cedric who's a menace of a potions partner. who likes to sneak tiny pecks in whenever you least suspect it. who waits until your table is out of snape's view before ducking in to steal a kiss, having complete disregard for the potion you're working on. who drags you to the shelves, claiming he couldn't possibly carry all the materials you need with his own two hands so you have to help him. who uses that as an excuse to kiss you longer, enough that your classmates jeer at him to get a damn room.
cedric who swears he can't win a quidditch match without a good luck kiss from you. who waves you off when you try to argue that he'd been able to catch the snitch countless times before. who pulls you close by the arm he has wrapped around your waist. who slides two of his fingers beneath your chin to tip your head up. who smiles when you wish him good luck, your words muffled by his lips on yours.
cedric who's pulled in for a well deserved kiss when he meets you in the common room after a game. who flushes a bright red, both from the leftover adrenaline and the hands you're using to cradle both sides of his face. who holds you close as the entire house erupts into a small celebration, keeping you tucked safely in his arm.
cedric who takes advantage of his head boy privileges to let you use his private quarters to rest after the festivities. who promises to wake you up in an hour to escort you back to your dorm when you start to doze off.
cedric who lies. who ends up falling asleep himself, the weight of you on top of him and the tiny snores you let out lulling him to sleep. who presses his lips against the crown of your head one last time, mumbling a soft "good night" before his eyes flutter shut. who wishes he can meet you in his dreams so he can kiss you once more.
cedric who coaxes you into removing the pillow you use to cover your burning cheeks the morning after, one hand tracing patterns over the bare skin of your waist, the other softly tugging the pillow away. who buries his face in the crook of your neck when a barrage of complaints start flying off your mouth. who bites his lip as a way to hold his laughter in.
cedric who places a firm hand on the back of your head to prevent you from pulling away. whose other hand finds your thigh, using it to keep you seated on his lap. who groans when your fingers dig into his scalp, tugging lightly at the roots of his hair as he kisses you stupid.
‘they seem so desperate for loving, but i’m not !!’ ||. ravenclaw!reader x fred weasley. modern day au/smau. || you’ve never dated anyone at school because your expectations are too high.. and fred is the last person you’d expect to change that! zoom to read.
yourusername
yourusername time for another year of pure chaos- harrypotter what are you planning this time? anyway, welcome back ⚜️🌟🪽
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*fredweasley and georgeweasley have followed you. follow back | delete
yourusername
yourusername qudditch season yay!! support quidditch, sleep with a seeker like i always say 🤞 jk
❤️ liked by harrypotter, dracomalfoy, fredweasley and others
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harrypotter bold caption
dracomalfoy yh and i know why she wrote it
harrypotter oh lay off it malfoy
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yourusername
yourusername fred weasley when i catch u omfg. pls never TELL him that you’re studying or he’ll ruin it all. die die die fredweasley
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georgeweasley gowan lad
ginnyweasley yn RUN while you can
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angelinaspam
angelinaspam 🤷♀️ fredweasley
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comments are limited.
yourusername
yourusername i mog you harrypotter
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ronweasley siblings or dating?
yourusername both?
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yourusername love u mama
fredweasley i’m a nerd
fredweasley huge nerd
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fredweasley
fredweasley do i look nerdy in this?
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🎵expectations- olivia rodrigo
yourusername he’s evolved and i’m adored. just know you’re more than enough for me fredweasley 🙄🤞❤️
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fredweasley i can’t believe i got a C in potions and you still kiss me goodnight
is an intentional romantic. ced doesn’t date casually—if he asks you out, it means he’s genuinely interested in you
always asks if you’re comfortable. he knows everyone has boundaries, and he's super respectful about it!!!
waits outside your classroom just to walk you to your next one
compliments with genuine thought
"there’s this look you get when you talk about [interest]… it’s really lovely. you should smile like that more :)"
likes seeing your name next to his; it's all over the margins of his textbooks
he's sappy.
seeks you out first after a match, win or lose
pulls you into the kind of hug that lifts you off the ground a little the moment he gets off his broom
asks how you thought he did first
BUT not in a fishing-for-praise way—he just cares what you think!
is very, VERY big on pda
constant hand-holding! but always gentle, like he’s asking permission with each brush of his fingers
kisses your forehead with so much love
braids flowers into your hair.. clumsily
but he's focused, with his tongue poking out in concentration and everything!
+ the eyes never lie chico
always carries extra gloves or a scarf for you during winter
whispers ‘i love you’ when he thinks you’re asleep
which he does it so soft and honestly, his voice barely above a breath, like a secret just for you
takes you out to dates that are never loud or overdone, but always sweet and personal!
..such as charming lanterns for a picnic near the black lake or stargazing with you after a hogsmeade trip <3
remembers EVERY. SINGLE. THING.
anniversaries, inside jokes, how you like your tea, the exact amount of jam you like to put on your bread, details from the stories about your vacation, you name it
..or the way you looked at him the first time he knew he was falling for you <3
writes you little notes and folds them into origami figures
overall isn’t loud about love—but is always present. he doesn't need everyone to know you’re his—he just needs you to know it 🫶🏼
feel free to comment and repost if you enjoyed to support your favorite authors! if you wanna see more, click the here :)
A/N: This was so fun to write! I got a bit carried away in writing this, spent about three days on it 😭 Since the poll's gonna be up for a while, I decided to finish this request. I hope you enjoy!
Next fic is a George Weasley one, promise! <3
Warning(s): Fluff, Cedric yearning, user is an introvert with like two friends, user is a year younger than Cedric (briefly mentioned, doesn't impact the story in any way), takes place between the first task and the Yule ball, I tried to make it as slow of a burn as possible 😭💕
Word count: 5.8k (sorry)
Dividers by @angeliicide !! Love her downn <3
Love to @p03tryv0r3 for being my pretty little beta reader
Cedric wasn’t supposed to be like this; he was better than this. He repeated the words like a mantra in his head as he bid his farewells to Ernie and Ben, practically tripping over himself to get to the library. It was the only time he ever saw you.
He didn’t know when it began, when his carefree charm began to feel intentional whenever he caught a glance of you, when his movements felt stiffer whenever he’d hear your voice in the distance. Maybe it began last week, when you smiled at him after he helped you get a book in the library. Maybe it was three months ago, when you burst into the great hall, flushed and breathless with laughter.
Maybe it was always inside him, from the moment he saw you sorted into Hufflepuff in your first year during his second, the way your grin widened into a relieved gasp when you heard it, how you ran over to the badger’s table, sat next to him without another thought. He still remembered how red he got when your knee pressed against his, how he hid his face away from yours so you wouldn’t see.
Since then, subconsciously, your figure was the first his eyes searched for in every single room and hallway. Maybe he didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t help it. It was stupid, really; he couldn’t figure out what it was about you that took his heart hostage. Maybe the way your fingers brushed books like they were sacred, how you whispered to yourself in class, like your brain didn’t hear your thoughts unless you voiced them aloud.
But maybe it was because you never performed for him. You weren’t like the girls who batted their eyes at him, squeezed his biceps, or laughed much too hard at jokes that truly weren’t that funny. You were reserved, a quiet presence, like lingering perfume. Your seraphic nature drew him in and wrapped his heart around your fist.
He should’ve been embarrassed at how pathetic he was being; he was Cedric Diggory. Every single girl in the school either thought he was attractive or was hopelessly obsessed with him; even guys got all giddy at the prospect of being friends with him. Safe to say, he was liked by all. Even Victor Krum slaps him on the back and yells “Diggy!” whenever he passes him and the other Durmstrang boys.
He forced himself to slow down as he neared the library, smoothing over his tie and smiling at a girl who giggled hysterically to her friends afterwards. He let the reassurance of his effect on women calm his nerves before he pushed the doors and walked in. The quiet hum and bustle of the library enveloped him as he walked across the room, towards the back of the library, the last few shelves. Either he’d find you, or he'd have to flash his prefect badge at whatever couple currently sucking face back there.
What would he say? Did he have to pretend to look for a book? Maybe he could use the second task as an excuse—
“Shoot!” You hissed, dropping your nose-high pile of books in your arms as you collided with his very solid chest. He stiffened upon seeing you, absolutely unprepared. He didn’t even practice a line; what was he even going to say? Sorry?
Maybe start with moving, Diggory, he hissed to himself, bending down to crouch in front of you as you scrambled to pick up the scattered books. “Merlin, I’m a ditz, I’m so sorry–” you blurted out, face heating up, ears burning.
“No, no, s’alright. Should’ve been watching, no?” He said with an easy smile, deciding he needed to be extra charming to woo you. He took the books from your hands swiftly, tilting his head to the side. “Where’re you going with half the library, love?”
You stiffened, cheeks burning as you averted your eyes and took a step back. “A table,” you huffed quickly, reaching for your books once more, which made him frown. “Which? M’sure you could use some help, and as your prefect–”
“That’s fine!” You said a bit too quickly, pulling up your yellow and black Hufflepuff scarf to your nose and grabbing the pile from his hands, wobbling a bit after jerkily rushing away from him. You rushed off to a table with two other Hufflepuffs he didn’t recognize and scrambled into your seat.
Smooth.
He bit back a groan and proceeded to aimlessly wander the library so as not to make it seem that all he came here for was you. He admired the walls and the floor for what seemed like hours, glancing over to your table every few minutes to see you and your stack of books still there. You hadn’t looked up once. Hadn’t even checked to see if he was around, nor even glanced around the room.
He frowned, looking around the room. A few girls from Ravenclaw were staring at him, quickly looking away when he glanced their way. He then locked his gaze on a few Beauxbatons girls, and even they smiled and whispered amongst each other.
He was the most popular guy in school, and yet, you’d just run from him. No one did that, not even the shy ones. Even they’d nervously smile and fluster at him being the one to notice them.
Around you, he felt like Superman without his powers. You seemed so... Unaffected. Not even in the cold, unbothered way. In the way a bunny runs when it hears the crunching of leaves nearby.
He pouted to himself, running a frustrated hand through his hair and leaving the library, fighting the urge to look back to see if maybe you were watching him leave, that maybe you were playing hard to get.
He shut the doors behind him and groaned and grumbled the rest of the way to the Hufflepuff Basement.
“C’mon, Ceddy, this has turned pathetic at this point.” Ernie huffed as he dropped down on his four-poster bed, leaning back with an exhausted groan. “You’re seriously losing your mind over a girl who’s spoken to you a total of, what, maybe six times? Seven if you count today.”
Cedric just offered a glare in return, running a hand down his face, immediately regretting his decision to tell his friends about you and what happened in the library two weeks ago. “Look, it’s not like that. She’s somethin’ else, I’m telling you.” He said defensively, making Ernie roll his eyes.
“Ced, hate to say it, but Ernie’s right on this one.” Ben muttered, passing Cedric a water bottle before moving to sit next to him. “You don’t know this girl. She sits alone, almost all the time. Has she even shown interest in you?”
“Maybe she’s shy!” Cedric protested, eliciting groans from both boys now.
Ernie huffed out a laugh. “This is just masochistic at this point, Ceddy! Y’know any girl’d throw themselves at you, yeah?” He said with a snort, narrowing his eyes towards the golden boy.
Cedric just pursed his lips and sighed, his ears flushing red. “It’s- she feels different, okay?” His voice was so soft that Ernie and Ben held off from rebutting. Ben squeezed his shoulder with a sigh.
“I don’t get you.” He sighed, standing up and grabbing Ernie’s wrist. “We’ve got to meet McGonagall for Transfig’, need to ask her to extend the due date.”
Ernie gave Cedric a smirk before leaving the trio’s shared dorm with Ben, leaving the prefect there with his thoughts.
Cedric let his head fall into his hands before groaning, tugging lightly at his hair. He’d never been so desperate for someone to talk to him, never. He never had to worry about that kind of thing. If he wanted to talk to someone, there was never any doubt that they’d be glad to talk to him.
But you. Gods, you. It was unfair; cruel, almost— the things you did to his heart, his head, and his sleep. You did it all without even trying, without even thinking of him. Floating in your own world, content in your own bubble.
It felt like he had to prove his worth to you, to prove to you that keeping him around is worth it, that he’s worth it. Worth you. He doubted that you were measuring people’s values and letting them in selectively; you were reserved, he’d gathered that. You relaxed in solitude, in silence.
He’d tried everything in his arsenal, was the most charming he’d ever been, but you still never stayed to exchange more than eight words with him. He couldn’t understand where he was going wrong.
He stood up with a sigh, hands brushing over his robes as if he needed to do something with them lest he were to tug at his own hair again. He walked over to his desk, clipped on his prefect badge, and left his room for his nightly rounds. Maybe it’d distract him. Maybe he’d be occupied.
It’d be the same as always, though. He’d wander around and wonder about you. Were you sleeping? Awake? He felt his heart squeeze, fingers twitching by his sides, before he clenched them into fists.
The most charming boy in school, my arse.
You had a routine, you followed it. You woke up, did your lessons, sat for your meals, and then you spent the rest of your day in the library or in your dorm. What else is a girl to do? You didn’t have anyone to talk to but the same two people, and you couldn’t blame them. You shied away from absolutely everything. Eye contact flustered you to no end, and talking to people felt like having a clock ticking down the seconds, waiting for you to say something that’d horribly embarrass you or make you look like an utter freak. You didn’t know how to talk to people, didn’t know how to keep them interested. It was too much energy to have to assess someone and understand how to talk to them; it became easier to just stop trying, and it felt like it suited you.
Sure, it got lonely, but the silence was comfortable in its predictability, in its presence. There was no suddenness in the solace of your own presence; you were aware. You didn’t have to please anyone, didn’t have to perform. The performance is what truly exhausted you. You knew that not everyone was some narcissist trying to use your shy nature to their advantage, but your mother always told you to be careful. Never be naive, never be easy.
So you turned difficult. Not in the loud way; scowling and scoffing your way through life.
Unknowingly, unconsciously. It became harder to navigate through conversations, and you gave up with the rest of them. You had your own world, your own things to keep you busy. You skipped the parties; the noise and people proved to be more trouble than you ever thought it would be worth.
“Y/n!” Samantha hissed for the fourth time, finally snapping you out of whatever haze you were stuck in, making your cheeks flush. “If I have to repeat all that, I’ll kill you.” She grumbled, frowning now, hands on her hips. You gave her a sheepish smile, leaning back on your four-poster bed, having changed out of your robes and into your pyjamas for the night.
“Sorry, Sam. Go on, something about Arithmacy?” You tried, only to snort at her now offended reaction. “You think I spend my free time talking about Arithmacy?! No! That one bloke from Ravenclaw’s been dodging me for a straight week now! You’d think he’d reject a girl with class.” She hissed, dropping down on the bed next to you with a pained sigh.
“Or maybe just accept he’s not into you,” Shlok said from across the room, currently putting on whatever expensive cream Samantha bought all over his hands, maybe her shoot up and screech at him about it being face cream. “Oh, shut up! Shut up!” She hissed, snatching her cream and pushing him towards the beds.
“He doesn’t seem very nice, Sam.” You murmured delicately, tilting your head towards her as she aggressively sorted through her skin-care products. She was thorough, you had to admit. “Maybe you need a stricter screening process–”
“What I need–” She hissed, marching back into the room, frowning. “Is for Shlok to man up and beat him up on my behalf! What good’s being friends with a bloke if he isn’t going to beat up my shitty flings?!” She huffed, scowling at the boy who simply shrugged behind his glasses. “Can’t say I blame the poor guy, you’re sodding psychotic–” He mused before being crudely attacked by a pillow.
“Y/n! Look at him! Tell him!” You bit back a snicker, covering your mouth as you watched Shlok prepare to launch the cushion back at Samantha. “Maybe you should try dating someone in our house, Sammy. You might meet nicer people. Hufflepuffs are sweet, no?” You offered, making her scowl soften in consideration before she was pummeled by a pillow, followed by Shlok crying out, ‘Take that, devil woman!’
Hufflepuffs are sweet, you repeated to yourself, drowning out the brewing warfare baking in your dorm room. You thought back to nice Hufflepuffs you knew, though you hardly spoke to any of them. Your mind drifted to the one Hufflepuff that seemed to pop up the most. Cedric Diggory.
Obviously, you hadn’t told your friends about him; they’d torment you relentlessly about him. You weren’t daft, you knew of his reputation; the most sought-after boy in all of Hogwarts. Hail Mary of Hufflepuff. He was attractive, charismatic, and at the top of his class. You understood the appeal, yes, but you found it quite confusing as to why people lost themselves over a guy. Attractiveness shouldn’t override basic etiquette, in your opinion. Of course, you were naturally shy. Being around someone so social felt like standing in direct, burning sunlight.
You didn’t understand it, why he spoke to you. Maybe it was a prefect thing; checking up on his house. Maybe it was a popular kid thing, feeling the need to include everyone. You sighed, eyes darting between Samantha and Shlok as they started flinging anything in reach at each other, eliciting a groan from you.
Your eyes moved to the clock on the wall, 9:36 pm. Your curfew began at 10. Without glancing at either of your friends, you smoothed over your pyjamas and slid on your slippers, slipping out od the dorm without interrupting your friends' bickering. You made your way through the common room and out the door, your wand tucked into the waistband of your pyjama pants.
Hogwarts at night was your absolute favourite, though you never really let yourself bask in it, preferring your dorm over all else. You wandered through the halls, avoiding prefects purely out of fear of socialising, not bothering to let your wand light the way, allowing the darkness of the night to envelop you.
After about ten minutes, you felt the consequences of wandering around Hogwarts at night in just your jammies, the cold biting through your thin cotton pyjamas that definitely weren’t built to withstand the tundra air of the castle’s halls. You shivered for the sixth time, your entire body shaking like you’d just been crucio-d. A soft ice-wrapped curse escaped your hushed voice as you rushed down the hall to get back to the dorms before you saw something turn the corner.
To say you handled it with grace would be generous.
For some unfathomable reason, you decided that the next order of action was to cover your face in classic ‘if I can’t see them, they can’t see me’ fashion.
“Y/n?” A soft yet incredibly bemused voice made you lift your head, gaping.
Of fucking course it was him who found you. Who else?
“Diggory.” You mumbled, offering him a polite, tight-lipped smile. He frowned, swallowing down the flutter in his chest erupting from simply seeing you. “You can’t be out here.” He said gently, making you wince. “Gosh, I know, I should’ve brought a scarf or a jacket, I’m never usually this careless—”
“Er, no. I mean, you very literally can’t. Curfew. Prefect. You know?” He said, trying to be as delicate as possible; reprimanding you was incredibly uncomfortable for him. Acting like you weren’t his every waking thought. “Though I do agree it wasn’t very clever to be out here in that.” He said with a soft chuckle, undoing his scarf before stepping forward to offer it to you.
“Merlin, right, sorry.” You said quickly, heat flooding to your cheeks at the sheer embarrassment of assuming, mindlessly taking the scarf in your embarrassment before stilling and offering it back to him. “I-I’m fine. Really. Thanks.” You said quickly, making a frown pull at his lips. “As your prefect,” he started, trying to put extra emphasis on his role as head of house. “I am to make sure my house members are alright. Just wear it for the time being, I can take it from you early morning, that alright?”
You just frowned, not wishing to continue this interaction by arguing. You wrapped the yellow fabric around your neck, it already being heated from having been wrapped around him for maybe the past few hours. With a shudder at the newfound warmth, you looked up at him. “Thanks. Very sorry.” You said quickly, moving to walk past him. “Have a good night–walk–rounds.” You choked out, your heart now racing, eyes on the floor as you practically speed walked away from him, a soft ‘Goodnight’ coming from behind you as you rushed off to your house.
You groaned once you got far enough, pulling the scarf over your nose before getting progressively more flustered at the deep breath of his cologne entering your nose. You felt stupid for running off now; he probably felt offended. Maybe regretted helping you at all.
You felt your heart pound the whole way back, trying rid the interaction from your mind. It was a short one, and maybe if you weren’t in the headspace of eligible Hufflepuffs, you may have been able to. Unfortunately, you couldn’t shake the thought. Cedric was thirsted over by the entire school, you’d never batted an eye before, but his tiny act of generosity or maybe just duty, made you just a tad bit more aware of him, you could say.
Upon entering your dorm, you felt yourself pulled into a smothering hug. “Where did you go?! It’s been an hour?! When did you leave!?” Samantha shrieked, pulling you into the room where Shlok sat on the floor, green facemask on his face. You turned to Samantha to see the same facemask on her aswell. You turned sheepish, letting her sit you down and push your hair away from your face as she applied it on your face.
“Wanted to go on a walk for a bit. Figured I’d be back sooner.” You said softly, shuddering at the cold cream. “Well, you should’ve–” She began before stopping, freezing where she sat. She pulled back, turned around as if to check something before snatching the scarf around your neck. “Who’s is this?!” She shrieked, making Shlok sit up in curiosity. You felt your cheeks burn. “Hey, Sam-”
Shlok snorted and snatched it from Samantha, opening the scarf to find the stitched initials each school garment often has. “Cedric D?” He huffed, brows furrowing before he gasped ever so dramatically, throwing the scarf at Samantha, making her gasp in turn. “Diggory?!” She cried, eyes wide. “Merlin, you’re snogging Diggory–”
“No! No!” You hissed indignantly, snatching the scarf back as heat flooded your face. “He gave me his scarf cause I didn’t have one, and he’s decent!” you went on, though the justification fell on deaf ears as they grinned at each other shamelessly. “You were right!” Shlok huffed, making Samantha giggle in glee.
You could just gape in confusion, moving closer. “Right about what?” You huffed, exasperated. Samantha pulled you closer by the wrist. “Diggory totally likes you!” She squealed, making you frown. You didn’t believe it, the prospect even annoyed you. You hardly ever spoke to the bloke, hardly ever saw him.
“Har har.” You said dryly, deadpanning over to your beaming friends. Shlok snorted, poking your side. “You’ve seriously never noticed how much he stares at you?” He mused, making your frown deepen. That got your attention.
“Stares?” “Stares!”
Samantha put Cedric’s scarf on the table, still buzzing with excitement. “All the time! Every time he’s in the same area as you, he just stares! Shlok thought it was because you’re taking 6th year classes, but I knew it was because—”
“Wait. Wait, no. He can’t possibly!” You protested, your heart picking up again. It was just a scarf, how could it confirm something this massive? “He’s just a gentleman! He was just being nice.”
You gave them an unamused look, which barely changed anything as they promptly ignored your pessimism. Samantha rolled her eyes, shrugging. “He still likes you, Y/n.”
The frown on your face deepened as you crossed your arms over your chest. “Well, in all the times he’d come up to me, he’s never once flirted–”
“Come up to you?! He’s come up to you?!” Shlok basically shrieked.
Oh, the drama.
You winced as they began hammering you with questions about what he’d say, what he’d do. You told them everything, the awkward interactions, and even walked them through tonight’s interaction, word-for-word. By the time you were done, they were positively certain Diggory had it in for you. You still couldn’t believe it, the expression on your face making your disbelief horribly obvious.
“Okay–okay! How about this?” Samantha went on, sitting on the bed. “Maybe don’t instantly run off when you give him his scarf. He wakes up pretty early, no? Just wake up early and sit with him in the common room or something!”
The prospect of talking to him already made you want to collapse and die, but Shlok cut you out of the thought process. “What’s the harm, ey? If he wants to leave, he can just get up and walk off. If he wants to talk, all you’ll have to do is answer questions and sit there in front of a fire.”
That made you consider it, your scowl softening as you weighed the pros and cons. You supposed he was right. You didn’t need to do much; you didn’t even have to initiate anything.
Reluctantly, you parted your lips. “I guess—” “Lovely!” Samantha chirped, pulling you to the bathroom along with Shlok to wipe off the face mask.
A soft laugh left you as you scrubbed the dried cream off your face, Samantha already going off on Shlok for using her face wash as hand wash. You already survived crazy, you figured you could survive sitting near Cedric Diggory.
Saying Cedric woke up was questionable; he wasn’t sure how long he really even spent asleep after his interaction with you. Pathetic, really. He was near you for about five minutes, and it was all he could think about— how you looked in the darkness, bathed in nothing but moonlight. How his bigger scarf looked around your shoulders, warming your nose. How your eyes looked in the dark, the way his last name sounded, wrapped in your tongue.
Those thoughts followed him since he woke up at the ass crack of dawn, 5 am. He didn’t know why, but he preferred the quiet lull of the early morning, the ability to go to the kitchen, request the house-elves a personalised breakfast, and just sit before the fire for about an hour till everyone else began to wake up. No rush to get ready, no drowsiness in class, and he’d always be exhausted by eleven. Win-win.
He made his way downstairs from the boys dormitories, rubbing one end of the towel around his shoulder onto his damp hair moving across the common room before a figure in front of the fireplace made him do a double take.
You.
And by Merlin, if seeing you didn’t make his heart falter in his chest.
“Y/n?” He said softly, his voice rough from sleep. He neared the couches around the fire, looking as you nervously turned your head to smile towards him. “G’morning, Diggory.” You said in turn, his heart fluttering at the way the early morning softened your face.
He grinned widely, rounding the couch to sit beside you, tilting his head towards you. Still in yesterday’s pyjamas, but your hair was a bit tidier, as if you’d brushed it one too many times, and now you had a chunky Hufflepuff sweater on as well. Nevertheless, he still found you hopelessly endearing. He hoped he wasn’t giving himself away with how pathetically he was looking at you. “Morning, love. You’re up early, aren’t you?”
You flustered, hands tightening around his scarf, which you had sitting in your lap. You looked down at it, then him, offering it up. “Scarf. Your scarf. Here–Here’s your scarf.” You mumbled, making his heart swell as he reached for it, tying it around your neck. Bold move, he knew; at this point, however, he was hellbent on making sure you took a liking to him. “It’s cold this early, y’know? How about you keep it for a bit longer? I’ll snag it once you get yours on.” He said with a soft smile, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary before pulling back.
You felt your face grow hot as you squirmed away from him before nodding stiffly. “Thanks.”
He wet his lips, eyes softening at your shyness. He’s never really been this close to you before, it knocked the breath from him. “I.. don’t really see you at parties often. Not your scene?” He asked softly, making you shake your head.
“Bit loud for my taste,” you admitted, turning to look at him. “Hate being surrounded in strangers, y’know?” He didn’t. He’d never really been in a situation where he didn’t know someone enough to speak to them, but he nodded nevertheless.
“What is your scene, then?” He prodded, running a hand through his half-dried hair. He wasn’t expecting much out of you, given your introvertedness, so when he saw the way your eyes lit up; it felt like the world had stopped spinning for just a beat.
“The library.” You said, smiling softly. He thought you’d stop there, go back to tugging at your sleeves.
Boy, was he wrong.
“There’s a section, near the back but not in the restricted section, because I know we can’t go back there. A lot of old books no one ever reads are tucked back there. I don’t read them either, really. Mainly biographies of old magic folk who created very popular spells and whatnot, but I sit there a lot. By myself, mostly. I like my friends, I really like them, but I often sit there and not talk and read.” You rambled, talking quickly as if you were scared he might get up and walk off mid-monologue. “—so the books I do read are mainly thrillers these days. I wore out the romance section last year, but I hear they’re going to add to the collection soon! In the meantime, through, I’ve been reading ‘Following Ms. Brighton’ and—”
Cedric sat there in stunned silence, his eyes slowly filling with more and more adoration as you began to explain the entire plot of the book, chapter by chapter, thoroughly, to him. Admittedly, he’d never been the thrilled type, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t cling to your every word like there’d be a quiz on it later.
He didn’t notice that he was smiling until you told him the ending, wetting your lips as you realised you’d been rambling for nearly thirty minutes. “It sounds amazing,” he said softly, watching the way you averted your gaze, flustering. “Do you have it? Could I borrow it?” he continued, making you nearly gasp before you beamed, nodding furiously. “F’course! It’s great, I’m sure you’d like it! I think more people should give it a read, honestly,” you told him, picking at your sleeve.
His heart fluttered as a soft, breathy laugh left him. “Merlin, you’re sweet.” He mumbled, eyes soft with a type of fondness that merged into unadulterated adoration. Your smile softened at the compliment, looking at the fire. “You’re nice, too. Thanks for listening,” you murmured over the crackle of the hearth.
He simply nods, gazing at your side profile for a bit longer before catching himself and leaning back on the couch. “Yeah, ‘course. Anytime,” he meant it, he really did. There’s nothing he’d love to listen to more than your incessant ramblings about books and plots and portrayals of modern society. The sheer joy that filled your face at being able to talk about something you enjoyed would stay in his heart and his head for weeks.
The two of you sat in silence from thereon. Relaxing into the quiet of the warm common room. He liked it, being quiet with you. He knew you’d like it too, if he gathered anything about you; silence was your thing. You stared at the fire like it was whispering secrets in the form of smoke, and you wished to decipher it. He kept staring at you, tracing the lines of your face, the curve of your neck; every twitch your fingers made was noted in his mind, as a mental list of things you couldn’t control yet drove him crazy.
It stayed like that, the warm silence. Neither broke it; neither wanted to.
The past few weeks upcoming Yule ball felt different, fuller almost.
You’d seen Cedric around more often, practically every single day. Always getting a chance to sit with you in the evenings after classes, you even began waking up earlier just to be near him in the mornings.
Samantha and Shlok noticed, of course, they did. They didn’t react how you think they would, though. They didn’t blow it up or try to embarrass you, they’d just grin whenever you came back from hanging out with him. The lack of teasing helped you melt away the awkwardness, the nervousness.
Today was an exception. You hadn’t seen him at all.
Usually on Saturdays, he’s more visible, pulling his Quidditch team to practice in the mornings; you’d always catch sight of them. You didn’t today. Not at breakfast, nor during lunch.
It bothered you, a small bundle of nerves building in your lower belly. You squirmed your way through Hogsmeade, and now you were letting Samantha and Shlok ramble on and on about their Yule ball dates. You caught the gist of it. Something, something, twink. Something, something, muscles.
You were too busy worrying about Cedric. What if he were sick? Sad? He’d become part of your daily, his absence felt like a rift in the balance. A shift in the force. A disruption of your carefully crafted routine.
It didn’t take long till Shlok was tugging you up to pull you out of the dorm along with Sam as they decided to sneak out of the castle and sit in the courtyard. You let him without protest, too wrapped up in your own spiralling. You guessed they saw how intense you looked and decided fresh air and stars were just what the doctor ordered.
They tugged you along, through the quiet halls and past lingering prefects and professors till you reached the courtyard.
You heard them mumble something about getting snacks from the kitchen, making you sigh and walk over to the fountain in the middle of the stone courtyard, sitting at the edge in wait.
The sound of the wind and the silence made the biting cold in your face subside. You were dressed warmly this time, at least; drowning in a chunky grandpa sweater and the baggiest wool pants you could find. The sounds of winter were rudely interrupted by approaching footsteps, making you ruffle your hair a bit.
“Hey, Sam, you got me those pretzels I like, right—”
“Hi.”
Your head whipped around so fast you swore you heard your neck crack. You knew that voice. You hadn’t heard it all day.
And there that voice was, dressed in a rather hideous jumper and dark loose-fit jeans, a bouquet of flowers that thankfully weren’t roses in his hand, the other nervously running through his infuriatingly perfect hair.
His smile made something melt inside you; your bones felt liquid as you stood from where you sat at the fountain. “Cedric. Hi–hi.” you mumbled, completely bewildered. His grin both widened and softened and it did horrible things to your heart.
“Sorry for doing this in the snow. Out here.” He said softly, walking up to you, cheeks flushed because of the cold and the way your eyes were bugging out of their sockets in pure shock. The cogs in your head were turning incredibly slowly.
“I’m sorry, doing what?” You breathed as he took both your hands in his one, still holding the bouquet in the other. Your breathing suddenly turned manual as you looked up at him in the soft moonlit glow of the courtyard.
His eyes softened with something impossibly fond, looking at your awestruck expression. “You make me feel stupid sometimes, you know? My tongue feels like it stops working whenever you look at me like that. Like I’ve hung the stars.”
A soft breathless laugh left him and made your heart swell. He offered you the flowers; you took them. “You can say no,” he continued, tilting his head ever so slightly. “I won’t throw a fit, I swear. I know I’m a champion and it’ll be a lot of pressure to be my date because of the champion’s dance and—”
“Cedric.” “Right, right, right. Sorry.”
His cheeks flushed red, one hand still holding yours, the other stuffed in the pocket of his jeans. “I’d love it if you’d go to the Yule ball with me.” He whispered, eyes peering into yours with an intensity that, for once, didn’t overwhelm you. “Would you like to?”
Your chest felt fuzzy, blinking stupidly up at him like your brain hadn’t quite caught on before you gasped. “Oh, yeah! Yes, yeah!” You sputtered, lips widening into a wide grin as a soft squeal left you. You hopped up and down in joy before throwing your hands around his neck.
Cedric wrapped his arms around your waist, stuffing his face into your shoulder as he let out a long, shuddering sigh. “Fucking hell, you terrify me.” He breathed into your sweater, making you giggle.
Being around someone so social and extroverted made you feel like you were standing in direct, burning sunlight.
Where’s the trophy? He just comes running over to me
⋆ pairing : cedric diggory x fem!reader
⋆ summary : you were hogwarts’ golden couple — both quidditch captains, both prefects, both hopelessly in love. until your family forced you to break his heart. a year later, the feelings are still there, stronger than ever, but so are the rumours about cho chang. when cedric is chosen as hogwarts’ champion, you finally speak to him again. not to win him back… just to help him survive.
⋆ wc : 4.9k
⋆ second chance romance, golden couple, aching to touch him / her
The first time she saw Cedric Diggory, they were only third years, barely fourteen, and it was raining. Sounds romantic, doesn’t it? Well, it wasn’t. She was in the middle of Quidditch practice, the rain was so heavy she could barely see, and that led her to crash into one of her teammates. He managed to cling to his broom; but she didn’t. She plummeted straight into the mud, crashing hard into the pitch. Every inch of her hurt, and when she opened her eyes after the fall, a boy with storm-grey eyes was crouched beside her, worry etched across his face.
“Are you alright?”
The only thing she managed in response was a groan.
“That was quite a fall, we should get you to Madam Pomfrey.”
She soon noticed that the entire Hufflepuff team had gathered around her, curious and concerned. Anyone could have stepped forward. But Cedric moved first. And because of that, one of the most fated love stories Hogwarts had ever seen truly began.
By the time they were sixteen, they were two of the school’s most outstanding students. Prefects, Quidditch captains, always at the top of their class. They were bright, determined, and the kind of couple people rolled their eyes and say “of course they’re together”. The golden students, everyone called them. But no one truly knew them.
No one saw the way she braided his hair when she was anxious about an exam, or how he kissed both her cheeks every morning at breakfast. They didn’t know about the silly good-luck handshake they had before every match, or the way they spoke for hours about their fears of failure, their doubts, their dreams — and how, with each other, none of it felt too heavy to carry. They weren’t just a couple, they were best friends, and they weren’t perfect. But they were safe, and in a world that demanded so much of them both, that was more than enough. For a time, it felt like it would last forever. They were always together. Truly in love.
Until they couldn’t be anymore.
Her family didn’t see love — they saw distraction. She still remembers that letter, and the threats written in it. They made it clear: people with her surname were expected to aim higher, to protect the family name, to never let some teenage boy soften her ambition. They called it a phase and a brief, foolish distraction. They gave her a choice, but it never felt like a choice. Not with the promises they made… not with the consequences they vowed would follow if she disobeyed, and she, ever the people-pleaser, did as they asked. She broke up with him.
It wasn’t quiet, and it wasn’t clean. Her, sobbing in the owlery at midnight, unable to form a sentence. Cedric, heartbroken, begging her to explain. She was too shattered to hold her composure, especially not when she saw the agony in the boy she loved. And when that single tear slipped down his cheek, the only thing that left her lips was, “I’m sorry.” Then she ran, because she knew she wouldn’t survive it if she saw him cry because of her.
It didn’t go unnoticed either. The next day, she didn’t sit beside him at the Hufflepuff table, her eyes were puffy, and Cedric didn’t speak with anyone for nearly two weeks. The rumours flew, ridiculous as always: cheating, competition, and even falling out of love. All of them wrong.
That was nearly a year ago.
She spent the months since pretending it didn’t matter. Her marks stayed exceptional, her Quidditch team soared, and her family couldn’t have been prouder. But nothing filled the void.
She avoided Cedric at all costs. Dodged him in corridors, woke early to skip him at breakfast, sat at the opposite end of every shared class. She was trying so hard to convince herself that it was for the best.
But the feelings didn’t fade. They simply buried themselves deep, and recently, they’ve been clawing their way back up, thanks to the castle’s favourite subject of gossip.
“Did you see him? With Cho Chang. Heard someone say she watched him practise yesterday… and they went to Hogsmeade after. You don’t think—?”
She tries to brush it off, because they’re not together and they haven’t been for nearly a year. He’s allowed to move on, but it still hurts every time she hears his name, because no one has ever made her feel something that real. She swore she’d never speak to him again — for both their sakes, and she kept her word.
Until the Goblet of Fire changed everything.
His name is called, he’s been chosen as Hogwarts Champion for the Triwizard Tournament, and her world becomes blurry. It echoed in her ears, followed by the cheers, the applause, and she blinks, trying to understand what’s about to happen. Everyone stood up around her, jubilant. She stayed seated, feeling her heart beat as fast as if it’s going to pop out of her chest. He walked forward, proud, smiling, and then, for the briefest of moments, his eyes met hers. She doesn’t know what he saw in her expression, because she doesn’t even know what she was feeling — but her hands trembled and her chest ached, so she just looked away.
The next morning, she went to the owlery, ready to send yet another glowing academic update to her family, but just as she stepped inside, something knocked into her, and she slipped. She landed hard on the stone floor. Looked up — and there he was, just like the very first time.
“Are you alright?”
His face was flooded with concern, like that day in the rain, on the Quidditch pitch. She nodded, but her throat closed up, then he offered his hand, so she took it, and when she stood, she made sure to avoid his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Didn’t see you coming.”
“No worries,” she murmured.
The silence that followed was far from comfortable. She felt his eyes on her, pleading silently for her to meet them. The tension increases, and she doesn’t know how to act, suddenly she even forgets how to use her hands, and the letter she was holding slipped to the floor. She hurries to grab it, but he does the same, so their heads collided with a painful thunk.
“Sorry!”
“Sorry!”
They both laughed. For the first time in months, she saw his smile, and it was for her. She felt like her heart could explode right there.
“Congratulations,” she said. “For being chosen.”
“Thanks. Didn’t think it’d be me.”
Another silence threatened to form, but she broke it with a question she was eager to ask.
“Are you scared?” His eyes told her everything, but still, he answered.
“Yes.” Then, after a moment… “Are you?”
The question caught her off-guard. She couldn’t answer, it felt like her voice was stuck in her throat. So she lets her eyes speak for her.
“I’ll be alright,” he said gently, trying to reassure her.
“I don’t know. No one really knows what these tasks will be, I’ve been reading about the Tournament and there’ve been deaths, Cedric. Once, the task involved a basilisk. Do you even know what you’ve gotten yourself into?”
“Not really,” he admitted. “Didn’t think I’d actually be chosen. But you’ve done your research — why?”
Because the moment she heard he’d put his name in the Goblet, her heart dropped, and even if she prayed he wouldn’t be chosen, her mind prepared itself for the worst. She had to.
“Curiosity.”
“You do know you were always a terrible liar, do you?”
Ever since that encounter in the owlery, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. His eyes, his smile, the way he admitted with complete honesty that he was afraid. It had felt like maybe, just maybe, not everything between them had been completely shattered.
A couple days later, she decided she would just carry on, with no distractions. It was for the best, but when she entered entered into the library and saw him sitting alone at a table, reading a massive tome on magical creatures, she couldn’t help but approach.
“That book’s outdated… look at the year,” she whispered. “They reclassified some of the creatures a few years ago. I’ve seen a more complete version somewhere in here. Green cover, gold edges, and a wampus on the front”.
“Thanks,” he said glancing up at her, a flicker of surprise on his face. “Would you help me find it?”
She knew she shouldn’t, because if anyone saw them together, the rumours would surely start to fly around. But it was late, the library was nearly empty, and they could always find a table hidden in some forgotten corner. So she nodded, and together they walked in search of the book.
They spent the evening writing down potential beasts Cedric might have to face as part of the Tournament. The library was already empty, and the silence between them would only break whenever they came across a promising creature, however, the tension between them was ever present. And that’s how it all began.
It became a quiet habit; studying together for hours, long after everyone else had gone back to their dormitories, surrounded by books and floating lanterns, Cedric’s scent lingering in her senses despite the respectable distance between them. She was only helping him prepare, or at least she wanted to convince herself that it was only that, because every time she caught him watching her, a knot formed in her throat, or when their knees brushed under the table, it felt like a jolt of electricity ran through her entire body.
Being near him made her feel calm, but also on edge. She longed to touch him again — to hold his hand, run her fingers through that soft chestnut hair, or feel the warmth of one of his hugs. Now, more than ever, it was impossible to keep those feelings buried, and the curiosity of not knowing if he was feeling the same way was just killing her slowly.
“Why are you really helping me?” He asked one evening, out of nowhere. She avoided his gaze, and closed the book in front of her. “You don’t owe me anything, and it’s not like your family would approve.”
She looked at him, and for a moment, she lost herself in the candlelight reflecting in his eyes and the perfect curve of his jaw.
“They won’t find out, and if they do, I’ll say I was just studying.”
“Well, technically you are. But that’s not answering my question.”
She sighed, and then let the truth slip from her lips.
“I never stopped caring, Ced. I want you to survive this.”
Their eyes didn’t part for a single second after that, and the smile he gave her in response made her heart feel warm. He dropped the quill in his hand, then slowly reached out, lacing his fingers with hers, gently and carefully, as though the touch itself might burn them both. She held his hand tightly, and wished she’d never have to let him go again.
The first task was only a week away, and their study sessions had become more intense than ever, but between books and scrolls, they began to give in to the pull between them more and more. They sat closer each time, held hands beneath the table, and Cedric made sure to kiss her cheek every time they said goodbye. Sometimes, when she managed to make him laugh loud enough for the librarian to hush them, the sound of his laughter stayed with her for the rest of the week. And sometimes, when she rested her head on Cedric’s shoulder, he made sure not to move an inch so she could stay there for as long as possible—just long enough for him to memorise the feel of her hair brushing against his cheek.
Despite that, they didn’t speak during the day. She had to be cautious, had to keep it secret, otherwise, her family would find out, and once again everything would come crumbling down. Cedric understood, so when she saw him in the corridors, he merely offered her a soft smile, though deep down she longed to run to him, to hold him, maybe even kiss him.
That evening, Cedric had asked her to meet him later than usual in the Restricted Section of the library. Apparently, Professor Sprout had secured them special permission to access books with more detailed information. When she arrived, Cedric was leaning against a wall, reading a thick volume on dragons.
“Hi.”
“Hey.” When he looked up, she noticed something had shifted in him. “Come on, let’s go in.”
He opened the door to the Restricted Section, let her in first, and closed it behind them. He muttered a simple “Follow me,” and strode quickly towards a specific set of shelves.
“Ced…” she called out, slightly uneasy. He seemed rushed.
“Dragons,” he whispered. “The first task is dragons.”
Her heart dropped. Her lips parted, and her expression turned visibly shaken.
“What…?”
“Harry told me. Apparently he saw them. But I’m not sure if we’re supposed to run from them, trick them, or…”
“They can’t expect you to fight a bloody dragon. That’d be mad if that’s what they’re asking.”
“If that’s what they want, I need to be ready. Ready for anything, to distract, confuse, defeat… I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ve never even seen a dragon in real life, and I’ve spent the whole day reading stupid dragon books, trying to stay calm, but I can’t—I can’t deal with a bloody dragon. This was a foolish decision, I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t…”
He was rifling through all the books in the section when she noticed his breathing start to sound ragged. The words stopped leaving his lips, and his body began to tremble, so she quickly grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him to face her, just so their eyes could meet.
“Ced, breathe. Just breathe. I’m here. You’re okay, and you will be okay,” she said, cupping his face gently. “Look at me—everything’s going to be fine, alright?”
Cedric blinked rapidly, trying to regain control. He sank to the floor, and she followed without hesitation. Sitting face to face, she took his hands in hers and didn’t let go. His skin was ice cold.
“I’ll help you survive this, we’ll find the perfect way for you to face the task,” she whispered, watching him carefully as he worked to calm his breath again. “I’m not going to lose you. Not again.”
At that moment, Cedric looked up, and the moment their eyes met, she felt her heart pound violently in her chest. His gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips, and slowly, he let go of one of her hands and placed it delicately on her cheek, drawing closer to her face. She, too, leaned in, struggling to contain the fire that had ignited inside her. Now her breathing was as uneven as his had been only seconds before.
Their foreheads brushed, and Cedric tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, as if trying to see her better, to memorise every part of this moment. Their noses touched, and their lips were so close they could feel the warmth of the other’s breath, but neither dared close the distance. She didn’t, because she knew if she kissed him, she wouldn’t be able to stop. He didn’t, because he wasn’t sure if it was truly what she wanted.
Cedric closed his eyes, and just as he was about to erase the space between them, she pulled away. Only slightly. Just enough to stop the kiss.
“I can’t, Ced…”
“I know,” he answered, quietly, resigned, exhausted, his desire contained and unspoken.
He let go of her face, but wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into him, in an embrace that said all the words they wouldn’t speak.
“Thank you for helping me. Even with everything… thank you for not letting me go through this alone.”
She smiled and hugged him tightly in return.
“It would’ve broken my heart to know you were going through this on your own.”
Cedric said nothing. He simply held her in his arms, wishing this moment could last forever. And when he finally let go, she felt the cold return instantly—like being caught under winter snow with no cloak to protect her.
“We should keep searching,” she said softly.
“Yes. Right…”
They continued searching for information about dragons, but after that closeness… neither of them could truly concentrate.
There was less than a day left before the First Task, and she knew Cedric couldn’t be more ready for it. When night fell, she felt strange realising that Cedric no longer waited for her in the library, and that they probably wouldn’t speak again until they found out what the Second Task was about. She planned to go to bed early, but during dinner she overheard murmurs from people saying no one could find Cedric to wish him luck. Not even Cho Chang had been able to see him. So she immediately knew where he was.
The night was clear, which was rare for late November, and though it was cold, the wind blew very softly. She gripped her broom tightly, and when she stepped into the Quidditch pitch, she saw him in the distance, flying higher than usual. She mounted her broom and flew until she found him face to face.
“You’re not trying to get yourself killed before the task, are you?” she said, hoping to make him laugh. He looked at her and gave her a soft smile, then continued to look up at the sky, as if he might find answers there. “You shouldn’t be out here alone, everyone’s looking for you to wish you luck.”
“I wanted to clear my head, get away from everything.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll go then,” she said still playfully, and he responded with a soft laugh.
“Away from everything, except you… because I knew you’d find me,” he said, looking straight into her eyes. “I still remember the first time we met, right here.”
“I remember the pain… and the mud,” they both laughed, nostalgic.
“We should go down,” he said.
She followed him to one of the stands. Once there, they left their brooms aside and sat facing each other, their knees brushing.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more like myself than when I was with you.”
“You’re with me now,” she replied, trying to keep the playful tone.
“You know what I mean.” When Cedric looked at her with a serious expression, she knew it was time to stop joking. “I felt like I could do anything if you were by my side. I’ve missed this, all this time. Not just your help — you.”
She wasn’t prepared to hear that. Her heart stopped for a second, and she could feel all those repressed feelings taking over.
“I thought you’d moved on. Everyone says you and Cho…”
“No one really knows what’s going on. She’s kind and sweet to me, and I like her, just not in that specific way, simply because she’s not…”
His eyes met hers. That left her with an expression of confusion, though she knew exactly what he meant to say. Cho wasn’t her.
“Are you scared?” she asked. It was the only thing she managed to say.
“Yes, but not because of the task. I’m scared I won’t see you again.”
She felt something crack in her chest.
“Shut up, Cedric, don’t say that,” she whispered in pain. “Don’t be stupid, don’t say that, please… I already told you I’m not losing you again.”
Without even realising, she leaned towards him and held him by the shoulders. It was an impulse; the tears clouded not only her sight but her mind too. Feeling her so close, Cedric held her by the waist, pulling her gently towards him unconsciously.
“If I don’t make it through the task…”
“Shut up. You will make it. You’re Cedric freaking Diggory, the Goblet chose you for a reason. I know you’ll get through this alive, and you better, because I believe in you.”
“And that’s all I need,” he whispered, and his voice sounded like it was hanging by a thread.
She didn’t answer, just looked at him, a few silent tears rolling down her cheeks — tears Cedric made sure to wipe away. And with that, everything inside her changed completely. After months of wanting to hold him, wanting to touch him, wanting to feel like she was his again even just for a moment… she had the chance for all of it and more. They were getting closer and closer, and the freezing night began to feel warmer. When they were only inches apart, she could swear Cedric could hear her heart beating. He didn’t let go of her waist for a second, and after sharing a look heavy with emotion, she held Cedric by the neck, beginning to close the gap between them.
When their noses brushed, she made sure to be fully present in that moment she’d dreamed about so often. He leaned in, and their lips touched with hesitation, as if still asking for permission — but she made sure he knew he didn’t need it.
It was a soft kiss at first, sweet, as if they were trying to remember how to kiss each other. And once they found the rhythm, something exploded between them; months of silence, pent-up desire, pain, and repressed love. It all surfaced like a crashing wave. The kiss grew deeper, more intense, even desperate, as if they were both afraid that separating would make it all disappear. But it wouldn’t. They were there, nearly burning with longing.
Cedric slid a hand under her jumper, pulling her closer to him with urgent need, and she just kept her hands to his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. When Cedric finally moved both hands down her back, she had no choice but to sit on his lap, her legs astride him. She clung to his shirt, pulling him as close as possible, and she increased the kiss’s intensity when he rested his hands on her bum.
Their lips locked fiercely, their bodies drawn like magnets, and Cedric’s warmth clashed violently with the cold night air — yet she didn’t shiver, but only because he was there, because she was finally feeling him again. So hot, so desperate, just for her.
Cedric moaned softly against her lips when she rocked her hips hard against him, prompting her to bite his lip gently, telling him to stay quiet. She was losing control — the sweet, devoted girl vanished from her body, and in her place was someone full of desire and love for a boy. She began to leave kisses along his neck, and just when she was about to unbutton his trousers, a noise on the pitch stopped them.
Immediately, they ducked down, hiding behind the railing and trying to avoid being seen by whoever might be out there. But they saw nothing, so it remained a mystery — and a supremely annoying interruption. After catching their breath, they exchanged a look of disbelief, then smiled at the same time. She didn’t hesitate to throw herself at him in a hug. He held her by the waist, and they shared a laugh of pure happiness.
“I’ve been waiting for months…” she tried to say, but he interrupted her with a tender kiss.
“I know,” he replied, caressing her face gently and giving her a small smile. “I don’t want to lose this.”
They fell silent for a moment, wrapped in the soft breeze and the starlight. No one else in this school, or the entire world, knew what had just happened, and no one else ever would. This had been a moment for the two of them, and no one else.
“If you promise me you’ll survive the tournament, I promise you’ll never lose me again.”
“I promise I’ll make it out of this tournament alive,” he said, certain and sincere, looking at her in the eyes.
“Then I’ll make sure I never leave your side again.”
Even though it hadn’t been her name drawn from the Goblet, her stomach had been twisting with nerves since the moment she’d woken up. She had never felt fear like this before; her mind wouldn’t stop conjuring up the worst scenarios, and not even Cedric’s words could soothe her now.
Since the morning, she hadn’t been able to clear her thoughts. She knew Cedric was prepared, because they’d read every single book that might be useful, practised spell after spell, again and again. But that didn’t change the reality: in just a few minutes, Cedric would be standing in front of a real dragon, trying to steal a bloody golden egg, and there was absolutely nothing she could do but watch and try not to faint.
The stadium roared with cheers; everyone else seemed so excited they might burst. But not her, she was so worried she thought she might die.
She didn’t take her eyes off the entrance to the field. Any moment now, Cedric would appear, and when he finally did, the world slowed down. Her golden boy stepped into the arena with his head held high, gripping his wand tightly, ready to complete the task. Almost at the same time, the dragon was released — a Swedish Short-Snout. She recognised it by the silver-blue scales and the frantic, azure flames it spat into the air.
She gripped the railing tightly, praying Cedric would find a way to beat the creature quickly. As soon as the dragon spotted him, it rushed to attack him, without hesitation, and a scream tore from her throat before she even realised.
“Run, Ced! Come on, you can do this!”
Ten agonising minutes passed as Cedric tried to figure out a way to outsmart the beast. Ten minutes of ducking, dodging, hiding. Her heart was pounding, palms slick with sweat, her voice barely audible. Fear had taken hold of her body, and she was sure that if Cedric didn’t grab the stupid egg soon, she was going to break down and cry from sheer panic.
Then, he started to run — leaping over rocks, rolling away from jets of fire that nearly caught him. And when he reached a far corner of the field, he finally acted.
From there, he transfigured a massive rock into a dog on the opposite side of the arena. The dragon took the bait immediately, bolting after the illusion. Cedric seized the chance and dashed for the egg. When he finally had it in his hands, he held it up high and sprinted towards the exit, desperate to escape the nightmare.
But just as he was about to reach it, the dragon released a stream of blue fire in his direction. When the flames died down, the entire stadium saw it — the side of his face, glowing red-hot with a vicious burn.
In that moment, she wished she knew exactly how to heal that kind of injury, to erase every ounce of pain he might be feeling. And when she finally saw him make it out of the arena, the crowd exploded into cheers.
He’d done it. And she could finally breathe again.
The instant she saw him pass through the gates, she ran straight for the medical tent, desperate to see with her own eyes — to feel with her own hands — that he was still alive. But just as she was about to enter, she saw Cho Chang slip inside first. Of course. She’d forgotten.
Something inside her twisted, but there was nothing she could do about it. So she simply turned around and made her way back to the stands to watch the other champions.
She barely registered the rest of the task. All she could think about was hugging Cedric, congratulating him… maybe even kissing him out of sheer joy.
Once Harry Potter had secured his golden egg, the stands began to empty. Down below, a crowd had gathered outside the tent to wait for the champions. She joined them, just to be there when Cedric came out.
And when he did, she started clapping, cheering his name.
“Cedric, show us the trophy!” Some shouted, but he didn’t seem to hear them. He stood there, completely still, scanning the crowd.
And when his eyes found hers, he didn’t hesitate. He moved toward her with a huge smile on his face. Her heart started to race, and she thought she might burst when Cedric ignored everyone else, just to get to her.
Where’s the trophy? She hadn’t the faintest idea, because what mattered in that moment was that he just came running to her.
When he reached her, Cedric bent down, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted her off the ground. She didn’t even have time to react, because all he wanted to do was kiss her, right there, in front of everyone.
And he did.
He kissed her, sweetly and tenderly, a grin tugging at his lips between each brush of their mouths. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him even closer. Cedric rested his forehead against hers, still smiling. His lips were hot, his skin marked by the dragon’s fire, and his eyes… his is eyes shone like she was the only thing he’d won that day.
And there they stood, in the middle of roaring cheers and celebration, with half of Hogwarts watching — but everything else melted away.
It was just them, holding each other in the middle of the chaos, like the world had stopped… just, and only for them.
Summary: How is Cedric meant to ask you out on a date when he keeps getting interrupted by your tornado of siblings?
A/N: This was way longer than I expected it to be
Growing up a Weasley meant you always had someone looking out for you.
It also meant you always had to look out for your family.
When you were very little, you didn’t remember being spoiled the way your brothers claimed you had been. That must have happened when you were still a baby—when your mother finally held her long-awaited daughter in her arms after three boys.
But only a year later, she was blessed again with twins. And suddenly, there were two more mouths to feed, two more babies to soothe, two more crying voices in a house that already never seemed to quiet down.
It wasn’t surprising that somewhere in all that chaos, you slipped through the cracks.
Not completely. Never completely.
Your parents loved you—of course they did. You never doubted that. But love, you would come to learn, didn’t always mean attention. And attention was something that had to be divided carefully in a family as large as yours.
But you didn’t grow up alone.
Not really.
Because where your parents were stretched thin, your brothers filled in the gaps.
Bill.
Charlie.
Percy.
But especially Charlie.
Charlie had been the one to carry you around the Burrow as if you weighed nothing, settling you on his hip while he did chores, letting you tug at his hair as he laughed and pretended to complain. He was the one who taught you how to climb trees, who patched up your scraped knees, who tied your shoelaces, who read to you when your mother was too tired to finish the story herself.
He liked to joke that you were more his child than your parents’, considering how much he had done to raise you.
So when Charlie first left for Hogwarts, leaving you home with Percy as the only older sibling, you cried.
And cried.
And cried.
For weeks.
Both Charlie and Bill had to send you letters almost every day just to soothe you, but even then you still missed them terribly.
And then the day came when you were old enough to join them.
The platform was loud in the way only Platform Nine and Three-Quarters could be, full of overlapping voices and rushing footsteps and the sharp whistle of the train cutting through it all. Trunks rattled over uneven stone, owls hooted impatiently from their cages, and somewhere behind you, your mother was still fussing over whether you had packed enough socks.
It was overwhelming, but not in a bad way—not yet. Not when you were surrounded on all sides by your family, by the familiar press of bodies and voices that had always meant safety. You stayed close to your brothers, close enough that your sleeve brushed Charlie’s every few steps, just in case.
“Alright,” Bill said at last, sliding open the door to an empty compartment with an ease that made it seem like he’d done it a hundred times before, “In you go.”
Before you could protest, Percy was already lifting your trunk onto the rack with careful precision, muttering something under his breath about proper placement and weight distribution, while Bill adjusted your smaller bags so they sat neatly in the corner.
Charlie nudged your shoulder gently, guiding you inside, but you lingered near the doorway for a moment instead of sitting, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself now that everything had become real.
You watched as Bill brushed his hands together in satisfaction and Percy gave a small, approving nod, as though everything was exactly as it should be.
You hovered in the doorway instead.
“…Can’t I just come with you?” You asked, quieter than you meant to, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the compartment door.
Bill glanced at Percy, then back at you, and something in his expression softened immediately. He reached out without hesitation, ruffling your hair in a way that was more fond than teasing, even if it left a few strands sticking up at odd angles.
“If you stick with us like that,” He said gently, “you’ll never make your own friends.”
You frowned faintly, not quite convinced, your gaze dropping for a second before flicking back up.
“It’s only for the ride,” Percy added, adjusting his sleeves as he straightened, already half-turned toward the corridor, “We'll meet you back at the castle.”
They lingered only a moment longer before stepping back into the corridor, already being pulled away by the movement of students and the rising noise as departure drew closer. You moved to follow them instinctively, your body shifting forward before you caught yourself at the doorway, fingers curling slightly against the frame as their voices faded into the general hum.
Charlie hadn’t left.
He stood just outside the compartment, watching you in that quiet, knowing way of his, like he could see straight through the brave face you were trying to hold together. For a moment, neither of you spoke, and then something in his expression shifted—something softer, more certain—as he stepped back inside and slid the door shut behind him, shutting out the corridor noise just enough to make the space feel smaller, steadier.
“I’ll be right down the train,” He said, nodding toward the direction Bill and Percy had gone, “Third compartment on the left, I think.”
“If you get lonely,” He continued, crouching slightly so he was closer to your eye level, his voice lowering just enough to feel like it was meant only for you, “or if anything happens—anything at all—you come find me. Yeah?”
You nodded, the tight feeling in your chest easing just a little.
“Alright.” You murmured.
Charlie smiled then, softer than before, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the top of your head. It was such a familiar gesture that it grounded you instantly, made everything feel just a little less uncertain, a little less overwhelming.
“See you in a bit.” He said.
And then he was gone too.
The door slid shut behind him with a soft click, and just like that, the noise of the corridor dulled into something distant, muffled by the glass and wood of the compartment. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the empty seat across from you, listening to the low rumble of the train as it finally began to move.
It felt strange, suddenly.
Too quiet.
You sat down slowly, smoothing your hands over your skirt more out of habit than anything else, your gaze drifting toward the window as the platform began to slip away. Families waved from outside, figures blurring together as the train picked up speed, and for a brief second, you caught sight of your mother’s bright hair among the crowd before it disappeared entirely.
Students passed by in groups, laughing and talking, already settled into friendships you hadn’t had the chance to form yet, their voices carrying faintly through the compartment door. Every now and then, someone would glance in, hesitate, and then move on.
For a moment, you considered getting up.
Going after Charlie.
He said you could.
But Bill’s words lingered, stubborn and unshakable.
You’ll never make your own friends.
You were still turning that thought over in your mind when the compartment door slid open.
You looked up quickly, your attention snapping toward the sound as a boy about your age stood in the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle as he glanced around the compartment.
“Is this seat taken?” He asked.
You shook your head almost immediately. “No—no, it’s not.”
“Good,” He said with a small, easy smile, stepping inside and sliding the door shut behind him before taking the seat across from you, “Every other compartment seems to be full already.”
You nodded, your fingers curling slightly in your lap as you tried to think of something else to say, aware of that familiar flicker of uncertainty beginning to creep in at the edges. For a moment, the silence stretched just a little too long—
Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms against his knees, closing the distance just enough to make it feel less awkward instead of more.
“I’m Cedric." He offered.
You gave your name in return, a little quieter at first, but steadier than you expected, and something in his expression brightened slightly, like he was pleased you’d said it.
“First year?” He asked.
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips, “You too?”
“Yeah.” He glanced out the window briefly before looking back at you, “Do you know what house you want to be in?”
You hesitated, then shrugged lightly. “My brothers are all in Gryffindor,” You said, as if that explained anything at all, “So… maybe that one.”
Cedric huffed a quiet laugh at that, not unkind, just amused. “My dad was in Hufflepuff,” He said, “So I think I’ll probably end up there. Though—” his mouth tilted slightly as he glanced at you again, “—Gryffindor doesn’t sound too bad now.”
Whether he meant anything by it or not didn’t really matter.
You felt warmth creep up your face anyway.
The conversation came easier after that, settling into something simple and steady. You talked about classes you thought might be interesting—Transfiguration, maybe, or Charms—and the ones you were a little nervous about.
He admitted he wasn’t sure how he felt about Potions, and you told him you thought it sounded exciting, though your brothers had warned you about the professor being a troll. You weren’t entirely sure if they meant that literally or not, and the way Cedric laughed at that—genuine and a little surprised—made something in your chest loosen.
At some point, he excused himself briefly, returning a few minutes later with snacks in hand, setting a Chocolate Frog carefully on the seat between you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“For you.” He said simply.
You blinked at it, a little startled, “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” He replied with a small shrug, “I wanted to.”
There wasn’t anything grand about it, no expectation behind the gesture, and somehow that made it easier to accept.
“Thank you.” You said, a small smile forming as you picked it up.
You opened the box carefully, peeling back the flap and catching the chocolate frog just before it could leap free, your attention shifting to the card tucked inside. Cedric leaned forward slightly, curiosity lighting his expression.
“Who’d you get?” He asked.
You glanced down at it, then back up at him, “Merlin.”
You looked back at the card, then held it out toward him without much thought, “Do you want it?”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard, “What? No—are you sure? You should keep it.”
You shrugged lightly, a small, easy motion, “You seem way more interested in it than I am.”
For a moment, he just stared at you, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, before slowly reaching out and taking the card, something softer settling into his expression.
“Thanks.” He said, quieter this time.
By the time the train finally slowed, the sky had already begun to darken, the last traces of daylight fading into something softer, quieter, as students poured out onto the platform in a rush of movement and chatter. You stayed close to Cedric as you stepped down, not quite thinking about it, just following the steady presence beside you as a large voice called out for first years to gather.
The boat ride felt like something out of a story.
Lantern light flickered against the dark surface of the lake, reflecting in ripples as the small boats carried you across the water, the castle rising ahead of you in a way that made your breath catch without meaning to. It was enormous—far bigger than anything your brothers had ever managed to describe properly—and for a moment, everything else fell away.
You barely noticed how close you and Cedric were sitting until your shoulder brushed his again, the same way it had with Charlie earlier, only this time it didn’t feel like something you needed for reassurance.
Neither of you said much, but you didn’t really need to.
By the time you reached the castle, the noise returned all at once—footsteps echoing through stone corridors, voices bouncing off high ceilings, the shuffle of robes and the occasional nervous laugh breaking through the tension. You followed the line of students into the Great Hall, your gaze lifting almost immediately to the enchanted ceiling above, stars scattered across it like something impossibly real.
It was beautiful.
And overwhelming.
You barely had time to take it all in before the sorting began.
Names were called one by one, each student stepping forward to sit on the stool as the hat decided their place, the hall erupting into cheers with every announcement.
You stood among them, hands clasped tightly together, your attention flickering between the sorting stool and the tables, searching instinctively for familiar faces. It didn’t take long to find them—Bill sitting tall and relaxed, Percy already watching with keen focus, and Charlie leaning forward slightly, his attention fixed on you, giving you a little wave and a thumbs up when you caught his gaze.
You found yourself watching more than listening, your attention drifting until—
"Cedric Diggory."
Cedric stepped forward, looking just a little more serious than he had on the train, though there was still something steady about him, something calm as he sat on the stool and the hat was placed on his head. For a brief second, the hall went quiet.
Then—
“Hufflepuff!”
The table to your right erupted into applause, loud and warm, and you felt yourself smiling without thinking, clapping along as Cedric pulled the hat off and stood. He glanced toward the crowd as he stepped down, scanning faces quickly—
And then he found you.
He smiled, bright and easy, lifting his hand in a small wave in your direction, like it was the most natural thing in the world to look for you in a room full of people.
You smiled back, returning the gesture without hesitation, something light settling in your chest.
Then he turned, heading toward his table, swallowed up by the group that welcomed him in.
The ceremony continued.
Until—
Your name.
It rang out across the hall, louder than you expected, and for a second, everything inside you seemed to go very, very still.
The walk to the stool felt longer than it should have, your footsteps echoing faintly in your ears as you climbed up and sat down, your hands curling slightly into the fabric of your robes. The hat was placed over your head, slipping down just enough to shadow your vision, and for a second, there was nothing but darkness and the sound of your own heartbeat.
It didn’t take long.
“Gryffindor!”
The word echoed, followed immediately by a burst of cheers from the table to your left, loud and familiar and impossible to mistake.
Relief hit you first.
Then something warmer.
You barely had time to take the hat off before you were being pulled forward, laughter and voices overlapping as you reached the table.
“There she is!”
“About time!”
“Another one for Gryffindor—brilliant!”
Percy clapped for you as you joined the table, patting your shoulder with pride, Bill ruffled your hair before pressing a quick peck to the top of your head and Charlie enveloped you into a tight hug. You laughed, a little breathless, the sound spilling out of you before you could stop it as they crowded around you, hands on your shoulders, your back, your hair—solid, familiar, overwhelming in the best way.
You settled into your seat, still adjusting to the new rhythm of the hall. Plates of food appeared with little fanfare, but everything seemed bigger, brighter, and somehow both familiar and completely new at the same time.
You barely noticed when a familiar blond head turned toward the Gryffindor table again—Cedric, scanning for a glimpse of you before diving into his own group. You caught his eye just long enough to exchange a quick, almost shy smile.
You were just leaving the Great Hall on your way to class when you heard your name.
You slowed slightly, glancing over your shoulder just as someone stepped out of the stream of students moving past you.
Cedric Diggory.
You recognized him immediately, of course. You always did. Not because you sought him out, but because he was noticeable. There was hardly a girl in Hogwarts that didn't know of the Golden Boy Cedric Diggory.
You knew him, in the way that came from shared moments rather than shared time—train rides years ago, the occasional passing conversation, a familiarity that never quite developed into friendship but lingered comfortably in between.
He offered you a small, polite smile when you stopped.
“Hi.” He said when he reached you, slowing his pace to match yours as the two of you fell into step almost without thinking.
“Hi,” You returned, a small flicker of curiosity settling in as you glanced at him, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah—yeah, I just…” He huffed a quiet breath, one hand lifting briefly to the back of his neck in a gesture that almost looked like nerves, though it didn’t quite fit him.
“I was wondering if you’d—well, if you needed a partner for Herbology. Professor Sprout mentioned we’d be pairing up for the next assignment, and I thought…” He trailed off slightly, then smiled, a little more certain this time, “I thought I’d ask before it got chaotic.”
For a second, you just looked at him.
Not because the question was strange—it wasn’t—but because it caught you slightly off guard. You weren’t usually the person people sought out first, not for things like that, and there was something about the way he asked—straightforward, but careful—that made it difficult to respond immediately.
“I—um,” You started, the beginning of an answer forming—
And then you heard it.
Your name.
Again.
This time, it was not calm or measured or easy to miss.
It was strained, uneven, pulled tight with something dangerously close to panic.
You turned instinctively, your attention snapping toward the sound just in time to see Ron pushing his way through the corridor toward you, his face red, eyes glassy, shoulders tense like he was barely holding himself together.
He didn’t even slow down when he reached you—didn’t say anything at all, really—just collided into you with enough force to make you take a half-step back as his arms wrapped around you, his face burying itself into your shoulder.
And then he broke.
Not quietly, not subtly—full, shaking sobs that made his grip tighten as if letting go wasn’t an option.
Any trace of hesitation vanished instantly.
Your entire focus shifted without a second thought, your arms coming up around him automatically as you steadied him, one hand moving to the back of his head in a familiar, grounding gesture.
“Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” You asked softly, your voice dropping into something calmer, gentler, the kind of tone you’d used a hundred times before without even realizing it.
He tried to answer.
“I—she—she sent—” He tried, his voice thick and uneven.
Your brow furrowed slightly, “Slow down, I can’t understand you.”
“A—Howler—” He finally managed, the word coming out in a miserable wail.
And then it clicked.
Of course.
Despite yourself, you glanced up briefly, meeting Cedric’s gaze for just a second, and there was something shared there—understanding, a flicker of quiet amusement that neither of you voiced but both clearly felt.
You looked back down at Ron, your expression softening again as you reached up to wipe at his cheeks, brushing away tears that didn’t seem to stop coming.
“Well,” You said gently, not unkindly, “you did steal and then wreck our car. I don’t think you could’ve expected to get off with only a warning.”
That did not help.
If anything, it made him cling tighter, his voice muffled as he groaned into your shoulder, mortified all over again.
“She didn’t have to do it in front of everyone,” He mumbled, the words thick and miserable, “It was so humiliating—everyone was looking at me—”
“I know,” You murmured, softer this time, shifting slightly so you could look at him properly, your hands steady as you wiped the rest of his tears away with your thumbs. “I know. That part wasn’t very nice.”
He sniffed, shoulders still trembling, but the worst of it seemed to be passing now, the sharp edge of it dulling into something more manageable under the familiarity of your voice, your presence.
You hesitated for half a second, then smiled just a little.
“Come on,” You said, tilting your head toward the corridor, “Let’s go to the kitchens. I think you deserve something after that.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, still blotchy and miserable, but already softening at the suggestion.
“Okay.” He muttered, nodding slightly.
You gave his shoulder a small squeeze before straightening, your hand lingering briefly at the back of his arm. Then, as you turned to leave with him, you glanced back at Cedric, your expression apologetic as you mouthed a silent sorry.
He just shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in quiet amusement, like he had expected something along these lines from the moment your brother appeared.
“It’s fine,” He said lightly, though you were already half-turned away, “We’ll figure it out later.”
Professor Sprout, in the end, did assign partners.
Efficiently, without hesitation, and with absolutely no regard for any quiet arrangements that might have been attempted beforehand. By the time you arrived for the lesson, names were already being called, pairs already being formed, and whatever Cedric had been hoping for dissolved into something unspoken and irrelevant before either of you had the chance to bring it up again.
You ended up with someone from your house—pleasant enough, focused, not particularly talkative—and the lesson passed without incident.
Still, you noticed.
Not in any obvious way, not in a way that lingered too long, but just enough to register the brief glance Cedric gave you from across the greenhouse when the pairings were announced, the small, almost amused exhale that followed before he turned his attention back to his own partner.
It wasn’t disappointment, exactly.
Just something that could have been something else.
And then it passed.
Or at least, it should have.
A few days later, you found yourself alone again—or as alone as one could be in a castle like Hogwarts—standing just outside one of the quieter corridors near the courtyard, adjusting the strap of your bag as you mentally sorted through the next part of your day.
The air was cooler there, the noise of passing students softened by distance, and for a moment, it felt like a pause between everything else.
“Hey.”
Cedric stood a few steps away, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, his expression easy but just slightly more deliberate than usual, like he had made the decision to be there rather than simply ending up there by chance.
“Hi.” You said, a hint of recognition slipping into your tone now, something warmer than before.
He stepped a little closer, glancing briefly down the corridor before looking back at you. “I was going to ask—” He started, then paused, as if reconsidering his wording, “Did you understand the last bit of the Transfiguration homework? The part about switching incantations mid-cast. I was looking over it earlier and—”
It was a better excuse this time.
Though you were questioning why Golden Boy was asking you instead of literally anyone else. It wasn't like he had a shortage of people who were willing to give an arm and a leg to help him.
You opened your mouth to answer, already shifting into the conversation—
And then—
"(Y/N)!"
The voice was sharp, urgent, and far too familiar.
You turned immediately, your attention snapping toward the sound just as Ginny appeared at the end of the corridor, her steps quick and uneven, her expression caught somewhere between panic and embarrassment in a way that made your stomach drop before she even reached you.
With her bright red hair half-falling loose from its tie, her Gryffindor robes swaying around her, and the deep flush spreading across her face, she looked—rather unhelpfully—like a blur of red rushing straight toward you.
She didn’t slow down.
“Can I talk to you?” She blurted the second she was close enough, her voice lowered but no less frantic for it, her hands hovering awkwardly at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them.
You didn’t even think about it.
“Of course,” You said instantly, your tone shifting the same way it always did, steady and grounding as you stepped toward her, your focus narrowing completely, “What’s wrong?”
Ginny glanced briefly past you—just enough to notice Cedric standing there—before leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that still carried urgency, "In private."
Your eyes racked over her body before they landed on the jacket that she had tied around her waist.
“Oh.” You said softly, not startled, not alarmed—just calm. Understanding. Immediate.
Ginny’s hands clenched slightly at the fabric of her sleeves. “I didn’t know—it just—I don’t know what to do.” She rushed out, her words tumbling over each other now that she’d started, the embarrassment catching up with her all at once.
“It’s okay,” You said quickly, reaching out to steady her, your voice lowering just enough to keep it between the two of you, “It’s alright, Gin. It happens.”
She shook her head, mortified, "A boy from Ravenclaw saw—I'm so embarrassed."
“I’ve got you,” You interrupted gently, already guiding her to turn slightly, positioning yourself just enough to shield her from the open corridor without making it obvious, “Don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll fix it.”
Behind you, Cedric hadn’t moved.
Hadn’t interrupted.
But you were aware of him in that distant way you became aware of anything you had to leave unfinished, the conversation that had barely begun already slipping out of reach.
You glanced back at him briefly, just enough to catch his eye, your expression apologetic in a way that felt almost familiar now.
He didn’t even look surprised.
If anything, there was something faintly amused in the way he exhaled, the smallest shake of his head following like he’d already accepted how this was going to go.
“Go,” He said lightly, one corner of his mouth lifting, “I think this might be more important than Transfiguration.”
You let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh under different circumstances, nodding once in thanks before turning your attention fully back to Ginny, your hand settling at her arm in a reassuring squeeze.
“Come on,” you murmured, already guiding her down the corridor, your voice soft but certain. “We’ll go to the dormitories first, alright? I’ll help you.”
She nodded quickly, still flustered but clearly relieved, her steps falling into place beside yours as you led her away.
You gave one last glance to Cedric, "I can ask Percy to share some of his notes with you?"
He nodded, a smile on his face.
He didn't really have the heart to tell you that the homework was already complete.
By the time the castle began to settle again, you didn’t feel like celebrating.
Everyone else did.
The relief had come quickly, spreading through the corridors like wildfire the moment the truth was out—Ginny was safe, Ron was safe, the attacks were over, and whatever had been lurking in the shadows of Hogwarts had finally been dealt with.
There was laughter again, louder than before, conversations filled with retellings and exaggerations and a kind of excitement that only came from surviving something no one had fully understood in the first place.
You couldn’t quite bring yourself to join in.
Because every time someone said her name—every time someone mentioned what had happened, what she had gone through, what she had almost—
All you could think was:
You hadn’t known.
Not once.
Not when she was quieter than usual, not when she seemed distracted, not when something in her felt… off. You had been there. Right there. Watching, talking, helping with everything that didn’t matter—
And somehow you missed the one thing that did.
So instead of staying in the common room, instead of letting yourself be pulled into the relief of it all, you slipped away.
Down familiar corridors, past the places you knew wouldn’t be crowded, until you reached the kitchens. It wasn’t long before you found yourself sitting at the long wooden table with a mug of hot chocolate cradled between your hands, the warmth of it seeping into your skin in a way that should have been comforting.
It wasn’t.
You stared down into it instead, watching the faint swirl of steam rise and disappear, your grip tightening slightly around the ceramic as everything you’d been holding back finally began to surface.
It was stupid, really.
Your siblings were safe.
That was all that should have mattered.
And it did—of course it did—but it didn’t erase the rest of it, didn’t quiet the heavy, twisting feeling sitting in your chest, the one that kept circling back to the same thought over and over again.
You should've noticed. You should've known.
Your vision blurred before you realized you were crying, the first tear slipping down before you had the chance to stop it, followed by another, and then another until it became harder to pretend you were in control of it.
You ducked your head slightly, one hand coming up to press against your eyes as if that might be enough to hold it back.
You were her older sister.
That was supposed to mean something.
It was supposed to mean you noticed when things were wrong.
It was supposed to mean she came to you.
Like how you would go to your older brothers.
The sound of the door opening barely registered at first, slipping into the background of everything else, until the faint shift in the room—the subtle change in movement, in presence—pulled your attention up just enough to break through your thoughts.
You didn’t look up immediately.
Not until they stopped near your table.
“Hey.”
The voice was familiar.
You blinked, the world coming back into focus in slow pieces as you lifted your head, your eyes landing on Cedric where he stood a few steps away, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it, something careful in the way he looked at you like he already knew he’d found you at a bad moment.
For a second, neither of you said anything.
Then you let out a quiet breath that didn’t quite steady, your gaze dropping back down to your mug as your fingers tightened slightly around it.
“Hi.” You managed, your voice quieter than usual, roughened at the edges in a way you didn’t bother trying to hide.
He didn’t ask to sit.
He just did, pulling out the chair across from you with a quiet scrape and lowering himself into it like he intended to stay this time, like he wasn’t going to be interrupted or pulled away or left with half a conversation again.
“I didn’t see you at dinner.” He said after a moment, not accusing, not even questioning—just stating it gently, like an opening rather than a demand.
You huffed a soft, humorless breath at that, your lips pressing together briefly as you shook your head.
“I wasn’t hungry.” You said, which wasn’t entirely untrue.
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Cedric didn’t rush to fill it, didn’t push, didn’t try to steer you anywhere you weren’t ready to go. He just sat there, patient in a way that made it easier to exist in the quiet rather than feel like you had to escape it.
And somehow, that made it harder to hold everything in.
“I just—” you started, then stopped, your grip tightening slightly around the mug as your gaze fixed somewhere just past it. “I feel like such a bad older sister.”
The words came out quieter than you expected, but once they were there, they didn’t stop.
“I had no idea,” You continued, your voice wavering just enough to give you away, “I didn’t know she was struggling like that, I didn’t know she wasn’t talking to anyone, I didn’t—”
You swallowed, blinking quickly as the pressure behind your eyes built again, “She had to turn to some stupid, sentient journal with the conscience of the bloody dark lord to talk about things. About feelings. About boys.”
"Your her sister. Not a mind reader. Ginny knows how much you love her. No one expects you to know what's going on with your siblings all the time."
You didn’t respond right away.
Your gaze dropped again, your thoughts shifting, not gone—not fixed—but nudged, just slightly, out of the spiral they’d been stuck in.
After a moment, your shoulders sank just a fraction, some of the tension easing in a way you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
“I still should’ve been better.” You murmured.
“She’s okay now,” He added after a moment, "That's all that matters."
The hospital wing smelled faintly of disinfectant and something sweet, probably from Madam Pomfrey’s constant efforts to make it more welcoming. The low hum of worry and whispered conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clatter of a tray or the soft footfalls of nurses.
Harry lay in bed, pale and bruised, one arm still in a sling and a bandage running along the back of his head. His eyes were closed when you entered with Ron and Hermione, though you could see the tightness around his jaw even from a distance, the way his body refused to fully relax.
Cedric was already there, standing near the foot of the bed, hands loosely clasped in front of him. His expression was a mixture of concern and that quiet, composed kindness that seemed to follow him everywhere. The rest of the Quidditch team lingered nearby, some leaning against walls, others sitting on chairs, their chatter subdued in the presence of the hospital wing’s calm authority.
You made your way forward, letting your eyes meet Cedric’s briefly. There was an unspoken acknowledgment there, a quiet thread of familiarity that had been building for years—the kind that didn’t need words. He smiled softly, and you returned it with one of your own, both of you sharing a moment of warmth amidst the tension.
“I—uh—how are you feeling?” Cedric asked, stepping slightly closer to Harry’s bedside. His voice was gentle, careful, like he was trying to tread without adding any more worry.
Harry groaned softly, opening one eye, but his voice came out a little hoarse, “I fell off my broom. I think that says it all.”
Cedric’s expression tightened just a little, a flicker of guilt crossing his features, though he quickly masked it with his usual calm demeanor. He glanced at Oliver, who was hovering nearby, arms crossed, and then back at Harry.
"The dementors clearly interfered with the game, Hufflepuff has agreed to a rematch."
“No,” Oliver said flatly, “Hufflepuff won fair and square, we refuse.”
Cedric’s shoulders slumped fractionally, but he kept his gaze on Harry. When his eyes flicked toward you, though, there was a quiet softness there, a flicker of amusement and admiration all at once. You smiled at him, a small, fond curve of your lips. He looked so earnest, so sweet, offering a rematch even though he’d been the one to win.
“Don’t worry about it.” You murmured under your breath, letting the warmth in your smile reach him.
Then, inevitably, the calm shattered.
Fred and George, never ones to miss an opportunity, had clearly been lingering nearby, and their grins were impossible to miss even from across the room. “Oi, Harry,” George called softly, leaning against the wall, “you saw the Grim in Divination, didn’t you? That’s never good…”
“Yeah!” George added, elbowing him lightly, “Better start making friends in the afterlife! Any last words, mate?”
Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. Ron’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t speak. Harry’s eyes were already narrowing, more in irritation than fear, though there was a small twitch in his shoulder that betrayed his nerves.
You didn’t even pause. “Forge!” You snapped, your voice cutting through the murmurs like a whip. Both twins froze mid-smirk, turning toward you, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Fred and George exchanged a glance, then slowly sank back, their amusement dampened under your gaze. They muttered under their breath but said nothing more, clearly smart enough to know the game was up—for now.
Cedric blinked at you, clearly caught off guard, and then tilted his head slightly, one brow raised in curiosity.
“Forge?” He asked quietly, amusement lacing his tone.
“With the amount of trouble these two get into,” You sighed, “it’s easier just to call them by one name.”
The courtyard was quieter than usual.
Not empty—Hogwarts was never truly empty—but quieter in the way it always was toward the end of the year. Most students were either shut away in their common rooms or the library, scrambling to finish the assignments they had put off for far too long, or sprawled outside, taking advantage of the rare stretch of warm sunlight.
Students lingered in smaller groups, scattered across benches and steps, their voices softer, their conversations unhurried. The air had finally warmed, sunlight spilling over the stone and settling into something almost comfortable.
You sat on the low wall near the fountain, one leg tucked slightly beneath you, your bag resting at your side as you absently traced your finger along the edge of your sleeve.
Cedric stood nearby at first, lingering just long enough to make it seem unintentional before—after a moment’s hesitation—he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed.
“Done with everything?” He asked, glancing over at you.
“Mostly,” You said, exhaling softly, “I think I’ve got one more essay left for Transfiguration, but I’m pretending it doesn’t exist for now.”
He huffed a quiet laugh at that, his head dipping slightly, “That’s probably for the best.”
A small silence followed and you tilted your head slightly, glancing at him, “What about you?”
“Finished.” He said, though there was a faint hesitation behind it, like his attention wasn’t fully on the answer. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, once, twice—restless in a way you didn’t usually see from him.
“…Everything alright?” You asked, softer now, your gaze lingering on him just a second longer.
Cedric let out a breath, something shifting in his expression—something more uncertain than you were used to. He glanced at you, then away again, like he was trying to find the right words.
“Yeah, I just—” He started, then stopped, his hand lifting briefly to the back of his neck.
“I was wondering if you—” He tried again, his voice quieter now, more deliberate, “if you might want to—”
“Miss Weasley.”
The voice cut cleanly through the moment.
You both turned immediately.
Professor McGonagall stood a few steps away, her posture as straight as ever, her expression composed—but there was something in her eyes, something that made your stomach drop before she even spoke again.
You were already on your feet before you realized it.
“Yes, Professor?”
“One of your brothers has been taken to the hospital wing.”
The words landed all at once.
Your breath caught. “What—?” You took a step forward instinctively, your mind already racing ahead of you, “Which one?”
“Ronald.”
You stared at her for half a second.
Then—despite everything, despite the concern already tightening in your chest—your shoulders dropped just slightly, disbelief slipping in around the edges.
“…Again?” You said, the word coming out before you could stop it.
McGonagall’s lips pressed together, though whether she was suppressing a sigh or a comment, you couldn’t quite tell.
You ran a hand over your face briefly, already turning on your heel.
“Why is it always those three?” You muttered under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, exasperation bleeding into the worry, “Honestly, I leave them alone for five minutes...”
Cedric immediately fell into step beside you, his usual composure giving way to concern, though his hands stayed in his pockets, tight against himself as if holding on to some semblance of control.
“You—do you need me to come with you?” He asked quietly, looking at you with that soft, careful gaze he always reserved for moments like this.
You shook your head. “No… no, I’ve got this.” But your pace quickened, Cedric matching you effortlessly.
As you hurried down the familiar corridors, the casual moment that had been building—the one where Cedric was clearly about to ask you to Hogsmeade—slipped just out of reach. Instead, the urgency of the hospital wing, the thought of Ron writhing in pain, took over.
“You were going to ask me something...” You said quietly, almost to yourself, stealing a glance at Cedric. His lips twitched, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah…” He murmured, the words trailing off as his gaze flicked toward you, “We’ll have to… save that for another day.”
The doors to the Hospital Wing swung open with more force than strictly necessary, your steps quick and purposeful as your eyes immediately scanned the room.
It didn’t take long to find him.
Ron was propped up in one of the beds, his leg elevated and wrapped, hair a mess, freckles standing out starkly against skin that was just a little too pale—but he was awake. Talking. Complaining, probably.
Alive.
Your shoulders dropped slightly, relief hitting first, sharp and immediate.
And then—
“Ronald Bilius Weasley!”
Ron startled so hard he nearly knocked his own pillow over. His eyes went wide the second he saw you, pure instinct kicking in before anything else.
“It wasn’t my fault!” He blurted immediately, sitting up straighter despite the clear pain it caused, “Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew and he framed Sirius Black!”
You stopped mid-step.
“…what?”
The path had long since stopped resembling anything civilized.
What had started as something that could vaguely pass as a trail had quickly dissolved into uneven ground, overgrown roots, and branches that seemed determined to catch on your sleeves at every opportunity.
You stepped over yet another fallen log with a quiet huff, brushing leaves from your skirt as you glanced ahead.
“Dad,” Ron called from somewhere behind you, already sounding tired, “where exactly are we going?”
“Somewhere in this direction.” Your father replied cheerfully, not slowing in the slightest.
“That’s not very reassuring.” Hermione muttered.
Fred snorted, “He hasn’t the faintest clue, has he?”
“I heard that,” Your father said mildly, “And I’d like to remind you that I am leading us to the Quidditch World Cup.”
“Eventually.” George added.
You huffed a quiet laugh, adjusting the strap of your bag as you stepped over a particularly stubborn root, your shoulder brushing lightly against Ginny’s.
“Do you actually know where the portkey is?” You asked, glancing at your father.
“Haven’t the foggiest!” He admitted, cheerfully.
A chorus of groans followed immediately.
Fred and George exchanged a look, Ron muttered something under his breath about typical, and Ginny let out a dramatic sigh as she trudged forward.
Harry and Hermione, walking just behind you, shared a glance that was somewhere between amusement and mild concern.
The group pressed on, the forest thick around you, the sound of footsteps and rustling leaves filling the space between conversations. Just as you were beginning to think your earlier comment might actually be correct—
“Ah! There we are!”
Your father’s voice lit up with sudden triumph, and you looked up just in time to see him veering slightly off the path toward a large tree.
A man stood beneath it, broad and sturdy, holding onto several bags that looked far too heavy to be carried comfortably.
“Amos!” Your father greeted warmly, striding forward, “Good to see you!”
“Arthur!” The man—Amos—returned just as enthusiastically, shifting the bags in his grip as the two men shook hands.
The rest of you filtered in behind, and introductions began almost immediately.
“This is my family!”
Names were exchanged, greetings offered, and you stepped forward when it was your turn, offering a polite smile.
You offered a polite smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“And you, my dear.” He said warmly.
Your gaze flicked briefly to the bags near his feet, and before you could think twice about it, you stepped forward slightly.
“Can I help you with any of those?” You asked.
Amos blinked at you, clearly charmed. “Aren’t you sweet, love? No, no—it’s quite alright.” He waved a hand dismissively before adding, with a touch of amused exasperation, “My son should be carrying them anyway.”
There was a beat.
Then—
A sudden rustle overhead.
Before you could even react, something dropped from the tree above with a solid thud, landing just a few feet away.
You startled sharply, stepping back on instinct, your heart jumping into your throat—
Only to be met with a very familiar face.
Cedric Diggory straightened from where he’d landed, brushing a bit of dirt from his sleeves like this was a completely normal entrance.
“Sorry.” He said, not sounding sorry at all.
Your father lit up immediately, “And this strapping young lad must be Cedric!”
Cedric smiled, polite and composed as ever, “Yes, sir.”
But then his eyes flicked to you. There was a glint of amusement there, a teasing curve to his mouth as he clearly clocked the way you’d jumped.
You told yourself the increase heartrate was because of the fright.
The world snapped back into place all at once.
Your feet hit solid ground, though not gracefully, and for a moment everything spun—wind in your ears, the taste of dust in your mouth, your grip still locked tight around the portkey like letting go might send you flying again.
And then—
Stillness.
Grass beneath your boots. Voices. The distant roar of something massive in the distance.
You let go.
Around you, everyone else was doing the same—stumbling, coughing, untangling themselves from one another in various states of disarray.
“Ugh—” Ron groaned somewhere to your left.
“I hate portkeys.” Hermione muttered, pushing her hair out of her face.
Harry, however, was glaring at you.
“You didn’t have to push my face into the manky old boot.” He whined, wiping at his cheek.
You turned your head, already narrowing your eyes as he pushed himself up from the ground, brushing at his glasses in mild offense.
“I told you to grab the boot,” You shot back without missing a beat, “Twice.”
“I was going to grab it!”
“You weren’t.” You said flatly.
“I was—!”
“Would you rather we’d just left you there?”
He opened his mouth, then paused, “…okay, but you still didn’t have to shove me.”
Behind you, Cedric chuckled, falling into step with you quite easily as your joint families began the trek towards the tents.
“Never a day off, huh?” He said lightly, amusement warm in his voice.
You blinked at him for a second, slightly puzzled by the comment, like you hadn’t quite realized what you’d just done.
“What?” You asked.
He gestured vaguely between you and Harry, his smile widening just a fraction. “You,” He said simply, “And your tornado of siblings.”
You huffed a quiet breath, glancing away for a second as your father’s voice called out ahead, already moving everyone along toward the tents, "They're a circus."
Cedric laughed softly under his breath, falling into step beside you as the group began moving forward, the field stretching out ahead, dotted with tents that grew more and more elaborate the further you walked.
For a moment, things settled—just walking, the distant buzz of the World Cup crowd building in the background, the aftermath of the portkey fading into something almost normal.
Cedric glanced at you again. “So—” He started, clearly picking up a conversation he’d been trying to have earlier, “about—”
“—Charlie! Bill!”
You didn’t even realize you’d cut him off until it was too late.
The second you spotted them—two familiar figures standing just outside one of the tents—you were already moving.
Charlie barely had time to react before you collided into him, your arms wrapping tightly around him as he laughed, catching you easily and lifting you slightly off the ground.
“There she is!” He said, his voice full of warmth.
“Hi!” You breathed, grinning as you pulled back just enough to look at him properly before immediately leaning into Bill next, who didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.
“Missed us that much?” Bill teased.
“Not at all.” You shot back, though your smile gave you away.
“Well, well, well,” Fred began, spinning around to step in front of you, hands on his hips like the self-appointed announcer of the world, “look at this! Some would think you don’t like the rest of your siblings at all!”
“I don’t.” You said, perfectly deadpan.
Behind you, the rest of your family caught up quickly, voices overlapping, greetings loud and chaotic as always.
Cedric slowed a few steps back, watching the scene unfold with a small smile on his face.
The tents were set, your parents occupied somewhere deeper in the campsite, and your siblings had already scattered—some exploring, some arguing, some undoubtedly causing problems.
You were just stepping out from your family’s tent when you spotted him again.
Cedric.
He was making his way over, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, posture relaxed but purposeful—like he knew exactly where he was going.
Your stomach did that annoying little flip it had started doing around him lately.
You ignored it.
“Well then,” Bill said, straightening slightly as Cedric came to a stop beside you. His tone was light, but there was something amused behind it, “Who’s this?”
You opened your mouth to answer—
But of course, he wasn’t finished.
“We’ve got a lot of siblings,” Bill continued thoughtfully, glancing Cedric up and down as if assessing him, “but I think I’d remember if Mum had another one.”
You rolled your eyes immediately, “Oh, shut up.”
Charlie snorted beside him, arms loosely crossed, watching the interaction with easy curiosity.
You gestured between them. “Cedric, this is Bill,” You nodded toward your older brother, “And that’s Charlie.”
Cedric straightened slightly, recognition settling in almost instantly.
“You need no introduction,” He said, a small, genuine smile forming, “You’re a legend. Best Seeker Gryffindor’s had in years.”
Charlie blinked once—
Then broke into a grin.
“Oh, I like you,” He said immediately, stepping forward and clapping Cedric firmly on the shoulder, jostling him slightly, “Diggory, right?”
Cedric laughed under his breath, steadying himself, “Yeah.”
“Knew I did,” Charlie nodded, as if this confirmed everything, “Bloke with a good head on his shoulders.”
You sighed, already knowing where this was going, “Flattery will get you everywhere with him.”
Cedric’s laugh softened as he glanced at you briefly, something warm flickering there before he looked back at Charlie, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Only the good things, I hope.” Charlie grinned.
“Debatable.” You cut in dryly.
Bill let out a low chuckle at that, clearly enjoying himself as the four of you fell into easy conversation. It wasn’t anything particularly serious—just small talk, Quidditch, the World Cup. There was laughter and teasing, but nothing too serious—just the kind of light, easy back-and-forth that made Cedric’s presence feel completely natural, like he’d always belonged in these small moments with your family.
And every now and then, you caught him glancing at you.
Then—
“(Y/N)!”
Ginny’s voice rang out across the campsite.
You closed your eyes briefly.
"Can you braid my hair?! I want Dutch braids!"
You let out a long, suffering sigh, already pushing yourself to your feet, “Duty calls.”
Charlie laughed immediately, loud and unhelpful.
“Laugh it up,” You said over your shoulder, glancing back at him, “It’ll be you next.”
He scoffed, completely unbothered, “Please. I already did my time with you.”
Cedric, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement, tilted his head slightly, “Did you?”
That was all it took.
“Oh, yes,” Charlie said eagerly, clearly delighted to have the chance to embarrass you in front of someone else for once, “You have no idea—she used to cling to me all the time when she was little. Every time I tried to go out with the lads, there she’d be, bawling her eyes out on the doorstep because she didn’t want me to go.”
You winced, covering your face for a moment, but Charlie wasn’t done.
“And there was this rule,” He continued, voice full of mock seriousness, “if I wanted to play Quidditch, I had to put her down for a nap first. Otherwise she would cry the entire game, thinking I’d get hurt on my broom. Every. Single. Time.”
Cedric laughed, genuinely this time, leaning slightly forward like he was savoring every embarrassing detail, “That’s actually kind of adorable.”
You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Well excuse me,” You said sharply, “for loving my older brother! I shall never do such an unsavory thing again.”
With that, you stormed off toward Ginny, leaving Charlie and Bill doubled over in laughter behind you.
The Great Hall was far more somber than usual. The tables had been cleared, and the usual magical sky that lit up the room with sparkling stars was gone, leaving the Goblet of Fire in the center of the hall as the sole source of light, bathing everything in a delicate, almost eerie blue glow.
You inwardly wished you had gotten to the hall before your brothers had downed the aging potion—if you had, you would have smacked them so hard they might think twice before attempting something so dimwitted.
Unfortunately, it seemed you had arrived just a few minutes too late. Fred and George had ignored Hermione’s warnings entirely and were now rolling on the floor, bickering like children—or rather, old men, considering they looked every bit their great-grandfathers, complete with wrinkles, grey hair, and a beard to match.
You pinched the bridge of your nose and let out a long sigh, stepping forward, “Forge! Seriously?!”
They barely noticed, bickering and rolling against each other as if you weren’t even there. You crouched quickly, yanking their ears in opposite directions to separate them.
“Ow! Hey!” Fred yelped, squirming.
“Oi! That’s cheating!” George shouted, flailing.
“I don’t care!” You snapped, straightening and glaring at them both, “Stop it. Right now.”
They froze, glancing up at you with sheepish grins, like they might actually apologize. But, of course, it didn’t last.
“You could sign up,” Fred said casually, tilting his head with a mischievous glint in his eye, “since you’re seventeen. You could—”
“Absolutely not.” You interrupted firmly. “I am not going to do something as moronic as sign up for a death wish.”
“Harsh.” Came the teasing voice beside you.
You turned, and there he was: Cedric Diggory, hands tucked casually into his pockets, looking absolutely soaked to the bone like he had just gotten caught in the rain.
“You wound me, Weasley.” He said, voice light but carrying that teasing edge you’d learned to expect from him.
You frowned, concern quickly replacing your irritation, “You’d better hope your name doesn’t get pulled, Cedric. The tasks are dangerous. This whole thing is imbecilic.”
“If I’m not mistaken,” He said softly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip, “I’d say you were worried about me.”
“Worried the Yule Ball is going to get canceled on account of a funeral, more like it.” You muttered, rolling your eyes.
“Such little faith,” He said, voice lowering in a way that made your pulse skip, “But—uh, speaking of the Yule Ball—I was wondering… maybe you’d like to—”
Before he could finish, the doors of the Great Hall burst open with a dramatic crash, drawing every eye in the room. The tallest, broadest figure you’d ever seen strode in: Viktor Krum.
All conversation ceased instantly. Every student froze, eyes widening, as the Bulgarian Quidditch star made his way confidently to the center of the hall, robes sweeping the floor with every step.
He passed the line, reached the Goblet of Fire, and placed his name inside, sparing only a brief glance at Hermione as he did. You tilted your head, watching the interaction between them with quiet curiosity.
He withdrew his hand, and the hall erupted into cheers, the excitement and tension washing over the room. Just like that, Cedric’s question—and the small, promising moment between you—was swept away.
The stands were packed.
The noise was overwhelming—cheering, shouting, the low hum of anticipation vibrating through the air—but it all felt distant to you, muffled behind the rapid thud of your own heartbeat.
Because down below—
Cedric was stepping into the arena.
You didn’t realize your hands had clenched until your nails bit into your palms, your breath catching as the gates opened and the dragon came into view.
It was massive.
Far bigger than you’d imagined, scales glinting in the light, smoke curling from its nostrils as it shifted, wings twitching with barely-contained power. You brought your hands up almost immediately, fingers splaying just enough so you could barely see through them.
“I’m not watching,” You said, even as your eyes stayed fixed between the gaps, “I’m not watching—”
The dragon roared.
You flinched.
“—I’m watching.”
Around you, people were shouting, gasping, reacting to every movement—but you were locked in on him. Every dodge, every spell, every second he got just a little too close—
Your stomach dropped.
“Cedric—” You whispered under your breath, like he could somehow hear you.
And then—
It was over.
The egg was in his hands.
The stands erupted.
You didn’t even realize you were moving until you were already pushing through the crowd, down the steps, heart still racing as the adrenaline hadn’t quite faded yet. By the time you reached him, he was being ushered toward the edge of the arena, healers already moving in.
You waited until he was back in the privacy of his tent to approach, lest that cow Skeeter see you and decide to write some longwinded lie about how Cedric was madly in love with you.
Cedric blinked, slightly breathless, a little flushed from the heat and effort—but when he saw you, something in his expression softened instantly.
“Well, hello to you too.” He said, voice light despite the situation.
“You’re burned,” You said panicked, ignoring him completely as your fingers brushed carefully along his jaw, already assessing the damage, the skin under your touch began to get remarkably redder and you felt your heart clench, "I told you this was a horrible idea, Cedric."
He huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t stop you as you continued to check him over. The burn wasn’t terrible—but it was enough. Enough to make your chest tighten just looking at it.
“You could’ve been seriously hurt.” You muttered, quieter now, more to yourself than him.
Cedric’s gaze flickered over your face, something softer settling there.
“But I wasn’t.” He said gently.
You didn’t respond right away, finishing what you were doing before stepping back slightly, your shoulders relaxing just a fraction now that he was—relatively—fine.
“…You did well." You said finally, meeting his eyes.
A small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” You nodded, “I mean, it was still a completely idiotic thing to sign up for—but you did well.”
He laughed softly, “I’ll take that as high praise, coming from you.”
There was a beat.
The noise of the crowd carried on around you, distant again, like the two of you had been momentarily carved out of it.
Cedric shifted slightly, like he was working up to something again.
"So—about the ball—" He started, a little more confident this time, a little more certain now that he had your full attention.
But before he actually got the words out—
A roar of cheers erupted behind you.
Louder than before.
You turned instinctively, just in time to see Harry enter the arena.
“Oh—”
Your attention snapped away immediately, your head turning fully now, your focus shifting as the crowd surged with excitement again.
“Harry!” You called, already stepping forward slightly, completely pulled into the moment.
Cedric blinked.
Then looked between you and the arena.
Then back at you.
And laughed.
“Well,” He said, shaking his head slightly, a grin pulling at his lips, “way to make a guy feel jealous.”
You glanced back at him, only half-processing what he’d said, still caught up in the adrenaline of it all, “What?”
But he just smiled, stepping back slightly, giving you space as your attention stayed fixed on Harry now.
“Nothing,” He said easily, “Go on.”
The noise from the arena hadn’t quite faded yet.
Students were still talking over each other, replaying every moment of the task like they’d all personally been down there facing dragons instead of watching safely from the stands. The air felt charged, buzzing with adrenaline that hadn’t settled, and even as you stepped away from it all, your heart still hadn’t quite slowed.
You barely made it past the outer edge of the enclosure before a familiar voice cut through the chaos—
“Well, that was something, wasn’t it?”
You froze.
Your head snapped up so fast it almost hurt.
No—
There was no way—
But there he was.
Leaning casually against one of the wooden barriers, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Charlie?”
The word left you half in disbelief, half in something brighter—something immediate.
His grin widened.
And that was all it took.
You didn’t think—you just moved.
“Charlie!”
You practically launched yourself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his middle as he laughed, already bracing for the impact, catching you easily like he always did.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” You said, pulling back just enough to look at him properly, hands still gripping his sleeves like he might disappear if you let go, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
"I couldn't tell you because I'm here for work, love. Someone’s got to handle the dragons.”
You blinked.
“…You brought them?”
Charlie grinned, clearly proud of that, “Course I did.”
"Couldn't you have brought slightly friendlier ones?"
He laughed, "These are the friendlier ones."
The corridors between classes were always busy, but there was a different kind of chaos that came with a castle full of students anticipating something like the Yule Ball.
Voices echoed off the stone walls, laughter bouncing between groups, whispers slipping through in quick bursts—who was going with who, who had already been asked, who was still waiting. Last you heard, Harry was going with Cho, Fred had somehow managed to land Angelina without even properly asking her, and Ron had spectacularly failed every attempt he’d made, growing more miserable by the hour.
You were halfway to your next class, books tucked under your arm, your mind only half on where you were going, when you felt it—that familiar presence falling into step beside you.
You didn’t need to look.
“You really shouldn’t be all alone in these halls,” Cedric’s voice came, light and easy, threaded with amusement, “Who knows what kind of danger could be lurking?”
You glanced over anyway, already fighting the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re right,” You said, nodding thoughtfully, “Who knows when Professor Moody will jump out and turn me into a ferret. I was hoping someone would come rescue me.”
“Lucky day, then.” He said, matching your pace effortlessly, his shoulder brushing yours just slightly as the two of you navigated the crowd.
For a moment, it was easy—just walking, just talking, the noise of the corridor fading into something distant.
Cedric cleared his throat quietly.
“So—about the Yule Ball.” He started, and there was something different this time. Something less certain, less practiced.
You raised a brow, glancing at him, “What about it?”
“Well, I was thinking—” He began, and for once, Cedric Diggory actually sounded unsure of himself. His hand lifted slightly, like he meant to gesture, then dropped again, “I was wondering if maybe you’d—”
“(Y/N)!”
Ginny’s voice cut through everything like a blade.
You barely had time to react before she came rushing toward you, slightly out of breath, clutching a bundle of fabric in her arms like it had personally offended her.
“Look at this,” She said urgently, shoving the material up between you and Cedric without warning, “Look at it!”
You blinked, instinctively taking a step back as she held up what could only be described as… a dress.
A very old dress.
“Ginny—”
“It’s ghastly!” She insisted, shaking it for emphasis, lace and sleeves flopping dramatically, “How am I supposed to wear something that looks like it came from the 1700s and not die of embarrassment?”
Cedric, who had been mid-sentence only seconds ago, paused—but to his credit, he recovered quickly.
He leaned in slightly, examining the dress with surprising seriousness, like this was now his responsibility. “It’s… not too bad.” He offered carefully.
Ginny stared at him like he’d just committed a personal betrayal.
“They’re ghastly!” She repeated, louder this time, as if volume alone would prove her point.
You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, reaching out to steady the fabric before she accidentally smacked someone with it. “Alright, alright,” You said, amused, “What exactly do you want me to do about it?”
Ginny lowered the dress slightly, her expression changing from panic to pleading, “Ron told me you’re altering his dress robes,” She said quickly, “Can you do mine too?”
You hesitated, glancing down at the dress, already mentally deconstructing it—too much fabric, outdated cut, sleeves that needed saving or removing entirely. “I mean… I’m not a professional,” You admitted, “But I’ve gotten pretty good over the years.”
Ginny perked up instantly, “Really?”
You nodded, shifting your books slightly under your arm. “Mum used to buy me these ridiculously long skirts,” You said, rolling your eyes faintly, “The kind that made me look like a complete prude. So I started hemming them myself—just a bit shorter, just enough to make them… wearable.”
As you spoke, you gestured to your own skirt, showing the subtle difference.
Cedric noticed.
Of course he did.
“They are quite lovely.” He said, almost absentmindedly—but his gaze lingered on your legs just a fraction too long, something warmer slipping into his tone.
You blinked.
And then immediately felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your composure slipping just slightly as you let out a small, flustered laugh. “Right—well—I can try.” You said, suddenly very aware of him standing so close, “I’m still altering my own dress to fit properly though.”
Ginny, blissfully oblivious to all of it, grabbed your sleeve and looked up at you with wide, hopeful eyes, “But you’ll do it?”
You exhaled, already giving in. “Come on, then,” You said, turning, “I’ll need your measurements.”
Ginny beamed, instantly tugging you along with her.
Cedric opened his mouth—again.
“Wait—”
But you were already moving, Ginny pulling you down the corridor, dress in hand, talking a mile a minute about sleeves, lace, colors, and everything she hated about it.
And just like that, you were gone again—dragged up the stairs toward your dorm, already mentally mapping out every alteration you’d need to make to salvage the disaster in her hands.
Behind you, Cedric slowed to a stop in the middle of the corridor.
His hand, which had lifted slightly to stop you, fell back to his side.
For a second, he just stood there, watching the space where you’d disappeared, the noise of the corridor rushing back in around him.
Then he let out a quiet breath, shaking his head, a soft laugh slipping out despite himself.
“Unbelievable.” He muttered under his breath, though there was no real frustration in it—just something fond.
The Gryffindor common room had never looked like this before.
It wasn’t its usual warm, slightly chaotic mess of scattered books and half-finished homework—tonight, it was alive in a completely different way. Gold and candlelight flickered against polished shoes and pressed robes, laughter spilling from every corner as people adjusted ties, smoothed hair, and whispered last-minute nerves about the night ahead.
And at the center of it all—
You.
Because somehow, despite not even being ready yourself until ten minutes ago, you had managed to get everyone else sorted first.
Ginny had been first. She’d started knocking on your door in tears, having made a complete mess of the little makeup she’d attempted and having no idea what to do with her hair. You sat her down, ignoring the dramatics, and got to work.
Now, she was practically glowing—her dress, which you had managed to salvage into something far more wearable than its original state, actually suited her. You styled her hair neatly and applied a modest amount of makeup, firmly refusing when she tried to convince you to add more.
Then came Hermione. She’d only meant to ask your opinion on her dress and hair, but the moment you noticed how uncomfortable she was with all the bobby pins, you sat her down without a second thought.
Swapping them out for sticking charms—a solution she hadn’t even considered—you adjusted everything with careful precision, touching up her makeup just enough to settle it perfectly into place.
“You look beautiful.” You told her simply.
And you meant it.
Then came Ron.
Which, quite frankly, had been your last nerve.
You forcibly sat him down, ignoring his loud complaints—really, anyone would think you were attempting to torture him rather than make him look even remotely presentable. You fixed his hair, adjusted his robes as much as they could be saved, and sent him off with a firm warning to behave like a human being for once in his life.
Last was Harry—quiet, slightly overwhelmed, but cooperative enough as you smoothed his hair into something vaguely acceptable.
And only then—finally—did you get yourself ready.
By the time you were done, the common room was already beginning to empty, students drifting toward the Great Hall in clusters of excitement and nerves.
You barely spared yourself more than a glance before grabbing your things and heading for the door.
You were late.
Of course you were. At this rate, you’d be lucky to arrive in time to see the champions’ dance.
You pushed through the last cluster of students, adjusting your sleeve as you moved quickly toward the exit when you saw him.
Cedric.
He stood just off to the side, like he’d been waiting—hands flexing slightly at his sides, posture just a little too stiff to be casual. Like he’d been working himself up to something.
Your steps faltered.
Just slightly.
Your stomach flipped.
Again.
He looked up the second he noticed you—and for a moment, just a moment, he forgot whatever he’d been about to say.
Because he was staring.
And for once, Cedric Diggory—confident, composed, effortlessly charming—looked completely, utterly thrown.
You blinked, suddenly very aware of yourself under that look.
“You look beautiful, (Y/N).”
Heat rushed to your face almost instantly. You lowered your gaze, half to hide it, reaching out instinctively to smooth the lapels of his dress robes, the fine material warm beneath your fingers.
“You look quite beautiful yourself.” You murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
“I—uh—”
But before he could get another word out—
Ron passed behind you, grumbling loudly, “I can’t believe Hermione is going with the enemy.”
Your expression dropped immediately.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Cedric blinked, “What—?”
“I need to fix that.” You muttered, already turning, fully prepared to march over and set your brother straight.
Because no one—no one—was going to talk about Hermione like that. Not tonight. Not when she finally looked at herself and saw what everyone else already did. And certainly not your little brother.
You barely made it two steps—
Before—
“Oh, Helga—(Y/N) Weasley!”
The room went quiet.
Completely quiet.
You froze mid-step.
Slowly—very slowly—you turned back.
Cedric was standing where you’d left him.
Except now he looked… different.
Still nervous, still unsure—but there was something steadier beneath it now. Like he’d finally decided he wasn’t letting the moment slip away again.
Every eye in the room was on him.
On you.
And he didn’t look away.
“Will you,” He said, voice carrying across the room—firm, but softened at the edges by something unmistakably earnest, “be my date to the Yule Ball?”
For a second—
You didn’t move.
Then your brain caught up.
Heat rushed to your face so quickly it was almost embarrassing, a smile breaking through before you could stop it—bright, relieved, a little breathless.
“Of course.” You said, like it had always been obvious.
Your head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction in playful disbelief.
“I was wondering when you were going to ask me.” You added, a soft laugh slipping through.
“What took you so long?”
You really hated the hospital wing.
In the last four years, you had been there more times than you could count, and not once had it actually been for you. That was the unfortunate reality of having younger siblings who seemed determined to land themselves in trouble in increasingly creative ways, and you had grown used to it—the scolding, the hovering, the quiet irritation that came with it all.
But this time felt different.
The worry sitting in your chest wasn’t familiar. It didn’t feel like the usual exasperated concern you carried for your brothers—it was heavier, sharper, lingering in a way that made it hard to breathe properly. It crawled up your throat and stayed there, refusing to settle, and no matter how many times you tried to reason with yourself, it didn’t go away.
You didn’t really understand it.
Or maybe you did.
There was a difference between platonic worry and something else. Something deeper. Something that made your hands feel restless and your chest feel too tight all at once.
And the stakes had never been this high before.
When Harry had reappeared from the maze, Cedric’s body unmoving beside him as he spoke of Lord Voldemort, something inside you had dropped so suddenly it left you standing there, unable to think, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare.
Like the ground had given out beneath your feet.
You and Cedric hadn’t even been together that long.
After the Yule Ball—after he had finally managed to ask you—you had slipped into something easy, something familiar, something that hadn’t quite had the time to settle into anything fully real yet. Which was exactly why you hadn’t run to him on the grounds like you’d wanted to.
You had stayed back, forcing yourself to let the professors handle it, to let his father reach him first, telling yourself that it wasn’t your place—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t enough to justify pushing through that kind of moment.
But then the hours had turned into days, and the waiting had become unbearable. Days of not knowing, days of hearing fragments and whispers but nothing certain, days of that quiet, suffocating fear settling deeper into your chest with nowhere to go.
So the moment you heard he was awake—that he had asked for you—you didn’t hesitate.
You ran.
The heavy doors of the hospital wing swung open under your hands, and you stepped inside quickly, your eyes scanning the room before immediately landing on him.
It was easy enough, considering he was the only one in here that began grinning like a fool at the sight of you.
Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made your knees give out.
You forced yourself forward, one step at a time, until you reached his bed, stopping just close enough to touch but not quite letting yourself yet.
“Hi.”
The word came out softer than you intended.
Cedric’s smile shifted, something warmer settling into it, “Well, hello to you too.”
Your eyes moved over him instinctively, taking in the bandaged burns along his arm, the healing cut near his brow, the faint exhaustion he wasn’t quite hiding as well as he thought he was.
“Are you alright?”
“Right as rain now that I’ve seen you.”
A quiet breath of laughter slipped from you, your head shaking faintly, “Only you would say that after facing bloody Voldemort.”
He didn’t argue.
Instead, he reached for you.
His hand found yours easily, fingers wrapping around it before gently tugging you closer, closing the distance you had been holding onto without even realizing it. You let yourself be pulled in, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed beside him, your heart already beginning to beat a little too fast.
Cedric was looking at you—properly looking—but every time you tried to meet his gaze, yours betrayed you, flickering instead to the marks on his skin, the evidence of just how wrong everything could have gone.
Your frown deepened.
“I’m alright." He said gently.
You scoffed, though there was no real bite to it, “You’re in the hospital wing.”
“Which is better than the alternative.”
Your breath caught slightly at that, the words settling heavier than he seemed to intend.
“Cedric—”
“I’m okay.” He repeated, more firmly this time, his gaze steady enough to pull yours back to his.
And then it softened.
His eyes dropped briefly to your hand, still held between both of his, his thumb brushing slowly along your knuckles as though grounding himself in the simple contact. The movement was absentminded, almost, but there was something careful in it too—something that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
Before you could think too much about it, he lifted your hand slightly and pressed his lips gently against your knuckles.
Your breath hitched.
Your heart stumbled, uneven and sudden, and when his eyes met yours again, something in them had changed—quieter now, a little uncertain, like he wasn’t entirely sure how far he was allowed to go.
“Can I—” He started, his voice catching just slightly.
Your eyes flicked to his lips before you could stop yourself, the movement quick but impossible to hide.
You didn’t trust your voice.
So you nodded.
That was all he needed.
He leaned in slowly, carefully, like this moment might slip through his fingers if he moved too quickly. His hand tightened slightly around yours, the other hovering for a second before resting lightly against your arm, hesitant but certain enough to stay.
And then his lips brushed yours, capturing your upper lip between both of his.
Soft. Barely there.
It was so light it almost didn’t feel real at first, the kind of touch that made your head spin simply because it was happening at all. He lingered there, gentle and tentative, like he was waiting—like he was making sure you wanted this just as much as he did.
For a moment, you let it stay like that, suspended in something fragile and quiet.
Until it wasn’t enough.
You leaned in slightly, closing the space between you properly, and that small shift was all it took.
The kiss deepened—not rushed, not overwhelming, but certain. Your hand tightened in his, your other lifting instinctively to rest against the back of his neck, fingers brushing lightly against his hair as you held him there. He inhaled sharply, tilting his head as he deepened the kiss, devouring you—
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”
You and Cedric sprang apart like you’d been hit with a Stunning Spell.
Your heart leapt into your throat as you whipped around—
Charlie.
Standing in the doorway.
Arms crossed.
Oh Good Godric.
“Charlie—”
“No,” He cut in immediately, pointing a finger at you like you were five again and had just been caught stealing biscuits from the kitchen, “No—don’t you ‘Charlie’ me.”
You blinked at him, “What are you even doing here?”
“I came to check on you and golden boy,” He snapped, before gesturing wildly between you and Cedric, “And I find this?!”
Cedric, to his credit, had the decency to look at least slightly guilty. Only slightly.
You, however, frowned, “It’s just a kiss—”
“JUST a—?!” Charlie looked personally offended. Then, without missing a beat: “You’re grounded.”
You stared at him.
“I’m what?”
“Grounded for,” He repeated firmly. Then, after a brief pause, as if deciding to make it worse: “Until you graduate.”
Your jaw dropped.
“For-Until I graduate?!”
“Yes!”
“Why?!”
He looked at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “For kissing that git!”
You turned, incredulous, gesturing toward Cedric, “You’re the one who said he was a nice boy! That he had a good head on his shoulders!”
“I take it back!” Charlie shot back immediately, “He’s a bloody cradle-robber!”
Your eyes widened, “We’re the same age!”
Charlie was already moving, grabbing your arm and hauling you off the bed before you could argue further.
“Charlie—Charlie, let go—!”
“Nope. Absolutely not. You’re coming with me.”
“This is ridiculous—!”
Behind you, Cedric shifted slightly on the bed, looking far too amused for someone who had just been publicly accused of being a menace to society.
And then—because he clearly had no sense of self-preservation—
“Bye, love.”
"I'm not your love." Charlie replied haughtily, tightening his grip on your arm as he started dragging you toward the door again, “You’re never leaving the house again. Ever.”
“Charlie!”
And just like that, you were being dragged out of the hospital wing, your protests echoing down the corridor.
And Cedric was left sitting alone on the bed, an amused smile on his face, "We have such poor timing."
bonus:
The morning had been quiet.
Suspiciously quiet, really.
Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, casting soft gold across the bed, the room still wrapped in that slow, peaceful warmth that only came with days off and nowhere to be. No rushing, no responsibilities pressing in—just stillness.
And Cedric.
You were half-curled into him, head resting against his chest, his arm draped loosely around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm. It was the kind of quiet you didn’t get often anymore—the kind you had learned to appreciate in small, fleeting moments.
For once, there were no interruptions.
No chaos.
Cedric let out a quiet breath above you, something content settling into it as his hand stilled briefly against your arm.
“I’m so glad,” He murmured, voice still rough with sleep, “to have you all to myself.”
You smiled faintly, tilting your head just enough to glance up at him, "Truly, we haven't had a quiet moment like this since—”
“Mum!”
“Dad!”
Cedric froze.
You didn’t even try to hide your laugh.
There was a brief, heavy silence as the distant shouts echoed through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—probably several things—being knocked over.
Cedric exhaled slowly.
Then dropped his head back against the pillows with a long-suffering sigh.
“These bloody Weasleys,” He muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “And their innate ability to know exactly when I’m trying to have a moment alone with my wife.”
You laughed properly at that, shifting slightly so you could look at him more fully, your hand coming up to rest lightly against his chest.
“Well,” You said sweetly, “they’re half Diggory.”
“So their complete lack of sense and tact probably comes from you.”
Cedric blinked.
Then let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Excuse me?”
Before you could respond—
A loud crash echoed from somewhere down the hall.
Followed by—
“That wasn’t me!”
“Yes it was!”
Right outside the door this time.
You laughed, leaning up just enough to press a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back.
He sighed, finally getting up, "Alright! What have we said about messing about in the kitchen without mum or dad?!"
A beat of silence.
"That we're not supposed to."
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
summary: you and ben are together, which your friends predicted would happen except, tonight was not the night you would prove them right. who? ben florian x fem!reader a/n: someone stop me from putting ben in secret relationships all the damn timeee
y/n?? it’s jane!!
“what-” ben muttered under his breath, barely breaking away from your mouth as he glanced towards the door.
there you were, lying on your bed in the midst of a passionate make-out session when unexpected knocks echoed through the room, causing both of you to freeze. you broke away from each other, startled by the interruption.
“just shut up and hide under the bed, now!” you whisper-yelled to order him.
ben looked at you, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement.
“under the bed? seriously-” he was ready to protest but the authority in your eyes made him realize that this wasn’t debate.
he quickly nodded and made sure he was out of sight and under the bed while you scrambled to hide any sign of his presence here, like the sweater he took off during your heated encounter a moment ago.
as jane kept on knocking, you quickly composed yourself and turned towards the door. you plastered on a wide smile, hoping that she wouldn’t notice your semi-disheveled look.
her smile widened as you opened the door, a sheepish expression on her face. she was clearly unaware of the situation she had interrupted, you thought.
“hey, can i come in for a second?”
she let herself in while your focus remained on appearing normal. “uh, sure, what did you want to talk about?”
“you know, girl stuff.” you stiffened as she was about to take a seat on your bed.
immediately, you lunged for the bed and took her by the arm to go sit on the window seat with you. slight confusion colored her face then, and you silently prayed that she wouldn’t ask any questions. thankfully, she let it go.
“it’s about carlos.” she whispered, as if she was sharing a secret. whatever it was, she seemed really eager to tell you about it.
“okay..” your eyes glanced back to your bed’s foot, still worried about your boyfriend down there.
“so.. you know how things have been going well between us? like really well?” her voice got progressively higher as she got closer to what she wanted to say.
you tried to focus but the wait made it impossible to. a few minutes ago, ben was kissing your face off for god’s sake. the come down was quite hard and thankfully, jane hadn’t noticed anything yet. however, you didn’t have time to fix yourself properly.
using your finger, you tried to wipe your mouth off and jane stopped.
“are you okay? because we can talk about this another time if you want.”
she didn’t know how great that would be. but she looked so happy coming in here, you might as well hear her out now.
you hummed, “i’m fine! you were telling me about you and carlos.” you said with a soft playful tone.
“yes, so today he asked me something,” she paused, building up the suspense, “he asked me, to be his girlfriend.” she blushed, her eyes sparkling with joy.
“oh, my god, jane!!” you extended your arms and hugged her, congratulating her, when you were caught off guard by a loud bang coming from underneath your bed.
jane pulled away from the hug to look around before looking back at you, puzzled by the cause of the disturbance.
“what was that?”
you took a long minute to come up with something believable before you decided to rush her into a hug again, keeping her head away with your hand.
“nothing, nothing! this is just awesome news jane, i’m so excited for you!”
despite being disoriented by the unexplained noise, jane was quickly distracted by your enthusiasm. she was grinning again, totally oblivious to the fact that you were trying to keep her gaze away from the bed.
“thank you, i mean i never thought i’d find someone like carlos. he’s so sweet, and we just click, you know?”
you genuinely smiled. “yeah, i know. you guys are really cute together.”
you thought about what you also shared with ben and- ben. he was still hiding under your bed for god’s sake. you cleared your throat, snapping out of your daze.
“jane, i am so sorry, i have a big day tomorrow and i’m exhausted, why don’t we talk about it more then, mmh? over lunch, sounds good?” you suggested while hurrying her to the door.
“yeah! uhm, totally, sounds good!”
“okay, bye, goodnight jane!” you pushed her out of the dorm, shutting the door behind.
resting your back against it, you exhaled. the silence that started to settle in was broken by ben’s voice, under the bed.
“thought she’d never leave.”
you snorted as he came out of his hiding place, his hair slightly tousled from being underneath furniture, “shut up, she was excited.”
“i could tell, she didn’t even notice me down there.” he chuckled, clearly finding the situation amusing.
“almost” you pointed out, “what was all of this noise about?” you joked while his hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him.
“oh, that was just me trying to find a comfortable position under there.” you lightly slapped his chest as he feigned innocence. he laughed and you couldn’t hold in your own chuckle.
“thank god she was too busy talking about carlos to notice anything, otherwise she wouldn’t have let us hear the end of it.”
ben’s smile only widened, visibly picturing the scenario in his mind.
“i think it’s time for me to leave, too.”
“what?” your smile fell, your hands gripping his forearms. “why?”
ben’s eyes met yours as you looked back up at him. he recognized the disappointment in your tone and felt bad.
“i don’t think we want your roommates to find us like jane almost did.”
you remembered how you kept your relationship a secret, so your friends wouldn’t know they were right after they spent the past year pointing out how obvious it was that you liked eachother. you were 2 months in already, and it got harder each day.
“mmh, you’re right.” you muttered, your sad eyes leaving his.
his hand tucked a hair strand behind your ear, causing you to look up again, “maybe we should just tell our friends. they’d be happy, you know.”
“i know, i just really hate being wrong.” you wrapped your arms around his back and he reciprocated the action, his head resting on top of yours.
you pulled away and stood up on your tiptoes to meet his lips.
“for the road.” you whispered close to his lips.
ben smiled against your lips as you went for another kiss, savoring every second of it. his fingers trailed up your back before he reluctantly pulled away completely, clearly not wanting to leave your side yet.
“okay we should go before they catch us red-handed” you warned him playfully.
ben’s eyebrows rose, “we? you’re coming with me?”
“you really thought i was about to sleep in my dorm alone tonight? after the day we’ve had?” you scoffed, “just open the door already.” he laughed and took your hand in his while leaving your dorm.
as you ran around the school’s hallways, trying not to get caught, you thought about how you would gladly let your friends win this one argument. for once, you were really thankful that they were right.
Hey (first of all, I just want to say I love your writing) I’d love to request a Fred Weasley fic inspired by To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, like the reader’s letters getting out and Fred being kind of like Peter Kavinsky.
Sorry for any mistakes, English isn’t my first language. I love your writing, take care!
𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 - 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲
summary: When a stack of private love letters accidentally gets out, you and Fred Weasley agree to fake-date to save face—and maybe make someone jealous. But between forehead kisses, stolen jumpers, and a Quidditch pitch kiss that feels way too real, pretending starts to feel a lot like falling… for real.
You always knew it was a dangerous game — bottling your feelings into ink and parchment. But it had always been safer that way. No heartbreak, no awkward stammering, no regret. Just you, your thoughts, and your stack of love letters tucked in a charm-locked, enchanted tea tin hidden behind your Charms textbooks.
There were five letters.
Each one carefully written under candlelight, sealed with a wax stamp you made from the base of your wand and a spell you found in Magical Sentiments: The Private Art of Wizarding Love Letters. You never intended for anyone to read them. That was the point. You wrote them to let go — to spill your heart in a place where no one could see the mess.
They were to:
1. Cedric Diggory – The golden boy of Hufflepuff. You admired him from afar during your second year when he picked up your books after Peeves knocked them over and smiled like he had all the time in the world. That smile lived in your memory longer than it should have.
2. Roger Davies – Brief, intense, and fizzled out like a dropped wand spark. You sat next to him in Ancient Runes for one term and swore he smelled like fresh parchment and mint. He never knew your name.
3. Oliver Wood – Oh, that was a phase. An intense, Quidditch-fueled phase where you convinced yourself you were in love with his drive, his voice during practice, and the way he said “bloody hell” under his breath every time someone dropped the Quaffle.
4. Fred Weasley – The most dangerous letter of them all. Not because it was the most passionate, or the most embarrassing, but because it was the most real. It was scribbled when you were fourteen and hopelessly stuck in a limbo between friendship and something that never quite happened. Fred, who once snuck you chocolate frogs after a bad exam. Fred, who danced with you once during a Gryffindor party when no one else asked. Fred, who made your heart feel like a fizzing whizzbee and never once noticed.
5. Michael Corner – A brief crush that died the moment he started dating Ginny Weasley. You wrote his letter half-heartedly, just to get it out of your system. It worked.
Five letters. Five pieces of your heart, written with no intention of ever being sent.
And yet, somehow, they were gone.
It happened on a Monday. A normal, average, nothing-out-of-the-ordinary Monday. Until it wasn’t.
You returned from breakfast to your dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, ready to grab your bag and rush off to Charms. But when you went to pull the tin from behind your books — a spot no one ever looked — it was gone.
You stared at the empty space, blinking. Maybe you moved it? Maybe you took it out and forgot? You pulled books down, tossed aside your spare quills and loose parchment, even looked under your bed.
Nothing.
Panic crawled up your throat.
“Winnie?” you called to your roommate, who was brushing her hair in the mirror, “Did you move anything from my shelf?”
She glanced back, half-paying attention. “No, why?”
You swallowed. “The tin I kept behind my books. It’s missing.”
Winnie shrugged. “Isn’t that the ugly one with the pink lid? Thought it looked like something from Honeydukes. I saw George Weasley messing with something pink yesterday. Near your side of the dorm. I assumed it was one of his prank sweets.”
Your heart stopped.
George. Bloody. Weasley.
You didn’t even wait to process. You stormed down the spiral stairs of the girls’ dormitory, sprinted past confused first-years, and nearly tripped over a couch cushion as you beelined toward the only people on Earth who could take a harmless enchanted box and turn it into your personal social doom.
Fred and George Weasley.
When you got to the common room, Fred was leaning back in one of the armchairs, boots kicked up on the table, an open bag of Every Flavour Beans resting on his lap. George was beside him, half-laughing, holding what looked suspiciously like—
No.
No, no, no.
A letter. Your letter.
The wax seal had been cracked.
Fred was holding another one. He turned it over in his hands with curiosity and a smirk, reading the front quietly to himself before glancing up at you. “To… Fred Gideon Weasley,” he read aloud dramatically, eyes twinkling. “Well, well. I don’t recall ever getting love letters before breakfast.”
You froze mid-step. “Fred—”
George grinned like the devil himself. “So, these are yours, huh? They just showed up in our dorm this morning. No note, no explanation. Bit mysterious. Naturally, we opened one.”
“I didn’t open any!” George said quickly. “That was him.” He pointed a smug finger at his twin.
You took a breath, heart racing. “Give. Them. Back.”
But Fred was already standing, holding your letter to him just out of reach. “Hang on, love. You wrote this?” His voice wasn’t teasing. Not yet. “You liked me?”
Past tense. You clung to it like a lifeline. “It was years ago.”
Fred’s brow lifted. “Says here I made you laugh during Potions and that you thought I had nice hands.”
Your entire face went hot. “Fred—”
“I do have nice hands, though,” he said thoughtfully, examining them. “Long fingers. Very useful for pranks and snatching love letters out of the air, apparently.”
You made a desperate grab for it, but he pulled it away with ease. “This is serious! These weren’t meant to be read!”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have written them,” George said brightly, though he handed back the other letters with a sheepish shrug. “Sorry, we thought it was a prank box. You know, one of those joke confession things.”
Fred’s gaze hadn’t left the letter. He tapped it against his palm, quiet now.
You glared at both of them. “If you tell anyone—”
Fred cut you off, voice calmer. “I won’t.”
You looked up, surprised.
He tucked the letter into his coat pocket like it belonged there. “But you and I,” he added with a grin slowly spreading across his face, “should talk.”
Your stomach flipped.
He looked intrigued.
And that was much, much more dangerous.
Maybe he’d make a joke of it. Maybe he’d bring it up at dinner, toast to his “secret admirer” in front of the whole Gryffindor table and watch you go crimson. Or maybe, worst of all, he’d just forget it happened. Toss the letter in the bin, let it fade like every other school crush in history.
But Fred Weasley didn’t do any of those things.
Instead, he kept the letter. And the next day, he cornered you after Transfiguration with that same maddening glint in his eye — equal parts amusement and curiosity, like he was halfway between setting off a prank and solving a puzzle.
You barely had time to open your mouth before he grabbed your arm and steered you into an empty corridor.
“Let me guess,” you said flatly, yanking your arm free. “You want to frame it? Hang it over your bed so you can admire yourself more efficiently?”
“Don’t tempt me,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “It’s very flattering, by the way. All the stuff about my eyes and laugh and — what was it? — the way I said ‘bugger’ like it was a love language?”
You groaned. “Fred—”
“I’m kidding,” he said quickly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Sort of. But I’m not here to take the mickey out of you, alright?”
You eyed him suspiciously.
“I’m actually here to make you a deal.”
That got your attention. “A deal?”
He looked around dramatically, then leaned in like he was about to reveal the location of a secret passageway Filch didn’t even know about. “We fake-date.”
You stared. “We what?”
“You and me,” he said, pointing between the two of you. “Public hand-holding, flirty looks across the Great Hall, sitting next to each other at meals, all that. We give people something to talk about.”
“Why?” you asked, blinking. “So you can mess with me more efficiently?”
“Because,” he said, voice lowering slightly, “Angelina’s seeing someone.”
You tilted your head. “Angelina Johnson?”
He nodded. “Started hanging around some Ravenclaw bloke last week. Tall. Prefect badge. A personality made of stale toast.”
You blinked. “Wait, you like Angelina?”
He made a face. “Not like-like. Just… we’ve been mates for years. We’ve snogged a few times after Quidditch wins. I thought maybe there was a thing there.”
“Ouch.”
He sighed. “Tell me about it.”
You crossed your arms, frowning. “So let me get this straight: You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend to make her jealous?”
“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds a bit manipulative—”
“It is manipulative.”
He held up a finger. “It’s also mutually beneficial.”
You raised a skeptical eyebrow. “How?”
He grinned. “Because everyone’s talking about those letters now. I overheard two Hufflepuffs debating whether you wrote one to Snape.”
You winced. “Merlin.”
“And if we pretend to date,” he continued, “it gives you a way to spin it. You’ll look confident. Mysterious. Like you had options and you chose me.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That sounds like it benefits you a lot more than me.”
He shrugged. “You get plausible deniability. And the satisfaction of making me act like a charming, devoted boyfriend for a few weeks.”
You studied him. “Why not ask Alicia? Or Katie?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Because they’d see right through me. And they’d laugh.”
You tilted your head. “And I won’t?”
“I mean,” he said, flashing that signature smirk, “you already had a crush on me. So technically you’re more invested.”
You rolled your eyes. “I was fourteen, Fred. That crush died years ago.”
He leaned in slightly. “Shame.”
The air shifted just slightly between you.
You cleared your throat. “So what exactly would this… fake thing entail?”
Fred shrugged. “We do the basics. Walk together between classes. Sit a bit too close in the common room. Maybe a stolen kiss in the corridor to really sell it.”
Your stomach flipped.
“You’d… want to kiss me?”
His expression softened just a little. “Only if you’re alright with it. It’s just for the act.”
You didn’t answer right away. You looked down at the floor, then back up at him. Fred Weasley, asking you to play pretend. To act like everything you’d dreamed about years ago was real — only for someone else’s attention.
It was insane.
It was stupid.
It was tempting.
“How long?” you asked quietly.
Fred tilted his head. “A few weeks. Just until Angelina realizes she let something brilliant slip away.”
“And then what?” you asked. “We just break up publicly? Fight in the middle of the Great Hall for added drama?”
“I was thinking something more tasteful,” he said, grinning. “A mutual parting. We stay friends. Maybe you slap me for cheating. Up to you, really.”
You shook your head slowly. “This is ridiculous.”
“Probably.”
You paused. “If anyone finds out—”
“No one will,” he promised. “We’re professionals. Well, I am. You’ll catch on.”
You stared at him for a long moment, then finally sighed. “Fine.”
Fred’s grin exploded across his face. “Brilliant!”
“But if you so much as hint at anything in that letter—”
“I swear on my broomstick,” he said solemnly.
You hesitated, then added, “And don’t think I’m swooning over you just because I once said you had nice hands.”
He held them up again, wiggling his fingers. “They are nice, though.”
You turned to walk away, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks.
Behind you, Fred called, “So does this mean I can call you darling in public now?”
“Try it,” you called back, “and I’ll hex your eyebrows off.”
By dinner that night, you had almost convinced yourself he’d forgotten the whole thing. Fred wasn’t exactly known for his attention span, and George had already started an indoor Dungbomb relay in the common room, which should’ve occupied his entire brain.
But when you entered the Great Hall, you spotted him instantly — already sitting at the Gryffindor table with his arm stretched along the bench, eyes scanning the entrance like he was waiting for you.
You paused in the doorway. He caught your eye, and without missing a beat, he patted the space beside him. You took a deep breath and walked toward him, ignoring the way your heart was starting to pound again. He looked unreasonably smug as you slid onto the bench.
“Evening, sweetheart,” he said with a wink.
You nearly choked. “You promised.”
“No eyebrow hexes yet,” he said, reaching for a roll. “I’m just playing my part.”
You glanced across the table — and sure enough, a few students were already whispering. Even Angelina, who sat three spots down, looked over at you both curiously.
Fred leaned closer. “Smile. You’re in love with me, remember?”
You resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.
Instead, you plastered on what you hoped was a convincingly lovesick smile and leaned just a little into his shoulder. Fred tilted his head toward yours, his voice low.
“Convincing,” he murmured. “Maybe too convincing.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered.
“I’m not. That was a genuine compliment.” He reached forward and served you mashed potatoes — unprompted. “You’re glowing, darling.”
You narrowed your eyes. “If you say that word again, I will make it so you can’t say any word again.”
Fred only grinned, utterly unfazed. “You’re very violent for someone in love.”
You risked another glance at Angelina. She was laughing at something her friend said, but she glanced over again, just for a second. Her eyes dropped to where Fred’s arm was still resting behind you on the bench.
Fred noticed, too.
He shifted subtly, letting his fingers brush against the back of your shoulder. You stiffened. He leaned in like he was about to whisper something sweet — but instead, he whispered, “She’s looking.”
“Then stop acting like you’re narrating a spy mission.”
He chuckled. “Wouldn’t want to miss the moment my fake girlfriend has a public meltdown.”
“I’m this close, Weasley.”
“Good,” he said brightly. “Keep that fiery passion. It makes the whole performance feel more alive.”
You stabbed your fork into a piece of roasted carrot.
Then — to your surprise — he softened.
“I meant what I said earlier,” Fred said, quieter now. “I’m not doing this to mess with you. And I’m not going to make fun of the letter. I swear.”
You glanced at him.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you could pull it off,” he added. “You’re brilliant. Everyone’s going to believe it.”
That… shut you up.
You looked back down at your plate, cheeks warming again — and not from embarrassment this time.
Before you could form a response, Fred turned his head slightly and spoke again, louder this time. “We should head to the library after this, yeah? I want to spend some time with you before practice.”
You blinked. “You hate the library.”
“It’s romantic now,” he said, standing and offering his hand like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Come on, darling.”
You hesitated — then placed your hand in his.
Fred laced your fingers together, and just like that, every whisper in the Great Hall tripled. Angelina looked up. Fred didn’t acknowledge her. He was too busy smirking at you as he pulled you gently toward the doors, swinging your joined hands between you like it was all real.
And maybe, for a single second, it almost felt like it was.
As the week progressed, Fred didn’t drop the act — if anything, he doubled down.
He started walking you to class like it was routine. At meals, his thigh always pressed just slightly against yours under the table. During breaks between lessons, he’d appear out of nowhere to drape his arm over your shoulder and press a casual, too-natural kiss to your temple. Always in sight of someone.
At first, it caught you off guard — the way he played the part so easily, so convincingly. He’d slip his fingers into yours in the middle of the corridor, flash a grin at anyone who looked confused, and say things like “She’s mine, sorry lads” without missing a beat.
He called you darling, angel, sweetheart, and once — just to see you nearly combust — love of my life.
It was maddening. And unfairly effective.
The strangest part was how quickly everyone else started believing it.
By Friday, your friends had fully accepted the performance as truth. You’d walked into the Gryffindor common room late one evening to find Katie, Alicia, and Winnie sprawled on the couch, quizzing each other on Astronomy charts. They all looked up at once when you entered — and Katie practically launched forward.
“Oh my Godric’s beard,” she gasped. “You and Fred?”
You blinked, heart skipping. “What?”
Alicia grinned. “Don’t play dumb. He walked you to class again today. And you let him hold your hand the entire way down the corridor like it was nothing.”
“Also,” Katie added, narrowing her eyes, “he kissed your forehead right in front of Slughorn’s office. That’s practically domestic.”
You sat down slowly, trying not to panic. “Okay, yes — but—”
“But?” Winnie cut in, smirking. “Since when has this been a thing?”
You shrugged, forcing a casual smile. “It’s… new. Kind of a secret thing.”
Katie raised an eyebrow. “Secret?”
“I didn’t want to say anything unless I knew it was mutual,” you said, and technically, it wasn’t a lie. “Didn’t want to jinx it.”
Alicia clutched her chest. “That’s adorable.”
You gave a helpless laugh. “It’s not— I mean— we’re not—”
“You’re definitely something,” Katie cut in with a wicked glint in her eyes. “And if he’s not sneaking off to see you later tonight, I’ll eat Peeves’ socks.”
You froze. “W-what?”
Her grin widened. “Oh please, we’ve all seen the way he looks at you. I wouldn’t be shocked if you wandered off to his dorm sometime around midnight.”
Your face went pink so fast, it was like a charm had hit you.
They howled.
Even Winnie, usually the most composed of them all, was laughing into a pillow. Alicia threw an arm around your shoulder.
“You’re blushing,” she teased.
“Am not,” you lied.
Katie leaned forward, practically vibrating with delight. “Just promise you’ll tell us everything if something happens, yeah?”
You covered your face with both hands. “Nothing is happening.”
They all giggled again, delighted, and settled back into their conversation like they hadn’t just shattered your composure.
But as the fire crackled and the room softened into late-night warmth, you caught yourself smiling behind your hands — because somewhere between the teasing and the pretending, Fred Weasley had started to feel dangerously real.
And maybe that was the scariest part of all.
Because somewhere between the forehead kisses and the hand-holding, somewhere between his arm draped lazily around your shoulders and the quiet, stolen looks he gave you when he thought no one else was watching — you started to wonder if you were slipping.
Not just pretending.
Not just playing along.
But feeling again.
It was terrifying. Because you remembered how it felt the first time — years ago, when your heart was younger and your crush on Fred was sweet and harmless. Back then, liking him had been simple. It had lived in glances and giggles, in letters you never intended to send.
But now?
Now it felt different. Sharper. Deeper. Like something had cracked open and let all that buried affection bleed out again, stronger than before — fed by every smile he threw your way, every quiet moment he leaned in close enough to make your breath catch.
You weren’t supposed to feel this way.
This was fake.
You knew it.
You knew it.
And yet your heart fluttered every single time he touched you. Every time he called you darling in that lazy, affectionate voice like he’d been doing it for years. Every time he tugged you toward him just a little too gently. Every time he rested his chin on your shoulder in the common room and sighed like being next to you was exactly where he wanted to be.
The worst part was… he made it look so easy. Like all this affection — all this closeness — meant nothing to him. Like it was just a performance, no more meaningful than pulling off a prank or slipping a Dungbomb into someone’s bag.
For you, every second of it was a storm. And for him, it was just weather.
It made your stomach ache, the way he could be so casual about it — laughing, teasing, touching you like it was nothing. Like he didn’t see the way you froze every time his fingers brushed your cheek. Like he didn’t notice the way your eyes lingered on his lips when he got too close.
Like he didn’t feel it too.
You kept telling yourself it would end. That it had to end. That Fred would get what he wanted — Angelina’s attention, her jealousy, her interest again — and the charade would fade. You’d go back to being just friends. Or classmates. Or nothing at all.
But until then, you were caught in this in-between. This sweet, aching lie you both agreed to live in — one where he looked at you like you were his and smiled like he meant it.
And no matter how hard you tried to protect yourself, your heart was slipping.
Falling again.
Maybe it had never really stopped.
And Merlin help you, but a part of you was starting to wish that Fred Weasley wasn’t acting at all.
So you told yourself to keep your heart guarded.
To stop overanalyzing every smile, every look, every gentle touch. To remember that Fred Weasley was just playing a role — and you were the one who signed up for it.
But then he said something like, “Girlfriends should hang out with their boyfriend’s mates at least once in a while,” and next thing you knew, you were sitting in the courtyard on a lazy Saturday afternoon with Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, sunlight pooling over the stone benches as laughter bounced around you.
It was… easy. Too easy.
The four of you were tucked beneath one of the arched colonnades, eating from a shared bag of Honeydukes sweets and trading stories about Filch, Quidditch, and the time George accidentally blew up the third-year cauldron closet.
Fred sat beside you, thigh pressed to yours, occasionally stealing your chocolate frogs and tossing every third one into Lee’s open palm like they’d made some silent agreement. You kept telling yourself to relax, to enjoy the sunshine and the way Fred laughed with his whole body and nudged your knee whenever you looked too serious.
You didn’t even realize you were smiling so much — until George teased, “You’re awfully quiet, lovebird. Cat got your tongue or are you just busy memorizing Freddie’s jawline again?”
You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to argue — but before you could respond, Fred shifted closer and said smoothly, “Let her admire me. It’s character development.”
Lee snorted. “More like a tragic case of brain rot.”
“Oh, shut it,” Fred said, smirking. “She’s got excellent taste.”
You turned your head, ready to fire back something smart — when you saw Angelina.
She was walking across the grass just a few meters away, hand-in-hand with a tall Ravenclaw boy whose name you didn’t know. Her laugh was soft, the kind she reserved for people who got past her walls, and her head tilted affectionately toward the boy beside her as they strolled by like they hadn’t a care in the world.
Fred saw her, too.
His jaw shifted. Just slightly. Almost imperceptibly.
And then — without warning — he turned to you and murmured under his breath, voice low and casual, but firm:
“Don’t be alarmed by what I’m about to do, love.”
Before you could ask what he meant, his arm slid around your waist and pulled you clean off the bench — right into his lap.
You landed with a surprised “oof,” half-sprawled across him, your hands catching instinctively on his chest. Your entire face turned pink.
George choked on his sweet. Lee let out a sharp whistle.
“Merlin’s bloody beard, Fred!” George laughed. “Warn a bloke before you get all handsy!”
“She’s fine,” Fred said easily, arms loosely wrapped around your waist now like you belonged there. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”
You blinked up at him, heart pounding. His face was so close now. Playfully smug, lips curved, eyes warm and a little too focused on yours.
He was acting.
You knew that.
And yet… you didn’t move.
“Dizzy,” you said flatly, “from the whiplash.”
Fred grinned. “That’s my girl.”
George and Lee were already cackling.
Lee pointed. “Can’t lie, that was smooth. The kind of move that makes seventh-year girls write poetry about you.”
Fred beamed. “I do inspire great art.”
“And tragic regret,” you muttered.
Fred’s gaze dipped down to your lips for half a second — just enough to make your stomach do a weird little flip — then back up to your eyes. “Regret? Is that what you’re calling this?”
“I’m calling it reckless.”
“You wound me.”
You tilted your head. “Not yet, but I’m considering it.”
His grin widened. “Keep talking like that, love, and people might start thinking you enjoy this.”
You didn’t answer.
Because, maybe — just maybe — you did.
And it scared you how easy it was to flirt back. How natural it felt to have his hands on your waist, his voice low in your ear, his breath close enough to warm your cheek.
You didn’t miss the way Angelina glanced back once, eyebrows raised slightly — and how Fred’s hold on you tightened, just a little.
But you didn’t say anything.
Because as fake as this all was supposed to be, part of you was starting to forget where the act ended and your heart began.
Fred’s arms remained draped around your waist long after George and Lee had stopped laughing.
He was still smirking, still playing the part — but there was something softer in the way he held you. Like he wasn’t just showing off anymore. Like maybe, just maybe, he liked having you close.
And you hated how much you liked it, too.
The four of you stayed there in the courtyard, the golden afternoon light warming the stone beneath your feet as the conversation shifted. It wasn’t long before talk turned to Quidditch — as it always did when Fred and George were around.
“We’ll absolutely demolish them,” George said, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “Slytherin doesn’t stand a chance. Their Beaters couldn’t hit a Bludger if it was floating still.”
“They’re too busy adjusting their hair in the reflection of their brooms,” Fred added. “Though I’ll admit, Malfoy’s perfected that windblown pout.”
Lee snorted. “You better back that talk up on the pitch, mate.”
“Oh, we will,” Fred said, grinning like the arrogant show-off he absolutely was on game days. “I’ve got a whole new move planned. Haven’t even shown George yet.”
“You mean the one where you do a backflip and nearly break your spine?” George muttered. “Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather not be scraping your body off the turf.”
Fred scoffed. “Dramatic.”
“Suicidal.”
You couldn’t help but smile at them — all of them, really. There was something contagious about their energy. It made you feel like you belonged there, tucked between laughter and bickering and banter like you’d always been part of it.
Fred’s hand moved absentmindedly along your hip, his fingers curling through the belt loop of your jeans like he didn’t even notice he was doing it.
He looked down at you suddenly, his voice low enough that only you heard it.
“Come up to my dorm later tonight.”
You blinked.
He grinned.
“I’ve got a gift for you.”
George, who was very much not far enough away to miss that, let out a groan. “Merlin’s sake, Fred. In front of my butterbeer?”
Lee laughed. “Bit early in the relationship for that kind of gift, isn’t it?”
Fred didn’t miss a beat. “Who says it’s that kind of gift? Maybe I’m just a thoughtful boyfriend.”
“Ha!” George snorted. “Now that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”
You rolled your eyes and shoved at Fred’s shoulder. “You’re all so bloody annoying.”
Fred just winked. “But charming, yeah?”
“Not even slightly.”
But he was grinning at you like he knew you didn’t mean it.
And unfortunately, he was right.
Fred’s arms remained draped around your waist long after George and Lee had stopped laughing.
He was still smirking, still playing the part — but there was something softer in the way he held you. Like he wasn’t just showing off anymore. Like maybe, just maybe, he liked having you close.
And you hated how much you liked it, too.
The four of you stayed there in the courtyard, the golden afternoon light warming the stone beneath your feet as the conversation shifted. It wasn’t long before talk turned to Quidditch — as it always did when Fred and George were around.
“We’ll absolutely demolish them,” George said, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “Slytherin doesn’t stand a chance. Their Beaters couldn’t hit a Bludger if it was floating still.”
“They’re too busy adjusting their hair in the reflection of their brooms,” Fred added. “Though I’ll admit, Malfoy’s perfected that windblown pout.”
Lee snorted. “You better back that talk up on the pitch, mate.”
“Oh, we will,” Fred said, grinning like the arrogant show-off he absolutely was on game days. “I’ve got a whole new move planned. Haven’t even shown George yet.”
“You mean the one where you do a backflip and nearly break your spine?” George muttered. “Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather not be scraping your body off the turf.”
Fred scoffed. “Dramatic.”
“Suicidal.”
You couldn’t help but smile at them — all of them, really. There was something contagious about their energy. It made you feel like you belonged there, tucked between laughter and bickering and banter like you’d always been part of it.
Fred’s hand moved absentmindedly along your hip, his fingers curling through the belt loop of your jeans like he didn’t even notice he was doing it.
He looked down at you suddenly, his voice low enough that only you heard it.
“Come up to my dorm later tonight.”
You blinked.
He grinned.
“I’ve got a gift for you.”
George, who was very much not far enough away to miss that, let out a groan. “Merlin’s sake, Fred. In front of my butterbeer?”
Lee laughed. “Bit early in the fake relationship for that kind of gift, isn’t it?”
Fred didn’t miss a beat. “Who says it’s that kind of gift? Maybe I’m just a thoughtful boyfriend.”
“Ha!” George snorted. “Now that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”
You rolled your eyes and shoved at Fred’s shoulder. “You’re all so bloody annoying.”
Fred just winked. “But charming, yeah?”
“Not even slightly.”
But he was grinning at you like he knew you didn’t mean it.
And unfortunately, he was right.
Later that night, you found yourself standing just inside Fred Weasley’s dorm room.
The space was cluttered, loud in the way boys’ rooms always were — half-empty boxes of sweets, a tangle of worn Quidditch gloves and broomstick wax, and a few fading posters plastered across the walls. His bed was unmade (shocking) and smelled faintly of mint and broom polish.
Fred was rifling through one of his drawers while you sat gingerly on the edge of his bed, trying not to overthink literally everything.
“Close your eyes,” he said over his shoulder.
“I’m not five.”
“Do it anyway.”
You huffed dramatically but obliged.
Something soft landed in your lap.
“Okay, open.”
You blinked — and stared.
It was a thick maroon Quidditch sweater. Slightly oversized, clearly worn, and unmistakably his. The back had his last name “WEASLEY” stitched in bold letters with the number “3” beneath it.
You looked up, startled. “Is this… your jersey?”
Fred leaned back against the bedpost and crossed his arms, a pleased smirk tugging at his lips.
“Very good deduction, darling.”
You blinked again. “Why are you giving this to me?”
He raised a brow. “Because it’s what girlfriends do. Wear their boyfriend’s number. Show their undying devotion. Obsessively cheer them on from the stands.”
“I do not obsessively cheer.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I clapped once.”
“It was passionate.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re serious? You want me to wear this at the match?”
Fred pushed off the wall and strolled over, leaning down slightly until your knees bumped. He plucked the sweater from your lap and held it up with both hands, sizing it against your frame. His voice dropped low — teasing, warm.
“Picture it: You, in the crowd. This on you. My name on your back, yeah? Everyone sees it. Angelina sees it. You’re mine.”
You rolled your eyes, but heat crept up your neck anyway.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re blushing.”
“No, I’m—”
He gently tugged the sweater over your head before you could stop him. You yelped as the thick fabric slipped down your arms and past your waist, swallowing you entirely. It smelled like him — cinnamon and wind and something warm you couldn’t name.
Fred stepped back and nodded appreciatively.
“See? Perfect.”
You stared down at yourself. The sweater reached your thighs.
“This is practically a dress.”
Fred’s grin deepened. “Wouldn’t mind seeing that either.”
“Fred.”
“What? Just making observations.”
You tried not to smile — and failed miserably. He flopped onto the bed beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. “It suits you. Just saying.”
You glanced at him, heart thudding uncomfortably loud in your chest.
“Why does this feel… weirdly real?”
Fred’s expression faltered — just for a second — before the smirk returned.
“Because I’m very convincing,” he said, softer now. “Dangerously so.”
You laughed under your breath. “Yeah. You really are.”
You didn’t take the sweater off that night.
Not even when you got back to your dorm and had to answer your roommates’ endless questions. Not even when you crawled into bed, Fred’s name still stitched across your back, warmth lingering like a phantom where his fingers had brushed your waist.
And certainly not the next morning, when you tugged it back on and headed down to the Quidditch pitch — pretending like this was all normal, like you hadn’t been lying awake half the night replaying everything in your head.
The stands were alive with energy, the Gryffindor section decked in red and gold. Banners rippled through the wind, students painted their faces, and someone had even charmed tiny lions to roar out house chants every few minutes.
You sat wedged between Hermione and Alicia Spinnet, your knees bouncing with nerves — although, if you were being honest, you weren’t nervous for the match.
You were nervous about him.
“Look at you,” Hermione said with a knowing smile, nudging your side. “In your boyfriend’s Quidditch sweater. How adorably cliché.”
You groaned, pulling at the too-long sleeves. “It’s not—he just gave it to me. For the match.”
“Right,” Alicia teased from your other side. “Totally not because he wanted everyone to see you wearing his name. Very casual.”
You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating. “You’re both insufferable.”
“Oh, we know,” Hermione said sweetly, then pointed toward the sky. “Look — they’re out!”
The players zoomed into view, a blur of scarlet robes and glinting broomsticks. The roar from the stands swelled. You leaned forward on instinct, your eyes scanning the team until you spotted him.
Fred.
Hair windswept, bat clutched in one hand, flying in perfect tandem with George. His eyes were sharp, focused — until they weren’t. Until they flicked up toward the crowd.
He found you instantly.
Your breath caught.
Fred grinned.
And then — right there in the middle of the match, without a care in the world — he blew you a kiss.
You blinked, stunned, and then laughed — warm and giddy — as you blew one right back.
Hermione let out a mock gasp. “Scandalous.”
Alicia giggled. “You two are actually sickening.”
“Shut up,” you muttered, still smiling like an idiot.
Down on the pitch, Fred twisted midair just in time to whack a Bludger clean across the field, sending it spiraling past the Slytherin Chaser with barely an inch to spare. He high-fived George mid-flight, who whooped in celebration.
The match was fast-paced and aggressive, with both teams locked in a tug-of-war for control. Fred played like he had fire in his veins — sharp turns, daring dives, calculated hits that had the crowd shrieking. Every time a Slytherin tried to close in on a Gryffindor Chaser, Fred or George was already there, knocking Bludgers like guided missiles.
And then — twenty minutes in, Lee Jordan’s voice blared through the stadium, frantic and excited:
“Potter’s seen the Snitch—he’s diving—COME ON, HARRY—YES—HE’S GOT IT!”
The stands exploded.
Red and gold erupted into the air. Flags waved wildly. People screamed, threw their arms around each other, stomped the bleachers until the whole structure trembled.
You were already on your feet, heart racing with joy. Gryffindor had won.
You clambered down the stands with the rest of the crowd, your sweater bouncing against your thighs as you pushed through the sea of students pouring onto the pitch.
The team was already on the ground, dismounting and hugging and yelling over the chaos. You caught Fred’s eyes the moment your feet hit the grass.
He was grinning so wide it looked like his face might split.
“Fred!” you called, weaving toward him.
He didn’t say a word. Just strode forward, scooped you up, and spun you in a full circle, his arms locked around your waist, his laughter rumbling against your ear.
“You were brilliant,” you managed, breathless and flushed.
“And you look bloody adorable in my sweater,” he said with a grin. “Reckon it brought me luck.”
You opened your mouth to reply, but he was already gazing at you — eyes roving over your face like you were something rare. Like he didn’t want to miss a single detail.
His hands tightened ever so slightly at your waist.
And then — just like that — he kissed you.
Right there on the Quidditch pitch, surrounded by noise and celebration and way too many witnesses, Fred Weasley kissed you.
It was soft at first — gentle, like he was testing the waters. But the moment you didn’t pull away, his hands slid up your back, and the kiss deepened.
Your fingers curled into his jersey. The crowd melted around you.
Someone whistled loudly.
“THAT’S MY BROTHER!” George yelled obnoxiously. “GET IT, FREDDIE!”
The crowd erupted into cheers, whistles, and catcalls, but neither of you moved.
When Fred finally pulled back, he was slightly out of breath, his grin wide and lopsided.
“Hi,” he said simply, voice lower than usual.
“Hi,” you whispered back, dazed.
Your cheeks were flaming. You couldn’t stop smiling.
Fred’s fingers brushed your cheek, lingering there for a beat too long. You were still close enough to feel the afterglow of his kiss, to see the glint in his eyes that looked way too real.
And then George jogged over, throwing an arm around his twin with a proud grin.
“That was bloody brilliant,” he said to Fred, before turning to you with a wink.
Fred opened his mouth to respond — but you weren’t even listening anymore.
Because over George’s shoulder, your eyes caught on Angelina, who stood off to the side near the goalpost, still talking to her boyfriend. Laughing at something he said. Unbothered. Unaware.
She hadn’t even looked.
She hadn’t seen the kiss. Hadn’t reacted. Hadn’t flinched.
Which meant…
Fred hadn’t kissed you to make her jealous.
He had just… kissed you.
Your heart pounded.
You looked up at Fred — and he was already looking at you.
The smirk was back, but his eyes told a different story.
And suddenly, the lines between fake and real had never felt blurrier.
The common room was buzzing.
Someone had charmed the wireless to blast The Weird Sisters. Butterbeer bottles clinked together in cheers. Laughter rang from every corner, people draped in Gryffindor scarves still riding the high from the win.
You were curled into the corner of the red velvet couch, tucked beneath Fred’s arm, your legs stretched across his lap. His fingertips absentmindedly traced patterns along the sleeve of your jumper — his jumper — and every time his knuckle brushed your wrist, your heart skipped a beat.
He smelled like grass and soap and wind. You’d spent the better half of the match yelling yourself hoarse, and the other half trying not to think about the way his lips had felt against yours.
But you were failing miserably at that second part.
Because the truth was, you’d thought about that kiss a lot.
Over and over, like some dumb record stuck on repeat.
And the worst part?
You couldn’t tell if it was all still pretend.
Fred was laughing now at something Seamus had said from the armchair across from you. His chest shook against your side, and his arm pulled you in closer as if it were second nature. As if you belonged there. As if this was always supposed to happen.
You tilted your head toward him, a soft smile teasing at your lips.
“You’re in a suspiciously good mood tonight,” you said, nudging him playfully.
Fred gave you a lopsided grin. “I did win a Quidditch match and kiss the prettiest girl on the pitch. Can you blame me?”
Your heart did that stupid flutter again.
You scoffed through your blush, trying to act unfazed. “That kiss was for show, remember?”
“Was it?” he asked, smirking — and you couldn’t tell if he was teasing or being honest. It was always so hard to tell with Fred.
Before you could reply, George sauntered over with a smug look on his face and a Butterbeer in hand.
“Oi, Freddie,” he said with a knowing grin, “taking her up to your dorm again tonight?”
Fred raised an eyebrow, amused. “Jealous?”
George let out a dramatic whistle and wiggled his eyebrows in your direction. “Didn’t know we were playing house already.”
You threw a cushion at him, laughing. “Hush it, Weasley.”
George caught the cushion with a grin and winked. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Fred chuckled beside you. “That’s a very short list.”
As George wandered off, you looked up at Fred and cocked your head. “So? Was that an actual invitation?”
Fred leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “Only if you’re in need of some quiet. It’s chaos down here.”
You blinked. “Didn’t take you as the type to run from chaos.”
His grin deepened. “I don’t. But I do prefer my chaos in smaller doses. Select company.”
You bit your lip, trying to hide your smile. “Well then. Lead the way.”
His dorm was dim and warm, the walls cluttered with posters and Quidditch memorabilia. One wall was plastered in clippings from old Daily Prophet articles and Wizarding Wheezes product drafts — messy handwriting and colorful doodles trailing in the margins.
Fred tossed himself onto his bed and sighed dramatically. “Much better.”
You stood awkwardly near his desk, taking in the room.
A tower of Chocolate Frog boxes stood on one bookshelf. A broomstick leaned against the far wall. A pair of well-worn boots were kicked beneath the bed, and a half-eaten box of Bertie Bott’s sat open on his trunk.
You let out a breathy laugh. “Your room is exactly how I imagined it.”
Fred raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“No, it’s just…” You walked slowly around the room. “You in room form.”
He chuckled, then stretched like a cat, arms over his head. “M’gonna shower. Try not to snoop through my deepest secrets while I’m gone.”
“No promises.”
He winked, grabbing a towel from his bed. “Be right back, sweetheart.”
You tried not to react to the nickname as he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, the sound of running water following soon after.
And then… it was just you.
You sat down on the edge of his bed, fingers trailing across the worn comforter. Your eyes drifted again to his side of the room — the shelves lined with broken toy prototypes, half-taped sketches, and what looked like a book of Quidditch strategies stuffed beneath a stack of Exploding Snap cards.
And then you saw it.
Tucked neatly beneath the amber glow of his bedside lamp — a folded sheet of parchment. Crisp. Clean. Unmistakably familiar.
Your heart skipped.
You reached for it slowly, your fingers shaking ever so slightly as you picked it up.
Your handwriting.
The first line was visible before you even unfolded it.
“Dear Fred Weasley, I know I shouldn’t still think about you like this, but sometimes it hurts not to.”
It was one of your letters.
And not just any letter.
The letter.
The one you wrote when you thought you’d finally buried the last of those feelings. The one where you told the truth — the messy, unfiltered, honest truth about what he’d meant to you before everything got too complicated. The one you thought no one would ever read.
Yet there it was.
Sitting under his lamp like it belonged there.
Like he’d read it.
Your breath caught in your throat.
The weight of the parchment in your hand suddenly felt like a thousand pounds.
Because if he’d read it—if Fred Weasley had really read this letter—then every single wall you’d carefully built between your heart and this fake relationship just came crashing down. It was no longer some silly game, no longer pretend.
You didn’t know whether to scream or cry or laugh at how stupidly vulnerable you felt. At how real it all suddenly was.
And maybe the worst part?
A part of you hoped he had read it.
Because this version of Fred—warm, affectionate, always looking at you like you hung the stars—wasn’t that different from the Fred you wrote about all those months ago. The one who stayed up late telling you his wildest ideas, who tugged on your braid during lessons just to make you smile, who made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t even realized you needed.
But none of that was supposed to leave the page.
This was supposed to be safe. Controlled. A fake relationship to protect your real feelings.
Now?
Now your feelings were inching toward the surface again—loud, reckless, and entirely out of your hands.
You took a shaky breath and slowly folded the letter, placing it back exactly where you found it, beneath the lamp. Out of sight. Not out of mind.
Just as you sat back down on the edge of the bed, the bathroom door creaked open.
Fred stepped out with a towel slung around his neck, hair damp and tousled in every direction, a black shirt clinging to his chest and a pair of maroon-and-gold pajama pants hanging loosely on his hips.
“Miss me?” he asked with a grin, rubbing a hand through his hair.
You rolled your eyes, doing your best to play it cool despite your racing thoughts. “You were gone for ten minutes.”
He plopped down next to you on the bed, shaking his head like a wet dog. “I know. Tragic, wasn’t it?”
You laughed softly, your voice a little quieter than usual. “You were brilliant tonight, by the way. In the match.”
Fred paused, turning to look at you with an expression that wavered somewhere between smug and sheepish. “Yeah?”
You nodded, offering him a genuine smile. “Seriously. I was proud of you.”
He blinked, and for a second—just a second—you saw a soft pink color dust the tips of his ears. But Fred being Fred, he recovered quickly, flashing a smirk.
“Careful, darling. Keep talking like that and I might think you actually like me.”
You snorted, bumping your shoulder into his. “You wish.”
But the truth was, part of you did.
The conversation drifted into easy laughter again, the two of you trading stories, teasing each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it was so effortless—so dangerously close to everything you’d ever wanted—that your chest ached with the weight of it.
You stayed longer than you meant to.
Eventually, you glanced at the clock on his wall and sighed. “I should probably head back to my dorm.”
Fred looked at you for a beat, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes before he nodded. “Alright, sugarplum. Don’t let the staircases trip you on the way down.”
You rolled your eyes fondly, standing up and smoothing down your jumper. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he said with a wink, “you keep coming back.”
You smiled, your heart squeezing in your chest.
God, you were so screwed.
The next morning came far too quickly.
Despite the weight of everything that had happened the night before—the letter, the kiss, the way Fred had looked at you like you were something he didn’t want to let go of—you somehow managed to fall asleep, only to wake up feeling like your chest was still holding onto something it hadn’t finished processing.
And now here you were.
Sat at breakfast in the Great Hall beside Fred Weasley, his large hand resting comfortably on your thigh beneath the table, thumb brushing slow, lazy circles into the fabric of your skirt as if it were second nature to him. Like this was something he did every morning. Like this was just… you two.
You’d barely taken a bite of your toast because your heart was thudding so loud it practically echoed in your ears.
Across from you sat George, Katie, and Lee—all in the middle of one of their usual chaotic, early morning debates. Something about who had the best aim in the entire Gryffindor Quidditch lineup (Katie said her, George argued himself, and Lee just kept saying “It’s obviously Angelina, she nearly broke my nose during practice once.”)
You were laughing, lips curled around the rim of your orange juice goblet when Fred leaned over toward you, muttering just low enough that only you could hear, “You look real cute when you laugh like that, sweetheart.”
You turned your head slightly, giving him a skeptical look, but the way his eyes were already focused on you—bright, amused, and just the slightest bit hungry—sent a shiver down your spine.
“You’re full of it,” you murmured, but your lips betrayed you with a smile.
Fred grinned, inching closer, his nose brushing your cheek. “Maybe. But you’re still smiling.”
And then, with the kind of confidence that came so naturally to him it made your head spin, he pressed a kiss to your cheek. Soft. Warm. Barely there.
But it stole your breath all the same.
George didn’t miss a beat.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” he groaned around a bite of eggs. “You two are worse than Bill and Fleur.”
Katie laughed. “I think it’s cute.”
“Yeah,” Lee added with a grin. “Cute in the way that makes me want to hex something out of jealousy.”
You flushed, burying your face slightly into your goblet just to hide the way your cheeks had gone scarlet, but Fred only chuckled beside you and tightened his hand on your thigh, fingers squeezing gently before continuing their slow, teasing strokes.
As the day went on, the lines between real and pretend blurred further.
Fred’s hand found yours in the corridor as you walked beside him, fingers laced tightly together. He leaned in during class breaks, whispering jokes against your ear, your skin tingling where his breath brushed it. He kissed your lips before Charms—right in the middle of the corridor—without a care in the world, and there wasn’t a single soul around to witness it who mattered. Not even Angelina.
And somehow… that made it worse.
Because if he was doing it just for show, there would’ve been an audience.
But there wasn’t.
There was only you.
And the soft, casual way he held you like you belonged to him.
And maybe that was the scariest part of all—because part of you wanted to belong to him. Again. Completely.
The rest of the castle moved around you, friends teasing, classes dragging, owls swooping down mid-day with care packages and letters—but you? You were somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere in the way Fred’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of your sleeve during lunch. Somewhere in the way his lips pressed to your temple before heading off to a prefect meeting, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Somewhere in that hazy space between fake and dangerously close to real.
And you were falling all over again.
The Gryffindor common room was already buzzing with noise by the time you made it downstairs. The party was well underway—music echoing off the stone walls, glowing orbs of red and gold light bobbing above everyone’s heads like fireflies, and the unmistakable scent of pumpkin pastries and Honeydukes chocolate wafting through the air. Laughter spilled out from every corner—someone had charmed the butterbeer to refill itself, and someone else (likely George) was passing out Ever-Bouncing Berries that ricocheted off the ceilings like magical confetti.
Before all that chaos, though—you were still upstairs.
Your red top hugged your frame perfectly, and the short black leather skirt had felt like a bold choice… but when you looked in the mirror, you knew it worked. You looked good. You felt good. Alicia let out a low whistle the second she saw you step out of your dorm.
“Well, damn,” she said, smirking as she eyed your outfit. “If Fred isn’t staring at you like you’ve hung the bloody moon, I’m hexing him.”
Katie grinned beside her. “Yeah, prepare yourself, love. His hands are going to be all over you tonight.”
That made your cheeks flush instantly. “You guys are awful.”
“Just honest,” Alicia said, bumping your hip with hers. “You look hot.”
Still flustered and smiling through it, you grabbed your wand and smoothed down your top one last time before making your way out of the girls’ dorm. As you descended the staircase, the music got louder, laughter and chatter layering into it all. The common room had been transformed: strings of golden lights wrapped around the banisters, cushions charmed to float midair, and the fireplace crackled with an unnatural red flame that matched the celebratory chaos perfectly.
Your eyes scanned the room, trailing over the crowd of students packed in shoulder-to-shoulder—some dancing, some chugging butterbeer, some sprawled on couches in various states of intoxicated euphoria.
Then you saw him.
Fred was tucked into the corner, drink in hand, laughing along with Seamus and Dean. The second your eyes met, it was like time stopped. He froze—mid-laugh, mid-sentence, mid-everything. His expression slackened slightly, like he hadn’t been prepared to be completely knocked off his axis.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
Hard.
You smirked.
The moment was yours now.
With slow, deliberate steps, you crossed the room, weaving between bodies until you reached him. Fred blinked down at you, mouth parted ever so slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“Close your mouth, Weasley,” you teased, tugging on the hem of your top playfully. “You’re going to catch a Snitch in it.”
He blinked again, then broke into that familiar, heart-stopping grin. “You tryin’ to kill me, darling? ‘Cause I think you just succeeded.”
Your cheeks burned despite yourself. “It’s just a skirt.”
“It’s not just a skirt when it’s on you,” he replied smoothly, his voice dipping just slightly as his gaze flicked down and then back to your face. “Merlin, you’re going to be the death of me tonight.”
“Flatterer,” you said, brushing your fingers over his arm. “You look decent yourself.”
“Decent?” he scoffed. “Sweetheart, I’m hurt.”
You laughed, and his hands found your waist—pulling you just a little closer. There was a soft beat of music pulsing through the floorboards beneath your feet, but it was nothing compared to the rhythm of your heart in your chest.
Before you could respond, you heard Katie’s voice from across the room. “Oi! Come dance with us!”
Alicia and Angelina were already waving you over, motioning toward the dance floor that had formed in the middle of the room. You turned back to Fred, who let out a small, exaggerated sigh and slowly removed his hands from your waist.
“Go on, then,” he said, giving you a crooked grin. “But don’t blame me if I come steal you back.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I would,” he murmured. “I absolutely would.”
With a breathy laugh, you turned and made your way toward your friends, letting the music pull you in. You swayed with the beat, arms lifted as you danced beside Alicia and Katie. The rhythm buzzed in your veins as you let go of everything else for a moment—just letting yourself be in the music, the laughter, the warmth of the room.
But you felt it—before you saw it.
A presence behind you. A shift in the air.
And then, his voice—low, teasing—right against your ear. “Merlin, you’re making it really hard to behave tonight.”
You turned, heart skipping, to see Fred standing behind you, a grin dancing on his lips.
“I knew you’d come back,” you said with a raised brow.
He stepped closer. “Couldn’t stay away. Not when you’re dancing like that.”
Your stomach flipped as he offered you his hand with a slight bow. “May I have this dance?”
You took it without hesitation.
He spun you around effortlessly, your laughter ringing through the room as you stumbled into his chest. The two of you danced—really danced. Spinning, laughing, holding onto each other as the crowd blurred around you. Fred dipped you playfully, caught you in his arms, and whispered flirty little remarks that made your face burn and your heart race.
But eventually… the laughter died down.
Your giggles slowed.
And then it was just the two of you.
The music faded beneath the sound of your breathing. Fred’s hands settled on your waist, your palms resting against his chest. You looked up at him—really looked. And he looked back.
His eyes dropped to your lips.
Then rose to meet your gaze again.
“Careful, Freddie,” you whispered, voice low and teasing. “You’re starting to make me think this is more than a game to you.”
Fred’s lips twitched, but his eyes didn’t waver. “Who says it isn’t anymore?”
Your breath caught.
You stared at him, chest tightening, mouth parted slightly in stunned silence. His hands gently trailed from your waist, fingers brushing your sides until they landed on your cheeks.
And then—he kissed you.
No games. No teasing. No charade.
Just him.
Just you.
His lips were warm and familiar and dizzying all at once, his kiss deep and full of something that set your nerves on fire. You kissed him back without thinking, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt as he held you close, not caring that people around you had stopped to look.
When you both pulled away—breathless, flushed, reeling—Fred still hadn’t let go.
“Come outside with me,” he said, his voice quieter now, more serious. “I need to tell you something.”
You nodded, heart hammering in your chest.
The cool night air was a stark contrast to the warmth inside, but it helped clear your head just enough to process that something was changing.
You turned to him once you were a few steps from the common room door.
Fred was staring at the stars—then at you.
“I… I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he began, voice a little shakier than you’d ever heard. “This was supposed to be pretend, yeah. Just a stupid idea. Make Angelina jealous, whatever. But…”
His eyes met yours again.
“After the second day, it didn’t feel fake anymore. Not even a little. And then you wore that stupid jumper. And kissed me back. And stood there in that crowd looking at me like I was worth something—and I realized I’ve always loved you. Always. I just didn’t let myself admit it.”
You blinked, your heart splintering at the edges.
“And now,” he added with a sheepish grin, “you’ve gone and ruined me.”
You let out a breathless laugh, then stepped forward, placing your hand gently on his cheek.
“Fred Weasley,” you whispered. “You absolute idiot. I never stopped loving you. I just… never thought you’d actually feel the same.”
He leaned in again, nose brushing yours.
“I do,” he murmured. “So much.”
And then—you kissed him again.
This one slower. Sweeter.
Filled with everything that had been left unsaid.
When you finally broke apart, you were both smiling, hands still tangled together.
“So,” Fred said, his voice light again. “Does this mean I get to call you mine?”
guys this summer / when i’m free who would watch a streamer!kenma x reader smau ?? and it’d be giving like dsmp vibes but w/o the problematic individuals yk
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
dailybridgerton
origamiaround
romaincrisis
gummygunk
