*rises from the ashes of the denial that i’d never write hp fic*
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Summary: Fred is failing Potions, and McGonagall has decided he needs a tutor.
Word count: 9.1K
Genre: fluff w a lilbitta angst
Notes: CW: blood - masterlist - i love ONE man and ONE MAN ONLY
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Fred Weasley is frowning as he walks up to McGonagall’s office, because usually when he gets called to McGonagall’s office it isn’t for biscuits and tea and a friendly little chat. And besides that, he thinks he has a pretty good idea of why he’s called there today.
He knocks on the door and waits until the professor’s voice tells him to come in. When he does, his frown deepens, because McGonagall is accompanied by who might just be his least favourite person in the school.
“Professor, Professor,” he says, giving McGonagall a tight little smile and Snape a controlled glare.
“Sit down, Mr Weasley,” McGonagall tells him, gesturing to the empty chair sat in front of her desk. Fred takes his seat and puts his hands in his lap, for once keeping his mouth shut and waiting.
Summary: You were “like a little sister to him”—or so Fred said. Please. Anyone with half a brain could see there was something way more between you two.
A/N: For the sake of this fic just imagine that GoF and OotP are a giant mushed up piled okay?
Credits to @saradika-graphics for the divider
Fred Weasley was absolutely insistent that you and he were just friends.
Best friends, even.
“Like family.” He’d say with a laugh, ruffling your hair and tugging you into his side like you were an annoying little sister. Honestly, it made you roll your eyes so hard you were surprised you didn’t find a second brain back there.
Because everyone else knew Fred already had a younger sister—two years below you, in fact—but he never treated her the way he treated you.
In fact, he was practically blind to her antics. He waved off her detentions with a grin and said Hogwarts was meant for mischief.
And when she spent the better part of an hour snogging Dean Thomas in the corner of the Gryffindor common room? Not a word. Not a look. Just Fred, lounging like nothing was happening.
Even Ginny didn’t think a single year made such a difference—but Fred? Fred seemed to think it was a chasm. Enough of one to put you firmly in some sacred category: completely off-limits. Practically blood.
Your older brother? Please. He was clearly anything but.
You reached the base of the stairs and scanned the common room for your roommates, who were waiting to leave for the party in the Ravenclaw tower. You smoothed down your skirt and gave yourself one last look in the mirror.
You looked hot.
Not just hot—head-turning, legs-for-days, traffic-stopping hot.
Fred, who had been lazily chatting with your roommates (and turning down their offers to come along—claiming he was far too tired and absolutely couldn’t be hungover before tomorrow’s Quidditch practice unless he wanted to face Oliver Wood’s wrath), absolutely short-circuited.
He stared at you.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Then sputtered, “What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?!”
You turned in place, giving a little twirl, “Cute, right? What do we think?”
He narrowed his eyes, “I think you forgot the bottom half.”
Your friends broke into laughter. George just rolled his eyes, especially since Ron had walked out of the common room not fifteen minutes ago on his way to the same party—and Fred had told him that if he didn’t come back completely smashed, he was a pussy.
You crossed your arms, incredulous, “It’s a skirt, Fred.”
“It’s a postage stamp.”
“It’s called fashion.” You shot back.
“It’s called a crisis! You bend over and you're going to court!”
Your jaw dropped, “This is couture!”
Fred threw his hands up in exasperation, “Well, couture clearly means no pants in French!”
You rolled your eyes.
Fred stepped in front of you, arms crossed like he was about to fight someone, looking like he was about to have a stroke, "Go put on some pants, or you're not going."
You blinked at him, "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He gestured vaguely at your legs like they offended him, "You can’t just go out dressed like that."
Your brows shot up, "Why do you even care so much?"
He didn’t hesitate, "Because you’re like a little sister to me!"
That earned a very loud groan from your friends. One of them actually facepalmed. George gave an exaggerated sigh and muttered under his breath, “Here we go again.”
"I'm not changing." You said, matching his energy with your arms crossed.
"Fine," Fred said, jaw tightening, "Then I’m coming with you."
You blinked again, "For what?"
He paused, "To supervise."
"Fred," George drawled from his seat, not even looking up, "You’re not a prefect. And this isn’t a Ministry investigation. It’s a party. You're being a real Percy."
Your friends exchanged looks and stifled more laughter. One of them leaned over and whispered, "If this is what having a brother’s like, I’m out."
"This is what it's like having a boyfriend but she gets none of the upsides." One whispered back.
Fred glared at them though they were hardly deterred, giggling louder now, “I’m being responsible.”
You just shook your head, turning toward the portrait hole, "Whatever. Keep up if you’re coming, mum."
Despite what Fred Weasley told everyone—including himself—you knew exactly how he felt about you.
He said it all the time, like repeating it would somehow make it true.
“You’re like a little sister to me.”
He’d ruffle your hair, wrap an arm around your shoulder, call you squirt. Like he wasn’t two seconds away from spontaneously combusting every time some poor boy looked in your direction for longer than a heartbeat.
And maybe he thought it was brotherly affection.
Maybe he genuinely believed that he was just being protective. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how his voice always changed around you—softer, warmer, less teasing. Maybe he didn’t realize that he never reacted this way when Ginny got into trouble, or when Hermione dragged Ron across a dueling mat.
But you noticed.
So did everyone else.
And every time Fred got all riled up on your behalf, trying to cover his nerves with shouting or sarcasm, it made you feel like the center of the universe. Like a sunflower turned toward its sun.
And because you were a menace—and because you were in love—you liked to test just how far you could push that brotherly façade.
Every Dumbledore’s Army meeting became your personal playground.
Every duel, a performance.
Every trip, stumble, or wince? Another chance to watch Fred's expression twist from calm to frantic in real time.
Today was no different.
You were paired with Zacharias Smith—a pompous, loud-mouthed git who was all talk and absolutely no skill. The second your names were called together, you spotted Fred across the room stiffen like he’d just been personally insulted.
But you simply smiled.
Smith was already getting cocky before the duel even started, twirling his wand with the confidence of someone who'd only heard about talent. Then he shouted an Expelliarmus—a bit too forcefully—and you seized your moment.
You gasped, staggered backward, and threw yourself to the floor with a dramatic thud, wand flying from your hand as you landed.
It wasn’t a bad fall. It barely even hurt. But that wasn’t the point.
Across the room, Fred froze mid-spell.
“Oi!” He shouted, already shoving past George and dodging Neville as he sprinted toward you.
His face was a picture of panic.
Your internal grin was feral.
He skidded to his knees beside you, eyes darting across your body like he expected to find a missing limb, “Are you alright?! What the bloody hell was that, Smith?!”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. He was always too easy. Like flicking a switch.
“I’m fine, Freddie.” You said, your voice soft and sweet, fluttering your lashes for good measure.
He didn’t even acknowledge it—too busy inspecting your arm, pulling up your sleeve to check for bruises like he was some kind of medic.
"That spell was way too aggressive," He growled, “He could’ve dislocated your shoulder, or—or cracked your wrist!”
You made a soft, wounded noise in your throat. (Maybe laid it on a bit thick, but who was judging? Certainly not Fred.)
“I’ll be okay,” You murmured, letting your bottom lip tremble just slightly, “My hero.”
Fred scowled. A full-on, brows-knitted, jaw-tightened scowl, “Don’t get soppy on me, squirt. You’re like a little sister. I gotta keep you safe.”
Little sister.
Right.
You tried not to roll your eyes.
Not like he said a word when Hermione accidentally launched Ron into a bookshelf twenty minutes ago and Fred had laughed so hard he almost cried. Not like he’d won a sickle betting against his own brother.
No, it was different when it was you.
When it was you, he sprinted. He shouted. He scowled like the world was ending.
You inhaled slowly and offered him your sweetest, most angelic smile, “Of course, Freddie.”
He didn’t look convinced. His eyes lingered a little too long on your face before he stood and offered you his hand.
You took it—warm, calloused, grounding—and let him pull you to your feet.
As he turned away to go yell at Smith again (Zacharias had wisely retreated to the far side of the room), you brushed off your robes and watched Fred’s retreating back with a sense of calm satisfaction.
You’d get him eventually.
You were patient.
And Fred Weasley had no idea what he was in for.
It was one of those rare warm afternoons in October—the kind that made you forget how quickly the season was changing. The sun hung low over the Black Lake, and a gentle breeze rolled off the water, ruffling your notes and carrying the faint scent of moss and sun-warmed grass.
You’d spread your books beneath a tree, determined to study for your upcoming exams. But, predictably, you’d spent more time watching the sky ripple across the lake than reading a single line. Still, it was peaceful. Quiet. A perfect moment.
Until it wasn’t.
A body dropped into the grass beside you with a dramatic sigh.
“Ugh,” Fred Weasley groaned, flopping onto his back like the world had wronged him, “I knew I’d find you out here being obnoxiously productive.”
You glanced over your shoulder, amused, “And here I thought I’d actually get some work done without distractions.”
“I know,” He said, shielding his eyes with one hand, “My devastating good looks are very distracting.”
You snorted, “Wow. Didn’t think anyone could love themselves more than Malfoy.”
Fred gasped, “That’s low. Even for you.”
You grinned, turning back to your parchment. For a while, the quiet settled between you again—comfortable and companionable. Sunlight filtered through the branches above, casting warm, dappled shadows over your notes. A few first-years skipped stones near the lake, their laughter drifting on the breeze. It felt like Hogwarts had slowed down—like the Tournament hadn’t upended everything, like you hadn’t spent the entire morning stressed about things you couldn’t control.
Fred sat up beside you, resting his arms on his knees. “Weird, innit?” He said, nodding toward the water, “No Quidditch this year.”
You nodded, “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d miss it, but… I kind of do.”
“No bludgers to the face every Saturday,” He sighed, “What a tragedy.”
You laughed, “You liked getting hit.”
“I like winning,” He corrected with a smirk, “There’s a difference.”
You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head.
Fred leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him, “Well, who needs Quidditch when there’s the Triwizard Tournament, eh?”
You wrinkled your nose, “I still can’t believe they’re actually holding that thing again. A student died last time. I mean—who would be stupid enough to enter?”
Fred rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand and giving you a lazy, mischievous grin, “Funny you should ask. George and I are entering.”
You blinked, “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious.”
Your mouth fell open, “Fred, you’re not even of age.”
“Technicality,” He responded, waving a hand, “We’ve got plans.”
“You’re mad,” You said, gaping at him, “Do you even know what the tasks are?”
“’Course not,” He said brightly, “That’s the fun of it. Life’s full of surprises.”
You raised an eyebrow, “Life’s also full of death, Fred.”
He grinned, “I think that’s a fair trade for a thousand galleons.”
You stared, “You want to risk dying for money?”
He gave you a look, “I want to open a joke shop.”
That shut you up.
He didn’t say it like a joke. There was a rare steadiness to his voice, something quiet and real beneath the usual chaos. He plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between his fingers, not quite meeting your eyes.
“George and I—we’ve been working on stuff for ages. Skiving Snackboxes, Canary Creams, that cough syrup that changes your voice pitch—we’ve got an entire catalogue in our dorm. No more sneaking around under Umbridge’s nose. We want real walls. A shop. Our names on the window.”
He paused, then added, “We’ve been looking at places in Diagon Alley. But they’re way out of reach. Even if we worked our arses off for the next ten years, we’d never make enough. The Tournament’s our best shot.”
You blinked, “Oh Godric. You’re actually serious.”
He finally glanced over at you, “Deadly.”
Your heart did a weird little lurch. Not just because Fred Weasley could be serious—which was a revelation all on its own—but because now you could see it. The dream behind the jokes. How much it meant to him.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” You asked quietly.
He shrugged, suddenly shy, “Dunno. Guess I didn’t want anyone laughing at it. It’s not exactly the career Mum had in mind.”
You nudged his shoulder gently, “Well, for the record? I think it’s brilliant.”
He looked at you then—really looked. The wind ruffled his hair, and the sharpness in his grin softened into something slower, more genuine.
“You do?”
You nodded, “Absolutely. I mean, if anyone can build an empire out of nosebleeds and puking pastilles, it’s you two.”
Fred beamed, and for a second, the world felt lighter.
“Thanks.” He said, quiet but full of meaning.
You smiled back and nudged his foot with yours, “You’ll still be an idiot, though.”
“Obviously,” He said, flopping onto his back with a groan—his head landing squarely in your lap, “Just a rich one.”
You looked down at him, sunlight catching in his eyelashes, his grin lopsided and smug. And you laughed—soft and full, like the sun had settled in your chest.
It was nothing and everything.
Just a moment. Just a feeling.
But it was these moments that truly made you believe.
You were never a just 'little sister' to Fred.
The Yule Ball was a glittering, dazzling spectacle—lights flickering off icicles, laughter rising above the string quartet, and students twirling like they belonged in fairytales. You, however, sat near the edge of the ballroom, nursing your second Butterbeer and watching the swirl of color and sound with a wistful smile.
You hadn’t come with a date. Not for lack of trying—well, trying in your own mischievous, joking way.
A few weeks ago, you’d cheekily asked Fred if he wanted to go with you. Just for laughs. You knew he was going with Angelina—everyone did—but you asked anyway, leaning across the common room table with a dramatic flutter of your lashes.
“Freddie, darling,” You’d purred in a mock-sultry voice, “would you do me the honor of escorting me to the Yule Ball?”
Fred had laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair, “Merlin, no. You’re like my little sister.” He said, ruffling your hair like it was the funniest thing in the world.
Ugh. Little sister. Would he ever give it a rest?
It still clanged around in your brain like a badly played triangle.
You’d rolled your eyes at the time and played it off with a sarcastic bow, “Guess I’ll be a single lady then.”
You could’ve gone with someone else—you’d been asked by a few boys from all three schools—but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept any of them. You’d considered it briefly, wondering if maybe it would make Fred jealous. Part of you hesitated because you didn’t want to give him another reason to believe you weren’t available—romantically or otherwise.
But, really… you didn’t want to go with anyone who wasn’t Fred.
So you came alone. In a dress you adored. Ready to have a good time with your friends instead of pretending to care about someone you’d barely remember in a year.
The small detail you’d failed to factor in?
Your friends hadn’t come alone.
So here you were—alone in a dress you actually loved, watching the dance floor glow with candlelight and spinning silhouettes.
You weren’t bitter. Not really.
…Okay. Maybe a little.
You were fine. You were great. You were single, glowing, unbothered—and just a little disappointed.
Fred had been dancing most of the evening with Angelina, stopping now and then to mess with George or shove cake in Lee’s face. But the moment he spotted you sitting alone, something shifted in him. His laughter faltered mid-sentence. The smile dimmed just slightly.
He watched you from the edge of the crowd. Your eyes followed the dancers, your foot tapping along with the beat. But you weren’t smiling like you usually did. You looked like you were waiting—for something. Or someone.
Fred excused himself from the group without a word and made his way toward you, face unreadable.
You looked up as he stopped in front of you.
“Fred?”
“You look like a lemon.”
You blinked. “Charming.”
He held out a hand, “Dance with me.”
You raised a brow, “And abandon my hard-earned reputation as the designated wallflower? You sure you want to ruin that for me?”
He smirked, but there was something softer beneath it, “Just so you’re not sitting here looking miserable. I mean, you looked like you wanted to dance. And you’re not a lemon. You’re… a pomegranate.”
You stared at him, “Wow. How could a girl possibly resist?”
You placed your hand in his, warmth zipping up your arm at the contact.
“Thanks, Fred. I didn’t want to sit here all night.”
“I’m rescuing you from a night of tragic wallflowering,” He said, placing one hand on your waist and taking the other in his, “A truly chivalrous act.”
“Right,” You said dryly, “Should I curtsy or just kiss your feet?”
He narrowed his eyes, “I could still leave you here, you know.”
“You won’t.” You said smugly.
You were on your third dance with Fred—completely unaware of time, music, or the fact that your feet were starting to ache—when someone tapped your shoulder.
You turned to see a Ravenclaw boy you vaguely recognized. “Hey—sorry to interrupt,” He said, smiling, “Would you like to dance the next one?”
You opened your mouth, startled, but Fred beat you to it.
“She’s booked for the night, mate." He said smoothly.
The boy blinked, “Oh. I just thought—”
Fred clapped a hand on his shoulder, laughing, “Appreciate you trying to put me out of my misery, really. But I couldn’t do that to you.”
The boy hesitated, then walked away.
You turned back to Fred, eyebrows raised, “Didn’t you just say you were dancing with me because I looked like a lonely?”
Fred shrugged, “I couldn’t, in good conscience, let him suffer through your dancing. Besides, you’d be bored with anyone else.”
You snorted, “I’m calling your bluff, Weasley. You just don’t want to admit you’re having fun.”
He gave you a wicked grin. “Maybe I am… but don’t let it go to your head.”
The night wore on, and you were breathless from laughter. Despite his usual disinterest in McGonagall’s dance lessons—apart from embarrassing his brother for dancing with her—Fred, to his credit, was a surprisingly good dancer. He had already spun you around twice, always managing to keep you steady even though, in these heels, it felt like one misstep away from disaster. But his latest antic nearly gave you a cardiac arrest.
“Ready?” He asked, eyes gleaming.
“Fred—what are you—?”
Then he dipped you.
Dramatically.
One strong arm behind your back, the other holding your hand as your head tilted back with a surprised squeak. You gripped his arms tightly, heart hammering.
“I could drop you,” He said casually, “Let everyone see you take a tumble in that pretty dress.”
“Fred Weasley, don’t you dare—”
He chuckled, voice low and steady, “I’d never let you go.”
Your breath caught.
He was close—too close. His voice was warm against your cheek, his grin lazy, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Like what he’d just said meant something.
You stared at him for a heartbeat too long.
Then, with a cheeky flourish, he pulled you upright again, smiling like it had all been a joke.
You didn’t say a word. Because if you did—if you pointed out how soft and sweet that had been—he’d ruin it. He’d backpedal. Say something like “Because you’re like my sister,” and you weren’t about to let that ruin the moment.
So you said nothing.
You let him hold you a little too close.
Let his fingers linger at your waist.
Let yourself feel the weight of it—of him.
And then, slowly, the teasing faded. The jokes quieted. You were just dancing. Holding each other. His hand warm against your back. His eyes drifted to your lips just once and you had to stop everything in you from leaning into him.
At some point, your fingers brushed his collar, adjusting it just to touch him.
The both of you just lost in your own world.
Until the crowd began to thin. Until the music slowed. Until reality crept back in.
Fred glanced toward the edge of the ballroom.
“Oh, Merlin,” He breathed, “Angelina.”
You blinked, “Oh my God. You had a date.”
He winced, “I didn’t mean to leave her—”
“You left her the whole night, Fred,” You worried, still slightly dazed that the guy you had been crushing on forgot his own date for your company, “For your pomegranate.”
He looked sheepish, running a hand nervously through his hair. “That makes it sound worse.” He muttered.
“It is worse.” You said quietly, the concern in your voice barely masked by the soft glow of the ballroom lights.
Fred swallowed hard. “I’ll go talk to her,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flickering with a mix of guilt and dread, “She’s gonna kill me.”
He found Angelina standing near the exit, her arms crossed, the faintest crease between her brows. She didn’t look angry—not really. Just… tired. Like she’d been waiting too long to say what she needed to say, and it had worn her down.
“Took you long enough.” She said coolly, voice steady but carrying a weight beneath it.
“Angelina, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be,” She interrupted, stepping closer, her gaze sharp and unyielding, “Just be honest with me.”
Fred blinked, confusion clouding his expression, “Honest?”
She nodded, her voice softer but no less firm, “The moment you saw her, you forgot I even existed.”
His cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and something deeper, more complicated, “It’s not like that. She’s—”
“Don’t,” Angelina said sharply, cutting him off, “Don’t say ‘little sister.’ You’ve been using that excuse for ages. It’s not cute anymore. She’s not your sister. You didn’t spend the whole night laughing with her, dancing with her, looking at her like she hung the bloody moon because she was your sister.”
Fred opened his mouth, as if to protest, but no words came. The truth hung heavy in the air, unspoken but impossible to deny.
Angelina gave him a sad, almost wistful smile, “You know what? I hope she finally says something. Because you’re too stupid to realize you’re already halfway in love.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her silhouette swallowed by the crowd.
Fred stood frozen, watching the heavy doors swing shut behind her. The sounds of the ball—the music, the laughter—seemed distant, like they were happening to someone else.
Across the room, you were laughing with George, your eyes bright, your dress catching the light with every twirl. Your joy was undeniable, effortless.
Fred’s heart thundered painfully in his chest.
Oh.
Fred stumbled into the Gryffindor common room later that night, hair a complete mess, and his tie still hanging loosely from his collar like a badge of defeat. His usually cocky grin was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight. Not after Angelina. Not after you.
He hadn’t even managed to reach the part of his brain that could make sense of why the latter felt like it mattered more. The weight of it pressed on his chest in a way he wasn’t used to.
He made a beeline for the couch and flopped down face-first, letting out a long, weary sigh. Unfortunately, his relief was short-lived.
“Enchanté, loverboy.” Came a familiar voice.
Fred groaned without opening his eyes, “Go away, George.”
But George was already there, sprawled comfortably with a smug grin and a pillow in hand.
“Why should I?” George asked, grinning wide, “I’m genuinely enjoying your emotional meltdown. It’s been ages since I had this much blackmail material on you.”
Fred peeked one eye open, glaring, “You’re delusional.”
“Oh, am I?” George leaned in, his grin widening wickedly, “So, just to make sure I’ve got this right—you asked Angelina to the Yule Ball, spent exactly zero time with her, and then danced the entire night with someone you keep insisting is ‘just your little sister’?”
Fred scowled, sitting up slightly, “She didn’t have anyone to dance with—”
George gasped dramatically, clutching his chest, “Oh no! Poor darling (Y/N), tragically unwanted and left to fend off all those desperate wankers alone. Thank goodness you stepped up to do your familial duty and ward off all those other blokes with your death stare!”
“I didn’t—”
“And then there was the moment when you full-on blocked that Ravenclaw who asked her to dance—”
“He was creepy.” Fred interrupted, defensive.
“Was he?” George raised a skeptical brow, “Or did you just not like some other bloke getting close to what you think belongs to you?”
Fred sputtered, cheeks flushing, “She’s not mine!”
George leaned back, hands behind his head, looking like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup, “That’s not what your face said last night when she laughed at someone else’s joke.”
Fred blinked in surprise, “She did?”
George threw back his head and howled with laughter, “You absolute muppet. You’re in love with her.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are in love with her.”
Fred narrowed his eyes, “She’s like a sister.”
George chuckled, eyes sparkling with disbelief, “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”
The days after the Yule Ball stretched on with a strange sort of silence between you and Fred. It wasn’t the loud, obvious kind of silence that comes from a fight or an argument—it was quieter, more complicated. Like a door left slightly ajar, inviting but uncertain whether to open or close.
Fred wasn’t usually the type to get tongue-tied or awkward. He was a master of quick jokes, cheeky grins, and effortless charm. But in those weeks, whenever you were near, something tangled inside him—like a knot he didn’t quite know how to undo. His usual bravado wavered just enough that it made you catch him staring a little longer than usual or pause mid-joke, like he was rehearsing lines in his head that never quite made it out.
The common room felt different now when you sat near each other. The easy camaraderie you’d always shared was still there, but it was layered with something unspoken—something neither of you dared to say aloud. Conversations that used to flow effortlessly now stumbled into sudden silences.
He found himself watching you more, stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking—the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you loved, the subtle way you bit your lip when you were deep in thought, the way your laughter made the whole room feel warmer. Every little detail seemed to grow in significance, like clues to a puzzle he didn’t realize he was trying to solve.
He kept telling himself it was safer to keep things as they were. Safer to laugh it off, to shove feelings aside and pretend they weren’t there.
Still, the more he tried to ignore it, the harder it became. Every shared glance, every accidental touch, every laugh felt like a spark. And sparks—no matter how small—have a way of turning into flames.
So the days rolled on, filled with stolen moments and unspoken truths, until the night of the twins' birthday.
You’d gone all out.
Of course you had. They were your closest friends—your brothers in chaos, your constants—and no amount of recent awkwardness between you and Fred was going to change that. You weren’t about to let a few strange, tense weeks ruin what had always been effortless. You had promised yourself you'd make their birthday unforgettable.
So you did.
The common room was full of warmth and flickering firelight, the remnants of cake crumbs and torn wrapping paper scattered across the floor like confetti. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, and the twins were basking in the glow of attention and affection from everyone who adored them.
George let out a low whistle as he unwrapped your third gift—a meticulously crafted set of self-replenishing joke parchment. His eyes lit up like a kid in Honeydukes.
“Blimey, (Y/N),” He said, grinning, “Trying to buy our affection?”
You laughed, nudging his shoulder, “Obviously. Isn’t it working?”
They were thrilled—joking, laughing, trading banter with anyone who approached. It should’ve felt perfect.
And yet… that other gift still burned a hole in your pocket.
The real one.
Your eyes found Fred across the room—red hair tousled, cheeks pink from laughing too hard, head thrown back as Lee told some ridiculous story. He was glowing in the way only Fred could glow, like he was lit from the inside.
And still, you felt that tug in your chest. The ache of what hadn’t been said.
When the noise began to settle and the party mellowed into pockets of low chatter, you crossed the room and gently tugged at his sleeve.
“Fred,” You said, just loud enough for him to hear, “Come with me?”
He blinked down at you, caught off guard. “Yeah. Alright.”
You led him toward the farthest corner of the Gryffindor common room, past the roaring fire and beyond the clusters of chatting students, until you reached the quiet nook beneath the grand stained-glass windows. The flickering moonlight spilled in, mingling with the soft glow of a single enchanted lamp, casting gentle shadows that danced along the stone walls. Here, removed from the laughter and bustle, it felt like the rest of the world had paused just for the two of you.
Your hands trembled slightly as you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small, worn box. It wasn’t wrapped. It wasn’t fancy. It didn’t sparkle or shimmer. But your heart was in it—completely.
Fred frowned a little, brow furrowing, “You didn’t have to—”
“Shut up and open it, Weasley.” You interrupted, pushing it gently into his hands.
He raised an eyebrow at you, amused but curious. Slowly, he lifted the lid.
Inside was a snow globe. The little snowflakes drifted gently over a miniature brick-and-mortar storefront, with a bright red ‘W’ hanging proudly above the door. As Fred looked closer, a tiny charmed figurine—obviously meant to be him—stepped onto the shop’s doorstep. The figure carefully put on his hat, then lifted it to reveal a small rabbit sitting playfully on his head. When he placed the hat back down and lifted it again, the rabbit was gone.
His fingers hovered over it, stunned. Not because it was extravagant—it wasn’t—but because it was him. It was the dream. His dream. Captured and preserved with such quiet devotion, it took the air straight out of his lungs.
“I made it,” You said softly, barely above a whisper, “I wanted you to know that no matter what… I’ll always be on your side.”
Fred stared at it.
Then at you.
His expression shifted like a storm—surprise first, then something softer. Something heavier.
You hesitated, “I know things have been weird these past couple weeks, but I just—”
Before you could finish, he stepped forward and kissed you.
There was no warning.
No hesitation.
Just Fred—urgent and messy and real. It wasn’t graceful, wasn’t the kind of kiss you saw in fairytales. It was all clumsy affection and months of unsaid things. You made a startled sound, but your hands moved before you could think—one curling into the front of his shirt to keep him close, the other gripping the side of his face.
You kissed him back with everything you had.
When he finally pulled away, breathless, his face was burning. His hands lingered on your waist, his forehead resting lightly against yours.
“Don’t say a word,” He muttered hoarsely, eyes squeezed shut, “Not. A. Word.”
You opened your mouth.
He jabbed a finger at you without even looking, “I mean it.”
You closed it again, biting back a wicked little smirk.
Fred groaned under his breath, dragging both hands through his hair as he turned back toward the others like a man marching to his execution.
The moment he stepped back into view, the common room erupted.
A chorus of laughter, wolf whistles, and mock applause rang out like someone had set off fireworks.
“FREDDIE!” Lee shouted, pointing, “You’ve got lipstick all over your mouth!”
George nearly fell off the couch, howling, “Finally, you absolute muppet!”
Fred turned back to shoot you a look—something between a death glare and a desperate plea for mercy.
You just leaned against the wall, arms crossed and smile syrup-sweet. “You told me not to say anything.” You called innocently.
His jaw dropped. George clapped him hard on the back.
“You’re doomed, Freddie. Doomed!”
Fred groaned again, eyes still locked on you, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle you or kiss you all over again.
You just winked.
And Fred, cheeks flaming and heart pounding, couldn’t even pretend anymore.
He was absolutely, irrevocably, spectacularly in love with you.
And he always had been.
Fred didn’t talk to you for two whole days after the kiss.
Which was absolutely hilarious, considering he couldn’t stop staring at you.
Every time you caught his eye in the common room, he’d jerk his head away so fast you half expected him to get whiplash. His cheeks would flare bright red like he’d just walked through a blast-ended skrewt.
At breakfast, he knocked over his goblet of pumpkin juice—not once, but twice—sending sticky liquid splashing over the table. When he tripped on the stairwell on his way to Charms class, narrowly catching himself on the banister, you barely suppressed a laugh.
George caught on immediately, his grin spreading wider than the Great Hall on feast day.
“You’re a bloody mess,” George said gleefully, clapping Fred hard on the shoulder as if congratulating a champion, “And all because of one little kiss.”
Fred muttered furiously, burying his face in his hands, cheeks still flaming. “It wasn’t a kiss,” He insisted, voice muffled, “It was—it was—”
“What? CPR?” George teased with a wicked smirk, “Pretty sure you didn’t need to snog her to save her life, mate.”
Fred groaned loudly and pushed his hands away, blinking rapidly as if trying to erase the image from his brain.
This went on for days.
He’d catch your eye, panic, and look away like you’d cast a Confundus Charm on him. His ears would burn brighter than the Gryffindor common room fire, and he’d mutter under his breath whenever you passed by.
It was, frankly, kind of adorable.
George was having the time of his life.
On day one, he started pacing the common room, sighing dramatically like a Shakespearean actor. “Ah, young love,” he muttered, voice thick with mock sentimentality. “So fragile, so awkward, so completely bloody hilarious.”
Whenever Fred glanced your way—no matter how fleetingly—George would launch a strategic attack with Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, pelting him like a mischievous spellcaster.
Fred just huffed and tried to act nonchalant, but even someone as blind as him could see he was utterly, hopelessly smitten.
Meanwhile, you watched the whole spectacle with a quiet smile—knowing this was just Fred's pathetic way of trying to come to terms that you were actually the love of his life.
Fred wasn’t there for the DA meeting today. While he said he was just not feeling well, a part of you wondered whether he was trying to avoid you on purpose.
Without his ever-watchful, overprotective presence hovering nearby, you found yourself sharper—faster, smarter, more daring than you’d realized.
You sparred with Harry, and it quickly became clear: you were a natural. Your feet barely seemed to touch the ground as you ducked, weaved, and cast spells with precision and flair. Your counter-curses came swift and clever, each movement more confident than the last.
When you finally disarmed Harry with a clean, flawless flick, sending his wand soaring across the room, even Hermione couldn’t help but clap.
Harry grinned, breathless as he retrieved his wandm “Merlin, (Y/N), where have you been hiding that?”
Your heart raced, a triumphant spark lighting up inside you. You shrugged with a sly smile.
“Maybe I just don’t like showing off.” You said playfully.
Harry’s eyes narrowed playfully, suspicion flashing in them.
Then it hit him. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his wand and pointed it at you.
“Wait a minute,” He said, voice teasing, “You pretend to be useless around Fred, don’t you? So he’ll fuss over you?”
You batted your eyelashes and gave him your most innocent, wide-eyed look.
“Moi?”
Harry burst out laughing, shaking his head, “You are pure evil. Brilliantly evil.”
You just winked, utterly unapologetic.
You didn’t plan to storm into Fred’s dorm like a thundercloud, but after days of the cold shoulder, the sidelong glances, and the maddening silence, you’d finally reached your limit. Tonight, you were done waiting.
The door swung open before Fred could even answer, and he was caught somewhere between surprise and guilt. His usual easygoing grin was gone, replaced by a flush creeping up his neck and a nervous flicker in his eyes. The room around him was cluttered with scattered prototypes and half-finished joke shop inventions, mirroring the chaos you sensed in his mind.
He shuffled uncomfortably, running a hand through his untamed hair, his gaze flicking anywhere but at you. The words he tried to form tangled and tumbled inside his head, leaving him stumbling over silence. His posture was tense, shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller, less exposed.
He was still rambling—stumbling over half-hearted excuses about how you were “like a sister,” how George was “just taking the mickey,” and how “it didn’t mean anything.”
That was when you snapped.
You grabbed him by the tie, yanked him forward, and kissed him like it was the only way to shut him up.
For a single, suspended, electrified second, Fred froze. Then he kissed you back, like he was catching up on something he hadn’t even let himself want until this very moment. His hands gripped your waist with a fierce uncertainty—unsure if he was pulling you closer or holding on for dear life.
He tasted like mint and adrenaline and something sweeter, something dangerous—because somewhere in that kiss, Fred realized he wanted to do it again.
Again and again and again.
But then you pulled away, chest heaving, lips swollen, and before he could stop himself, Fred chased after you, his mouth searching for yours on pure instinct.
You held him off with a hand pressed to his chest.
“This isn’t how you treat your little sister.” You whispered, voice soft but sharp—words that still landed like a hex.
Fred blinked at you, stunned, lips parted, like he’d just been hit by a bludger he never saw coming.
Had he really been calling you his little sister all this time?
Ew. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Yeah,” He finally said, “That’s… that’s not what this is.”
You tilted your head, that infuriating little smirk tugging at your lips—the one that always got him into trouble, even when he didn’t know why.
“Took you long enough to realize.” You murmured, voice all velvet and mischief.
Fred stared, mouth opening to argue—but he had nothing. Not a single retort. Because, bloody hell, you were right. He had taken too long. Too long pretending, too long denying, too long calling you his “little sister” when all he wanted was to kiss you again until he forgot every reason not to.
And now? Now he was properly wrecked.
Fred swallowed hard, eyes flicking back to your lips before settling on your smug little smile.
“Yeah?” He said, voice low, a little dazed, “What else am I late to, then? Might as well catch up properly.”
He stared at you, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. Then—just as he stepped forward again, a little more sure this time—
“Oi!”
The door slammed open.
George stood in the doorway, wide-eyed, munching on a half-eaten apple, “Didn’t realize we were hosting Snogwarts: The Reunion. Should I come back later, or are you two gonna keep traumatizing me?”
Fred groaned loudly, “Merlin’s bollocks, George, ever heard of knocking?”
George shrugged around a crunchy bite, “Ever heard of boundaries? That’s my bed you’ve shoved her onto!”
“Godric's bloody—George, do you mind?”
George took another loud bite, “Yes. But not enough to leave.”
You giggled, wrapping your arms around Fred’s shoulders, and he groaned again, forehead dropping to your shoulder like he was silently begging for mercy.
Later that night, Fred found you curled up in the common room, tucked beneath a soft blanket with a book resting in your hands. The fire flickered gently, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Without a word, he collapsed beside you with all the dramatic flair he was known for, letting out a long, theatrical sigh as if the weight of the entire Quidditch league was pressing down on his chest.
“I’m a disaster.” He declared, voice heavy with self-reproach.
You didn’t look up from your book, “Mhm.”
Fred ran a hand through his tousled hair, voice dropping to a low confession, “I panicked. That first time. The moment caught me off guard. I was trying to show you how grateful I was—and well, I thought kissing you was the best way to do that.”
You closed your book with a soft snap and finally met his eyes, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, “It was a good idea. Until you ran off with lipstick on your face and hid behind George for two days.”
He groaned, dragging his hands down his face in mock despair, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Immensely." You said, amusement sparkling in your gaze.
Fred muttered, “I probably deserved that.”
“You do.”
He exhaled, steadying himself, “Look… I’m sorry. You’re not my little sister. You never were. I’ve been stupid and blind and oblivious, and I’m lucky you didn’t move on from a fool like me. I like you—more than is remotely reasonable.”
You smiled, a victorious glint in your eyes, “Say it again.”
Fred rolled his eyes, but the sharpness was gone, replaced by something softer, more real, “I like you.”
You tilted your head, voice gentle but playful, “Properly.”
He shifted closer, his heart pounding in his throat, “I like you, alright? I’ve liked you for ages. I just didn’t know how to say it… or what to do with it.”
Your smile softened into something warm, inviting, “Then show me.”
He did.
This time, the kiss was slower, deliberate. No panic, no rushing away. Just the warmth of his hands finding your waist, your fingers threading through his hair, and the quiet, electric certainty that everything was finally falling into place.
Bonus:
It was a brand-new day. Literally. But somehow, it felt metaphorically new too—like the kind of fresh start you didn’t even know you needed until it happened.
Fred Weasley strode into the Great Hall that morning, and when his eyes landed on you already seated at the Gryffindor table, casually sipping pumpkin juice like you hadn’t just rewritten the entire script of his life the night before, he nearly tripped over his own feet. He blinked, stunned.
You caught his eye, flashed a mischievous smirk, and patted the seat beside you.
He sat down slowly, unsure if this was real or some elaborate prank hatched by the combined mischief of Peeves and George.
“Morning.” You said, effortlessly snagging a piece of toast from his plate the second it appeared.
“Morning.” He echoed, eyes fixed on you, clearly unsure what to do with his hands—or how to behave now that the world had shifted on its axis.
“You sleep alright?” He asked cautiously.
You gave him a teasing look, “Better than you, probably. You kept tossing and turning. Too busy lying awake, replaying every moment from yesterday.”
His jaw practically hit the floor, “How did you know?”
“I didn’t. But now I do.” You quipped.
Fred groaned, “You’re the worst.”
“You’re the one who took three years to kiss me. I’m allowed to enjoy this.”
Before he could reply, George plopped down across from you both, grinning like a Kneazle with a bowl of gold coins in hand.
“Well, well, well,” George announced, sliding a crumpled parchment onto the table with theatrical flair, “What do we have here? Oh yes—that’s right! Three galleons, eight sickles, and a bag of Fizzing Whizbees. Collected over three bloody years.”
Fred blinked, “What is that?”
George’s grin widened, “The betting pool. Started it when I first noticed our dear brother here looking at you like a lovesick Kneazle but being completely useless about it. Most gave up after sixth year, but not me. I believed.”
You stared at him, incredulous, “You bet on us?”
“Of course I did. I’m not an idiot. Also, Lee Jordan owes me five chocolate frogs and the next round at Hogsmeade.”
Fred groaned, burying his face in his hands, “This is a nightmare.”
You patted his shoulder, barely holding back laughter, “Don’t worry, love. At least you’re finally winning something.”
He peeked at you through his fingers, utterly defeated, “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”
You leaned in, planting a light kiss on his cheek, “Not a chance.”
Just like that, Fred Weasley—world-class prankster, confident flirt, and now completely and irrevocably yours—blushed bright red over eggs and toast. Meanwhile, George was already shouting across the table, “Oi, Angelina! Pay up! I told you it’d happen before graduation!”
“Well, well, Weasley,” Came Angelina Johnson’s voice from the far end of the table, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she set down her toast, “Not only did you break my heart, but now you’re making me lose a bloody bet?”
Fred groaned again, looking up just in time to see Angelina approaching with that infuriating grin firmly in place.
“I didn’t think it was possible to make this more awkward,” She said, sliding onto the bench beside George, “but you’ve really outdone yourself. I bet you thought you were clever, calling her your ‘little sister’ while sneaking off with her every chance you got.”
Fred’s cheeks flamed. “It wasn’t like that.” He muttered, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.
You nudged him playfully, “I know Fred’s an idiot, Angelina, but you should’ve had some faith in me. There was no way I was going to graduate without pointing out that he’s clearly in love with me. Honestly, he should’ve figured it out last Valentine’s Day when he nearly had a conniption because Roger Davies asked me to be his valentine.”
Fred groaned again, but this time the sound was lighter, less burdened. He was too wrapped up in the warmth of having you by his side, teasing him—this time as his girlfriend—to care about anything else.
Bonus Bonus Scene:
It started innocently enough.
(Okay, no. It really didn’t. Not even a little bit.)
You were at the Burrow for a family dinner—Molly, ever the doting mother hen, had insisted you come along.
“You’re practically one of us, dear!” she’d said, completely unaware that you and Fred were teetering on the edge of indecency every time you looked at each other.
Fred had spent the entire afternoon teasing you with little touches—brief brushes of his hand at the dinner table, secretive smirks, and whispered comments that made you choke on your pumpkin juice while Molly gave you an oblivious, comforting pat on the back.
By the time dessert was cleared, you were practically vibrating with pent-up energy and barely able to keep your hands to yourself.
Fred caught your eye across the kitchen, his gaze locked with yours—and that was all it took.
You hadn’t even made it two steps into the hallway when he caught your wrist, pulled you into a shadowy alcove, and kissed you like he’d been starving for it all night.
You giggled into his mouth, clutching the front of his shirt, “Fred—someone will see—”
“Don’t care,” he muttered, his lips already trailing down your neck.
You melted against the wall, laughing breathlessly, tugging him closer.
Fred kissed you like a man who’d been waiting forever, hands roaming, mouth hot and urgent.
You were completely lost in the moment, lost in him—so much so that neither of you noticed the heavy footsteps approaching.
Until—
“FREDERICK GIDEON WEASLEY!”
You both jumped, nearly a foot in the air.
Fred stumbled back, his ears flaming bright red, wiping his mouth. (He was quite traumatized from the incident after your first kiss you see)
Molly stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, face the exact shade of a ripe tomato.
For a long, frozen three seconds, no one moved. No one breathed.
Your heart pounded so loudly it was all you could hear.
Fred looked like he was calculating a quick Apparition out of there.
Molly pointed a trembling finger at both of you, “WHAT—WHAT ON EARTH—YOU—AND—HE—YOU—KISSING!”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, but no words came.
Fred, somehow, found his voice first, “Uh... surprise?” he offered weakly.
“How long has this been going on?!”
Your cheeks burned as heat rushed up your neck, “Um... a while?”
Molly gasped as if you’d just confessed a crime, “A WHILE?!”
You winced. Fred winced.
Behind Molly, George peeked into the room, grinning so wide it looked painful.
Ron snorted from somewhere nearby.
Ginny was cackling so hard she had to lean against the wall.
Fred ran a hand through his hair, looking utterly defeated, as if willing the earth to swallow him whole.
“Mum,” He said, voice low but serious, “I’m in love with her.”
The room fell utterly silent.
Even George stopped laughing.
You blinked at Fred, stunned. He’d never said it like that before—not out loud, not so plainly.
Molly stared at him, then at you, then back at him again.
And then—much to everyone’s horror—she burst into tears.
“Oh, Fred!” She sobbed, “My little boy’s in love!”
You leaned in, grinning against the swell of your own heart, “Didn’t think you’d be the first one to say it,” You whispered, voice warm with mischief, “I was sure I’d have to drag it out of you in another three years.”
He chuckled, not pulling away, gazing at you in such a way that told you that had his mother not been in the room, you would've found yourself pressed against the wall once more, “Had to beat you at something, didn’t I?”
Bonus Bonus BONUS scene: (because I CAN)
The Three Broomsticks buzzed with weekend chatter—students crammed into booths, scarves trailing off shoulders, butterbeer steaming in their mugs. You were nestled between Hermione and Ginny, a little flushed from the warmth and the laughter, your empty glass pushed to the side.
“I still can’t believe he’s not here,” You murmured, stirring absentmindedly at a napkin, “Feels weird, doing all this without him.”
“Aw, you miss your boyfriend.” Ginny cooed dramatically, nudging you with her elbow.
You rolled your eyes, “Of course I do. But it’s more than that. He was everywhere last year. Loud, obnoxious, stealing sips from my drink, sticking notes to my back... It’s just quiet now.”
“He did write you, though,” Hermione offered, smiling, “Nearly every day, if I recall correctly. Your poor owl is exhausted sending your cute little love notes back and forth.”
You pressed your hand to your chest, mocking deep emotion, “Yes. A romantic sentence followed by ten paragraphs of commentary on the exact ratio of sugar to fizz in Fizzing Whizbees. I could swoon.”
“Well, it is Fred,” Ginny said, giggling.
“He said he might try to visit this weekend,” You admitted, eyes flicking toward the window as a group of third-years raced past outside, “But I haven’t heard anything.”
“Maybe he’s surprising you.” Hermione offered with a coy smile, lifting her mug.
“He’s not subtle enough for surprises,” You replied with a grin. “He’d probably drop from the ceiling shouting, ‘DID YOU MISS ME?’.”
At that exact moment, a familiar voice rang out from behind you.
“Well the ceiling was taken so I guess I'm doing this the old-fashioned way.”
You blinked, heart stuttering, and whipped around.
Standing just a few steps away, snow dusting his hair, cheeks pink from the cold, scarf looped loosely around his neck, and the most insufferable grin on his face.
You barely had time to register him before you were out of the booth and throwing your arms around his neck. He caught you easily, spinning you once before setting you down, laughing.
“You prat,” You breathed, hands on either side of his face, “You didn’t tell me—!”
“Would’ve ruined the surprise.” He said, eyes warm and crinkled at the corners.
Ginny raised her butterbeer like a toast. “You owe me five Sickles,” She told Hermione, “I said she’d cry.”
“I’m not crying!” You called back, affronted, though your eyes were definitely misty.
Fred beamed, “Give it ten minutes. I’m very moving.”
“Ugh, can't imagine why anyone would miss that.” Ginny muttered, grimacing into her drink.
And as Fred pressed a quick kiss to your lips and tucked you in closer beside him, it felt like everything had snapped back into place. The noise, the laughter, the warmth—Fred was back, and for a little while at least, the world was exactly as it should be.
Fred, George, and Lee have been avoiding you all day and you’ve had enough. When you blackmail your way into the Gryffindor common room to confront them, you don’t expect Fred to start bombarding you with strange compliments. You definitely don’t expect what comes next.
———————————————————————
It started at breakfast.
You were late. You’d overslept after a long night studying, your robes slightly askew, one sock barely matching the other. Your hair was still damp from a rushed spell, but you didn’t care, because you spotted them instantly.
Fred, George, and Lee. Your best friends since First year.
They were clustered near the middle of the Gryffindor table, heads bowed together in hushed laughter over something probably dangerous and definitely not approved by any adult with a brain. It was your favorite thing about them, really. The way chaos seemed to orbit around them like they were made of gravity and trouble. It made life interesting.
Your feet were already moving toward them before you realised.
Fred looked up just as you reached the bench, mid-laugh, his eyes bright. Something about that made your stomach flutter in that embarrassing way it always did when he looked at you like that. You’d harboured a very secret crush on the boy since Fourth year when he’d sent you a Dwarf-Valentine.
You’d been upset that no one had been interested in giving you one, so to cheer you up he’d gotten you one telling you what a great friend and excellent witch you were. The thoughtfulness and unexpected sweetness of the gesture had you falling head over heels in no time. You’d been a goner since then.
You smiled and slid onto the bench. “What’d I miss?”
Fred blinked, mouth opening like he had something to say - then he glanced to George. George’s eyebrows twitched once, a silent message passed between brothers in a blink.
“Actually,” George said, shooting upright and clapping his hands together, “we’ve got to go.”
“Go?” you echoed, laughing lightly. “Where?”
“Greenhouse,” Lee added, already pushing back from the bench.
“Heard something’s exploding,” George said quickly, grabbing a cold slice of toast like it was a getaway snack. “Don’t want to miss it!”
Before you could blink, they were out the doors, laughing again as they vanished. You sat there, alone on the bench, staring at their empty seats.
Weird.
You stabbed your spoon into your porridge with a little more force than necessary, but it wasn’t enough to set off alarm bells just yet. After all, the boys were always hurrying off to execute elaborate pranks.
Later that day, after double potions, was when you started to notice something might be amiss.
Snape had been especially vicious that day, stalking around the room like a bloodhound with something to prove. Fred had dropped a beaker. It had exploded. Snape’s robes were still faintly steaming. And then Fred had the gall to tell Snape his hair was looking particularly greasy today, which earned him a detention and a deduction of 10 points from Gryffindor.
Still, the class had ended. And you’d hoped - expected - you’d walk to Care of Magical Creatures with the boys like always. You’d been paired with a Hufflepuff this time in class, but you packed up fast and trotted after the trio as they left the dungeon.
You caught them in the hallway just beyond the staircase. “Oi! Wait up!” you called.
Lee turned, smile flickering across his face. “Hey! That was brutal, yeah?”
“Snape nearly swallowed his tongue when your beaker shattered,” you teased, nudging Fred.
The Weasley boy laughed, but it was tight. Shorter than usual. His hand scrubbed through his hair like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs.
“Actually,” George said suddenly, “we need to check on something.”
“In the greenhouse,” Lee said smoothly, already pulling Fred’s arm.
You frowned. “Didn’t you just go there? At breakfast?”
George nodded, too quickly. “Y-yeah, but, different thing. Something with the…mandrakes.”
“Mandrakes?” you echoed skeptically. “What could you possibly need with those? They scream bloody murder when you touch them.”
“Right,” George said. “So we have to touch them very carefully.”
Fred gave you a quick, apologetic look - eyes darting down, cheeks flushing a little - and then let himself be pulled away again.
You watched them disappear around the corner, your chest tightening, your breath catching on a question you couldn’t quite ask.
———————————————————————
You didn’t plan to stalk them.
You just happened to overhear Fred telling Angelina that he’d be in the library during free period doing ‘research’.
Fred Weasley? Research? As if.
It was obviously a lie. Or a cover. But part of you still clung to the hope that maybe it was all in your head and they weren’t avoiding you.
You brought a few books to make it look casual. Waited outside the doors, leaning against the wall, ear tilted toward the hushed shuffle of pages and whispers inside. You stared at the flickering torchlight against the stone and reminded yourself not to be weird. Not to be clingy.
They’d come out. You’d walk together. Like always.
Then, movement. You spotted them sneaking out a side entrance.
All three of them - Fred, George, and Lee - hunched over like they were avoiding Filch himself, looking side to side before scuttling toward the Charms corridor.
Your heart sank. They hadn’t seen you. And you didn’t call out.
You just stared as their silhouettes faded into the shadows, something cold settling in your throat. It was obvious they were up to something, which was not the usual part. The usual part was that the four of you were always up to something together. So why had hey left you out?
Your fingers clenched around your books so tightly the parchment covers creased.
Later that afternoon in Transfiguration was the worst one yet. That was when you finally admitted to yourself that they were actively avoiding you.
You were sat at your usual desk, which you normally shared with Fred. You were pretending to study while the classroom filled up, but you couldn’t focus on any of the words your eyes skimmed over.
You felt…off. Like you were waiting for something you couldn’t admit to wanting.
You heard the door swing open again and your head snapped up, too quickly.
Fred stepped in, scarf askew and hair wind-blown, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. His eyes landed on you - on the empty seat beside you waiting expectantly for him to occupy it - and he froze. The hope that had bubbled up in your chest fizzled out instantly.
He looked guilty. Not surprised. Not excited. Not even sheepish. Guilty.
“Hey!” you said, forcing cheer into your voice, trying not to sound too eager. “I’ve been looking for—”
“He forgot something!” George shouted from beside Fred, louder than necessary.
“What?” You frowned.
He turned to Fred, patting his arm. “Right? You forgot something important!”
Lee immediately stepped forward, grabbing the older twin’s. “Yes. Very urgent. Explosion-related.”
They turned and ran. Actually ran.
You sat there, your skin prickling with heat. Your face felt like it had been slapped. Not dramatically. Not cruelly. Just…dismissed. Like you didn’t matter.
You stood up slowly, your vision stinging. Anger pulsed beneath the surface - hot, fast, desperate. This wasn’t a coincidence anymore. This had to be on purpose. Something cracked inside you, and you’d already started scheming up a little plot of your own.
It took you less than five minutes after Transfiguration to find Neville Longbottom. The last person who’d made it into the Gryffindor common room had done so through him, so it only made sense for her to start there as well.
“AHHH!” Neville thrashed against her hold like he’d just been attacked by an acromantula.
She hushed him as she dragged him into the nearest broom closet, shutting the door behind them with a slam. “Shut up!”
Neville just kept screaming.
“Calm down, Longbottom. No one’s dying!” You soothed, though there was an edge of annoyance in your tone. “Well, maybe I am. Of frustration.”
Neville finally stopped yelling for help and blinked at you in confusion.
“I need access to the Gryffindor common room.” You explained.
“You’re not even in our house!”
“Technically no, but I’ve been in there loads of times.” You justified your intrusion.
“Then ask one of your friends to let you in,” Neville reasoned.
“No, they’re the reason I need to get in. They’ve been avoiding me, and I want to know why.” You explained, but that didn’t seem to even remotely set Neville’s mind at ease.
“I’ll get in trouble—!”
You leaned in close. “Let me put it this way. If you don’t help me, I will casually mention to Professor Sprout that you’ve been growing screaming fungi under your bed again. Oh yes, Lee told me all about that.”
Neville paled. “You wouldn’t.”
You smiled. “Try me.”
———————————————————————
The corridors of Hogwarts were never easy to navigate when one was flustered and humiliated. But you didn’t care about getting caught out after curfew anymore. Not tonight. Not when your pride had already taken enough of a beating.
Your legs carried you at an angry pace through the darkened castle, one hand gripping your wand and the other dragging poor, wide-eyed Neville Longbottom along behind you by the wrist.
“Honestly, I didn’t think you were this mean,” Neville whimpered.
“I’m not mean,” you snapped, hair wild and heart pounding. “I’m just…desperate.”
When you reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, you planted your feet and stared down the guardian with narrowed eyes. “Let us in.”
“She’s not a Gryffindor,” the portrait sniffed.
“She’s got more nerve than me, that’s for sure,” Neville muttered.
“Password?” she said curtly.
You looked to Neville and the boy muttered weakly, eyes cast downwards, “Treacle Tart.”
The portrait scowled, scandalized, but opened anyway with a disapproving glare.
You stormed into the common room, boots thudding against the carpet, heart hammering in your throat.
There they were. Fred, George, and Lee. All three lounged on the couches by the fire, laughing about something, heads tilted back like they didn’t have a care in the world.
Until they saw you.
George’s laughter died mid-cackle. Lee froze with a Bertie Bott’s bean halfway to his mouth. Fred’s eyes widened like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Oh, look,” you said, voice dripping with venom. “The Three Musketeers. How cozy.”
“…Oh no,” George muttered.
You crossed the room with purpose, arms crossed tightly over your chest, eyes blazing. Fred looked like he wanted to melt into the cushions. Lee glanced sideways, calculating escape routes. And George did that thing where he rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish and guilty and trying not to laugh at the same time.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve tried to hang out with you lot today?” you snapped, each word slicing through the thick tension like a well-aimed hex. “Every time I show up, you vanish. At breakfast? You suddenly need to tend to a greenhouse explosion. I try to sit with you at lunch? You’re nowhere to be seen. You even skipped out on Transfiguration! McGonagall was furious!”
Fred looked like he was being interrogated under magical duress. You didn’t realize how pale he’d gone until now.
“I thought maybe I was imagining it,” you went on, breath trembling. “That I was reading too much into it. But I’m not stupid. You’ve been avoiding me. All of you. So, what is it? Did I say something? Do something? Did I get too…what? Too annoying? Too clingy?”
Fred’s jaw flexed. George winced. Lee actually lowered his head like a puppy in trouble. None of them answered.
“I thought we were friends!” your voice cracked. “If I’m such a bloody problem, then just say it to my face! Be men and say it!”
Silence followed, punctured only by the crackling fire.
And then Fred opened his mouth, and what came out was the last thing you expected to hear. “You look so hot when you’re angry.”
You blinked. “What?”
Fred’s eyes widened in horror. “I said you look hot. When you yell. It’s doing something weird to me. Merlin’s beard, did I say that out loud? I did. Didn’t I?”
Lee groaned and covered his face. George let out a strangled “Oh, blimey.”
“I also think your hair looks like something out of an oil painting,” Fred continued, voice rising in panic. “And you’ve got this little frown line when you’re concentrating that makes me want to kiss you stupid.”
You stared, heart hammering in your chest, partially frozen in shock. “You’re joking,” you breathed. “You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not! I wish I was!” Fred blurted, struggling now as Lee shoved a hand over his mouth.
You took a step back, face flushing now for an entirely different reason.
George raised his hands defensively. “Okay. Listen. We can explain.”
“I’d love for someone to start doing that!”
George winced. “We dared Fred to break into Snape’s private stores. You know, for fun.”
“Of course you did.”
“And…he nicked some Veritaserum.”
Your eyes narrowed. “You gave him Veritaserum?!”
“No!” Lee said, eyes wide as he struggled to keep Fred from licking his palm to escape. “Well, yes, but we all had some! It was for a game of truth or dare. We upped the anti. Thought we were only taking a micro dose. He had too much. Turns out it was like, a full dose and a half.”
You gaped. “So…he can’t lie?”
“More like he can’t stop telling the truth,” George said grimly. “It’s been hours. It’s…gotten worse.”
You could hardly believe what they were saying, because that meant everything else Fred had just blurted out was true. “Prove it.”
Lee looked at Fred, then smirked. “Oi, Fred. Remember that time you got stuck in the girls’ toilets in second year? Why were you in there?”
Lee removed his hand to allow Fred to speak, the boy confessed, “Because I wanted to find out if Angelina had a boyfriend!”
“OH MY GOD,” you muttered, horrified and delighted. You’d always suspected that he’d followed you and Angie in to eavesdrop but he’d never admitted it before.
Fred groaned, flopping backward into the couch and covering his eyes with both hands.
Your thoughts spun. If everything he said - about you, your hair, wanting to kiss you - was the truth. You swallowed thickly, feeling your stomach stir with emotion. “Oh.”
George raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
You turned to him. “Why were you hiding him from me, then? Specifically?”
The boys glanced at each other and Lee swiftly clamped his hand over Fred’s mouth once more. No one answered until Fred bit down on Lee’s hand. Lee yelped and it gave Fred enough wiggle room to jerk away and blurt out quickly, “Because I’m scared of what I might say to you!”
George lunged with a pillow and slammed it over Fred’s face. “Shut UP.”
Lee added a blanket for good measure. Fred’s muffled voice still came through,” You smell really good too, by the way! Like all the time. Makes me wanna—”
“OKAY THATS ENOUGH!” George attempted to talk over his brother, drowning out what Fred was trying to say
You stood there, cheeks flushed, utterly speechless. “…Right,” you muttered. You turned to Neville, who was still frozen in place like he’d witnessed a murder. “Neville. Sorry for the…attacking, and dragging, and threatening, and all.”
He nodded numbly. And without another word, you turned and walked out. As you disappeared out the portrait hole, Fred sat up again, pillow askew. “I said too much, didn’t I?”
George and Lee groaned in unison.
———————————————————————
The next morning, you seriously considered skipping breakfast.
You’d hardly slept a wink after last night’s emotional ambush. Your heart still hadn’t fully recovered from the fact that Fred Weasley - the same Fred you’d been crushing on for years - had not only complimented you in front of half the Gryffindor common room, but had apparently consumed so much Veritaserum that he couldn’t stop doing it.
You kept replaying it in your head, over and over:
“You look so hot when you’re angry.”
“You’ve got this little frown line when you’re concentrating that makes me want to kiss you stupid.”
“Because I’m scared of what I might say to you!”
Was that real? That happened, right? You didn’t hallucinate it? You gripped your bag a little tighter and stepped into the Great Hall.
The scent of warm bread and roasted tomatoes hit you immediately, but your eyes went straight to the Gryffindor table. There they were. Fred, George, and Lee. Almost exactly where they’d been yesterday.
Fred was talking animatedly - too animatedly, actually. George and Lee sat on either side of him like guards flanking a volatile prisoner. Every time Fred opened his mouth, they both twitched.
You hesitated. You could turn back. Pretend you forgot something. Sit with the Ravenclaws or maybe join Angelina and Alicia further down.
But then Fred looked up. And his eyes locked on yours like he’d been waiting for you. And he lit up.
That was the thing with Fred Weasley. When he smiled at you, it was like the whole bloody ceiling of floating candles turned a little warmer. Brighter.
He practically stood to wave you over. You swallowed hard and crossed the hall on slightly shaky legs, avoiding every other pair of eyes you felt watching you.
“Morning,” you said, managing something between polite and painfully awkward.
“Good morning,” Fred said, tone suspiciously sincere. “You look radiant. No, actually, radiant’s not enough. You look like if the sun and Aphrodite had a baby and raised it in a faerie grotto.”
Lee choked on his pumpkin juice. George’s head hit the table with a soft thunk.
You blinked. “What?”
Fred kept going. “Honestly, I don’t know how you manage to look that good this early in the morning.”
You sat slowly, stiff as a cursed statue as George shoved a croissant in Fred’s mouth.
“Eat,” he commanded.
Fred chewed obediently, eyes still on you like you’d hung the stars yourself.
You stared down at your plate. “I’m guessing the Verituserum is still in effect?”
“Yeah,” Lee said flatly. “We have no idea when it’ll wear off.”
“Is he…okay?”
“Other than an irresistible inclination to spilling whatever is running through his head, it seems so,” George shrugged.
“I’m absolutely mortified actually,” Fred said through the croissant. “Also, you smell incredible. Like vanilla and warm sugar and—ow!”
George had elbowed him.
“Umm,” you said cautiously, picking up your spoon, “how long does this usually last?”
“Veritaserum usually wears off in twenty-four to forty-eight hours,” Lee muttered, flipping his sausage over like it had offended him. “Unless, of course, you chug it like a lunatic.”
“How was I supposed to know it’d turn me into a sappy git!” Fred said indignantly.
“You were already a sappy git, now you’re just a sappy git with no filter!” George hissed.
You tried not to laugh, but it snuck out. A quiet, amused chuckle, followed by the tiniest smile you couldn’t hold back.
Fred’s eyes widened like he’d won the Triwizard Tournament. “She smiled,” he said, almost reverently.
Lee pointed his fork at Fred. “Don’t.”
“You know how I love it when she does that,” Fred added. “It’s beautiful. Makes my insides all warm and fuzzy.”
George groaned and shoved a spoonful of scrambled eggs in his brother’s mouth.
You looked at them - all three of them - and the knot in your chest began to loosen. There were still questions. Still nerves and embarrassment and chaos swirling in your chest like a stirred cauldron.
But Fred’s eyes - soft and unguarded and fixed entirely on you - held no joke. No teasing. He couldn’t lie even if he wanted to. You nudged your toast and tried not to overthink the blush crawling up your neck.
“So,” you said, eyes flicking to Fred’s. “What else are you dying to tell me that you haven’t yet?”
Lee immediately smacked his forehead. Fred swallowed the eggs and leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “That your laugh makes me feel like I’m not about to completely combust. Which is impressive, because I’m nearly always about to combust when I’m around you.”
George tackled him. Literally tackled him sideways onto the bench. Everyone in the vicinity turned to look. You burst out laughing.
Fred - flattened under his twin and with a piece of bacon in his hair - groaned at his own confession. “I hate this! Get me out of here!”
So Lee and George did. They hurried him out of the great hall like a fire was at their heels.
———————————————————————
You should’ve known better than to think Potions class would be anything less than a disaster today.
For starters, Snape already looked murderous before anyone had entered the dungeon. His robes flared like bat wings as he prowled between the desks, eyes narrowed, mouth twisted into his usual expression of ‘I hate all of you equally’.
The only good news was that he’d paired you with Fred again. The bad news was also that you were paired with Fred again.
Still under the effects of Veritaserum. Still unable to lie. Still completely incapable of shutting up. You’d barely opened your textbook before he leaned closer.
“You look like someone who should be immortalized in stained glass.”
You choked on air.
He was sitting next to you, casual as anything, chin in his palm, elbow on the desk, watching you like you were the most fascinating part of the room - which you were sure you weren’t. There were literally flames under cauldrons around you, and still Fred was looking at you like you were the only thing burning.
“Fred,” you hissed, glancing around. “Not now.”
“You smile with your whole face,” he whispered. “It’s devastating.”
“Oh my god.”
Snape swept past your table, his cloak snapping dramatically at his heels.
“Mr. Weasley,” he said, in the tone one might use for stepping in dung. “If you insist on breathing loudly, do it elsewhere.”
Fred snapped upright. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. You’re more intimidating than usual. Though still just as much of a git.”
The room froze. A Hufflepuff dropped their pestle and it clanged on the flagstones.
Snape turned very slowly. “Excuse me?”
You kicked Fred under the desk before he could say anything else but it wasn’t enough to stop him. He flinched. “I wish I could say I didn’t mean that. But, well, I did.” He clamped his mouth shut, face red.
Snape narrowed his eyes. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”
“But it could be a compliment!” Fred tried. “You’re very…committed to your aesthetic? Of course it wasn’t a compliment—”
You were going to die here. Your body would be found slumped over a cauldron and people would whisper, she died because Fred Weasley called Snape a git during Veritaserum detox.
You grabbed Fred by the wrist and hissed, “Shut. Up.”
“I’m trying! But you’re right here, and it’s really hard to be normal around you when you smell like dessert and…and you keep tucking your hair behind your ear like you don’t know what that does to me. But of course, I guess you don’t know what it does to me but I can tell you it does a lot.”
You dropped your ladle and it splashed green liquid across the desk.
“Ms. Y/l/n,” Snape drawled. “Would you like to join your partner in detention?”
“No, sir,” you said through clenched teeth. “Desperately not.”
Snape stalked off, muttering about incompetent teenagers.
Fred turned to you, very quiet for once. You risked a glance. He was biting his lip, face flushed, clearly fighting the urge to say anything else. He picked up the ingredients list and started grinding roots with unnecessary intensity.
You stared at the way his forearms flexed as he moved. You were losing your mind at the way his veins were defined by the tense muscles running all up his arm. You were suddenly very thankful that the boys had kept you out of their after hours truth or dare game. Otherwise you were entirely sure you’d be in a worse predicament than Fred.
You forced yourself to focus on the recipe before you and collected a handful of eels eyes. The crack of someone’s cauldron exploding across the room caused you to jump, the eyes scattering from your palm and across the floor. You swiftly hurried to collect them before Snape could notice. Only, the moment you bent down Fred let out a loud, barely contained groan.
“Merlin, you look good when you do that. Makes me wanna—”
Your spine instantly straighter, stomach clenching to meet Fred’s eyes. His face was screwed up in effort, teeth digging into his bottom lip to stop himself from completing his sentence. He looked like the restraint was killing him.
“Shit, shut up, shut up, shut up,” he murmured under his breath, turning his head and refusing to look at you as his fists clenched.
You forced yourself to clear your throat, ignoring him and going on with rushing the eel eyes to stop yourself from doing something impulsive. Like grabbing his tie and kissing him over a bubbling cauldron.
———————————————————————
It was late.
The corridors were nearly silent, the kind of quiet Hogwarts only ever managed in the deep belly of evening, where most students were tucked away in their dorms, and even Peeves seemed to be sleeping - or plotting.
You’d just left the library, arms full of books you weren’t really reading, head still spinning from a few days of emotional whiplash and truth bombs you hadn’t asked for.
Fred had been avoiding you again after the potions fiasco, but not in the way he had before.
Now it was more like he was dodging danger. Like he was terrified he’d open his mouth and say something truly nuclear. So every time you entered a room, George or Lee shoved him behind a curtain or distracted you with a stupid prank or practically dragged him into another hallway by the scruff of his neck.
And honestly? It was driving you insane.
You were tired of the avoidance. Of the interruptions.
So when you turned a corner and he was there - alone, just walking with his hands jammed into his pockets, looking like he’d been pacing - you jumped on the opportunity.
Fred looked up and instantly stopped walking. His face was pale, like he’d been holding his breath since the morning. His eyes went wide. “Oh no.”
“Hi,” you said slowly, lowering your stack of books. “What are you doing?”
“Trying not to have a breakdown.”
“Charming.”
Fred looked down at the floor, then back at you, and you saw the exact second he gave up trying to be subtle.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
You blinked. “Do what?”
“This. Not telling you. Or, I guess I have told you, I guess, in a very roundabout way. But that was all by accident and now it’s wearing off, and my brain keeps screaming at me to shut up and I can’t because I’ve already said too much and not enough, and…Merlin’s balls, you’re looking at me like that and it’s making it worse.”
You stared at him, stunned. “Like what?” you managed.
“Like you might kiss me if I say the right thing.”
“Well, try it and we’ll find out.”
Fred let out a weak laugh, raking both hands through his hair until it stood on end.
“You make me nervous,” he said, almost breathless. “That’s the problem. You always have. Not in the bad way. Like, the good kind of nervous. The butterflies-so-loud-I-can’t-think kind. The ‘don’t screw this up, Weasley’ kind. The kind where I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing because you’re the first person who makes me want to get it right. And I’m scared that as soon as this wears off, I won’t be able to say it anymore so I need to get it out now.”
You swallowed hard, heart thudding somewhere in your throat.
He stepped closer. “I’ve had a million chances to say this when it would’ve mattered more. When it would’ve been easier. But I blew it. Because I was afraid of saying too much. And now, thanks to that bloody potion and my own bloody stupidity, I’ve already let it go too far without finishing it, and I don’t know if I ruined it or not.”
His voice cracked. “I like you. So much I don’t know what to do with it. It’s not just a crush, or a joke, or something I can charm my way through. It’s real. And terrifying. And I’d rather get hexed by Snape than spend another day pretending it’s not killing me to keep this in.”
You didn’t realize you’d moved until you were in front of him.
So close you could see the pink flush across his cheeks, the frantic flick of his gaze between your eyes and your mouth, the tight tremble of his fists at his sides like he didn’t trust himself not to grab you.
“Say it again,” you whispered.
He blinked. “What?”
“Say it again. Plainly. No verbal gymnastics.”
Fred swallowed. “I like you.”
“Like I’ve never liked anyone before,” Fred cleared his throat. “I mean I’ve liked people before, but it’s never been like this. Like, ‘thinking about you before I fall asleep’ kind of like. Or ‘writing jokes in my head just to tell you later’ kind of like.”
You leaned in and his breath hitched.
“I like you so much it hurts,” he whispered. “You’re smart and sharp and you see through all my jokes and you call me out and you make me laugh when I don’t want to and I hate how much I love it.”
Your brain was short circuiting, and you could t hold yourself back anymore. You surged forward and kissed him.
He made a sound - half gasp, half relief - as your fingers curled into his jumper and his hands finally flew to your waist, tugging you impossibly closer.
It wasn’t perfect. It was frantic and messy and desperate in a way that only years of longing could create. But it was honest. Unfiltered. Completely, breathtakingly real.
When you pulled back, breathless, your forehead still resting against his, Fred whispered, “I like you too Fred, and I don’t need Veritaserum to admit it.”
Fred’s smile widened. “You do?”
You flushed. “I mean, you’re obnoxious and loud and constantly in detention, but yeah. I do.”
“Oh COME ON!” Came a loud yell in unison, and both you and Fred whirled to see George and Lee skidding around the corner, both panting.
“We’ve been hiding him from you for days,” George gasped. “We even hand fed him yesterday like a newborn owl!”
“And all of that was for nothing?” Lee groaned, tossing his hands in the air. “He told you anyway!”
Fred just grinned. Smug. Glowing. Like he’d just won the House Cup, the Quidditch Cup, and your heart all in one go. He reached down, laced his fingers through yours.
“Actually,” he said, eyes never leaving yours, “I’d say it was worth every damn second.”
“be honest: if you were snape and one of the lynchpins of your existence kept putting himself in danger left and right, wouldn’t you be uh…. fucking annoyed with him.” - inspired by this post
summary: during a quidditch match, fred gets a bit too competitive and crashes into you. he didn't believe in all the clichés about love at first sight before, but as soon as he lays his eyes on you, all that changes.
y/n: your name
y/h: your house
word count: 1.7k
submit requests here! | masterlist
The crowd roared as Fred punted the bludger away from Angelina, mere inches from hitting her straight in the face and knocking her off her broom. She jerked in the air, startled, but quickly regained her composure and sped off to score yet another ten points for Gryffindor.
"And he does it again! Fred Weasley saves the team captain from the Slytherin team!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed throughout the stadium as Gryffindors cheered and Slytherins scowled. Fred waved his bat above his head in victory as Lee continued, "Really impressive she didn’t fall off considering I almost fell off this podium when I saw Goyle's toad-face --" The microphone screeched and Lee's voice disappeared as Professor Mcgonagall snatched the microphone from his hand and scolded him. Lee merely grinned at her.
Goyle's face did look particularly toadlike today, and his already ruddy face was slowly turning into a darker shade of scarlet.
Fred waggled his fingers at Goyle who was now speeding off, "Sorry mate, better luck next time!" He allowed himself one more celebratory loop in the air before he caught George's eye from a few hundred feet away. He was waving his arms in the air at his brother and yelling something Fred could not quite understand.
"What? George, I can't hear you!"
Fred weaved through the players and realized George was pointing. When he got close enough, George yelled again, "DOUBLE BLUDGER!" He jabbed his fingers at Fred's right and left sides, and Fred whipped his head around just in time to see a bludger flying at him.
He managed to drop a few feet in the air and avoid having his skull smashed in. The two bludgers crashed in the air above him; Crabbe and Goyle had teamed up to take Fred out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Goyle racing away. Fred yelled after them, "OI, YOU TROLL, do you even know how Quidditch works!" They high-fived each other and sniggered, triggering a burst of anger in his chest.
Fred narrowed his eyes at the them in the distance. Suddenly, George was at his side.
"Mate, don't pay attention to them, you have to focus! We can test a puking pastille on them later, I promise!"
Fred nodded curtly, but his mind had not shifted. As he flew away, he saw a one bludger flying towards Harry, another flying towards Katie Bell.
He alerted George but he had already seen it and was speeding towards Katie. Fred turned midair to fly towards and unaware Harry, who was concentrating on finding his tiny gold target. Maybe the anger served as fuel, because he arrived at Harry's side long before he could be hit and smacked the heavy ball away.
Harry called over his shoulder, "Thanks mate!" Before returning to his search for the snitch.
Fred was still breathing heavily, but not from the exhilaration of the match. His eyes were still trained on the opposing team's beaters.
"Don't you dare, Weasley!" Angelina's keen eye had caught the look in his eyes and she called out, "Save that for after the match! Not right now, we can't afford to lose!" But Fred didn't hear her.
He caught hold of a bludger and sped off towards his first target: Goyle.
"YOU IDIOT!!" Angelina screamed in anger as he left her behind.
"Take THIS!" He hurled the bludger at Goyle, whose reaction time was too slow, and it knocked his left arm enough to send him toppling in the air. Fred observed, satisfied, as the smirk was wiped off his pimply face. He caught another bludger and prepared to strike again, but Goyle was less cocky and more alert this time and was able to fly off before Fred could act.
Fred had expected this though, so he was at the ready for the chase. Goyle bobbed and weaved through the players, but as he was a much less talented flier than Fred, he couldn't escape. Fred managed to strike again, this time in the shoulder. He purposefully did not throw hard enough to seriously injure him or put the team in trouble; years of playing Quidditch had honed his ability to control the force at which he threw the bludgers.
Suddenly, Fred saw Goyle reach into his robe. He watched it happen in slow motion: Goyle whipped out a wand and pointed behind him, straight at Fred. Having never seen a wand on the field, as they were prohibited in Quidditch, he moved too slowly to escape Goyle's attack.
"NO!" Fred lunged at the wand but Goyle was too far away, and the spell hit him straight in the chest.
The crowd collectively gasped as it sent him reeling through the air. He could not gain control of his broom for the life of him, and he spun around and around, the only thing he could do was grip the handle as hard as he could. After a few moments, he managed to slow the spinning, but too late; with a loud CRASH, he crashed into the y/h stands.
Students screamed as he crashed into the benches, which splintered and sent wood flying in all directions. Most of them had been able to run out of the way, but there were a few who were knocked off their bench by the force of his crash.
"FRED WEASLEY IS DOWN! FRED WEASLEY IS DOWN!" Lee was jumping up and down and screaming into his microphone, "For those who missed it, Goyle hexed Fred Weasley, THAT HIDEOUS COCKROACH! SOMEONE GO DO SOMETHING!"
Fred's head was still spinning so he could barely hear the crowd. As he gained his senses, he realized that he had crashed directly into a person and was laying on top of them. He quickly pushed himself off of the poor student.
"Are you alright?" He immediately grabbed the student's hand and hoisted them onto their feet.
"I think so? I think I'm okay." Y/n looked down at herself and assessed for any injuries, but miraculously, she did not have a scratch on her.
Y/n looked up at Fred and their eyes met. As quickly as he crashed into her, Fred lost his senses.
He had heard of people describe the moment they met their partners in a magical, fantastical way that he was always skeptical of, and he even made fun of them. They would talk about how time slowed and fireworks went off in their minds, and they just knew this person was the one, but he had never believed it. Love makes people fools, he would say.
But now, he was being proven wrong.
As he gazed into her eyes, time did, in fact, slow, and fireworks exploded through his entire body, the way people had always described. His mind filled with music that wasn't actually there, and every time he recounted this moment to her or their friends or even strangers for years and years after, he would swear he felt a zing! (Y/n would roll her eyes every time, but with a big smile on her face).
"Um... hello?" He was brought back to life when y/n waved her hand in front of his face. He didn't realize that his jaw had been hanging open and that he was still holding the other hand he had hoisted her up with. Amusement danced in her eyes and when she smiled at him, he almost toppled over.
He managed to stumble out, "I'm -- 'm so sorr- didn't mean to--" He didn't know what was happening to him -- usually he was so smooth around girls. Y/n found it endearing though, and laughed in response.
She squeezed his hand reassuringly and replied, "That's alright, I'm okay! You gotta do what you gotta do right?"
In a desperate attempt to prove he wasn't a fool, Fred managed to gather himself enough to gasp out, "PrettiestgirlI'veeverbeenbludgeredinto--" before he was interrupted.
"--AN ABSOLUTE FOOL, YOU LOOK LIKE AN ABSOLUTE FOOL, FREDDIE! CLOSE YOUR MOUTH or A BIRD'S GONNA FLY IN--" Lee's cackle was cut off, and Mcgonagall's voice now boomed, "MR. WEASLEY, GET BACK OUT THERE NOW!"
Fred blushed a deep pink and dropped y/n's hand as if it had burned him. As she laughed, he stammered out some sort of sheepish apology before hopping back on his broom and flying back out.
Thankfully, some people had still been paying attention to the game, and the second Fred flew back in, Harry caught the snitch and the game was over.
Fred flew down, still feeling lightheaded from his encounter with y/n. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Angelina was storming over to him.
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, WEASLEY!" Steam was practically pouring out of her ears, "DID I OR DID I NOT TELL YOU TO DROP IT? HUH, WEASLEY? WHAT DID I TELL YOU TO DO!" Professor Mcgonagall was following close behind Angelina and was scolding Fred over her, "-- could have injured yourself or a student, for Merlin's sake, or worse, gotten yourself banned--"
Meanwhile, Harry, who had been too focused on the snitch and missed the hubbub, was jogging alongside the rest of the team and asking, "What was that? What happened? Someone tell me what happened, for the LOVE of--" With a voice tight with suppressed laughter, George shrugged and said, "Can't save you this time, mate."
The team members were giggling and talking over each other, Angelina and Professor Mcgonagall were still scolding him, and Harry was tugging at his robes, still trying to figure out what had happened, but Fred couldn't hear any of it. He had caught y/n's eye again, all the way across the stadium from the ground, and she was smiling sympathetically right at him. He was hopelessly lost in her smile, and he timidly held up his hand and waved. She scrunched her nose in an adorable way and gave him a thumbs up of encouragement. A grin spread across Fred's face.
This brought on another bout of yelling and threats from Angelina as well as more laughter from the team, and still, Fred barely heard her. It was all noise to him.
Professor Mcgonagall caught his far-off look and followed his gaze to see that he was staring right at you. She maintained a stern look, but on the inside, couldn't help but soften. She knew that look. She had seen it countless times before.
And even as Fred was being dragged away by a furious Angelina, he was still smiling and managed to memorize every part of y/n's face, vowing to find her after what surely would be a long post-game meeting.
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The first time you realized you liked Fred Weasley, you were fourteen.
It was a fleeting moment, in the middle of a casual conversation in the Gryffindor common room. He threw his head back, laughing at some silly joke his brother had told, his eyes shining under the firelight. And that was when it happened. Something in your chest tightened slightly, a cold sensation filled your stomach, and suddenly, Fred Weasley wasn’t just a mischievous friend with whom you shared classes and pranks. He was someone who made your heart beat differently.
But Fred was… well, Fred. He flirted with everyone, threw careless winks at girls in the hallway, and pulled pranks that left professors on the verge of a breakdown. He didn’t see you that way. At least, that’s what you told yourself every time you saw him sprawled on the Gryffindor couch, his arm lazily draped over the shoulders of some other girl.
So, you buried the feeling. Moved on—or at least tried to.
But Fred fell in love later.
It was at the beginning of fifth year that he realized it. At first, it was subtle, almost imperceptible. Small details he ignored or attributed to coincidence. Like the fact that your eyes always seemed to find his first in the Great Hall. Or how he missed your laughter on days when you didn’t spend as much time together.
But then came the moment that really hit him—the one that knocked the air from his lungs and made his stomach twist.
You were in the courtyard, sitting with your friends, and someone cracked a joke. He laughed, of course. But then he looked to the side and saw you laughing too. And it wasn’t just any laugh. You tilted your head back slightly, your eyes shining, your shoulders relaxed. A light and genuine sound, carefree. Something inside him clenched. Hard.
And in that instant, he knew.
You were no longer just the friend he joked around with and talked to without a care. You were the girl he searched for in a crowd without even realizing it. The one who made his heart race when you smiled that certain way, in a way only he seemed to notice.
And that’s when fear set in.
Fred Weasley was never afraid. He faced teachers, rules, even magical creatures with a grin on his face and a wild plan in his head. But when it came to you, he had no idea what to do. Because what would happen if he crossed that line and lost you?
So he hid it. Kept winking at other girls, kept telling jokes as if nothing had changed.
But it had.
George noticed before Fred could even admit it to himself.
“You’re screwed,” George casually commented one night while organizing products for their next prank.
Fred frowned. “What are you talking about?”
George chuckled, his gaze mischievous. “You, idiot. You stare at Y/N all day and don’t even realize it.”
Fred scoffed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, but you do.” George tossed a Chocolate Frog at him. “The great Fred Weasley, feared by teachers, master of pranks… in love.”
“I’m not in love with Y/N, she’s my friend.”
George raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Then why do you scowl every time you see her talking to another guy?”
Fred opened his mouth to protest but found that he couldn’t.
George laughed even harder. “You’re absolutely screwed, mate.
Fred sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew George was right. But admitting it out loud? That was another story.
And then came that night.
The tavern in Hogsmeade was lit by floating candles, the air filled with the scent of butterbeer and carefree laughter. It was one of those cold nights packed with teenagers, where nothing seemed to matter except the present moment. Students were scattered in groups, occupying tables and speaking loudly to be heard over the background music.
Fred was in the middle of the chaos, surrounded by George and their friends, immersed in the whirlwind of jokes and teasing that filled the room. The atmosphere was light, the typical Weasley energy mixed with their friends’ excitement. The game had started off playful—rounds of embarrassing questions, stupid bets, and dares that grew bolder with time. The classic truth or dare, which Fred loved. Until the next question came, cutting through the fun.
“Well, I’ll go with truth this time,” Fred said, trying to keep his tone relaxed, though his eyes gleamed with suspicion.
Angelina, with that mischievous smile he knew all too well, leaned forward slightly.
"Have you ever thought about kissing Y/N?" she asked, her voice laced with playful mischief.
The question hit Fred like a blast of cold air. He laughed—a knee-jerk reaction, almost instinctive. Laughing was his defense, his shield against anything that made him feel too much. And there, in front of everyone, it was easier to pretend nothing special was happening. He simply smiled, carefree, as he always did.
“She’s my friend, why would I?” he replied.
The answer came before he could think. Light, casual. As if it meant nothing. As if he wasn’t burying something deep inside his chest.
But then he saw you.
You were there. Close enough to hear.
For a second, he couldn’t quite read your expression. It wasn’t anger. Not even obvious sadness. It was something worse. It was silent acceptance.
It was the way you looked away, let out a quiet sigh, and returned to your conversation as if it didn’t matter. As if, in that moment, a part of you had given up waiting.
And that was when Fred realized he was screwed.
Because something inside him screamed in protest. Something in him wanted to run to you, to say it was a lie, that he only said it because he didn’t know how to admit the truth. But how could he? He had spent years pretending he felt nothing. Now, when he finally understood what he truly wanted, maybe it was too late.
And then he saw you with someone else.
Fred couldn’t explain why that moment hit him like a punch to the gut. Maybe it was the way you tilted your head back to laugh, your eyes shining with something genuine. Maybe it was because, for the first time, that laugh hadn’t been caused by him.
He was walking through the corridors of Hogwarts, surrounded by the usual noise of students going back and forth, when he saw you there. Leaning against a wall, arms crossed in a relaxed way, while some guy—a random guy, one that wasn’t him—said something that clearly amused you.
His heart clenched.
Maybe it was just a conversation. Maybe that smile of yours meant nothing beyond politeness. But, for the first time, Fred had to face a possibility he had never truly considered: that you might move on.
The first time you didn’t seek him out to talk about your day, he missed it. His eyes scanned the Great Hall, expecting you to appear at his side as usual, ready to share some silly story or complain about an impossible History of Magic assignment. But you didn’t come.
The first time you didn’t laugh at his jokes, he wanted to punch himself. He told one of those stupid jokes that always made you roll your eyes before laughing for real, but this time, your expression remained unreadable. And in that small instant, he realized he might have gone too far.
He loved you.
And it wasn’t just any love. It was a consuming love, one that burned in his chest and made his breath falter. A love that made him want to go back in time, undo every poorly chosen word, every laugh thrown into the wind as if nothing mattered. He wanted to go back to the exact moment he said you were just a friend and slap himself.
Because now he saw.
Now he understood.
The night at Hogwarts was steeped in mystery and a quiet melancholy. The sky, burdened with clouds, unleashed its fury in a symphony of cracks and rumbles, echoing against the glass windows and the castle’s cold stones. The wind cut through the narrow corridors, carrying with it the feeling that time, somehow, was running out.
Fred Weasley hurried up the dormitory stairs, his breath heavy and his mind racing. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the words he needed to say were weighing down his chest, piling up until he could no longer bear the burden. The rain, now forming small streams along the steps, made him feel more alive, more aware of everything at stake. He knew he couldn’t wait any longer.
The door to his dormitory was just ahead, and with a near-desperate impulse, Fred knocked, his cold, trembling hands striking the solid wood with a firm and determined sound. One, two, three knocks—a rhythm that seemed to stretch into eternity. Inside his mind, echoes of doubt, the “what ifs” and “maybes,” tangled with the certainty that he had no more choices. He couldn’t turn back now.
There was a moment of deep silence, a second of absolute tension, where the fear that he might already be too late tried to creep in. But then the door opened, and there you were, eyes wide with surprise. Your hair was slightly tousled, the fatigue of the day mingling with the confused expression of someone who hadn’t expected a visit from someone so… caught in the storms of his own heart.
Fred stood there, drenched to the bone. His red hair stuck to his forehead, his shirt and rain-soaked cloak clinging to his body. But what stood out the most wasn’t his physical state—it was the look in his eyes. Something there was different. He wasn’t just standing in that hallway; he was deep inside himself, in a place only the purest and most sincere feeling could have led him to. And in those words, he could no longer hide what he felt.
“Fred?”
He took a step forward—there was no hesitation. He knew he needed to speak, to pour out everything he had kept inside for so long. His chest burned, but not with anger or frustration—with a tense, repressed love that was finally finding a way to be spoken. The words escaped in a rush, with no room for filters, no room for disguise.
“I was an idiot.” He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours as if searching for a thread of hope to hold on to. “I took so long to realize… to see what was right in front of me this whole time.”
His voice was low, rough, marked by the intensity of his confession. He looked vulnerable, a little lost, as if, for the first time, he was truly seeing what had been around him all along.
“All the times I pretended everything was fine… that I didn’t care… all the times I lied to myself… They were lies.”
Rain streaked his face, but his gaze was clear—clear of any doubt. “I know now. I know that… I fell in love with you long before I even realized it. And if there’s still a chance… if you give me a chance, I will do everything I can to prove how real this is.”
The space between you felt smaller, drawn together by the weight of his words. And as he spoke, the words seemed to dissolve into the air, leaving everything clearer than ever. He wasn’t speaking just for himself anymore—he was speaking for both of you, for everything that could be, for all the things that had been hidden between you, waiting for a moment like this.
You stood there, motionless, your heart pounding in your chest. Your mind echoed with the sound of all those turbulent nights, the moments of pain, the frustration, and the challenges that had kept you apart. But now, facing Fred, his soul as exposed as yours, there was something else. A new feeling—something you didn’t yet know how to name—but it spread between you, filling the empty spaces.
There was hope.
Fred took a hesitant step forward, his eyes searching yours, almost pleading. His hand, cold from the rain, reached out for yours, as if trying to touch the only thing that truly mattered now—what existed between you. The gesture was simple but carried an immense longing, a vulnerability he had never shown before.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath, “let me show you that I can be more than I was.”
You felt the weight of his words, the sincerity overflowing from them, and something inside you broke—an invisible barrier you had built around yourself. The love he had kept hidden, the words he was finally saying, all of it resonated deep within your soul. You had known from the beginning that something existed between you. But now, with words and feelings finally aligned, you couldn’t deny what had always been there.
With a soft smile, you reached out, your fingers barely touching his, your breathing slowing as if, finally, the two of you were breathing in the same rhythm. “I was waiting for you, Fred,” you whispered, your voice nearly breaking with emotion.
Fred smiled—a small, hesitant, but genuine smile, as if, at last, he had found his peace.
And then, your lips met. The rain still fell, the wind still howled through the stone corridors, but now, nothing else mattered. You were there, in the same space, in the same moment, finally understanding that what had always been inevitable… was happening.
