Of course she managed to shatter a glass and hurt her hand. She hadn’t meant to, she had was frustrated and slammed her hand on the table. Except she completely missed the table and hit the glass instead. She would have patched herself up at home if it wasn’t for the alcohol in her system, playing with healing magic with alcohol in her system wasn’t something Susan wanted to tempt fate with.
Susan stood up as she heard her number called and smiled brightly. “You might want to hem your robes a little higher kid, you are suppose to be treating emergency patients not becoming one” She teased
kid. embarrassment made his face flush but he still gave her a smile. “good call.” they should have just followed muggles on this and wear scrubs, but damn tradition. his eyes scanned her for illness or injury, landing on her bloodied hand. “right, yes, patient.” enough distraction. frederick guided her into a proper ward, where she could take a seat while he took care of her wounds. it was quite odd to have her back, even if it was in a different part of the hospital, much less to have her as his patient, on a scale small enough that he could fully treat her himself. “how did this happen?” there was a clear concern to his tone, rather than a cold medical approach. he sat in front of her, pulling a little trolley of potions nearer. she couldn’t have been in the same type of trouble again - he would have been able to notice it on her demeanor, he’d hope.
👀 how do you feel about being named after a dead person, especially one who was so close to your dad?
the answer is something he’s struggled deeply with, changing slowly over time, a continuous approximation to the truth, but not quite there yet, should most want to know. “one time i asked dad - i must have been eight or something - did i look like uncle fred? he said, not really. did i talk like uncle fred? not at all. did i act like uncle fred? dad took a second with that one, but decided that i didn’t really. i think i even asked if i uh, liked the same sweets as him.” the memory comes with a faint smile, bitter at its ends, aware of the tragedy that surrounds it. “he said i didn’t. i guess… you try to understand why, right? if i’m none of these things, why would i be named that besides respect to his memory? or, well - i couldn’t fully understand this then, but a coping mechanism of sorts?” he’d heard all the stories growing up. dear uncle fred. he’d seen the pictures and how, at times, mum and dad’s faces lit up talking about him, and how others the conversation had to be buried, dad fleeing it with a strained smile on his lips. there was a love cultured in frederick from a young age, to a person he could never speak to. “he said i had his heart.” beneath personality and history, at the very core of a being - bravery, a sense of what’s right, loyalty, GOOD.
the full answer comes accompanied by a shaky breath. “i don’t know if i try to live up to that. if, uh, in some, like, subconscious soul-level i try to have that same core. i really don’t.” in some months he’ll be as old as fred was when he died. he hasn’t accomplished all he had. he doesn’t feel like he’s contributed all he has, at all. is it a reminder of failure? “i take it with honor. a bit if grief. sometimes dad says my name and i swear i can… somewhere deep within him, everything ACHES. like he has to relive every memory of the sound of my name before he reaches me. i don’t think he’d have allowed himself to not name me fred, but it’d have spared him a lot of small pains. i… don’t like to hurt him. or grandpa. or mum.” there’s no easy way around the problem. but merlin, how do they do it? he couldn’t have named a child roxanne should something happen to her. it’d corrode him from the inside. “i mean this- the whole family does this. it’s an emotions based decision that logically makes sense, but then fucks you up emotionally. a constant reminder of grief.” when grandma molly yells his name to call him for lunch, does she think of him or of his uncle?
st. mungo’s hospital for magical maladies and injuries
the ground floor was always overwhelming, without the neat separation between afflictions of the rest of the hospital. he absolutely hated emergency rotations but trainees couldn’t be picky, and so he braved into the rows of waiting patients, nearly tripping on his robes while trying to find his patient. the clipboard on his hand was full crossed over diagnosis, not exactly a picture of confidence. “number… 731?” the noise was the same as a busy street in central london, but condensed inside the tall walls of the atrium. “se-SEVEN,” just loud enough to get attention, “THREE ONE?”
It was around this time, at the end of Christmas break Hugo’s first year at Hogwarts when he had been reaching into his backpack to try and open his pack of licorice wands and collided headfirst into an elderly woman. He, of course, had quickly helped her, scurrying to help gather the other’s belongings and apologizing profusely before running off and wiping away embarrassed tears. It was a funny memory now, a great day in all, seeing as he had the way he decided to cheer himself up afterward was to adopt a small all grey kitten who was now his beloved pet cat.
The streets had seemed so cheery then; they were full of life and happy families crowding everywhere you stepped. Even the occasional clumsy twelve-year-old bumping into you. Now everything seemed so dreary in comparison, with anti-muggle/muggleborn propaganda lining the walls of nearly every shop he passed. Hugo felt as if he was in another place entirely from his memories. He shook his head and managed to take a shaky breath, only stopping his pace when he got so caught up in his head that he ironically almost crashed into someone else, tripping slightly into them.
“Oh crap. Sorry ‘bout that.”
diagon alley had become a scenery of war. he’d heard stories about that before, dark times when his father and uncle’s establishment was one of the few standing, and even eventually closed as well. the streets he’d grown up in were stained, just like they’d been for the generation before, and the generation prior. stuck in an endless cycle. it wasn’t just the posters and the writing on the walls, or the shops that’d closed with their boarded up windows - it was the heaviness of the air and the way the sky seemed grayer than usual. every time he walked through the area, his stomach ached, warning him that something was dreadfully off, a red flag for him to RUN. so he walked a little faster, hand deep in his pocket holding onto his wand just in case.
frederick opened the shopping list which had been neatly folded in his hand, sighing at the notion of how many shops he had to go to and how much of these ominous streets he’d have to walk. in his distraction, he did not see the boy coming towards him, nearly clashing, but the suddenness of it made him instinctively grip his wand - don’t take it out, don’t look like a threat. the gears in his head had moved just fast enough for him to push it back into the pocket, but he turned slowly, heart pounding - “i’m s- oh.” hugo. his shoulders visibly dropped. one could never drop a state of surveillance, not in 2026, and not twhen they were them. fred gave himself a few seconds to reset mentally, and to push down the thought that a simple brush on the street made him think of an attack. “be careful.” not with him, of course. who knows who he could have angered? “not exactly the best place or time to not have our wits about us, hey?” a shaky deep sigh, to get it properly out, and then a smile appeared on his face, as instinctive as if it’d always been there. his arm set over his cousin’s shoulders, getting them back on the move. “so i need a cauldron, mine wasn’t quite equipped for the uh, potions i had to brew there. sort of... melted.”
👀if you were still at hogwarts, would you stay with the knights or join the erinyes?
“morally - i know i should have left with the erinyes. but - yeah, no, couldn’t face them really, i guess? but my loyalty has never changed. we made a terr-unforgivable, you can’t even call it mistake. but they can repent, still do good. more careful this time. i suppose when it comes to the knights, for a change, i’d never really apply logic.”
❝ What I’ve learned from a mirror? Look too hard and you’ll find you a stranger. ❞ FREDERICK ‘FRED’ WEASLEY II looks a lot like that muggle, JUSTICE SMITH, right? Only 19 years old, that GRYFFINDOR alumnus works as a TRAINEE HEALER and is sided with the ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. HE identifies as a CISMAN and is a HALFBLOOD. [ PLOT ARC 23, PROPHECY 26, THE DROWNED. ] (cami, she/her, 20, gmt+1)
DEATH TW, PANIC ATTACK TW, ANXIETY TW
PAST
george weasley, entrepreneur legendary, and angelina weasley, quidditch superstar, turned ireland’s national team manager. the couple was a shining example of success and happiness, and that only grew at the news that they’d soon have their first child. a new generation of the ever growing family was on its way, and fred was to take a quiet spot within it - not the eldest, not the youngest, just right.
born to salt and mist, fred grew up by the sea, in a house his father insisted he must build himself (and constantly repair, due to all the flaws in the construction). the irish coast is carved in sharp cliffs, and some of his very first memories are the wind at the very top - which he swears would have blown him away if his mother wasn’t holding him - and the clashing of waves, making the ground shake. small as he was, frederick didn’t fear the powerful water, but was drawn to it instead. to the contemplation of how much stronger and destructive that natural force was, to the beauty of it, to a humble acknowledgement. in retrospect, he knows this should have been his first fear. sometimes it even feels like a confirmation that there was never a mistake, he WAS brave, but perhaps simply lost it along the way.
a couple years later, roxanne joined the family. fred was always rather close with his cousins on both sides of the family, but roxanne was different. he couldn’t quite understand it, but it was with her that he developed his role of protector. even though they were so close in age, fred embraced his big brother place, and soon that tender caring way of being was shown to most, if not all. he’d rush faster than all to whichever cousin took a fall, his eyes would fill up with tears at the sight of the smallest bruise on his mother, the result of the quidditch matches she won. he quietly understood melancholic states way before he had any business in knowing what sadness was - his father got unexpected hugs and gifts of drawings after bad days at work, and at a certain date every year. from a rather young age, fred had a knack for emotional intelligence. (this is obv likely to change when we finally have a roxanne, which reminds me - GIVE US ROXANNE)
as a way to connect them to the muggle part of their heritage, angelina made sure her children got as much of a non-magical education as they could before they headed off to hogwarts. with two hard-working parents, it was also the most practical solution. thus, fred’s days were constant tastes of both sides, and that was simply his reality: in the morning he’d be walked to school, just a few streets away. they’d play and learn the alphabet and talk about their favourite cartoons. in the afternoon he’d sit with grandpa arthur, who seemed to ask lots of questions about rather normal things, or he’d “help” dad and his uncle at the store, which mostly meant passing coins from customers to the cashier (a rather important task). george and angelina worried about the potential signs of magic fred should one day show, and how they might ostracize him and later roxanne in such a society, but they soon learned they had little to fear.
fred took a little longer to begin showing clear signs of magic. long enough to bring around some speculation of him being a squib, but it turned out that his magic, regardless of his lack of control or the height of his emotions, was simply subtle - flowers bloomed a little more, a mirror fogged up, a loose thread on a shirt for pulled a few more centimeters. it still isn’t a flashy sort of magic to this day - sometimes it’s like his magic runs on a very empty pipe, leaking a few drops at a time only. others, it’s as if he’s working with a rather fine thread, rich but fragile. he’s yet to learn if there’s an actual block in his system that he need to work out, or if he’s simply carrying a type of magic he’s hasn’t fully understood yet.
when fred was still rather young, his family showed concern about his lack of complex speech, which soon developed into a very clear stammer. caring as they were, the couple tried all methods, magical and muggle, to help their young son - after lots of trial and error, they settled on a dublin speech therapist, who stuck by fred for most of his early life in constant sessions. the little kids who copied his stuttering with mockery in the playground soon became a foggy memory and at age twelve he had his very last session. his speech was fluent. “cured”, he’d thought.
his speech was intertwined with his signs of magic at first. most emotional reactions, which lead magical children to show uncontrollable magic, were conveyed through his stammer. if fred was nervous or angry, it intensified, or his voice was simply blocked. it took close attention for anyone to notice all of this, and his subtle works of magic, and to this day that is how it works for fred. his spells are subtle, almost dimmed. he has an eye for the small touches and delicate work, but can’t make a single thing explode.
then, it came the time to pick a side. there wasn’t much choice, given how it’d always been expected that the year he turned eleven, fred would move to hogwarts and leave the muggle world behind, so he didn’t say a word. however, there was real anguish in saying goodbye to his school friends and realising that the following year there’d be no way back. he was a wizard, who’d lead a wizard’s life. he BELONGED somewhere else. doing what was expected of him, the boy said a tearful goodbye to his parents, after confessing once again his fear of living away from them; held his little sister for as long as possible; and took his cousin’s hand, joining them in the whole chapter of his life.
HOGWARTS
GRYFFINDOR. fred had no preferences, so he was silent as the hat pondered for a few seconds, just short to a minute. at first the decision made sense - his family had a longstanding reputation in the house of roar, so why not? his namesake, the war hero fred weasley, had been a brave man. his mother was stoic and valiant against everything. frederick had never feared the waves.
the doubts took a few months to set in. shy and simple, his housemates often overwhelmed him, and the natural feeling of belonging that his family spoke about was a promise that never came. the true sense of displacement came after his very first winter break. he’d returned home, to his house, family, and beloved muggle friends he’d left behind. his routine briefly returned to what it was before hogwarts and january was a cold and harsh reality check - on the second day back, he drafted a letter to his mother, asking her to let him go home. but he never sent it. instead, he made the best he could with the little tools he had, deciding to become a great wizard, rather than a great lion. after all, fred could not quit. the temptation would be torturous, but he had higher expectations of himself.
fred made few but intense friendships, mostly with kids from other houses. he accepted the narrative that he was not brave, nor noble, much less the hero type, but instead a gryffindor legacy (and that was the sole reason of his placement). he focused on his grades instead, his dream job adapting from doctor to healer - sleepless nights and migraines to achieve the one goal he had in mind, even if he’d stopped feeling the pull towards it by third year.
from the very start, fred’s relationship with his magic was complicated. he enjoyed it, surely, and was able to perform it, but his biggest aptitude was for the theory of it all. essays, understanding the mechanics, homework. at times, it felt like not much about him would have been different, had fred stayed in the muggle world. sometimes, he even revisited that thought of leaving it all behind - but he never did. after all, he was a driven young man, he couldn’t QUIT.
everything changed in his final year. there’d been commotion in the background, but fred had willingly shut it off until his uncle’s murder. after all, the aurors got it, right? the legendary order of the phoenix got it, yeah? headmaster longbottom got it. HARRY POTTER got it. long gone were the days where children such as himself had to worry about dangers outside the stone walls of the castle, and fred had nothing in common with the generation past, who’d begun their own revolution from within hogwarts. uncle harry’s murder changed it all.
fred knew his limits and fears, and he’d never think of himself as a revolutionary, a child soldier. yet, his heart belonged to a kinder place, and he was good. out of all the uncertainties that surrounded him and his narrative, frederick knew for certain that he was a good person, and that the world required more of him than he’d been so far willing to give. on his final year at hogwarts, a spark of purpose lit up after he made one of the few spontaneous decisions in his life, and joined the newly formed knights.
as far as he could remember, fred was a protector, so the decision made sense. it was an unexpected decision nonetheless, but soon the boy realised that at last, something clicked. whenever their work got hard or scary, he didn’t wish to quit, but was energized by a hidden fire. for once, that flame didn’t feel dim. his passion didn’t waver, perhaps because it was more of a necessary task than a hobby. taking the codename of LUCAN - a loyal companion to king arthur even after he’d been hurt himself - fred channeled the bravery he’d never seen in himself. he channeled the knights from the myths of his group. his father and mother. his uncle fred. pushing himself to the very edge just to accumulate a little more kindle.
his seventh year was a haze. like an adrenaline rush, it went over his head. fred felt larger than life and than himself, too big for his skin. while starting his time at hogwarts was harsh, leaving was much harder. how could he in good conscience walk out when they were so close to their goal, to bring back the bravest man he knew? how could he leave them to their own devices? and selfishly, not that he’d admit it - how could he break away from his newfound purpose and from what he so devotedly believed int?
PRESENT
the order of the phoenix, counting legends among its ranks such as harry potter, alastor moody, marlene mckinnon, fred and george weasley - and now him. his friends at school collected their cards. he knew their legendary stories, some directly from the players’ mouths.
it was the logical next step, but when he joined, just some days out of hogwarts, there was a clear distinction. he was a child once more, rather than lucan, a brave knight. the knights weren’t seen as a necessary part of the war, the order couldn’t yet comprehend the work they’d been doing. neither could fred.
he took up the codename HORTON, after his patronus, an elephant. the mighty size of the animal, he speculates, is due to his own fears and how much he needs a big protector that can shield him - he’d never consider the possibility that there’s more of him within his small body, or that HE could be that very protector. the codename was the first thing that popped to his head, a memory of horton, the elephant, a character from dr. seuss books he was read as a kid. a kind and loyal character that somehow always achieved his goals, quite a good parallel. did he casually tell the older order people he wished would take him seriously that his codename came from children’s books? yes. no regrets.
graduated with the soul-crushing requirements for healer training, fred had a ten year plan drawn and step one was taken care of. it was beyond competitive, everyone trying to climb higher and get the best shot - a shock to his system. fred would fall asleep over books, the work consuming him even at home, and yet it wasn’t enough. ‘your heart isn’t in it’, an older healer said to him once, after yet another failure to keep up. it made no sense. on paper, he was the perfect candidate: kind, caring, smart, high grades. hands on? he froze, it was as if his tongue was stuck once more, words and actions unable to get out.
his heart wasn’t in it. it was busy with the order, where he kept trying to prove himself worthy despite his youth and inexperience. it was busy with his fellow knights, who he couldn’t leave hanging.
frederick knew that to be taken seriously, he had to close the door on the knights. outwardly he did so, but his research on the resurrection never ended - it was the only logical solution, and one that would bring such joy to his family and himself as well, or so he thought. letters and patronuses, secretly sending research back and forth, maps and notes and order secrets signed with LUCAN at the bottom. their work was too important to stop, and he hyper fixated on it, until death did its bidding.
first, do no harm. he was not a muggle doctor, but his code of ethics was the very same. on paper, they’d done all the right moves, but it ended terribly. appalled by the results, he fell into a deep hole once the consequences of his actions hit him. as a future healer, he should have known better than to meddle on life and death. as older, graduated, an ORDER member, he should have known better. as frederick weasley, with all the standards he’d self imposed upon himself, he should have simply known better.
guilt is a consuming feeling, corroding one from the inside out, soul and body. headmaster longbottom was murdered. they’d murdered him. he’d murdered him. and uncle harry, after a life of war, deserved to rest. he’d murdered him too, taking away all that he was and knew. there was blood on his hands.
the order could not know. if they were made aware of the extent of his actions, how he’d used their resources and knowledge to do this, how he’d not broken away after graduating, they might just kick him out. sure, he’d fed his fire too much too fast, resulting in the predicament he found himself in, but he couldn’t simply put it out. there was too much of himself depending on it, and surely he could still do some work. some good work. when asked, he justified that “it felt right then”, but never that he’d kept on going. the shame over the hurt he’s helped bring about is too heavy. now, more than ever, his younger fellow knights are stuck in war, and he can do less and less about it.
fred sets clearer lines now. terrified of what war can do to him, and how much of a slippery slope the feeling of usefulness and purpose is to him, he tries to keep himself in check. it barely works, though. his attention is on his healer work now, and how it can benefit the war. perhaps he was always meant to be a helper, not a fighter, or so he tries to convince himself.
he’s trying to prove himself to the order and earn their trust and respect, but is petulant enough to ignore the experience of the battle-tried leaders. how can he not when at times he’s seen a better way, and been in the very center of it? his attempts to rise up fail when he constantly disagrees with methods and positions, but his voice shakes after one simple denial.
OTHER
“The Drowned will ultimately survive the war, but they will pay dearly for it. Doomed to outlive their loved ones, death might have been a much kinder fate for them.” fred wishes he could apply muggle logic to prophecies and such, but that’s a chance he could never take. the allocation of prophecies and people is a game he’s played many times - that drawer in his bedroom full of half-empty notebooks had a distinctive coldness to it. a mathematician getting equations in place. however, he’s never even entertained the thought that he could be a part of it. even though there are more fates than leaders, he’s just assumed that the war shall be longer than expected, that others will join and be found.
he’s avoided the topic of mortality within a war, despite it having been the cause of many a demise within is family. during his heyday with the knights, he feared it often, but quietly. he feared for others mostly, and that still applies. the thought of his family and friends getting killed in the conflict drives him into full-blown breakdowns, so he’s learned to lock it out of his head.
fred will develop a strong sense of survivor’s guilt alongside his already rather intense guilt. the fact that he sees himself as a minor background character, rather than even a small player, and that he constantly feels like whatever he’s done is simply not enough - it all adds up to him never believing he deserved the win that is surviving over all the fallen. every time he needs saving on the field, that someone must disarm his opponents for him or that he purely freezes - it just plays in his head in a loop. how could he consider himself worthy of surviving when he needs so much aid to do so?
death is always a trade. he’s learned that with neville’s death. so who is being traded for him?
he has inherited absolutely none of his father’s famous knack for pranks and being a class and family clown, but rather the bits of dry humour he gathered from both him and angelina. he’s also just too lame in general for it, i love him
his father’s shop in diagon alley is his safe place. after a bad shift at st. mungo’s or with the order, it’s always there that he returns to. it’s more impersonal than home, so bringing that heaviness with him there doesn’t stain the memory of the place. and, of course, being there simply brings his mood up, be it the contents of the shop or his uncle, father and other employees who’ve quite literally seen him grow up. sometimes even when george isn’t there, fred will sit around in his office, or just help shelf stock, marvel for a bit at the creativity that goes into some of the products. however, he visits the hogsmeade location much less.
it was always obvious he’d likely into end up working at weasley wizard wheezes full-time, that his ambitions lied in different places. that was never really an issue within the family.
his work with the order is a bit all over the place, when they do allocate him a task (there’s a deep frustration growing within fred, though). he’s been doing some healing work, some field as well - although he’s not very good at it; most of all, he’s been doing logistics. moving refugees, spies, soldiers and objects under the radar, organizing who goes where and how - but all under very clear instructions from above. however that flame inside of him craves for more, for the rush once more.
bravery can come in subtle ways. it doesn’t need to be a showy explosion of dauntlessness, but rather a willingness to remain somewhere terrifying, and to give name, body and soul to something worthwhile. he’s horrified every day, though.
fred has very much built a narrative about himself and his lack of importance and bravery in his head. no matter how often he proves himself wrong, it’s quite hard to change the way you’ve always been thinking.
there’s something very CONTAINED about fred. it always feels like he’s not giving people more than a surface level insight, or that there’s a bubbling underneath, barely contained by his skin. even his closest family struggles with this. he doesn’t quite have a reason for it besides expectations he’s placed on himself - who should fred be? what would fred say? how would fred react to this? or perhaps there’s just something wrong with him, a glass wall between him and the world.
he has trouble expressing himself. he’s also quick to quit explaining himself anyway.
he’s used glasses since he was eight! goes for a thin rounder rim currently.
fred has truly kept all knights secrets to himself. despite not being able to deal with the consequences of their mission, he doesn’t see them and the order as partner entities, and his loyalty is much stronger with his armored friends.
in the last year or so, the techniques he’s learned to deal with his stammer have failed him. perhaps it’s due to the stress he’s been under, but fred has found himself more and more often stuck on a syllable, or fully unable to get any sounds out. especially when he needs to throw a spell out.
he wishes the order and thus the revolution would be safer, not visible at all even. does think they should feel like they have something to hide. they’d have so much more of an advantage if the whole world didn’t just know them so easily - but his complaints get ignored at the order, especially when he puts them out in a very distinctively know-it-all tone.
which he has most of the time. fred is very much a know-it-all, a tad arrogant even in that aspect.
“tell the truth and run”
please make him stop with this ‘i’m not that significant, all people considered’ mindset
fred has a tendency to accumulate until he bursts. his family and close friends have seen their fair share of intense breakdowns coming from frederick. on a smaller scale, panic attacks as well. but he’s never made any push towards getting professional help, passing it out as a ‘thing i do. we’ve all got those, yeah?’
his name is actually frederick, just often shortened to fred. but truly, he prefers the full version. it has a smarter more classic feel to it, and it also helps him forget who he’s been named after and all the complicated feelings that come with that
raised in coastal ireland, fred spent a lot of time growing up at his grandparents on both sides of the family, and in diagon alley and hogsmeade, where his family owned shops. his accent was a tad confusing before he joined muggle school, and then the irishness really fixed.
growing up in a very halfblood sort of environment and still having to this day close muggle friends had made him develop some rather muggle tastes, especially when it comes to technology and entertainment. huge video games enthusiast, we love a gamer
also loves chess though. and as much as he loves muggle things, nothing beats the rush of wizards chess
he was already graduated when the knights divided and got their daemons, so he didn’t exactly go that route, but he applauded their commitment to doing no further harm. he fears that himself, very often actually. that there’s nothing quite as strong stopping him from falling down the same rabbit hole again.
really close with his parents and sister. still lives at home but is planning on moving out soon, although that’s quite a daunting step and he’d miss their house by the sea.
breaks his glasses often
has a baby face and that only makes it harder for others to take him seriously
messy gay
george dropped out and followed his dreams. angelina was highly successful and passionate about her work. sometimes fred feels like he's lacking that drive and that one perfect goal in his life-long plan.
he’s the human embodiment of trying too hard
loving quidditch was not a question. raised in the cheering crowds, he got quite a privileged look inside the famous sport, having pictures with loads of quidditch stars, some of them being usual dinner guests back home. he learned to ride a broom quite young, but only applied for the hogwarts quidditch team once, in his third year. he got in, but left during his fifth to focus on his studies and his new role as prefect. he still watches professional games religiously, and is a die hard holyhead harpies fan., although his main allegiance was always shifting to where his mum was playing back then
a very easy crier. tells everyone to just ignore it.
grandpa arthur got special tours of his muggle schools whenever the family got invited to events and plays. just frederick pulling him by his hand and showing him everything and adoring the curiosity. he always loved mixing both sides of his life quite a lot.
his wand wood (black walnut) doesn’t do well with inner turmoil and loses some of its accuracy and finesse. he’s been struggling with that a lot - always has, but in the past few months more than ever. catch fred throwing it against a wall and leaving the room, only to return and apologise 5 seconds later.
STATS
name: FREDERICK ( named after his uncle. meaning ‘peaceful ruler’. ) LLYR ( meaning ‘the sea’. ) WEASLEY II
age: nineteen
date of birth: 6th of july, 2006
hometown: lahinch, ireland
current location: lahinch, ireland
gender: cis-man
pronouns: he/him
orientation: so gay
blood status: halfblood
hogwarts house: gryffindor
financial status: upper middle-class
spoken languages: english and can read ancient runes.
occupation: trainee healer
sun sign: cancer
moon: scorpio
mbti: ISTJ-T
moral alignment: lawful good
four temperaments: melancholic
element: water
enneagram: type 1 (the reformer)
father: george weasley ( b. 1978 )
mother: angelina weasley née johnson ( b. 1977 )
siblings: roxanne weasley ( b. ??? )
pets: a dog named lando and a snowy owl named hugh.
wand: black walnut, phoenix feather, twelve inches, reasonably supple.
