♡ try again - f.w ♡
requested by @reasontobebeautiful <3
fred weasley x slytherin!reader, pureblood!reader, platonic!sirius black x reader, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, swearing
sirius black ensuring fred weasley doesn't make the same mistakes he saw many war-stricken kids make
there’d been a cruel edge to his words that he hadn’t quite meant.
fred’s scathing indictment of your family wasn’t any different to the things you usually said about your kin, and it didn’t bother you for others to agree. but to be part of that perception was probably your worst fear.
you’d been so excited turning up at the doorstep of grimmauld place, suitcase in hand, bright beam gracing your face.
fred had frowned. he’d been ignoring the way your smile made him feel for a long time.
“why are we having death-eaters round for christmas dinner?”
molly had scolded her son then, “george! i mean, fred!”
he’d rolled his eyes, mumbling, “might as well get her whole family out and kill some muggles for the christmas spirit.”
it was the association. your family were one way, you must be too.
maybe that’s how it was for the weasleys, at least four generations of ginger gryffindors shooting for the stars in their respective fields. ministry, dragons, pranks, quidditch.
maybe that’s how it looked for you, at least four generations of slytherins serving whichever tyrannical supremacist reigned at the time.
you found a lot of your time was spent trying to convince people that wasn’t you. but gina lomotey, whose dad had once punched professor snape, didn’t have to walk around assuring people she didn’t attack teachers. and kosi berry, whose parents had a short lived music career, never had to explain she had no interest in singing.
reene west’s mum hijacked a broom race, ford green’s dad did a stint in muggle prison, carson denny’s eldest brother lived full time in st mungos due to an unhealthy obsession with lions.
none of them faced half the crap you did for their bloodlines.
sirius had come to see you, heard you vent about this once again.
“and it’s almost like... i mean i’m not saying you had it easier, you didn’t, it was worse for you in different ways. but, it’s like i have to work so hard to prove i don’t have my families prejudice, because i am a slytherin. you had the argument of a different house to help your case, in school anyway. but i wear the same colour robes my family did, so people never believe me.”
somehow your feelings for fred were brought to the surface of the conversation. maybe that’s what made it harder.
“i’m so tired of having to make them believe me. i’m not a bad person.”
so you didn’t grovel, and try to prove your innocence, because you were well and truly tired of being pre-judged. it wasn’t as if the two of you met on a battlefield. sirius had invited you here. dumbledore approved, he trusted you. you’d never given fred a reason to dislike you.
the boy in question, banished to the other side of the house by his own anger (and shame), was glowering at a wall.
his mum told him his response had been impolite. george told him he was smack out of line.
he knew they were right.
especially when sirius, a man fred had got on with well, had knocked on the door, greeting him with a slight scowl.
“i want you to apologize.”
no beating around the bush.
“i’m not sorry.” lie. you sound like a petulant child.
“yes you are.”
fred blinked.
“i am old enough to recognize the feelings of teenagers. i spent seven years watching my friends fall in and out and in again with love. i watched james pine for lily, i watched them fight. i watched marlene and dorcas take five years to get over their differences.”
fred jested, "sounds creepy.”
sirius smiled, but continued his story, “do you know what marlene and dorcas’ main difference was?"
he shrugged.
“marlene was a gryffindor, dorcas a slytherin, and it took them a good fraction of their lives to move past that. they died young. they spent more time denying their feelings for a school, house rivarly, than the time they got to spend loving each other. we’re approaching a war again, kid. don’t repeat their mistakes. take it from me.”
fred remained uncharacteristically silent for a few minutes, and although it was unsettling, sirius stayed. it was clear the boy had questions.
“your family were death-eaters.”
sirius nodded.
“but they rejected you, for being in the wrong house.”
“correct.”
“if... you’d been a slytherin, and they accepted you... would you have rebelled? or would you have become a death-eater.”
sirius shrugged, “i know why you’re asking, but i have no answer for you. if i was in a different house, i would have a different character, and any alternate character would mean very different decisions. all i can tell you is i know her. you don’t, yet. she is not her bloodline. she's cunning, and ambitious, but her ambition is not to participate in genocide. talk to her. you might be surprised at what you find.”
fred had made up his mind. sirius was right, and he wanted to know you. he wanted to see your stupidly pretty smile, he wanted to cause it, and he wanted to know your favourite things. he wanted to know what made you feel, what made you sleep. he wanted to talk to you.
which proved incessantly difficult, because you were avoiding him like dragonpox. every once in a while, he would catch your eye and you'd blink rapidly before looking away, fiddling with your sleeves.
christmas day rolled around a few days on, and fred still had yet to successfully get you alone. as everyone begun unwrapping their presents, he was only staring at you, waiting for a reaction, hoping you'd know the unlabelled gift was from him.
you did, eyes widening and shooting up to find him in the room, visibly taken aback.
“do you like it?” he mouthed, tilting his head as the firm grip of insecurity tightened his chest.
with your lips slightly parted in surprise, you nodded your head. the same feeling lay at the base of your heart, wondering if it was going to turn out to be a prank.
he jerked his chin towards the kitchen, question in his eyes, and tried to not take your hesitation to heart. especially as you stood up and walked his line of sight. when he was sure nobody else was paying attention, he followed you.
“hey...” he rubbed the back of his neck, the awkwardness between you heavy in the air.
but fred was fred and he still kept eye contact, a steady voice, an easy stance.
“i’m sorry.”
you shrug, “okay.”
the word is uttered so nonchalantly, as though your stomach wasn’t erupting with unruly butterflies.
“do you... could you forgive me?”
“maybe. if you mean it.”
he nodded, “i do. i’d like to know you, actually know you, not think i do.”
“i’d like that.”
—
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@anordinarymuse @ell0ra-br3kk3r @kingshitonly
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