

“Oh my god,” James laughs from the sofa. “How sozzled are you?” 

“I…don’t know what that means,” you lie. 

Sirius snorts, and James, clearly feeling left out, clambers out of his pile of blankets on the sofa to join you all in the kitchen. It’s then, with all three of them in front of you, that you realize something wonderful. 

“You’re wearing the pajamas I got you!” you gasp. 

Sirius’ expression drains of humor. Remus looks embarrassed, and James actually looks down to see what he’s wearing. 

“Oh my god, this is so cute! You’re all matching!” You reach up to the counter, feeling blindly around for your phone. “I wished you’d waited until I was wearing mine too, but I have to get a picture—wait, stay there!” 

“Goodnight,” says Sirius, high-tailing back to his room. 

“I think you must have set your phone down in your room,” Remus says, slipping something into his pocket as he bends to start gathering the spilled rubbish. 

“But…I haven’t been there yet?” 

“Hm.” 

“I’m sorry.” You start to crawl over to him, forgetting your bread on the floor. “Let me do that.” 

“No, you’re alright.” He touches your shoulder kindly, stopping you before you start trampling rubbish. “It’s not very much. You should go to bed.” 

You frown at him. “But…” 

“Here, up we go.” James hauls you up with hands under your arms. He guides you over to the sofa, a glass of water appearing in your hands. “I want to hear about your night.” 

You smile at him. “I want to hear about yours. Did you put on your matching pajamas for boys' night?” 

He glances towards Remus surreptitiously before leaning closer to you to answer. “Yes,” he whispers, “and I’m sure it’ll happen again, they’re madly comfortable. Just bide your time.” 

“You’ll help me get a photo?” 

“Absolutely. We need at least one for the fridge.”

[yknwiu]

Remus lupin autumn 🍂