hhoriginalworks

[hhoriginalworks]

read it and weep | g.w

warnings: language, unedited

Hogwarts viewed the Weasley twins similarly, but also so drastically different. They were identical to the grouping of freckles on their bums-something everyone had seen after they mooned Snape- and yet, George wasn't the showstopper twin. Sure everyone loved him as much as Fred, but everyone knew that Fred had some undeniable charm that made him stand out just a millimeter more. George drew the crowds in, but Fred was the one who blew them away. George was the one to spike butterbeer with firewhiskey, but Fred was the person who would convince the most sensible Ravenclaws and meek Hufflepuffs to chug it.

It was a small difference, but for twins who had been viewed the same for so long, it seemed to be enough of a difference. It didn't change whose business it was because it was both equally theirs, but it changed who said the most catching phrases and who drew up the marketing strategies. It was a well-oiled machine of laughter and fun-filled jokes until it wasn't. Until George was thrown into fame for being a Weasley and the only remaining founder of a joke shop that reminded him of everything that fame cost.

Now, the world viewed the Weasley twins in very drastic ways. They viewed one alive and the other lost honorably to the war.

George hated it all- the pity, the title of being the alive twin, feeling like he was letting down Fred by keeping the shop boarded up, and even worse, all of the flowers. He was knee-deep in roses, pansies, peonies, and ever so dreaded, calla lilies. He frankly wanted to burn them all.

"Aren't these, lovely, George," Angelina hummed, trying to lift the spirits of the apartment above the shop. Angelina started to make her visits a daily thing, and she hated that she agreed that George seemed to haunt the apartment more than Fred.

"Not really," George sighed, tossing the pastel peonies into the trash. "If I get another floral arrangement, I'm going to burn the entire flat down."

"Okay then," Angelina replied, taking a deep breath in an attempt to gain more patience with the redhead. She loved George, but he had been in this state of pessimism for months now, and all she wanted was to yell at him. "Well, if you hate them so much, why don't you visit the flower shop across the street and ask them to stop sending them."

_______

You were up to your ears in orders for tombstones, for surviving family members, for family members that are reconciling after realizing how short life is, but mostly, for George Weasley. It was good for business you guessed, but you missed orders for wives that didn't know about their husbands' romantic surprise, for children that got brilliant marks, for birthdays, really, for anything but George Weasley.

The words of condolences weighed you down, the tear-stained paper messages tore at your heart, and the thought of all the people who were lost to the war killed you with each positioned flower. Flowers were always something you loved, but now they were tainted with tears and memories of children's screams.

"Hello?" The echos from the front room were enough to nudge you out of your dreary thoughts.

"We're- we're closed," you called back, touching your hand to your wet cheek.

"Well, I need to talk to the owner," the voice bit back with less hesitance and more bitterness. You wanted to scream that closed meant you didn't have any obligation to help him, but you didn't. You closed your eyes and pushed yourself away from the flower arrangement table and towards the front room.

"What do you need?" You asked, your eyes still partially closed. It would be a lie if you didn't admit to doing it to show the customer you were tired and done with the day.

"I need the flowers to stop."

You opened your eyes, somewhat shocked and offended by his word. "Excuse me- you want me to do what?"

"To stop- I don't need them. They are crowding my apartment, and to be quite frank if they don't stop, I'll have to start burning them." The redhead was lanky and tired-looking. He was as pale as a ghost and looked just as haunted.

"I-I- don't understand, sir," you attempted, your customer-friendly facade starting to fade as the redhead rolled his eyes. "What is your name?"

"George Weasley, and what's yours? Are you the manager? Can you do something to help me or not?" His words were drowned out of the sound of your own thoughts streaming through your mind.

"Oh." With all the orders for the infamous George Weasley, you had promised yourself to say something reassuring to him if you ever saw him in person. Yet, all you could manage was 'oh.'

"Can you just stop them? I don't need flowers- I don't need bunches of stupid plants that just die after a few days. Just stop them, okay?" George looked as though his facade was starting to slip too. Something about the way he begged you made your eyes well with tears and your heart to stop.

"I'm y/n, and I want to help you resolve this issue, but I can't stop sending them," you replied, shaking as you conjured up a list of all the orders you still had to finish for him. "They already paid for your flowers-"

"They aren't my flowers because I refuse them. I don't want flowers. I don't understand what you don't get about what I'm saying. I want my brother- I want Fred. Flowers do nothing to fix this fucking hole in my heart. They are worthless- they- they-"

"They are all anyone can do," you interrupted, taking a step closer to George. "You think that people don't want you to have your brother back? Flowers are the language of love, of guilt, of hope, of grief. People just want to show you that they are hurting too."

"By drowning me in fucking roses, lilies, and ugly arrangements that just shrivel up in a matter of days? You just want to make a quick buck," George argued back, running his hands through his hair.

"I resent that statement, sir. I pour my own love and grief into those arrangements. I handwrite those notes from people who are just trying to reach out to you. I-I cast my own enchantments on those flowers to ensure that they only die if the person who receives them hasn't read the card within a matter of days," you shouted back. "You haven't even read what people are trying to tell you?"

"No, because I don't need their pity," George yelled back, his voice starting to crack.

"George, I miss seeing you at family breakfast on Sunday. Mum is a mess without both you and Fred. You said you liked the daisies I picked and placed on the table. Sending these to remind you that you still have a family waiting for you on Sunday. Ginny." Your voice shook as you read out one of the messages that touched you the most. "George, I'm sorry I told that joke. I'm sorry that it wasn't me. I have so many sorrys to say, but I can't get myself to write them all. The only thing I've ever done right by you is when I took the blame for ruining mum's white hyacinths. Please write to me- Percy."

"Stop it," George plead, his anger melted away and his voice raw with sadness. His words tore you to piece, but you continued because so did the words that so many people wrote to him.

"Weasley, you were always a troublemaker. Never quit even when I told you it was gonna land you in detention, cleaning after the Hippogriffs. I know you're a strong one, so don't quit on us. Sending you some ivy from my hut and some of those fancy roses. Hagrid," you continued, your voice stronger as your cheeks became caked with tears. "People don't know how to reach out to you, so they send flowers because flowers mean something. You mean something to them, and nearly all of those arrangements are shared memories. You can't burn them like you're burning the bridges of your friendships and families."

"I-I-"

Silence filled the small shop, and distance formed between you and the redhead. Perhaps it was the notes you had recited or the fact you finally let yourself feel the grief you were surrounded in, but you felt everything had changed.

"I hate being surrounded by flowers that are just attempts to save others from grief too, but they mean something those who sent them. I- I'm sorry, but I can't stop sending them," you whispered, wiping your cheeks dry.

George seemed just as changed, his anger and bitterness stripped from him, only to leave behind the fact that he felt alone and guilty. "Can you do something for me? Please, um, y/n."

"Sure," you breathed, straightening out the front of your shirt.

"Can you help me order some flowers for my family and friends?"

You smiled- an honest smile that wasn't weighed down by sadness. "I'll help you make some flower arrangements for your friends and family, George."

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

like daylight | n.l

You were never considered brilliant- not in the sense of being able to cast any charm and perform complex transfigurations with ease, nor in the sense of relationships. A part of you blamed it on the boys, who were never quite as in love as you were, but a larger part of you blamed it on what you thought love should be. Ever since you were a kid, you saw love as something that burned red with unadulterated love and life, resulting in multiple love stories cut short from bouts of anger and nights of heartbreak. But then, like a break in a years-long storm, Neville Longbottom waltzed into your life with his nose stuck in a Herbology textbook and a different definition of love.

Neville was unlike any boy that you ever loved- he spoke thoughtfully and with grace, his mind worked faster than his hands or mouth, and he was just golden. You were rough edges when you ran into him, angry at another failed relationship where you were deemed too serious and too in love. Neville was warm and inviting when you met, careful with his words as he neared your sharp edges and insecurities. He never once let you feel like you were too much, and because of that, you fell hard.

"Hey, Nev," you hummed, lowering yourself into the spot under the tree and beside Neville, who was carefully tending to a magical plant growing near the edge of the Black Lake.

"Morning," Neville replied absentmindedly, his hand slowly turning over a pale leaf and brushing his fingers on the plant's thin stem. Most people would have felt snubbed by the slight brush-off, but you liked seeing him like this. You liked watching his eyes light up as he observed a plant, and frankly, something was enduring about him being so wrapped up in something he loved.

"Afternoon, actually- you missed lunch," you chuckled, placing a soft hand on his other wrist. The action was subtle and faint, but it still caused butterflies in your stomach. "Anyway, I was thinking that we could walk the grounds. That is if you're finished with that, er, plant."

Neville just chuckled, gently letting go of the plant and brushing his school robes off. "How dare you, y/n?" Neville asked with mock hurt. "You have known me for two years, and you think you need to ask such a foolish thing. Come on, love, I never turn down a walk."

You shook your head at him as you pulled him up from the ground and leading him towards the somewhat unofficial walking path. Silence settled between the two of you, and normally you were the type to ramble on, but with Neville it was different. It always has been different with him.

"Nev, do you think you'll fall in love?" The question tumbled out of your mouth before you could think to stop yourself. "I, um, just, mean, well, you know."

Neville slowed down as tree coverage began to envelop the two of you, taking you away from the castle and towards the edge of the forbidden forest. "Well," Neville started deliberately, "I don't know if I will, but I like to think that I will when we're both ready."

"Oh, so you have someone in mind?" You asked quickly, nervously twisting your hands.

"No, but my parents found true love at Hogwarts, and my gran said that it happened so instantaneously because the time was right," Neville answered earnestly, keeping his eyes focused on the overgrown path ahead. "I don't think that you can fall in love if the timing isn't right."

You hummed in response, keeping at Neville's side. "What do you think love is?"

Neville let out a laugh, a smile spreading across his face and breaking the somber mood. "Shouldn't you know since you never shut up about it, nor do you stop looking for it," Neville gently teased, carefully eying you to make sure you weren't offended by his words.

"Okay, fair point," you chuckled, lightly bumping his shoulder with your own. "However, I want to hear what you think."

Neville stopped, his eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. "I guess that if I were to put it into words, I would say that love should be soft and patient. You always talk about it being red, bright, loud, and just filled with all of this passion, but it can't just be that. Love isn't always loud, and it isn't always there, but it's consistent. It's daylight."

"Daylight," you repeated quietly.

"Yeah, I reckon that sounds a bit stupid, but it should be just like daylight. You know- daylight isn't always bright, but it's always there- it's always present. Even when time passes and dark nights pass, there's a light that tells you it's another day," Neville rambled. "My gran says my dad and mum used to say that daylight is what makes you sane because it means another day to be better. Love should be like that; it should keep you sane and be a reason to be better."

"It should be soft and yet bright," you added, stepping closer to Neville. "I should be taking chances with a boy who saw you at your worst and didn't care because all he saw was you. It should be taking a leap of faith, like how I am now."

You were quicker than Neville's response, your body closing the gap between the two of you and your heart pounding as you pulled him in close.

It wasn't anything magical- there weren't fireworks or an entire frog choir singing, but it was better than anything you thought you wanted. Neville returned the kiss gently and earnestly, his hands finding themselves at your side. Everything about the moment, the kiss, was effortless and natural as if the stars perfectly aligned themselves and time stopped.

Neville was the first to pull away, his fingers tracing patterns on your back as he resting his forehead on yours. You were breathless and craving more as he brushed fallen locks of hair out of your face.

"I get it now," you breathed, placing your hand on his cheek. "I was searching was something that wasn't stable- that wasn't what love should be. Love should be just like you, golden."

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

welcome

hello, my name is gracie and my main account is @holyhead-hufflepuff. from early march to now, i have been struggling to write and all i've wanted to do is delete my account and start from scratch. this is my solution, aka my original work archive

why?

tumblr... writing... being apart of the harry potter fanfiction community is not about the notes or the followers or recognition for me. i love the support and i love everyone who has followed me, but having a creative output where i'm proud of my work is number one along finding friends within the community

how does this solve anything?

honestly, i'm not sure it will! however, sometimes just feeling like i have a fresh start is enough for me to find the willpower and inspiration. looking back at my older works, i'm proud of what i put out, but i think i want a fresh start without the expectations that my older works set for myself.

overall, i hope that you support this decision! i understand if you don't, but i want to thank you regardless for helping me find a passion in writing - xoxo, gracie

[hhoriginalworks]

invisible string | g.w

The concept of soulmates and true love had always perplexed you, especially as someone whose parents talked about love like it was the loch ness monster. Your parents were two lit matches when you were growing up and the leaking gas surrounding them was their marriage. Even at seven, you weren't surprised when your mother disappeared in the night, leaving you brokenhearted and determined to not return to your daydreams about a prince sweeping you off your feet. You were truly the world's youngest pessimist, turning your nose up at the girls chasing boys for a kiss and keeping away from the rowdy boys kicking a football around the park.

Many would think such a bitter young child, kicking rocks into lakes and getting nauseous from fairytales, would want someone realistic to hang around. You agreed, thinking that you'd want someone just as angry at the world to stand in the kilometer-wide fields of wildflowers and scream with you. Then faith played a cruel, unusual card that tossed you into the path of George Weasley.

George Weasley had just turned ten when the two of you crossed paths, his legs were carrying as far away from his mum, who was yelling at him and Fred from turning Ron's teddy into a spider... again. He supposed it was his fault when he absolutely plowed into you, a nine-year-old reading on the dry ground, but, you weren't exactly nice enough for him to admit that.

"You absolute idiot, dear God, you nearly knock my damn teeth out," you shouted, brushing off the kicked-up dirt from your clothes.

George stared at you, his eyes wide as the words left your mouth- he rarely heard his parents curse, much less a little girl. In his defense, the only little girl he was around much was Ginny, and while she had a foul temper it rarely involved cursing.

"Well? Aren't you going to apologize?" You looked at him impatiently, maintaining contact with his brown eyes. He was an odd-looking boy, tall and lanky, while also drowned in ragged clothes that looked more like a cloak. "Well? Dear Lord, I don't have time for this."

It didn't take long for George to find his words, somewhat less stunned and, perhaps at that moment, purely intrigued. "Oi, wait up," George shouted, taking the few strides it took to end up beside you.

"Oh, how marvelous- you talk," you deadpanned, mimicking a tone that your father frequently used with you when you said something unintelligible. "Quit following me, Red."

"Red?"

"Well, I have to call you something, don't I?" You were halfway home at this point, and you weren't particularly fond of being home so soon or letting the boy know where you lived. You dug your heels in the dry ground, stopping so abruptly George was nearly two steps past you when he noticed.

"It's George- George Weasley," the redhead greeted, sticking out this pale freckled hand as he'd seen many adults do. You reminded him of an adult, and he frankly, couldn't help but want to make a good impression (well, good second impression). "I live at The Burrow- the slightly leaning building with the large garden."

You stared at the boy, dirt smudged on his nose and an odd shine in his eye. You knew the exact building he was talking about- your father frequently talked about how much of a monstrosity it was and how it brought down market value. Secretly, you thought it looked like something out of Alice in Wonderland, but you never mentioned it.

"Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N, but you hardly need to know my name," you replied cooly, an involuntary shiver running down as you realized you sounded just like your dad. "I should get home, and so should you to the, er, Burrow."

"Why? It is a Thursday, and it is hardly nine."

"School- my dad doesn't let me stay out this late on a school day," you shrugged, pushing through the knee-high foliage and towards your modest home. "Goodbye, Goerge."

"Goodbye, y/n/n," George shouted back, turning back to his own house deciding that he couldn't keep following you all night. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

His question was left unanswered, but the next evening, he found you sitting in the same spot as the night before with a different book and what looked to be a small smile.

Life seemed to get easier from that moment on- a sort of routine springing from the odd encounter. At a certain point, you almost forgot that he didn't seem to be quite normal, and at a certain point, he almost forgot that you were quite normal.

"You have to let me meet your mum and dad," George pleaded, following faithfully behind you as you collected flowers you planned on pressing and drying out. "I'll let you meet my mum and dad, but I'd have to warn you that dad gets a bit mad when muggles visit."

You stopped in your tracks, turning towards the redhead, who frequently let odd vocabulary slip around you. "Is that some sort of code? What in the world is a muggle?"

"Nothing, but now that I think about it, we should just go to your house," George quickly corrected, handing you the bunches of flowers he was holding for you. "Now would be nice- I have to use the loo."

You picked the petals off one of the wildflowers, silently deciding he could come into your house just to use the loo. "My mum isn't home," you began slowly, watching the redhead light up. "Hey! Don't get all grinning- you are only going in to use the loo. Come on, Red, we haven't got all day."

The two of you hiked in silence, the heat of summer beating down on the two of you. It didn't take long to arrive at your house, a small building that was considerably less eccentric than The Burrow. "Take off your shoes before you enter the house," you whispered to the redhead, slowly opening the creaky front door and guiding George inside.

George didn't have any expectations, except maybe someone homely and vibrant like his own home. Your home, however, was alien compared to The Burrow. The walls were painted white as if they were to remain completely sterile, and the furniture looks as though it were incased in some invisible plastic. "Where's your room?" George asked, unable to help himself from wondering if the entire house was this way.

"Nice try, Red," you hummed, tossing the flowers in a small box near what you considered to be your side of the couch. "Loo is to the right with the white door."

George walked down the halls, his eyes focusing on all the small details of the house. Frankly, there weren't many- a few family pictures of a man and your familiar face, but never a mum. George kept quiet, questions piling up before reaching for the doorknob of one of the many white doors. By the time he had slipped in, he realized it most certainly wasn't the loo.

"Did you find- oh, you went to the left," you spoke softly, your words fading as you joined the redhead in your room.

"It's nice," George commented earnestly, running his pale fingers along the edge of your posters. George meant it, enjoyed the seemingly human-ness of your room compared to the rest of your house.

Your bed was pushed to the end of the room just under the window, and your walls were painted in a bright yellow. It looked completely normal and youthful, but George still felt something was off. "I thought you said your mum just wasn't mum- she doesn't even look like she exists."

You messed with the end of your shirt before silently walking over to your mirror, pulling out a few small polaroids from the small space where the wall and mirror didn't touch. "She isn't home- she's in London with her boss and his kids. She's a researcher for a pharmaceutical company," you handed the prized possession to George, who was as quiet as when you first met him.

"She looks like you," George said simply, setting them back behind the mirror.

"Yeah, she does," you replied, a sense of solidarity forming between the two of you. "Here, we can play some board games."

There was something untouchable about your friendship with George, even as the boy seemed to mysteriously leave you without much warning and no communication. You didn't blame him though, knowing that older boys rarely wanted to hang out with childish girls- something your father reminded you when you told him about your friendship with George. George certainly didn't blame you because frankly there was bound to be the distance between you when a whole world you didn't know about sat between the two of you.

By the time, George left for Hogwarts the second time, you no longer felt like something was keeping you in England. Your protests about your father taking a promotion in France slowly stopped until you were clearing out boxes and moving on with your life. The two of you rarely talked at this point, yet, when you got a letter inviting you to some school for witches and wizards in France, he was the first person you thought of.

You didn't write to him though- not because you weren't sure how a letter addressed to The Burrow would arrive at its intended destination, but because you've seen what secrets can do to a relationship. You kept to yourself about it, letting go of George and attempting to embrace the world that now kept the two of you apart.

"Delphine, you honestly believed that Bulgaria would win? Ha- I laugh at you," you giggled, wrapping an arm loosely around your Ombrelune housemate at Beauxbaton. "Very poor judgment, my love."

The blonde shook her head at you, nudging your shoulder gently and pointing towards a group of celebrating Irish. "Why don't you go over there, you Brit," Delphine teased. "Honestly, y/n, in France your accent is hardly noticeable, but the minute we take a portkey over here you're incomprehensible."

"It's the Devon accent, m'love," you grinned, jumping as the sound of an explosion boomed behind you. "Delphine, something is happening- look over there."

Something was happening- the cheerful noise of celebration quickly turned to screams of terror. Delphine held you closely, mumbling senseless French into your ear as the two of you attempted to navigate the crowd.

"Targeting muggleborns and muggles," a nearby voice shouted, eliciting more panic from the crowd and you.

"Delphine, you need to head somewhere else- to the forest," you shouted, pushing away the blonde. "You can't be near me if they somehow find out that I'm-I'm-"

"No- I don't leave your side," you blonde interrupted, holding tighter onto your arm as her petite frame pushed against the crowd.

You nodded your head, the two of your holding onto each other as the sea of fear and chaos stirred around you. Your feet were nearly brushing the edge of the forest when you saw it, a familiar grouping mop of red hair and brown eyes. You felt yourself slip away from the fear and reality of the nightmare you were living as you ran towards the slowly disappearing boy.

"Y/N? Where are you?" Delphine screeched, quickly finding your arms again and pulling you back toward the wooded coverage. "You can't just run off- come on, let's find my Papa."

You nodded your head, your eyes still pinned on where you swore you saw the boy that spent hours with you in the Devon fields of wildflowers. Delphine repeated your name tugging on your arm relentlessly until you were finally compliant and focused back on the present.

The horrors of that night quickly reminded you of your place in the wizarding world, sparking anger that reminded you of how you felt as a child. Anger for finding a place that finally made you let go of your bitterness towards the world, only to find a new bitterness. A bitterness that revolved around the two worlds that you were equally torn between, both filled with people that mattered to you. It drove you partially to madness, but mostly to the notion that you wanted peace in at least one of your worlds.

That night sparked more than anger, and it showed in the work you began to put out at Beauxbaton. You refused the trip to Hogwarts for a Triwizard Tournament, instead choosing to spend hours studying for your exams. You spent nights hunched over a desk, learning how to get where you wanted to make the changes that you wanted to see in the Wizarding World. You sacrificed going back to your childhood home with your dad, and in the end, your chooses landed you a spot in the French Ministry.

"Fleur, I'm doing what I can to get you some people from the French Ministry to help, but frankly, most don't see this as their fight," you argued back, resting your head against your arms. "I know that you're keeping safe in that cottage until you're needed, but it would help if you could reach out to some alumni. The minister doesn't want government workers getting involved and they're hesitant to go against his indirect orders."

"We need you to win, love. Delphine died for this cause, and I know that many know many others. I have to go, but please, help us," Fleur whispered back, using the muggle cellphone you gave her. Perhaps it put you at risk, but with your very public stances for better muggle-magical relations, you were hardly concerned about that. "Goodbye, and I'll let you know when things worsen."

You hung up the phone, the familiar aching of your head returning and you drafted your speech to help get the British ministry back where they needed. "How did it get this far?" You asked yourself, holding the quill to the tan parchment. Your eyes were weighted down with dark bags, and your hand was heavy from hundreds of writings that were turned down the moment you mentioned war.

You set down the parchment, your eyes scanning your messy desk until they landed on two small polaroids- one with your mum and one with George. The two of you were so young, and now at nineteen with blood on your choices and ministry desk, you craved innocence. You craved the way that George made you forget the worst parts of life- you craved your youth.

You remember Fleur's call like a nightmare, her voice high and desperate for you. You always wanted to go back to England, to your home, but not like this. Not with your hands shaking as you attempted to tell your dad goodbye, and not you sending a letter saying 'I love you' to your mum. You arrived at Hogwarts with tears in your eyes as you walked into the battlefield that had children already lying dead before you. You arrived at Hogwarts with a wild, unkept fury that you'd been holding deep within as a kid.

"Stupefy." The words left your mouth just as easy as any bout of laughter. The world came crashing down with each cut, curse, and scream from yourself and the children that fought around you.

Then, it ended. The fight was over, and the blanket of grief replaced the anger. The loss of innocence settled in between you, a nineteen-year-old cradling the fourth-year who fell at the last minute, and the others around you. There, at that moment, everything you felt dissipated leaving you with nothing but loneliness.

"You were so good," Fleur mumbled, holding your face as someone lifted the child out of your lap. "So good. You did so great, m'love."

Fleur continued to whisper French nothings into your ear as you sob over some child you didn't know. As you sob over the lives lost, and the feeling that you could've done so much more. "I can't go back to the ministry," you sniffled, rubbing the tears off your cheeks. "I begged for their best duelers, and they said they couldn't provide it because they could die. How- how can I go back to a government like that."

"Shush, come back here with Bill and me. Bill's father works in the ministry, and we can find you someplace," Fleur cooed, lifting you off the ground. "Let's go find Bill."

The two of you trudged through the ruins, past the families that were mourning, and into the great hall where everyone was together. Delphine talked about how everyone at Hogwarts was separated from each other, but you would've never known. People were all together crying, hugging, and what you assumed to be contemplating.

You sat down at the nearest table, your knees crying for rest and your body begging to sleep. "Thank you," you mumbled to no one in particular- perhaps, even the fate that once brought you and George together. You never really believe in luck or fate, but here, in the moment, it felt fitting.

"Y/N?" You turned around slowly, your mind working faster than your body. "It's you- you're here."

George Weasley. In all of his glory and grief, the redhead stood before you, radiating the feeling of home. He looked nearly the same, minus his one ear slightly uneven with the other, and a weak look of disbelief on his face.

"Quit following me, Red," you breathed, jumping from the bench and wrapping your arms around him.

"What-what are you doing here," George mumbled into your head, his arms squeezing you as if he didn't believe you were entirely real.

"You didn't think you could be all magical without your best friend- I got my letter to Beauxbaton a day after I moved to France," you explained, pulling away from the lanky redhead. "I wanted to tell you, but I-I thought you were a pas de magie. A-a, what's the word you used to call me?"

"A muggle? You thought that I was a muggle? I used to make you show me how to use a can opener for entertainment," George chuckled in disbelief.

You looked down at your shoes, slightly embarrassed you never connected the dots. "I just thought you were the homeschooled type," you replied half-heartedly. You looked around quicking sobering up from the high of seeing George. "Did-did you lose anyone?"

George looked at you, a tight smile on his lips. "No- Fred, you remember my twin, right? He, um, is getting taken to St. Mungo's, and they are talking amputation of his right leg. He'll-he'll be okay."

You nodded your head, wiping away a tear that fell down George's cheek. "We'll be okay, George."

The aftermath of the war resonated with the wizarding world- you saw it first-hand in England after you moved back home. You supposed that it was a process of healing, knowing that you had to go through it yourself. Your heart aches for the families, for the Weasleys, who watched Fred have to go through relearning how to live his life.

The war brought so much darkness that stained the lives of many, creating nightmares that still crept into everyday life. The war also brought you back home- back to George, who suddenly found himself ten years old again and madly in love.

"You can stay here longer," George protested, grabbing the Daily Prophet from you. You had been searching for a place that wasn't George and Fred's flat for much longer than you cared to admit. It should've been an easy task, but there always seemed to be something missing.

"I can't mooch off of you two forever," you hummed in response, grabbing a piece of toast from the table. "It's bad enough that I haven't decided whether or not to take that position in the ministry."

"Boring," Fred sang from the bathroom, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. "Just work for us- you're doing a brilliant job helping us with keeping the books. We'll hire you on full time."

You shook your head at the redheads, who looked at you with identical begging looks. "I want to do something I love, and while I love you guys, I don't love your business half as much as you do. I was thinking I would get a better offer from the ministry than basically a glorified paper-pusher. No matter- I guess I could open up a magical firm, and practice some magical law."

"Boring," George teased, knocking knees with you under the table.

"What what do you find fun?" You questioned, cocking an eyebrow.

"Having you live with me," George answered immediately, his face turning red as Fred not-so-subtly coughed out, 'whipped.'

"I like living with you, too, George," you whispered, placing a hand on top of his. "I mean it- coming back here to be with you makes me feel like I'm nine years old again."

Fred shook his head at the two of you, an obvious smile painted on his lips and he left to open the shop. Fred had put up with a lot since the Battle of Hogwarts, but the worst thing was seeing his brother so helplessly in love with someone who felt the same way.

"I meant what I said about you staying longer, or even forever. Think about it, y/n," George said, turning towards you. "You think everything is wrong with those flats you've looked at. Don't you think that deep down you just want to stay here- stay with me, and, er, Fred."

You shook her head, the familiar warm feeling you got from George settling in your chest. "I-I don't know," you admitted, wringing your hands. "I just don't want to-to get attached."

"What's so wrong with getting attached," George mumbled, grabbing your hands and gently holding them. "Y/N, I am so attached to you, and I have been since the moment I ran into you. Just stay, and- and, we'll figure out a way to make this work."

"You can't make two people work out," you chuckled, sliding your hands out of George's and getting up. George mirrored your actions and stepped closer to you, reminding you of the way he used to follow you around as a kid. "My mum and dad tried-"

"No, they didn't and you know that."

"George, they-"

"We're not them," George stated adamantly. "We're not them because somehow through all of this confusion, all of this fighting, all of this hate and anger- we found each other again. There's an invisible string tying us together, and that's how I know we're not them."

"I don't believe in soulmates," you mumbled, suddenly aware of how close George was.

"You used to not believe in magic," George replied nonchalantly, using his index finger to raise your chin. "You used to not believe in dragons, in flying, in teleportation. Most of all, you used to not believe in having a best friend, but I changed your mind about that. Y/N, let me change your mind about soulmates."

You closed your eyes as George pressed his lips against yours, evoking a feeling that couldn't be put into worlds. It felt like collecting flowers with him, dancing with Delphine, and winning the war. It felt like coming home after years of running, but it mostly, felt like George Weasley loving you infinitely.

"Not soulmates," you corrected, pulling away slowly and out of breath. "An invisible string."

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

acrylics and watercolors | g.w

You grew up in a world that left you untouched by the fear that came with the second wizarding war, guarded by your pureblood status and parents that subtly provided Voldemort their support. Arriving at Hogwarts only fed your obliviousness, being a place that allowed you to hide away in an abandoned classroom, and paint until your hands ached. Your enchantment with the ability to create life with acrylics and watercolors kept you blind to the war stirring amongst the world.

Your obliviousness and privilege left you ostracized by the students of Hogwarts, specifically those who were preparing to die fighting for what's right. You couldn't grasp it, especially since your parents told you that the upcoming war was a conspiracy, but it never left you bitter. You were too in love with the feeling of a brush sliding across a canvas to bother with sneering Gryffindors.

You were in love, and not even a war could break you out of it. At least, until the war came full force, tearing apart your family and wrecking Hogwarts, your home. You had never thought about the legacy you would leave behind- not like the other students were had showed up on May 2nd- but you hoped that yours would make you smile.

You survived May 2nd, scarred but alive. Surviving meant more to you than you expected, eliciting something in you that you didn't know you had. You wanted to use your love for painting to do something grand- to honor everyone who didn't make it to the end of the war. So, you did what you did best.

You painted until your eyes stung, and your hands cramped. You perfected the smile on Colin Creevey's face, the curl of Lavender Brown's hair, the scars on Remus Lupin's cheeks, and the freckles on Fred Weasley's hands. You spent endless nights attempting to bring life to canvas until you finished, 363 days after you started.

363 days later, with calloused hands and stained fingernails, you marched into Hogwarts and started to hang them up outside the Great Hall. You didn't slow down when Filch began to scream at you or when crowds of students surrounded you. You only slow down when McGonagall joined you, grabbing a few nails and hanging up a portrait of Tonks and Lupin.

And now, you stood before the gallery of art you created, watching as the enchanted portraits talked amongst each other lovingly on the day where it all ended.

Most of the visitors were out by the memorial, but you stuck staring at the portraits, wondering what their lives would have been if they lived outside of their frames. The thought haunted you, but not as much as the idea they all left someone behind.

"I- I wanted to say thanks," a voice whispered, snapping you out of your melancholy thoughts.

"What for?" you asked, turning to look at the redhead. You had recognized him the minute you caught a glance at an oddly-placed freckle on his hand. George Weasley. The twin of the person who was the hardest to paint.

"For making him laughing," the redhead responded simply, admiring the way his brother's eyes crinkled softly. "You could've made him all sad, like some of the Hogwarts portraits, but you made him lively."

You shrugged your shoulders, wrapping your arms around your torso. "Fred was-was the most difficult to draw," you admitted. "I have thousands of sketches of him- some with you, some with a beater's bat- but this was the best."

"I don't think we even have a picture better than that portrait," George replied. "If Fred were-if he were here, I reckoned he'd be as sorry as I am."

You let out a quiet chuckle, wondering what the redhead could mean. "Don't, George. I should be the one saying sorry, and we both know that. I pretend the war wasn't coming, and I-I didn't even know which side to fight on at first."

"You made the right decision, though," George reasoned, forgetting his apology at your words. "I saw you, you know. I saw you fighting Bellatrix alongside Ginny, Hermione, and Luna. You choose the right side, and that's all that matters."

"You may believe that, but I think I still have some more pleading for redemption. These paintings helped, though. You know, staring at these people who were brave and good from the start in the eyes. It was-"

"Nice of you, especially since you didn't have to do it. You could have just walked away and healed on your own."

"I was going to say cathartic," you chuckled.

"Sorry, I've been out of the finishing sentences game for a while," George joked half-heartedly. "I miss Fred."

You stayed silent, possible ways to answer running through your mind. "I miss Fred, too. I miss all of them. I didn't know any of them personally, but I know there's a hole in our lives without them."

"He would have liked to know you personally- they all would have. Tonks, especially, would have liked you," George respond, turning to look down at you. "I didn't get to finish before. I'm sorry that Fred and I spread rumors that you were a stuck-up, rich, death eater's bride-to-be."

His words brought a smile to your face, despite the grimness of the day and solemnness of the conversation. "You two were the ones who told everyone that?" You asked, shaking your head at the red-faced guy beside you. "I thought it was Ron- he always stared at me oddly."

"Ickle-Ronniekins? He didn't have that much reach- not that I am proud of how quickly we spread the rumors."

"Okay, Mr. Popular, no need to rub it in," you huffed with faux-annoyance. "No matter how much reach you had- the rumors never bothered me. I was too wrapped off in the idea of running away and painting in Italy-"

"I'm glad you didn't. I like the idea of Fred annoying Filch for the rest of Filch's life," George interrupted.

"You can go over and talk to his painting if you want. It should be a lot like talking to him if he were here. McGonagall placed the enchantment on all of the paintings," you stated, noticing George kept glancing at Fred's portrait.

"I-I don't know if I can, to be honest," George sighed, fumbling with something in his hand. "It took me so long to get out of bed after he- he left, and I don't know if I could leave if I started talking to him."

"He's not really your Fred, George. He is just a portrait," you spoke softly, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "He's acrylics with a watercolor background. Your Fred was much more than that, and he'll be with you outside of Hogwarts. Besides, I can make a portrait for your shop, and then he can visit."

"You'd put all that time in again to paint him for a joke shop that isn't even open?"

"It'll be open again one day, and it'd be a nice piece to remind new customers how it began," you shrugged. "Now, go talk to the portrait, Weasley. I command you too."

You gave the redhead a reassuring smile when you began to turn on your heels back towards the memorial. "Stay with me," George stated, grabbing your wrist gently.

"As long as you need."

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

sweet and salty | g.w

You were always on the outside as a kid, looking in and watching the world go on around you. At first, it frustrated you- after all, you were just a kid, and you couldn't explain the strange occurrences that seemed to follow you like a lost puppy. Then, one day, you found the art in being the only person who could stand in a room, and no one would notice.

Your grandma, who raised you with a careful eye and love, said that you were simply the prettiest wallflower in a garden of plastic peonies. You never understood what she meant, but it always made you laugh and feel better. She had that sort of magic to her, and when you turned eleven, you found out you had that same magic.

Hogwarts, honestly, wasn't much of a difference from your small muggle town outside of Reading. A part of you wanted to feel disappointed, but you were mostly overcome with relief. Perhaps it was your grandma's words that had finally gotten to you or your fear of suddenly having to be like the kids you watched for so long, but you were glad you could still be in the background unnoticed.

Then, as if someone flipped a switch, you were noticed by a lanky ginger boy with a knack for trouble.

"Hello, and how is my favorite introvert today? Look what I brought you," George greeted, dropping an inactivated dung bomb in your lap. "Figured it's about time we do something I like to do."

You shook her head, partially amused and disconcerted. "I don't know what you mean- we always do something you like to do. I can't think of a single time you've hung around me and just sat in silence."

"Please, y/n, you've got to drop the act. We both know that you love talking with me," George grinned, joining you in a small alcove off of the main corridor. "Not that you do much of that talking anyway- I think you know everything about me, and all I know about you is your house and your name."

You shrugged, hoping it was enough of a response to his statement. It had been a year since George Weasley seemed to have randomly stumbled upon you, and what he said was true. You were always the listener and never the storyteller. You had told him you preferred it that way because he was such an animated talker, which wasn't wrong, but there was also the hesitation that kept you from telling him too much.

"Come on, love, tell me about your family, about your hopes for the future, and well, about everything else," George urged, casually tossing his arm over your shoulder. Despite the heart-warming and butterfly-inducing gesture, you instead just offered the ginger a smile.

"Or," you started, softly, " you could tell me about Fred again- you know I like hearing about your childhood."

George grinned lopsidedly, something that made your face flush and your heart race. "You can't change the subject on me," George teased, bringing his hand to your head and brushing a loose lock of hair. "If you aren't going to tell me about yourself, then can you at least tell me a story?"

"And why would I do that?" You asked with a chuckle as George lifted his arm off his shoulder and began to settle his head in your lap.

"Because I like the sound of your voice," George stated plainly, closing his eyes as your hands found their way to his hair. You played with his short locks, humming a tune softly as you thought about what to say. "Please?"

"Okay, Georgie, I'll tell you a story about a very average child from a small town outside of Reading," you relented, running your fingers through his hair. "Once upon a time, there was a young child with short locks and a sort a curiosity that always ender them in trouble. Trouble wasn’t nearly as attractive to the muggle kids as it is to you, George. This left the child alone and playing by themselves every day. They were lonely in a way, I guess, but they became a lonely wallflower in a garden in peonies.”

"I don't like this story," George mumbled, his eyes fluttering open to look up at you. “It’s sad.”

"Shush, George, it gets happier if you just wait. You see, the wallflower grew up without the resentment of being alone. Their grandmother was the reason- she had an unexplainable way to make the young child feel seen. She was thought to be the only one able to do that, until the introverted kid got to a school filled with magic. It was brilliant stuff that made ordinary life, well, dull. Yet, the wallflower still remained unseen. Until, a redhead boy sat himself down by this wallflower, and-”

"Oh, this is about us," George interrupted, the smile on his face causing the edges of his eyes to crinkle. "I've changed my mind- I like this story."

"Shush, George. This is why you are always the talker," you laughed, running your fingers over his freckled cheek. “Back to what I was saying- this redhead boy had the same explainable thing about him. With him, the wallflower felt seen and whole. It can’t be put into words, but the redhead felt like a part of my life that I had been missing. And, as a result, for the first time, I felt like there was a chance for the story to end in a classic happily ever after.”

"I liked that story. I liked hearing about you as a kid, and I liked hearing how I make you feel just as complete as you make me feel," George mumbled, letting out a soft yawn. "Do you know why I one day decided to talk to you?"

Your bit your lip at his word. Of course, you wanted to know- you had been wondering since the day he randomly wrapped an arm around your shoulder and started talking about his family. Still, despite all of your curiosity, you weren't sure you wanted to know. "Was it a bet?" You asked so softly, you could barely tell if he had heard.

"What? No, of course not," George spoke up, furrowing his eyebrows. "I've noticed you since our second year, and I certainly wasn't thinking about talking to you for a bet."

"You- wait, why didn't you talk to me then?"

"Because- I, well, you see- I liked you," George stammered, his face warming. "I was too nervous to talk to you, but I knew who you were. I watched you brew nearly perfect potions, flawlessly charm thing, and just so all these bloody brilliant things. And yet, no one else seemed to notice-"

"I have that effect," you chuckled, sitting back as George got up from your lap to look at you. "I never knew you liked me like that, though."

"Liked? I still like you like that, y/n. I've been head over heels for you since the moment I saw you- I just haven't been too good at telling you that."

You stared at the redhead, his features soft, and for once, silent. You wanted to tell him you felt the same way, but instead, all the words stopped in your throat. "I- I," you stuttered, shaking your head as the worst possible thing started to happen.

"I understand if you don't-" George was interrupted by you bursting into tears- ugly tears that rolled down your face as you attempted to stifle your unexpected sobs. "Oh, I mean, I imagined rejection, but you don't have to cry."

You shook your head furiously, sobs coming out of your mouth instead of romantic words. "I- I like- I like you- to-too," you cried out, burying your head into George's chest out of pure embarrassment.

"You- wicked," George beamed, patting your back softly as you continued to attempt to stifle your uncontrollable sobs. "Wow, you would think I was proposing to you."

You pulled away from his chest, red-eyed but now just hiccupping. "Well, it's your fault. You can't just spring that sort of stuff on me- I'm not emotionally prepared for these sorts of things. I'm not emotionally prepared for most things revolving around conversations."

"Well, I personally think you did great, and this will be the perfect story to tell the grandkids," George teased, poking you side playfully.

"Stop it, George," you hiccupped, unable to hide your growing smile.

"You know, sonny, when I first kissed y/n, they was still hiccupping from when I told them I liked them," George mocked, using a tone that made him sound somewhat like Dumbledore.

"Kissed? We haven't-" you stopped when George just stared at you with a lopsided smile, his eyes darting down to your lips to ask for permission. You bit your lips, closing the gap between you two. The kiss was sweet, the taste of chocolate still on his lip, and it was salty, the leftover tears staining your lips with salt.

You let out a hiccup, breaking the kiss and putting you and George into a fit of laughter. "Cute, love," George chuckled, placing his hand on the back of your neck. "Let's see if you can do it again."

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

here's to luck | g.w

"Merlin, George, how are you not shaking?" You breathed, your hands still unsteady from watching Harry just nearly survive the first task. "I can't believe they're going to make us sit through two more of these. I swear, if I have to watch either Cedric or Harry get drowned, I'll petition against this tournament."

George just chuckled, pulling you into his side. "Oh, y/n, always the worrier. Although I see why you're worried for Cedric- he's just a handsome bloke with a teeny-tiny brain."

"Oh, shove off it, Georgie," you chuckled, walking alongside him, feeling giddy. "We both know you're just upset that he beat you fair and square last year."

"Yeah, sure, let's call that 'fair.'"

"Aww, George, I didn't mean to spoil your mood, especially since I heard Gryffindor is throwing a party to celebrate Harry," you joked, reaching up to ruffle the tall ginger's hair. "Though, I imagine you'll have to party some without me."

"What why?" George suddenly stopped, pulling you to the of the main path back to Hogwarts. "You aren’t seriously going to the Hufflepuff party, are you?"

"No," you drawled out, attempting you pull George back onto the path. "Remember how you stopped me from finishing my charms homework last night, and the night before that, and the night before the night before?"

"I don't reckon that sounds familiar," George hummed in response, feigning innocence. "Although, I imagine if I did, I had a good reason. Like, perhaps, I can't sleep as well without you, my best-est friend besides Fred, by my side."

"Oh, how lucky for you that your ‘best-est friend besides Fred’ doesn't snore," you laughed, playfully nudging him with your arm. "Might I attempt to imitate you? 'UGGGGGGGG.'"

"Sod off, y/n, you love me," George chuckled, slowing getting back on the path with you. "Now back to business- one shot of firewhiskey?"

"No," you quipped, sticking your tongue at the pouting redhead. "We both know that one shot actually means three, which in turn, lands me hungover in bed with you and my charms homework still undone."

George let out a grin as you spoke, walking in front of you to slow you down. "Harry lives through the first task, and you don't even want to celebrate a little bit? You can't honestly look me in the eyes and say that firewhiskey and a party in the Gryffindor Common Room aren't a little tempting," George coaxed, turning around, so he was walking backward.

"Oh, it sounds more than tempting, but, as I said, Georgie, I have charms homework to do. Not all of us can fall back on good looks and impeccable business skills," you commented, ignoring how George's face fell. Ordinarily, you would have already agreed to your second drink at this point, but you were determined not to give in to George's brown eyes and saccharine smile. "Now, George, stop slowly leading me towards the Gryffindor tower. You know that if I go in, I won't want to come out."

"You're a genius? Did you know that? I mean, you're so bloody brilliant that you solved my ingenious and slightly diabolic plan. Which, might I add, is the reason that you can just not turn in this one charms homework," George attempted again, moving to walk beside you. "Tell me, love, how many drinks do you think it would take to get Lee to streak?"

"Um, fewer drinks than he would care to admit," you laughed, beginning to part from George.

George quickly reached out- his slender fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you into his side. "But I can show you how to have a good time, y/n, and who knows, maybe we'll end up in a broom closet... again," George smirked, mumbling the words into your ear. "Tell me that doesn't sound like a perfect way to celebrate Gryffindor's own Triwizard Champion."

"You and me in a broom closet? Please, Weasley, only in your dreams," you scoffed, shaking your head at the redhead's cheeky words.

"My dreams? Sometimes, but it plays in my head more from memory," George mused, skillfully avoiding your attempted to swat the back of his head. "So, was that poor attempt at a swat as yes to letting me show you what a good time looks like?"

"I don't need you to show me how to have a good time. I was the one who taught you how to light your alcohol on fire and still be able to drink it." You could help but roll your eyes at George; he may not be the most responsible student around, but Merlin, was he persistent.

"Okay, fine, but I still need you," George pouted, a sly grin slowly finding its way onto his face. "Remember what happened last year after celebrating the O.W.Ls being over?"

You couldn't help but toss back your head onto his shoulder as you laughed about the incident that George swore he wouldn't ever bring up again. "I'm sorry, could you specify? I think my memory is a little fuzzy about the incident you're talking about."

"Haha, you're lucky I even mentioned it," George huffed, his face turning a light pink color. "In all seriousness, I need you to be with me, so we don't have a repeat of, well, you know."

"Oh, yes, I know. I seemed to have suddenly remembered when you and Fred got absolutely trashed and somehow thought it would be a good idea to race on Hippogriffs... butt-naked. But, Merlin, I seemed to have forgotten who had to pull your drunk asses into the greenhouse before McGonagall caught you," you teased, shooting George a wink. "Who was it again?"

"You," George muttered, looking around to make sure no one was listening.

"I can't hear you- perhaps I need to ask the question louder?"

"You, oh so lovely y/n, pulled me into the greenhouses and forced me into my pants," George mumbled louder, sticking his tongue out as you smiled at his response. "And I don't want a repeat of it tonight, so you should come with me."

"I don't know, Georgie. I think the blast-ended skrewts would love a bite out of you," you joked, pinching his arm. "Imagine they would love the taste of you."

"You would know," George snickered, earning a not-entirely playful smack on the arm. "Ow, you can't hit me for true facts!"

"Oops, I just did," you chimed innocently. "Now, George, please let me go study, and I promise to meet you in the Gryffindor common room afterward."

"Damn, I should've known you we're going to 'y/n out,'" George grumbled, his eyes widening once he realized what he had said out loud. "Hey, don't get angry, y/n. I swear there is a logical reason as to why you heard something come out of my mouth when I didn't actually say anything."

"What did you just say, carrot-head?" You hissed, narrowing your eyes at the Gryffindor.

"What, y/n? I didn't hear anything, did you, Lee?" George asked, grabbing Lee Jordan, who was passing by with Fred and Angelina. "Angelina, the smartest Gryffindor I know that also has flawless hearing, did you hear anything?"

"Oh, you are so in the doghouse," Angelina replied, shaking her head at George with pity. "I told you that if you kept saying it that one day you would slip up and say it to y/n's face."

"You turned my name into a verb? And, even worse, you've been doing it behind my back? "What is 'y/n out' even supposed to mean, huh? Is it supposed to mean being a responsible student? Come on, Georgie, I expected better from you," you scoffed, stepping away from George with a glare. "I guess you got what you wanted, Weasley. I'm no longer in the mood to do homework. No, I instead feel like yelling at you for the next hour."

"Now, y/n, we haven't heard Lee's opinion. Lee, the best announcer that Hogwarts has ever known-"

"Sorry, mate, but you got yourself into this one. I promise to save you drink once y/n's gotten a chance to yell at you," Lee chuckled, cutting George off. "Make him grovel, y/n, he deserves it."

"Oh, I will, Lee," you promised, waving the boy goodbye. "Oh, Georgie, how I look forward to seeing you charm your way out of this one."

"So, you think I'm charming?" George quipped.

"Very much so, which is why I think you should start with begging for my forgiveness," you offered. "Then, you can flatter me with comments, and finally, if you're forgiven, you can pour me a drink."

"Then, we make our way to the nearest broom closet?" George asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Only if you're really really lucky, Weasley. Now, come on, you have all night to make it up to me," you chuckled, wrapping your hand around his wrist and pulling him through the portrait entrance.

George quickly made his way over to the table of drink, pouring himself and you a plastic cup of what smelled like a butterbeer and firewhiskey concoction. "Well, here's to being really really lucky," George smirked, raising his cup and placing a kiss on your cheek.

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

that's the pointe | g.w

"I bet falling in love feels like the best thing in the world," Angelina sighed out of nowhere, eliciting a scoff from Fred, who was leaning against a wall across the room. "Shove it, Weasley, I'm not joking around- not that you know what that means. We are all of-age now, and-and we'll soon be falling in love, and, ugh, I want it."

"Please, Angie, you say that, but the moment a boy gets interested, you swerve," Katie laughed, tossing a piece of popcorn at the daydreaming Gryffindor. "Not to mention, it's always, 'Quidditch. Quidditch. Quidditch.' And that's coming from me!"

"Yeah, remember when I took you to the Yule Ball," Fred spoke up from the other side of the Gryffindor Common Room. "I offered you a snog, and you passed!"

"Yes, because getting offered to be snogged in an abandoned classroom is the same as falling in love," Angelina deadpanned, tossing her parchment to the side.

"Falling in love feels like being breathless and being able to breathe for the first time all at once," you mentioned offhandedly, placing the end of the sugar quill in your mouth. "Time doesn't stop like they say, though. Instead, it's more of a- elongation of the usual amount of seconds in a minute. What did you get for number seven, Katie?"

"Y/N, I know that you did not just declare you've been in love, then asked about Transfiguration?" Angelina hissed, running over to your side and sliding onto the couch beside you. "Spill already- I want to know more- no, I want to meet them."

"It's not like that, Angelina," you sighed, setting down your textbooks and pulling out your pointe shoes from your bags. "But, since you insist, this is Suffolk."

"What is that? I mean, I see you owl, Clara, deliver them like every other week, but what are they?" Katie asked, rushing to the other side of you. "What do they do?"

You couldn't help but laugh, slipping off your bunny slippers. "It's not what they do, but what you do in them," You stated, reciting your ballet teacher's favorite saying. You slid on your toe spacers and pads before beginning to lace up the pointe shoes. "I'll show you."

You walked over to the small clearing- the sound of the blocked toe hitting the wood floor, easing your nerves. You closed your eyes, the vision of a stage forming in mind. You didn't need music- not anymore- you knew your favorite routines like the back of your hand. You took a deep breath and began to dance Natalia Osipova's infamous Esmerelda's first dance.

Once you started with the temps levé sautés, your mind when back to when you first fell in love with ballet. You owed finding your true love to your parents, who had taught you to read music better than a novel and took you to Swan Lake in hopes of getting you into orchestral music. Instead, you fell in love with the dancers, who floated across the stage and practically made you dance in the aisle.

You ended the dance with a port de bras, extending your arms gracefully and letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "So, Angelina, what do you think about my true love?" You asked with a soft chuckle. Angelina just stared at you, her eyes wide and her mouth agape.

"How could you not tell me you could do that?! When you said you wanted to go back to the muggle world to dance at a company- I thought you were just too embarrassed to say you didn't know what you wanted to do! You're amazing," Angelina rambled, a smile spreading across her face. "Can you do a big one of those leaps?"

"Well, duh, that's only the best part besides handsome ballet partners who dance with you," you joked, setting up your grand jete with a few pique turns. You began to set up your leap when you noticed Fred and George had moved away from the wall. "George, watch out!"

You closed your eyes, preparing for the impact, but it didn't come. Instead, you felt a warm part of hands support wrap around your waist. "I saw what you just did- I didn't know you could do that," George breathed, his hands holding you up. "It was amazing- I've never seen anything like it before, you know."

"I guess you've been missing out then, George," you whispered, a few strands of hair falling out of your makeshift bun. "Although, I will stay that you'd make quite the ballet dancer. I guess better than me- I honestly didn't mean to run into you."

"It wasn't all your fault; I saw you coming, and I hardly even moved," George chuckled, the warmth of his breath causing you to look down.

Your eyes roamed to where George's hands were still firmly placed on your waist, keeping you close. Your thoughts began to run, and once they went to ideas about what else his hands could do, you snapped your head up. "Why?" You asked, wanting to think about anything else.

"Fred and I were testing out a new product, and well, I guess it delays reactions," George shrugged, the tip of his ears turning pink.

"Sure, blame the products," Fred quipped up, popping his head over his brother's shoulder. "I had enough sense to move out of the way, but I wasn't ogling at-"

"Sod off," George interrupted, tossing his hands into the air, causing you to lose your balance. "Oh, sorry, y/n. I've got you."

You looked up, your eyes meeting with George's. "I-um-I should finish McGonagall's homework," you hummed, suddenly feeling out of breath. "I'll see you around at DA?"

"Yeah, I have to study to- well- no, not actually," George stuttered, quickly looking away from you. "Listen, I won't be around here much longer, but, uh, I'll be at Diagon Alley. If you know, you ever want to, well-"

"Oh, Merlin, George, this is painful," Fred groaned, walking up to George's side and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "Y/N, we'll be at 93 Diagon Alley, setting up our own shop. Swing by some time, take George out for a date and make sure he's home by 10. Sounds good?"

You let out a chuckle, stepping away from George and immediately missing the heat. "Yeah, that does sound good," you grinned, watching George quickly wave off Fred.

"I was getting there, Fred," you heard George grumbled before turning back to you. "I would like to go out with you sometime. I know it's not ideal with, well, you know, but it'd be nice."

"Yeah, it would. Maybe I can take you to your first ballet," you smiled, looking down at your hands.

"Only if you're dancing in it."

"Okay, it's a date," you beamed.

"Seal it with a kiss?" George smirked, tapping his lips with his finger. "It makes it very official!"

You tossed your head back, a loud laugh slipping out of your lips. "Yes, I do believe I read it's more official than an unbreakable vow," you teased, leaning into George's side. You quickly brushed your lips against his freckled cheek, heating your face. "You can't back out now, Weasley, it's official."

"Well, of course, y/n! that was the point."

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

written in the stars | g.w

You were exhausted. N.E.W.Ts were coming up, and there was no chance in hell that you were going to do well enough to please your mum and dad. No matter how many hours you slaved over your textbooks or how many tears you cried over the Herbology jargon, you doubted you were going to get more a four O's.

"Hello, love," George cheered, sitting next to you with a too-familiar grin. It was a shit-eating, I-just-caused-Peeves-to curse Umbridge sort of smile, and it was the last thing you needed.

"George, I have to study," you stated in a stern tone, filing through the various pieces on parchment sprawled around you. "I love you, but my mum will kill me if I don't get the N.E.W.Ts to be a healer."

"Hm, I guess- if I have to- I can wait until we walk to Transfiguration to tell you about what Fred and I have decided on," George pouted, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his child like a toddler put in time out.

You offered the redhead a thankful smile, pleased with his answer. It was the perfect answer, but something about the fact that your trouble-making boyfriend was so quick to sit quietly left you unsettled. You suddenly found yourself more distracted than you should've been, stealing glances at the boy between paragraphs.

"Don't do that," you finally commanded, pointing your finger accusingly at the ginger.

"Don't do what, love? Radiate handsomeness?" George asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Don't smile at me like that- I'm trying to focus," you huffed, propping a book between you and George.

"Sorry, love, I didn't realize that loving you was so distracting," George teased, his handing finding his way on your thigh.

You shook your head, trying to find anything but amusement in his actions. It was clear that you weren't going to get anything done at this rate, especially not with his fingertips tracing shapes on your leg. "You win, Wesley this time," You surrendered, cleaning up your table. "What is that you wanted to tell me?"

George beamed at you, quickly jumping to his feet and helping you pack up all of your books. "I can't tell you in the library- it's against all of my morals," George stated, shoving a few books into your hand before dragging you out towards the courtyard.

"Hm, it didn't realize you had morals," you teased, trying to keep up with the towering boy's long strides. As annoyed as you were at yourself for letting the charming redhead interrupt your studies, you couldn't find it in yourself care enough to break away from George's grip.

"Haha, you're so funny, y/n," George deadpanned, setting you down on a stone bench in the courtyard. "Now, y/n y/l/n, I'm about to ask you something that will change our relationship entirely. I know that it may seem like I'm rushing things-"

"No, no, no, no, no. You are not allowed to propose to me, George Fabian Weasely. We're too young. You have no income- I have no income. George, I love you, I swear, but if you get down on one knee, I'll punch you. Oh god, what would my mum say if she found out? Oh, Merlin," you rambled, wringing your hands in your lap.

"Y/N, you're overthinking this. I'm not-"

"Of course, I'm overthinking it, George. I want to marry you, but the logical side of me is telling me this irresponsible. And, so I like to overthink this! It's not going to kill me unless, of course, I have to pick between two things, or else I die," you mused aloud, your heart pound against your chest. "But, in that case, I guess I would have to-"

"Will you move in with me after you graduate Hogwarts?" George interrupted, his ears tinted pink.

You opened your mouth only to have the words stuck in your throat. You had always been the less romantic of the two, the one who never made the first move, and more than anything, the one who insisted you two go slowly. Yet, when George didn't ask you to marry him, disappointment filled you, and the world seemed to have shattered.

It was irresponsible to rush into marriage- the mature side of you told you that much- but you couldn't help but wish he was on one knee. "I- yes, I will," You replied when you realize George was staring at you expectantly.

"I thought you would be more excited, love," George frowned, sitting next to you. "I know that it's fast, and you're always going on about taking everything slowly so that it won't end up like your sister's marriage, but it feels right. It feels like even Ron, who is rubbish at Astronomy, can see it's written in the stars."

You gave the redhead a half-hearted smile, feeling embarrassed. "I am excited, and I'm proud that you finally found a place for your shop," you shrugged, resting your head on George's shoulder.

"Please, y/n, I know you better than I know Zonko's products," George scoffed, nudging you gently. "Come on, love, tell me what's wrong."

"I think I wanted you to propose," you mumbled before shoving your face into his shoulder. Merlin, he was your boyfriend, but somehow the thought of you wanting to get married to him made you feel like a tiny first-year.

George kept silent for a moment, trying to suppress the giddiness he felt because- thank Merlin- you were near the same page as him. He knew that he wanted to marry you since fourth-year when you charmed Mrs. Norris blue. All he was waiting for was you to feel the same way.

"George, say something," you pled, the two of you ignoring the students rushing to their next class.

"I don't know what there is to say," George stated plainly. "I've wanted to marry you the day I met you! All you need to say is the word, and I'll get down on one knee."

His words filled you with love; you didn't know how to explain it besides pure, unadulterated love. "I-I- didn't know you felt that way," you stuttered, tears starting to pool in your eyes.

"Of course, y/n! I have only been talking off Fred's ear about you for the past three years. Blimey, love, my mum has already decided how to hyphenate our last names. I want you to be with me forever," George chuckled, the words rolling off his tongue as if it were the easiest thing to say.

You smiled at him- your mind made up. "Marry me, George Fabian Weasley. Marry me the moment this stupid war is over, and make my day by letting me wake up next to you every morning."

George chuckled, his eyes starting to tear up. "Can you do it again, but on your knee?" George choked out, wrapping his arms around you.

"Shut up," you teased, pulling away from the hug and kissing him on his freckled cheek.

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

failure and burnt metal | g.w

"Once you have properly prepped the meat, you may add two sprigs of rosemary. Be careful to not overdo the rosemary, as it is a strong flavor," You read, your eyes scanning Molly Weasley's cookbook. "Oh, god, Molly. I hope you added a picture of rosemary because I have no idea what you're going on about."

You set down the cookbook and stared at the prepped meat in front of you. You were positive you had followed the recipe by the letter, but the famous Sunday roast looked somewhat grey and inedible. When you offered to host the Weasley Sunday dinners, you thought Molly would adamantly protest, and you would be home free. However, she didn't, and the whole affair was going much worse than you had planned.

You already had put out three fires, pulled something metal out of the biscuits, and was still debating if green beans should smell like the draught of living death.

You weren't a chef by any means; in fact, the most successful thing you'd ever cooked was pasta. Due to this, you generally avoid anything that had to do with cooking, baking, ovens, spatulas, or well, anything food-related that wasn't takeout. Yet, somehow, you had been cooking since four in the morning, and all you had to show for it was oven burns on your arms.

"Oh, god, this is hopeless. I'm hopeless," you groaned, waving your wand and watching as all of the burnt food you slaved over for the past sixteen hours disappear. "They're going to be starving, and all I can offer is cereal."

"Hello? Y/N? Oh god, what is that god-awful smell?" a voice asked, following a soft popping noise.

"It's the smell of failure and burnt metal, George," you cried, tossing Molly's cookbook to the side. "Don't you recognize the smell from all those years in potions class with me?"

"Actually, now that you mention it, I do remember this smell when you burnt off your eyebrows," George joked, peering into a pot on the stove. "I guess it's a good thing you still have until tomorrow because I think you accidentally boiled a dung bomb."

"Sod off, George, you know that's mashed potatoes," you huffed, scooping out a spoonful of grey mush. "At least, I think that's what I made."

"Oh, yes, y/n, this really does bring back memories," George laughed, swishing his wand and cleaning the pot. "Not to mention, the more you looked at it, the more it looked like your amortentia potion."

You let out a chuckle, remembering Snape's endless lecture about how you were the worst potions student he ever had the displeasure of teaching. You had memorized the speech by the time you brewed amortentia for the first-time and had everyone in the classroom retching at the smell.

"It smelled like it, too. I imagine Molly sent you here to scout out how I was doing?" You asked, laying down on the couch in misery and relief.

"Yup," George confirmed, sitting next to you and placing his lanky legs over your lap. "Mum's already preparing the backup dinner, in case I report back that you're knee-deep in burnt mush and tears."

You weren't sure whether or not to be comforted by George's words. On the one hand, this cooking nightmare would finally be over, but on the other, you were once again mooching off the Weasleys. "I guess you should tell your mum I failed," you sighed, tossing your head back. "Although, I imagine, at this point, she was already expecting that."

"No, I figured I would lie and say you're doing great, so I could see her face drop when she saw the food," George joked, earning a cold glare from you. "I'm kidding, y/n. Since this means so much to you, I'll just help."

"You'll help?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at the ginger boy. George Weasley was undoubtedly great at many things, but never in your life had you ever heard he was a fine cook.

"Y/N, I'm offended by that look you're giving me," George shouted, feigning hurt as he placed his hand over his heart. "You wound me!"

"Oh please, George, we both know that you're just as clueless as me in the kitchen," you replied, groaning as the redhead pulled you from the couch and towards the dreaded kitchen. "No, Georgie, not the apron."

"Too late," George laughed, placing a 'kiss the chef' apron over his clothes. "Today, we are going to make the finest roast in the whole country- minus my mum's."

You chuckled, the redhead’s confidence adding to your own. "Okay, Carrot-head, let's start."

Hours passed by quickly, and you were pleasantly surprised by how great George was in the kitchen. Occasionally, you would sneak a few glances at the redhead, his eyebrows furrowed as he read his mum's neat handwriting. It was a sight to relish in; the boy covered in flour, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a determined look that made your knees go weak. Not that he knew it, but you were swooning over George Weasley in an apron.

"You're staring," George sang teasingly, tossing some flour at you. "I know I'm the better-looking twin, but you still have a pie to make."

"And why would I do that when you're so good with your hands- I mean, with your hands making the crust," You stammered, turned back to the crust with a red face.

"Is the y/n y/l/n flirting with me?" George questioned, walking over to you with a smirk. "I'm horrible at picking up the signs, so maybe you should just tell me that you're madly in love with me."

You felt the air knocked out of your lungs as Goerge leaned against the counter near you. "Oh, well, I don't think anyone would be that clueless to the fact that I like you," you stuttered, trying to ignore your quickening heart rate. "Well, perhaps Ron, it took him ages to recognize that Harry liked Gin-"

You were interrupted by George pulling your hips towards him. "I love Ickle-Ronniekins, but perhaps when you're proclaiming your love to me, you could leave him out."

All you could do was nod, closing your eyes as George's lips landed on yours. His hands dusted your face with flour as he gently cupped your face, nearly making your legs give out. The kiss just like you had imagined back in fourth-year, but better.

"You better get the cake out of the oven before it burns," you mumbled as you two pulled away at the sound of a timer going off.

"Eh, let it burn- no one likes Bundt cake anyways," George shrugged, pulling you in for another kiss.

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

ivory, white, and cream | f.w

You ran your hands down the long line of white dresses as you walked the aisle, the pads of your fingertips just brushing against the elegant and expensive fabric. You never understood the fuss around weddings or wedding dresses, but even you couldn't deny that something was romantic and exciting about standing knee-deep in elaborate and expensive fabrics.

"Do you reckon Harry would want to see me in something like this?" Ginny asked thoughtfully beside you, holding up a sleek satin gown with minimalist embellishments. "He's so invested in this wedding- probably more so than I am."

You stifled a laugh, shaking your head at the image of Harry trying to ensure the wedding is that of his dreams. "He'll love you in anything, Gin," you reassured her. "He just wants you to have the wedding of your dreams, you know."

"I know, and don't tell mum or Harry this, but I haven't dreamed of an elaborate, grand wedding since I was in fourth-year. I would've been fine with getting married at the ministry, or even just doing what you and Fred do," Ginny whispered, quieting as Mrs. Weasley approached the two of you.

"The muggle woman said she's ready to take you back to try on dresses, love. Oh, isn't this exciting," Mrs. Weasley beamed, leading your youngest towards the dressing rooms.

You quietly followed behind the two redheads, 'what you and Fred do' replaying in your head like a bitter melody. You knew that Ginny didn't mean anything by her words, but you couldn't help but feel like she knew something that you didn't. It wasn't like you and Fred talked nonstop about the future, both of you the live-in-the-moment, but you always assumed you two would be more than just boyfriend and girlfriend.

"I must admit, all this wedding talk has me hoping that Ron will propose soon," Hermione spoke up, turning a bright red as Mrs. Weasley and Fleur let out loud squeals. "I know that we talked about waiting a little longer, but he's mentioned that he feels like it's coming to be his turn since nearly all of his siblings are married or planning on it."

You forced a stiff smile, as Fleur immediately started to talk about how extravagant Ron and Hermione's wedding would be. 'Nearly all of his siblings.' The logical part of you knew she probably meant Charlie, who has been firm planted on the idea of staying single, but another part of you swore Hermione had glanced at you.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Mrs. Weasley sang, "but I had been wondering when the two of you were going to get engaged. I mean George just proposed to Angelina, and Ginny's getting married, so, naturally, you'd be next, 'Mione."

"Naturally," you echoed with a tight laugh, your heartstrings starting to pull and your stomach starting to churn. You couldn't even remember when Mrs. Weasley last asked if you and Fred were talking about marriage.

"Y/N, are you- oh my goodness, Ginny, you're glowing," Hermione squealed, her eyes moving from you to the young redhead adorned with silk.

Ginny stood in the center of the waiting room, a long silk slip-dress running off her body like water. It was simple and hardly embellished, but it looked made for Ginny. "I think this is the one," Ginny managed, a tear running down her freckled cheek. "I've been in love with Harry for years, and now, I get to marry him."

"Oh, Ginny," you sniffled, tearing up at her words and rushing to engulf her in a hug.

"You look like magic, honest."

"Family hug," Mrs. Weasley cried as everyone huddled together around each other. "And, cheers to another official addition to the Weasley family, or well, I guess Potter family."

The worried from earlier washed away as you watched Ginny light up as she talked about the wedding and the future she wanted with Harry. Hours passed, each filled with strings of jewels and shoes of satin, and by the time you apparated home to Fred, you were tipsy on wedding talk and celebratory champagne.

"Freddie," you sang out, entering the flat that was still partially empty out from George's big move to a family home on the outskirts of London. "Freddie, where are you?"

"Here," Fred called out, popping out of the kitchen and taking his place at your side. "I figured you'd be exhausted from all that wedding nonsense, so I cook you dinner. Do you have fun with Gin?"

Fred wrapped his arms around you from behind, eliciting a soft 'yeah' from your mouth as you leaned against his chest. "Do you remember when we were like Ginny and Harry?" You asked softly, the taste of champagne still on your lips.

"Young?" Fred joked, placing a kiss on your neck as he swayed the two of you.

"Hopelessly in love with the future that we'd share," you corrected honestly, dropping your head back to look up at George. "We used to talk about marriage- about spending the rest of our lives together."

"We're going to spend the rest of our lives together," Fred stated simply, turning you around so you were facing each other. "You're going to be stuck with me until I'm all grey and wrinkly, like an elephant."

"Freddie, I'm serious," you groaned, failing miserably at suppressing your smile.

"I am, too," Fred laughed, kissing your nose.

"Then why aren't we married?" You asked, your playful tone replaced with bitterness. "We used to talk about it, Fred. You're mom used to ask me every time we saw each other if she could see my left hand, and now, she thinks it's more natural for Hermione to be the next addition to the family."

"Mum loves you whether or not we're married, y/n," Fred spoke softly, placing his hands on your arms as if that was what was bugging you. "I love you whether we're married or not."

"What if that isn't enough for me anymore- what if that isn't enough to keep me from worrying that because you keep pushing back marriage, you'll push back having kids," you admitted, your vision starting to blur. "We said we'd get married three years ago, and we're still living above the shop, while everyone else has moved on and grown up. We can't stay young forever, Fred."

Fred furrowed his eyebrows at your words, "We aren't married because we don't need some fancy certificate or ceremony to know we'll last a lifetime. If you want to start a family or move, we will because you want to- not because we suddenly have rings on our hands. If you want to get married, then we will."

You closed your eyes, guilt suffocating you as words of anger bubbled up. "Why is it 'if you want,' Fred? Every time we talk about the future, you never say you want to live somewhere else, to have kids, to move onto the next place in our lives. It's always me who wants it all," you shouted, pushing Fred away from you as tears streamed down your face. "Do we even want the same things?"

"I want you, isn't that enough?" Fred yelled back, running his hands through his hair. "So what we aren't eager to live the same lives like everyone else? We want to live our lives together."

"You don't want to live the same lives as everyone else," you bit back. "I want more than just us, Fred. I want to move on from living like we're nineteen, and I don't know if I can do this if you don't want that too."

Fred's face fell, his brown eyes suddenly dull from your words. "We're still young, we're only twenty-seven. Don't do this to us- don't put all the pressure of the future on us. I want a life with you, a family, a marriage, but not like this."

"Then like what?" You asked, your voice wobbling as you watched Fred shake his head at you. "I'd wait at the ends of the Earth for you, Freddie, but I don't want to wait until you're ready to grow up."

"I'm scared, y/n."

You stopped, your anger and pent-up bitterness no longer overwhelming you, and stared at Fred. Suddenly, he wasn't the bad guy- the guy who couldn't commit. Suddenly, he was just a boy who lost most of his teenage years and young adulthood to a war. Your anger faded and your resentment withered, leaving you left with just your love for him.

"I'm sorry," you apologized immediately, biting the bottom of your lip. "I'm so sorry that I got all wrapped up on titles- on myself. I'm sorry that I've never asked you how you felt because your feelings do matter to me. You matter to me, and if you're scared, then we'll wait and go through it together."

Fred closed the distance between you, wrapping you in his arms and reminding you of why you love him. "I'm sorry, too. I never wanted to you feel like I didn't want more- like I didn't want a future with you. I'm just scared, scared that things will change or someone else like Voldemort will rise," Fred mumbled in your ear. "What if I can't protect you or our kids; what if I can't preserve our future."

"Then, we do what we do best, Freddie," you replied, tears still cascading down your cheeks. "We hold onto each other and improvise."

Fred let out a choked laugh, his eyes welling with tears as the two of you clung to each other like you were stranded in a vast sea. "Do you still wanna get married, love? We can do the whole thing with rings, flowers, and dolphins-"

"Dolphins?"

"You're not the only one who has dreamed of this," Fred joked, wiping your cheeks with his thumb as you giggled.

"All I want is a future with you, Fred, and that's enough for me," you breathed, realizing how little the title of husband meant to you as long as Fred was only yours.

"Well, that's not enough for me- y/n, will you marry me?"

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

if you're ever ready | f.w

warnings: small curse

The brittle January air was enough to make the faces of children red while chasing after one another, and it was certainly enough to make any sane person struggle to leave their warm bed.

You were perfectly sane- at least, in the sense that with the cold weather, you found yourself getting to the underground later and rushing out the door quicker. And, while the cool breezes were a large reason you ended up scolded early in the morning by your boss, there was also the fact you still had to remind yourself of small things. You had to remind yourself to not put on your velvet robes, to leave your wand in the bottom drawer of your dress, and mostly, to blend in.

It wasn't necessarily something you would consider unnatural for you- hiding the magical part of your life away neatly in the back of your closet and folded gently underneath your summer clothes. No, in fact, it was something you had mastered as a kid, but simply in reverse. With two muggleborn parents, you were given the lecture about hiding the muggle side of you at a very young age. You spent most of your summers playing futbol and attending summer school to learn about natural science and physics. Then, when September came around, you packed away your dreams to be an archeologist and forgot that part of your life. You supposed there was irony in it all.

Today was another day of rushing out the door and attempting to find some sort of routine in a world you hadn't been apart of in a long time. "Oh, watch out," you blurted, the words, unfortunately, coming out faster than you could move out of the way.

"Sorry- I didn't see you," the man apologized, his brown eyes scanning you for any injuries. There was something uncanny about him- you weren't entirely sure if it was his face, which was scattered with freckles in the same way the night sky was scattered with stars, or it was his unruly red hair. "I'm Fred, um, do we know each other?"

You snapped out of your mindless observation of the redhead, blushing furiously and checking your watch. "I'm sorry, sir, I have to make the 10:15 tour at the British Museum. I'd give you a galleon for the coffee stain, but I'm really late," you blabbered on, the wizarding phrase slipping out before you could stop yourself. "Send me your dry-cleaning bill, will you? Just give it to Sam at the museum- he'll find me. Thanks."

You left quicker than Fred could ask your name, but something about you made him think he already knew it. "Galleon," Fred mumbled to himself, running his calloused thumb over the golden coin that sat at the bottom of his pocket. "She's got to be a witch, but she's going to a muggle museum."

Fred stood in the middle of the crowded streets, his mind reeling and his feet leading back towards the way he came. By the time Fred had shaken the thoughts about you out of his mind, he found himself in front of a building that his dad used to take him often. The British Museum, a place of history and culture, at least, that's what his dad used to say before getting distracted by the ticket printer.

"Hello, um, am I too late for the 10:15 tour?" Fred asked, shifting his weight as the elderly man looked down at him from the help desk. "I am catching up with an old friend."

"For which exhibit, sir?"

Fred glances at the growing line behind him before leaning in closer to the elderly man. "Actually, sir, I- I ran into this girl on the street and she was rushing to get here after she spilled coffee on me. I don't really know what sort of tour she was talking about, but she mentioned Sam."

"Fred?" Fred turned towards the familiar voice, only to come face-to-face with you. Fred scanned you, noticing your oversized hoodie was replaced with the black blazer and a white button-up. "Fred? If you're here to drop off your vest, I can take it after my tour. Sam, I'll take him on my 10:15 tour."

"Oh, you're Sam, well, thanks," Fred beamed, hurrying away to catch up with you. "Your tour? You hardly mentioned that you were going to be my lovely tour guide of the, erm, what are we touring?"

"You didn't mention uprooting your entire day to take my tour," you joked, matching Fred's lighthearted tone. "We are touring the exhibits that display history's underlying tones of love and passion. It's actually pretty interesting- have you been here before?"

Fred thought back to when his dad used to take him and his siblings out one at a time to muggle museums to give his mum a break and to have father-son time.  "Is this your way of asking if I come here a lot? Because I imagine employee-visitor flirting is frown upon," Fred teased, clutching his hands behind his back. "But, I'll make an exception for you."

"Actually, for this tour, it is encouraged," you laughed, a shot of confidence running through your body. "I don't think I mentioned by name- I'm y/n y/l/n."

Fred smiled, racking his mind to see if there was anything familiar about your name. "So, where did you go to secondary school?"

"Nope," you replied, straightening your uniform as the two of you neared where the start of the tour was. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Oh, um, yeah, I have- my dad stopped taking me after I almost got the two of us banned," Fred replied hurriedly, eying the crowd of visitors and tourists waiting on the tour to start. "Now, it's your turn to answer."

"Can't, love, I'm on the clock now." You shot the boy a wink and stepped in front of the small crowd, reciting your scripted welcome before leading the group towards the first exhibit.

Fred shook his head, a smile forming on his lips. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something about you that he couldn't get enough of. Fred faded towards the back of the crowd, watching you in a memorized fashion as you talked about the exhibit with a familiar spark in your eyes. "Y/N from third-year muggle studies," Fred mumbled to himself, suddenly remember how you used to be the first person to raise your hand and present your essays with excitement that matched his dad's.

The tour went quickly from there, ending in a room filled with vintage coins and various paper notes. "This is the last stop on our tour, and I encourage you to check out our numerous other exhibits. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoyed this tour," you breathed, your mouth dry from answering the endless questions from a young girl and her sister. "Don't forget to check out the World War I coin with an engraving from Frank to Nellie. Thanks again!"

Fred slowly made his way back to your side, a knowing smile still on his lips. "So, your turn, y/n. Where did you go for secondary school?"

"A boarding school in Scotland- hardly anything famous," you replied naturally, the answer still the same as when your muggle friends asked you over the summer. "My mum and dad went there, so they practically insisted."

"Oh, interesting, I went to a school in Scotland, too," Fred beamed. "What house were you?"

"Oh, I was in- wait, what?"

"I was a Gryffindor, but I always thought I would be such a good Ravenclaw. I'm the genius of the family, except maybe Perce, but he was more of a Slytherin," Fred rambled on, a smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth. "You strike me as a Ravenclaw, or perhaps, Hufflepuff. I know you aren't a Slytherin- you haven't got the look to you."

You let out a breath you hadn't been knowingly holding. It was rare nowadays you came across another wizard or witch- you made sure it was a rare occasion. "I'm sorry, Fred, I have to go get ready for my next tour," you managed to say, moving away from Fred when he grabbed onto your wrist gently.

"I was joking about the Slytherin thing," Fred spoke up, hurt written on his face as you pulled away from him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not what you think I am- not anymore," you whispered before maneuvering your way through the crowd, losing the redhead and allowing yourself to take a moment to stop and breathe.

However, Fred Weasley was a hard man to get away from. With a head above the crowd and determination that wasn't to match, Fred Weasley was quick to figure out where you went. And, like a persistent puppy, he found himself following not far behind.

"Are you okay?" Fred finally asked after lurking a safe distance away. A part of him wanted to give you the space that you clearly needed, but another part of him was curious about what you said. "I was going to leave, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first."

You nodded your head, his words surprisingly soothing and more gentle than you remember. "Fred, I'm not a witch, so whatever you thought was happening between us isn't happening," you blurted, the words you wanted to say mixing amongst each other as you spoke. "What I mean is- I don't know. I just- damn it, I'm such an idiot. You were wearing an orange vest and the ugliest pair of matching dress shoes- how could I not know?"

Fred leaned against the way, close enough you could see him out of your peripheral vision if you tried (you did). "I happen to like these shoes- George, my twin, has a matching pair in green. Now those are ugly."

You stifled a laugh, reminding yourself that whatever was happening was a bad idea. "I'm a muggle- just so you know."

"You weren't."

"But I am now."

"Well, I'm a wizard- just so you know," Fred quipped, matching your tone.

"You always were," you mimicked, attempting to keep the corners of your mouth turned down.

"And I am now- wait, that doesn't work, does it?" Fred chuckled, running a  pale hand through his messy hair. You hated to admit it, but it was a handsome move, and you couldn't help but swoon a little.

"No, it doesn't. I like you, Fred, which is crazy since I met you this morning, but it's true-"

"Great, y/n, because I like you too," Fred interrupted, knowing that the dreaded 'but' was bound to follow if he didn't. "Well, since that is all that is needed to be said, I'll pick you up from your place at-"

It was your turn to interrupt, "I'm not going out with you- I don't want to get sucked back into the world of magic. I have kept away from it all for two years, and I don't plan on going back now, or maybe even ever."

"Maybe?"

You shook your head at the redhead's hopeful look, knowing that he wasn't getting what you were trying to hint at. "I don't like magic anymore, Fred. I don't think I ever really liked magic, but the-the war. Muggles have horrific wars, but I never saw it up close like I did at the Battle of Hogwarts. I-I don't think my place is there anymore."

"You fought?" Fred asked the question more to himself than to you, trying to remember the hundreds of grieving faces that rested in the Great Hall at the end of it all.

"I did, and I killed. I killed, Fred. I watched the light leave their eyes, and I justified it by saying they would've done it to me-"

"They would've- you did what you had to do."

"But I didn't want to- I wanted to be twenty. I wanted to go to pubs and lie to bartenders that I was old enough to drink. I wanted to travel. I wanted to dance with my friends to music at 3 am. I didn't want to fight for my life. Fred, you grew up with magic, right?"

Fred looked down at his hand, processing your words. His family was so close to Harry that he never really thought about the years of youth he lost to thinking about the war. Of course, he had his business, which revolved around bringing brightness to such a dark time, but still he never just enjoyed being young once he joined the order. "Yeah, I'm a pureblood- not that it matters to me."

You smiled and let your fingers brush against his. "I grew up with two muggleborn parents, and I got to live an entirely different life when I wasn't at Hogwarts. You've always had magic, and I've always had another place to go if I didn't want magic. I don't want magic, Fred. I don't want to go back to using magic for mundane purposes after I did horrible things with it."

"But what happened- what you did- shouldn't taint something that is a part of you. Magic isn't good or bad- it's just there to be used," Fred urged, grabbing your hand. "Let me take you out on one date just to see where things go, and I promise there'll be no magic."

"Fred, I know that whatever we do, I'll just fall for you," you breathed slowly, letting the pads of his fingers tickle the back of your hand. "I can't make you give up magic, Fred. And, right now, I'm not willing to give up this life to be with you. I'm sorry."

Fred was sorry too, his hand releasing yours. He didn't know what to expect walking into the museum, but it certainly wasn't this. He wanted to be mad at you for not even trying to see where things go, but he couldn't. He knew that if it came down to it- he wouldn't give up magic to be with you. So, he smiled the exact same smile he gave you that morning, and he left.

And, when he left, you were left with nothing but the ghost of his touch and a small paper business card with the words, 'if you're ever ready.'

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

reckless | f.w

Reckless- you still couldn't decide if it was the death of you or the reason you woke up every day. Maybe- most likely- it was both. Being reckless led you to Fred Weasley, a storm of wild and thoughtlessness coated in dirt brown freckles. Recklessness brought you to him, where you spent your teenage years loving him and being his. The two of you were the definition of ungoverned youth- you two were crazy, free, and escaping the harsh realities outside of Hogwarts. The two were stolen kisses between classes, uncontrollable laughter in the library, and reckless love in abandoned classrooms.

The only problem with being free and young is that one day you wake up and realize you no longer have that privilege. You wake older and with more responsibilities, and you suddenly understand someone has to suffer the weights of your reckless behavior. You were the one who felt the consequences of your wild youth with Fred- the two of you flew too close to the sun, but only you got burnt.

You grew up pretty quickly after Fred left Hogwarts, surviving by keeping your head down and pretending that you weren't a week late on your period. You grew up even faster when you no longer had Hogwarts, and for some reason, you were waking up every morning sick. You completely stopped pretending you were still young when you couldn't ignore the fact any longer- you had gotten pregnant.

You cried, you denied it, and then, you finally accepted it. You packed your bags and left for South America, where you had been invited onto a Herbology Research Team, and you swore to never look back.

You kept your promise for four years- caring for the twin girls to the best of your ability- but then, the unimaginable happened.

"I am perfectly aware that I am not a match, but what do you mean there is no other match?" You asked, your eyes trained on the healer. "I moved back to London because St. Mungo's swore they could help. This doesn't seem like helping."

"Ma'am, we understand-"

"No, you don't. I have nothing in this world- I'm not married, I currently don't have a job, and I don't have any family besides my kids. I quit my job because when I reached out to all the wizarding hospitals in the world, St. Mungo's said they could help," You seethed, narrowing your eyes. "I don't need healer training to know that this is not helping."

"Does her father happen to be alive?"

"I- I don't know," you replied, sitting down on the chair outside of your daughter's hospital room. "The war ended months ago, and I- I never even- he left. He left before I even knew, and I don't even know how to contact him if he is alive."

"Did he have siblings?"

"Loads."

"You need to contact them, ma'am. I don't know how to say this any other way, but if you can't find a bone marrow match, there is only a matter of 9 months left."

"Okay," you whispered, your decision made. "Just- you don't let my kid get worse until I find him, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am, we'll do our best."

You smoothed out your pants, walking back into the hospital room, where your two daughters sat on the bed drawing together. "Hey, girls. What are you two up two?" You asked, your voice still shaking from your conversation with the healer.

"I'm coloring in a dinosaur," Genevieve stated plainly, her hand gliding across the smooth white paper. "The healers said they would hang it up in my room."

You smiled at her, sitting at the end of the bed. "Mummy has to go on a trip to Diagon Alley, and well, I'll be looking for someone who- is going to give you a toy for free. What would you like, Genevieve?" You asked, deciding it is too hard to explain something that might not even happen. "Perhaps a toy or a-"

"Cat. I want a cat," Genevieve interrupted, looking up from her coloring book. "But, I guess that you can just get me a plain toy."

"Nice try, and I'll see you when Finley and I get back," you chuckled, ruffling the girl's head hair. It was thin to the touch, but it was the same color of red you fell in love was years ago.

You got off the edge of the bed and grabbed your other daughter's hand, leaving to go to a place you could help but dread going.

You landed on the cobbled street with a gentle pop, the soundings of your surrounding deafened by your heating beating loudly against your chest. "Come on, Finley, let's go into this shop here," you urged, your eyes set on the shop in front of you.

You had memorized the address the twins had yelled when they left your seventh year, but you never imagined it would be as crowded as it was. You had to carry your daughter to keep her from getting lost in the crowd, and you had to place a hand on a shelf to steady your shaky legs.

"Y/N?" You felt the air knocked out of your lung- hearing the same voice that used to laugh with you until midnight did something to you that you hated. "I didn't know you were- I mean, you look- I missed you."

You stood frozen, your daughter asking questions in one ear and Fred talking as if he hadn't just left in the other. "Fred," you finally answered back, turning around.

His smile dropped, his eyes darting to the small child resting on your hip. "You had a kid- I didn't realize that you had moved on," Fred mumbled out loud, more to himself but audible nonetheless. "She looks just like you, except for the hair! If I didn't know better, I would say she's a-a George?!"

Another redhead hurried over, small dark bags under his eyes and an eccentric yellow vest over a striped button-up. "Hey, y/n, I didn't know you had gotten back from- Woah, is that?"

"I'm not here for you," you commented, straightening up your shoulders. "I'm here because I need you to get tested- my daughter needs a bone marrow match, and the best chance is a familial match. I- I have the right blood time, but for bone marrow, you need to match with antigens too."

"Familiar match, but you never- y/n, you never told me that you were pregnant," Fred replied, grabbing your arm and pulling you into a backroom with George taking Finley out of your arms. "I had- I have a right to know about these things."

"Stop it, Fred," you hissed. "You don't have a right to anything, and deep down, you know that. I wrote to you about it- I wrote to your friends about it!"

"The war- I was in the Order of the Phoenix, and I was a target, and you would have been too. I left because I wasn't ready to have your blood on my hand- I wanted to keep you safe," Fred argued back, his hands running through his hair. "I loved- I still love you. I've written a million unsent letters to you, but none of them seem right. I- I would've left the war if you had told me."

You looked down at your hand, still shaking and unsteady. "I know you would have, but it doesn't change anything. I-I can't even have this conversation right now, Fred. My daughter- our daughter- is sick, and she needs a match. You have to get tested."

"Okay, let's go." Fred grabbed a jacket and pushed the door to the back room open. "George, watch the shop- I'm getting tested."

"What? I think I deserved more information than that," George shouted, grabbing his own jacket and hurrying after Fred.

You watched in amusement with your daughter by your side- they were the same boys from Hogwarts. "Come on, Finley, let's go see Genevieve," You cooed, quickly paying for a small pygmy puff. "How do you think your sister will feel about this?"

"She'll like it," Finley chuckled, holding onto the small ball of fluff as you apparated.

You landed on the hospital's linoleum flooring, your heart rate racing as you walked into your daughter's room. "Hey, Genevieve, look what I bought you," you sang, setting Finley down so she could give her twin the pygmy puff. "I figured we could all name it together."

"Is it a boy? or a girl?" Genevieve asked, wrapping her small fingers around the ball of fluff. "If it's a girl, I like the name, Tessa. If it's a boy, I like the name- uh- George. Like the monkey."

"It's a boy," Fred stated, walking into the room, his eyes glued on the two girls that were sat on the hospital bed. "Only green pygmy puffs are boys."

"George, then," Genevieve stated simply, nestling the ball of fluff against her cheek. "I know you. Mummy showed up pictures of you, and she said you are her best friend."

"I-I am, yeah. I'm Fred," Fred grinned, his voice cracking. "I'm your mum's best friend in the whole world, and I- I'm so lucky to meet you."

"You have red hair like us," Finley added, pulling at her red locks. "Mummy says redheads are her favorite."

"Yeah, she used to tell me that too," Fred chuckled, cautiously walking over to the twins and sitting down at the edge of the bed. "I'm a twin, too. My brother, George, he's getting some tests done right now, but you'll get to meet him soon."

"My pet is named George," Genevieve grinned, handing over the small pygmy puff to Fred. "My mummy said my daddy is a twin too, but I don't know my daddy."

"Yeah, but mummy says he loves us a lot," Finley chimed in, causing Fred to quickly wipe his eyes. "Mummy said that our daddy is allergic to South America, so he had to stay here in London."

"That's enough, you two. Fred and I need to talk," You quickly interjected, grabbing Fred's wrist. "Be good, okay?"

"I want to come," the girls whined together, crossing their arms over their chests.

"You do? But we are going to be talking about big kid stuff like math, and rocks, and the color brown," you stated, pretending to be shocked when the two girls quickly quieted down. You turned to Fred, a smile playing on your lips. "Come on, best friend, we can talk outside."

You and Fred walked away from that wing of the hospital, a silence forming between you two. "I'm sorry, you know that, right?" Fred asked, breaking the silence. "I would've been there for them- for you."

"I know," you stated. "You can ask about Finley and Genevieve if you want."

"Finley and Genevieve," Fred repeated, a smile forming on his face.

"I knew you liked the name Finley, and well, I figure to keep with the 'F' and 'G' trend," you quickly explained, a blush forming across your cheeks. "They are like you- enjoy a bit of trouble. Too much trouble if you ask me, but I guess it adds character. They are too young to be showing signs of magic, but sometimes things just seem to happen. Finley -the oldest- is more like George than you. She is more contemplative, while Genevieve is more-"

"Reckless," Fred finished for you with a laugh. "I wish I had been there."

"It's not all your fault," you sighed. "I heard that you survived after the war, and I heard you got awarded the Order of Merlin. I just- I just was still so mad at you for leaving. It wasn't until there wasn't any more hope that I reached out."

"I should've reached out- Merlin, I love you. I thought about you every day, and when I heard you went to South America- I just- I'm sorry."

The two of you fell back into a comfortable silence, words that should've been said years ago settling between you two. "I'm staying in London, and the girls, they could use a father. I don't know how to explain it to them, but they deserve to know."

"I'll do anything- everything. I'll spoil the girls rotten," Fred smiled, reaching out for your hand. "I'll be the dad I wasn't for all those years."

"Not exactly- they know all about you, well, in a way. You're their favorite bedtime story," you told, taking his hand.

"Thank you for telling them that I loved him," Fred mentioned, rubbing the back of his neck. "I-I do already, but you could've easily told them the truth."

"I did it for you, but also for them. The girls needed to know someone else out there cared for them as much as I did, and I knew that if you knew, you would've been that someone," you smiled.

The two of you somehow found yourself back outside of the hospital room, your hands intertwine and the feeling of something unfinished lying between you two.

"Hey, where were you two? They got the results back, and I matched perfectly!" George cheered, a pirate hat placed lopsidedly on the top of his head. "Us G-named people have to stick together, right, Gennie."

"Right!" Genevieve giggled, high-fiving George.

"I guess this is the start of a happy ending," Fred whispered to you, wiping the falling tears off your face.

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

unspoken words | f.w

"Fred, stop it, I mean it," you cried, your hair tied back in two tight plaits. Your hand was wrapped around Fred's thin wrists as he pulled you through Diagon Alley, ignoring your cries and his mum's.

"Come on, y/n, it's not my fault you're just slow. George is keeping up just fine," Fred huffed, continuing to rush through the streets until they landed in front of Ollivander's. "I can't believe we get to go to Hogwarts. It's it, well-"

"Wicked," Fred and George said together, smirking at each other before pushing through the shop's front door.

"Fred. George. You can't just go running off," Mrs. Weasley screamed, slightly out of breath from trying to keep with the three eleven-year-olds. "Hello, Garrick, I'm afraid we'll be shopping second-hand again. We just don't have the galleons right now for two new wands."

"But, mum," Fred whined, crossing his hands over his chest as George just started at the small section of wands with worn boxes.

"I can pay for your guys' wands," you piped up, pulling out twenty-one galleons. Your mum had insisted you bring enough money to pay for the Weasley’s wands as payment for housing you for the summer while she was off in Tasmania.

"Nevermind, we'll just take the used wands," Fred stated, pushing you aside to look at the second-hand wands.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you grumbled, tossing the galleons on the countertop. "You would rather have a second-hand wand then have one bought by me?"

"Good job, y/n. You got it on the first guess," Fred mocked, slowly clapping his hands.

"I hate you, Fred Weasley," you yelled, grabbing the galleons and storming out of the store.

You wrung your hands, nervous for the Order's newest mission, moving Harry Potter. It was bad enough that the wizard war was looming over your heads like a storm cloud, but now, you couldn't help but feel like something was going to go wrong.

"Okay, time to leave," you mumbled, slipping your favorite sneakers on and apparating to The Burrow.

"Y/N," you heard a familiar voice shout.

"Ginny," you shouted back, wrapping your arms around the petite girl. "Are you going on the mission tonight?"

"Are you kidding me? Mum will hardly let me out of the house," Ginny chuckled, wrapping an arm around you and leading you into the Burrow. "I can't believe Fred and George are letting you go on the mission, especially Fred."

You rolled your eyes at the redhead's wiggling eyebrows. "Sod off, Ginny. We all know that I am a strong, independent person that doesn't need to ginger twins deciding what I can and cannot do," you replied, the words almost verbatim to what you had told Fred when he told you to stay with Molly at the Burrow.

"Hey! I'm a ginger, too," Ginny exclaimed, placing a hand over her chest. "You wound me, did you know that?"

"Yeah, whatever, miss melodramatic. I'm going to put my jacket up in Fred and George's room," you announced, hurrying up the stairs and into the familiar room that smelled still smelled like smoke and candy.

You shrugged off your overcoat, tossing it on Fred's bed, and looked around the room. Everything was exactly the same as it was when you two were kids, bringing back memories of growing up with him.

"Y/N, you can't tell me you're actually thought Bulargia would win," Fred shouted from his side of the tent as you pulled your Bulgaria jersey off. "I thought you had better taste than that, but then again, you're dating Roger Davies."

"Screw you, Fred," you bit back, unsure whether or not to tell him that Roger had dumped you over the summer to try and get with Alicia Spinnet. "And, just so you know, Roger and I are, well, no longer together."

"Finally got tired of sloppy seconds, Cedric's to be precise?" Fred teased, grabbing your wrist and pulling you onto his bunk bed.

"You're a pig, Fred," you growled, leaning against the flat pillows. "Hurry up, now, I want to go out and see how the Irish are celebrating. Maybe we can even convince them to give up some firewhiskey."

"Tsk tsk, illegal underage drinking? Not perfect y/n," Fred chuckled, moving out of the way of your attempt to kick him. "Too slow- I guess that's what happens when you shag a loser like Roger Davies."

"Go to hell," you hissed, your red turning bright red. "I'll just go without you, and not that's it's your business, but I never slept with him."

You stormed out of the tent, pushing past George, who attempted to grab your wrist.

"Y/N, The Order is here," Ginny shouted, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You hurried down the wooden steps, your eyes immediately meeting with Fred's. "Hey," you breathed, running up to the redhead. "Merlin, I've hardly seen you two, and you, Fred Weasley, didn't write back after that mission. I really ought to smack you, but I’m honestly just glad you’re okay."

"Wow, George, it's great to see you, too! How were you after the mission? Good? Oh, I'm so glad," George mocked in a high pitched voice.

"I'm sorry, George, the drama queen, how are you?" you asked, turning away from Fred to look at George.

"Oh, you know, disgust by your outward display of kindness to the lesser twin," George replied, but your eyes were already back on Fred.

"What happened to your cheek?" You asked, running your fingers over a faint scar. "It looks like it hurt."

"I'm fine, y/n, especially knowing that you aren't going tonight," Fred grinned. "They only need twelve ‘Potters’, and they want you back here, in case someone needs healing."

"But-"

"Nope, they aren't budging on the idea, and neither am I. Anyway, we're going to be off once Bill and Fleur arrive," Fred stated, brushing off your concerned look. "Oh, there they are now. I guess I better get outside with the rest of The Order, and before mum fusses over me."

You bit the bottom of your lip, the taste of blood filling your mouth. "Be safe, Freddie. I swear that I'll kill you if you don't come back to me."

"I'll be safe," Fred whispered, brushing a piece of your hair back. "I swear that I'll come back to you."

You watched Fred walk out of the door, a crushing feeling washing over you. "Please have them all return safely," you said to no one in particular, hoping that some force of nature or faith heard you. You walked into the kitchen, where Arthur was talking to Molly, and George was promising to return to Ginny. You sat down in your chair, letting memories sweep you away from the world of worries.

"How was I supposed to know that you needed a personalized goodbye," Fred argued, using his wand to paint another layer of coat on the store's walls.

"Because we're best friends, Fred. You didn't even say goodbye. You left- you just left me alone," You shouted back, flicking your wand to paint your side of the room. "You just flew away on your stupid broom and left me alone. I would've come in a heartbeat."

"I know that- do you not think I don't know anything about you? You are the most brilliant person I know, and I couldn't just take you away. You had to take your N.E.W.Ts. I didn't want you to give up your education for a shop that wasn't your dream," Fred snapped. "I wanted to ask you, and so did George. But, I told him we couldn't sweep you away just because we didn't want to miss you."

You paused, his words sinking in. "I-I didn't- I'm sorry," you relented, setting down your wand and wrapping the redhead into a hug. Then, as if it were magic, Fred returned the hug and elicited butterflies in your stomach.

You didn't need to question the feeling- you knew you were in love.

"Y/N, it's George," a voice screamed, causing you to jump off your kitchen chair and run into the living room where George was lying limply on the couch.

"Shh, George. It'll be okay," you mumbled over and over again, pulling out your wand and murmuring incantations over his body. "Shhh, George, don't cry. I'll stop the pain, I promise."

You worked on his ear and mumbled all of the spells you knew that would act as a nerve block. Finally, what felt like eternities later, George was sleeping peacefully.

"Thank you," Fred spoke up, sitting next to you. "I don't know what would've happened without you here."

"I couldn't save the skin around his ear- it was ridden with dark magic. I had to cut it off, and now, he won't be able to properly hear out of that ear. Oh, God, Fred, why is this happening to us? We're kids," you sniffled, feeling Fred wrap his arms around you and pull you into his chest. "Time is just fading away, and we don't even know anything about the future."

"You were brilliant," Fred mumbled into your ear, hugging you tighter as if you were going to disappear if he didn't. "Y/N, and I need to tell you something-"

"I love you," you blurted, pulling away from his chest. "I should've said it sooner, but now, I need you to know that I love you. You don't need to say it back, but I need you to know."

"I love you, too," Fred breathed, not entirely sure if he heard what he wanted to or if you actually said you loved him. "God, y/n, I've loved you since you offered to buy my wand in Ollivanders- Since you nearly fell over the balcony because you were so swept away with the Quidditch World Cup. I've been in love with you since the moment I met you."

"Freddie, we met when we were like four years old," You laughed, tears starting to run down your face.

"I know- why do you think that I shoved your face into a mud pie," Fred chuckled, wiping your tears off with his palm. "I didn't know how else to say I loved you."

"I love you, Fred Weasley. I don’t know what the hell will happen to us, but I'm just glad we'll do it together," you admitted, pulling Fred in for a kiss.

"Ah, my plan worked," a voice weakly said, causing the two of you to break apart and look at George. "Get my ear blown off? Check. Lose a bunch of blood? Check. Cause my best friend and my twin have an existential crisis? Check. Have them finally admit they're in love? Check."

You could help but laugh, filling the room with a sound that almost seemed unfamiliar. "Thanks, George, we couldn't have admitted it without you," you joked, playing along with the redhead.

"I know- although, I wish it hadn't taken years of sexual tension between you two and my ear to come off," George grinned, laying his head back down.

“Eh, I kind of enjoyed the sexual tension,” Fred joked, “it really built-up this moment.”

“Shut up, and kiss me,” you smiled, grabbing the front of his shirt and bringing his lips against yours.

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

love me tender

warnings: overall kinda suggestive ig

Valentine's Day- every guys' nightmare and every girls' dream day. You had always been one of the guys, running from teachers with the twins and cursing at the Slytherin chasers with Lee. And, as much as you hated to admit it, you were in the same state as every other girl walking the stone corridors of Hogwarts. You found yourself doe-eyed and secretly hoping that every guy that walked past you was planning on asking you to Hogsmeade. Unfortunately for you, your hopes were about as good as they were when the Appleby Arrows had a shot at the Quidditch World Cup.

"Look at all of these girls, crowding the hall with desperate hopes that some boy will ask them to the Hogsmeade trip even though the trip is tomorrow," Fred chuckled, leaning down and tickling your ear with his laugh. "This whole thing is practically begging for a solution- like a diluted love potion. Wanna meet me for some testing tonight?"

"When pigs fly will I let you give me a love potion," You laughed, pushing Fred. You loved Fred- maybe a little more than you would ever admit- but he truly never stopped inventing and thinking up ways to capitalize off anything. "You could leave Valentine's Day alone, you crazy wizard capitalist, you know? It's all about love, Freddie- not making money off girls who just want someone to be head over heels for them."

Fred stopped in his tracks, his hands quickly making their way to his waist to stop you from running into him. "Hold on now, madame lovey-dovey, are you actually falling victim to the idea of Valentine's Day."

You tossed your head back, letting out an unattractive giggle-snort as Fred pulled you into an abandoned classroom. "Freddie, you're being dramatic- Valentine's Day is about being love and spending the day with someone who just looks at you like-like you're the stars and everything great about the world."

"You know, I never took you for a hopeless romantic," Fred teased, shutting the classroom door and taking a seat on top of an old desk.

"Freddie, we're supposed to getting to Charms, you cheeky redhead," You laughed, joining Freddie on the desk. "Besides, I've always been a hopeless romantic- you're just not the type of friend I talk to about this stuff."

Fred held his hand to his chest in mock hurt before gently nudging your shoulder. "Come on, y/n, we're supposed to be the bestest of friends, and I have the friendship bracelet to prove it," Fred hummed, pulling out a raggedy chain of thread that you gave him back in first-year. "So, pretend I'm Angelina and tell me why you're such a Valentine's Day purist and against me capitalizing off of it."

"Freddie, charms class? Does that ring a bell," You chuckled, jumping off of the desk and pulling Fred towards the door. "Besides, Weasley, do you really think lowly of me now that you know I want to be drowned in chocolates, flowers, and love bites tomorrow?"

Fred pulled his hand on the door, keeping it closed, as an all too familiar smirk spread across his face. "Little miss mudpies and races down the corridors wants someone to fall over themselves for her? Remember when George fell into a bowl of mashed potatoes trying to impress Angelina by serenading her? You really want that?"

You leaned your head against the door and stared at your best friend, his brown eyes staring back at you inquisitively. Even after all these years with him, Fred puzzled you. He wasn't the player- he didn't go from girl to girl, he didn't wake up in different beds each morning, and he never really played the part of a casanova- but he wasn't the type to commit. George was the twin to fall hopelessly in love and fall over himself for a girl he liked. Fred was the one to remain tunnel-visioned on his and George's business. Still, you thought he said at least one romantic bone in his body.

"Freddie, my love, I want it all," you smiled, looking up at Fred who had you pinned against the classroom door. "I want kisses in the moonlight, snowball fights, late nights in the astronomy tower, and god, Freddie, I want someone to fall into a bowl of mashed potatoes for me."

Fred let out of laugh, filling the room with a sound worth millions if someone could find a way to sell it. "I learn something new about you every day," Fred grinned. "First-year, I learned you are allergic to pumpkin pastries. Second-year, I learned you are terrified of caterpillars. Then last year, I found out you have a birthmark on your-"

"Shut up, Red," you giggled, remembering how red Fred got when he walking in on you changing into your Quidditch Irish Jersey. "Ginny warned you that I wasn't ready, you know."

"Well, I forgot you're a girl and take forever to get ready," Fred teased, sending you a quick wink that sent another wave of giggles through you. "In all seriousness, though, how come I've never learned that you're interested in dating?"

"Freddie," you started, placing your hands on Fred's chest and gently pushing him away, "I did talk about it around the yule ball time last year, and then told you that you felt all this pressure to ask me when we were dancing. I-I just don't want you to feel like I'm only friends with you because I want romance out of it."

Fred grabbing your hand, closing the space you had put between the two of you. "Come on, y/n, have some faith in me. We are solid bestest of friends- I would never think you only want a good snog from me."

"Oh, Red, you are so wrong. I am only in this for the snogging," you teased, pulling Fred closer to you by his robes. "This whole being friends with you for seven years- it is a total play. I'm only here for neck kisses, corny nicknames, and lots of time in broom closets."

Fred laughed against your lips, the warm air stirring a fuzzy feeling in your stomach. "Then you, love, are the absolute worst at the hustle," Fred mumbled, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips. "Absolute rubbish, love. I can't remember a single time we've snogged, and I know that is something I would never forget."

Your eyes involuntarily fluttered shut as Fred's breath moved from your lips to your neck. "Rubbish, Freddie. I'm such rubbish at using all of this time I've earned. Oh, and Freddie?"

"Yes, love," Fred mumbled against the nape of your neck.

"You've asked a lot of questions, and now it's my turn. When did you start becoming so interested in me?" You let out a soft sound before guiding Fred back into your line of sight. "With all these questions, Freddie, I'm thinking you're maybe only in this friendship for the snogging."

"Caught me," Fred smirked, crashing his lips against yours and pinning harder against the door. Your hands moved faster than your mind, moving from his chest to the back of his neck to his hair.

You pulled away from him, your breath heavy and your body reacting only to the redhead in front of you. "Fred, what are we doing?" You asked, her breathing heavy and feeling intoxicated by the smell of Fred. "You have never been interested in dating or snogging girls in abandoned classrooms."

Fred shook his head and began laughing like you said the world's funniest joke. "Come on, y/n. For someone who is a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic, you are so oblivious. I've never been interested in dating or going around and snogging in an abandoned classroom because you've never been interested."

"Freddie, I've always been interested in you- well, since last year," you grinned, mindlessly running your hands through his hair. "Specifically, at your house when you brought me cookies after getting back from The Cup. You laid in bed with me until I stopped shaking."

Fred involuntarily shivered as you tugged gently on his hair. "I have been waiting to kiss you like that since the moment I learned you're allowed to kiss girls like that," Fred laughed, burying his laughter in the crook of your neck. Fred placed a gentle kiss there before looking up at you and turning solemn. "However, I have been waiting to tell you that you make me crazy since the day you stood on the top of the Gryffindor table in first-year and announced in shock there were two of us, not just me."

"Romantic, Weasley," You grinned, bringing him down to your level. "Sweet and innocent is so attractive on you, and yet-"

"And yet?" Fred questioned, cocking an eyebrow.

"And yet, it isn't what I signed up for," You mumbled, closing the gap between the two of you. Fred grinned against your mouth, placing his hands on your hips and maneuvering you from the wall onto a desk.

"I have a feeling we'll be missing charms class entirely," Fred joked, shrugging off his robes.

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

two to tango | f.w

"Sorry, love, but George and I are going to try and find some first-years who will test some of our products. I promise that we'll get together later," Fred whispered to you, placing a kiss on your cheek. "I love you, and if you need me, George and I will be in the Gryffindor Common Room."

"I love you, too," you mumbled, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest.

It felt selfish to be angry at him, but it seemed that you two were spending more and more time apart. Maybe it was Umbridge's insane by-laws or the fact that you and Fred were both preparing for your futures outside of Hogwarts. Either way, it felt like you two were worlds apart.

"I'm sorry, y/n, but you know how important this is," Fred replied, noticing your change in demeanor. "I promise, love, that we will have some time to ourselves once George and I sort the bits and bobs of our business."

"Don't worry, Freddie, I understand. I need to study for the N.E.W.Ts anyway," you reassured the redhead half-heartedly. "Go on, you don't want to leave George waiting."

You offered the redhead a comforting smile and wave as he made his way out of the courtyard and towards the Gryffindor tower. Once the boy was out of sight, you dropped the façade and leaned against the stone wall.

"Why is it so much harder now?" You groaned, closing your eyes.

You and Fred had always been in each other's pockets, especially after you two started dating, but now it felt like the universe was keeping you apart. Weeks had gone by since you two spent time alone with each other, and the fleeting moments you had with each other were filled with arguments over the inevitable wizarding war. Deep down, a part of you wondered if this was what falling out of love felt like.

You pushed yourself off the wall and began your way towards the library. If you were going to mope, you might as well do it over your N.E.W.T textbooks and study guides.

"Y/L/N, you're late on returning the book on quidditch maneuvers," Madame Pince warned, furthering your terrible mood.

"It's in my dorm," you replied, brushing off the witch and taking a seat in the middle of the library.

It didn't take long for you to become immersed in your textbooks, attempting to drown out your worries with potions jargon and meaningless information.

"Y/N Y/L/N?" You looked up, your eyes immediately drawn to an extremely pale first-year.

"Puking pastille?" You asked, setting down your book.

"Er, yeah, they just got the bleeding to stop," the first-year boy blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, um, was told to tell you that Fred Weasley needs you immediately. He's in, um, I think it was in danger?"

"What? What happened? I thought the whole point of them finding testing dummies was that they wouldn’t be in danger," you rambled, hurriedly stuffing your books into your bag. "Well, I'm not staying here, and neither should you. Hurry on, kid, go to the hospital wing before you pass out."

You rushed past the young first-year and made your way towards the Gryffindor tower. It positively just your luck that the first time you and Fred would spend some time with each other, he would be in danger.

"Fred?" you shouted, pushing past the protesting fat lady portrait. "What-what is going on?"

You stared blankly at the redhead, perfectly fine and smirking knowingly at you. "I wanted to surprise you," Fred stated simply, conjuring a flower out of thin air and placing it in your hair. "I think I owe you seven dates now?"

"Nine," you corrected with a grin. "Nine dates, and seventeen 'I love yous.'"

"Well, let's start making up lost time now," Fred grinned, grabbing your hand and leading you out of the Gryffindor tower. "I love you, y/n, and I have since you tripped into me during Herbology and burnt me with plant puss."

"Shut up," you laughed, your face turning red. "You promised you wouldn't bring that up again."

"How can I when that was the moment I fell in love with you? I knew it was love at first sight, even when my eyes swelled shut," Fred teased, wrapping his arms around your side. "I loved you then, but not as much as I love you now."

Your smile faltered at his words, guilt starting to sink in. "I- I thought we might have been starting to fall out of love," you admitted, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"I couldn't ever fall out of love with you- no matter the war or George and I's business," Fred stated adamantly, abruptly stopping and turning to look at you. "I plan on marrying you, you know. I plan on marrying you, having a family with you, and loving you until I die. You know that, don't you?"

"I-I- no, I didn't," you stuttered, shocked by his words. As long as you two had been together, you two had never had a serious talk about what graduating Hogwarts meant for you two. "I thought-"

"No- if you thought my plans didn't involve getting down on one knee after the war, you were mistaken. Ever since the fifth year, I can only imagine marrying you," Fred interjected, placing his hands on your sides.

"Oh, so you daydream about me in a white dress," you teased, attempting to alleviate the intense manner of the conversation.

"Like you can wear white," Fred joking scoffed, ignoring your playful hit on his shoulder. "With what we've done, you might as well wear black."

"Hey," you exclaimed, "it takes two to tango."

"And, I only want to tango with you, and I mean it, too," Fred added, pulling you in for a kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you and enjoying the warmth that always radiated off of him. You suddenly forget about falling out of love; how could you two, when he still brought butterflies to your stomach.

"Wanna tango?" Fred cheekily asked, pulling away from the kiss breathlessly.

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[hhoriginalworks]

crying in a yule ball dress | f.w

The Yule Ball was the only thing that anyone seemed to talk about. It came around faster than you expected, and you were somewhat over the build-up. It was just a dance, and you would have rather stayed in your room and read a book while your friends ran around like chickens without their heads. But your friends never let you off that easy, which meant you were attempting to smile as your friends took pictures of this 'momentous occasion.'

"Come on, y/n, smile," Angelina begged, looked at the picture where your face was set in more of a grimace than a smile. "Oh, we're late! Fred will be waiting for us."

"Oh, poor him," you drawled sarcastically, straightened the lavender fabric. "At least, his friends aren't shoving him into four-inch heels and forcing him to parade around like a circus elephant."

Katie Bell rolled her eyes, pushing you out of the dorm and mumbling about how you were ungrateful. Maybe you were a little ungrateful, but no one should be grateful for some sorry excuse to get dressed up. "Hey, Lee," Katie sweetly greeted, looping arms with the Gryffindor. "You don't mind that y/n and I are sharing you, do you?"

"Are you kidding me? I get to have two of the most beautiful girls on my arm the whole night. Not to mention that I would do anything for you," Lee shamelessly flirted, too focused on Katie to notice the kissing noises the twins were making.

"Lee, you're off the hook. I'm going stag." You shot the boy a subtle wink, watching his face glow at your comment.

"If you insist, y/n. I would have been glad to have you as my date," Lee replied, mouthing thank you when Katie looked into her purse for lipstick.

You swiftly brushed the boy off, following the three couples to the Great Hall that had been transformed into an elegant ballroom. "Oh, let's join the slow dance," Alicia urged, pulling George onto the dance floor with a smile.

You watched your friends disappear into the crowd, leaving you alone and slightly bitter. Despite your feelings, you understood. Angelina, George, Fred, Lee, Alicia, and Katie were all outgoing people, who all couldn't quite grasp the idea that you liked being alone. So, you left the crowded room, trying to push the thought that if you had said yes to some Beaubaxtons boy, you could be out there too.

"You wouldn't enjoy it, even if you had said yes," You said aloud, reminding yourself that you would have been just as miserable with a date.

You found yourself on the Great Hall balcony, picking at the ivy that grew up one wall and buried deep in your thoughts. Then, as random as being struck by lightning, you felt pressure pile onto your chest. Maybe it was the fact that your school years had been uneventful- despite being in your 6th year- or it was that you were sitting on the balcony floor alone, but you starting to tear up.

"Oh, Merlin, please no. Not tonight," you sniffled, wiping the hot tears running down your cheeks. "You couldn't even wait until you were in pyjamas?"

"Need company?" You hurriedly wiped the stray tears off of your face before turning around to face Fred Weasley. "Y/N, if you wanted a dance with me, you could've just asked. No need to cry."

You let out a forced laugh, turning back around. "I'm not going back."

"I know."

"You don't need to stay here with me, Fred."

"I know."

You let out a frustrated sigh, pulling at the silver clasp that kept your hair up. "Well, if you're not leaving, you might as well sit down," you grumbled, scooting over some. "I know that a stone floor isn't exactly comfortable, but-"

You stopped when Fred wordlessly sat beside you, his legs stretched out past yours. "So, what do we do now?"

"What do you mean?" You asked, shaking your head as the boy impatiently looked around for something to do. You had known Fred since first-year, but the sight of him trying to stay quiet still amused you.

"You came out here to get a break, right? So, what do we do to pass the time? You know so that when we're heading back, the corridors aren't crowded." You stared blankly at the redhead, unsure of how to answer.

"Um, usually I'm alone, Fred," you admitted. "I just pass the time by, well, um, I guess, by thinking."

"Boring," the redhead quipped up. "Let's play 20 questions."

"We've known each other since the first train ride, Weasley. I imagine we know plenty about each other," you chuckled, amused by the idea that Fred Weasley wanted to get to know you.

"No, I've known you through Angelina, Katie, and Alicia. I don't know you, y/n," Fred explained, drawing out his words for effect. "I'll start. What do you fear most about the future?"

You rolled your eyes at his question. "Wow, Weasley, you don't want to start off with something milder like 'when did you lose your first tooth,'" you joked, earning a chuckle from Fred.

"I only have 20 questions, y/n. I'm not wasting it on rookie questions," Fred laughed, tossing his head back. "Just answer it, y/n."

You shrugged- he made a valid point, and you couldn't argue. "The war, I guess. I'm a half-blood, so I worry about my mum whose a muggleborn. My turn, Weasley. What do you want to do with your life?"

You let out a small breath you didn't realize you were holding when Fred didn't push any further about your answer. "George and I want to start our own joke shop, like Zonko's, but with stuff that we've invented. We just don't have the money, which I guess is the story of our lives."

"I'll invest," you said. "I mean if you guys needed it. We've been friends, or at least friends through friends, for ages now. Besides, from a business standpoint, you two are brilliant."

"You'd really invest?" Fred repeated, turning to look at you. "Let's be honest, y/n, you hardly know us. How do you know that we won't fail and burn your money."

"I guess," You started, "I don't know. It's just money either way. It's your turn, by the way."

Fred turned light pink, extremely flattered by your words. "Why were you crying?"

"Wow, not even to our fifth question," you stated, unimpressed. "Not even a little build-up for suspense?"

"Nah, you don't seem like the build-up type," Fred shrugged, leaning back on his elbows. "Well, answer it already. I'm getting better looking, but not younger."

"I wish I had done more," you mumbled, slightly embarrassed. "We're leaving Hogwarts next year, and well, I have nothing to show for it besides a few good grades. I'm not like you or George or Angelina. I haven't made an impression on anyone."

"Well, I don't-"

"You don't what, hm? You don't think you've made an impression? Please, Weasley, everyone is dreading you the moment you and George walk out of here," you interrupted, tossing your arms in the air. "Hell, I am dreading the moment you leave. You're the only that I enjoy about Hogwarts."

The moment you snapped your mouth shut, the air surrounding you and Fred seemed to have stilled. "I, um, didn't mean anything by that," you whispered, blood rushing to your cheeks as the redhead remained silent.

"Actually, before you interrupted me, I was going to say you've made an impression on someone," Fred mumbled softly, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, like who?" You scoffed, doubting that anyone would remember the girl who spent her time in the shadows of the most outgoing Gryffindors.

"Me," Fred confessed.

You opened your mouth, wanting to say something, but no words seemed genuine enough. So you did the only thing that came to mind, you placed a kiss on the redhead's cheek. It was fleeting and gentle, but it said more than any sentence you could form.

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive