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fangisms · 10 months

Text

summertime at the burrow

A/N: i want to be an honorary weasley please im literally begging. notice me molly weasley

Pairings: Best Friend!Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Fred finally invites his best friend home over summer holiday. Neither of you expected it to go so well. 3.7k words.

Warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers, ungodly amount of shenanigans, friendly bullying/teasing, mud wrestling, kissing, (friendly) violence, pet names (trouble, snookums, sugarplum, sweetheart), cursing, borderline frog abuse

"Good morning, trouble."

You hop into the seat next to him that he’d been saving for you. In fact, he’d been saving it for you since the first time you plopped down beside him after the sorting hat declared your house first year. You laughed when he shook your hand. He thought you had the cutest smile. Then you teased him for his devilish charm and he called you catty, and you’ve been teasing each other ever since.

"Are you packed and ready?” He sounds more worried than that time he nearly shattered his collar bone during a vicious Quidditch scrimmage. “We're leaving bright and early tomorrow. Mum says she's preparing a hearty lunch for our guests." Fred scarfs down the rest of his breakfast and turns to look at you to find you're looking back at him in bewilderment.

"Somebody's excited," you tease, ruffling his fiery locks and glancing over at George with a grin.

"If you think this is bad, you should see him before winter holidays," George huffs.

“I have.”

Fred rolls his eyes at you and you jab him in the side.

"Where are the lot of you off to?" Lee perks up from across the table, setting his plate down and wiggling his way between Alicia and Angelina.

"I finally got my honorary invite to the Weasley burrow this summer," you chirp, wrapping your arm over Fred's shoulders and leaning him into your side.

Lee cocks a brow and smirks at a suddenly and uncharacteristically shy Fred. "Well, it's about time! You've only been dating for—"

You shake your head. "No, not dating, Lee. I swear we've been over this—"

"Oh, we've been over it plenty. I just choose to ignore wicked witches when they lie—!"

You practically leap across the table with your teeth gritted to grab for his robes when you're stopped by the laughing twins holding you back from tearing into him. "Lee Jordan, you take that back right now, or so help me your mother will wonder why your hair's gone purple!"

"I'm not going to apologize for being lied to!"

"Let me at him! I'm trying to defend my honor here!"

"Miss—young lady!”—McGonagall appears behind you, sending you into shock and barreling back onto the bench—“Settle down! You're frightening the first years, and we typically prefer they come back in the fall."

"Apologies, professor, I was simply trying to have a friendly discussion with my classmate," you say, gesturing to Lee who smiles begrudgingly.

"Right, well, from now on, let's have our discussions from across the furniture, not on top of it." She wanders away, and you turn to stick your tongue out at Lee who is doubled-over and cackling at your being caught.

“I hope you know, we’re going to receive the same third-degree from my dear mother,” Fred mumbles in your ear. His heart races when you turn to him, a playful glint in your eye. You blink sweetly and rest your hand on his knee when he tucks his arm around your lower back. “But don’t worry, sugarplum, it’s never too late to try.”

He winks. Your eyes go wide, and you shove at his shoulder with a chuckle disguised by a scoff.

“Scabbers not the only rat in the Weasley family, I see.”

“That is exactly what I’m talking about, there’s no way you two are just friends—”

A slice of ham sticks to Lee’s cheek with a cold, wet slap as you eye him from across the table.

“Don’t listen to him, snookums, he just doesn’t understand our complicated arrangement,” Fred says, nudging your cheek with his nose and holding back laughter.

“Gross,” George mutters, grinning before he’s met with the same lunchmeat backhand his friend so rudely received. “Suppose I could’ve predicted that one.”

…

You wipe the sweat from your brow, slinging your carry-on over your shoulder before bending down to pick up your trunk. You’re trailing behind most of the rest of the group, just a few steps behind the twins while their younger siblings charge ahead through the field with Harry and Hermione. Fred checks in with you every couple of meters, making sure you don’t need any serious medical attention.

Once the twins breach the front door, you take a seat outside on your trunk, fanning yourself with your hand and throwing your head back. Then you hear:

“Fred, you better get out there and help that poor girl with her things!”

“Sorry, mum!”

You chuckle when he appears in the doorway moments later, winded as ever, hair plastered to his forehead, and still grinning wildly as he jogs over.

“What’s a lovely young lady like yourself doing outside all alone on such an unbearably hot afternoon?”

“Sweating like swine.”

“Ravishing,” he teases, shooing you off the suitcase, “head inside, mum’s absolutely itching to meet you.”

So you do. You can see her welcoming her children and their friends alike, and it fills you with the warmth of fresh gingerbread and the nerves of a teenage boy during school dance season.

“My dear!” she coos, arms outstretched even though a thin year of sweat coats every inch of your body, even though you’ve been wearing these clothes for a day, and even though you’re breathing heavy like a dog. She’s got her arms outstretched like you’re family.

“I’ve heard so much about you from Fred, and, goodness, you’re even prettier than he said you’d be!” —She gasps when he walks through the door, hauling your trunk in tow—“Don’t tell him I told you.”

“It’s been five minutes and you two are already sharing secrets about me. Only seven more days, Freddie,” he mumbles, setting the trunk down with a thud.

“Oh, well! It’s wonderful to finally meet you, dear, Ginny will show you to your room and lunch will be ready once you’re all settled!”

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley—”

“Oh, none of that, call me Molly.”

Your brows knit when she smiles at you so gently before making her way back to the kitchen.

“Thank you, Molly!”

Fred hops up from where he’d been relaxing on an armchair, clapping you on the arm with a reassuring smile.

“Everything processing alright up there?”

You nod.

“Peachy. Now give me a smile, you’re scaring me.”

You squint at him and pinch his arm, simpering when he hisses and swats your dry-gulching fingers away.

“That’ll do!”

“We’re up this way,” Ginny chirps as she rushes by and tugs you by the hand up the stairs.

Fred watches after you, rubbing his arm with a mean look on his face just before his playful resentment fades and his affections settle into the apples of his cheeks. This is going to be a long seven days.

…

Fred had never invited anyone to stay at the burrow. He preferred the company of his close family and whoever his mother deemed Weasley-enough herself. But he’d been saving this invitation. It stewed in the back of his mind for years before he mustered up the courage to offer it to you.

Ridiculous. That’s how it sounded in his head: ridiculous. If he wanted to ask you, he should have done it at the first chance. That’s what Fred would do. But he could never bring himself to get the words out whenever he swore to himself today would be the day. Because you’d just look at him with those damned doe eyes—you’d test his boundaries and make him all gushy inside—and it was like he was suddenly turned to a tongue-tied and pathetic halfwit.

And now here you are. An unofficial part of his family. But nevertheless a part of it. You’d found the annual Weasley strawberry-picking trip to be wonderful despite Fred pulling cheap pranks on you and the fact that it was basically sweltering outside. When you returned, you all spread out in the family room with bowls of the dewy berries in each of your laps. Everyone claimed a seat while you and Fred were forced to share the hardwood floor. You ended up tossing the small fruits into each other’s mouths with your legs laid across his thighs.

At one point, he lands one of the berries down your blouse. Almost immediately, he starts to laugh, clutching his chest while you gawk at him.

“You better start running, trouble.”

He gulps and scampers to his feet before scurrying out the front door. You take off after him, shouting curses into the wind when he rounds a corner.

You follow his footsteps but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“I swear, if I ever get my hands on you—”

He grabs your waist from behind you, dipping down to whisper in your ear. “You can put your hands on me whenever you’d like, sugarplum—”

“Merlin’s Beard, Fred! You scared the shit out of me!”

You jolt away, and he thinks you look genuinely angry this time. But he smiles and your features soften. Then you’re after him again, bounding into the tall grass with an uproar of laughter.

…

You spend the next few days of your vacation trying to beat Ron at chess then deciding it may be better if you and Harry team up to try and beat Ron at chess. You also take Ginny and Hermione shopping while the gaggle of boys trail behind the three of you grumbling and whining about missing their beloved Quidditch game.

You offer to help Molly with every meal, and she only accepts once you convince her your desserts are a crowd favorite back home. She’s proud to say she’s impressed, and she grows even prouder when you admit you adore big families like hers and see at least two kids of your own in your future.

Arthur takes a liking to you after you listen to him rave about the kind of items muggles use day-to-day and how fascinating their modern technology has become in recent years. He’s thrilled to find you actually take interest in his tinkering and collections and whatnot.

But most of all, you spend your time at the burrow with Fred. He steals you away after meals and keeps you up late to teach you his favorite charms. One overcurious evening finds you two perched together on the bathroom floor whispering and giggling while you brush a bold smokey-eye onto his eyelids. Let’s just say dinner that night was nothing short of hilarious: a look that Fred will never live down.

On the fifth morning, you jostle him awake. He whines about the sun not even being up yet while you drag him down the steps and shove your socked feet into an extra pair of rubber boots.

“What’s the bucket for?” he whispers, traipsing down the path along the side of the house when you stop dead in your tracks.

“Shh!” You press your gloved finger to his lips. A chorus of croaks erupts from the marsh beside the house. Nothing out of the ordinary for Fred, in fact that sound had often soothed him to sleep. But there’s a dangerous glint in your eye that tells him you’re on a mission.

“Can’t we do this when the sun is up? It’s cold and I’m tired—”

“The faster we catch ‘em, the faster we can go back to bed,” you whisper as your boot sinks into the edge of the muddy body of water. He sighs and sinks in next to you with his hands on his hips.

“I can’t believe you’ve convinced me to do this. You’re lucky you’re so pretty or you’d never get away with anything.”

You purse your lips and wade a little further out, looking out at the cooly rippling water beneath the sliver of sunrise.

“Yes, I would,” you say, quietly but so matter-of-fact he’s inclined to believe you.

Just then you spring into action, shoveling a small frog into your bucket with a victorious grunt. A few minutes later, he shuffled over to you and lowers his cupped palms into your bucket: three more frogs settle down into the center with a wet plop. You beam up at him, and it’s worth the early morning trouble to see you so happy and have you so close.

“So what do you plan on doing with these poor creatures once we’re done?”

You sit on the bank of the waterbed, sighing and setting the bucket beside you. He watches you from the water while you examine the small blob of darkness in the center of your palm. The bottom of the bucket is lined with croaking frogs, and the sun is well above the horizon, dousing the sky in soft pink and warm rose.

“I’m going to let them go.”

He lets out a sharp breath, hands falling to his sides, leaving streaks of mud down his tee shirt.

“You’re joking.”

You look up at him. You’re not joking.

“No,” he huffs. “You did not drag me out of my nice, warm bed to catch a million slimy frogs in the freezing cold dark just to let them go again.”

“Oh, but I did.” You’re crazy, he thinks. You’re crazy and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. Doesn’t make you any less crazy, though it might make him much less sane.

You set the frog down in the grass and leave the bucket tipped over. The small creatures immediately flood out from the splotchy tin opening into the newborn daylight and the crisp morning air. You stand and wipe your hands against each other a few times, scrunching your nose and finally meeting his eyes again.

“What’s wrong, trouble? Cat got your tongue?”

You grin.

“You know, one of these days, I’m going to say ‘no’ to you, and it’ll be a rude awakening.”

Fred walks past you like he’s really mad. Like it was an uncrossable line and you treated it like the tape at the end of a marathon. He’s hulking back towards the house when you grab his wrist to get his attention.

“What?”

But you don’t look sad. You don’t look pitiful or hurt. You look like you’re scheming, and it drives him crazy. As if he could ever say ‘no’ to you.

“You think I’m pretty,�� you coo, batting your lashes just to get on his nerves. His breath hitches, and he feels warm despite the nipping cold of the morning.

“Unrelated.”

You drop his hand and cross your arms over your chest with a pout. He continues leisurely toward the burrow, tossing his gloves to the ground with a huff of hot air.

“Fred?” you call. And you sound worried, so he’s compelled to whip around. But when he does, he’s met with a rude awakening.

It was a misstep. A silly mistake, the wrong footing. Easily avoidable, and yet he didn’t avoid it. So he’s ass-first into a mud puddle with you shrieking in laughter about a meter away.

“You’re awful,” he grumbles, both hands propping him up and seeping into the thick mud as seconds tick by.

“I’m sorry! Freddie, I’m so sorry,” you cackle, taking a few steps toward him with tears of joy in your eyes. “But you should have seen your face!”

“Help me up,” he says, shaking his head and wiping his hand down his pajama pants before holding it outstretched to you. You grab it and tug enough to leverage him out of the muck. But he doesn’t budge. And in that moment, your eyes are filled with fear. Then, with one jolt, you topple down into the mud right beside him.

“Fred!”

“An eye for an eye, sugarplum.”

You push yourself up onto your hands to find your entire front is caked in mud, the mess narrowly avoiding your chin and above.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

“Oh, bring it on,” Fred teases.

You smirk just before a handful of mud is smeared across his chest by your slippery glove.

“Your move, trouble.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, looking down at the abstract art work fondly. But not quite fondly enough to hold himself back. His fingers dig into the puddle determinedly just before patting the top of your head with it like a stray dog. You squint your eyes closed and groan before peeking one eye open and coating his cheek in mud.

You make it to your feet and Fred hurls a ball of mud at your ass but he misses and it lands in the grass in front of you. You bolt around the back of the house, but he hurls a hunk towards your shoulder blade. You yelp and shout at him:

“You’re supposed to be a gentleman!”

“I’ll show you a gentleman, sweetheart,” he hollers it just before he catches up to you. You squeal and nearly slip on a slick patch of grass, but before you can leap out of his reach, he grabs your upper arm and presses you against the tree just behind your back.

“That’s not playing fair, Freddie, I’ve got nowhere to run,” you say, breathlessly grasping at the edge of his shirt with a tired smile. He chuckles and plants one palm against the bark beside your head, bringing the other hand to cup the side of your neck.

“You don’t need to run anywhere,” he mumbles, “just stay here.” The dried mud on the pad of his thumb draws a swipe of dirt down your cheek. Your fingers curl around his wrist and your lips part sweetly when he leans in.

“Time to come inside, you two! Breakfast is ready!”

Your eyes go wide when he leans his forehead against the tree with a grumbled curse.

“I suppose I am quite peckish!” you chirp, dragging him along behind you all the way to the front door. You leave your boots and gloves outside and brush some of the dried dirt from your pajamas.

You sit across from him at breakfast and catch him stealing glances at you every so often. With a mouth full of food, you wink at him with a dirt-smeared face and almost make him spit out his juice when you kick him under the table. George teases the two of you about wrestling in the mud while Molly scolds Fred about tracking it into the house.

…

Before long, you’re facing the final night of your stay. You’d been dreading the end since the beginning, and now that it’s here, you’re heartbroken. It’s been nothing but fun and you’ve never felt so wonderfully vulnerable with so many people around.

But the thing you’ll miss most is Fred. He could sense you pulling away the last couple of days. Trying to shield yourself from the impact of reality. No matter how hard he tried to cheer you up, he knew nothing could stop you thinking about how much packing up and leaving would hurt.

With your things splayed out across the floor of your temporary room, you had started packing hours ago but kept finding ways to distract yourself and avoid the idea of leaving altogether.

“Need any help?” Fred knocks on the doorframe, leaned against it and wearing the blue jumper you once told him he looked best in. You smile up at him from the floor.

“No,” you huff, “but some company would be nice.”

He perks up and shuffles around your belongings to plant himself on the edge of the bed. You had made the bed up nicely, tucked the duvet and set the pillows out nicely. He told you you didn’t have to, but you did it anyways.

After a few minutes of folding and refolding the same shirt, you stand from the floor and join him on the bed. He’s leaned back onto his elbows when he nudges your foot with his. You nudge him back but don’t turn to look at him. So he sits up and bumps you with his shoulder.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says, fussing with the edge of your shorts to distract himself, “Being here, I mean. As a part of our family.”

You smile down at his fiddling fingertips and inch closer, looking at him with this half-sad, half-happy look that has him confused and hopeless and head over heels and confused.

“I had a really, really nice time,” you whisper, leaning your head onto his shoulder and letting your eyes drift closed.

“So…”

You chuckle and smile to yourself, “So…?”

You sit up when the floor rattles a little, a thudding coming from the room below you. Then George shouts.

“Get it over with already!”

You both look at each other and giggle. Fred leans back again and you watch him tilt his head back and let out a sigh. His chest rises and falls beneath that damned blue sweater, and you trace your fingertips over his knuckles. He lifts his head and smiles cheekily at you, like he knows what’s going on inside your head. Like he has any idea. And for once, you think he might be pretty close.

You practically tackle him to the bed, smiling against his mouth when he cradles your face in one hand and rests the other on your waist where your shirt had ridden up from the ruckus.

You pepper soft kisses over his blushing face, leaving faintly glossy lip prints on his cheeks and nose and forehead and a stray one on the column of his neck. He goes slack against the bed, satisfied and content and happy all because of you. But still, he lazily opens his eyes and grins mischievously and says:

“Took you long enough.”

You smack your hand against his chest just hard enough to warn him.

“Oh, you’re trouble, Weasley.”

He cups your hand against his warm chest and his smile ebbs from mischief to something not as easily recognized. Something that makes him shy and pink thanks to the girl who likes the freckles across the bridge of his nose in the summer and his hands even when they’re covered in mud. Love that makes him much less sane for the girl who might just be crazy for loving him back.

And all of it makes him hold your hand and lean up to kiss you one more time.

masterlist

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fluff #fluff #fanfic #hp universe #hp fandom #fred weasley x fem!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x gryffindor!reader #friends to lovers #best friends to lovers

3K notes · View notes

jamilelucato · 8 months

Text

possibility - fred weasley

pairing: fred weasley x slytherin!reader

(it can be read as a one-shot) (part 02 here!)

summary: Amidst the boredom, an unexpected connection sparks between (Y/N) and the charismatic mischief-maker, Fred Weasley.

note: They are in their last year at Hogwarts, so, for purposes, they are 18; besides, the whole canon of the book (it would've been Order of the Phoenix) is mostly nonexistent here.

the reader: can be interpreted as someone with ADHD; she loves literature and she has no friends.

words: 7580

Enjoy!

The lesson trudged on, dripping with tedium.

In truth, (y/n) quite liked Professor Flitwick. She had, in fact, eagerly accepted his invitation to become his assistant whenever the First Years graced his class. Being an assistant delighted her to no end. Yet, being a student, well, that was a different cauldron of bubbling potion altogether.

Today, Flitwick's lecture on Spellcasting and its perils was dragging on and on. As a sixth-year student, the curriculum seemed more intent on delving into existing knowledge than offering exciting novelties. While these topics might hold allure for a future Auror or the like, they were a one-way ticket to Boredomville for her.

Ever since (y/n) had decided upon her career path – a decision that seemed to have been brewed in the deepest recesses of her being – most of her classes had metamorphosed into a soporific ordeal. Hogwarts wasn't particularly renowned for its prowess in teaching language and literature, but that was precisely where her ambitions lay. A writer, a wordsmith, perhaps even an editor or a high school pedagogue. Anything that would let her commune with the magic of words, not the sort that burst from wands.

Now, she wasn't a woeful spell caster by any means. Professor Flitwick wouldn't have sought her assistance if she weren't a smart witch. But, her heart preferred the dance of ink on parchment over the intricacies of wand-waving, often rendering her classroom hours relatively inconsequential.

Seeking refuge from this stifling monotony, (y/n) allowed her gaze to wander. And in this sea of faces, her eyes collided with Fred Weasley – the school's most notorious ginger-haired mischief-maker. He was already watching her, a mask of effortless nonchalance draped over his face. He raised his brows at her, noticing she was staring back, and he did not look away. And so, they locked eyes, neither relinquishing the connection. It was not a duel of gazes; it was more like a shared secret, a silent agreement over how tedious the class was.

A minute passed in this silent communion until Fred graced her with a faint smile. The spell was broken, and her attention returned to her empty parchment. A quiet sigh fluttered like a long-forgotten page being turned, but it vanished into the air, unheard by all but her.

With pen in hand, she felt an almost magical compulsion to transcribe Flitwick's words onto her parchment. His voice, though droning before, now seemed less boring.

“To its nature, we shall survive it, but the opponent targetted... not so much,” the professor intoned, the words finally finding their mark within her consciousness. Cruel nature, indeed. “Well,” she mused, her back moulding into her chair as her quill danced across the parchment, “Every spell I remember does possess a hint of danger.”

At long last, her notes held substance, and her enthusiasm, while subdued, had been rekindled. Her gaze again drifted sideways to where Fred Weasley was, only to find he had shifted his focus – to his twin, George.

They sat side by side, mirror images of naughtiness. (y/n) sometimes forgot that they were identical twins because she was so used to having them around that they started to look apart. George's height had a mere smidgen of variance, while Fred's nose was a tad more prominent. Freckles played a symphony across their faces, arranging themselves differently – Fred’s were more concentrated around his forehead. Yet, at that moment, as (y/n) blinked through her confusion, she wondered if she'd mixed up their features. Had she glimpsed George's grin instead?

But then, as if choreographed by fate, Fred resumed his original posture and caught her looking. His lips curled into an unmistakable smirk. “It's certainly Fred, then,” she thought, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, unwanted. She redirected her attention back to the good Professor Flitwick and his lesson, and weirdly enough, after all that gazing, she had regained her focus and was more ready to be a satisfactory student.

Amidst her studies, (y/n) was ensconced within the library's embrace.

This day bestowed upon the library an uncommon hush, a tranquillity that seemed to defy the norm. The librarian always managed to get the kids quiet, but she couldn't stop them from coming all at once when frenzied by the looming spectre of approaching exams.

However, an anomaly unfolded on that Friday afternoon, bestowing upon (y/n) the most unexpected gift – the library, in all its boundless expanse, was hers to claim. A rarity that, peculiarly, she found herself not enjoying. Amidst the solitude, her focus waned like a candle in a draft, flickering and unstable. Concentration eluded her, much like the fleeting caress of a dream upon waking. Reading, that intimate act of solitary exploration, seemed to have metamorphosed into a daunting endeavour. It was one thing to lose oneself in tales of princesses or the adventures of chiselled, sun-kissed heroes, but an entirely different ordeal to grapple with the intricate world of potion brewing.

For (y/n), the allure of fantasy books or any literary work was nothing short of enchanting, capable of whisking her away on wings of imagination. These volumes, she devoured with unbridled speed. Yet, a profound disinterest surged within her when it came to the theoretical tomes packed with knowledge mirroring the lectures she endured. If she were to be entirely frank, she might even admit a smidgen of disdain for these volumes.

So she would never take them to the dorms with her — she would much rather read them in the library, filled with other students. The presence of others functioned as a gentle but firm tether, binding her to the task at hand – reading, absorbing, and taking notes. The collective energy of focused minds bolstered her resolve.

Alas, a rather desolate air hung over the library's expanse on this day.

Thrice (y/n) had shifted her position, seeking companionship in proximity, only for her hopes to be dashed within thirty minutes. A sigh, tinged with resignation, escaped her lips, and in that crestfallen moment, a shock of crimson manifested in her field of vision. A pair of vibrant red-headed twins strode in. Nestled at the tables near the corridor's entrance, she watched them meander, their steps unhurried, eyes wandering. “Searching," her inner voice concluded. Certainly, the twins held a more potent allure than the secrets of cauldron cleaning or its ilk, a fact her current book seemed intent on imparting.

Though (y/n) watched from her vantage point, removed yet intrigued, the twins' presence would've caught anyone's attention had there been any other student around. As their gaze swept the expanse, (y/n)'s musings dipped into the realm of speculation, imagining the myriad thoughts dancing behind those crimson veils.

In a place where solitude was typically her archenemy, she now sat pondering the enigma of the Weasley twins, the allure of their presence momentarily overshadowing the dusty tomes that lay before her.

Fred and George stood at a distance, too far for (y/n) to gain a comprehensive view. Instead, they ambulated the space with a purpose that eluded onlookers – a relentless quest for something unbeknownst to her. As they wandered, their forms flickered in and out of her view, now one visible, then none, then both, and once more only one boy.

Fixated on the one nearer her, she strained her vision to discern. Could it be Fred? A question played a merry dance in her mind, teasing but refusing to commit to a definitive answer. His profile was turned towards the shelves, a curtain of red hair obscuring details. Besides, distinguishing the twins remained a daunting task without a survey of their noses.

Abruptly, a voice infiltrated her thoughts, causing her to startle in her seat, “You know we saw you, right?”

She swivelled around, only to be met by the missing twin positioned just behind her. Leaning over her chair's backrest, he inclined his head inquisitively, a solitary auburn eyebrow arching with playful curiosity. Witnessing her wide-eyed astonishment, the Weasley released a soft, subdued chuckle, a mischievous symphony woven into the sound. “If you want my brother's number, you can just ask,” he added.

So the one talking to her was Fred. She quickly glanced at his nose bridge, trying to see the intricated details left by a Quidditch match gone wrong, yet his voice functioned as the telltale sign. He audacity to issue such a provocative remark to a girl with whom they held only the most tenuous of connections – that could only be Fred's doing. Moreover, his tone carried a specific timbre distinct from George's. It was, for lack of a better word, smoother to her auditory senses. Not that George's voice was anything less than agreeable, but his was a quieter, more reserved resonance. She mused that her lack of familiarity with George's vocal cadence stemmed from his status as the quieter half of the duo, while Fred's unending stream of chatter had made his vocal imprint indelible in her ears.

A manufactured laugh escaped her lips, a tinkling facade, "Haha, Weasley. I don't want no one's number."

Fred inclined his head, a bemused glint in his eyes as if coaxing her to reveal more.

Nestled more comfortably in her chair, she raised her chin a fraction, a silent assertion that she was unreservedly facing the boy. This small shift seemed to foster a sense of openness between them.

"Studying is boring, so you guys looked like a distraction," she declared with a nonchalant shrug.

His voice dripped with theatrical incredulity, “We? A distraction?” Fred's lips curled into a playful smile, his head tilting as he leaned slightly away. He stood tall, towering over most, a fact he seemingly embraced with ease. Though his height wasn't sufficient to overshadow Ron (a surprise, really), it cast a considerable shadow over (y/n), particularly in her seated state. The disparity in stature unfolded in a tableau that her neck found almost physically taxing to endure.

With the book held closer to her chest, (y/n) drew a deep breath, her response tinged with a touch of exasperation, “Honestly, anything is a preferable pursuit than deciphering 'how to brew... a potion.'” Her fingers clutched the book, the page title a weighty secret she held close, refusing to vocalise it aloud.

An unexpected shift occurred as Fred commandeered the neighbouring chair, situating it with a proximity that nudged their personal space. “And weirdly enough," he said. Lowering himself into the seat, he offered a sly grin, his gaze steady upon her, “You always get good grades at Snape's classes.” A movement almost imperceptible – a twitch of the head, a hint of satisfaction – played upon his features.

(y/n) registered the proximity with an awareness that tickled her senses. The book, her veiled treasure, lay nestled in her grasp, poised for closure to deter prying eyes.

She shrugged, expecting him to forget what she held close, “I'm Slytherin, after all.”

“Ah,” Fred snapped his tongue in the roof of his mouth, a sound almost as if he had drunk something and was now satisfied.

Shifting her gaze quickly at George, she hoped he would come to her rescue and take his twin away.

“Not so fast,” Fred interjected, his large hand sweeping down to rest atop the book's cover. “What secrets are you hiding there?”

Her gaze flitted from his eyes to his hand, a growing wariness churning within her. Her fingers tensed around the book, futilely attempting to shield its contents. But deftly, the book was relinquished from her hold and into his.

His melodious voice breathed life into the words etched on the page, “Let's unravel this mystery... 'How to Brew a Love Potion,'” he read aloud, his playful and teasing tone. Amusement twinkled in his eyes as they danced up to meet hers. “Wow, (y/n), I'd never take you for one who needed a love potion.”

To match his wit, (y/n) maintained her playful gaze, a smirk curving her lips as her retort unfurled, “Oh, I don't know, Fred. Perhaps that's my secret to acing Snape's classes.”

Not even the weight of dark humour could ruffle Fred Weasley's composure. His smirk swelled, infused with a brew of mischief that danced in his eyes. “If that's the case, you're terrible at it. I distinctly recall a certain incident involving Snape's homework, and if memory serves, it nearly rendered you floundering.”

She averted her gaze, her attention shifting to the captured book still cradled within his hands, the prospect of regaining it receding into the distance.

“Thanks for the recall, top-tier student,” she quipped, a playful glint in her eyes. “Now, are you willing to tell me your secrets? What are you doing here, in the library?”

Fred's laughter danced like a secret melody, an intimate note that lingered in the air, his eyes shimmering with a clandestine glimmer. “What's life without a little mystery?” he joked, his voice a velvety caress.

She mirrored his stance, a symmetrical lean that brought them closer, the gap between their faces now an invitation. Their proximity wove a delicate tapestry between their banter and a realm of deeper connection. “Is that so?” she inquired, her words drawn out in a languid purr, the air heavy with a mingling of intrigue and allure.

He matched her pace without the need to ask. The dance of their words had woven a tapestry of amusement, their shared enjoyment eclipsing the pursuit of concrete answers. After all, Fred barely had learned a secret. He was smart enough to know (y/n)'s book had been opened on a random page.

“If I tell you why I'm here,” he mused; his gaze, which had been steadfastly locked onto her eyes, dared trace a path to her lips, “what will you give me in return?”

(y/n) thought herself very wicked when her answer came quickly, “A love potion?” she playfully suggested.

His smile faltered, his breathing taking on a deeper rhythm, a transformation she couldn't help but notice.

“I don't need that,” he purred, voice dipping lower, “however, you...”

An eye-roll framed her response, though she didn't retreat from his proximity.

“Weasley...” her voice began, her tone laden with a mix of exasperation and uncertainty, an attempt to convey a sentiment she was grappling to articulate.

“Fred,” he interjected, the word a soft murmur, his eyes holding hers earnestly. Noticing her bemusement, he continued with a gentle lilt, “Call me Fred.”

She processed his words, pondering the significance of calling him by his name instead of his surname – a departure from the collective label that often accompanied the Weasley clan around Hogwarts.

A nervous throat clearing preceded her tentative utterance, “Fred." She tested the name as if savouring the syllables as if she did not know it before.

Flirting was an uncharted territory for (y/n), a realm she now tiptoed into, fueled by trepidation and exhilaration.

“Lucian Flewchief's book.”

The words hung suspended, (y/n)'s brow furrowing as she sought to decipher their meaning. Was that Fred’s way of flirting back? Suggesting a book? (y/n) was puzzled. That was a new way of flirting she never knew of, but she hoped the book was some young adult fae fantasy.

Fred's perception of her confusion prompted him to lean back slightly, dissipating the cosy bubble they'd woven. He clarified, “That's our objective here – locating Lucian Flewchief's book."

Her understanding unfurled with an "oh" of realisation, the pieces clicking into place.

“We're also the reason behind the library's current solitude,” he continued, an impish glint in his eyes. “George and I orchestrated a bit of a distraction to ensure we could slip away without drawing any undue attention, Godric forbid, with a book in tow!”

So that explained why she was the only one lingering at the library. Though it made sense, it stirred a tinge of melancholy within her.

Curiosity nudged her to question further, her tone now coloured with intrigue. “Who is this guy? Flewchief? And why the necessity for secrecy around his book?” Her queries were genuine and earnest, though sadness crept into her voice as their playful exchange segued into a more sober dialogue.

Fred swayed his head before replying, “He's a master at pranks.”

An eyebrow arched in response, (y/n)'s curiosity unabated. While she may not have been an expert in the art of pranking, one would expect to have heard of such a renowned figure, right?

Observing her perplexity, Fred inhaled deeply before disclosing, his voice lowered almost to a whisper, “He's a muggle author.”

Recognition flashed across (y/n)'s face, though she remained silent. Yet, subtle shifts in her posture – a subtle sag of her shoulders, a slight tightening of her lips – betrayed a sentiment that did not escape Fred's notice. He understood the Slytherin disposition all too well; prejudices were not uncommon.

She unravelled a piece of herself with an unexpected candour, her words confounding Fred's expectations. Instead of disparaging comments or dismissing glances, she offered something else entirely.

“I want to be a writer for muggles,” she confessed, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “I like to write fantasy, you know. But that's not a genre for wizards; our reality often rivals the most fantastical of fiction. So, my focus turns toward the muggle readers.”

Though caught off guard by the revelation, Fred remained silent, feeling a surge of admiration for her. He hadn't anticipated such a response.

“I can help you find Flewchief's book,” she offered, swiftly transitioning past the exposure of her own secret, determined not to let her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I know this library well, particularly the section reserved for muggle authors. I presume you and George have little familiarity with the place.”

A crooked smile curled upon his lips in response. “Indeed,” he admitted with a chuckle, “you could even say 'no familiarity'; it's quite fitting.”

While (y/n) couldn't quite fathom how any student or individual could navigate life without venturing into the depths of a library, she empathized with their unfamiliarity. The muggle literature section was cloaked in segregation as if Hogwarts itself was disconcerted by such volumes.

Rising from her seat, she gathered her assortment of potion books. Truth be told, she harboured no illusions about accomplishing any meaningful research that afternoon. She left only one book behind – the one currently cradled in Fred's grasp.

“Are you coming or…?" Her voice hung in the air, a hint of playful theatricality accompanying her question.

Promptly, Fred sprang from his chair, the solitary book still in his possession. With (y/n) as his guide, they embarked on a journey through the library's labyrinthine aisles. Initially, they returned her stack of books to Madam Irma Pince, whose sole acknowledgement was a fleeting glance, her eyes flitting over the pile as it landed on her counter. Her gaze flickered momentarily as if recognition finally settled in at the sight of the redheaded companion beside (y/n).

“A Weasley," Madam Irma Pince declared, her observation stating the obvious. Fred, however, found himself grappling with an appropriate response. Ultimately, he opted for a shrug, his head tilting in acquiescence.

“I’m Fred,” he offered, his voice laced with a touch of formality. “But, you are absolutely correct, I am a Weasley."

It was abundantly clear that the librarian was well aware of which Weasley he was.

“Don’t tear my books apart,” she cautioned, her voice edged with warning. “And don’t you dare burn this place down.”

Fred's lips pressed into a tight line, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. He responded with a curt, “Noted."

(y/n) glanced up at Fred and then to the side, studying his expression. His tone left her somewhat perplexed – she couldn't discern if he was indulging in sarcastic provocation or if he held genuine offence at Madam Irma Pince's admonitions. She reflected that the torrent of criticisms from every adult figure must have been tiring. Yet, the twins hadn't acquired their notoriety by chance; their reputation as school pranksters was well-earned.

The three exchanged furtive glances before Madam Irma Pince averted her gaze to her counter. Her intentions, on the other side, remained veiled to (y/n). Fred possessed the capability to peek, but (y/n) held doubts about him exercising that prerogative.

Clearing her throat, (y/n) eased away from the librarian, and Fred followed suit.

“Take me to George,” she requested. Detecting Fred's immediate confusion, she elaborated, “So both of you can scour the shelves for the books. I can assist, but I'm not quite tall enough to reach all of the shelves.”

“Again," Fred inclined his head toward her, and at that moment, a subtle shift occurred, the playful dance of flirtation vanishing as swiftly as it had emerged, “Thank you for the assistance”. His expression was appreciative, genuine, a quiet acknowledgement of her assistance.

With a soft smile, she replied, “Don't mention it," her voice bearing a hushed quality, her gaze evading direct eye contact. “You’ll just own me one.”

He chuckled, “Uh, the unspoken possibilities.”

Indeed, Fred. Indeed.

It was a rather cold day.

But it was Saturday and Hogsmeade trip day, so (y/n) put on her thickest coat and decided to face the snow.

Her fellow housemates buzzed with excitement, eagerly anticipating the visit. Yet, for (y/n), this outing held a more sombre purpose – a pilgrimage to Honeydukes. While her friends were pursuing quills and ingredients, (y/n) sought only solace in candy. These past few days had been trying, and the kitchen house elves had quietly declared her persona non grata, etching “no longer welcomed" onto their secret walls. So she’d have to buy her own sweets from now on.

“Feeling hot today?” a voice chimed from behind (y/n).

She clutched herself, attempting to stave off the relentless cold. Hogsmeade always exuded a chill, but it seemed that nature was intent on pushing the mercury even lower today. Not even her trusty coat could entirely repel the biting wind.

The voice was familiar; she recognised it as belonging to Fred Weasley.

“Where’s your other half?” she asked, noticing George wasn’t around.

“At the school,” Fred replied, bridging the distance with a few long strides. Given the frigid weather, (y/n) moved slowly, rivalling the old ladies of Diagon Alley. “He's caught the flu.”

A chuckle escaped (y/n), though her amusement was laced with empathy. “After today, I might end up just as sick.”

Fred mirrored her laughter, his eyes gleaming with a twinkle. Then, shifting his gaze towards their right, his expression became more earnest. “Come on, let’s get you something warm. Tea?”

True to his suggestion, Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop loomed just a few steps away.

(y/n) scanned her surroundings, from Fred to the inviting facade of the shop, and for a fleeting moment, the idea appealed to her. But then, a mental alarm sounded – this place was renowned for romantic trysts, a haven for couples from their year. For a time, (y/n) had considered herself above such traditions. But as her sixteenth birthday came and went, and she remained unattached, she longed for the experience of a boy inviting her to tea. Now, at eighteen, it seemed more a fanciful dream than a tangible possibility.

So Fred was definitely not suggesting it as a date.

“I actually have to head to Honeydukes,” she replied, her features arranged in a grimace, and she gestured with her body towards the store at the far end of the bustling Hogsmeade street. “That's the only reason I'm still here.”

Fred bit his lip in thought. “How about we grab a tea to go, then?” he proposed, his determination unwavering. He peered down at her, shivering in the cold, taking in her petite frame. “In less than fifteen minutes, you'll be on your way back to Hogwarts.”

The notion of sipping on something piping hot was increasingly appealing.

“Promise?” she asked, her tone a touch childlike.

Fred extended his pinky finger, encased in a slightly faded red glove – likely a Weasley hand-me-down. Not that (y/n) considered herself entitled or wealthy, but it was common knowledge that the Weasleys weren't the richest in monetary terms. Yet, they were undeniably wealthy in children.

Her own pinky fingers remained nestled deep within her pockets, safe from the cold. Fred glanced down and chuckled.

“Come on.”

She sighed, “Fine, Weasley. But you're footing the bill,” and when she noticed he was about to playfully protest, she added, “You were the one who insisted, after all.”

They walked together, resembling a pair of penguins navigating the icy terrain. (y/n)’s hands, nestled within her coat pockets, were shielded from the biting cold, yet their elbows still grazed one another now and then as they strolled leisurely.

Fred gallantly held the door open, allowing her to enter the cosy shop, and she expressed her gratitude in a soft murmur. While he proceeded to the counter to place their order (when queried, (y/n) simply requested, “Any tea will do, as long as it's the hottest available"), she contemplated the peculiar friendship that had taken root between them.

She'd never been an opponent of Fred, or the Weasleys, or anyone within Gryffindor, as one might have assumed. However, their closeness was a relatively recent development. When confronted with one of the twins' pranks, (y/n) was often the first to laugh, captivated by the sheer audacity of their exploits. She believed magic should be harnessed for amusement, not as a weapon; consequently, she found their approach to their magical talents endearing.

Because of her laughter, Fred and George had never targeted her with their pranks. Their mischief was generally directed at Malfoy and his ilk. Occasionally, she'd return to her common room and find something amiss, but she understood it was their way of rebelling against the entirety of Slytherin and its values rather than a personal affront.

By her fifth year, (y/n) considered Fred and George her acquaintances. They exchanged nods in the classrooms and other shared spaces. Being in the same year, she had grown accustomed to their voices and learned to differentiate between them.

Moreover, the Weasley twins had a certain charisma that she couldn't deny. She had met Fred’s older brothers before, so their good looks were no surprise. She realised this charm extended to Fred as he approached with two cups of steaming tea.

His freckles had always been a distinctive feature she admired. Yet now, she also noticed the appeal of his height, his shoulders broad and strong, typical of a Beater. His hair appeared soft and straight, inviting her fingers to run through its fiery strands, although she knew better than to entertain such notions.

Strangely, it was his nose that intrigued her the most. It was the distinguishing feature that allowed her to differentiate between Fred and George. She found it more masculine and captivating than the rest of his features. Not to mention his chest, which had once tantalisingly revealed his abs through a sweaty Quidditch shirt during a match. The sport certainly worked wonders on bodies.

“Thank you,” she said before taking a sip. She freed her hands from her pockets only with the prospect of holding something scolding hot.

Fred observed her closely as she tasted the tea, noticing how her eyes momentarily closed in bliss and how her body seemed to uncoil, the tension in her shoulders dissipating.

“All right, off to Honeydukes I go," she declared, pivoting towards the Tea Shop's exit.

Fred followed her, hastening to hold the door open once more. A subtle blush dusted her cheeks, and she was relieved that the shop was still relatively empty. A couple occupied a dimly lit corner but seemed too concentrated on each other to notice Fred Weasley being nice to a Slytherin girl. So that’s saying a lot about how entertained that random teenage couple was.

As they stepped back into the brisk Hogsmeade air, (y/n) noticed that Fred was still at her side. She didn't voice any complaint, though. Ever since the day he had sought her help at the library, she had resigned herself to the idea that she might never get the opportunity to converse with Fred alone again. George was always around, and if not him, then someone else. And even though, if she tried, (y/n) could engage in conversation with the other twin or with a Gryffindor student, she would rather not.

In fact, it was rare to find someone she would like to engage in conversation with.

Fred was a… welcoming surprise.

“Uh," Fred's voice cut through the silence, which had settled between them as they enjoyed their tea, “can we make a quick stop here?"

They were passing by Zonko's Joke Shop, renowned for its extensive collection of prankster essentials. Of course, the shop would undoubtedly be on Fred's daily checklist. However, his request to pause at the store intrigued (y/n), given that she had never envisioned walking with him that day. Sure, he had treated her to tea, but that hardly counted as an expense, and she had mentioned her eagerness to return to Hogwarts promptly.

“It won't take long, I promise," he assured her, taking note of her delayed response. “Just add five more minutes to your wait. I'll escort you back, no worries."

(y/n) hesitated for a moment. “You really don't have to do that," she replied, taken aback by his gentlemanly offer.

“As if I'd let you make the journey alone."

She gazed at him in the wake of his response. “I'm a witch," she pointed out the obvious. “It's not like I can't handle a few dangers."

Fred cocked his head, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue. “Can you defend yourself against the cold?"

She didn't respond; her answer would have been a resounding ‘no.'

“That's what I thought," he declared, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow, her free hand resting on her hip, her other still cradling her tea. “And what can you do to protect me from the cold?" she challenged Fred.

His smile grew, and he knew he had the perfect response. “Keep you from slipping on the icy ground."

Annoyed by his accuracy, she sighed loudly as they entered the joke shop.

The shop was bubbling with people: it was a living organism. (y/n) struggled to recall the last time she had set foot in this place. She had certainly visited the joke shop before, back in her third year when students were first allowed to venture into the village. Like her peers, she had eagerly explored every store without exception. However, as time passed, most of the shops had become familiar and somewhat ordinary to her. She only made the trip to Hogsmeade with a purpose now. Coming just for butterbeer seemed pointless, especially when she lacked the company of friends to sit with and share laughter.

So, following Fred Weasley as he browsed around the shop put her in a silent trance of observation and gaping. He moved confidently, searching for items and locating them quickly, with the same precision she'd demonstrated when she'd guided him through the library the other day. (y/n) followed at his heels, like a child following its guardian. In less than three minutes, they were already in line to pay.

“How do you know where everything is?" she asked, enjoying the moment of calm the checkout line offered. “I don't think gathering all that took you more than five minutes."

And it was indeed quite a haul. Fred's two hands cradled dozens of boxes and items like precious cargo in his lap. The teacup he had been carrying was now held securely by (y/n), ensuring that her hands were occupied with warm objects to fend off the cold.

Fred responded with a casual shrug to her question. “How do you know where all the books are in the library?" he countered.

“I don't know," she replied, her response unfiltered. “I guess I've just memorised it over time."

“Me too," he said, his eyes fixed on the shop as if watching his beloved. “Not to give reason to my fame at Hogwarts, but of course, my favourite shop has to be Zonko’s."

The line at the checkout stretched long, leaving (y/n) and Fred standing in contemplative silence, pondering the curious connection that seemed to be budding between them. Amid it all, (y/n)'s thoughts swelled like a bubbling potion. Were they friends now? Could she consider adding him to her list of friends for Christmas shopping? These questions lingered, but she found herself without a clear answer. It felt odd to directly ask such a thing; friends didn’t ask if they were friends. They either were or weren’t, organically becoming over time.

But despite the comfort she felt around Fred, she couldn't quite label it friendship. The issue, she concluded, was her own. She had a deficit of friends and now understood why: she wasn't wired for it. Friendship wasn't part of her programming. Fred, on the other hand, was a different breed. Friendship was his natural state, woven into his very essence. He exuded a friendly aura, even if many Slytherins would vehemently disagree.

She didn't need to wonder whether he considered her a friend. He most likely did. He never targeted her with pranks; he exchanged glances with her in class often and was currently offering to escort her back to school. Fred saw her as a friend.

But did she want that?

“What are you thinking?” he inquired, pulling her out of her contemplative reverie.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie,” he said, relaxing his shoulders. “I can see the smoke coming out of your ears like a cauldron.”

She had no clever reply, so she was content with wrinkling her forehead and lying. “I’m thinking about how quickly I will be able to get all the candy I want. Definitely not as quick as you, here.”

He frowned, puzzled. “Why?”

“I love candy and definitely know where everything is at the shop,” she explained, tilting her head unconsciously as she spoke. She explained, unconsciously tilting her head while talking. “But I have to gather enough to last until our next trip to Hogsmeade, and I'm not certain I can calculate that. I love chocolate, so one would assume I'd need to buy a lot to make it last. However, if I get too much, I'll eat more than I should. And trust me, I will eat everything I buy," she concluded with a hint of warning in her tone, as if she were issuing a threat rather than sharing a piece of information.

Fred swallowed hard, trying to wrap his head around her unique thought process. “Are you stockpiling sweets?"

She nodded, feeling a twinge of embarrassment.

“Well, if you do end up eating it all, I'll show you where to get more, you know, from the kitchen with the house elves," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up as if he were secretly pleased with himself for sharing this tidbit.

“Oh, Weasley," she shook her head, dramatically feigning pitifulness. “I already know the secret passage to the kitchen. That's precisely why I have to stockpile chocolate in the first place. I've been painted as a criminal there for how many sweets I've pilfered."

He couldn't help but chuckle, though he kept it discreet.

“I can't believe it," Fred said with mock disbelief, then paused as if pondering again. “Well, actually, I can."

With the two cups of tea-to-go in her hands, she raised her shoulders in a half-shrug while raising her hands in tandem.

“So yeah," she concluded, “I have to stock up until the Professors allow us to come here again."

Staring at him, (y/n) couldn't help but think that Fred was on the verge of saying something. However, something must have caused him to change his mind, and he remained uncharacteristically silent. A few seconds later, he was called to the cashier to settle the bill for his items. (y/n) patiently waited behind him, casually sipping her tea.

When Fred returned to her side, the numerous small boxes he'd been clutching had been consolidated into just two cardboard bags, which he effortlessly carried in one hand. The two of them exited the joke shop, savouring the last remnants of their teas. By the time they reached Honeydukes, the cups had already been discreetly disposed of in the nearest bin.

“Have fun," he wished her warmly, courteously holding the door of the candy shop open for her to enter. (y/n) returned his friendly sentiment with a smile—precisely the sort of well-wishing one would expect before embarking on a shopping spree in a candy store.

Fred lingered in a quiet corner of the shop, surreptitiously observing as she gleefully navigated the aisles, carefully selecting her candies and placing them into a plastic basket a diligent store employee offered. She appeared far more animated here than he had ever seen her before—back in the library, she had come across as somewhat bored, and the same was true in their shared classes. While she undeniably held the status of a top student with excellent grades, Fred couldn't help but wonder why she seemed to lack the enthusiasm and focus he might have expected from someone of her academic calibre.

However, gathering her desired assortment of sweets took considerably longer than the five minutes Fred had initially anticipated. When he finally met up with her at the cashier, the man behind the counter handed over not one, not two, but three full bags of assorted candies and confections.

Fred couldn't help but jest, “Wow, someone's clearly outdone me."

“Mine's supposed to last longer," she retorted with a wry smile, determined to maintain her composure.

Fred's grin only broadened. "Will it, though?"

There was no malice behind his teasing; his natural inclination was to engage in playful banter, a habit he would have indulged with George, Ginny, or anyone else. If anything, he found himself enjoying the camaraderie that was forming between them, appreciating the quick-witted exchanges that characterised their interactions. And (y/n)'s response was predictable by now—a blend of half-anger and half-challenge that had come to define her expressions.

They left the candy store, their playful back-and-forth continuing as they walked, with Fred progressively leaning in closer with each exchange.

Fred's next question unintentionally left (y/n) feeling mortified as they approached the Three Broomsticks.

“Are you sure you don’t want a good, old butterbeer?” he asked. “It’s alright if you do. I won’t linger at your friends’ table; I’ll just drop you there and find Oliver Wood or someone else.” He said, using Oliver as an example, for he was the one name he remembered to have seen around the village.

It was weird, now that Fred had come to think of it, how he did not recall seeing one person from Hogwarts around Hogsmeade, even though he knew it was a crowded day there.

She had no friends to meet there or anywhere else. She cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact, “I don't have friends in there."

The proximity to the inn allowed them a clear view through the frosty windows, revealing the familiar faces of fellow students enjoying butterbeer.

“Why? Haven't they come to Hogsmeade?" Fred asked in surprise, momentarily distracted by the scene inside. “I swear that's Carmen Highland if my eyes aren't deceiving me," he remarked, gazing at the occupants within.

Lost in the sight of her former friends, Fred hadn't noticed that (y/n) was gradually distancing herself from him. She knew Carmen and recognised the other kids at her table — Andrea, Miniu, and Shenny. But they weren't friends anymore.

At least, not anymore.

“It is Carmen,” she reassured him, in case Fred would start considering he was indeed blind. “We’re just not friends, though.”

Fred finally snapped out of gazing through the cold glass window and returned his gaze to her.

“I distinctly remember all of you being quite lively at dinners and walking around classes," he said, furrowing his brows. “Unless Carmen has look-alikes I'm unaware of, I'm certain it's her. I've seen her during my Quidditch practices, competing for the pitch."

A smile tinged with embarrassment danced on (y/n)'s lips. She smiled not because she was pleased with the memories but because she was trying to conceal her inner gloom. “I used to walk with Carmen, and Miniu, and Andrea and Shenny. But that was way before.”

“No, I…”

“It was, Freddie,” she interrupted before he made her remember another memory. It was only because of her use of his nickname that he understood she wasn’t alright. “We were friends in the first year. Us and a bunch of other kids, so tight together because we were Slytherin, and we had to stick together because then we’d be victims of bullying from other houses.” Fred opened his mouth, but she continued, “Don’t deny it.”

Fred sighed and nodded.

“In our second year, the group started to shrink, and it ended up being just me and that table," she explained, her gaze distant, as if the memories were playing out before her eyes. "But I began to feel like I was there because I forced myself to be. I was being pushy. So when I stopped going, they didn't chase after me. That's when it became clear to me what our relationship was."

“What was it?" Fred inquired, genuinely perplexed, prompting (y/n) to wonder if he had ever experienced the abrupt end of a friendship.

“They weren't my friends," (y/n) stated matter-of-factly. “We didn't have a falling out or anything. I still greet them, and occasionally, we help each other with homework in the common room. But that's about it."

Fred pursed his lips thoughtfully, pondering the right words to respond with.

“Alright," he finally conceded. “I won't pry further," he said, his expression more serious now. “I can't quite fathom how a friendship could simply unravel like that, but it's clear it's not a cheerful matter. However, that doesn't mean you can't be with your other friends."

She rolled her eyes with exasperation and turned away from Fred and the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, her boots crunching softly in the freshly fallen snow.

“I don't have friends," she sighed, her breath visible in the crisp, wintry air. She could hear his footsteps, somehow always close behind.

Fred waited until he was walking right alongside her before he replied; his tone was soft and comforting. “You have me," he said, then hastily cleared his throat. “I mean, you have us. Me and George. I still owe you one from our library escapade."

“Consider it settled," she responded, her voice edged with a hint of exhaustion and her gaze averted. “You gave me a cup of tea, after all."

“That was just courtesy," Fred explained, his lips curving into a friendly smile, thinking their usual playful banter had resumed.

But (y/n) was weary, and it showed in her demeanour.

“Well, you're accompanying me back to the school," she tried again, her tone tinged with finality. “So consider that debt paid."

“Nah," he waved his free hand dismissively. “That's just me being a proper gentleman."

She rolled her eyes once more, a flicker of irritation crossing her features. “Fred..."

“We're friends, alright," he insisted, his tone gentle yet resolute, raising his voice slightly. “You have a friend... in me."

Without warning, (y/n) halted in her tracks, pivoting to face him fully, her expression a mixture of astonishment, incredulity, and a hint of amusement.

“Did you just quote a Muggle movie at me?" she asked, her voice showing disbelief.

“I’m sorry?”

“‘You have a friend in me’,” she repeated his words, this time adding a melody to her tone. “Did you quote the Toy Story song?”

“A toy story? Where is it?” he was genuinely confused, which led (y/n) to drop the subject since it was evident he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Never mind," she sighed, resuming her pace. “It's from a Muggle movie."

“And you've seen it?" Fred's stride matched hers again, his curiosity piqued.

“Unfortunately," she replied, her lips twisting in mild distaste. “I didn't quite enjoy it."

“Oh, why not?" Fred inquired with interest.

“It was... about friendship," she said, taking a moment to complete her sentence.

“I see," Fred mused, nodding thoughtfully as they walked towards the school, the snow beneath their feet offering a soft, comforting crunch with every step. “Perhaps I should watch it.”

“Yeah, why not,” she replied, not really wanting to participate in the conversation.

Fred knew when to shut up when he should, so they remained silent until the school entrance was visible.

“Uh, thank you,” (y/n) told him as they stopped in the middle of Hogwarts’ entrance corridor. It was a relatively empty hallway.

“See you around,” he nodded, and she bit her lip, turning her heels towards her House. “Friend,” Fred added a second later, only to see her turn her gaze over her shoulder.

“Bye, Weasley,” she said with a heavy breath out of resignation.

#fred weasley #fred and george #harry potter #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x slytherin reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fanfic

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thatdammchickennugget · 1 month

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Flying High And Falling Hard

pairing -fred weasley x fem!reader

a/n - prompt three for hogmarch :)

warnings/tags - injury, fluff

wordcount - 1.7k

You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement as you stepped off the Floo Network and into the cozy chaos of the Burrow. The air was filled with the scent of homemade pies and the sound of laughter, instantly making you feel at home. Summer break had finally arrived, and you were eager to spend it with your best friend, Fred Weasley.

As you made your way through the bustling kitchen, Mrs. Weasley enveloped you in a warm hug, welcoming you back to the Burrow with her usual motherly affection. Fred came bolting down the stairs, his familiar grin spreading across his face as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

"Y/N! You made it!" Fred exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "We've been counting down the days until you got here."

You returned his hug, feeling a surge of happiness at being reunited with your best friend. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Fred. I couldn’t wait to finally see my favourite Weasley again," you replied teasingly, returning his smile. “Speaking of, where is Ginny?”

Fred's expression immediately shifted to one of mock hurt, his hand flying dramatically to his chest. "Ouch, love. That stings," he said, feigning offense. "Here I am, practically bursting with excitement to see you, and you're only here to see my sister?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his theatrics, rolling your eyes playfully. "Oh, come on. You know you're really my favourite," you told him with a grin, nudging him with your elbow.

Fred's grin widened at your words, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, I should hope so," he replied, his tone dripping with faux indignation. "After all, I am the charming, handsome one, aren't I?"

You chuckled at his shameless self-promotion, shaking your head in amusement. "I see your head’s still as big as it was at school last week.”

As the two of you continued to banter back and forth, the familiar warmth of friendship washing over you, you couldn't help but feel grateful for moments like these. Despite the chaos of the world outside, the Burrow was a sanctuary of laughter and love, and you were grateful to be a part of it.

The days at the Burrow passed in a whirlwind of laughter and adventure. You and Fred spent countless hours exploring the nearby woods, playing pranks on his siblings, and, of course, engaging in epic Quidditch matches with the other Weasley's, and Harry of course.

One particularly sunny afternoon found you and Fred soaring through the sky on your broomsticks, the wind whipping through your hair as you chased after the Quaffle. Fred's laughter echoed in your ears as he executed a daring dive to steal the ball from your grasp, his competitive spirit shining through.

But as the game progressed, disaster struck. In the heat of the moment, Ron yelled out a warning as a bludger came hurtling towards you, catching you off guard and sending you crashing to the ground below. Pain shot through your ankle as you landed awkwardly, the world spinning around you.

"Y/N!" Fred's voice echoed in your ears as he abandoned his broomstick and rushed to your side. His hands were gentle as he helped you sit up, concern etched across his features.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

You winced as you tried to put weight on your injured ankle, but shook your head, trying to reassure him. "I'll be fine. Just a twisted ankle, nothing serious."

But Fred wasn't convinced. His brow furrowed with concern as he examined your injury, his worry palpable. "We need to get you inside and let mum take a look at it," he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You nodded weakly, allowing Fred to help you to your feet and guide you back to the safety of the Burrow. As you hobbled along beside him, you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. It was your fault for not paying attention, for letting yourself get distracted during the game.

Once inside, Mrs. Weasley bustled over to you, her expression immediately morphing into one of concern as she took in your injury. With her gentle touch and soothing words, she quickly set to work, inspecting your ankle and applying a cooling salve to ease the pain.

Fred hovered anxiously nearby, his eyes never leaving you as he watched his mother work. You could see the worry etched across his features, his usual jovial demeanour nowhere to be seen.

"I'm sorry," Ron's voice suddenly cut through the tense atmosphere, his expression filled with remorse as he approached you. "I didn't mean for that to happen. I should've been more careful."

Fred's jaw clenched at his brother's words, his gaze flashing with anger as he turned to face Ron. "Yeah, you should've been," he snapped, his tone sharp and biting. "You could've seriously hurt her."

Ron recoiled slightly at Fred's outburst, his expression contrite as he shuffled awkwardly on his feet. "I know, Fred. I'm really sorry," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay, Ron," you spoke up, your voice soft but firm as you addressed him. "Accidents happen. And it already stopped hurting."

Ron's eyes flickered with relief at your words, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Thanks," he replied earnestly, his gratitude evident in his tone.

But Fred remained silent, his gaze still fixed on his brother with a hint of lingering anger. You reached out and gently touched his arm, offering him a reassuring smile. "It's alright,” you said, your voice soothing.

Fred's jaw tensed, but he eventually relented, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he turned to look at you. "I know," he murmured, his voice quieter now, the anger in his eyes gradually giving way to a softer expression.

Mrs. Weasley finished tending to your ankle, wrapping it securely with a bandage and instructing you to keep off it for the rest of the day. With a grateful nod to her, you hobbled over to the couch and settled in, propping your injured leg up on a nearby cushion.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," you said, smiling gratefully at her. "I really appreciate it."

She patted your hand affectionately, her eyes filled with warmth. "Of course, dear. Anything for you," she replied kindly before bustling back into the kitchen to resume her cooking, Ron rushing after her.

Left alone in the living room with Fred, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. The air between you seemed charged with unspoken emotions, and you weren't sure how to break the tension.

Fred sat down beside you, his expression still etched with concern as he watched you carefully. "Are you feeling any better?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Just need to rest it for a bit," you assured him, trying to sound nonchalant despite the butterflies in your stomach.

Fred's gaze softened even further as he reached out and took your hand in his, his touch warm and comforting. "I'm glad you're okay," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity.

You felt a rush of warmth flood through you at his words, a smile spreading across your lips. "Thanks, Fred. And thanks for being there for me," you mumbled, squeezing his hand gently.

His smile widened at your words, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Always. I'll always be here for you," he replied softly, his voice filled with warmth.

Lost in the comfort of his touch, you found yourself drawn to him in a way you hadn't quite realized before. The lines between friendship and something more blurred in that moment, leaving you feeling a sense of longing that you couldn't quite explain.

Fred's eyes met yours, something new flashing through his eyes as he leaned closer to you. “There's something I need to tell you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You held your breath, anticipation coursing through your veins as Fred's words hung in the air between you. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down your spine, and for a moment, it felt as though the whole world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you in that cozy living room.

"What is it, Fred?" you asked softly, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for his response.

Fred took a deep breath, his hand tightening around yours as he searched for the right words.

"Having you here," he began, his voice gentle but filled with emotion, "these past few days with you... they've been incredible."

You felt your cheeks flush at his words, meeting his gaze. "They have been," you agreed.

Fred continued, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "And I... I don't want them to end," he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, the realization of what he was saying sinking in. Could it be possible that Fred felt the same way you did?

"I don't want them to end either," you confessed, your voice barely audible as you searched his eyes for any sign of what he was feeling.

And then, without another word, Fred leaned forward, closing the distance between you and pressing his lips to yours in a gentle, tentative kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as you melted into the kiss, the world around you fading away until there was nothing left but the warmth of his lips against yours. When you finally pulled away, your heart was racing, your breath coming in short gasps as you met Fred's gaze, your fingers intertwining with his.

"Wow," you whispered, a wide smile spreading across your lips as you leaned your forehead against his. "I didn't see that coming."

Fred chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close. "Me neither," he admitted, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Can’t believe I’ve got Ron to thank for this."

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desideriumwriter · 7 months

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Anyone But You | Chapter 2 | F.W. x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary - An introduction to your bestfriend, you're forced to go to a dinner party at the Weasleys over the holiday break, the twins give you a small gift you're absolutely not going to open.

Pairing - Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Category - enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, slowburn

Content Warnings -cursing

Word Count - 3.8k

Even though you were seen as rude and snippy in the twins' eyes, you had friends, people you actually enjoyed being around, people who didn’t attempt to get on your nerves every five seconds. Cedric Diggory was one of them. He was your bestfriend.

Despite being put in different houses, you and Cedric became great friends, you’ve gotten along better than anyone else. You met him on the train to Hogwarts your first year, and you two connected like puzzle pieces. He’s definitely someone who isn’t unbearable to be around.

Of course, there was the occasional rumor or gossiping that would spread around annually about you and Cedric secretly being together, or that you two had something going on at least. Those were just rumors though. Cedric feels like a brother to you, he had eyes for other girls and you had no interest in a relationship. You had no interest in each other. You loved him, but only in a sibling way. He was treated like a brother.

You had other friends rather than Cedric, but you were closest to Ced. He was the only friend you would actually keep in contact with and write letters to outside of school.

✦✦✦

You carried your owl's cage and dragged your large leather suitcase down the stairs as Cedric boasted about his most recent win.

“And who did Gryfinndor get their arses whooped by last week?” He brought his hand up behind his ear, waiting for you to admit your house's loss, you simply shook your head in refusal.

“Hufflepuff!” He sang, “Who caught the snitch? Number seven, Cedric Diggory!” He cheered to himself, you rolled your eyes playfully.

“Whatever, Gryffindor only lost because Fred couldn’t keep his eyes off Angelina.”

“Ah yes, Fred is to blame. Always to blame. Another chance for you to hate him!” Cedric teased, he knew all about your hatred for the twins. Of course he has, he’s your bestfriend for Godric's sake. You’ve complained multiple times about them to him, gone on hour-long rants over whatever prank they pulled.

“Yep! Anyways, what do you have planned over the break?” You stopped at the landing of the staircases, setting down your owl and suitcase, leaning back on the stone railing, letting crowds of students pass you.

“Absolutely nothing. My dad might make me help him at work.”

“What? Wouldn’t that be cool? You’ll get to see cool creatures, right?” He scoffed at your upbeat reaction.

“I’ll get to see boring paperwork. I’ll get to organize boring folders. I’ll get to do the boring work.” He said flatly as he shrugged. “I got to see a hippogriff once though.”

“Really? How’d it go?” You

“Nearly bit off my arm.”

“Oh.” The excitement in your voice lowered. “Well, I won’t be doing anything either besides sleeping.” You teased as you grabbed your things and began to walk down the staircases again.

✦✦✦

Winter break had been going nicely. Your friends had sent letters and early Christmas gifts, small and light enough for your owl to carry, you did the same for them. You were able to sleep in, you didn’t have to worry about your things being messed with, you didn’t have to be woken up by loud and annoying voices early in the morning, and you didn’t have to deal with those bloody twins.

You woke up early today, you chose to not sleep in and went into the kitchen for breakfast. While searching the cupboards for your favorite cereal your mother walked in, an empty mug and plate in her hands.

“Good morning, sweetheart!” She said as she placed the dishes in the sink, watching a scrubber begin to float and clean the dishes by itself.

“Morning, mum. Have any letters come today?” You asked as you took the cereal and poured it into your bowl, followed by some milk.

Before your mum could open her mouth, a strong screech came from outside, followed by a loud hit into the open cupboard door next to you, both of you jumped at the sudden entrance.

You knew that old owl from anywhere. It was Errol, one of the Weasley family’s owls. He laid on the kitchen floor for a second, then stood up straight, shaking himself off and fluttering onto a chair near your mother, handing her a nicely sealed envelope. Your mum sent the owl off without giving him anything to deliver back.

“That poor bird is on its last leg.” She muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she opened the envelope. Her unamused face changed into delight as her eyes moved through the letter.

“Oh, would you look at this! The Weasleys invited us over for a dinner party!” She grinned at you, showing you the paper.

“What?” You dropped your spoon into your bowl when you heard the news, droplets of milk hitting your shirt.

“The Weasleys invited us, Molly and Arthur are hosting a dinner party for their anniversary. How sweet is that?” You grabbed the letter from her a bit too aggressively, staring at the invitation intently.

“Very kind! Do I have to go?” You got straight to the point once you asked hesitantly, looking up, you already knew what your mother's answer would be.

“What?- Yes you have to go! Don’t be ridiculous.” Your mother scoffed, slightly shocked at your response to the invitation, taking the letter back from you.

“Please, mum! You know I will not be able to handle being there for more than five minutes.” You pleaded.

“What are you talking about? The Weasleys are very good people, y/n. You know that. You should be appreciative that they invited us.” She said sternly, a slight scowl forming on her face.

“I’m not talking about the Weasley family, I’m talking about Fred and George! The twins! They’re horrible! Please, just let me stay home, mum. You can tell them I’m sick or already on a trip with friends!” There was pure determination in your words, you were not going to spend any amount of time around Fred and George Weasley during your break.

“No, Y/N. They invited us, which means you too. It’ll only be for a single afternoon, you can deal with it.” Your mother shut down your begging, “Make sure you have a dress or…just find some nice clothes to wear, the dinner is tomorrow.” She began to leave the kitchen, turning around to ask you one last thing.

“Also, could you send a letter back? Saying that we will be there? Thanks, darling.” She walked out of the room before you could protest anymore. You groaned, placing your head in your hands.

✦✦✦

This wasn’t the first time you were invited to the Weasley's house. There was one or two times where they invited you, you would’ve gone if Fred and George didn’t live there, so you faked being sick.

Of course, your mother wouldn’t fall for it this time. So, you slipped on a nice pair of jeans and a comfortably warm sweater.

While checking yourself out in the mirror, making sure nothing looked weird on you, an owl flew onto your windowsill, holding a bright purple envelope sealed with orange wax in between its beak. You were hesitant to take the envelope from it. You’ve never seen this bird before.

You nervously took the envelope from the bird and it flew away without any problem. Being more confused than ever, you flipped the envelope to the back, maybe it had been delivered to the wrong person?

However, your address was issued underneath it, it even stated where your bedroom was. Your stomach tensed, this was creepy. A bird you’ve never seen before shows up at your window with a tacky envelope that has direct instructions to your bedroom.

You opened it cautiously, not knowing what would be inside, as soon as it was halfway open, confetti and a few miniature fireworks popped out.

A little birdy (no pun intended) told us you were coming over tonight! Can’t wait to see you, we miss seeing your scowls and hearing your mean voice! - F & G

Of course, the twins. How the hell did they know the exact location of your room? While trying to figure that out, you nearly missed the small writing at the bottom of the card.

p.s. we have a gift for you, hopefully, you’ll like it :)

You furiously crumbled it up, practically slamming it into your trash bin. Stomping back to your mirror, you picked out all the bits of confetti that had got caught in your hair and the few pieces on your sweater and floor until your mum told you it was time to leave.

Merlin, have mercy on me. You thought to yourself.

✦✦✦

The dinner party wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. The first thing you noticed was how Mrs. and Mr. Weasley were the most welcoming and kindest people you met. You wondered how Mrs. Weasley especially dealt with the twins and their mischief for fifteen years of her life.

When you sat down at the table with everyone else, you were disappointed in Harry and Hermione's absences, you expected at least one of them to be there. However, Hermione was traveling with her parents and Harry wasn’t allowed to leave the Dursleys home.

You kept your distance from the twins, choosing the seat that was farthest from them at the table, sticking by Ginny's side and making conversation with her. Yet, the twins still took any chance they could get to mess with you.

They stole food off your plate when you weren’t looking, taking whatever bowl of food you were reaching for first, even putting whatever potion they made to cause your roasted ham to turn into a green color.

“Hey, it’s like that one muggle book, with the guy who rhymes!” Fred pointed out.

“What was his name? Dr.Sauce?” Fred quipped, Ginny let out a small giggle at the name.

“Dr.Seuss, Fred.” Mr. Weasley corrected, “I’ve actually had to take in a few of his books at work. One bloke was trying to figure out why the drawings weren’t moving.” Their dad chuckled and nudged you playfully with his elbow.

Anyway, you tried to stay as positive and nice as you could at the table, but you had to refrain from rolling your eyes anytime Fred or George opened their mouths. Any slight expression of annoyance would earn you a small kick under the table and a stern stare from your mum, your dad would clear his throat or raise his eyebrows at you, these were their ways of saying “Behave, be nice, I’m warning you.”

You were still upset that you had to deal with the one thing- two things you were glad to stay away from, that you expected to stay away from during your winter break. You only had one unwanted big interaction with them, the others were small.

All the adults were in the front yard drinking and having their “alone time from you kids” as Mr. Weasley jokingly said to you. Ginny and Ron were arguing over the TV remote, constantly stealing it from each other and changing the channel to what one of them wanted.

You made your escape by excusing yourself to the kitchen, going to the sink, and refilling your glass with water.

While taking a drink from your glass, you weren’t paying attention to the sneaky and slow footsteps coming behind you. The next thing you felt was two sets of hands on each of your upper arms and you heard two loud troll-like screams.

You jumped and choked on your water, coughing violently as you put down your glass and turned around, shoving both of the twins away as they chuckled.

“What the hell was that for?” You fumed through hard coughs.

“We missed you! We haven’t been able to tease you in months!” George chuckled.

“It feels like we’ve been going through withdrawals.” Fred dramatically said, putting a hand over his heart.

“It’s not teasing, it’s annoying and rude. Now I'd like for both of you to get away from me.” You shoved yourself through both of them, splitting them apart from each other.

✦✦✦

The biggest sigh of relief left your body when you finally got back home. You traveled by floo powder and while getting ready to throw the dust down, you heard those two annoying voices call your name.

“Y/N! Y/N! We haven’t given you your gift yet!” You smiled mockingly as you said your address out loud, throwing the powder down and letting the green flames engulf you and send you back to the fireplace at your home.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, wasn’t it?” Your father teased as you brushed the floo powder off your clothes. “I know those boys irritate you but you’re going to have to learn how to deal with it unfortunately. I don’t believe that won’t be the only visit we make to the Weasley's burrow. You know your mum will want to invite them over too now.” He patted your shoulder and left the room.

You slipped off your shoes and headed upstairs, by the time you opened your door, there was an owl sitting at your windowsill once again. The same owl from before you left with the same tacky envelope.

You took it and opened it clumsily. You breathed out and began to read the messy handwriting.

It was very nice to see your face again! We missed you!

They didn’t miss you, they missed playing pranks on you.

So sweet for you to come over and see us! Can’t wait until we get back to school, we have a few surprises up our sleeves. Anyways, hope you enjoyed the dinner!

Love, Gred and Forge

p.s. you forgot your gift! :(

You rolled your eyes as you tossed the card into the trash, walking up to the owl, you hadn’t noticed the small box in its claws, the owl dropped it in your hand, and you stared at it intently.

A small purple box, wrapped with an orange ribbon and tie on top. What’s with them and the colors purple and orange?

You noticed the owl was still sitting at your window as if it was waiting for you to give a letter back.

“Go on, shoo! I’m not sending anything back!” You waved the feathery bird off, lying back down on your bed, going back to analyzing the little box. You didn’t open it, you knew there was most likely some trick to it, maybe like a bunch of glitter would shoot out, or a million tiny fireworks. They wouldn’t give you a plain present, there always had to be something mischievous added to it.

You set it down on your nightstand by your bed. Maybe you’d open it. But not now, you’ll deal with whatever happens when you open it later.

✦✦✦

Maybe about two hours later that bloody owl had come back. You snatched the letter and tore it open, there was no more care in you to be neat with the envelopes.

It’s a bit rude to receive our letter and not respond, I thought you’d said before that you were the one with manners, Ms. Y/L/N. How’d you like your gift? Don’t leave us waiting and wondering!

One of them had drawn a stick figure with a sad face, with tiny rows of tears falling from its eyes. You smiled at it, then stopped, going back to a straight face once you remembered who this drawing was from. You did not find the twins funny, you never will.

You stomped over to your desk, grabbing a piece of paper, a bottle of ink, and your quill, writing the only letter you would ever send them willingly.

The dinner was very nice, I’m grateful and appreciative that your mother let us come over. I thank her for that. I’m not trusting that box you gave me. I’m not sending any more letters to you two dimwits. Now, shut up and leave me alone you CREEPS!

You wrote the last word in red ink with multiple underlines, hoping they would get your message and finally leave you alone, you knew they wouldn’t, but you tried anyway. You signed your name off nicely, unbothered to put it in an envelope, you weren’t going to put a single bit of effort into anything that was for Fred and George. You gave your paper to your owl this time instead of theirs, giving her sweet words of appreciation and asking her for one extra favor.

“Bite Fred for me, or whichever twin is closer.” You smiled, sending your owl out your window and off into the air.

Only thirty minutes later your owl had returned with a letter, the same one you had sent to them, the only difference was that it had different writing on the back.

We’ll see about that. You let out an angry sigh, crumpling it up and throwing it into the bin, along with the various other purple envelopes.

You closed and locked your window, putting your owl in her cage and letting her go to bed, covering her cage with a sheet so she wouldn’t be woken up by any light. Then, you decided to go to bed as well, hoping you would sleep through any other attempts of the boys trying to piss you off by sending you letters.

Fortunately, after that it was silent. Unfortunately, your own thoughts were too loud, they were keeping you awake.

There was a small interaction you had with Fred, it lasted probably for only a minute.

You were standing in the corner of the kitchen as everyone was conversing in their own separate groups. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talking to your parents, Ginny and Hermione both complaining about Ron, Ron and Harry were debating about something Quidditch related with the twins.

All the social interaction had drained you, and you really needed to be alone. You excused yourself once again to the bathroom, which was on the third floor. You stood around for a little while in the bathroom, with how talkative your parents were, you knew you wouldn’t be leaving for the next few hours.

You wondered how long you could be there, how long it would take for anybody to notice that you've been gone for an abnormally large amount of time. You realized you couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever so you left.

You reached the first floor when you realized you weren't ready to go back down where everyone was, you decided to wander down the hallway. Walking slowly and taking small steps, taking a look at each room with an open door. The rooms were a bit small but still nice, at least Ginny’s was still nice.

Her bed was neatly made, there was a wooden desk that had little trinkets lined up across it, a quill and ink sat carefully on top of some papers. Her wall had various Hogwarts and Gryffindor-related things stuck to it.

The next room was above hers, on the second floor. This one was a bit more spacious than the others. Two beds on opposite sides of the room, and another large wooden desk, the same as Ginny’s placed right in front of a window. Except this desk was messy, the whole room was messy.

Beds unmade, socks sprawled across the floor, clothes shoved poorly into their dresser drawer, some popular rock wizard bands posters terribly taped and quidditch medals pinned to the wall. Their desk had multiple crumpled-up balls of paper on it and around it, envelopes, drops, and splatters of black ink staining the glossy wood, candy wrappers, an open textbook nearly about to fall off the edge, and papers with sketches and such bad handwriting it looked like scribbles.

You fully walked into the room and went over to the desk, picking up one of the parchments that had the most eligible writing. It was a list of sweets, apparently. You’ve never heard of these before.

- CANARY CREAM

- SCREAMING YO-YO

- FEVER FUDGE

- PUKING PASTILLE

- GLOW IN THE DARK GUM

- WEATHER IN A BOTTLE

“Hasn’t your mother told you not to snoop around?” A voice asked from behind you. You jumped and turned around quickly, only to see a tall, redheaded, smirking boy leaning against the doorway.

Fred, you could tell it was him. He and George are easy to tell apart, for you at least. The way Fred carries himself, how he stands, how he looks, how he annoys you.

“Hasn’t yours told you not to sneak up on people?” You bit back. He shrugged and pushed himself away from the doorway, slowly walking towards you.

“Ah! You’ve found me and George's great ideas!” He nodded at the paper that was still in your hand. The paper that had their “great” ideas, sure.

“How are these great? Fever fudge? Puking pastille? Who would even want these? It’s sick!” You said disgustedly.

“They are sick. Literally.” He chuckled, only to get a grimace from you. “Anyways, kids who want to get out of class want these. But, we’re still working on them. Some of them haven’t worked out the way we wanted them to.” He trailed off.

“Yeah, like the canary cream.” You let out a small scoff.

“Listen, it was an accident!” Fred cried out, taking the paper from you.

“An accident you thought was hilarious.” You spat. Fred’s eyes wandered until they got stuck on a shiny piece of something in your hair. Confetti.

“Uh, you’ve got some confetti in your hair.” He pointed out. Your eyes grew wide in embarrassment, you’d been here the entire time with confetti still stuck in your hair and no one informed you about it. You took your fingers and immediately started combing through your hair.

“Did I get it?” You asked anxiously, Fred only shook his head from side to side. You repeated your actions and asked again, he repeated his again in response.

“You know what, let me just…” He mumbled, his hand reaching out to your head, plucking out the piece with caution to not pluck out a strand of your hair as well, you didn’t stop him. “There. It’s out.” He gave you a tight-lipped smile.

There was a pause between you two. Time felt like it slowed down as he removed his hand from your hair. There was a twinkle in his eye, his face glowed in the moonlight which was the only source of light in the room.

“Well, no thanks to you. You’re the one who caused it to get stuck there in the first place.” You shoved past him once again. Heading back downstairs.

Tossing, turning, constantly changing your position, removing blankets, flipping your pillows. Nothing seemed to help you get comfortable. You even tried the classic counting sheep. Nothing.

The moonlight peeked through your windows, and a large stripe of light shined on that stupid little box. You couldn’t take your eyes off it.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fanfic #anyone but you fic #fred weasley series #fred weasley smut #enemies to lovers #anyone but you series

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dracowars · 7 months

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hi! i'd like to ask a one shot on fred weasley x slytherin reader where they're secretly dating. one day she accidentally shows up to class wearing his gryffindor tie instead of her slytherin one, following their night spent together and suddenly the secret's out

thank <33

switching houses | fred weasley

pairing: fred x slytherin!reader

word count: 0,9k

summary: where y/n and fred accidentally swap their ties

a/n: this is soooo dracotok (or harrypottertok) coded, i love it and i may have actually landed back on dracotok lol

warnings: none

universe: harry potter

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry for being late, Professor. It will never happen again. I was stopped on the way and-", you burst into the middle of Snape's class, your bag almost falling off your shoulder while the books you are holding in front of your chest almost fall to the floor after entering the room with such momentum, your tie hanging loosely around your neck since you were just tying it. At this moment, all eyes are on you, but you can't even fully excuse your mistake when Professor Snape immediately interrupts you, his gaze unrelenting.

"Ms. Y/L/N, I'm glad you still managed to grace us with your presence today. However, I wish that you didn't interrupt my lesson so disrespectfully", Professor Snape reprimands you and looks down on you, arms crossed in front of his body. "Sit down."

Immediately doing as he says, you almost trip over your own feet on the way to your empty seat and sink into your chair next to Angelina Johnson as quietly as possible. The looks that have followed you this far still remain on you and Snape also seems to have something more to add, given the expression on his face. Waiting for him to deduct double-digit points from Slytherin, you do not move and stubbornly stare back at him.

"Besides, I didn't know you switched houses", Snape remarks, an eyebrow raised as his, and everyone else's, gaze slowly moves down to your neck. Frantically, you look down at yourself and are shocked to find that the tie around your neck does not match your usual house colors - silver and green. The tie you are wearing today is a Gryffindor one, and that can only mean..

"Sir-"

"As I already told Mr. Weasley", Snape spits out his name, gaze quickly shifting to Fred, who is sitting right behind you, making you feel even smaller. "I would much prefer you in your actual house colors", he continues, embarrassing not only you but also Fred in front of the entire class. Whispers erupt around you. Mortified, you loosen Fred's tie and feel the heat rise to your cheeks, thinking back to how you even ended up accidentally swapping your ties in the first place.

Last night you sneaked into his room illegally, staying there until the early hours of the morning before making your way back to your common room, and nobody was supposed to ever know anything about you or what was going on between the two of you. Well, at least that was the plan until today but the situation right now no longer leaves any room for speculation.

Clearing your throat quietly and trying to hide your heated cheeks, you turn to your boyfriend, who, unlike you, seems to find the situation quite amusing and holds out your tie to you with a playful grin on his lips. Hesitantly, you snatch it out of his hand while he pulls his out of yours, not breaking eye contact.

"Uh uh uh, you got it, Weasley!", comes a voice from the back corner, presumably one of Fred's friends who clearly enjoys the situation way too much as well. You shyly turn to face the front again after receiving a playful wink from your boyfriend, avoiding Professor Snape's blank stare as you wrap your own tie around your neck.

"Now that we have sorted that out, I don't want to hear any more about it. Turn to page 394", Snape instructs and thunderous rustling follows. You absently open your own book, but the words on the pages make no sense to you, your head is overflowing with thoughts about what will happen next, especially concerning your relationship with Fred.

As Snape writes something on the board using magic, your attention is caught when a small dragon made of paper lands on your book in front of you. Looking around carefully and making sure Snape is not looking at you, you open the message inside. Written on it in scraggly writing, that you can immediately identify as Fred's, is:

Don't worry about it too much, love. I can't wait to kiss you in front of everyone later ;)

Your cheeks immediately turn a deep shade of red again, but your heart also beats faster because Fred knows you so well that he immediately knew what was happening in your mind. And suddenly it does not feel too bad anymore that your secret is out. You no longer have to hide, even if you are still a bit worried about other people's reactions. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin? That is indeed a pretty unusual couple.

With your heart racing, you clutch the piece of paper to your chest and turn to your boyfriend, who seems to have been looking at you the whole time already. The smile on Fred's lips transfers to yours and when he stretches his hand across his table, you do not even hesitate for a second and place your hand in his.

"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Y/L/N!", Snape's voice suddenly destroys your moment and you sit up straight again, facing forward. "All right, which of your houses should I deduct points from now?"

And even though all the other students comment the final point deduction from both houses with displeasure, you can no longer suppress the smile on your lips. Finally, you and Fred can be together without having to hide and this is just the beginning of your story.

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dreamcubed · 12 days

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enchanted | fred weasley x reader

song; enchanted [taylor swift] pairing; fredweasley x fem!ravenclaw!singer!reader genre; s2l, f2l, fluff word count; 2,1k timeline; goblet of fire warnings; mentions of anxiety, mentions of drugs summary; maybe volunteering to sing at the yule ball would mean that your crush would finally notice you, and maybe you could have a wonderfully enchanting night as a result

masterlist

i might consider a speak now anthology... but not until after lover and reputation are done. i just had to use this song for this idea...

"please don't be in love with someone else."

————————————————

The purple sparkles glistening on your cheekbones gave your complexion an ethereal type of blush, accented by your magnificent lilac princess gown that spilled out at your hips. Your hair was perfectly styled, with delicate purple butterflies pinned in various places. This was a night that you had been rehearsing over and over for weeks now - and you couldn't fuck up this moment.

With a squeeze on your arm from your nearest and dearest friend, Jean, you gave a tight lipped smile and moved towards the stage. It felt as if the world stopped when you gripped the microphone in your hand, and silence fell upon the ballroom. You had been unable to think of a good introduction, so decided that delving right into the song was the best course of action. You heard the guitar begin.

"There I was again tonight Forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired, lonely place."

As you opened your eyes, you scanned the crowd for the one person whose eyes you wanted pinned on you: the tuft of ginger hair that you had gazed at longingly from a distance for so long. You could tell him apart from his twin brother, quite easily tonight as while George was partnered up with Angelina Johnson, Fred remained dateless. It could only have been a personal choice, as he could have had any girl he wanted.

Including you.

"Walls of insincerity Shifting eyes and vacancy Vanished when I saw your face."

Your eyes locked on to his, and you remembered the moment you first laid eyes on him back in first year.

***

The glance of you, an awkward eleven year old, towards a ginger-haired boy at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Well, one of multiple ginger-haired boys. And, despite another of them being identical to him, he stood out to you like the shiny full moon in a starry sky. Maybe it was the cheeky grin he had on his face as he watched what appeared to be his elder brother realise that something had been shoved down his pants, or maybe it was the fact he seemed to be brimming with confidence.

For a shy child such as yourself, seeing someone of such the opposite genre, unafraid to be loud and proud— it was a spectacle. You were in awe.

And that was when he turned around and caught you staring. Heat rushed to your ears and you immediately turned away, hiding next to your mother, hearing the sound of his pleasant laughter in the background. You didn't think you would fancy someone at Hogwarts so quickly, and even young naïve you knew that it would be an all-consuming crush.

***

"All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you."

Never had you had his, and everyone else's, full attention quite like this. It made you feel like the goddamn belle of the ball, which was nerve-wracking but exhilarating. You gripped the microphone tighter, letting more memories flood over you, including the first time you exchanged words with Fred.

"Your eyes whispered, 'Have we met?' 'Cross the room your silhouette Starts to make its way to me."

***

Your first charms lesson, practising a simple levitation charm with feathers: a class that you happened to share with who you learned to be the Weasley twins. You couldn't help but glance at him every few seconds, to the point that you lost control of your feather and it went flying in his direction. Eyes growing wide out of shock, you quickly scurried out of your seat and over to where they were sat.

"This yours?" who you now knew to be Fred asked.

You nodded.

"Here you go," he said, passing it over with a smile, "Be more careful next time. You're lucky it's just a feather."

Embarrassment swarmed over you, and you wordlessly nodded yet again, grabbing the feather and hurrying back to your seat.

***

Despite such a humiliating first interaction, you grew in confidence over the years, and your crush on him became less debilitating.

"The playful conversation starts Counter all your quick remarks Like passing notes in secrecy."

***

"Hey, Y/N, you were at Jean's party over the Summer, you saw Cho grinding up on Cedric in the living room didn't you?" your Gryffindor friend asked you as you walked past their table to your own. You stopped walking and chuckled.

"No, I didn't. I spent most the time upstairs."

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah with the druggies."

You shook your head at her.

"You act like such a goody-two-shoes at school but you're secretly a party animal."

"Y/N L/N, a party animal? No way," Fred Weasley piped up from nearby.

You shrugged, "You wouldn't know. You didn't even get invited."

You watched as amusement flitted over his eyes at your remark. "Touché, L/N."

***

"And it was enchanting to meet you All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you."

You began walking to one side of the stage, soaking in all the attention being on you which would have driven you to a panic attack in first year. It still made you scared, but you could handle the feeling a lot better these days.

"This night is sparkling Don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck Blushing all the way home."

People began cheering as you picked up your volume.

***

In third year, you got assigned to be Fred's partner in a potions practical, as Snape did not let the twins be paired up under any circumstances. Despite your hatred of the man, you couldn't blame him for that move. And in that instance, you thanked him.

"I'm a lot luckier than George."

"What do you mean?" you asked as you laid out all the ingredients.

"He's partnered with a Slytherin guy, I'm with a pretty Ravenclaw girl."

You froze, relishing in the compliment without trying to appear too embarrassed. "Uh, thanks."

You heard him chuckle, "Like you've never heard it before."

Not from anyone but your mother.

***

"I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you."

When you had found out about the Yule Ball, you had been sick to your stomach thinking about seeing Fred with another girl. Every time he had briefly dated over the last few years had killed you, and this was no exception. So, you had thrown yourself into rehearsals and almost entirely isolated yourself, only to find out that Fred hadn't asked anyone and had come alone.

"The lingering question kept me up 2am, who do you love? I wonder 'til I'm wide awake."

Why, though? Why hadn't he asked anyone? Why did he choose solitude and embarrassment over a lovely night of dancing and eventual making out?

"And now I'm pacing back and forth Wishing you were at my door I'd open up and you would say 'Hey, it was enchanting to meet you' All I know is I was enchanted to meet you."

You had spent a lot of time wishing he would ask you, and as you entered the second chorus, you found yourself shutting your eyes and dreaming that he would kiss and hug you when you left the stage. Telling you that he was so incredibly proud of you and that you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

"This night is sparkling Don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck Blushing all the way home."

You opened your eyes and let yourself have another glimpse of his face.

"I'll spend forever wondering if you knew This night is flawless Don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck Dancing around all alone."

Alas, you did not have a date, and would likely be spending the rest of this evening dancing exclusively with friends— or maybe even alone, if they were busy with their dates. But, a girl could dream, and you could so easily imagine Fred approaching you and asking you for a dance.

"I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you."

***

You frowned as you saw, for the first time, the Weasley twins in the Hogwarts library. For some reason, you highly doubted that their intentions were educational. Regardless, they appeared lost.

"Need some help?" you offered, beckoning all your courage to do so.

"What? No, we're good. We're fine," Fred said quite too suddenly.

You raised an eyebrow, "I'm not here to snitch, you just seem a bit confused."

They exchanged a look with each other.

"Okay," George sighed, "We're looking for the sludge based charms section."

***

"This is me praying that This was the very first page Not where the storyline ends."

This was was your second to last year of Hogwarts, and you couldn't have that be the end of your interactions with Fred. You needed to have more than that, you needed to communicate your feelings, you needed to feel his embrace. Unfortunately, you were a coward with love, and so you were going to extreme means to attract him so he would do the initiating. Rowena knows you were desperate.

"My thoughts will echo your name Until I see you again These are the words I held back As I was leaving too soon."

In a moment of adrenaline rush bravery, you firmly locked your eyes on to the man you had pined after for years. You hoped he was close enough to the stage to realise that you were looking at him.

"I was enchanted to meet you."

And as the backing vocals picked up, you lowered your microphone and gave a nervous smile as you watched his face contort in shock. He raised a finger and gestures to his chest, as if to say, "Me?"

You nodded, raising your microphone again.

"Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you!"

The corners you had stood in, the people you had hidden behind, the conversations you had avoided— they were history. You had overcome your fears, and it only took you nearly six years. Now, no matter what came of this, you couldn't look back and regret not confessing.

"This night is sparkling Don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck Blushing all the way home."

Maybe he felt the same, or at least had the potential to feel the same. Maybe he had realised that you were no longer the awkward eleven year old with a nose that was too big for her face and a haircut that did nothing for her features.

"I'll spend forever wondering if you knew This night is flawless Don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck Dancing around all alone."

The crowd had melted away, and you couldn't even hear your own anxiety as you let the song absorb you. You refused to let yourself live to regret this moment.

"I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you."

A part of the song that you could officially say did not describe you: he knew. Fred knew. He knew that you were enchanted to meet him, that your thoughts echoed his name, that you had held so many words back. And with that thought, you let yourself return to Earth, settling in the middle of the stage as you gently sung the final words.

"Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you."

Cheers erupted from all around you: Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and Hogwarts. You took a bow, unable to wipe the grin off your face as you were applauded, deciding to ignore for that moment any consequences of your actions. That continued when you left the stage and your friends greeted you with hugs and compliments— until Jean pulled you aside and muttered.

"You looked at him."

"What?" you feigned confusion.

She gave you a look, "Don't play dumb. You sang the song at Weasley."

"I- yeah," you admitted.

"Well, don't leave him waiting."

This time, you were genuinely confused, "What?"

She nudged her head to her left, where you turned to see that Fred was patiently waiting for you to finish talking to your friends. "Go get him, girl."

You took a deep breath and nodded with a smile, walking towards the man who held your heart.

"Hi," you murmured, feeling shy again.

"Hi," he said softly, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"Did you like my-?"

"I loved it," he cut you off.

You smiled abashedly.

"Can I have this dance?" he asked as the music began picking up again.

You accepted his extended hand, "You can have every dance."

And Fred grinned.

———————————————

masterlist

written; 17/03/2024 —> 07/04/2024 published; 07/04/2024 edited; —/—/——

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wzrd-wheezes · 1 year

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Cool Off - George Weasley x Reader.

AN: This fic was inspired by a lil post I made a while ago about George catching you staring at him when he rolls his sleeves up, and then this whole fic just kinda spiralled haha

masterlist here

The hot summer air was making the Potions classroom unbearable. The dark room was stuffy anyway with all the cauldrons bubbling away, let alone when the sun was blistering as well.

Y/N was slumped over her cauldron, her hair sticking to her damp forehead as she pored over the instructions of the potion that she was supposed to be brewing.

“It’s bloody hot in here.” Y/N sighed, picking up her potions book and fanning herself with it.

“You’d think Snape was trying to kill us,” Fred said.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he was,” George laughed. He leaned back, stretching slightly after being hunched over his cauldron for the last half an hour. He brought his hands up to his tie, loosening it slightly in a futile effort to cool himself down. He resumed to his potion, looking puzzled at it for a few seconds before letting out a defeated sigh.

“I can’t wait to get out of here.” Fred mumbled.

“I know it’s torture.” Y/N said.

“We should skip Charms and go down to the lake,” George suggested. As he spoke, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and pushed his sleeves up. Y/N watched him, entranced, looking at his exposed forearms that were peppered with freckles. George caught her staring and smirked at her, holding eye contact for far too long.

“What d’you say, Y/N?” George grinned, “Fancy going to the lake to cool off a bit?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” she answered.

Potions class seemed to drag on for hours and when the bell rang to dismiss them, Y/N, Fred and George couldn’t get out of the classroom quick enough. They quickly ran up to the common room so they could get changed and grabbed their things and then made their way down to the lake.

The sun was beating down on them as they walked across the grounds down to the lake. As the school day hadn’t quite finished yet, they were near enough alone there, apart from a few students that were scattered across the grass on picnic blankets or paddling in the water. They settled in a spot under a large tree and threw down their bags.

“Shit.” Fred said, standing up quickly “I told Lee we’d meet him on our way down here and I completely forgot.”

“Better go meet him then hadn’t you!” Y/N, looked up at him, “You know what he’s like,”

“True, he’s a right drama queen.” George laughed “He’ll go on about us forgetting him for weeks!” Fred shook his head at the pair and smiled before running back towards the castle.

“Behave while I’m gone!” He shouted back over his shoulder.

“C’mon. What are we waiting for?” George said, standing up. He slipped his shoes off and quickly removed his shirt, tossing it on the ground next to Y/N. George’s hair had fallen messily over his forehead and he ran a hand through it quickly to fix it. For the second time that day Y/N caught herself staring at him. The sun was reflecting off of his pale chest, which, just like his arms, were scattered with freckles.

“Oi!” George said, grabbing her attention, “That’s the second time I’ve caught you staring at me today. I ought to start charging you!” he laughed.

“Oh, shove off!” Y/N laughed. She stood up and removed her shirt and threw it at George’s face. She felt George’s gaze settle on her as she stood in front of him in her swimsuit, suddenly feeling self conscious. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, and George smirked at her noticing her reaction.

“You look great.” he smiled softly and grabbed her hand. George led her towards the lake and they both submerged themselves into the cool water. The water was waist high and provided the perfect remedy for the hot summer weather. They had been in the water no longer than two minutes before Y/N had a load of water splashed at her from George.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Weasley,” she challenged him, splashing him back. Before too long, they were both absolutely drenched. Water dripped from Y/N’s eyelashes and she wiped her face with her arm. George shook his head quickly in an attempt to get the water from his hair. They stared at eachother for a second before George stepped towards her. He placed a hand on her waist, gently pulling her towards him.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered. Y/N nodded in response and brought her lips up to meet his. George’s lips were soft against her own, and she felt the water from the lake drip from his hair onto her face. He broke away from her smiling and rested his forehead against hers.

“I thought I told you two to behave while I was gone!” Fred shouted from the bank of the lake, having just returned with Lee. George looked over at them and laughed, putting his hands back on Y/N’s waist. He manouvered her so her back was towards Fred and Lee, who were still shouting jokes at them. George kissed her again, flipping Fred and Lee off behind Y/N’s back.

#weasley twins #fred and george #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley x reader #george weasley #george wealsey x reader

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joka13 · 5 months

Text

FANFICTION: Weasley Twins x Reader (Slytherin Girl) - Part 28

Warning Level (1-10): 2

You desperately search for a convincing excuse to give her as Professor Umbridge stomps toward you and the twins, but in all your panic you can't come up with anything. You know you've been caught.

Just before Umbridge reaches you, Fred and George simultaneously step in front of you... as if to protect you. Do they fear Umbridge will try to do you physical harm? You think it's silly at first, but then you remember all of the rumors going around the school about what she did to Harry after he challenged her...

"Don't punish y/n," the twins quickly say. "It was our idea."

"I don't care who's idea it was!" Umbridge barks. Her entire head is as red as a tomato. "Especially when she promised me that you three troublemakers were going to class!"

It's true. You had lied straight to her froggy face, but you weren't sorry for it.

You stand on the tips of your toes so that you can make eye contact with Professor Umbridge. "I didn't promise anything."

"Don't talk back to me!" Umbridge roars, and you can tell Fred and George are struggling to hold in a laugh. Umbridge points a chubby finger in your direction and spits, "Detention!"

As Umbridge smooths her skirt, you and the twins wait for her to elaborate, but she does not.

"O-only for me?" you eventually ask with a tone of uncertainty.

Professor Umbridge displays her knowing, evil little smile. "Yes. My office, tonight at five o'clock sharp."

"Why not punish us, too?" Fred says, upset.

"Because the... disciplining will be more effective if you aren't together. Twenty points from Gryffindor and thirty points from Slytherin." And with that, Umbridge turns around and walks back in the direction of the Quidditch field entrance.

"Oh, boy, if it was legal..." George makes an aggressive, strangling motion with his hands.

You sigh. "I probably won't even have time for dinner."

"I'm sure she's aware of that," Fred growls. He begins to pace back and forth, obviously thinking hard. Then Fred stops and, as if they both suddenly conjured the exact same thought, the twins look at each other. You watch wearily as they silently communicate, leaving you out of the conversation. Fred squints slowly. George hesitates for a moment and then shakes his head. Fred's brow furrows in intense concern. George shakes his head again, this time with more surety. Fred raises an eyebrow questioningly...

You sigh once more and brush past the twins. You start to head back to the castle.

"Wait, y/n," Fred says softly, gently grabbing your hand. "There's still a long while until your detention."

"Yeah, but that long while is another class I should be getting to." You give his hand an affectionate squeeze, and then you walk away sadly towards the castle.

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apparentlytheproblem · 1 year

Text

𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙮

fandom- Harry Potter

pairing(s)- fred weasley

a/n-requests are always open for you my darlings with all the love i can possibly muster, teddy

currently playing- forever favourite

warnings- wave crashin sense of loneliness? enemies to lovers, rain confession, gender neutral and sfw

dating this Weasley would be such a rollercoaster with its ups and downs

honestly, would've hated him at first, i loathe the snark

but the thing is, the charismatic personality would just draw you to that magnet of a man

but it was a bit cute (maybe)

“You’re short enough to have to go onto your tippy toes to kiss me.” “I’m short enough to elbow you directly in the gut, with ease.”

picking fights is just his love language before he realizes you feel the same

so much drama before y'all actually got together

i picture it as how you both would have picked a fight which got you very upset since you've finally come in terms with your feelings and he's here trying to hurt them

it would be rainy day and you'd be making your way back from the green house as quickly as possible as he waits a bit further away

You noticed him, you always notice him first. He had his robe on the grass, and his sleeves rolled.

as you tried to avoid the whole meltdown you realized that his feelings shouldn't be spared and thus starts the argument

from one to another your feelings were in the air, an air full of love and hope

love confessions in the rain>>>

and suddenly how shy you were with a blush plastered on your face wherever he was.

such a shy baby to his thick british accent

i think he's a bit more calmer and steadier than all of you give him credit for

oh but the flirting- give me a break already

he's just the more outgoing and daring type yk

he's the type who would continue to win you over for the rest of your lives after fullingly knowing that he was yours

he'd be so quick w those remarks thats would personally send me of blushing

lets talk about fred's motto: an eye for an eye

it doesn't have to mean anything in a negative sense or even related to you

but if someone was out for you, weasley will be out for them and oh how cruel he could be

he's driven by instict

and if he wants something then he would have it then and there

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shadowbriar · 9 months

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Fred Weasley - Clandestine Love

Pairing : Fred Weasley x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 2.5k Warning : Angst. Synopsis : His unwillingness to come out of the shadows have finally caused him greater damage one couldn't possibly fix. Notes : Post no 1 for my 1 Year Anniversary Celebration. Don't forget to fill the form here if you'd like to be tagged for my future works. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕ Fred Weasley's Masterlist click here. Taglist : @jsjcue @coffeehurricanes @ell0ra-br3kk3r

He lightly traced the shape of her nose, admiring each freckle on her face as if they were his road map to home. She was fast asleep, chest raising and falling at a steady pace. It is certainly one of the world's unexplained mysteries, how she seems to hold such magnetism that would always charm and hypnotise him.

Behind these four walls, he could find comfort and bravery to actually show his true feelings. About how he admires her as if she’s a goddess that walks the Earth. Like she was graced with beauty beyond compare, he struggles to look away though his eyes were burning from her glow. Like she was the oxygen he’s desperate to breathe in. And in return, she made him feel wanted, needed, and most importantly, loved.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel appreciated by his friends and family. No, he knows full well the amount of love and support he’s received from the people around him throughout the years. The cheers and laughter people always greet him with were the very evidence of the said affection. But the heart is a silly object and it often acquires silly things, and for this one time, his heart desires her.

Being in love with the House Prefect when you’re the sole cause of trouble and mischief certainly was never on his list.

Fred never thought that hearing about how she gave a student detentions for the whole week would make his day better, having been the one who’s had the longest list of detention himself. He never thought that her whining of night patrols would keep his lips tucked in a smile for hours. He never thought that laying on her lap as she talks about her frustration about the House points would be the very thing he looks forward to each day.

As sappy as it sounds, he never knew the word love until he met her.

The boy lets out a silent sigh. The question she asked for what seems to be the hundredth time last night haunts him. The words were carved into the back of his head, her voice playing in an infinite loop as it pushed him closer to the edge.

Why can’t we go out in public like this, Freddie?

Merlin knows just how much he wished he could love her out there, show the whole world that she’s his and his only. How it peels his skin whenever they’ve got classes together yet he couldn’t sit next to her. How each time he spots her at the corridors he wishes to be able to pull her away, giving her a quick kiss before continuing whatever mundane activity they were having.

But Fred knew that the mess he’s made over the years has given him quite the reputation that could tarnish her’s. If it weren’t for her strict and rigid parents, demanding her to be the perfect daughter and keeping the true noble pure blood lineage, he would have spent no other second to kiss her at the Great Hall. To take her to Hogsmeade date every other week and send her love letters whenever break comes. To go and introduce himself to her parents.

Fred was never ashamed of his name, but for once in his lifetime he feels complete and utterly unworthy.

“Good morning.” He says softly, noticing the light movements she makes as she begins to regain consciousness “Sleep alright?”

She smiles, still not opening her eyes as she buries her face to his chest, “Never better.”

Fred runs his fingers through the strands of her hair, gently stroking them as if they were the most fragile thing he’s ever held. He rests his chin on top of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo that he so much loved. Her body heat was giving him the comfort he’s been looking for all night from all the tiresome scenarios and questions running in his head. She was his one and only anchor to sanity and he’s certainly not ready to part from her soon.

“What time is it?” She asks, voice muffled from his shirt “Flitwick asked me to help with some paperworks before classes start.”

“5.40.” He says as he peeks to the clock laying by the bedside table “I thought you have some essays due for Divination class?”

“I do,” She sighs, this time sitting up “I’m planning to finish that first before I go to Flitwick. I have so much to do and so little time. I wish there were more hours in a day, 24 is just not enough numbers.”

Fred chuckles, following her to sit up and kisses her clothed shoulder, “I’ll miss you today.”

“I’ll miss you too, Darling.” She says with a smile, closing the gap between them as she plants a chaste kiss “I’ll see you at Charms class, alright?”

He nods, not saying another thing as he watches her pack her belongings.

“Oh, and good luck for your Quidditch match today!” She says cheerfully as she skips back to him, planting another kiss, this time more passionate than the previous “I’ll cheer for you the loudest.”

—-

She chuckles lightly in between the kisses. He has one hand resting on her waist while the other is cupping her face, fingers tracing her jawline. Sneaking themselves in the locker room now, Fred hopes that he could freeze time and make this moment last just a little bit longer. Put it in a bottle so he could stare and relive it each night before he goes to sleep. But even with such magic in their sleeves, certain things are too good to be true.

Whenever they’re together, the blissful feelings he felt would be mirrored on her. She could feel her skin burning from the electrical sparks. Her cheeks are always tired from smiling and stomach hurts from all the laughter. If she could ever choose the moments which she could relive in an infinite loop, it would be any moments shared with him.

“What?” Fred asks with a raised eyebrow, an amused smile plastered on his handsome face.

“Nothing,” She says, clinging her arms on his shoulders now “I just find it adorable when you’re clingy.”

He rolled his eyes, “You say as if it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not. I never said that.” She remarks “Don’t put words in my mouth, Mr. Weasley.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of other things I’d rather put in your pretty mouth.”

“Shut up,” She says, slapping his shoulder “We should probably go. Our friends might already be frantic looking for us.”

“Let them have their kittens.” He whispers in a low voice as he continues to leave trails of butterfly kisses on her jawline “I want to stay here forever.”

She chuckles, “And if they find us here? What should we tell them?”

Fred stops, pulling away as he bites his lip. He let out a half-hearted huff of sigh, forcing a smile as he placed one last kiss on her temple. His body language changes drastically. Shoving his hands down the pocket of his trousers as he looks everywhere but her eyes.

“You’re right, we should go.”

His agreement was never a surprise but still an upsetting sight to see. She could feel the crack in her heart grow slightly bigger. His dejected expression was only half of what she’s been feeling lately, she’s sure of it. He could never understand the real burden she’s been feeling for having to hide their intimacy when all she wanted is for the world to be their sole witness.

“Or maybe.. We could just tell them the truth if it ever comes to such an event.”

“Darling,” Fred calls with an apologetic smile “You know we can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Fred remained silent. He let out a defeated sigh, tucking the few loose strands of her hair behind her ear before kissing the tip of her nose gently, “We should go. I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

She bites her lower lip, wanting to prolong their conversation but his match will begin any minute now. It wouldn’t be pretty to have him being searched by the Gryffindor Quidditch team and caught with her. Certainly the worst possible scenario to happen. It would ruin everyone’s evening before the match even began.

So she forced a smile, nodding, “I’ll see you tonight.”

—-

Fred stood proudly in the middle of Gryffindor Common Room, one of his hands being raised high along with George’s as the students cheered for them. The two were the MVPs of today’s match, helping Harry to catch the snitch before the Ravenclaw’s seeker could as they launched the bludger at the poor boy. A rough game, quidditch.

He could see her, standing by the stairs as she leaned against the walls. The smile that was decorating her face warms his heart, having to know that she’s happy for his victory too. He couldn’t wait for the night to pass, for people to leave him alone as they find their drunken selves back to their own rooms so he could sneak out with her and spend the night at the Room of Requirement instead.

He couldn’t wait to tell her the details of today’s match, though she was there to witness the game herself. He couldn’t wait to tell her how every inch of his body felt hot as he scored another goal. He couldn't wait to tell her how it felt to have adrenaline pumped through his veins as he hit the bludger, quietly praying that the damage done to the poor Ravenclaw wouldn’t be that severe.

But his sight of her was abruptly blocked as Alicia Spinnet pulled him down the table. A hint of blush was visible on her cheeks. Fred couldn’t even spare a word and ask what in the world she was doing before the catastrophe happened.

Alicia kissed him.

Fred froze on his spot, mind going foggy as he tried to process the event happening. The loud cheer of students suddenly felt muted. It took him a few seconds to finally regain consciousness and pushed Alicia away. When he looked back to the stairs, she was gone.

“What in the bloody hell were you thinking?!” Fred spat at Alicia, rudely shoving her away. He was never one to be cruel towards girls, but the confusion and horror plaguing his mind has taken over himself that he acted the way he did.

Leaving the baffled crowd, Fred storms out of the Common Room. At this point he couldn’t spare to give any mind to the hushed whispers of his rude action and his now pursuit to chase her. If people want to talk, let them talk. Perhaps it’s time for them to know about their secret love affair. Fred knew sooner or later, no matter how hard he tries to keep their relationship tight in a box, this one tiny secret would seep through the thin walls of the castle. Yet if he could ever have a say about it, he would choose to have it without hurting her in the process like this.

“Love?” Fred calls as he heard her quiet sobbing, stopping on a secluded corner now “I am so sorry for what’s happened there, I didn’t know why—”

“You know why, Fred.” She says between her sobbing, looking at him with hurt in her eyes that he’s never seen before “I’ve told you a dozen times already.”

“You think I wanted Alicia to kiss me?” He asked, offended.

“No, but I know that you know why she kissed you.” She says with her voice breaking “I’ve told you— I’ve.. I’ve asked you so many times to just go out of the shadows but you never listened.”

“How is it anything related to that?”

She let out an appalled expression, angry at his failure to connect the dots. Surely it isn’t hard to understand that Alicia kissed him because she thought he was single, right? It shouldn’t take a genius to understand that everyone thought that way and what would be a bigger celebration than to kiss your teammate over your shared victory?

“You’re impossible,” She mutters, running a hand through her hair “This is exactly why I asked you to come forward! To let our relationship be public. This is exactly why!”

Fred stood still, not saying a word.

“Why can’t you just listen to me?” She asked with a defeated tone “Why won’t you love me in the open?”

“Love,” He calls softly, taking her hands gently “You know why.”

“Actually, I don’t.” She says in a desperate tone, walking away from him so she could conceal the fragile forefront “I mean you’ve never given me a clear reason as to why we have to keep on hiding and isolating every other door we enter. It’s not like the world would combust into flames if people know we’re seeing each other.”

Fred smiles apologetically, “We can’t.”

“Why?” She pushes, finally asking the worst question that has been plaguing her mind “Are you embarrassed of me? Is that it?”

“What, no!”

“Then what is it?”

“I just— I can’t. Not now.” Fred says in frustration, unintentionally raising his tone “Love, please. Let’s not argue about this. This isn’t the right time.”

The calm inside her has long passed, replaced with a storm filling her head. She couldn’t take anymore rollercoasters of feeling blissful during the day and having endless anxiety of thoughts at night. If he really loves their relationship, as much as he shows it within the closed doors, then why not take the leap of faith and go public about it? What’s the worst that could’ve happened?

“There was never a right time for you, Fred.”

Fred winches at her words. He knew that he was ruining them, that he was dragging them down to an unnecessary pool of misery but given the situation and pressure, he couldn’t take any other stress of having to deal with people teasing her, let alone tarnishing her name. Her being the pure blood everyone has always looked up to would definitely cause some words to spread once it’s known that she’s dating a Weasley.

If anything, he’s the one that is afraid of her to be embarrassed.

She stares at him with much disappointment evident in her eyes. He hates to put her in such a place, but there isn’t much he could do. He’s simply not ready for their private intimacy to be a public display where everyone could chew on.

“Love, please—,”

“I can’t keep doing this, Fred,” She says as she finally composed herself better, steadying her tone and controlling her breathing “Not after tonight.”

Fred blinks, trying to digest her words better. The bitter taste of heartbreak started to poison his tongue. He doesn’t like where this is going.

“You either love me or you don’t.” She continues firmly “And tonight you’ve proven the latter.”

“I—,”

“It’s over, Fred. We’re over.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley scenario #fred weasley scenarios #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley x y/n

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writersblockedx · 9 months

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Bookshops and Baking

Pairing - Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader Summary - Forced onto a muggle trip with his family, Fred finds entertainment in your bookshop. He can’t help but thinking that maybe he likes you more than most muggles. Warnings - Fred not undertstanding basic text speech, Mentions of alchol Words - 2.2k

A/n - Possible part two ??

Masterlist

Fred was never fond of the muggle world. It was all waiting. Waiting for them to turn on a light switch rather than casting the words of 'Lumos'. He thought they lived in apathy without the ability to create pranks and joke boxes. To him, most of them went to an office and came back and that was their day. They went through education, settled down with the most practical partner, had kids they were learning to hate and then got buried in the ground. It was ever so simple yet ever so dull.

It wasn't until his dad dragged him out on a muggle trip, that he met you, and his opinion started to change.

Mr Weasley had taken all the kids on a trip to a city in the North of the Country. The weather could only be described as damp and when it started raining, Fred split from the group. He hadn't paid much attention to the building he entered, all he cared for was that it had a ceiling that would protect him from the rain. Wasn't as if he could cast a spell to protect him; strictly no magic in front of muggles and strictly, by his dad's rules, no magic on muggle trips. He liked to think his kids got the full muggle experience.

Fred opened the shop door, a ping sounded from above his head. At first, he was met with books. Many of them. Shelves of them. A library, he presumed. He barely visited them at Hogwarts, never mind a muggle library where you had to search for the very book you wanted rather than call it into your hands. But it was dry and that's all he cared for.

"Hi!" A voice called. He turned, facing the till where you were standing, a customer service smile slapped onto your lips. "Welcome," You grasped a tray from the side of you and offered it to Fred. "Take a brownie, browse, enjoy the plenty of books." Your smile never faulted.

Fred gazed at the baked goods on the tray. Traditional, non-magic, brownies. No love potion mixed into them, or fake-sickness to get you out of class. It was just a brownie. Fred took one, "Thank you." He took his first bite and could have sworn something so good, so gooey, would have to be magic. "This- This is amazing." He spoke, still with a mouthful of chocolate swirling around his mouth.

You smiled but questioned his enthusiasm, "It's just a brownie." You assured.

You weren't sure about the ginger stranger who had walked into the bookshop, but he certainly intrigued you. "Do you have the erm recipe?" He questioned before taking another gulp of the treat.

"It was just on good foods." You answered him, not hiding the amused smile that wouldn't leave your lips.

"What- What is that?"

He really was a strange man, "A website." You told him. Fred almost cursed himself for not remembering about the muggle's favourite invention of the internet; his dad never shut up about it.

"Oh, right, yeah." He mumbled, taking his final bite.

You stepped around the counter and came to face the redhead. "Here," You said, taking his crum cover hand into your own. You took the lid of a pen and started writing the name of the website and then, with a push of confidence, you started writing your own number. "If you've got any more baking cravings, you can always message me." You stopped writing and looked up at him. His eyes were clung to you, wide-eyed as if you could do no wrong as if he could trust you to hold his heart for a lifetime. "I do more than just brownies."

He nodded slowly before realising he should probably say something, "Right," He suddenly couldn't think straight. Maybe it was the brownie. Maybe he was just confused. He had liked pretty girls before but never had one made him feel like this. So flushed, so nervous to even take a breath. "I don't have a phone." He suddenly realised.

Your head dipped to the side, "Oh." You let out.

"I'll get one." He cut in before you could reject him. "I've been meaning to for a while." Well, his dad had really wanted one of the muggle's phones; they called them apples? So he thought they did.

"Well, when you do, I'll be waiting for the message." Your words caused another grin to fall on his lips. "It's Y/n by the way."

"Fred." He returned.

And like that, the two of you had become acquainted. Possibly he was strange, perhaps a little old-fashioned, or maybe he was the first to use not having a phone as a way to reject someone. Either way, Fred ended up lingering in your mind. Dates came in and out of your life, but you found him, just a boy who liked your brownies, yet he had made you feel more than any other date.

Fred was the same. His mind was infatuated with the idea of you...a muggle. It was odd to him. He had nothing against muggles, of course, but he had never seen himself befriending one - never mind it being possibly flirtatious. But as he left the bookshop (without any actual books) he went to one of the muggle 'Apple' stores. There, he finally picked up a phone and would spend the next night trying to figure it all out and swearing on muggles for making everything so difficult.

Now, the thing was Fred had never sent a text. He had sent letters. So when he was faced with typing, he assumed the two were no different.

To Y/n, I can't stop thinking about them brownies. From, Fred.

He became even more confused when only an hour later he received a message in return:

I'll make them again for you sometime - lmk when you're free.

He stared at the muggle message for a while. When he couldn't figure out what you meant by 'lmk', he resorted to going to his dad. He and the rest of the family were awaiting Molly's dinner, lingering by the table when Fred stormed through. His eyes were on the phone until he met his dad and handed the object over.

"What does this mean?" He demanded to know simply because he was so eager to message the girl back.

Arthur flicked his glasses over his eyes and inspected the message. "Is this your muggle girlfriend?" Yelled George who was setting the table.

Fred flicked his head to his twin brother, telling him to, "Shut up," before turning back to his dad.

"Don't tell me he's back at it with that muggle phone." Ginny commented.

"Back at it?" George laughed. "He hasn't put it down. He won't stop talking to someone called Siri?"

"Is that the girl?" Asked Ron, finally looking up from the piece of bread he had been eating.

Fred looked to his siblings for one last time, "No, it's not the girl." He said with a stern tone woven through his words. He finally looked to his dad, "Do you know what it is?"

He nodded and put the phone on the table, "It's one of the muggle text abbreviations. They get lazy when they text on their electronics." He explained.

"Okay, so what does L.M.K mean?"

Arthur shrugged, "Oh, I've no idea."

Shit, Fred thought, but knew he shouldn't say it. He couldn't understand these text abbreviations but the idea of not responding was torturous. So, he did the next best thing.

Without his dad or his siblings, Fred took it upon himself to visit the muggle world by himself. He travelled through the streets, luckily this time they were dry streets, right until he came across the same bookshop. He took a breath like this would take a lot out of him. Then, he put his firm palm on the door and pushed. That same bell rang, addressing his entrance to anyone close.

His eyes went straight to the counter which was empty, only occupied by a tray of cookies. The boy wandered further down, slipping into the maze of the bookshelf before, finally, he caught sight of you. Your hands reaching up, pushing books into their respective positions. You hadn't noticed him at first, completely wrapped up in your own world. He walked towards you, a smile plastered on his lips when he breathed and spoke, "Hi."

You finally turned, your expression moulding into a curious one, "Fred?" You almost giggled. "Didn't think I'd see you here after you ghosted me."

His brows narrowed, "I'm sorry?"

Then you did giggle, "Doesn't matter. How can I help you?"

"I was thinking about you and what you said. And you're right, I am old-fashioned. Completely." He started, not daring to tear from your gaze. "Which is why I'm here and it's why I'm offering to take you out...on a date." He pushed out his hopeful smile, watching your eyes carefully as they filled with some emotion he couldn't pinpoint.

"Okay, Mr old-fashioned." You agreed as if you hadn't been thinking about it since you last saw the boy. "My shift finishes in an hour."

Fred didn't move, "Right."

"So I'll meet you at a restaurant afterwards." You planned. "You choose, message me the address."

That was the worse thing you could have done. But, at that moment, Fred agreed. He spent at least half of that hour scouting for a restaurant. One that was quaint enough to be intimate, but one that was also expensive, somewhere you could wear a nice dress to and you could share a bottle of wine. And when he finally found one, he ordered himself the bottle of wine and sat there waiting until you showed up.

You arrived on the dot. Nervous, but trying to hide it well enough, and once your gaze hit his, a smile grazed your lips. He took you in an embrace before the two of you were seated across from one another. Conversation started flowing as soon as you had a lick of wine. You learnt of the wacky Weasley family, from his twin brother to his parents and all the other siblings in between. He owned a business - one of which you had never heard of - but it certainly did impress you. He claimed he hadn't had much time for dating and that running into yourself was just perfect timing.

So, of course, when the brownie dessert you were sharing started coming to an end, and Fred offered a second date, you agreed. And, on that date, you agreed to a third.

For that one, Fred had arranged every single detail. He would greet you in a shirt and tie, a bouquet of flowers waiting in his hands. You would thank him and accept the flowers before taking his hands and entering the theatre. At half-time, you would go in-depth about the meaning behind the play. Before, at the end of the night, as he dropped you off on your front steps, he would finish the night with a kiss.

Everything would go to plan - so Fred hoped anyway.

What happened instead, ruined everything. Fred was waiting outside the venue, doing his once-over for everything. He made sure his shirt was perfectly ironed and that the flowers were-

He suddenly looked down at his palms and realised they were empty. He had left them on the back seat of his car. He almost swore aloud before his wizard instinct stepped in. He retrieved his wand from his blazer pocket, shuffling into the shadows. He picked up some small daisies from the ground that lined the building. From there, he mumbled the words of, "Engorgio" and the small petals tripled in their size until they resembled some proper, store-bought flowers.

It was bad timing. When Fred gazed back up, he wasn't met with shadow, he was met with you, staring at him and the flowers that had just magically grown at his will. How could he explain this? "Y/n," He spoke your name in a breath that he had been holding. "I can explain." No, he couldn't.

You shook your head, already taking some steps back. "I- I can't-" You couldn't get the words out; your mind was too focused on trying to figure out what you had just witnessed.

Before Fred could say much more, you turned your back to him and slipped away. He should have been more worried about the fact a muggle had witnessed magic, that the very being of all witches and wizards had suddenly become endangered. He should have been worried about how much this mistake was going to cost him - if the Mystery of Magic would send him to Azkaban for this? But all that swirled around in the boy's head was whether he could fix the sudden wedge he had put between himself and you.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley fanfic #Harry Potter universe #harry potter fanfiction #hogwarts imagines #hogwarts fanfiction #george weasley #ron weasley #imagine #x reader #fanfic

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wandamaxim0f · 2 months

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After the war — Fred Weasley

Words: 1.4k

Fred Weasley x Female reader

Tw: mentions of the war, character death, mentions of the battle of the department of mysteries, mentions of anxiety and fear

A/N: in all honesty, fred was my first fictional love, and no matter how many characters I love, I always come back to him. In the wise Taylor Swift words, "I drive down different roads, but they all lead back to you"

Fred grinned softly as he opened the door to the house the two of you had purchased not too long ago. The second big commitment both of you had made together, the first one being when he got down in one knee almost a year ago now. Planning the wedding was not something neither of you wanted to do just now, relaxing into the idea of growing up a bit more before walking down the aisle and making things as official as they could get. Besides, you and Fred already knew you were in it for the long run, so there was no rush whatsoever.

In fact, he was so sure you were the one for him, he wouldn’t have proposed when he did, as it felt like he was repeating himself when he told you he wanted to spend his whole life with you. But the war was getting worse, and he needed you to know he meant it when he said you were the love of his life and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wanted you to know he meant it when he said he’d fight anyone and anything to get back to you if it came down to it.

“Freddie?” your voice called from the kitchen, and he took off his jacket before making his way to you.

There you were, already in your pajamas -an old pair of pants you had used to wear whenever you had an early quidditch training in school and a t-shirt you had stolen from him ages ago-, your still damp hair leaving a humid patch on the back of your tee. Your back was to the door, focused on preparing the ingredients for dinner. Turning your head now, you smiled at your fiance and his lovesick gaze.

“Hi!” you greeted, clearly happy and a smile broke into his face at the sound of your voice “How was work today?”

“It was good, a bit slow, but good” he replied, walking over you, his arms going around your waist as he dipped down his head to kiss the spot between your neck and shoulder “Kids are already at Hogwarts, so my guess is it should stay that way for another two weeks, maybe. What are you making?”

“Read about a new recipe today, carbonara. Thought we’d give it a try”

“Sounds good to me. Gonna go and take a quick shower now, baby” he added, his hands drawing circles on your stomach “Care to join?”

You laughed, leaning against him and looking up at the redhead boy, before he kissed you softly. “It won’t be a quick shower if I join you, and we’re having pasta tonight. It shouldn’t take too long for the water to boil”

Fred clicked his tongue, disappointed “Later?” he asked, kissing you again.

“Definetly. I love you” you added, and he smiled at you, so adoringly you almost melted between his strong arms.

“I love you too, forever. Can’t wait to live my whole life with you, baby” and after another kiss, he went upstairs.

He was so happy, and so in love with you. You had been the light of his life for ten years now, ever since he met you that first day of school, on your way to Hogwarts. You were always laughing at him or his jokes and pranks, and you were his biggest supporter, always ready to help him or hear him out whenever he was late with an assignment, or when he wasn’t on top of his game at a quidditch match. Eventually, as years went by, you became his biggest source of comfort under the lame excuse of friendship, and it would be normal to find the two of you tangled with each other in the common room, especially after He Who Can’t Be Named came back, your hand always toying with his hair in a way it turned him putty in your hands. Through thick and thin, you had been his rock, and he had been yours.

When George and him left during Umbridge’s reign of terror, your heart broke into a million pieces, and you had to admit to yourself it wasn’t because you’d miss them, which you would, of course, but because the idea of being at Hogwarts without Fred felt outright wrong, and those last months of school were plain torture. Exacerbated, of course, by the actual torture you had endured at the Department of Mysteries.

Fred remembered that morning clearly. He had been woken up by his mother’s scream, which had him appearing downstairs within a second, and he remembered the bile coming up his throat when she told them Ron and Ginny had been involved in a battle, and Sirius Black had been murdered by his own cousin. But nothing prepared him for when George asked who else had gone to the Ministry, and your name came out his mother’s mouth.

“What?!” he asked, his hands leaning against the couch to support his weight “How is she?”

“They’re alright, said Dumbledore, tired, and sore from torture, but they’re alright” she explained “Tonks will have to stay some days at St. Mungo’s, but she’ll be okay soon”

“T– torture?”

George’s hand squeezed his shoulder, in a sign of silent support. He was worried too, for his siblings, for Hermione and Harry, but also for you. You were one of his favorite people, and he knew how much you meant to Fred even if he hadn’t said anything. He knew his twin, and knew his heart skipped a beat whenever he saw you.

“She’ll be alright” he told him.

He knew that. You were tough, and brave, and determined; qualities he never paid much attention to, finding your kindness, patience and charisma more interesting; but he felt as if he had failed you. He had promised you almost a full year ago, the night after Voldemort’s return and Cedric’s murder that he’d keep you safe, and he hadn’t kept his word. You had gone into battle, and you had gotten tortured of all things. He felt sick, the need to take you away from home and keep you from participating anymore in the war being stronger by the second. But you wouldn’t like that. You would want to fight, and he’d be damned if he lost you. He couldn’t.

Molly thought his cry was because of his younger siblings, but George knew better. Sure, Fred was worried about Ron and Ginny, but it was you who had him hyperventilating at the idea of losing you, because the idea of living life without you felt like torture.

Three weeks later, he had found himself at your doorstep, hoping to convince you to stay with them, at least until your parents got back from their holiday in Italy. Or forever. Maybe you felt the same way, maybe you loved him back, maybe you loved him more than you loved any of your friends.

And you did, to no one’s surprise but his.

So, now here he was, fresh out of the shower, in the house the two of you had bought, and as he went downstairs, he found you at the table, with the dinner ready, and his heart skipped a beat once more. Remembering the panic that had nestled in his chest during the war, how many times he had stayed awake at night, not being able to sleep, afraid he’d lose you, afraid they’d take you from him; his arms tense around your body while he prayed he wouldn’t fail you again. And now, the war was finally behind all of you, and you were safe.

“How was the shower?”

“Would’ve been better if you had joined me” he replied, leaning in to kiss the top of her head. You hit him playfully in the arm.

After dinner, he smiled softly at you, and grabbed your hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. His eyes hadn’t left you at all as you ate, too mesmerized by how beautiful you were, and how happy he was with you, how happy you made him, and the way it felt his heart was way too big for his chest whenever he thought of you.

“I love you” he whispered, not being his bubbly, extroverted self, and you let him speak “I love you so, so much, my sweet girl”

You smiled softly, and held his hand back.

“I love you too, honey. So much. Forever”

Fred got up and took his wand out, letting magic take care of the dishes and pulled you into his embrace.

“Let’s go to bed, love”

#fred weasley #harry potter #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley x reader #hogwarts

98 notes · View notes

jamilelucato · 8 months

Text

possibility - fred weasley (part 2)

pairing: fred weasley x slytherin!reader

(part 01 here) (more HP fics here!)

summary: being friends with (y/n) has become Fred's biggest challenge.

note: They are in their last year at Hogwarts, so, for purposes, they are 18; besides, the whole canon of the book (it would've been Order of the Phoenix) is mostly nonexistent here.

the reader: can be interpreted as someone with ADHD; she loves literature and she has no friends.

words: 5000+

Enjoy!

Ginny Weasley was a charm, even at the young age of fifteen.

Being her older brothers around, Fred and George tried their best not to ignore her and make her feel welcomed and heard whenever needed. Most of the time, that was an easy task. But, now that she was getting older, it was harder to listen to her complaints.

“She had no right to say that to me!” she whined, angrily snorting. Her red hair moved with her face as she gestured. “She said it in front of Harry, for Godric’s sake!”

George immediately cast a sidelong glance at Fred. It was no secret that Ginny harboured a strong affection for Harry Potter; her infatuation was apparent to anyone with a Weasley surname, and it was common knowledge throughout Gryffindor House. Only Harry himself seemed oblivious to it. However, as Ginny grew older, her feelings seemed to intensify, and Fred frequently tuned her out, lost in his thoughts, while George assumed the role of counsellor. On that particular day, though, it appeared their roles had been reversed.

“Did he hear what she said?” George inquired gently, addressing his younger sister.

“I believe so,” Ginny responded, her voice lowering as she contemplated the encounter.

"Well, how did he react?" Fred leaned closer, although there was a table separating them from Ginny. The dinner table of Gryffindor was crowded with students, so leaning closer was needed for better hearing.

“He didn't,” Ginny replied, her tone a mixture of confusion and uncertainty. “He was with Hermione, and they were engrossed in their conversation. We exchanged glances, that's all.”

“Could it be possible he was simply aware of your presence and not actually listening to your conversation?” Fred suggested, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

Ginny averted her gaze, reluctant to meet her older brother's eyes. “There's a chance,” she admitted, albeit reluctantly.

“So, he didn't really hear it," Fred remarked, leaning back slightly. “Potter’s a man. If he had heard something and something that involved his name, he would’ve reacted.”

George turned his head to face Fred. “All men, you reckon?”

“Absolutely,” Fred confirmed with a carefree shrug.

But George was out for blood.

“Let's say, for argument's sake, that (y/n) mentioned you. Would you turn to look and react?” George asked, instantly capturing Ginny's attention. She was well aware of (y/n), the enigmatic Slytherin who struggled to maintain friendships but seemed to have formed a unique bond with Fred.

“Sure,” Fred replied, not realising the mischief in his twin's eyes. “I mean, it depends on what she'd be saying about me.”

“Does it really matter?” Ginny chimed in.

“It doesn't,” George answered his sister, then returned to Fred. “But how would you respond to her?”

“She's my friend, Georgie,” Fred teased affectionately, using his twin's nickname. “I'd man up and approach her, saying something like ‘hey, what were you saying about me?’ and get it over with.”

“Get what over with?” Ginny prodded, leaning in closer to Fred.

“Probably turning that friendship into a relationship,” George answered instead of Fred. “I mean, if he were to really man up.”

Fred jabbed his twin with playful force, feeling irked by the insinuations.

“What's wrong with (y/n) and I just being friends?” Fred retorted defensively.

“Nothing,” George shrugged nonchalantly. “She's my friend, too,” he pointed out, “but I don’t dream in my sleep with her doing stuff to me in bed.”

This time, Fred slapped his twin's arm more forcefully. “I've never had a dream about her!”

Ginny burst into laughter, feeling fortunate to sit beside her brothers during this comical exchange.

“You've dreamt about (y/n)?” she asked, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “What was she doing in your dream? Kissing?” Ginny lowered her voice, casting furtive glances around the room before adding, “Or something more?”

Fred tried to brush off Ginny's teasing with a dismissive wave of his hand despite the hints of a crimson blush creeping onto his freckled cheeks. He shook his head and muttered something about dreams and absurd fantasies.

Ginny and George exchanged a knowing look before George leaned closer to his twin. “Fred, I've known you my entire life, and I can read you like an open book,” he began in a hushed tone. “You're smitten with (y/n).”

Despite his attempts to appear composed, Fred couldn't help but squirm in his seat. “That's nonsense, George. She's just a friend, and I don't think of her that way.”

Ginny chimed in with a playful grin. “Oh, come on, Fred. We've all seen the way you look at her. It's like you're under some kind of love spell.”

Fred glanced around the bustling Great Hall, feeling the weight of the conversation. He had a reputation to uphold, which included being a mischievous troublemaker and a skilled prankster. The idea of admitting his feelings for (y/n) went against the grain of his carefree image. Besides whatever those “feelings” were, they were more complicated than he wanted to admit.

Instead of confessing his feelings, Fred squared his shoulders and made a decision.

“(y/n), she’s a tough lass,” he started saying, “I'm not going to pursue her romantically. I don't want to complicate things for her.”

Ginny and George shared another look, this time tinged with surprise. Fred was known for his mischievous tendencies but rarely showed such maturity and thoughtfulness.

“What are you going to do, then?” Ginny asked, intrigued by her older brother's newfound wisdom.

Fred flashed a determined smile. “I want to show her she can have genuine friendships, so that’s what I’ll be for her, no matter what.”

Ginny exchanged a glance with George, both impressed and proud of the transformation they had witnessed in their older brother.

“That’s actually… very nice of you, brother,” Ginny said, choked with herself for ever uttering those words.

“Thank you,” Fred shook his head down.

It was a well-known fact that (y/n) struggled to form connections with her peers. While she often blended into the background amidst bustling classrooms and boisterous mealtimes, those who paid attention could discern that, in the end, (y/n) was very much alone. Fred just hoped she wasn’t lonely, too.

And if she was (and, let’s face it, if he were to bet, that would be his horse), he would be her friendly shoulder. Perhaps with his initiative, she would open up to have other friends. But that would sadly mean he should suppress those dangerous feelings (and dreams) about her. He understood that showing romantic interest might deter her from nurturing other friendships or, worse, create an unhealthy dependency on him.

While many boys at Hogwarts might desire such unwavering devotion, Fred cherished his freedom and wanted the same for (y/n). He believed that, given the chance, she too could revel in the joy of genuine friendships.

She could feel his penetrating gaze like a warm breeze brushing the back of her neck. It was a peculiar sensation. Since she had unofficially accepted the title of “Fred Weasley's friend,” (y/n) had begun experiencing inexplicable emotions regarding him.

Sensing his eyes on her was just one of her peculiar talents. Her personal favourite was her knack for anticipating pranks by the twins; her gaze would instinctively find its way to the impending victim.

Leaving her Slytherin common room, she hadn't expected to encounter Fred. However, when she turned around, hoping to spot him, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Odd,” she thought, clutching her book closer to her chest. It wasn't a hefty tome; it was, in fact, a notebook where she jotted down ideas and penned the initial versions of scenes that might one day become her debut novel.

While the underwater ambience of the Slytherin common room often served as a wellspring of inspiration, that day seemed to be an exception. Hence, (y/n) had decided to grab her notebook and her trusty pen (yes, a pen; she staunchly refused to compose her muggle-inspired stories with a quill and inkwell) and head to the Quidditch pitch in search of inspiration.

During free periods or after classes, Quidditch practices were almost always happening. (y/n) hoped to find an eager and spirited team on the field to keep her writing juices flowing.

She dared to look around again before abandoning the idea that Fred Weasley was following her. So, confirming the absence of red hair, she resumed her pace.

To her relief, the Quidditch pitch was packed with a team of blue shirts. Ravenclaws weren't known for their blood on the field, not as much as Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs, but they would suffice. (y/n) selected a spot in the bleachers, tucked away in a corner high enough to observe everything but hidden from the spotlight. A few people were around, mostly students, but not in uniform, so she couldn't tell if they were opponents watching the Ravenclaws train or just supportive friends.

As she settled in, she opened her notebook, placing it on her lap, ready to transcribe the imaginary world blossoming in her mind. The words flowed effortlessly from her pen, her gaze seldom shifting from the training session. The sounds of players in action served as the ideal backdrop to her writing.

Without her realising it, the scene had shifted from focusing on battle, blows and gushing blood to an intimate moment between nameless protagonists. (y/n) had yet to fully develop their backstory, but they always made their presence known when she ventured into the realm of fairies: a tall, strong lad and a quick-witted young lady.

In the scene she was crafting, they bid each other farewell before venturing into an ongoing battle. Although their words hinted at sadness, they teased one another playfully, creating a certain ambivalence that (y/n) found challenging to convey.

She had just finished writing down the boy's response when a voice behind her remarked, “I'd change that. No battle-hardened lad would utter something so… girlish.”

(y/n) didn't even flinch. She had sensed Fred Weasley's presence earlier, and his sudden appearance was merely confirmation that she wasn't descending into madness or becoming paranoid. She felt a flicker of annoyance at the idea that he had been peeking at her notes, but with no Time-Turner to reverse the situation, she decided to take his opinion on board. Fred's perspective on how a boy would speak could enrich her literary endeavour.

“Hello, Weasley," she greeted him, her eyes on him as he gracefully hopped from the seat behind her to the vacant one beside her.

Fred, however, didn't offer a greeting in return. “Why are you here?” he cut right to the chase.

With a casual shrug, she answered, “Felt uninspired in my common room.” She closed her notebook, a sense of finality in the gesture.

“Of course you did,” he quipped with bitterness. “That place stinks of rich kids and Death Eaters.”

Rolling her eyes, (y/n) couldn't help but feel a tinge of exasperation.

Fred had a peculiar tendency to launch into rants about the Slytherin House, a habit she never entirely understood. She was, without a doubt, a Slytherin through and through. She couldn't imagine belonging to any other house. Ambition coursed through her veins in her academic pursuits and aspirations for a successful writing career. Loyalty to her family was non-negotiable, and luckily for her, her parents weren't affiliated with the Dark Lord, making it easy to stay loyal to them.

In fact, she'd once pointed out to Fred that he'd make a perfect Slytherin himself. His ambitions were evident, especially with the joke shop he and George planned to open. His loyalty to his family, a prominent trait he shared with most Slytherins, was equally unmistakable. His lineage was as pure as anyone's at Hogwarts, if not more so. Her own mother was a half-blood witch. Yet, when she suggested this to him, he'd responded cheeky. “But red is my colour,” he'd declared, putting an end to their discussion.

“Actually,” (y/n) retorted, returning her focus to the ongoing discussion, “Slytherin’s dorms are very inspiring. But not to a battle scene; for that, I needed the smell of sweaty and strategy.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, suggesting that he found her comment rather amusing. “Leave it to the Ravenclaws to provide the strategy, eh?”

Not having an immediate response, (y/n) fell into a contemplative silence. Her eyes remained fixed on the Quidditch field, where the apparent captain of the team was engaging in a heated exchange with one of the beaters.

“So, about your writing,” Fred spoke softly, as if dipping his toes into uncertain waters, “I like it.”

Her gaze snapped to the red-haired boy, curiosity brimming in her eyes. She was always eager to hear both compliments and critiques of her work. To her, praise was uplifting, but constructive criticism was pure gold. She wondered what else he had to say.

“The battle scene sounds absolutely brilliant,” he continued as if reading her unspoken query. “Although I must admit, I missed a few lines; you write too fast, and your cursive is kind of weird.”

(y/n) showed her teeth in embarrassment. She was not used to being complimented about her cursive handwriting, so it wasn’t a surprise that Fred complained about it, but it was still embarrassing to hear about it, especially from a boy with no better penmanship.

“But you had one more complaint,” she reminded him, noticing Fred was silent.

He gulped, swallowing dry and hard.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “The lad there. You don’t know your men.”

“Excuse me?” (y/n) raised her eyebrows, and her voice unintentionally rose in volume.

Fred quickly raised his hands, a peace offering, his intent clearly non-confrontational. (y/n) relaxed a bit, realising she'd somewhat overreacted.

“Did you ever pay attention to how I talk? Or George or Lee?” Fred asked, turning his knees towards hers. Thanks to their sitting position, he towered over her, but less than usual.

Since she'd accepted her friendship with Fred, she'd inevitably become acquainted with the others in his circle, including Lee Jordan.

“Listen,” Fred sighed, “most men aren't as eloquent as your character. They tend to be a bit more straightforward. Your 'lad' speaks in a way that's... well, a bit flowery.”

“He’s, like, from the sixteenth century,” (y/n) pointed out, defending her nameless protagonist.

“Right,” Fred said, tilting his head. “But that doesn’t actually change anything. No men would say,” and at that, he reached for her notebook without asking permission and opened it to the exact page she had been writing on. “No men would say, ‘I shall miss your sunkissed voice if this ends badly’.”

Placing her hands on her hips, (y/n) arched an eyebrow. “So, how would you put it, then?”

Fred pondered the question, trying to envision the moment in (y/n)'s book. He was not a writer and lacked the skills to be an actor, so he had to re-read the scene to know the rightful reply. He looked back down at the page before returning his gaze to her.

“Don't die,” he suggested, playing the character so well, lowering his tone to sound charming and seductive.

Unfortunately, for (y/n), her heart did a somersault in response. The scene Fred had just read involved the characters' parting words, and the simplicity of “Don't die” carried a powerful weight. It conveyed the protagonist's profound desire for his female counterpart to survive, for her loss would leave a void that could never be filled. The moment's essence was encapsulated in those two words, and Fred had delivered them perfectly.

Not that (y/n) had been planning to meet an untimely end anytime soon, but after Fred's persuasive delivery, she found herself inclined to postpone any thoughts of it indefinitely.

Observing that she hadn't averted her gaze from his eyes and noting the rapid rise and fall of her chest, (y/n) decided to seize the book from his hand swiftly.

“That was ridiculous,” she remarked, attempting to dissipate the moment's intensity with humour.

“That's how I would say it,” Fred nonchalantly shrugged, retracting his knees from their near-contact and turning his attention back to the Quidditch field.

“And who told you my protagonist is based on you, Weasley?” she quipped, tilting her head and arching an eyebrow.

Instead of being hurt by her tone of voice — this was the reaction she anticipated and expected and perhaps wanted — Fred smiled teasingly.

"Well, if you create a character described as handsome, muscular, silky-haired, and unmistakably tall, it's quite obvious to any reader that it's me," he retorted playfully.

Her mouth fell open in mock astonishment at his audacity. With an exaggerated flourish, she dropped the book onto her lap.

“And, of course, you're the female protagonist,” he continued, his smirk growing wider. “Hot-headed and cranky, who else could it be?”

(y/n)'s face contorted into a permanent grimace.

“(y/n), are you writing a fanfic about us?” he inquired, leaning closer into her personal space.

That was the final straw. (y/n) propelled herself to her feet, fueled by her irritation and fixed Fred with an accusatory finger.

“Listen here, Fred. The day I write a book about us, you can call me insane.”

Fred chuckled heartily, clearly relishing her reactions. (y/n) couldn't fathom why he found it all so amusing. Her book centred around fairies battling to regain political power; it had nothing to do with their personal lives. Fred was the one acting irrationally, suggesting it was some sort of “fanfic” and daring to entertain the notion that she would include flattering descriptions of him within the story.

If what he suspected were true, that she harboured a crush on him, then he shouldn't have found the idea humorous. Even if it were indeed fiction, he should have been repelled. (y/n) couldn't help but think that he might be secretly pleased with the notion, which irked her further. She didn't have a crush on him!

She turned on her heel with an exasperated huff and stormed away from the bleachers. However, just before she could escape earshot, she heard Fred's voice, laced with a hint of melody.

“Don't dieee!”

She was on the Quidditch pitch stands again. Only this time, there was an actual match on the field, not just a training session.

The Slytherin team zipped through the air on their latest-generation broomsticks, an annual tradition courtesy of Draco Malfoy's father. They faced off against Gryffindor, known for its fiercely competitive players. Whenever the green and red houses clashed, it was always a breathtaking spectacle.

(y/n) was gladly sitting next to Lee Jordan, narrating the game animatedly. Even when the Slytherins executed brilliant plays, his narration remained spirited. He occasionally mumbled comments about some Slytherin players but also praised them when deserved.

Only three days had passed since Fred Weasley had playfully accused her of basing her book's protagonist on him. Since then, they had seen each other and talked, but the book's topic hadn't resurfaced.

“Wow!” Lee's voice broke her concentration. “The Slytherins are really going after our beaters! I mean, sorry, they're going after the Gryffindor beaters!”

Engrossed in the match, (y/n) confirmed Lee's observation. The Slytherin beaters were prioritising targeting the Gryffindor beaters over the usual strategy of interfering with the opposing Seeker. (y/n) knew little about Quidditch's strategy, so she couldn't discern whether this was a wise move by her fellow Slytherins. However, she grew concerned for the Gryffindor beaters, who happened to be Fred and George.

She rose from her seat, her eyes following the twins' every move.

“The crowd is getting worried!” Lee Jordan's voice resonated, and (y/n) turned to face him. He raised his shoulders innocently as if to say he was just calling it as he saw it. Before she could reprimand him, Lee resumed narrating the game. “Oh, no! They're targeting Fred Weasley. Both beaters against one guy; not fair!”

Fred Weasley's name caused (y/n) to search the sky anxiously, her eyes scanning the field for his broom. The atmosphere was tense. She had attended the match in neutral black attire and sat beside Lee, determined not to favour any team. Although she had recently become acquainted with half of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, she couldn't help but feel allegiance to her house. Despite her intentions, the sight of Fred being targeted stirred worry within her. She left Lee's side and hurried down the bleacher stairs, seeking a better vantage point of the unfolding events on the pitch.

“And Fred's been hit! Fred Weasley is hit. Was it fair?” Lee's voice reached her ears as she made her way down. “Oh, I see. Oliver Wood, Gryffindor’s captain, is asking for a break, a time-out. Let’s give them ten minutes to regroup. We'll be back shortly.”

(y/n) turned back against the field and found Lee’s eyes through the crowd. She was grateful for the encouragement he silently offered with a nod. It was the nudge she needed to practically leap down the remainder of the bleacher steps, racing toward the Gryffindor Changing Room.

Luckily for her, the stands were consistently high, so in the actual field, there was nobody. She quickly reached the right spot but hesitated behind the curtain doors, listening intently. Oliver was addressing the team, urging them to regain their focus. Harry only needed to catch the Golden Snitch, and with Oliver as the Keeper, they would fend off the Slytherins from scoring further.

Summoning her courage, (y/n) poked her head through the curtain doors.

“Fred?” she murmured, but her voice carried to all the players.

(y/n) saw Fred, all sweaty, squeezing a water container over his face, drinking only half of it. “(y/n)?” he asked, confused by her presence.

She took the opportunity to step fully into the Changing Room. The other players exchanged knowing glances but remained silent; they understood she wasn't an enemy. (y/n) had interacted with Oliver, Angelina, and, of course, Harry Potter himself. Their glances spoke more of intrigue as if they were silently questioning the stage of her relationship with Fred.

Fred handed his now-empty water bottle to George, who appeared equally puzzled about what to do with it. Fred then retrieved his bat from the floor and approached (y/n), who remained fixed in her spot, somewhat intimidated by her unfamiliar surroundings.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her worry palpable. “Are you hurt?”

Fred kept moving closer. “I'm fine,” he assured her.

She nodded, darting over Fred’s shoulder, peeking at George. “And you, George? Are you alright?”

George nodded affirmatively just as Oliver cleared his throat.

“Well, let's regroup outside,” Oliver instructed the team. With that, the players rose from their seats in a flash.

They left the Changing Room, leaving only Fred behind, and George was the last one to go, for he lingered a bit, moving with deliberate slowness. His eyes remained fixed on Fred and (y/n), and as the others filed out, it became evident that Oliver had called them out to grant the pair some much-needed privacy.

As the room emptied, (y/n) seized the chance to scrutinise Fred's face. The water had washed away the grime, revealing his striking features. He looked almost dishevelled, his heart beating fast, and a rosy hue tinged his cheeks. His damp hair was in complete disarray, the ends defiantly pointing in all directions. He seemed to sense her gaze on his unruly locks and ran a hand through them to tame them, achieving only partial success.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Her voice was soft, carrying genuine concern as she narrowed the gap between them, her fingertips yearning to touch Fred's face. “Lee mentioned you got hit.”

Her gentle touch seemed to kindle a fire within Fred. His face flushed, and he stuttered slightly, turning his head to the right when she reached for him.

“Where did the Bludger hit you?” she inquired, studying his face for any signs of injury. His features appeared unscathed, although his cheeks radiated with warmth.

“It grazed my right ear,” he replied, and she instinctively turned his face further to examine the ear. It was only slightly reddened, no worse than the rest of his face.

“I'm sorry they're targeting you,” she uttered with a slow breath, her concern deepening. Her hands left his face, but Fred turned his chin to face her.

“It's part of the game,” Fred shrugged.

Fred had never seen (y/n) like this before. After weeks of their friendship, this was the first time he had witnessed her express genuine concern.

“I know,” she sighed. “That doesn’t mean it’s fair. Or easy to watch.”

“It’s not a battle,” he noted, gingerly alluding to her book. “No one’s gonna die.”

“But some are going to get hurt,” she stated, her gaze fixed on his ear, her worry etched across her features.

Fred loomed over her, his taller stature requiring her to tilt her head upward to meet his eyes and see his facial expressions. Usually, she appreciated that he was taller, but at that moment, it seemed to create an unwelcome distance.

An unspoken question lingered in (y/n)’s mind: What was she doing there? Why had she hurried to the Changing Room?

“Well,” she cleared her throat, avoiding his gaze, “if you're okay, then I should head back. You know, to watch you win or whatever.”

He smiled at her awkwardness, a not uncommon sight when it came to (y/n). He'd witnessed her awkwardness before, often finding it endearing. She sometimes struggled with conversation, especially with other people, leading to uncertain moments. Fred couldn't help but find those moments rather cute.

“You're not cheering for your own house?” he inquired, the corners of his mouth hinting at an impending smirk.

She pressed the inner corner of her mouth with her teeth, pondering her response. “Not when they're being unfair.”

“Three days ago, I swear you wouldn't have said it's unfair if they were targeting me,” he finally allowed that smirk to surface. It was the second subtle reference to her book, or at least a hint at that day, making (y/n) shy.

“Sometimes I want to hit you, Weasley,” she teased, her tone playful despite her lingering concern.

Fred chuckled, closing the distance between them, if that was even possible.

“Do it,” he taunted, his eyes dancing mischievously.

Her gaze met his, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was genuinely asking for it. She certainly had her reasons to want to hit him. First, for teasing her relentlessly. Second, for insisting on being her friend. Third, for involving her with all of his other friends. And now, that — whatever that was. She was eager to touch him, just not to do it in the form of a slap.

Something else fluttered in her stomach, and she hated it, and she hated Fred for it.

“Come on, (y/n),” he teased again, his smirk widening.

Her frustration reached its peak. How dare he jest with her after all the concern she had shown? She had never rushed to find someone before and loathed how unappreciative he seemed.

Without thinking, (y/n) closed the distance between them. Not with a slap, as Fred had half-expected, but with a kiss. It was so swift that Fred barely registered it until he felt her cool lips against his warm ones. A sigh escaped her as she realised he wasn't pushing her away.

And how could he? Fred had yearned for this moment for so long, through countless sleepless nights, because sleep meant dreams, and every dream was about her. Whether he imagined (y/n) seeking help with a prank and then kissing him, or (y/n) struggling with grades and asking for comfort through a kiss, or even the most sensual dreams where she broke into his Gryffindor dorm room wearing nothing but her panties.

Whatever had prompted (y/n) to kiss him, Fred was beyond caring. He hoped she wouldn't stop. He abandoned his mantra of ignoring his romantic feelings for her, forgetting they were meant to be just friends.

Fred kissed her passionately, willingly, leaving his bat forgotten on the floor as he held her close. His hands found her waist, lifting her slightly, bringing her nearer as he devoured her lips.

For (y/n), it felt like paradise. She'd never been kissed before, though she had read about it. Still, she'd assumed a kiss was just lips meeting, nothing more. She hadn't expected her first kiss to be like a scene from a romance novel, but it was. She experienced everything the heroines in her favourite books described: a warmth that started low in her belly and surged upward, a desire to merge completely with Fred. She clutched his red hair as if her life depended on it as if she depended on him.

“Fred! Come on!” a voice from outside yelled so loudly that it snapped both of them back to reality.

Fred was in the middle of a Quidditch match, but somehow, he had just kissed (y/n).

Slowly, he released her, and she stared back at him, her face flushed a deep shade of red, much like his hair. Her hand reached for her own lips as if trying to comprehend that what had just happened was real. She had been kissed. By Fred Weasley.

“We have just a minute, Fred!” the voice shouted again, and this time, (y/n) realised it was Oliver Wood, their captain, yelling.

“I think you have to go,” she said, her voice slightly shaky.

Fred nodded, placing his hands on his hips.

“Like now, Freddie,” she added, and her raised eyebrows conveyed the situation's urgency.

He burst back to reality, hastily retrieving his bat from the floor. Rushing toward the curtained exit, he glanced back at her.

Did he really kiss his best friend when he swore he wouldn’t?

They shared a glance. He would have to be content with that one kiss, for he could never pursue anything more if he wanted (y/n) to maintain her friendships because she was now finally opening up for that possibility.

“Don't die,” she murmured, her tone serious, but a laugh escaped her as she made the witty remark.

Finally, he left the Changing Room. For if he stayed any longer, he feared he would have to kiss her laughter away from her lips.

#fred weasley #harry potter #george weasley #fred and george #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley x slytherin reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader

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george-weasleys-girl · 3 months

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Weasley Twins Event

In an attempt to drum up some love for our favorite twins, I'm throwing The Season of Love Event in February.

I want this to be a communal effort, so I'm inviting all creators to join in. Each week will focus on two different themes/tropes (more on that in a minute) to hopefully inspire you. Create whatever you wish: fics, HCs, poetry, art, moodboards, videos, etc. The sky's the limit as long as it's centered around George or Fred or both.

Now, onto the details:

Two tropes.

I want to do one common and one unusual trope or theme each week. And I want YOU to choose which ones.

Later today, I'll be posting a poll with a list of common tropes for you to vote on. The top four will be our winners.

Next week, we'll focus on the lesser known/ unusual ones. But I need your help. Send me your favorite uncommon tropes and your most bizarre, outlandish ideas. I'll create a poll, and next week, we'll vote!

Please feel free to reblog and share! I'd love to get as many people participating as possible.

Link to poll

~•~

Tagging a few lovelies 💘

@milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @xmjthewitchx @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley @samberriejams @nighttimemoonlover @jsjcue @wzrd-wheezes @mrsgweasley @hufflepuffie @morally-grey-obsessed @fredweasleyyyyy @anvaaryn @samshifts @asuperconfusedgirl @hmisa11 @superduckmilkshake @mysticsheepsoul @gemofthenight @1lellykins @junerprsh @sierraluvz @wolfkill16 @kaysau2510 @qmylovexoxo @planetkt @costheticbabe

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desideriumwriter · 8 months

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Anyone Else But You | Chapter 1 | F.W

Chapter Summary - The introduction to all the reasons why reader despises the Weasley twins, especially Fred Weasley.

Pairing - Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Category - enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, slowburn

Content Warnings - animal abuse? (fred & george feed a firework to a salamander.)

Word Count - 1.5k

Series Masterlist | F.W Masterlist | Next Chap | Navigation |

There’s no one who irritates you more than the Weasley Twins.

They’re loud, immature, unreliable, clumsy, arrogant, touchy, careless, childish, stubborn, just genuinely stupid. It’s as if everything you hated had been mixed together and formed into two tall, redheaded, teenage boys.

Ever since you started your first year with them, it’s felt as if they’re the most agitating people in the world. Now you're all in your fifth year, and they’ve only gotten worse since then.

It’s bad enough that you got put in the same house as them, you also somehow got multiple classes with them every year, and that your parents were friends with their parents. But, what added fuel to the fire was that they knew you didn’t like them, that you found them annoying and unfunny, and that only made them pester you more.

Yet it was surprising you were able to make friends with their younger brother, Ron. He didn’t care about your hatred for the twins, he agreed sometimes on how they would take their “pranks” too far, especially with him. He spilled to you about the plenty of times they used his phobias against him, when Fred turned his teddy bear into a spider when he was younger, they practically fueled his fear of spiders, or when both of the twins tried to get him to make an unbreakable vow when he was only five.

Ron also told you about how they tormented his other siblings as well.

George once admitted (proudly) that he and Fred attempted to shove Percy into a tomb while on a trip to Egypt, however, their mum caught them in the act, and they put beetles in his soup. They let off a dungbomb under their elderly aunt's chair on Christmas day. Even though you heard about their elderly aunt being unpleasant and unsympathetic, it’s risky to scare a 107-year-old with something explosive.

They would mess with their older brother Charlie, who studies and takes care of dragons now, by hiding his books about dragons or pretending that they accidentally destroyed them.

The twins seemed the most lax with Ginny, you didn’t hear about too many mean pranks being pulled on her. They would scare her by jumping up behind her with creepy masks on or steal all her food off her plate when she wasn’t looking. She was probably the favorite sibling to them.

There were so many more events that gave you more reasons to hate them.

In their first year, they set off a dungbomb in one of the corridors, the smell wouldn’t go away for days, it lingered through the air and anyone even remotely close would unwillingly get the strong, foul, disgusting smell of it in their nostrils, also if you walked through the gas, the smell would stick to you.

They fed a firework to a salamander, they wanted to ‘see what would happen’. You accidentally and unwillingly witnessed it, making the mistake of choosing to study at the lake that day.

They’ve hidden and messed up Percy’s Head Boy badge, they nearly made their poor brother cry because of it.

At the end of Second year, they set off the last of their Filibuster Fireworks on the train ride home.

They constantly stole items from other classmates, including you. There have been multiple times your textbooks and/or notes have gone missing for several days. When your stuff would magically appear on your bed in the dorms, there’d be a note attached to it saying “Thanks for letting us borrow this!” or something along the lines of that. Also, little doodles and drawings on the sides of your notes and sometimes your textbook.

Sometimes they wouldn’t even put your textbooks or your notes on your bed, they’d hide them. Putting them in your nightstand drawers, under your bed, behind the curtains, inside your closet, on top of the closet, and even inside of your pillowcase. You remember the first time they hid it there.

You had stayed up far too late studying in the common room, there was a test in Snape’s class in the morning that you definitely weren't ready for. You decided maybe you should go to bed after your head nearly hit the table you were sitting at for a third time due to you falling asleep.

You closed your notebook and gathered your supplies, heading up to the girl's dormitory. Too tired to put your things away properly, you put them on the floor next to your bed. You turned off your lamp and flopped down onto your pillow. Instead of feeling a cool, soft, and comfortable cushion touch your head, you hit your head on a large, solid, and heavy textbook.

You hissed out loud in pain, causing a few girls to groan and stir in their sleep. You sat up and held the side of your head which was now stinging, you wouldn’t be surprised if you got a lump the next day due to how hard your head smacked into it.

You turned back on the light next to your bed, you looked at your pillow, noticing the large rectangular shape inside it, you could see the cover of your textbook with a small piece of paper stuck on it through the sheer fabric. Angrily, you took your textbook out of the pillowcase, taking the folded piece of the paper that was on the front and opening it.

Thanks for letting us borrow this! Sweet dreams!

Much love, F and G!

You would’ve screamed and stormed your way over to the boy's dorm to beat both of the twins with the book if it wasn’t past midnight and if you weren’t in a room of sleeping girls. All you could do was put the textbook with the rest of your things and go to sleep angry, or at least try to sleep, now that you were wide awake and your head was throbbing.

Anyways, they also cheated all the time, they’d constantly bug you for answers in the middle of tests when they didn’t even need them. You hate to say this, but they were insanely good at potions. It makes sense how they created all those sweets. They would be able to fly through the tests in less than ten minutes at least, but they didn’t, they were lazy, so they’d mooch off you. When they’d get caught, they’d both blame you, which nearly got you in trouble with Snape several times.

Speaking of professors. They would mess with them. They threw snowballs at the back of Professor Quirrell's head. But, after learning the truth about what was going on with Quirrell under the head scarf. Maybe that could be the only thing they’ve ever done that was somewhat valid. It was still bad for Quirrell, he was already taking enough sneering from students the entire time he was working at the school, he was just being used as a vessel.

But that's not the point we’re talking about here.

There are way too many reasons for why you hate those redheaded twins. You didn’t understand how people put up with them, how they found them entertaining and funny. They were embarrassing. You hated how they excused themselves from responsibility. How they claimed everything they did was a “joke” or “prank” to get out of trouble.

It was like your brain was programmed to put you in a bad mood anytime you thought of them or were around them. Your eyes would roll annoyedly at the sight of them. You would get snippy and aggressive if they even tried talking to you. You did everything in your power to keep yourself away from them for the sake of your mood.

Their entire existence made your blood boil. Fred especially. He’s the worst out of the two of them. But there’s a difference between him and George. Fred is the instigator, George smooths things out, but that doesn’t mean he’s not trouble though. George is less annoying, only a bit less annoying. He’s nearly as annoying as Fred, but it seems as if Fred is more determined to get on your nerves.

And he is. You can tell.

He becomes louder when near you, constantly taps on your shoulder, asking for something when he already knows you won’t give him whatever it is or pretends like he didn’t, he also throws things at you and pretends that he doesn’t, lies or says things wrong on purpose just for you to scoff and correct him, calls you nicknames that you hate, teases you for whatever he can find, it’s as if he nitpicks anything you do so he can use it against you to annoy you, he does every little thing that peeves you only because he wants to get some type of reaction out of you, and the only reason on why he does it? He thinks it’s funny.

Fred isn’t completely fond of you either.

He knows what bothers you, what gets on your nerves, what makes your blood boil, then he uses it against you, to piss you off. You’re not sure how exactly he knows so much, but just somehow he does. Either it could be because he knows legilimency (which is very unlikely) or it’s that he’s just been listening in on your conversations with friends.

Whatever, what you are sure of is that you can’t stand the Weasley twins. You hate the Weasley twins. You hate Fred and George Weasley. You hate Fred Weasley. You hate him with every bone and muscle in your body.

Tell what you thought about this chapter! <3 Feedback is greatly appreciated!

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#fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley angst #fred weasley smut #fred weasley series #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fluff #anyone but you #anyone but you series

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